Cedarwood Manor, a picturesque suburban community inhabited by the wealthy and talented, is home to Jeffrey Wayne, successful young architect, and his beautiful brunette wife, Carole. The attractive, highly-sexed Wayens are a happy couple, still very much in love after seven years of marriage.
But Carole and Jeff suddenly discover, at the same time and separately, just how very vulnerable each is to temptation's attack, how susceptible each is to the lewd proposal, the excitingly perverse suggestion or deed.
Swelling within Carole is a licentious urge to participate in the forbidden frolic, a devilish desire to mock propriety by committing an act both scandalous and sexually thrilling, one that would provide her with the excitement and adventure her life now lacks.
And so it is easy enough for Sheila Davidson, a blonde bombshell of thirty-one married to a meek, sexually inept stockbroker twenty years her senior, to talk Carole into a fling at part-time prostitution. The hump-happy Sheila, an adulteress without conscience, is convinced that whoring will inject into her neighbor's life the only thing it lacks, mystery and adventure, a sense of danger.
Faintly frightened but eager to experiment, Carole accompanies handsome stud and Sheila's latest lover, and Cynthia Corral, an ambitious madam whose interest in catering to the suburban lustful prompted her idea of rounding up those beautiful housewives willing to fuck for a fee on their free afternoons.
Jeff, meanwhile, gets himself tangled up with a titian-tressed sexpot, Patricial Richardson, stunning wife of his latest client. Patricia, a masochist extraordinaire, gets Jeff to first spank her and then fuck her fuckable fanny. Several days later, still dazed by this exciting encounter, Jeff finds himself socking it to Susie Latham, his pert and pretty secretary.
After being screwed silly by Scott Langdale and introduced to the strange pleasures of lesbianism by Sheila, Carole is ready to service her first paying customers, Frank Kaine and Charlie Anderson, pals who share a passion for the perverse. The luscious housewife soon finds herself sandwiched between the two Johns, her pleasure supreme as they screw her simultaneously, the one raming her rectum while the other tends to her twat.
But what of Donald Davidson, the forgotten man in this play of passion? Suffice to say that Sheila's mild-mannered hubby turns tiger after learning of his sex-mad mate's past infidelities and her present profession. Even the happiest hooker grows sad when confronted by an irate husband clutching an automatic.
CHAPTER ONE
Yes, Mrs. Carole Wayne could still honestly be described as beautiful, Mrs. Carole Wayne decided, a gentle smile bathing her smooth, unblemished face as she studied her near nude reflection in the full-length mirror in her bedroom.
In fact, she was as desirable now, at age twenty-eight, as she had been on her wedding night seven years ago. Even more so, she thought. For now she was no longer the bright-eyed innocent, the moonstruck maiden who, much to her delight, Jeff had plucked from a college campus to be his wife.
Careful attention to a nourishing, fat-free diet and her love of sports, tennis especially, had helped keep her weight just a few pounds over what it was when, nervous as a lamb about to be sheared, she had slipped into that motel bed to be deflowered by her loving, considerate husband.
Her breasts were still full and firm, spongy melons of flesh to be kneaded and stroked, rolled in the palms of her handsome husband's strong knowing hands. How he loved to play with her mammaries, to work those gelatinous globes of smooth, warm flesh in his hands and with his fingers tweak her rose-hued nipples.
Her tummy was still nice and flat, a smooth plane of tender flesh down which her husband's hand would slide on its wicked way to her moistening, dark-haired pussy. And her thighs, still sleek and firm, strengthened through exercise, tapered to well-molded calves and nicely-turned ankles.
Yes, as far as she could see her body still possessed a very sexy shape, Carole thought, turning slowly in front of the mirror. And if it were true that she was even more appealing no than she had been as a flighty coed, noe given teasing the boys to total distraction, it was because now she had added a certain maturity to her natural charms.
Her smile, once rather silly and reflecting little more than a school girl's playful nature, now mirrored warmth and understanding, a genuine awareness of the value of strong personal relationships, It was a smile that bespoke, yes, character, and it was a smile that suggested love of mankind and a tolerance of those who, for one reason or another, seemed incapable of responding wholeheartedly to the better things that life had to offer.
In her soft brown eyes there was the hint of mystery, the suggestion of secrets to be savored in quiet, in restful repose, when memories of great adventures, some sexual, perhaps, padded on little cat's feet into her mind.
Not that she had any marvelous secrets to reveal, Carole reminded herself, her hands drifting up her body to cup and then tenderly caress her bra-encased breasts. In fact, when you got right down to it her life was an open book.
Nothing much of anything had occurred during her first eighteen years of life-except the completion of high school with her virginity intact. In college, while a junior, she had met, fallen madly in love with, and married Jeffrey Wayne, a very warm, understanding young man who, unlike the others she had dated, crotch-grabbers all, had been as concerned with her as a person as he had been about getting into her panties.
Then, thanks to the fantastic generosity of Jeff's parents, who were determined to get the newlyweds off to a good start, she had set up housekeeping with Jeff in this beautiful split-level ranch. Making ends meet had been a bit of a problem in the first few years of their marriage, but now that her husband was a successful architect, well-established in a reputable firm, bills were paid on time and there was more than enough left over for the luxuries.
And that, Carole mused, was it. Contrary to what she thought her glowing smile and warm, moist eyes suggested, she had not a single secret to divulge. Her past and present could really be regarded as rather ordinary, that is if you excluded the fact of her marriage to a very attractive, very virile man and the fact that she and her mate were comfortably ensconced in a sixty-five thousand dollar house located in Cedarwood Manor, an exclusive community populated by people of wealth and talent.
But this aside, what did she have that was out of the ordinary? The answer, unfortunately, was nothing. The character that she liked to think was etched on her face? the mysterious, faintly wicked nature she thought her smile revealed, had no basis in fact.
For she had never had to struggle for anything in life-except perhaps the preservation of her virginity until her wedding night. True, she did possess compassion for those less fortunate than herself, but she had never suffered deprivation or experienced the indignities heaped upon the impoverished in various subtle and not so subtle means.
So this compassionate smile, this implied understanding of "Life," this suggestion of character molded by experience-whence cometh it? From imagination's store of tricks, perhaps?
Affairs? She had had not a one, Carole thought. There were, to be sure, many men whose interest in her went beyond that expected of good friends. Seldom did she attend a party with Jeff that didn't find her, at some point in the evening, fending off the lewd advances of one or more of her male acquaintances.
Not that she really wanted to get involved with another man-Jeff was a fantastic lover whose exciting, knowledgeable caresses turned her inside out every time they made love-but she did have to admit that sometimes, every once in a while, she found the idea of seducing one of her male friends rather intriguing. How wholly wicked it would be to turn that which had been platonic into something passionate. If only she were wicked.
As it was, she could not look back on a single sexual adventure, one mind-blowing infidelity the thought of which would suffuse her with guilt and joy at the same time. These feelings, which were almost at opposite ends of the emotional spectrum, were engendered by a fond recall of an enjoyable indiscretion, according To Sheila Davidson, her friend and neighbor across the street.
Swinging Sheila. Now there was a married gal who flagrantly violated all the rules in the book. The bright and beautiful Sheila, wed nine years to a successful stockbroker twenty years her senior, had one day confessed to having cheated on her husband no less than fifty-three times.
When questioned about her wanton infidelity, Sheila simply smiled and shrugged and said such behavior was necessary to keep her from going stark raving mad. She was bored to tears with Donald, her intelligent but unimaginative husband, and so to assuage her frustration and satisfy her need for excitement she screwed around with the best looking studs she could find.
Well, to each his own, Carole thought, wondering if the day would ever come when she was tempted, really tempted, to step out on Jeff. Not for anything in the world would she deliberately hurt her handsome husband, and yet, as Sheila was wont to remark, "What they didn't know couldn't hurt them."
Carole suddenly became conscious of the fact that she was being watched. She turned away from the mirror. And there, leaning against the door frame, his arms folded and a knowing grin on his rough-hewn face, was her thirty-one-year-old mate, naked except for the large bath towel he had wrapped around his middle.
"Hi, darling," she grinned. "How long have you been standing there watching me?"
"For several very delightful minutes," Jeff answered.
"Peeping Tom," Carole said with a wink. "Peeping Jeff, you mean." Carole chuckled softly. "I must say, Mrs. Wayne, that I'm a little shocked by your behavior."
"My behavior?"
"Uh huh. I leave you alone in our bedroom for just one half hour and look what happens. I return from my shower to find you playing with yourself."
"Jeff, I was doing no such thing," Carole protested.
"You were fondling your boobs, weren't you?"
"I was thinking, darling."
"I see. While playing with your tits."
"Oh, Jeff, you're awful. But since you're here I may as well put you to good use. Come unsnap me, lover."
"I'm on my way, beautiful," Jeff grinned.
His well-muscled body still damp from the shower, he moved quickly from the bedroom doorway to his wife, slipping in behind her and placing his hands on her smooth, slender arms. He began to stroke her, his hands sliding slowly up and down her arms, from elbow to shoulder, as he smiled at her reflection in the mirror.
"Is that what you call unsnapping me, Mr. Wayne?" Carole asked, a saucy smile on her beautiful face.
Jeff chuckled. "Tell me what you were thinking, baby."
"Oh, a little of this, a little of that."
"Now that's what I like when I ask a question, sweetheart. A simple, direct answer."
"Am I being evasive, darling?" Carole asked, leaning back against her spouse and resting her head on his right shoulder.
"That, Mrs. Wayne, is putting it mildly."
"All right, then, I'll own up. I was thinking about myself."
"Yourself?" Jeff slipped his hands from his wife's arms to her waist, then brought them around in front to her flat, smooth stomach. He patted her there and then commenced caressing, the tips of his fingers wedging between the soft, pliant flesh of her belly and the elasticized waistband of her cream-colored panties.
"Maybe I'm becoming a narcissist in my old age, Jeff. Could that be?"
"Old age? Sweetheart, you're more lovely now than you were when we met. And you were simply gorgeous then."
"That's just what I was telling myself, darling. I really don't think I've lost anything yet."
"Not a damn thing, baby. You'll be desirable when you're sixty-five."
"I'm twenty-eight now so that means I have, er..."
"Thirty-seven years," Jeff said, helping out.
"Right. Thirty-seven years in which to screw you into senility. How about that, lover?"
"I can take all you can dish out, princess," Jeff said, his smile broad as he slid his strong hands up his wife's belly and wrapped them around her brassier-covered breasts.
"Mmmmmm, you're a beautiful man, Mr. Wayne," Carole cooed. "You could thaw a chunk of ice with your wonderful touch."
"Women are beautiful, baby," Jeff said. "Men are handsome."
"Then you're handsome, Mr. Wayne. The handsomest man I ever did meet."
And that, Carole added to herself, was not really an exaggeration. Jeffrey was truly a fine specimen of male, a six foot two inch, one hundred ninety pound hunk of virility whose hard, well-muscled body had seemingly been superbly crafted by one intent on creating something especially nice for female eyes to linger over.
She loved everything about her handsome husband? his crystal clear blue eyes, his coal-black curly hair, which he wore fashionably long, sideburns and all, his sometimes insolent, cocky grin, his ruggedly attractive face which, while appearing to have been chiseled quickly by a craftsman eager to complete his masterpiece, turned female heads wherever he went.
And, of course, she admired his intelligence, his dedication to his chosen profession. She was proud of the fact that he had succeeded, at such an early age, in establishing himself as one of the very best architects around.
But Jeff, tireless worker that he was, always had time for love, his beautiful pecker springing to attention at a moment's notice, on occasion swelling to its pussy-pleasing, totally tumescent state of slightly more than six inches within seconds after she brushed her hand across him.
"Hey, you falling asleep on me, baby?" Jeff asked, noticing that Carole's eyes were closed. He nuzzled his face in her shiny, shoulder-length brunette hair and squeezed her tits a little harder.
"No, darling," Carole answered with a small smile, "I was just thinking again."
"About yourself?"
"About you, lover."
"That's nice. I was worried that you might be dreaming about your lover."
Carole chuckled softly. "You're my lover, Mr. Wayne. Now will you please undo me so that-" she left the thought unfinished, her voice trailing off as she felt moisture at the crotch of her flimsy panties. The closeness of her handsome spouse, the wonderful feel of his strong, sure hands on her boobs, was having its inevitable effect. She was getting hot.
"So that what what, darling?" Jeff teased, knowing full well that his ravishing mate was warming up. One of the things he loved most about Carole was her keen sexual sensitivity, her wonderful desire, her ability to turn on quickly and with genuine feeling. She never refused him sex, and often it took no more than a word, a sensual smile and nod, to steer her directly to the queen-sized bed they shared.
"So that we can make love, lover," Carole answered at last, opening her eyes and smiling at her husband's reflection in the long mirror attached to the back of the closet door.
"You mean screw, don't you?" Jeff asked, grinning.
"I mean fuck," was Carole's blunt retort. Jeff chuckled. "I love to hear you talk dirty, baby."
"It turns you one, does it."
"You know it does."
"Oh, Jeff, come on, sweetheart. Get me naked. My poor pussy is really starting to burn now."
"Patience, Mrs. Hot-Pants, patience. Mmmmmm, let's see now-"
Jeff took a step back and moved to unclasp his wife's brassiere, his fingers fumbling with the catch as she swayed in eager anticipation. Within seconds he was drawing the narrow straps of the garment around her body, pulling the constricting bra out and away from her breasts and baring those luscious globes of creamy flesh in all their lovely splendor.
Dropping the bra on the floor, he again slipped his hands around Carole and brought them up to her jiggling boobs, this time savoring their spongy resiliency and smooth firmness without silently bemoaning the presence of the pleasure-inhibiting cotton cover. Carole's tits were warm to the touch, twin melons of shivering flesh to be hotly massaged, tested for tautness.
"Ohhh, baby, I love that," Carole purred, again pressing back into her husband. She squirmed against him as he manipulated her mammaries, her left hand drifting up to cover the one squeezing her left boob as her right hand journeyed downward to commence a lazy, methodical stroking of her pantied-pussy.
"You've got the greatest pair of tits in Cedarwood Manor," Jeff breathed into his spouse's right ear, his prick beginning to thicken and lengthen under cover of the green terry cloth towel he had secured around his waist.
"Have you seen all the tits in Cedarwood Manor, darling?" Carole asked, her voice turning syrupy as Jeff continued his dexterous man-handling of her quivering breasts. He was worrying her nipples now, teasing them, trapping those crinkled nubbins of flesh between his thick fingers and pinching them hard. Oh, what bliss!
"I don't have to see them all, baby. No dame around here has a figure than can compare with yours. You're perfection."
"Mmmmmm, and speaking of perfection, lover-"
Carole's voice trailed off as she took her right hand from her now wet pantied-crotch and brought it around and back. Quickly she found what she was seeking, her hand snaking through the narrow slit formed by the overlapping towel and reaching hungrily for her husband's swelling manhood.
"Like that, baby?" Jeff asked, smiling. "Like the feel of me?"
"Oh, do I ever," Carole sighed. "He's getting so big-so bit and strong."
"How about kissing him tonight? He'd like that, baby."
"Mr. Pecker wants to be sucked, huh?"
"He's due, sweetheart. And you always suck him on Sunday nights."
Carole smiled. "I suck him most every night, don't i?"
"True, very true. And he just loves the feel of your soft, supple lips sliding up and down-up and down."
Jeff slowly slid his right hand from his wife's tingling right tit to her hot, damp crotch, his fingers trailing lightly over her smooth, flat tummy before curling around her covered cunt. Still kneading her left breast, he began a wicked massage of Carole's excited twat and was rewarded by her husky moan of approval.
"Oh, Jeff, you don't know what you do to me. It's so good-so damn good."
"It's as if you wet your panties, baby," Jeff observed, his hand in lazy circular motion as he rubbed up his spouse's cunt. She was really ready for cock, he thought happily. The lubricating juice was oozing from her twat and seeping through the thin material of her undies.
"And I so very wet, darling?"
"You're soaked, princess. You're all slushy down there."
"Will you kiss her tonight? You know she loves to be kissed."
Jeff grinned. "I'll suck her like she's never been sucked before."
For a full minute more Jeff and Carole continued to manually excite each other, the hairy, muscular Mr. Wayne purposefully rubbing up the soft, sensual Mrs. Wayne's left breast while down below, with his other hard working hand, he tended to her twitching twat. Carole moaned with pleasure, her husband's artful ministrations sending shivers of lust up and down her spine.
She was working briskly on his warm genitals now, her hand darting from hairy scrotal pouch to blood-stiffened prick as she savored the big beautiful hardness, the throbbing fullness, of her husband's meaty member. Jeff was ready, she thought joyously. His wonderful weapon, an inflexible pole of pulsating flesh, was more than ready to be crammed into her welcoming womanhood.
"Oh, Jeff, no more, darling," Carole gasped at last. "I can't take any more of this. I'll-I'll come if you don't stop."
"Ready to suck, baby?" Jeff asked, his breath hot and heavy on his wife's right ear.
"Suck, fuck, anything," Carole answered, her voice husky, coated with desire.
Jeff removed his hands from his aroused mate and watched her spin around to face him. Then, before he could utter a single syllable, she was dropping to her knees, her fingers hooking into the towel around his waist and dragging it down his legs to his feet, where it remained in rumpled heaps as she zeroed in on his thick, throbbing organ.
"Go ahead, princess. Wrap those wonderful lips of yours around me. Suck him good tonight."
"Beautiful-so beautiful," Carole purred, her tone of voice almost reverent as she fixed her eyes on the powerful prick staring her in the face. "I love Mr. Pecker so much-so very much."
"Lick him, baby, use your tongue."
"Yes, oh yes," Carole said throatily.
And with that, as Jeff placed his hands on his hips and unconsciously struck a pose of masterful arrogance, the beauteous brunette began paying obsequious homage to the heavenly root that had so often been passionately planted in her leaking pussy.
Placing her hands on her husband's hairy thighs, she dipped her head under his protruding prick and commenced a lewd licking of his wrinkled scrotum, her tongue snaking out from between her lovely lips to curl tenderly around one ball and then the other.
"Oh, honey, that's good. Yes, like that-lick all over. Oh, it's so fine."
Carole continued to run her tongue up and down and all around Jeff's scrotal pouch, her head worming up between his strong thighs and weaving to the left and right as she coated the dangling bag of warm, hairy flesh with her sticky saliva. Then she started munching on the tasty testicles, drawing first one and then the other into her sweet mouth in a seeming attempt to gobble them both down.
"Oh, sweetheart," Jeff breathed. "Oh, you're so good, baby."
"I love-to lick them" Carole mumbled. 'They-taste so-so delicious. Mmmmmm-so very delicious."
From her mate's balls Carole moved, a minute later, to his blood-packed pecker, the one she had promised her now very soupy vagina. A loving look on her beautiful face, she took her right hand from Jeff's left thigh and curled it around the pulsating protrusion, at its hairy base. Then, forming a fleshy funnel, she proceeded to slide her hand up and down its thrilling length.
"Suck it, Carole," Jeff ordered. "C'mon, baby, don't play around with me. Get it in your mouth."
The order alone was enough to send another wave of lust washing over Carole, to cause additional lubricant to flow from her pulsing pussy into the already soggy, squishy, juice-splashed crotch of her hot panties. She licked her lips and then, as a wholly wanton feeling suffused her, she opened her mouth and into that wet womb slid just the bulbous head of her husband's hard-on.
"Now suck, sweetheart," Jeff husked. "Yes, like that. Oh, baby, do it to Mr. Pecker. Treat him nice-mmmm-"
Carole sucked slowly, not at all inclined to rush things even though her cock-hungry cunt was almost ready to beg for a hard, mean stuffing. Eyes closed, her nostrils flared slightly, she drew on the knobby crown of Jeff's prick as if it were the tip of a most tasty peppermint stick.
She pulled on it lovingly, sucking the fat head into her hungry mouth and coiling her tongue around its smooth thickness. Then, after a little while, she removed the prickhead from her mouth and began laving the entire root, her tongue sweeping up and down in wide brushing strokes as she washed its heavily-veined, slippery surface.
From hairy base to the tiny vertical slit that sat like a curious all-seeing eye in the center of the bulbous crown Carole's teasing tongue roamed, missing not one miniscule ridge or valley as it swabbed the hardened erectile. Up and down she licked, from stem to stern, pausing occasionally to drill the tip of her tongue into that strangely inviting slit, the one from which would stream all that creamy goodness.
"Good, sweetheart," Jeff rasped. "So fuckin' good."
"He smells so-so good tonight," Carole intoned hotly, her breath enveloping her husband's balls. "What's he-mmm, it tastes so nice-what's he wearing tonight, anyway?"
Jeff forced a smile. "A dab of cologne, my sweetheart. You like?"
"Ummm-he smells so sexy. He's all-prettified for me tonight."
"Get him back in the mouth, baby. I want your lips around me again. Come on Carole, start sucking."
"Right away, lover-right-away-"
A few final licks and nibbles, one wet, smacking kiss on the side of her hubby's pulsating pussy-gouger, and Carole was ready to comply with his lewd demand. Now again she lay sizzling siege to the prick proper, her supple lips enveloping the plum-shaped head as her talented tongue, in sensuous, slithering curl, caressed the sensitive underside.
Too much, too, too much, Jeff thought, gazing down at his ravishing wife as she began bobbing her brunette head, electric-like shocks of lust singeing his every nerve end. What could you say about a twenty-eight-year-old woman who was not only beautiful to behold but also fantastic to fuck?
Carole was the perfect wife. She was a lady in the living room, the personification of style and grace, an enchanting hostess whose intoxicating charm and endearing personality had appreciative males flocking to her side.
How sweet it was to stand off to one side and note how jealous wives cast angry stares at their fawning husbands, all of whom no doubt wished they had wed a woman like Carole.
But in the bedroom, when they were alone with their lusts and the cares of the day forgotten, smothered by the rampant desire to fuck up a storm, then Carole turned temptress extraordinaire and became a seething animal hell bent on draining his balls bone dry with her frantically clutching cunt, or, for delicious variety, with her hot, tight, gripping rectum.
Cocksucking? His wife's rating in this very important department was, in a word, excellent. She had come a long way from their courtship days when, denying him access to her vagina and ass out of a genuine, heartfelt wish to enter the marriage bed a virgin, fore and aft, she had tried to satisfy his need by enthusiastically but inexpertly blowing him.
Lessons in proper cocksucking technique, including a detailed description of those oral caresses he especially liked, had commenced on their wedding night. Since by nature Carole was a warm, loving female with strong sexual drives, her defloration had been accomplished with any trouble. As had the initial penetration of her fantastically tight rectal canal.
And it was with the determination and dedication of a student seeking straight A's that Carole mastered the scintillating art of fellatio. From those first awkward, fumbling attempts to blow him during their engagement, to those sweet, unsure, deliberate efforts to "do it right" in that cozy honeymoon cottage in Vermont, Carole had progressed to the point where now, after seven highly satisfying years of sexual experimentation, she was as skilled a fellatrice as any man would dare to wish for.
Yes, he was indeed a most fortunate man, Jeff thought, taking his hands from his hips and laying them gently on his spouse's methodically bobbing head. Everything was going just great in his profession and already he had a reputation for imaginative planning and practical concepts, two important qualities seldom found in one architect.
He was earning good money and maintaining a luxurious home in what had to be one of the most fashionable areas of not only the surrounding suburbs but the entire state. He had a healthy bank account, more clothes than he really needed, and parked in the driveway was a 1971 Buick La Sabre, with all the extras, of course.
And to top it off there was Carole. Carole of the silken brunette tresses and warm brown eyes, Carole with her beautiful body and her equally beautiful sexual appetite. Warm and wonderful, dazzling and delightful, the captivating, cocksucking Carole.
"Oh, yeah, that's the way, baby," Jeff said throatily, his fingers tightening on his wife's head. "Gobble it down, sweetheart."
"Uggghhh-" was Carole's unintelligible reply, her words completely smothered by the fat, juicy pecker she was endeavoring, or so it seemed to shovel down her throat.
"Eat him all up, honey. like that-oh, good. Yeah, all the way, Carole. Chew on it. Chew on it."
Her mind clouded by desire, her flow of lubricating fluid so great that some of it was not beginning to dribble down her humid inner thighs, Carole labored with stunning purpose on her mouthwatering prick as the need to get pronged by said prick increased to nymphomaniacal proportions.
Strange slurping sounds, gargling noises, rose in her throat and pushed past the rock-hard pecker she was hungrily vacuuming into her mouth. Up and down her beautiful head bobbed, her tightly-pursed lips skimming quickly over her mate's saliva-coated, throbbing tool.
"Oh, baby," Jeff rasped. "You're-you're the greatest. The greatest cocksucking beauty alive."
How sweet it was. How almost unbearably delicious. And yet pleasure would be heaped upon pleasure, for still to come was the coming itself.
CHAPTER TWO
When his pleasure reached such plenitude that orgasm seemed but a few short breaths away, Jeff yanked on his slobbering wife's flowing brown tresses and jerked her head back, away from his now slippery spear. The cock plopped from Carole's lips with a sound not unlike that made by the popping of a cork.
"Sorry, baby, I would-I would have come if-if I'd let you continue," He said by way of explanation, looking down at his surprised wife.
'That's all right, lover. I was just afraid you were going to pull all my hair out."
"Give me a minute and then-then we'll fuck. I'll just catch my breath."
"I'll hold you to that promise."
Still positioned on her knees, Carole studied her husband's pulsating saliva-laden member. She was glad that Jeff had stopped her when he had, for while she enjoyed taking his come in her mouth, feeling all that gooey cream slither down her throat when she swallowed, what she needed tonight was a sound reaming of her aching vagina.
Brother, was she ever wet, Carole thought, reaching down between her legs to feel her pantied crotch. Jeff was right. Anyone would think that she'd lost control and peed in her pants. The crotch of her undies wasn't damp, it was sopping wet. And still the sticky stuff was oozing from her needy hole-tears of want, no doubt.
"All right, sweetheart," Jeff said finally. "I've got Mr. Pecker back under control."
"You're sure?" Carole asked, smiling up at her mate.
"Positive. Now get up off your pretty knees and hop into bed. I promised you a good cunt-chewing, didn't I?"
Carole pushed herself up to her feet and then quickly peeled out of her warm, slushy-at-the-crotch panties, holding onto Jeff for support as she slipped the clinging undergarment around and off one foot and then the other. She tossed the pants onto her vanity stool and started toward the bed, one hand hotly hugging her leaking snatch.
"I don't know if I can take much of your tongue tonight, darling," she said, arranging herself on her back on the bed. "I'm close to coming myself."
"We can wait a while," Jeff suggested, his still rock-hard organ in sexy sway as he climbed onto the bed. "Until your temperature goes down a little," He added with a smile.
"No, darling," Carole said, "we'll go slow, all right? Just promise me that when I say stop you'll stop. Tonight I want to come with your big beautiful bone deep inside me-when you're shooting all that delicious gunk into my cunt."
"Anything you say, princess," Jeff grinned.
Most eager to please his pulchritudinous wife and wanting to stoke the fires of her passion, the aroused architect now settled atop Carole and commenced bathing her with warm, moist kisses. His hard, hairy body draped over her soft, supple one so that he was lying half on her and half on the bed, he dipped his head and began planting tiny kisses on and around her neck.
"Mmmmmm, I like that," purred Carole, gently embracing her handsome hubby, her hands floating across his back.
"You smell extra good tonight, too, luv,"
Jeff noted, his head in slow, sensuous weave as he continued his oral ministrations.
"It's a new perfume, honey. Sheila purchased it some time ago and recently gave me a small sample. She says-ohh, darling, that feels so nice. A little lower now, Jeff. Mmmmmm, right there."
"Are you talking about the across-the-street Sheila?" asked Jeff, worming his way down his beautiful mate's creamy-smooth body, his lips now trailing across her succulent tits.
"Oh. Well, she says it's dynamite. Guaranteed to drive the male animal crazy."
"Wonder if-if Mr. Davidson-likes it. I find it hard to-mmmm, you taste so good, baby."
"What were you saying about Donald?"
"Just that I can't imagine him-being turned on by the-the scent of his wife's perfume. Or by anything, for that matter."
"That's not a very nice thing to say, honey."
"Sorry, baby, but Don just doesn't-strike me as the passionate type."
"Looks can be deceiving, you know."
"What does Sheila say."
"About what?"
"About-her husband's passion."
"Honey, will you do me a favor?" Carole asked, her voice tinged with irritation.
"What's that, princess?" said Jeff, lifting his head off his ravishing spouse's mouth-watering mammaries.
"Complete a sentence once in a while. Don't pause between every other word to lick me."
Jeff looked surprised. "Is that my hot-to-trot wife talking?"
Carole smiled. "What are we doing talking about our neighbors at a time like this? I mean, really now."
"No more conversation?"
"No more conversation. Just wash my body down with that wonderful tongue of yours."
"I agree, baby. This is no time for talking." Jeff dropped his head and resumed his bathing of Carole's succulent breasts, his teasing tongue slithering up and down and all around those gelatinous globes of creamy flesh. "Just answer me this, hon. Is Don Davidson a good lover?"
"How on earth should I know," Carole said, surprised by her husband's query.
"Hasn't Sheila said anything?"
"Of course not," Carole lied.
"Oh. Well, I just thought that-I mean, you two get together for mid-morning coffee every-"
"We don't discuss such intimate matters," Carole broke in, crossing two fingers behind her husband's back.
"I don't believe you," Jeff said, his words partially muffled by his mate's full, firm mammaries as he rubbed his face in the warm, velvet-smooth valley between those twin delights.
"Come on, darling. No more talk now. I'm starting to get very hot again and-"
"Okay, princess," Jeff interrupted, "from here on in I'm all business." Palming his wife's right tit in his left hand, gently squeezing and lifting that chewable mound, he slid his lips around the tempting nipple and lovingly drew it into his mouth.
"Oh, yes, honey. That's much better."
"Mmmmmm, I could eat you all up, baby," Jeff frowned playfully.
"So eat me, lover," Carole grinned. "A tasty dessert awaits you down below."
"I'll be there in-in a minute."
"One flaming snatch coming up," Carole said. "A dessert fit for a king."
As her handsome husband laved her tingling breasts, moving from one to the other, squeezing and kissing and licking, sucking the nipples, the most becoming brunette closed her eyes and savored the sensations evoked by his talented tongue and wandering lips.
She was more than a little glad that Jeff had not pursued the touchy subject of their neighbors' sex life. What Sheila and Don did in bed, or rather, what they didn't do, was really of no concern to anyone. But that was Jeff, she thought. Always curious, always probing, constantly bemused by the sometimes peculiar antics of his fellow man.
And had he persisted in questioning her about Donald Davidson's lovemaking talents, or lack, while withholding from her his marvelous, maddening tongue and those fantastically sensuous kisses and nibbles, chances were she would have eventually broken down and told him all that Sheila had told her about her husband's pitiful performances in bed.
And that she didn't want to do-certainly not now, not when she was again climbing toward the peak of passion. Jeff's cruel yanking of her hair, permitting the "plopping" escape of his delicious dick from her moist mouth, had cooled her desire just a little, but now again she was on her way, her soggy pussy once more in excited twitch as Jeff moved ever closer to it.
But what if her husband, who was now sliding his handsome face across the smooth, flat plane of her tummy, tickling her navel with his drilling tongue, were to learn that his suspicions about Donald Davidson were constantly being confirmed by a complaining Sheila Davidson? She supposed Jeff wouldn't be too surprised, for it was a fact that Don, with his moon-face and shiny bald pate, didn't exactly come off as a lady killer.
He might be surprised to discover, though, that the discontented Sheila had already ripped off enough infidelities to last her a lifetime. Extra-marital exploits seemed to be Sheila's way of getting back at her highly-successful but sexually inept husband. And, as Sheila would occasionally point out, she was a woman who loved a good banging.
"Mmmmmm, it's like slurping up water from a well, baby," Jeff said suddenly, poised now at the odorous portal of his wife's passion. He looked up at Carole, his smile broad.
"Do me, darling. Get your tongue in deep."
"You're leaking like a faucet, do you know that?"
"Fix the faucet, Mr. Plumber," Carole grinned.
"Do my best, lady."
"That will be good enough, I'm-ohhh, you devil, that's delicious. Oh, yes, Jeff-mmmm-"
"You smell good down here, too," Jeff noted. Again his tongue flicked out, this time to lap up a few pearls of viscid lubricant beading his wife's pulpy sex lips.
"Don't start talking again, darling. Just lick me. Kiss and lick and chew and suck and-ohhh, that tongue just sends me."
Jeff complied with Carole's urgent request, nuzzling his attractive, rough-hewn face against her steaming snatch as his hard-working tongue stroked her wet, pulsing labia majora. He was now crouched low between his spouse's spread legs, his head burrowing deep between her smooth, humid thighs.
"Oh, darling," Carole purred happily, "you do me so good. So nice and naughty."
Her husband's comment concerning the aromatic condition of her cunt suddenly skipped back into the dazzling brunette's mind, which in turn reminded her of one particular coffee-cum-gossip hour shared with Sheila. The hour was memorable if only for the fact that Sheila, who seemed to derive a strange pleasure from recounting her amorous adventures, one lusty detail following another, had rapturously described the super studsmanship of one Ed Brown.
It seemed that Brown was, among other things, a cunning con artist, a free-wheeling, blithe spirit who roamed about the country in search of sophisticated cunts and naive individuals. He delighted in screwing both, serving up to the former his big, powerful nine inch prick and offering the latter a bunch of baloney about the perfume he was peddling.
Sheila had joyously availed herself of not only the opportunity to get pronged by such a mammoth member, but also of Brown's offer to sell her a whole case of perfume for a mere three hundred dollars. The result was that for days after their clandestine coupling Sheila had two things to remind her of Brown; a sore vagina and twenty-four four ounce bottles of perfume she could have purchased in any large department store for a hundred bucks.
"How's it feel, sweetheart?" Jeff asked, once again lifting his now sticky face from his wife's heavenly snatch.
"Just a little. Then ram it to me, Jeff. Hard and deep."
Resuming his licentious feast, a pussy-hungry Jeff dropped his head and once more plastered his face to Carole's odorous, still leaking twat. Again his tongue snaked out from between his lips and again it laid siege to her sizzling sex, drilling deep, up into the slushy, slippery hole itself.
Up, up his tongue slithered, stealthily reconnoitering anew the oily, blood-swollen folds of Carole's inner lips. Higher still, up into the narrow cowl at the top of her palpitating clit. Placing one hand on her belly, Jeff drew his wife's mons veneris back and laid bare the slimy button, his aim now a most wicked washing of that highly sensitive aborted appendage.
Aware of her mate's intent, Carole braced for the inevitable sensations of pure pleasure, the gut-jumbling feeling of being borne aloft on a cloud of sweet bliss sure to suffuse her when Jeff commenced his wonderfully lewd labors.
"Do it, baby," she croaked. "My clit, Jeff. Work on it, lover. Ohhh, sweet heaven.Oooo!"
Jeff stabbed the swollen nub with his tongue, then cunningly embraced the clitoris, his tongue wrapping around it in slinky, serpentine fashion. A howl of pleasure from his wife triggered the next stage of this delicious torture-a rapid, fiendish flogging of the tender clit, a sizzling strumming of its smooth, sensitive surface.
"Oh, Jeff, oh, darling," Carole gasped. "You're killing me with pleasure. Oh, shit.
Oooo!
For two minutes more, two minutes of insane delight for the squirming, moaning Carole, Jeff worshipped in the unique chapel, his attention divided between the shiny pearl of her clit and the sopping wet gash of the pussy proper. With reckless abandon he swabbed his wife's mini-penis, whipping it into quivering submission, then piled pleasure atop pleasure by rapidly pistoning his tongue, working it with mindless frenzy in and out of her hot hole.
Glottal gasps of lust broke from Carole's throat as she brought her beautiful legs up, scissoring her spouse's head as he ravenously ravished her molten womanhood. She clenched her fists and arched her back, the back of her head pressing deep into the pillow as she thrust up her hot, weeping twat for more, much more, of her wild mate's murderous ministrations.
And then it was time for the coup de grace, the explosive finale, the mind-bending fuck that would culminate in bone-jarring orgasms for man and woman. Carole was ready, oh so ready, her vagina now an insanely hungry monster preparing to snare and then swallow whole a fat, juicy pecker.
"No more, Jeff, no more," she gasped. "Please, baby, get it in me. Fuck me now. Shit, I'm so hot for you."
Jeff leaped to attention, his prick once again throbbing mightily-a meaty pestle ready to start churning in a hot, syrupy cunt. Quickly, he scrambled into proper pussy-pummeling position atop his writhing wife, supporting himself on hands and knees as he aimed his arrow on target.
"Oh, do it, darling," Carole begged again. "Fuck me hard. Beat my poor pussy with your prick."
Jeff hesitated. He looked down into his beautiful spouse's face, saw the need, the fierce desire etched there, and wondered again if Carole, always utterly ravishing, wasn't even more delightful to behold when in the feverish grip of a consuming passion.
How thrilling it was to see her like this, her whole body in excited, impatient quiver as she awaited the solid stuffing of her cock-craving cunt. Her eyes were glazed and her nostrils flared, her arms were reaching up to embrace him as her viscous vagina, in quaking need, delivered its teary invitation to his blood-hardened manhood.
"Please, Jeff," Carole whimpered. "Stick it in me, baby. Screw it deep. I've got to get fucked, Jeff."
"That's it, honey," Jeff rasped. "Talk dirty to me. Tell me how bad you need it."
"I do, I do. Please give it to me now. Bang me, Jeff. Stick it deep and then fuck me to heaven."
As if to prove the potency of her passion and because her hot, weeping womanhood was screaming for a fat prick, the lust-ridden Carole reached down and with both hands grasped her hubby's dong, then. tried desperately to funnel its throbbing fullness into her mushy love cove.
Carole gulped, whimpered in frustration, knew one fleeting second of intense hatred, and then-"Please, Jeff. I want you to fuck me. Do you hear? Fuck me hard and deep. Please, baby. Pound me to hell with your cock. Do it, damn you!"
Jeff, still peering down into his passion-crazed mate's face as she fumbled hungrily at his loins, knew the time had come to quit fooling around and give Carole what she so desperately needed. What they both desperately wanted.
"Stop moving your hips like that," he ordered, adjusting his position just slightly. "Stay still-all right, good."
Carole took her hands out from under Jeff's body and placed them on his shoulders, the feel of his thick, pulsating pecker probing at her gooey hole sparking additional flames in her already burning body. She could think of nothing but getting nailed to the bed, her happy cunt ripped asunder by her husband's fleshy spike.
Finally, at long last-
"Ohh! Oh, shit. Oh, Jeff, I'm dying."
"There's more, baby," Jeff croaked. "Much more.
Two short strokes, then a long, smooth plunge, and he was buried to the balls in the still tight cove of his wife's vagina. Carole lurched up under him and in whimpering joy established for a delicious fact that, yes, she had it all, that her mate's hard member, every beautiful fat inch of it, was snugly encased in her vaginal canal.
"Happy now, sweetheart?" Jeff asked.
"You fill me so beautifully," Carole breathed hotly.
"You're beautiful, honey. So fuckin' tight."
"Stretch me, Jeff. Ream me out, lover."
Jeff flexed his imbedded bone and Carole emitted a happy gasp of pleasure. She drew him down atop her tingling tits, still wet from the merry tonguing they had received earlier, and then, as he began sawing slowly in and out of her swampy cunt, she whispered into his ear the words she knew he loved to hear.
Explicit and charged with fiery lust were the wicked words and vulgar phrases that chugged up Carole's throat. Pulling not a punch, she told her mate what she wanted, what he was doing to her, how fantastic a stud he was and how marvelous his meat felt in her prick-packed pussy.
It was enough to turn Jeff inside out, and yet he was determined to hang in there, to prolong the out-of-this-world pleasure for just as long as was humanly possible. He took great pride in his ability to postpone ejaculation, in the fact that he had learned to control the spilling of his seed and thus savor, up to that last breathtaking second, the glorious friction produced by cock rubbing against soft, clinging cuntal tissue.
And so he worked at a deliberate pace, neither too fast nor too slow, ignorng his wife's heated pleas for an immediate acceleration of the tempo. Her delightfully lewd exhortations to the contrary, he knew she didn't want him to come just yet. In fact, he was sure that Carole wouldn't mind one tiny bit if he kept pumping his hard prick into her mushy twat until dawn's early light began filtering through the bedroom blinds.
Sweet heaven above, but this was grand, a passion-dazed Carole told herself, her hands running up and down her husband's hard back as he pistoned his throbbing took in and out of her soggy sex chute. In the course of their seven year marriage Jeff had screwed her at least a thousand times if not more, and yet each fuck seemed better than the one previous.
Never, not in a million years, would she tire of her handsome spouse's pecker. How could any woman, young or old, lose interest in being laid, in having a nice juicy fat cock plunged with enthusiasm into her vagina or behind? Only the hopelessly frigid, perhaps.
Pity poor Sheila. Her sex-hungry neighbor was running around like a mouse in a maze trying to find what Jeff was capable of administering every night of the week-a thrilling, well-paced and highly-satisfying fuck. Sheila would no doubt sell her soul for a night with Jeff, for his powerful prick crammed deep inside her hot twat.
But he was mine, all mine, Carole thought happily, locking her arms around her humping hubby's back and squeezing hard. And his beautiful cock, the pussy-pleasing Mr. Pecker, could have access to her body any time, morning, noon or night.
"Oh, baby, fuck it," she breathed hotly into Jeff's ear. "Sock it to me. Screw, darling. Oh, you lover. Burn me with prick, my darling.
"Faster now," Jeff husked. "Faster."
"Yes, oh yes, Split me, Jeff. Drive it deep."
Increasing the tempo at last, Jeff buried his head in the soft pillow and slammed his throbbing took deep into the mushy softness of his wife's snug sex port. A heathenish wail of joy flew from Carole's throat, her ecstatic cunt instinctively clasping the fleshy invader even tighter, embracing it defiantly.
"Go, baby, go," she rasped. "Up to my tits, Jeff. Fuck it, baby. Fuck it!"
Animalistic grunts popping from his throat, his face flushed, Jeff rapidly reamed his whimpering spouse's sizzling vagina, again and again withdrawing his rock-hard root to plant it deep inside the warm, clinging mush, to passionately plumb the fiery core of her being.
She was really getting it now, Carole knew, her breath coming in short, hard gasps as her mate plowed up her weeping twat with his thrusting, churning cock. She was being punished by Jeff's beautiful bone, made to fully realize its great strength, its mind-bending, thrilling thickness.
He was touching bottom with each sizzling plunge into her pussy, his booming pecker a hot, piercing knife as it slashed way up into her quivering tummy. Oh, it was so beautiful, so totally terrific!
"More, Jeff. Give me more, baby. Make me-uhhh!"
"You've go it," Jeff husked. "Every fuckin' inch."
Carole now brought her legs up off the bed and wrapped them around Jeff's middle, locking her ankles so that she was holding him firmly in vice-like grip. She was perilously close to coming now, her warm passion-drenched boy in wild quiver under her mate as he drilled his blood-thickened dick to the very depths of her greedily grasping vagina.
"Soon, baby, soon," Jeff blurted out.
"Fill me, baby," Carole shot back. "Blast in my cunt."
"Squeeze it. Squeeze my cock."
Jeff lunged yet another time into his spouse's soupy sex chute, his belly-smacking plunge wrenching from Carole a guttural moan of wholehearted approval. He was galloping toward the finish line now, his sights set on the winner's circle and the garland of orgasmic delight awaiting him there.
Eyes shut tight, his mind a jumble of licentious thoughts, he banged away at his wife's cunt with an alloyed abandon, his hairy scrotal sac spanking her winking nether hole as he boomed his bone to the furthermost reaches of her palpitating pussy.
"Oh! Oh, Jeff. I'm--I'm cominng."
"Grab it, baby. Come now. Now!"
Feeling Carole's contractions, Jeff delivered one final pulverizing plunge into her trembling twat and then plummeted off passion's peak into a sea of bliss, the rich, creamy come rushing madly through his shuddering shaft and jetting into the steaming cauldron of his wife's cunt.
Carole moaned in belly-quaking ecstasy, her body stiffening as spasm after spasm of pure pleasure sent her spiraling toward the stars. She tried to speak but couldn't, the words tripping in her throat and then stumbling out of her mouth in the form of odd, unintelligible mumbling sounds.
Five minutes later found man and wife still together, their warm sated bodies pressed close, belly to belly, soft, spongy breasts squashed by hard, hairy chest. Carole, contented as a kitten after receiving her bowl of cream, was loath to release her husband, even though his manhood had shriveled and was now lying in restful curl in her quiet cunt.
"So you intend to keep me here the rest of the night, is that it?" Jeff asked, smiling softly, his head resting on the pillow above his wife's left shoulder.
"Any objections?"
"Not a one. Your beautiful body is as comfortable a mattress as a man could find."
"Mmmmmm, you feel so good on top of me," Carole said, shivering as she hugged her pooped but happy hubby.
"Even when Mr. Pecker is soft and useless?"
"Even then," Carole smiled. "But who knows, if we wait long enough he might get hard again."
"Have you forgotten that I have to work tomorrow, sweetheart?"
"That's true, isn't it? Oh well, I guess I shouldn't be too greedy. There's always tomorrow night."
"And the night after."
"And the night after that."
Carole chuckled and began stroking her mate's back. "What's on the agenda for tomorrow, honey? Anything special?"
"No, not really. Although I do have one important appointment in the afternoon."
"Oh? With whom?"
"A client, natch. This guy wants me to design a summer house for him out in Southampton."
"Mmmmm, sounds promising. I hope you make him pay through the nose for your talent."
Jeff smiled. "The firm establishes the fee, honey, you know that. I can't just pluck a figure out of the air and tell the client to take it or leave it."
"All the more reason for you to turn free lance," Carole said. "You've got a good reputation now and a nice following, Jeff. Anyone who knows anything at all about creative architecture would recommend you for a job.'"
"We'd need quite a few of those recommendations to make ends meet, baby."
"You'd get them, I'm sure."
"Well, we'll see. Maybe one of these days when I get tired of traveling back and forth from the office."
"Oh, honey, wouldn't it be just super? You working here at home, I mean."
Jeff chuckled. "I'd never get any work done. Every hour I spent at the drawing board would be matched by three spent with you in bed."
"So?"
"So first thing we know we're living in a one room walk-up. I've sold the car. We've purchased two bicycles. We're eating--. .
"Oh, honey, you're such a clown," Carole grinned, again hugging her husband tightly, his weight on her chest not bothering her at all.
"I'm serious, luv. It's a simple fact of life-if you don't work, you don't eat."
"Who wants to eat when you can screw?"
"Both are essential to good health, sweetheart," Jeff countered.
Carole chuckled. "Okay, I'll buy that, darling. If and when you start working home, I promise not to interrupt you unless I'm absolutely desperate. In fact, to make things easier for Mr. Pecker I'll buy myself one of those vibrator things. You know, the kind shaped like a nice long prick."
"You do that, baby," Jeff said, smiling broadly.
Carole now turned quiet, content to lie under her husband and loving stroke his back from shoulder to buttock as his wilted organ slept in the mushy warmth of her vagina. When she spoke again, a few minutes later, it was to tell Jeff that she sometimes envied him his active, always-on-the-go existence. It was, she lamented, in marked contrast to her own rather mundane and uninspiring routine.
"Well, then why don't you start involving yourself in a few community activities?" Jeff suggested. "That'll get you out of the house and you'll be meeting some new people."
"Yeah, I suppose I could do that," Carole sighed, her voice lacking enthusiasm. "It's not that I'm complaining, you understand. It's just that-oh, I don't know, hon. I guess all I really want is a little change in my routine. You know, something different. Something that would-well, wake me up."
Jeff chuckled. "Seems to me you were wide awake about ten, fifteen minutes ago."
"You noticed, did you?"
"I noticed. But seriously, hon, why don't you talk to Sheila about this? You're seeing her tomorrow, right?"
"That's part of the routine, darling. Sheila Davidson and Carole Wayne, ten-fifteen in the morning, every day of the week except
Saturday and Sunday, her house, my house, coffee and cake and gossip. How's that for thrills?"
"Well, maybe Sheila can steer you onto something. From what Don tells me I gather his wife is an inveterate club-joiner. He says she's forever dashing off somewhere and that she's seldom home in the afternoon when he phones."
"Oh?"
"Sure. Didn't you know that? Hell, that dame must belong to a couple dozen organizations. And she's only been living in Cedarwood Manor for what-a little over a year, right?"
"Just about that."
"Yeah," Jeff chuckled softly, "Sheila must be hung-up on club-joining or something."
"Or something is right," Carole said, her voice so low as to be almost inaudible.
"What was that, baby?"
"Nothing, darling. Tell you what, why don't we go to sleep just like this? With you inside me?"
For the first time since spewing his seed into his wife's cunt and then sagging atop the warm, plushy cushion of her beautiful body, Jeff lifted his head from her shoulder, and said, "That's an excellent idea,"and kissed her.
CHAPTER THREE
Dumb. And stupid.
No two words better described her husband, Sheila Davidson thought sadly, her irritation growing as she watched her fifty-one year old spouse carefully fold and then just as carefully drape his brown trousers over the back of a straight chair. Yep, that was good old Donald-dumb and stupid. And blissfully unaware of her sexual needs.
Just look at him, undressing with such disgusting dignity, carefully denuding his fat and flabby body in painstaking preparation for their weekly fuck, or as he called it, "the sex act." She could be writhing on the bed bare-assed naked, vigorously rubbing her itching twat and begging him to hurry up and hump holy hell out of her, and Donald, always the gentleman, would simply request that she be patient and behave herself whilst he made ready.
And what really turned her stomach, what really riled her, was the attitude of superiority he affected at times like these. Consciously or not, her husband gave her the impression that he regarded their weekly screw sessions as something she should be most thankful for and thrilled to participate in.
He seemed to think that he was doing her a rather large favor by baring his body and climbing into bed with her. It was as if he were saying, "Well, my dear, it's Sunday night again. Time for me to bestow upon you the gift of my penis."
Shit, what a joke this whole thing was, Sheila thought, adjusting her position on the bed slightly so that she was sitting more erect, her back propped by the two white pillows she had bunched together against the headboard. In fact, the sexual side of her marriage had deteriorated into such a joke that there were times when she felt like laughing.
Here she was, a healthy, horny, still young woman of thirty-one, a female males were whistling at and trying to proposition all the time, saddled with a husband who, caged by an outrageous conservatism and seemingly dedicated to decorum, thought sex had to be handled with kid gloves, indulged in only once a week lest lust intrude on the more important things in life.
Sweet heaven above, what could possibly be more important than good old-fashioned lust, Sheila asked herself. There was simply nothing in the whole wide world that could compare to sex, to getting blissfully banged out of your skull. If it were at all possible, she'd see to it that her cunt was visited by a nice juicy fat prick three times a day.
In this day and age, when all around him men and women were rejoicing in and taking full advantage of the sexual revolution, her husband was acting in a manner which suggested he had yet to shake the idiotic notion that sex was dirty, something to be engaged in only when absolutely necessary.
Donald was a throwback to the days when men screwed their wives out of a sense of duty-if ever there had been such a time. He was by nature a passionless person, a man persuaded by the intellect and only reluctantly stirred to action by desire. His concern was for facts and figures, logic and sound reasoning, and in those areas requiring imagination, a certain flair, he was woefully inept.
"Get ready, my dear," Donald said suddenly, breaking into his wife's ruminations.
"I'll be with you in just a few seconds."
"I'l be here, darling," Sheila said, forcing a smile. "I'm ready whenever you are."
Not that it makes a helluva lot of difference, she added to herself, her left hand snaking under the thin blanket she had drawn up over her lap to begin a lazy caress of her golden-haired cunt. It required the strongest concentration to work up even a semblance of passion for her mate, and tonight, after an especially busy and wholly satisfying week of adulterous couplings, she just wasn't up to it.
And how sweet it was to think back on the past week's wicked wanderings, to imagine herself once again in the arms of Ted Whitmore, the cocky young lawyer she had fucked with Tuesday afternoon, or sucking the big beautiful cock of Hank Fowler, the somewhat sadistic longshoreman she had met in the city on Wednesday, during a stroll on Tenth Avenue.
How totally unlike these two was her husband, Sheila lamented, slipping a finger into her hole and moving it slowly up to her clitoris where she commenced a tender teasing of that sensitive nub of flesh. Ted and Hank were strong, positive men, supremely confident of their ability to arouse a woman and then satisfy her with a fierce, frenzied fuck.
Had either one been here now in place of her husband, her lust would be a powerful, consuming thing evidenced by a secreting pussy in a state of excited, maddening twitch.
Neither Ted nor Hank, or for that matter, Bart Logan, the very virile supermarket manager with whom she had mated on Monday afternoon, during his two hour lunch break, would waste time carefully disrobing and seeing that everything was just right.
Eager to get going, they would shed their clothes and jump into bed, with their rock-hard pricks protruding proudly from their warm, aroused loins. Ted or Hank or Bart, tough men all, would grab a handful of her shoulder-length blonde hair and then, peering into her blue eyes, would tell her in no uncertain terms exactly what was going to happen.
Even Stanley Brown, her faintly effeminate hairdresser, who liked to come while his long, thin tool was snugly sandwiched between her warm breasts, was more of a man sexually than was Mr. Donald Davidson, that unnerving personification of tidiness and civility.
It was totally impossible to imagine her moon-faced, bald-headed, pot-bellied, convention-bound husband working up the nerve Stanley had demonstrated when, just this past Friday, during a lull in business, he took her in back of his beauty parlor and performed on her his specialty. Right there on the cold linoleum floor, surrounded by boxes of hair spray, dyes, and other paraphernalia of the beauty business, she and Stan had screwed up a small storm, the quick but highly enjoyable fuck culminating with Stan coming while perched atop her tingling boobs, spraying her neck and jaw with his spewing seed.
No, Sheila thought sadly, Donald just wasn't cut from the same cloth as were those she sought out to satisfy her need for wild, imaginative lovemaking. He was stodgy and sexually timid, her lovers were agile, potent pussy-pleasers not at all averse to experimentation, to trying different positions and the so-called perversions.
There was only one way to fuck as far as Donald was concerned. One right way, that is. And the "missionary" position, truly unsatisfying because of his big belly, was the one she found least interesting of all those she had tried before and during her nine year marriage.
"Al right, darling, ready at last," Donald said, waddling toward the bed, a smile on his round face. "Something tells me this is going to be a very good one."
He's here at last, Sheila sarcastically said to herself. The man she had cheated on so often was now ready to bestow upon her the gift of his pecker. And what a laughable little gift it was, too. Could it be that her husband was so out of touch with reality that he failed to realize his sexual shortcomings, that he was blind to the fact that a four inch prick was nothing to be proud of?
"Yes, sweetheart, I think I'm very much in the mood for intercourse this evening," the brown eyed Donald added, after awkwardly clambering up onto the double bed and rolling onto his back next to his beautiful blonde wife.
Think? Don't you know if you're in the mood, Sheila silently asked her heavy husband. And why the hell can't you say "horny" and "fuck" like other men? Why the soft, innocuous "intercourse" when what you really mean is "screw." Oh, shit, it was just too, too much.
"But you're still not hard, darling."
Donald looked down his body and smiled. "Maybe if you touch my penis, Sheila. That always does the trick for us and I know how very much you enjoy-"
"Yes, yes, I do," Sheila interrupted, the sound of her mate's voice and his pompous attitude suddenly grating on her nerves. This was going to be another fiasco, she thought. She had yet to begin caressing him and already she was repulsed by the idea of her husband's diminutive dick entering her vagina.
Again forcing a smile, Sheila pulled the soft blanket off her strong, sleek legs and slid down in the bed, turning over onto her left side as she brought her right hand to the sad-looking appendage dangling between Donald's beefy thighs. She began fondling the unappealing organ, pulling and squeezing it in an attempt to breathe some life into its lifeless form.
"Oh, yes," Donald said softly. "I like it when you play with me, darling. And it'll be hard in just a minute or so, I promise you that."
But what difference did it really make, she thought, continuing her manual stimulation of her mate's meek member. Soft or hard, Donald's dick did her very little good. When it was soft, resting in cute curl amongst dark, crinkly pubic hair, it was completely useless to her. And when it was hard, when she had managed to pump it up to its fully erect size of four miserable inches, it was almost as useless. How much enjoyment could a girl derive from a cock not much longer than her longest finger?
Donald thought himself to be an adequate lover, maybe even a notch or two above the rest. What unadulterated nonsense. What laugh-provoking stupidity. Her husband possessed neither the tool nor the technique to satisfy the most sexually unsophisticated woman.
Intelligent, yes. Capable of taking a certain sum of money and doubling it very quickly, yes. Adept at forecasting losses and profits, yes. These things Donald could handle with the greatest aplomb, with a confidence that many of his fellow stockbrokers envied. Few on Wall Street had her husband's flair for assimilating all the facts governing a stock's potential and then making a sound, almost always correct, assessment of the stock's growth possibilities.
As Donald was always ready to point out, many a young and ambitious novice had sought him out for guidance. He had taught many eager, bright-eyed lads the ropes, once in a while divulging a secret that enabled them to better grasp the mystery of the big board. He explained the importance of patience, how unwise it was to be influenced by the greed of a quick-buck client. Trust to your intuitive sense of timing, he would tell those who flocked around him for advice.
Now if only somebody had given her husband some advice on how to please a woman in bed, Sheila thought. If only he were as competent in the sack as he was when it came to analyzing the fickle ups and downs of the stock market. If only he knew as much about screwing as he did about selecting stocks for investment purposes. If only-
And yet she had loved him once. It seemed a thousand years ago, of course, but only nine had elapsed since she'd embarked on what she had figured would be a most meaningful marriage with a man twenty years her senior. What had she been looking for? A father figure, perhaps?
Yes, probably. Her own father had died when she was still a little girl, when she was of an age where she needed and wanted the attention only a loving father can provide. And so when Donald Davidson entered the scene, his smile warm and sweet, his tolerance and patience great, his love for her very obvious, she had promptly put aside the fact of his age and without hesitation accepted his proposal of marriage.
Now, nine years later, frustration had replaced hope, anger had smothered love, and a small voice in the back of her mind was telling her to get the hell out of this miserable marriage. She was still young and beautiful, that nagging voice kept repeating. Her figure, a stunning thirty-eight, twenty-three, thirty-six, could still lure to her side all but the blindest of men, the hopelss impotent and the disinterested.
Her complexion was still smooth and creamy, her face unlined by the passing years. And, most important, her need for sex was on the rise. So why not divorce the man you were starting to hate and start screwing around unencumbered by a marriage that had begun turning sour almost from the start?
Easier said than done, Sheila thought, again reminding herself of what she stood to lose if she divorced her mate.
"Maybe-maybe if you kissed it, darling," Donald suggested, suddenly breaking the silence.
Sheila took her hand from her husband's only half-hard cock and pushed herself up on the bed to a sitting position. She turned and looked down at Donald, thinking that she had most certainly misunderstood him. Was her husband, that paragon of proper behavior in bed and out, really asking to be blown?
"Do you mean it, darling?" she asked. She couldn't remember the last time Donald had requested a blow-job. It was always a case of her having to take the initiative, of having to talk him into letting her perform this "perversion."
"Yes, I mean it, dear. You would like to do that, wouldn't you?"
"Of course. It's just that-well, I guess I'm surprised at your asking, that's all."
"Well," Donald smiled, "we won't tell anybody about it, all right? It'll be our little secret, sweetheart."
Oh, shit, don't give me that inane garbage again, Sheila thought. "Our little secret." Brother, how ludicrous could one get? He should only know about her fifty odd little "secrets."
"Go ahead, Sheila. Kiss my penis for me."
"I'd love to, darling," said the beauteous blonde with a loving smile thinking that she'd better hurry and get with it before her husband changed his mind.
Quickly she arranged herself in a kneeling position on the bed, her knees at right angles to the sexless stockbroker's right leg. Then she bent forward at the waist, again taking hold of his wee wand with her right hand as her soft, supple lips parted to receive its knobby head.
"Oh, that is nice," Donald crooned, closing his eyes and placing his hands on his big stomach, one atop the other.
"Just relax, sweetheart. I'll have you hard in no time at all."
Fighting the urge to bite down hard on the puny penis, Sheila sucked gently but with feeling, her lovely lips curling around the plum-shaped head of her mate's member. She moved her hand up and down the slowly swelling tool as she drew on the crown, thinking this would hasten the moment of total tumescence.
"Oh, Sheila," Donald purred, "you're so good at this."
Practice, darling, practice, Sheila silently explained. With a scrumptious variety of virile men.
As her husband's penis hardened in her mouth, she speeded up the tempo of her lewd sucking and used her free hand to massage her golden-haired twat, sneaking a finger into her hole to diddle her clit as she vacuumed the four incher deep into-her oral cavity.
What a snap this was, she thought. How easy to go down on a man with a miniature manhood after having experienced the jaw-busting thrill of going down on a really well-hung stud. Edward Brown. What a fantastic fuck he had been! How feverishly she had struggled to take all of his beautiful nine inches into her poor, aching mouth.
She remembered crawling all over the roving salesman, nibbling and kissing almost every inch of his hard, muscular body before finally zeroing in on his giant cock. Oh, how she had slobbered over that magnificent manhood, sucking it with a mindless passion and gagging when the great bulbous head banged against the back of her throat.
True, it wasn't very nice of Ed to take advantage of her momentary madness, sticking her with a whole carton of cheap perfume like he had. But it was easy enough to forgive him this dirty deed since he had provided her with so much fantastic pleasure. And she had not really been cheated.
While the perfume wasn't worth the three hundred she had paid him, his gorgeous elephant's cock was worth twice that amount and maybe more. And it was with only faint reluctance that she admitted to herself how very close she had come to offering Ed money for his dazzling dick.
At one point during their sex session he had started teasing her, taunting her with lewd, deliciously obscene promises while he withheld from her aching pussy his marvelous manhood. It was then, as she twisted and turned under him and begged hoarsely to be banged black and blue, that she had considered, for a fleeting moment, the idea of paying for his prick.
"It's hard now," Donald announced. "You did it, darling."
"Mmmmmm, and it tastes so good," Sheila said,-chasing from her mind all thoughts concerning extra-large cocks. For the moment she was stuck with this one, she figured, so she might as well try, yet another time, to make the most of it.
Having hardened her husband's small organ, the sexy Sheila now began polishing her creation, her talented tongue snaking out from between her lips to begin bathing the puny pole of flesh. Up and down she licked, from hairy base to plum-shaped crown, nibbling here and kissing there as she thoroughly coated the cock with her sticky saliva.
"Oh, Sheila. Oh, my goodness. I don't know where you learned all this. Oh, it feels so good."
"Then why-don't you let-me do this-more-often?" asked the licking blonde beauty.
"Because it's just not right, darling. "It's-it's degrading for you."
like hell it is, Sheila thought.
"And it's unnatural. Perverse is the word."
"Isn't it good? Doesn't it-feel nice?"
"Yes, I told you it does, Sheila. But still--. "
"If something-feels so good-then it can't-be bad. It can't be wrong."
Still stroking her snatch and gently strumming her clit, Sheila swabbed the crown of her husband's tiny tool and drilled her experienced tongue into the vertical slit at the tip. From here would spew, hopefully, enough come to form at least a few gooey drops in her vagina.
She would never understand how Donald could go from one week to the next on this starvation diet of only-on-Sunday sex. After a week's abstinence most men would be all fired up and chock full of desire, their balls near the bursting point thanks to the great abundance of semen manufactured during the period of continence.
But not good old Donald. In fact, her sexless mate could probably engage in coitus three or four times a year and be completely satisfied. It was impossible to imagine a male less horny than dear, Donald, unless, of course, that male happened to have been castrated. Or had been born prickless.
"It's time, sweetheart," Donald said thickly. "Come, get on your back now."
Sheila's mind raced as she continued laving her spouse's unimpressive organ. She was in no mood tonight to lie under Donald while he grunted like a pig and pushed his stinking little pecker into her cunt. Nor did she feel like faking another orgasm and then telling him, tongue in cheek, just how wonderful a lover she thought he was. And at his age too!
No, a thousand times no. Not tonight at any rate. So, then, that left her with two alternatives. She could resume sucking her husband's cock and work on it until he came, if that was the word for it, in her mouth. Or she could straddle him, facing the foot of the bed so she wouldn't have to look down on his fat, unappealing puss, and then sit down on his laughable tool.
Donald didn't like to vary the routine one tiny bit, but he would at times permit this "woman-astride" position wherein she did all the work. And tonight, Sheila decided, was going to be one of those times.
"Come on, sweetheart," Donald husked. "Get on your back like a good girl. I want to do it to you now."
"This way tonight, darling. Please, Donald, just for a little change."
"What are you talking-oh, all right, dear."
The rotund stockbroker watched his young, desirable wife maneuver around on the bed until she was straddling his middle, her succulent backside hovering over his tool. He tensed as she lowered herself onto the organ she had stiffened with her knowing lips, a small moan of pleasure wafting up his throat as he felt his hard penis slide up into the wet, clinging warmth of her tantalizing womanhood.
Shit, it was like sitting on a toothpick, Sheila complained silently, once again bemoaning the fact of her mate's midget-sized manhood.
"That feels so nice, darling," Donald said throatily. "Up and down now, Sheila. You know what to do, sweetheart."
What a complete idiot her husband was, thought Sheila. What a total nincompoop. There could be no bigger ass in the whole wide world than Mr. Donald Davidson, a man of imposing intelligence where matters of finance were concerned but a man of incomprehensible stupidity and unmitigated vapidity when it came time to demonstrate his masculinity. "Oh, Sheila. Oh, that's so good. Up and down, darling. Yes, like that."
"Just relax, darling," Sheila said. "I'll-I'll bring you off."
"Don't stop, sweetheart. Keep going-ohh, so nice."
Wishing her husband would just shut up and confine his remarks to an occasional grunt and groan, the scintillating Sheila worked herself up and down on his small prick, her beautiful bottom bobbing slowly, methodically, as she lifted and fell, lifted and fell.
She slid her hands up her smooth, flat tummy and wrapped them lovingly around her jiggling breasts. She squeezed those taste-tempting globes of plaint flesh, taking the twin, rose-hued nipples between the first finger and thumb of each hand and pinching hard in an effort to arouse herself to an appreciable degree.
Several minutes later found Sheila still posting on the unimpressive pecker, frustrated in her attempt to forge anything remotely resembling real passion and having resolved to get this week's "trial" over with as soon as possible.
Her mind began to drift and she was soon taking comfort in the happy fact that tomorrow afternoon, at a quarter past three, she would be in the arms of one of her favorite lovers. Scott Langdale was a real man, a veritable satyr when confronted with a female in need of sexual relief.
This would be their sixth meeting, the five previous having ended with her feeling as if she had been run over by a runaway steamroller. Holy hump, that man could fuck! How deliciously helpless he made her feel. How totally vulnerable to attack. He had but to give the word and she was ripping off her clothes, the motel bed suddenly becoming, in her moment of sexual madness, like a glorious, life-saving oasis in a vast, arid plain of passionless and stultifying routine.
Tomorrow. It couldn't come soon enough.
CHAPTER FOUR
"What puzzles me," Carole Wayne said, sitting back in the black vinyl, swivel kitchen chair as her neighbor refilled her coffee mug, "is how you can cheat on Donald so often and not feel even a little guilty."
Sheila chuckled softly and walked back to the stove with the daisy-decorated percolator. When she returned to the kitchen table seconds later, a Danish in each hand, she was wearing a thoughtful, rather serious expression. She added the two pieces of pastry to the one already resting on the platter in the center of the round table, then settled herself into the chair across from Carole.
"Well?" Carole asked. "No answer?"
Sheila smiled. "Do you know how many times you've asked me that same question, Carole? I'm beginning to think that you'd like me to admit a few guilt feeling. That it would somehow make you feel better if I did."
"Oh, that's silly, Sheila. It's just that I can't understand your blase attitude." Carole took a sip of her coffee, set the attractive mug back on the placemat, and added, "But you're absolutely right, of course. I have no right to keep asking you about what you feel or don't feel. I'm sorry, Sheila."
Sheila's smile broadened. "You mean my affairs are none of your affair, huh?"
"Well, something like that," Carole answered, matching her neighbor's smile with a small one of her own.
"You don't have to apologize for anything, Mrs. Wayne. You're just being inquisitive, that's all. And I like genuine curiosity in people. One of the reasons we get along so well is because we both value honesty and openness."
"I guess that's true. There are certainly a lot of friendships formed on flimsy foundations. You know, pretensions, hypocrisy, that kind of thing."
"Sure. We have only to look around our own backyard. Sometimes I think Cedarwood Manor is comprised mainly of egotistical phonies, Carole. At any rate, our happy little community of rich people certainly has its share of sham. Thank goodness I found one person I can trust."
"Then you don't mind me asking you so many questions about your affairs?"
Sheila took a sip of her coffee, then answered, "Of course not, Carole. Look, I was the one who brought the whole thing out in the open in the first place. When I realized you were my kind of person, I decided to confide in you and lay bare my soul, so to speak. Because I knew you weren't about to go running around Cedarwood Manor blabbing my little secret to everyone you met."
"I wouldn't dream of saying a word to anyone," Carole said. "Your secret is safer with me than it would be in Fort Knox."
"And your husband? Does Jeff know about--. "
"No, of course not," Carole interrupted. "I haven't even told him. And I won't."
Sheila smiled. "Good. While I really like Jeff and think that he'd keep his mouth shut, it's just possible that sooner or later he'd start feeling sorry for Donald and-well, you know the end of that story. One word to my husband about my afternoon activities and it's goodbye Cedarwood Manor. Little Sheila would be scrounging around the bit city for a cheap apartment."
"You're talking now about affinity, right? I mean, Jeff being male and all--. "
"Exactly. There exists a curious bond among all males. Call it comradeship, if you will. And in times of trouble, especially the female variety, men are inclined to untie to do battle with the common enemy. No man, and that includes your loving spouse,-likes to see another of his sex suffer the indignity of being made a cuckold. It seems that when one is hurt, they all cry."
"Well," Carole said, "that may be true, but I know Jeff wouldn't breathe a word of what I told him to Donald. Not that I have any intention of telling my husband anything."
"And I trust Jeff, too. But like I say, you better keep what I divulge to you in that pretty head of yours." Sheila thought a moment and then chuckled. "What I mean is, why run the risk of having your best friend thrown out of her gorgeous home?"
"Would Donald really do that, Sheila? I mean, if he one day should learn about your adultery, do you think he'd be angry enough to file for a divorce?"
Sheila hesitated, then sighed. "You know something, I really don't know the answer to that one. It's logical to assume, of course, that he'd toss me out on my ass two minutes after learning about all my infidelities. Most men would certainly be furious enough to kill upon discovering such hanky-panky."
"But Donald isn't like most men."
"No, he isn't. And I mean that in the negative sense, unfortunately. Donald is-well, very mild-mannered. Meek is a better way of describing him, I guess. And so that's why there are times when I seriously wonder if he could ever work up a genuine anger. In the nine years we've been married, he's never once even raised his voice to me."
Carole took another sip of her coffee, then said, "Does Donald suspect anything, Sheila? Has he ever questioned you about all the afternoons you're not at home?"
Sheila shook her head. "My husband, the poor benighted soul, harbors not the vaguest suspicion. He'd just always assumed that I'm a very active individual who enjoys being on the go all the time. He never asks me why I wasn't home when he phoned, or what clubs I've joined, or anything like that. Donald is perfectly content with things as they are."
"It's almost sad," Carole noted. "His innocence, I mean."
"Maddening is a better word. I sometimes think he could come home some night and find me screwing myself dizzy with another guy, and be only mildly disappointed in me. He'd get over his surprise in a day or so, tell me he'd forgive me my sin if I promised never to repeat it, kiss my forehead, and that would be the end of it. Everything would quickly return to normal."
Carole smiled, thinking how utterly absurd it would be to even attempt a comparison of
Donald and Jeff. The two were as different as night and day. All Jeff had to do was simply suspect her of being unfaithful and he would go absolutely insane with anger. Why, he'd probably beat her black and blue and then go tearing after the guy with whom she had surreptitiously screwed.
"Donald isn't all bad, of course," Sheila was saying, her soft, somewhat pensive tone of voice mirroring what seemed to be a sudden urge to reflect upon her naive mate's positive qualities, few though they be. "He's a very kind man, you know. He's appreciative of my efforts to keep the house spotless. He's completely undemanding and never asks me to attend a party he know I'll detest. He's always bringing home gifts and-well, he's an absolutely fantastic provider."
"And he loves you," Carole added.
Sheila nodded. "Yes, he loves me. And that does-but wait a minute, how'd we get started on this all of a sudden? Let's knock off all this talk about my husband. I have something of far more importance to discuss with you, Mrs. Wayne."
"Oh?" Carole said, smiling. "And what would that be, Mrs. Davidson?"
"A deliciously perverse idea, that's what," Sheila answered, donning the broad, faintly imperious grin she reserved for those times when she felt in total control of a situation, when she was about to startle another with a bold, wonderfully wicked and dangerous proposal.
"Well, sock it to me, Sheila. I'm all ears."
"You'll have to be much more than ears for what I've in mind," Sheila said.
Carole's brow furrowed. "Now that's a truly inscrutable statement."
"Come on, let's move into the living room. We can finish our talk in there, all right?" Sheila rose from her chair and picked up her almost empty coffee mug. "Hey, you only had one danish this morning. Don't you like them?"
"The one I had with my first cup was delicious," Carole said. But it was also very filling. And who are you to talk? You only had one danish yourself."
"I've got to keep slim for my lovers," Sheila explained with a wink.
Minutes later, the pulchritudinous pair could be found in the spacious, imaginatively decorated living room, Carole comfortably ensconced on a long cinnamon-colored sofa and Sheila curled up in a solid white swivel chair. Once again Carole commented on the stunning decor, which her hostess, finding time between adulterous assignations, had recently changed from French Provincial to Modern.
Thinking there was no need to beat around the bush and very eager to get her friend's reaction to the Perverse Idea, Sheila stormed ahead and, without bothering to preface her question with some explanation, asked a stunned Carole if she'd be interested in prostituting herself in the afternoons. like, say, three days a week.
Recovering from her initial surprise, Carole countered question with question, inquiring of her friend and neighbor if she hadn't lost her marbles. Was this some kind of a silly joke? Why in the world would she want to join Sheila in her afternoon sex safaris? And prostitution? What kind of an added twist was that?
"Doesn't it sound positively thrilling?" Sheila grinned. "I can't understand why I didn't think of it before. I mean, the idea of getting paid for being laid just never occurred to me."
"Oh, Sheila, come on. Stop pulling my leg, will you? Fooling around behind your husband's back is one thing, but actually selling yourself is just-just crazy. It would be adding insult to injury."
'Think so, huh?"
"Of course. And you do too, I'll bet. You just got it into your head to shock me this morning."
"You're wrong, Carole. I'm dead serious. From here on in I'm putting my pussy to work for me."
"That's disgusting, Sheila."
"I think it's going to be a lot of fun. Me new career as a housewife-whore commences this coming Friday afternoon."
"B-But-I mean, how-why did you all of a sudden decide on this?" Carole asked, fumbling for words.
"All right, let me explain," Sheila said, turning serious. "Two days ago, Monday afternoon, I got myself humped to heaven again by Scott Langdale. You remember my telling you about this fella, right?"
Carole nodded. "You said he was a stud and a half."
"Is he ever," Sheila smiled. "Anyway, after our fantastic fuck we started chatting. At first we spoke in generalities-you know, about nothing of any real importance. But all of a sudden the conversation turns to my favorite subject, sex, and Scott is asking me if I've ever considered putting my sexual skills to profitable use. He says that--. "
"In other words," Carole interrupted, "this Langdale character is nothing but a well-dressed, articulate pimp."
"No, he isn't, Carole. He's nothing of the sort. Now let me finish what I was saying."
The beautiful brunette listened attentively as Sheila told of one, Cynthia Corral, a long-time friend of Scott Langdale's, who was at present attempting to increase the size of her stable. Cynthia, a highly-successful madam for the past ten years, her base of operations being the city proper, wanted now to branch out into the suburbs, the exclusive suburbs, where lived men of considerable style and wealth."
"Then Langdale is a pimp," Carole argued. "I mean, if he'd recruiting women for--. "
"He's not recruiting for anyone," Sheila interrupted, a wee bit peeved with her friend. "But upon learning of Cynthia's need for fresh talent, so to speak, he promised to keep his eyes and ears open for her. I told you, they're good friends."
"Uh huh. And so Mr. Langdale got to thinking and it dawned on him that Sheila Davidson would prove an excellent addition to his friend's staff."
"Well, something like that, I guess. It was only natural that Scott would think of me. I mean, he and I have know each other for almost two months now. And Scott is very fond of me."
Carole smiled sardonically. "He should be, Sheila. You've laid him half a dozen times-and for free."
Sheila returned her friend's smile with a small one of her own. As she studied Carole, who reached now for one of the cigarettes resting in a small dish atop one of the two black Parson's tables fronting the sofa, it occurred to her that she might have misjudged the woman.
She had not expected Carole to react with wholehearted approval upon hearing of her intent to engage in a most sexy sideline, afternoon prostitution, but neither had she been prepared for the slightly sarcastic manner with which Carole was digesting the news. Her neighbor was taking it all much too seriously.
"Then you're really going through with this, aren't you?" Carole asked, after exhaling a cloud of smoke. "From adultery you plan to branch out into harlotry."
"That's it," Sheila said firmly. "And
"But why, Sheila? It certainly can't be because you need the money. There's no way you can rationalize--. "
"I'm not trying to rationalize a blessed thing, Carole," the dazzling blonde broke in. "Of course I don't need the money that I'll be making as a whore."
'Then why degrade yourself?"
"Oh, Carole," Sheila sighed, "prostitution isn't degrading. I'm not going to be standing on a street corner soliciting like a five dollar slut. Scott says that Cynthia runs a very high class operation and that she doesn't tolerate any riff-raff patronizing her house. Her girls deal only with men of distinction."
"And just where is this house?"
"Cynthia's place in the city?"
"Yes."
"I don't really know. I never got around to asking Scott the exact location of it. But her suburban operation will work somewhat differently than the city operation. The men will phone her place in the city for an appointment, then Cynthia will contact one of us out here and see if a date can be arranged."
"What's so special about screwing in the suburbs?"
Sheila shrugged. "I don't know. But it might be convenient for a lot of men to meet a prostitute out here than it would be in the city. Then, too, I think there are quite a few guys who really turn on at the thought of fucking another man's wife."
"I think you're turned on by thought of becoming a whore," Carole said, after taking another drag on her cigarette and flicking the ash in the bowl shaped ashtray on the table.
"I am, yes," Sheila admitted with a smile. And then, after a pause, as her smile faded, "And the idea of turning prostitute appeals to you, too, Carole. I'd be willing to bet that you're already imagining yourself in the arms of a strange man. Maybe you're even thinking about Scott Langdale. Maybe--. "
"Sheila, I really think you've flipped," Carole exclaimed. "I wouldn't even entertain the idea of cheating on Jeff let alone the idea of cheating on him for money. like I said earlier, I don't know how you can suggest such a thing. Whatever made you think that I'd be interested in selling myself? Why, I've never so much as looked at another man in the seven years of my marriage to Jeff."
"But lately you've been wondering what it would be like to get royally fucked by someone other than your husband."
"Really now, Sheila. This conversation is beginning to get downright annoy--. "
"Oh, come off it, Carole," Sheila broke in. "You're talking to me, remember? I'm your friend, a person you can trust. So why don't you admit the truth and level with me? After seven years of marriage, happy ones, I'm sure, you're ready for something and somebody altogether new and exciting."
"I'm very, very happy with Jeff;" Carole insisted. "I find him terribly exciting in bed and out. He's everything I've ever wanted in a husband and then some."
Sheila grinned. "Now you're defending him. You're trying to ease a conscience troubled by exciting little thoughts about wicked infidelities."
Carole glared at her neighbor. "Really, Sheila, I had no idea you were dabbling in amateur psychology now-on top of everything else."
Sheila chuckled. In the minutes that followed she pressed her advantage, cunningly exploiting the restless urge, the desire for something different, she had recognized intuitively in her beautiful brunette friend.
Why, exactly, was Carole so interested in hearing all about her various clandestine couplings, Sheila asked, the question delivered with faint ridicule and accompanied by a sardonic grin. Was this simply natural curiosity, the outward manifestation of a need to enjoy, vicariously, the unusual and provocative pursuits of another female? Most woman enjoyed listening to lusty tales dripping with scandalous details.
Or did Carole's curiosity go deeper than that? Wasn't it true that the questions she asked were designed to keep lit the small flames of lust ignited by the very thought of intriguing infidelities? While listening to all those shocking adventures in adultery, didn't Carole secretly wish she had something truly scandalous, and maybe even a little depraved, of her own to divulge in the strictest of confidence?
In short, didn't Carole derive extraordinary pleasure from absorbing the gutsy details of her neighbor's amorous encounters? It was great fun, and perversely satisfying, too, to mentally munch on those details while imagining that you, and not your friend, was the one involved in all that deliciously naughty intrigue. It was a real turn-on, wasn't it? Come on, admit it. Admit it.
Suddenly confused, her mind a crazy jumble of disorganized thoughts, Carole suffered her neighbor's verbal barrage while resisting the urge to get up off the sofa and leave. Why run away, she asked herself. She wasn't a coward. Just because Sheila was carrying on like some sort of frenzied psychologist was no reason to march out of her house and thus admit, through a hasty, indignant departure, that she was hurt and of insufficient emotional strength to take all the woman could dish out.
No, she had to fight back. But how? She couldn't get a word in edgewise. Sheila was telling her to own up to the fact that what she needed, what she craved, was the emergence of real excitement in her life. The time had come, according to Sheila, to shake up things a little.
But she was all wrong, Carole thought. All right, maybe there had been times when, for a fleeting second, she imagined herself enmeshed in a shocking situation. Maybe once in a while she did wish for something to alleviate the boredom, something that would act upon her emotions like a quick, hard slap in the face. Perhaps there were days when she thought it possible to become too content.
But adultery? And worse yet, prostitution? No, that was most certainly not the answer. She wasn't about to risk her marriage simply for the sake of instilling some excitement into a life that, excluding a sometimes aggravating sameness about it, was very, very pleasant.
Why, the idea alone of prostituting herself was more than a little preposterous. It was mad, insane, totally absurd. No, never would she stoop to Sheila's level. She would have to be out of her mind to lay a man behind her husband's back.
Sheila thought she had struck a responsive chord. But how ridiculous her hump-happy neighbor was, for not even the promise of all the excitement in the world could lure her into the part time occupation of call girl.
Even if she were to seriously consider doing such a wholly obscene thing, she was sure she'd never be able to dredge up the necessary nerve to follow it through. But there was no point in pondering that, because she wasn't about to let Sheila talk her into tagging along this coming Friday, the day Sheila was to commence her perverted profession.
She wasn't. She definitely, most certainly, wasn't.
* * *
Jeff Wayne still didn't know what to make of the unbelievable situation he found himself in at the moment. Here he was on a Wednesday morning in his office, peering down at a most attractive woman in her late thirties as she hungrily devoured his cock. It was, to say the least, highly unusual.
Nothing had prepared him for this extraordinary event. In fact, while shaving he had sorted out in his mind the various activities scheduled for the morning and afternoon and decided that this would be a day pretty much like any other. There was a conference to attend, an appointment with a prospective client, and, if he could squeeze it in, a quick game of handball at the gym with Kevin Tanner, a fellow architect. But the better part of the day would be spent at the drawing board, working on the plans for the summer home to be built in Southampton for the Richardsons, Kenneth and Patricia.
Upon arriving at his office at Fenner, Fowler & Boyles, he made a few phone calls and then, after a brief study of the pencil sketches done yesterday, he started working on the design of the fenced terrace that would border the Richardson place. It was an hour and a half later, approximately ten-thirty, that the smartly-attired, titian-tressed Patricia
Richardson had popped into his office.
And now, still fully clothed, she was down there on her knees in front of him, her head bobbing up and down like a buoy in rippling waters as she sucked on his blood-stiffened manhood.
"You have a very nice prick, Mr. Wayne," she was saying now, having suddenly taken his tool from her warm, wet mouth. "But I suppose your wife has already told you that."
Jeff smiled a small smile. "And you're a very beautiful woman, Mrs. Richardson."
"I'll bet your wife is very pretty."
"Yes, she is."
"Does she blow you often?" Patricia asked, looking up at the handsome young architect as she carefully fondled his hairy scrotal sac and saliva-coated cock.
"As often as I like," answered Jeff, wishing his sexy visitor would stop talking and resume her lusty labors. There were few subjects he enjoyed discussing more than Carole's wonderful ways, and even now, after seven marvelous years of marriage, it required only a single thought about her to start his pecker stirring. But this was most certainly not the time to engage in conversation about Carole-not when the curvy, green-eyed wife of his latest client was slobbering all over his stiff cock.
"I'm glad to hear that," Patricia said. "I think it's a wife's duty to please her husband in every way she can."
Jeff chuckled inwardly. Patricia Richardson's present behavior was proof positive of her belief that wives should endeavor to please their mates at all times. Although the shapely, sultry woman might be inclined to deny it, he strongly suspected that it was her husband, who he had pegged as a real tightwad from the very beginning, who had put her up to this visit.
He had had just time enough to take in Patricia's firm, full figure, which was displayed to nice advantage in a soft yellow pants suit, before she launched into a carefully thought out, perhaps memorized, soliloquy in which she lamented the rising cost of everything these days.
And then, having set the stage with her state of economy speech, Patricia had raised his eyebrows with a most lewd proposal, one which, simply stated, involved his lowering his fee in return for a nice blow job and a good fuck.
Before he could fully digest this and decide how best to handle it, he found himself in a half-sitting, half-standing position against his desk, weak words of protest sputtering from his lips as Patricia, leaping to the attack, quickly hauled down his slacks and shorts and crammed his limp member into her hungry mouth.
So here he was, Jeff thought, his bare buttocks pressing into the serrated edge of his desk, his trousers and undershorts a puddle at his feet, getting wickedly sucked by a beautiful woman he had met for the first time less than an hour ago. Would wonders never cease?
Patricia, resuming her obscene feast, was once again rhythmically bobbing her beautiful head, her lip stick painted lips sliding wetly up and down the tasty stalk of flesh. Her long reddish-yellow hair fell about her neck and shoulders, forming a silky veil behind which she surreptitiously sucked.
"Oh, yeah, that's good," Jeff said throatily, his hands drifting slowly to the very desirable female's head. "Don't stop, baby. Suck it nice for me. Yeah-mmmm, good."
It was much too late to call a halt to the passionate proceedings now, he realized with a wee bit of regret. Taken by surprise, startled by Patricia's outrageous boldness, he had permitted this lewd cocksuck to commence. And now that he was hard, now that exciting visions of her copper-colored cunt were dancing in his head, it would take nothing less than an explosion nearby to make him pull his pecker from that wet, warm, cock-craving mouth.
If only thoughts of his wife would stop creeping into his mind, if only he could dispel those nagging little guilt feelings which threatened to diminish his pleasure, then all would be right with the world.
But why feel so guilty, Jeff asked himself. Small indeed was the percentage of married men, happy or miserable, who succeeded in remaining completely faithful. Temptation always reared its head sooner or later. Even Kevin, who of his friends certainly seemed to be the most happily married, had started fooling around with a pretty female reporter for a trade journal he had met while on a project.
Sure, it happened to the very best of 'em. And now it was his turn, that's all. What made this just a bit different, however, a little special, was the setting and the fact that it was his very first infidelity in seven years of marriage.
But what the hell, Jeff thought. Wasn't he entitled to one little mistake-if mistake it could be called? He had behaved himself for seven years, looking but not touching, never really interested in plowing a pussy other than Carole's. And now, all of a sudden, this scheming siren shows up, this titian-tressed beauty who figures she can save her hubby a few dollars on an architect's fee by demonstrating to said architect her mastery of the oral arts.
But Patricia, of course, meant absolutely nothing to him. He would forget her as soon as the home in Southampton had been designed. This was just a one shot deal, a quick piece of nooky, so to speak.
Jeff's attempts to rationalize his behavior were suddenly curtailed by the ravishing Patricia, who pulled his pecker out of her mouth and quickly climbed to her feet.
"Oh, baby," she said excitedly, a gleam in her eye, "do I have a bad case of the hots."
"You turn on in a hurry," Jeff observed, his voice thickened by the desire ignited by the woman's salacious sucking of his now rock-hard, pulsating prick.
"That's me," Patricia grinned, fingers fumbling with the narrow black belt supporting the pants half of her attractive suit. "I'm a girl who loves her cock. In fact, my husband thinks I have a little of the nymphomaniac in me."
"Just a little?"
Patricia chuckled thickly. "Sometimes I think a lot. Now I suggest you lock the door before we start fucking, Mr. Wayne. I wouldn't want that pretty little thing sitting in the outer office to come barging in here. At least not when you're sticking it to me."
Oh, shit, Jeff cursed silently. He had forgotten all about the damn door. Now suppose Susie had decided to walk in unannounced, with some papers for him to sign, perhaps? Brother, talk about an embarrassing moment.
"Well, handsome? Are you going to lock the door or what?"
"Y-Yes, of course. Right away."
Jeff quickly pulled up his slacks and shorts and, with his saliva-wet pecker leading the way, hurried to his office door. He opened the door a few inches, standing back so that only his head was visible through the crack, and told his secretary that he didn't want to be disturbed for the next hour. Then he closed the door, locked it, and turned around to find the passionate Patricia draped across his desk.
She was naked from the waist down, her sharply-creased yellow pants and wispy yellow bikini panties together in a heap around her ankles. Her bottom, taut and ever so tempting, was thrust out in obscene invitation-a most lewd offering to the gods.
Is that what the dame wanted, Jeff wondered. An ass-fuck instead of a pussy-plowing?
CHAPTER FIVE
"Get over here, handsome," Patricia said, the right side of her face pressed against the desk top. 'The lady needs a laying something fierce." t
Still holding up his slacks and shorts, Jeff moved to his desk and the waiting woman provocatively positioned across it. When he was standing directly behind her, his throbbing tool aimed at her luscious posterior, he released the garments and let them slither down his hairy legs to his feet.
"No, wait a minute," Patricia ordered when she felt the handsome architect's hands wrapped around her shapely hips.
"Wait? Aren't you ready? I thought-"
"Yes, I'm ready," the titian-haired temptress broke in. "But I want you to do something first."
"What is it, baby?"
"It's something-something that I need once in awhile."
'Tell me. What is it that you want?"
"You won't think I'm queer, will you? It's-well, a little strange."
"I won't think you're queer," Jeff promised, wondering what the hell it could be that this beautiful female wanted-that she needed. "Now tell me what I should do to you."
"I want you to spank me, Mr. Wayne," Patricia said, her voice mirroring the excitement she felt at just the thought of getting her fanny warmed. "I want you to hit me hard-on my ass. Make me cry if you can."
"Oh, is that all?" Jeff asked, feigning nonchalance. "No problem there, Mrs. Richardson. I'd love to spank your beautiful behind. I'll have it a rosy red in nothing flat."
"Good. And do it to me hard, please."
"Does your husband spank you?"
"Yes."
"Often?" Jeff moved into a spanking stance behind Patricia, turning so that he was standing with his left side closest to her, his throbbing pecker now pointed toward the large picture window in back of his desk. A few minutes before Patricia's unscheduled arrival at his office he had drawn the blinds to cut down the sun's strong glare-an act he now considered one of the smartest he'd performed in this still very young day.
"My husband knows how to handle women," Patricia said by way of explanation. "I think that's why I love him so much. He's big and tough and doesn't let me get away with anything."
"So how often does he whack your ass?" Jeff asked, realizing that he was deriving strange, perverse satisfaction from this unusual conversation.
"Whenever he feels like it. When I've been naughty."
Naughty? Did he have a masochist on his hands, Jeff wondered.
"He would really let me have it good if he knew I visited your office," Patricia continued. "I wouldn't be able to sit comfortably for a week."
"Then your husband doesn't know that you came to see me this morning?" Jeff asked, ready to write off as wrong one suspicion he had figured would be confirmed before this screwing session was over.
"No, he doesn't. But-"
"But what?"
"I'll probably tell him."
"So he'll spank you?"
"Yes, so he'll spank me," Patricia answered, squirming her firm, full fanny in eager anticipation of the hard hand that would soon be crashing against it. "He'll make me pull up my skirt and pull down my panties. And then-oooo, just thinking about it gets me so damn excited."
"What happens after that?" asked Jeff, a faint tremor in his voice as he commenced a lewd caress of Patricia's creamy-smooth seat, his left hand wandering from pliant buttock to pliant buttock, up and down and all around, fingers creeping stealthily into the hairless crack between the taste-tempting half-moons of flesh.
"After I've pulled down my panties."
"Yes. Tell me what he makes you do next."
"I have to drape myself across his lap."
"Like a child. like a misbehaving schoolgirl."
"Yes, exactly."
"And then he lets you have it, huh."
"Sometimes he starts right in," Patricia said, "but sometimes he makes me apologize."
"For what?"
"For anything-everything. Oh, please, touch my anus, Jeff. Stick a finger up my ass."
His lust building to a fever pitch, Jeff complied with his client's wife's wicked request. With the middle finger of his right hand he traced the cleft of her succulent behind, sliding down the warm, inviting crease until he reached the even more exciting opening of her tantalizing tail.
"Do it, please. Shove it in my fanny."
Jeff diddled the puckered port of Patricia's anus for a few thrilling seconds, then began working his probing finger into her tight, tacky after passage. The titian-haired beauty emitted a soft, grateful moan of pleasure, at the same time pushing her delectable derriere back onto the penetrating digit.
"Go on about the spanking, Mrs. Richardson. Tell me more."
"No-no more talk," Patricia said, her voice a steaming whisper. "Just spank me, Jeff. Hit me hard. I need it now." ;
"I said tell me more, Patricia. How many smacks does your husband give you."
"Please, Jeff."
'Tell me or I won't spank you."
"Oh, damn you to hell."
"Tell me," Jeff again ordered, proceeding now to saw his finger in and out of the ravishing woman's hairless little ass-hole.
"About-fifty smacks," Patricia said at last. "Sometimes more."
"And all the time you're crying your eyes out, right?"
"Yes. I'm sobbing my head off. The tears are running down my face because it hurts so much. I beg him to stop hitting me. I plead with him."'
"But your husband doesn't listen."
"He just hits me harder. And calls me names.
"What does he call you, Patricia. A slut, maybe?"
"Yes, that's right. He calls me a slut, a no-good whore, a beautiful cocksucking bitch."
"And you love it, right?"
"Yes. It makes me feel so dirty. I'm so ashamed. I know I need to be punished for my sins."
"What else does he call you? Come on, baby, tell me."
Her hands hotly gripping the serrated edge of the desk on her left and right, her bra-encased, jacketed breasts squashed against the smooth, shiny desk top, the punishment-craving Patricia repeated the lewd epithets hurled at her by her hubby when last he walloped her poor posterior.
Jeff soaked it up like a sponge, the woman's words and her demeaning position fueling his lust. Later, upon reflection, he would be able to see the humor in the situation. He would remember standing behind the wholly desirable Patricia Richardson, the wickedly masochistic Patricia Richardson, his slacks and undershorts a puddle at his feet.
He would smile inwardly when recalling her urgent request for a sound spanking, her need to "suffer" a retributive reaming of her rectum. He might even chuckle at the thought of a grown woman acting in such a childish fashion, wanting to endure the humiliating, degrading experience of an old-fashioned bottom warming.
But at the moment Jeff was dead serious, his desire to spank holy hell out of Mrs. Richardson and then fuck her dizzy swelling to monstrous proportions. Her ass, that glorious mound of creamy smooth flesh, was still in warm sensual squirm, beckoning not only a good beating but also a hot humping.
"Please, Jeff, do it now. No more talk. I've got to be beaten now. Please."
"All right, baby. If it's a spanking you want, then it's a spanking you'll get. And you're goin' to get it, believe me."
More than ready to commence what he was determined to make most memorable, Jeff yanked his finger from Patricia's small rear hole and drew his right hand up over his shoulder. Still in lewd spanking stance, one not unlike that taken by a ballplayer as he steps into the batter's box, he asked the stunning woman once again, just for good measure, if a hard, mean fanny-pounding was what she craved.
"Yes, dammit," Patricia growled, her whole body tingling with expectation. "Give it to me, Jeff. Spank my ass hard."
"And then we fuck."
"Yes, fuck. Then we fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck."
A faintly feral smile crawled across Jeff's face as he took dead aim on that succulent target, his eyes glued to the plush posterior Patricia was thrusting out, serving up, for his perverse enjoyment. And then-
"Aiee!" Patricia shrieked, the first smart smack striking her on the right buttock and making that taut half-moon quiver.
"How's that, baby?" Jeff asked. "Hard enough for you?"
"More. Give me more."
"We've just begun, Mrs. Richardson. There's lots more pain coming your way."
With that, as the beautiful titian-tressed woman braced herself, Jeff delivered the second blow to her luscious seat. Then the third-and a fourth. Patricia cried out immediately after each deliciously painful smack, grinding the right side, of her face into the hard desk top as tears began welling in her pretty green eyes.
"More. Hit me again. Harder, Jeff."
"Until you're bawling like a baby?"
"Yes," Patricia gasped. "Make me cry, Jeff. Punish me for my naughtiness."
Again Jeff raised his right hand high over his shoulder. Then, seconds later, the hand was slicing through the air to land with a resounding "crack" on Patricia's quivering left buttock. Once more the masochistic Patricia let out a shriek, once more she demanded, in a trembling, tortured voice, a spanking that would turn her ass into a burning mass of reddened flesh.
It took Jeff less than a minute to establish a perverse and sinister rhythm. Methodically, with passionate purpose, he rained blow after blow on Patricia's poor backside, his hand wickedly whipping the air to come crashing down on either her left or right ass cheek.
"Oh, it's so good," Patricia whimpered into the desk top. "It feels so nice. Do it to me, you stud. Beat my damn ass."
"You love it, don't you?" asked Jeff, his face coloring.
As Jeff pummeled the beautiful woman's behind, directing his cruel blows to first one buttock and then the other as he alternated between them, there popped into his head the exciting image of his lovely brunette wife. In his mind's eye he saw Carole draped across his desk, her superbly-crafted bottom, so smooth and firm and provocatively-curved, twitching crazily in passionate response to the evil thrashing it was receiving.
What would it be like to pummel Carole's fanny, he wondered dizzily. The idea of turning his gorgeous wife over his knee and then pounding her beautiful butt until she begged for mercy had never cross his mind. Not once in the seven years of their marriage had it occurred to him to spank Carole's succulent seat, nor had he ever considered the sexual overtones of such a spanking.
Which was, in a way, rather strange, since on numerous occasions he had thrilled to the feel of her rectal canal hotly, greedily clutching his plunging prick. He loved to fuck Carole's ass, to savor the smooth sponginess of her rounded cheeks and the sizzling tightness of her shit-chute as he plumbed its clammy depths.
And yet he had never thought to preface the ass-fuck with a sound swatting of her fanny. Once in awhile, when in a playful mood, she would scamper around the bedroom and, with a merry twinkle in her eye and laughter on her lips, tell him he would have to catch her if he wanted to screw. And when finally he caught her, the two of them out of breath, he would give her a few playful swats across the tail and then fuck her silly.
But that was all. He had never really blistered Carole's bottom as he was now blistering Patricia Richardson's. Would his wife enjoy an occasional spanking? Maybe yes, maybe no. He would test her reactions the next time she got into one of her teasing, taunting moods. Instead of merely administering a few harmless slaps across her fanny, he would continue to whack her until she indicated either pain or pleasure.
But that was for the future. For the nonce-
"Ohh, you're doing it so good," Patricia whimpered happily, tears of pleasure-pain now sliding down her smooth, unblemished cheeks and dripping noiselessly onto the desk top.
"Harder and faster, Jeff. Pound my ass. Make it-owwww!"
"How's it feel, slut?" Jeff growled, desire spiraling through his aroused body. "Come on, speak up. Let me-"
"Feels good-beautiful," Patricia blubbered. "A little more and then-then fuck me, Jeff."
"In your ass, cunt? Is that where you want it?"
"Yes, in my ass.E ;epin my shitty ass."
Jeff spent the next two minutes whacking away at the beauteous female's trembling tail, relishing the pitiful moans and sharp, loud grunts she emitted each time his hard hand slammed against her aching ass. Soul-searing blow followed soul-searing blow as he repeatedly struck her flaming fanny, his stiff pecker jerking crazily up and down and side to side as he spanked with unholy enthusiasm.
And then it was time for the topper, for the coup de grace-a heathenish humping of the abused, burning heinie.
"Al right, Mrs. Richardson, now we fuck," Jeff rasped, slipping smoothly, quickly, into position behind the bent over beauty. "I'm goin' to fuck your ass like it's never been fucked before."
"Do it," Patricia cried out. "Fuck it good. Pound that hot cock into my ass."
His face a mask of determination, his heart beating fast, Jeff pried open the hot, hurting cheeks of the woman's well-spanked behind and jammed the bulbous head of his blood-fattened prick against her nether hole.
"Yes, that's right. Get it in me, baby. Shove it right in there-all the way."
"Hang on, cunt. I'm goin' to touch your damn tonsils."
Her face wet with tears of masochistic joy, Patricia braced herself for that first searing plunge of her partner's thick, pulsating pecker into her niggardly nether hole. The temptation to beg some more was strong, for truly did she love to be cleaved down the middle by a meaty male member, to feel, deep in her foul bowels, the delicious fullness of said member.
Kenneth, her wonderfully sadistic husband, reamed her rectum regularly, at least three times a week and always after walloping her ass. How wonderful it was to be so abused, to be treated with contempt, to be forced to wallow in the mire of mind-boggling, masochistic ecstasy.
Tiny grunts popping from his throat, Jeff pushed his hips forward in eager attempt to secure penetration. The fat head of his cock strained mightily against Patricia's rear aperture, one which, although painfully stretched many times previously, seemed totally unwilling to give an inch.
"Get it in me, dammit," Patricia pleaded piteously, weaving her tortured tail back against the probing prick. "Just shove it in. Ram it, baby. Ram it."
"All right, lady," Jeff growled, "you asked for it."
And with that, as his client's wife whimpered in need, he took a deep breath and then savagely rammed forward, the fierce, brutal thrust ripping open the resisting anus and sending his bloated bone three wicked inches into a dark, dank, shit-flecked chamber.
Patricia howled. Her head jerked up off the desk top as the scream sailed from her mouth, her eyes wide, unseeing. Then, only seconds later, her head banged back down on the desk as her wild scream deteriorated to a low, guttural moan, one which eloquently, albeit perversely, reflected her gut satisfaction at having in her soundly-spanked ass a thick, wickedly probing prick.
"Get it all in, please,' she whimpered. "I want it all-every last inch. Stick it up there, baby."
Just as eager to pack Patricia's posterior as she was to have it fully packed, Jeff began working his tool in the clammy confines of her after passage, short but powerful thrusts pushing his blood-swollen pecker through the obstructing muck. And at last he was home free, his pulsing manhood imbedded to the hilt in the beautiful woman's oft-stretched shit-chute.
"Is it all in?" Patricia asked breathlessly. "All of it?"
"You've got it, baby. All but my balls."
"So good-so filthy, fuckin' good. Fuck me now, Jeff. Bang my ass bloody."
Jeff looked down at the point of connection, the wholly obscene sight of Patricia's widely-stretched anus wrapped snugly around his imbedded cock prompting another wave of lust to wash over him. And how fantastically tight she was, he thought. Her rectum was hugging his hard-on with depraved enthusiasm, gripping it fervently, with tenacious ardor.
"Come on, dammit," Patricia pleaded. "What are you waiting for? Fuck it for me, master. Plow up my shitty ass."
"Ask me nice," Jeff said, suddenly possessed by the evil urge to further humiliate the titian-haired beauty, this stunning wife of a client who, at their meeting Monday afternoon, had threatened to have him replaced by another architect unless he came up with a simply superb design.
"I am asking nicely, Jeff," Patricia whimpered, wriggling her impaled bottom back against his belly. "Please screw my ass. Fuck it for me. Hurt me."
"Pretty please?"
"Yes, pretty please. Oh, shit, I need it so bad."
Smiling lewdly, Jeff gave in and began moving his tumescent tool in the mixed-up woman's delightful derriere, slowly withdrawing his shit-stained member until only the plum-shaped head was snugly sheathed in her wickedly-widened shit chute, then pushing back inside the heavenly warmth of that swampy passage.
In and out he worked his bloated bone, slowly, methodically, resisting the strong urge to rear back and slam into the quivering backside with all his might. He wanted to draw out the pleasure, postpone the inevitable for as long as possible, savor the marvelous friction of cock rubbing against clasping rectal walls.
But Patricia had other ideas. Always ready to be reamed, fore or aft, quick to arouse to the point where her pussy was sloppily salivating all over her inner thighs, she wanted now a fuck that was fast and furious, a riotous reaming of her stuffed shit chute that would culminate in nothing less than a cataclysmic climax. She made this very, very plain to her partner.
"So you want it faster, huh?" Jeff husked. "Like this."
"Arghh."
"And this."
"Arghh-ohhhh-"
"Well, is that what you want, baby?"
"Yes, like that," Patricia answered thickly, recovering from the two particularly brutal plunges deep inside her dank rectal canal. "Hard and fast. I can take it, Jeff. Just-just slam it to me."
"Al right, cunt," Jeff rasped. "Let's see how you like this pace."
His hands locked firmly around Patricia's shapely hips, fingers digging into the tender, resilient flesh, the architect now very quickly designed a rapid reaming rhythm guaranteed to bring hearty shouts of approval from even the most fervent sodomists. In quick succession he delivered three bone-jarring thrusts, then a fourth, fifth, and sixth, and soon he was thrusting in and out of Patricia's clammy shit chute with fiery abandon, his rock-hard cock a murderous drill as it plumbed the furthermost reaches of that dark, mysterious tunnel.
"Uh-ohh-uhhh-" Patricia grunted, each powerful plunge of Jeff's manhood into her after passage jarring loose from her pretty throat a sound animalistic in character.
"Better, baby? Is this-is this better?"
"Y-Yes. It's good-it's so-oww, ohhh-"
Jeff snapped his hips forward yet another time and sent his drilling dick trundling up into Patricia's mucky rectum. Now again he withdrew quickly, again he plunged back inside, again he withdrew and again he plunged back into the exciting darkness. In and out, in and out, his hot, throbbing prick shoving aside all in its path as it steamrolled its wicked way up through the enveloping excrement.
Patricia was in seventh heaven, her masochistic cravings in sharp focus as Jeff battered her spanked ass with his relentlessly charging cock. Her body was alive, totally alive, every nerve end attuned to this deliciously filthy, marvelously perverse screwing of her quivering backside.
How fantastic it felt inside her, she thought dazedly. The man her husband had hired to design a unique summer home on the Island was doing one helluva job on her ass. His wonderful prick was churning deep up her stretched rectum, stirring her turds, plunging so far inside her bowels that it seemed he was reaching her tits.
"You've got-got a real hot ass, baby," Jeff panted, breathing hard now as he boomed his shit-stained prick into Patricia's bottom with a cruel vengeance.
"Fuck it," the titian-haired sexpot moaned hoarsely. "Oh, fuck it for me. Deep and hard. Smash my filthy ass!"
"Take it, you cunt. Take it all."
"Yes, screw my ass. Screw it-oooo-"
Oblivious to all save the strong, soul-searing reaming of her rectal canal, Patricia was not bothered one bit by the awkwardness of her position, by the fact that her tender thighs were being painfully scraped against the serrated edge of the desk with each hard, brutal lunge of Jeff's hot cock into her shit chute.
Nor did she mind that each mean thrust knocked her forward a few inches, her breasts, squashed by her own weight, and the right side of her tear-wet face rubbing against the hard desk top. None of this was of any consequence.
All that mattered was the satanic screwing of her seat, the quick, maniacal thrusts which sent her partner's long, thick pecker whistling up her tingling behind, deep into the clammy confines of her most private part.
There was only one thing missing, she thought. And that was a mirror. Her husband oftentimes acceded to her lewd request that she be permitted to view the depraved dicking of her ass. He would take the mirror, one she had purchased, in fact, for this purpose, and position it at such an angle so that she could look back and see his mighty manhood plunging deep into her behind.
Eyes closed, beads of sweat popping off his forehead, Jeff continued slamming his cock into Patricia's posterior, vicious thrust following vicious thrust as he buried himself to the balls in the murky, humid chamber of her shit-lined rectum. Totally enveloped by a mind-warping lust, he muttered curses under his breath and put all he had behind each powerful plunge, the happy woman's cries of demented delight and breathless exhortations a fiendish spur to his frantic fuck.
And then, a little more than a minute later, came the inevitable moment of truth.
"I'm-I'm coming, bitch," he rasped hotly. "C-Coming."
"Come in me, Jeff," Patricia cried out. "Y-Yes-oh, oh I feel it. You're coming in my ass, stud!"
"All-all for you, baby."
The scalding semen flew through Jeff's trembling tool and shot into Patricia's foul shit chute. He grunted heathenishly and then emitted a moan of pure pleasure, his body in ecstatic shudder as the gooey sex cream spurted up into the whimpering woman's beautiful behind.
Patricia groaned joyously and clenched her rectal muscles around the ejaculating cock in an effort to squeeze from it every last drop of hot creamy come. She balled her small fists and began pounding on the desk top, her face twisted now into a grotesque mask of satanic rapture.
Jeff remained in position, his hands wrapped hotly around Patricia's shapely hips and his cock deeply imbedded in her stretched rectal canal, until the last of his gooey discharge had been deposited in the dank bank. Then, emitting a tired moan of satisfaction, he fell forward and collapsed atop Patricia's back.
He rested for a while, breathing hard, his pecker softening in the mush of the woman's rectum. When his breathing had returned to something like normal, he slowly pushed himself up off Patricia and took one step back, his now wilted and badly-stained pecker slipping almost noiselessly from her distended ass-hole.
Some fifteen seconds later a very pleased Patricia pushed herself up off the desk. Turning around, she saw that her partner had deposited himself in the large leather armchair located near his office door. She smiled and ran a hand back through her long reddish yellow hair.
"You look like you've had it, Mr. Wayne," she said, her face faintly flushed.
"I don't usually start a work day by fucking a female in the ass," Jeff explained with a small smile. He was sitting in a comfortable sprawl in the chair, knees splayed, his slacks and undershorts still bunched around his feet.
"It's a novel change, isn't it? But don't tell me you haven't been shoving it to that cute little thing out there."
"You mean Susie?"
"She's your secretary, isn't she?"
"So?"
"So if you're not fucking her you should be. All men fool around with their secretaries."
"Is that a fact?"
Patricia chuckled. "I'm sure it is. But I really don't care one way or the other if you're banging little Susie. What concerns me is the price for your services that you quoted my husband. Has my visit this morning caused you to reconsider?"
Jeff smiled wanly. "You're asking me if I've decided to lower the fee."
"Exactly," Patricia said, bending down to retrieve her panties from around her feet. She quickly pulled the flimsy garment up her legs and worked it into place around her hips, in the process becoming conscious of her leaking ass-hole. Jeff's creamy come was oozing our of her opened anus and trickling down her inner thighs.
"Mrs. Richardson, I tried to tell you before that-"
"Mrs. Richardson? Really now, Jeff, must we be so very formal? After all, you've spanked my ass and fucked it so-"
"All right, Patricia," Jeff interrupted, "I suppose it is ludicrous to engage in formalities at this point. But as I was saying, I tried to explain to you earlier that I have no control over the fee. My supervisor decides how much should be charged after I review with him the client's needs. The fee is highly dependent upon the difficulty of the design."
"J see," Patricia said softly. She bent down again and this time retrieved the bottom half of her pants suit. Holding up the pants, she walked over to where Jeff was sitting. "So it would seem that I've wasted my time this morning. I mean, it looks as if I've fucked the wrong member of the firm."
Jeff chuckled.. "I think you enjoyed it, Mrs., er, Patricia, that is."
"Yes, very much, but still-" Patricia left the thought unfinished as she looked down at the handsome architect, her green eyes moving lazily to his limp, dirtied dick. A small smile began creeping across her face as an idea popped into her head. "Tell me, Jeff, isn't it true that you make recommendations concerning the fees to be charged? I mean, you must have some influence around here."
"Yes, I sometimes suggest a fee-one that's based on my preliminary sketches. When I have a fairly good idea of the amount of time and-"
"In other words," Patricia broke in, "you could speak to this supervisor of yours and recommend a lower fee for my husband."
"Well, I suppose so. But-"
"But nothing," the titian-tressed beauty interrupted again. "I came here determined to walk out with your promise of a reduced fee, and if I can't have that I'm at least going to get your promise to say a few words on my husband's behalf. I'm sure this supervisor respects your judgment, Jeff. He'd be inclined to go along with you if you suggested lowering the previously quoted fee."
"Now look, Patricia."
"You look, handsome," Patricia grinned.
With that, she released her pants and allowed the garment to slither down her sleek legs to her feet. Then, shuffling forward, she dropped to her knees in front of the leather armchair. She rested her arms on Jeff's hairy thighs and looked up into his face.
"Maybe another sucking will start you seriously thinking about the Richardsons' financial situation, Mr. Architect."
Jeff looked down at his shit-flecked noodle of a cock and then at Patricia, who winked at him. "Are you-no, you can't be serious. I mean, my cock is-"
"A little brown, that's all. It just needs a good cleaning."
"But-"
"So all of a sudden we turn prudish, huh? Silly, silly boy."
With that, pausing only long enough to wet her lips with her talented tongue, Patricia dropped her head over Jeff's lap and, undaunted, plopped his besmirched pecker into her mouth. Jeff blinked a few times and then, satisfied that this wasn't some crazy, wholly perverse dream, settled back to watch his client's beautiful wife suck and lick the prick he had pulled from her rectum only minutes ago.
CHAPTER SIX
How to explain this madness, Carole Wayne wondered. How to answer those who would question her presence in this swank motel room? What to say when asked to justify her wicked behavior, to explain just how it was that her friend and neighbor, Sheila Davidson, could extract from her (with about as little finesse as one could expect from a crude, uncaring dentist dedicated to yanking teeth painfully) a promise to attend a meeting with
Scott Langdale and Cynthia Corral?
Curiosity? That was certainly part of the answer, Carole told herself, her pretty brown eyes flitting from Scott Langdale to Cynthia Corral to Sheila as she listened to the trio discuss truly evil plans for the future. But making matters worse, confusing the issue further, was the fact that while she was here, supposedly as a friend of the court, so to speak, the urge to become more than just a participant was gradually building in strength.
And for that she had Mr. Langdale to thank. As Sheila had stated more than once on the drive to the motel to meet her new "employer," Scott was the type of male capable of making a lady cream in her panties. To say he was a handsome stud was an understatement.
In a word, Scott Langdale was gorgeous, Carole thought. He was certainly one of the most attractive males she had ever laid eyes on. She figured him to be about six feet three in height and judged his weight to be over two hundred. He was your typical movie star, the leading man type-a tall, dark, handsome man whose classic good looks and rugged build set female hearts throbbing and female pussies purring.
His hair was very long and very black, his eyes were a cool blue, two penetrating orbs that seemed capable of looking right through a person. He moved with an attractive self-assurance and spoke with equal confidence, as if prepared to handle any and every new development, as if firmly convinced that what he had learned in his first thirty-nine years was of sufficient variety to see him through any experience that might occur in the next thirty-nine.
Here was a man who had led, and was leading, an exciting life, Carole thought, a faint blush coming to her cheeks as she realized the effect this completely masculine and obviously very virile male was having on her. That familiar, and at the moment almost embarrassing, feeling between her legs was growing stronger.
Her genital area was warming under cover of her pink panties, her crotch was getting sticky, the syrupy lubricating fluid oozing from her faintly pulsing vagina to dampen the front of her undies. Sheila was certainly right when she described Scott as "a big, beautiful hunk of man whose presence alone is enough to have your twat doing flip flops." Except for a quick, perfunctory handshake when they were introduced, he had yet to touch her, to do anything physical that would fan the flames of desire. But already she was turning on, her pussy leaking like a faulty faucet.
Carole turned her attention to Cynthia Corral, thinking that by concentrating on somebody else she would be able to at least slow the steady climb of her desire prompted by the almost too sexy Scott Langdale.
Cynthia, a not unattractive but somewhat plump blonde in her middle thirties, was describing in detail how her suburban prostitution ring would operate. There was a certain harshness in the woman's manner that Carole found rather irritating. Cynthia, it seemed, lacked the patience subtlety required and obviously didn't give a hoot about the social amenities.
She was as direct in her speech as she was in her manner, sprinkling her sentences with lusty adjectives and explicit, good old Anglo-Saxon terms for sexual intercourse and genitalia. She was as blunt as a longshoreman, every bit as crude, and while she appeared to be satisfied with her career as a madam her smiles were few and far between.
Cynthia Corral was a business woman, pure and simple, thought Carole, summing up her silent appraisal of the busty, blue-eyed, and tough-talking blonde whose intention it was to gather around her a select group of suburban housewives who, for one reason or another, were interested in prostituting themselves.
"Yeah, I like this little operation you have planned," Scott said, smiling what Carole thought was a beautiful smile as he addressed himself to Cynthia. "It's nice and neat. And so simple that the risk involved is minimal."
Cynthia, who had deposited herself in one of the two cinnamon-colored bucket chairs in the handsomely-decorated motel room, returned the smile given her by the man leaning against the door, his arms folded across his broad chest. "Everything I plan," she said, "has a way of working out, Scott."
"It does seem safe enough," said Sheila, who was sitting on the edge of the large bed. "I mean, there really doesn't seem any way of us getting caught."
Carole, sitting with her legs crossed on the other bucket chair, looked over at her friend. Sheila, she thought, seemed somewhat less enthusiastic than she had been during then-drive to the motel. Now that the moment of truth was near, was she starting to lose her famous cool?
"You sound as if you're trying to convince yourself, Sheila," Scott said, his words again accompanied by an attractive smile.
"No, not really. At least I don't think I am.
Cynthia delivered one of her rare chuckles. "Mrs. Davidson is a little nervous, Scott. And that, experience has taught me, is par for the course. All my girls get the jitters just before they entertain their first customer."
"Sure. You get that first fuck under your belt, so to speak, and the funny feeling you have right now will be nothing but a memory. I can guarantee it, Sheila."
The blonde beauty smiled. "I'm sure you're right, Scott. Will my John be here soon?"
Scott chuckled. "There, see that, Cynthia? I told you Sheila was a quick study. She's already using the words of the trade."
"Mr. Anderson won't be arriving for a while yet," Cynthia said, checking her wristwatch. "It's one o'clock now and I told him to get here by three, but not before."
"Then why," Carole asked, "did you ask Sheila to meet you here at twelve-thirty?"
"Because I wanted us to have time to get acquainted. I like to know something about the girls who will be working for me. While I trust Scott and value his opinion, I wanted to check Sheila out for myself. After all, a woman in my position can't be too careful about those she hires."
Carole nodded. And then, almost against her will, her eyes turned again to the devilishly-handsome male standing nonchalantly, maybe even arrogantly, against the closed and locked motel door. She wished he wouldn't keep looking at her like that. Almost every time she cast her eyes in his direction she caught him staring.
And that look, that beautiful, sexy, would-I-ever-love-to-sock-it-to-you smile, was putting a terrific strain on her self-composure. Was he aware of her condition, of the fact that she was dampening her panties at the crotch? Probably, thought Carole, answering herself.
If outward appearances were any criteria, then Mr. Scott Langdale was one man whose experience with women was nothing less than considerable. And those eyes of his, those clear, bright, piercing orbs of blue, had no doubt already told him all he needed to know about the effect he was having on her. Even though she had yet to start squirming around in her chair.
"You haven't mentioned what you do for a living, Mr. Langdale," Carole said, a small smile blossoming on her beautiful face.
Scott chuckled softly. Unfolding his arms, he pushed away from the door and moved slowly toward the bed. He dropped down next to Sheila and draped his left arm around her shoulders.
"No answer, Mr. Langdale?"
"Scott is a man of some mystery, Carole," Cynthia explained. "He values his privacy very highly and prefers to keep his various exploits to himself. Even I don't know what he's up to all the time, and we've been friends for a good number of years."
"Hmmm, that does sound mysterious," Carole said, her gaze directed at Sheila.
"Don't look at me, friend," Sheila grinned. "I know almost nothing about this beautiful hunk of man."
"Now that was sweet, baby," Scott said, leaning over to peck on the cheek the female whose cunt his pecker had plumbed on numerous occasions. Then he turned again to Carole. "Instead of talking about me, why don't we talk about you, Carole? That would be just as interesting, I'm sure."
"I doubt that," the dazzling brunette smiled. "I'm afraid I haven't lived a very intriguing life."
"Nonsense. A woman as lovely as you must certainly have been involved in a few passionate capers."
"I'm just a housewife," Carole shrugged.
"Well, Mrs. Housewife," Cynthia interjected, "if your life has lacked intrigue and excitement up until now, you should find your new career as a part-time call girl very rewarding. Emotionally as well as financially."
'That's true enough," Scott added. "You'll be meeting a nice variety of men and-"
"Wait just a minute," Carole interrupted. "I don't intend to become a prostitute. I just-just came along for the ride, that's all."
Scott laughed. "You what?"
"Sheila, didn't you explain to Miss Corral that I had no intention of becoming one of her girls?"
Sheila nodded. "I told her when I phoned to see if it was all right that I bring you along with me."
"But I didn't believe it then," Cynthia said, "and I don't believe it now." She looked hard at the stunning female sitting some ten feet away and tried to envision her bare-assed naked, her body in lewd squirm on a bed as she awaited her customer. Carole Wayne, she thought, was going to be of considerable help in making the suburban branch of her call-girl ring a flourishing enterprise. Already she could hear the men asking, no, demanding, a session with the lush brunette beauty.
'. 'Come on, Carole," Scott said, the grin on his face broad and sardonic. "You don't really expect me to believe for one single second that you came here only to-to survey the scene. I mean, it's just-just too crazy."
"It's the truth," Carole stated, trying to inject into her voice a note of conviction. "I'm just here to-oh, I don't know. To lend Sheila a little moral support, maybe."
"Oh, for cryin' out loud, sweetheart. First of all, Sheila doesn't need any moral support. And secondly, even if she did you're hardly the person to lend it."
"I think perhaps it's time I was leaving," Carole said, uncrossing her legs. "I can get a taxi home, I'm sure."
"Hold on a minute," said Scott, his grin fading. "If you had no intention of embarking on a career as a whore with Sheila, then how come you didn't speak up earlier? You were as quiet as a mouse when Cynthia was explaining how things would work."
"I-I just assumed you knew that I wasn't going to participate. Maybe I just wanted to-to learn how the prostitution business is handled."
Scott laughed again. "Honey, you're either pulling my leg or you're the most naive female I've ever encountered. No, let me correct that. Maybe you're the most mixed up."
"Take it easy, Scott," Sheila said softly, patting the handsome man's left knee.
"Sure, but I mean this is really ridiculous, Sheila. Is she leveling with us or what? Is she serious about not turning prostitute?"
Sheila looked at her friend and smiled tenderly. "I'm not really sure, Scott. I don't honestly know."
But you do know, Carole thought confusedly. Behind that smile you're laughing at me, telling me to admit the truth. You, like Cynthia and Scott, think that I'm making a complete ass of myself. You know that I'm sitting here pretending to feel something I think I should feel-disgust, perhaps. Maybe even anger.
And that while I'm playing my role, feigning innocence, my pussy is salivating all over the place. Who am I fooling, anyway. You know that I'm hot, that my vagina, twitching madly now, is ready to be filled with hard prick-the prick belonging to Mr. Scott Langdale.
Oh, shit, everything was so dreadfully mixed up. It was the height of absurdity to deny the need to get royally balled now wending its way determinedly, inexorably, through her warming body. Yet what of Jeffrey, her husband, the man she loved with all her heart and soul?
Wasn't he entitled to any consideration? How could she cheat on him, this wonderful man whose love for her she treasured so very highly? What would he say if he knew that she was perilously close to committing her first infidelity, and that this infidelity would most likely lead to, yes, admit it, dammit, to a series of afternoon rendezvous with strange men?
Oh, but it was so perverse! So mind-boggling and-and so thrilling!
'The time has come to get down to business," Cynthia declared, suddenly breaking the silence as she pushed herself up out of the smart bucket chair. "Scott, Mrs. Wayne appears to be in somewhat of a quandary. Why don't you see if you can't help her out of it."
"My pleasure," Scott grinned. "Carole may have her doubts about part-time prostitution now, but when I'm through she'll be all in favor of it." He pushed himself up off the bed and walked quickly to where Carole sat, lifting her up out of the chair even before she could utter a single protest.
"No-what are-"
That was the extent of the beautiful brunette's argument, the rest of it choking in her throat as the muscular Scott enveloped her in his strong arms and planted his hard, demanding lips over her soft, pliant ones.
Sheila stood, her eyes riveted to the kissing couple. A shiver of pleasure rippled up her spine as she recalled the many times Scott had embraced her as he was now embracing her friend. She knew the sweet power of his kiss, how his hotly probing tongue and softly sucking lips could turn a girl to jello and make her want to strip and screw on the spot.
She didn't think there was a woman alive who could resist the promise of hot, unbridled sex that Scott's knowledgeable kiss and embrace dispatched. Only the most frigid of females would fail to respond with a show of desire. And Carole Wayne was certainly not in that sad category.
The urge to resist that had sprung up instinctively in Carole when she found herself being crushed against Scott's hard chest was now but a memory, having been chased away by a sudden rush of scandalous excitement and the ever-growing, deliciously-depraved need to sample the cock of the big, beautiful man kissing her.
She was whimpering into his mouth now, nibbling at his lips, parting her own to admit entry of his searching tongue. She was holding him close, her arms wrapped around his strong back, and as her pulsing pussy continued, signaling its great need for a stuffing she squirmed against Scott's chest and let him feel the spongy softness of her breasts through her blouse and bra.
"So you just came to watch, huh?" Scott asked when at last he broke the kiss. "You don't kiss like a woman interested in just listening and watching."
"Please, Scott," Carole breathed. "I-I-"
"You what, sweetheart?"
"I-I want you, Scott. Please do it to me. Now-on the bed."
"Hot to trot, are you?"
"Y-Yes. I need you so bad. I need-cock."
Scott grinned. He took a step back and reached for Carole's right hand, brought it to the bulge beginning to form at the front of his expensive brown slacks. "Is that what you want, Mrs. Wayne? Would your sweet, little pussy like a visit from him?"
"Yes, oh yes," Carole breathed, her expression one of abject need as she squeezed Scott's swelling manhood through the material of his slacks. "I want that. I need it so bad."
"Show me how hot and wet you are, baby," Scott ordered, removing Carole's hand from his stiffening joy stick. "Lift up your skirt and let's get a peek at your panties. I'll bet they're a soggy mess already."
Breathing hard, Carole reached down and with both hands took hold of the hem of her short blue skirt. She pulled the skirt up quickly, excitedly, revealing the creamy-smooth softness of her thighs and then holding the garment bunched about her waist as a grinning Scott focused on her exposed panties.
Meanwhile, over by the bed, Sheila and Cynthia were engaged in a mini-argument. The enterprising madam had moved over to Sheila during Scott's embrace of Carole and was now chiding the hump-happy housewife for her ignorance about lesbian love.
"B-But I've never made love to another woman," Sheila argued, standing quietly as the experienced Cynthia unbuttoned her frilly white blouse. "I don't know what to do."
"Then it's high time you found out, sweetheart."
"But really, Cynthia, I don't like to-"
"Just trust to your instincts," the busty madam interrupted, drawing open Sheila's blouse and pulling it back off her smooth shoulders. "Everything will be fine if you relax and allow pleasure to take charge."
"Are you a lesbian, Cynthia?"
"I swing both ways, honey. I love a nice, fat cock crammed balls deep in my twat, that's for damn sure. But I also enjoy makin' it with a beautiful woman. It's a delicious change of pace, if you know what I mean."
Sheila didn't know what the ambitious madam meant. Having never experimented with lesbian love, she was inclined to look upon the sexual embrace of two females with considerable skepticism and faint distaste.
How, she wondered, could the act of kissing another female, and sucking a female snatch, compare to the act of love between man and woman? What joy it was to be taken by a rough and ready stud, to surrender body and soul to the sheer animal lust of one like Scott Langdale.
How could the pleasure derived from lesbian love match that derived from a sound screwing by an attractive, well-built male? It certainly didn't seem possible that the caress of a woman, no matter how expert and experienced she might be, could provide the stimulation afforded one by the manual ministrations of a sexually sophisticated man.
And besides, if a girl was really intent on getting her jollies, if she wanted to be blasted to the moon and back again, she needed something hard and long and throbbing stuck into her cunt. A dildo in the hand of another woman was no match for the blood-packed prick of a confident, experienced male.
"Come on, Sheila, get undressed, will you?" Cynthia said, her voice laced with irritation. "I'm almost down to my skin and you haven't even removed your bra yet. Come on, get with it."
Hoping that the pleasantly plump madam wasn't intending to make a habit of climbing into bed with her, Sheila reached around in back and undid the clasp of her cream-colored brassiere. She peeled the constricting garment off her beautiful boobs and dropped it on the floor, atop her blouse.
As she fumbled with the zipper at the side of her deep purple pleated skirt, she cast her eyes in the direction of her neighbor and the virile Scott Langdale. Carole was really steaming now, she thought. The poor thing looked as if she were going to have an orgasm any second!
"You like that, don't you, sweetheart?" Scott asked, grinning. "You like it when your hot twat is touched."
"Oh, yes," Carole whimpered, swaying in front of Scott as he continued massaging her soupy cabbage through the sheer material of her pink panties. "Your hand-it's so good. Harder. Rub me harder."
"How about a little kiss, baby? Shall I much on your pretty pussy for a while?"
"Yes, kiss me. Let me feel-arhhh, so good."
Still fully clothed, a smirking Scott sank to his knees and placed his strong hands on Carole's smooth, sleek thighs, an inch or so under the hem of her damp-at-the-crotch pants. Then, without further ado, he plastered his handsome face against the lush brunette's pantied pussy and began sucking. "Oh, Scott. Oh!"
"You taste good, baby. Smell nice, too."
"Chew on me," Carole pleaded breathlessly. "Oh, please. Eat me good, Scott. Ohhh-"
Tingling with delight, her body in slow, sensual sway, Carole looked down and through eyes glazed by passion watched Scott work on her womanhood. She thrilled to the feel of his sucking lips and hard-working, thrusting tongue at her covered cunt, and contributing greatly to her pleasure was the gut-jumbling wickedness of the act itself.
Here she was, in a motel room miles from the luxurious home she shared with her handsome husband, holding up her skirt so that a comparative stranger could gnaw at her itching, twitching twat through the almost transparent material of her panties. Oh, the beautiful, spine-tingling indecency of it all!
like Carole, Scott was aware of the sheer lewdness of her pornographic pose, the lust-provoking decadence of it. But he was deriving even greater pleasure from inhaling the musky, female aroma emanating from her cunt and munching on that cunt like a ravenous mouse.
He wanted Carole hotter than she had ever been in her life, so badly in need of his bloated pecker that she'd be willing to barter her very soul for it. He wanted to build her lust to a fever pitch, to befog her brain with pure passion, and then watch as she ripped off her clothes and scurried to the bed where, in naked, wanton squirm, while hotly massaging her tits and twat, she begged like a nymphomaniac for the fucking of her life.
And so, as Carole shamelessly held her skirt aloft, as she whimpered with delight and swayed to and fro, Scott labored in earnest at her sheathed loins, burrowing like a rodent between her soft, sweltering thighs as he sucked and nibbled, licked and laved with licentious enthusiasm.
"Oh, Scott," the succulent brunette gasped joyously. "What are-you-doing to me? You're-you're eating me alive."
"Gaaaagh-" Scott growled, the sound smothered in the steaming, swampy mush that was Carole's pantied-crotch.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Stark-naked now, a somewhat apprehensive Sheila watched an unsmiling Cynthia pull down the beige bedcover to reveal a mattress sheathed in a crisp white linen sheet. Then, complying with the husky-voiced madam's request, she climbed onto the motel bed and stretched out on her back.
"You're going to enjoy this, I'm sure," Cynthia promised, following the hump-happy housewife onto the bed. "Many of my girls do."
"Have you made love to them all?" asked Sheila, looking down her body as the madam maneuvered into position between her legs.
"Yes. At one time or another each has enjoyed my ministrations. Of course, I have my favorites among them."
"Will I get to meet any of the other girls?"
"Probably. If you like, you can drop by my apartment in the city sometime and get acquainted with the women already in my stable. I'm sure they'll like you, Sheila."
Stable. It sounded, Sheila thought, as if Cynthia intended to place her in a stall in a barn, alongside her other fillies. But if there was something rather demeaning about being put on display like that, like a prize animal that had been carefully groomed to pass diligent inspection, there was also something very exciting, very sinful about it. How decidedly decadent to be one of a number of beautiful females fucking for a fee. A wanton whore is what she would soon become. A lady of the afternoon, so to speak.
"All right now, Mrs. Davidson," Cynthia said, a faint smile on her roundish face, "prepare to be pleasured in a new and exciting manner. Even though you won't be a full-fledged member of my company of players until Charlie Anderson has fucked you and paid for your services, I will consider you one of my girls after we've made love. You might think of this as a kind of initiation, Sheila."
With that, not waiting for Sheila's comment, Cynthia crouched low and immediately commenced a licentious licking of the beautiful blonde's golden snatch, her tongue in lazy swirl as she swabbed the thick patch of curly pubic hairs surrounding the inviting sex slit.
Sheila closed her eyes and waited for something to happen, the soft mewls of pleasure being emitted by Carole wafting into her ears. It would h ve been nice, she thought, had this so-called initiation required the presence of a big, pussy-packing pecker-preferably, the one wielded so skillfully by Mr. Scott Langdale, now busy slobbering all over her friend's soaked undies.
Then again, she really had no right to be greedy. Scott had fucked her to mind-bending orgasms on numerous occasions and would do so again. Just because she was now a housewife-whore didn't mean that she couldn't avail herself of Scott's dazzling sexual prowess. Let Carole enjoy his talents now. Let Scott, with his mouth and tongue and beautiful cock, turn Carole into a smoldering mass of passion-crazed flesh and in the process burn from her mind what few doubts about the excitement of prostitution that probably still lingered there.
The highly-sexed Scott was doing precisely that, Sheila would have been pleased to know. His feverish labors, the lustful way he was sucking and licking and tonguing Carole's pulsating pussy through the thin material of her wet, odorous panties, was turning the scrumptious brunette inside out, weakening her knees and blurring her mind with pure desire.
And when at last he pulled back for a breath of air, the taste of her twat on his lips and the scintillating smell of her twat in his nostrils, Carole was ready to crawl to the far corners of the earth for the prick her pussy was angrily demanding. But Scott, evidencing a streak of perversity, insisted on a continuation of the sweet torment.
"Come on, honey," he said, looking up at Carole, "Let me work on your naked cunt for a while. I want to suck it raw."
"Yes, do it," Carole breathed. "Pull down my pants and suck me. Suck my hot twat, Scott. Oh, shit, I'm burning up down there. Ohhh-"
"You do it, baby. Push down your pants for me."
"Yes, I'll do it," Carole said quickly. "I'll do it."
Dazed by desire, her cunt in molten boil, the woman who up to the fatal moment had clung tenaciously to the preposterous notion of remaining an observer only, an interested spectator, now released her skirt and fumbled for the waistband of her hot panties. Inserting her thumbs in the waistband, she quickly pushed the thin undergarment down, around and off her shapely hips, past the triangular patch of dark pubic curls guarding the entrance to her palpitating pussy.
"Oh, yes," Scott exclaimed. "Yes, indeed."
"It's all yours," was Carole's raspy retort. "Chew on me, Scott. And then-then screw me silly."
Seconds later, his pecker struggling to tumefy in the warm confines of his undershorts, Scott was again worshipping the cock-craving Carole's fragrant womanhood, inhaling the musky scent of her steaming snatch as he swept his tongue up and down her pulpy sex lips.
Once again holding her skirt up around her slim waist, her damp panties now a pink band of cotton hugging her thighs, a few inches under her inviting sex nest, Carole sobbed with pleasure and struggled to maintain her balance.
A wicked bolt of dizzying delight suddenly stiffened her, the spine-straightening shock of bliss a happy consequence of Scott's sizzling soluurn into the pussy proper. She could feel his talented tongue foraging about her vagina, probing its viscous secrets, twirling and swirling in excited exploration.
"Oh, Scott. Ohh-oh!"
Another cry of utter delight was wrenched from the passion-dazed Carole when Scott, piling pleasure atop pleasure, sent his tongue in frenzied pursuit of her cringing clitoris. That sensitive nubbin of flesh was caught, trapped, pummeled into pulsating submission, Scott's lashing tongue whipping it wildly, unmercifully.
Thirty seconds of this hot clitoral massage and Carole was ready to flip out altogether. Tremulous sobs of lust broke from her throat. Her body quivered ecstatically in response to the mad assault on her tender clit. Her beautiful face, flushed and twisted by desire, eloquently reflected her terrible need for the biggest of pricks.
She felt herself falling, her knees giving way as she groped blindly for Scott's head to maintain her balance. She grabbed a handful of his thick black hair, snapping his head to the side as she toppled to the floor to his left. On her back now, knees up and splayed, she whipped her hands under her skirt and commenced a fiery massage of her aching cunt.
Scott hopped to his feet and started tearing off his clothes, his eyes never leaving the sex-drunk female twisting and turning on the thickly carpeted motel room floor. In rapid succession he removed his shirt, undershirt, kicked off his loafers and pulled down his slacks. He peeled his socks from his feet, tossing them atop his other clothes, then yanked off his cock constricting white jockey briefs.
His pecker, free at last, sprang to attention, slapping against his hard, flat belly and then jerking down to jut from his loins in throbbing readiness. Without delay, he stepped over to the whimpering Carole and roughly pulled her up to her feet, his fingernails digging into the flesh of her arms. As she swayed before him in what resembled a hypnotic trance, he quickly and expertly removed her clothes.
And when he had bared her beautiful body, after a brief moment to take in her lush loveliness, her lust-enhancing vulnerability, he scooped her up in his strong arms and carried her quickly to the bed. There, next to Cynthia and Sheila, he dropped her.
The fall from Scott's arms, the resultant impact when she bounced onto the mattress, jolted Carole from her strange concupiscent coma, her eyes flying open and her arms reaching up for the man whose blood-filled prick she craved with a passion bordering on the nymphomaniacal.
"Fuck me, Scott," she growled animalistically. "Fuck me to pieces!"
"Fuck you, baby? Hell, I'm going to rip your pussy to shreds."
"I want is so bad-so very bad. My pussy-it hurts, Scott. Make it better. Oh, shit, screw me crazy, dammit."
"Baby, I'm going to saw you in two."
And with that, after no more than a quick glance at Sheila and Cynthia, now locked in lewd lesbian embrace, Scott climbed onto the large bed and arranged himself between Carole's spread legs in proper pussy-plowing position.
"Oh, I want it, I want it," whimpered the dark-haired beauty, her eyes wide as she reached down with both hands to grasp the hard prick poised at her leaking sex hole. "Get it in, Scott. Ram it up to my fucking tits."
Carole tried to shovel Scott's meaty member into her aching vagina, her fingers dragging along the cock's war, smooth, pulsating surface as she worked to stuff it inside her hungry hole. And then Scott lunged, the sudden snapping of his hips sending his bloated bone trundling deep up into the mushy confines of her pulsating pussy.
"Ug! Yes, do it to me. Fuck it raw, you beautiful stud. Ream me-owww!"
Braced on hands and knees, Scott began moving in Carole's hotly clasping cunt, his blood-choked cock a fleshy pestle as it pounded her weeping womanhood. In and out he worked his manhood, his strokes strong, sure, touching bottom each time, dredging from Carole's throat repeated gasps and grunts of delight.
"More-much more," pleaded the beauteous brunette, thrusting up her hips to greet the descending dick.
"Harder, baby?" Scott growled.
"Yes. And faster."
"Like this?"
"Ughhh!"
"And this?"
"Oh, you're killing me with cock," Carole moaned. "But I love it. I love it!"
Less than two feet away, to Carole's left, a surprised and delighted Sheila Davidson was hungrily mouthing Cynthia Corral's odorous twat, slurping up the sticky juices flowing from that hot cove.
Sheila's transformation from skeptical, unsure partner in perversion to active participant had taken a remarkably short time, Cynthia's artful tonguing of her snatch serving to quickly change the hump-happy housewife's mind about the pleasures possible from a session of sapphism.
And now, having eagerly agreed to the madam's proposal that she suck a little herself, Sheila was munching merrily on a snatch she found not at all repugnant. Cynthia, meanwhile, was busy at work on her new girl's womanhood, having resumed her fastidious feast after pausing to reverse herself on the bed so that she was crouched atop Sheila, her broad behind hovering over Sheila's beautiful face.
It was blonde eating blonde, the one treating the other to a wanton washing of the genital area. Unsure at first, inhibited by her lack of experience in lesbianism, Sheila had commenced her lewd labors with a series of experimental tongue thrusts and a cautious, gentle laving of the madam's meaty pussy lips.
But she soon reached the conclusion that a more enthusiastic effort was in order, thanks in large part to the unalloyed determination with which her own snatch was being chewed. So, taking a cue from Cynthia, who was slobbering like crazy between her legs, Sheila cast aside her doubts and began attacking her twat in a more forceful manner, lifting her head up off the pillow to bury her face in the steaming cabbage that was Cynthia's sex bush.
And now, as she drilled her tongue into the energetic madam's weeping pussy and strummed a quivering clitoris, her only regret was that she had not discovered the unique pleasure of girl-girl love before this. Then again, she thought, better late than never.
Oblivious to what was going on right next to her, conscious only of the fantastic fucking she was getting from the outrageously attractive Scott Langdale, Carole writhed in whorish abandon under her partner and exhorted him, with words beautifully explicit, to bang the shit out of her.
Scott needed no such encouragement, of course, yet he was certainly not about to order Carole to shut up. He was a man who enjoyed hearing the female he was humping beg for more and more of his manhood. He liked his women active and verbal in bed. It gave him extraordinary pleasure to look down into his partner's face, as he was doing now, and see the lust written there, take note of the glazed eyes, the flared nostrils, the twitching mouth from which trickled escaping saliva.
"Oh, Scott, it's so good," Carole breathed hotly, her head jerking side to side on the pillow. "So deep-you're in me so deep."
"You're a whore at heart, baby," Scott husked. "I knew it from the start."
"Y-Yes, a whore," Carole stammered. "That's what I am."
"A beautiful slut."
"A beautiful slut."
"You love cock, Carole," Scott growled, his voice almost a shout as he slammed into the quivering brunette's soft, mushy vagina yet another time. "Tell me you love cock, baby."
"I do, I do," Carole wailed. "I adore cock!"
"Where do you love it, Carole? Tell me, dammit."
Carole let loose a moan of sheer delight as Scott's rock-hard prick boomed up into her tummy once again. She squeezed her vaginal muscles around the fleshy invader, hugged it hotly as if unwilling to let it go for even a second, for the time it would take to withdraw and then come crashing back inside her swampy cove.
"Tell me, I said. Where do you love a fat prick?"
"In my cunt-in my hot, aching cunt, Scott."
"And in your mouth."
"Yes, in my mouth."
"And your ass? You love a cock up your ass, don't you?"
Another guttural moan of pleasure was ripped from Carole's throat by Scott's battering ram of a prick. All feeling was now concentrated in her cunt and it seemed to her, in this moment of mindless passion, that that was just what she was, a cunt, a huge, bottomless vagina to be endlessly stuffed iwth thick, throbbing prick.
"Answer me, sweetheart," Scott barked. "Do you love a good hard ass-fuck?"
"I do," Carole groaned up into Scott's face. "I do love a hard ass-fuck. A dirty ass-fuck."
A satanic grin blossomed quickly on the face of the man who delighted in hearing beautiful women confess to deriving keen pleasure from perverted acts. He silently resolved to test the elasticity of Carole Wayne's rectum before the afternoon was over. How fine it, would be, he thought, to pry open the spongy cheeks of this sexy housewife and then shove his swollen cock deep into her rectal canal.
Not that he wasn't satisfied with things as they were. He was, very much so, and the fantastic feel of Carole's velvet-soft cuntal muscles squeezing his plunging pecker was passionately prodding him toward the inevitable ejaculation. But it was also very pleasant to contemplate the stirring of her turds.
He would order her to place herself belly down on the bed and then have her reach back and pull open her succulent ass-cheeks. He would then move into position and ram his meaty member up into her beautiful bottom, the powerful plunge wrenching from her throat a groan of ecstasy. Yes, it was going to real fun fucking Carole Wayne's delectable denier, Scott thought, even as he crashed his tumescent organ into her seething vagina yet another time. He was sure he would derive as much enjoyment from fucking Carole's behind as he had from fucking Sheila Davidson's.
But this would come later. Right now he was tending to a twat, a hot, pulsating, soupy swamp of a twat.
"Oh, I think it's starting for me," Carole croaked. "I'm so close-so very close."
"Let it go, baby," Scott rasped. "Soak my cock, dammit."
Pushing up and back so that he was kneeling on the bed, his rock-hard root still snugly imbedded in Carole's sizzling vagina, the handsome man of mystery quickly hooked his arms under the sex-dazed female's legs and shoved them back and down, toward her tingling tits.
"Yes, like that," Carole said thickly. "Good. Owww!"
Scott's deep, almost brutal thrust into her slushy cunt was followed by another, and then another. She was now almost bent double, her knees banging against her tits each time Scott's throbbing cock slammed into her.
"Feel it, cunt?" Scott asked, punctuating the question with a particularly potent plunge into the happy brunette's gripping sex canal.
"Deep-so deep," Carole moaned, her head rolling wildly on the pillow. "I'm going to come. I'm-oh, uhh."
"Come, baby, come."
"Yes, Oh, oh, ohhh-" A mighty wave of pure pleasure washed over Carole as she came, her cunt in wild spasmodic fit as it sprayed Scott's pumping cock with sticky sex juice. Her legs flew up and out, stiffening as they reached to touch the ceiling. Her hands pressed down on her partner's shoulders, her sharp fingernails biting into the skin.
And then, seconds later, it was Scott's turn. A savage groan of pleasure tore from his throat as he climaxed, bolts of ecstasy flashing through him as the warm, creamy come sped through his imbedded prick and spurted out into Carole's already mushy vagina. Scalding squirt followed scalding squirt as he spilled his seed in the quivering brunette, his viscid discharge mixing with the product of her own copious come.
Finally, he collapsed atop Carole and buried his head in the pillow, his hard chest mashing against her taste-tempting boobs. As the joyous spasms began to subside, Carole slowly lowered her legs and stretched them out on the bed, her arms slowly slipping around Scott's back.
It was a full three minutes before man and woman disengaged, unlocking their loins with a certain reluctance. Scott rolled off Carole's body onto his back, then, after several seconds, swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood. He smiled down at Carole and blew her a kiss, then turned and headed for the bathroom, the need to piss suddenly urgent.
Carole watched him go, a tender smile basking on her beautiful face, then she turned her head on the pillow and devoted her attention to Sheila and Cynthia. As her hands drifted down her flat tummy to her twat, she wondered what it would be like to make love to another woman.
Never had she considered the idea of sexually embracing a member of her own sex. But then again, Carole thought, never had she really considered the idea of committing adultery. It had come to pass, however, and now she could no longer proudly think of herself as a one-man woman.
Now she was an adulteress, a cheating female, a wife who had strayed outside the marital bed. And Scott Langdale, only the second male to gain access to her vagina, had catapulted her to the stars with a mind-blowing fuck, one that was the equivalent in ecstasy to the very best lay given her by her husband.
But where was the awful guilt she should be feeling at this very moment? Where oh where was that sense of shame, that sharp urge to lash out against herself for having been unfaithful to the man she loved?
Right now, instead of caressing her recently-reamed cunt and watching her neighbor and Cynthia Corral munch each other's snatch, she should be in tears, locked into a moment of self-recrimination while silently avowing her undying love for Jeff. She should be pledging future fidelity and swearing to herself that never, not ever, would she again mock the oath taken on her wedding day.
There was no guilt, none at all, Carole realized. In fact, were she to admit the whole truth she would be forced to declare, in a voice loud and clear, that already she was looking forward to a second screwing by the outrageously attractive Mr. Langdale. And the thought of taking his cock into her mouth, milking it with her softly sucking lips, was building in intensity.
Continuing to stroke herself, Carole watched Cynthia and Sheila suddenly shudder in mutual joy, tremulous moans of pleasure spilling from the throat of each woman as the ecstasy of orgasm swarmed over both. Instinctively she inserted a finger inside her hole and tapped her relaxed clit.
"So, Mrs. Davidson," Cynthia said when she had crawled away from Sheila to sit on the edge of the bed, "how did you like your introduction to lesbianism?"
The blonde housewife, stretched out full-length on the bed, smiled and answered, "I never realized that two women could-well, come together so beautifully. It was delightful."
Cynthia grinned. "I'm glad you liked it. Every woman should experience the pleasure of lesbianism at least once in her life."
"I wouldn't have agreed with you a little while ago, but I do now."
"It's especially important that my girls have no aversion to making love with another female," Cynthia added, looking first at Sheila and then at Carole.
"Important?" asked Sheila. She turned her head on the pillow and gave Carole a puzzled look.
"That's what I said. As you both become more experienced as prostitutes, you'll discover that the male animal is indeed a very curious species. Some men have rather unusual tastes when it comes to their sexual preferences."
"Unusual tastes? I don't have any unusual tastes, Cynthia." The grin on Scott's carefully-crafted face was broad as he returned from the bathroom, his now limp-as-a-wet-noodle pecker dangling between his hairy legs.
"I'll reserve comment on that, if you don't mind," said Cynthia, watching her friend deposit himself on the edge of the bed, across from her.
"What exactly do you mean by unusual tastes?" Carole asked, trying to think of the most depraved sexual act in the book.
"Most men are satisfied with a straight screwing. Supply them with a beautiful girl whose cunt is wet and warm and they're as happy as a pig in a mud bath. A lot of men also enjoy, getting blown before they fuck. And some prefer to flip a girl over onto her belly and stick it up her fanny."
"That's not so unusual," Sheila said, grinning at Scott and recalling the many times she had sucked his prick to a fanny-fucking rigidity.
"No of course it isn't," said Cynthia. "What I'm getting at is that sooner or later you'll meet the guy who gets his jollies by watching two girls go at it. That's why I say it's important you're prepared. When a stud picks a girl from my stable and says he wants her to make it with another chick, I expect complete compliance with that request."
"You won't get any argument from me," Sheila promised.
"And how about you, Carole? Do you have any qualms about making love to another woman?"
"No-I mean, I don't think so."
"You don't think so? I take it you've never experienced lesbianism, Mrs. Wayne."
"No, I haven't."
Scott chucked and began stroking Carole's right leg. "How about that, Cynthia? Another girl for you to break in."
Cynthia nodded. Then, after a moment's thought, "I've just come up with an excellent idea, girls. Sheila, why don't you be the one to introduce Carole to the delights of homosexuality? I think you'd enjoy that, right?"
"Well, I, er-well, yes, I would." Sheila again turned to look at Carole, hoping to detect in her friend's expression a note of interest in the madam's proposal.
"Sure," Scott said, "that's an excellent idea.
We still have plenty of time left to play around before Anderson arrives." He looked directly at Carole and added, "As for me, I have a whole bag of goodies ready to deliver to a good little girl."
The luscious brunette smiled back at Scott, the idea of sucking his prick again jumping into her mind.
"Well, Carole," Cynthia said, "are you game?"
Carole hesitated just briefly, then, "Yes, I'm game." She turned her head toward Sheila and , smiling softly, slid her left hand across the bed to clasp her friend's right. "I think Sheila will be an excellent teacher."
"Everything is settled then," Scott declared. "Only one little matter remains to be discussed."
"And what would that be, Mr. Langdale?" asked Cynthia.
"The hole in which you would like me to stick my prick," Miss Corral, to whom Scott directed his question, smiled broadly.
"So you've decided to fuck me, have you?"
"You're damn right I have, you old whore you. I'm not going to just sit around and watch while Sheila and Carole make it with each other. I don't get my kicks that way, remember?"
"One of these days, Mr. Langdale, I'm going to start treating you like a customer. You'll have to pay for my favors."
"You wouldn't do a thing like that to an old friend."
"Oh, wouldn't I?" Cynthia said, flashing one of her infrequent grins. "Don't be so sure about that."
As Sheila and Carole rolled toward each other, arms and legs entwining, Scott rose from the bed and walked around it until he was standing directly in front of Cynthia. He brought his right hand to his penis and started waving the limp organ in her face.
"See anything you like, Miss Corral?" he asked.
Cynthia looked up at her old friend, a man who in the course of their long friendship had humped her every way imaginable. And a few that were not so easily imagined. He was indeed beautiful to behold, she thought. And his pecker, even though soft and lifeless, was suddenly very inviting.
"Well?" Scott said.
"In my business a cock is a cock is a cock, Mr. Langdale. Do you think yours is something special?"
"Uh huh."
"You're conceit is showing, Scott," Sheila said, reaching up with her right hand to cup his wrinkled scrotal pouch. "But I must say you wear your egotism well."
"Will you stop talking and start eating me?" Scott grinned
"You impatient bastard you," Cynthia muttered under her breath.
And then, as Sheila and Carole locked lips in a sensual kiss, their breasts mashing, their twats rubbing, the once high-priced call girl leaned forward, licked her lips, and plopped Scott's limp pecker into her mouth. Although she had reached an age where she could no longer command top dollar for her services, she rather enjoyed performing for her old friend the act which, years ago, had earned her the title of "Cocksucking Fool."
CHAPTER EIGHT
Still stark-naked, with one mind boggling boffing and a surprisingly pleasurable lesbian session under her belt, Carole smiled a greeting at the man Cynthia had seconds ago introduced as Charles Anderson. Standing next to her was Sheila, also still naked and also smiling.
In fact, at the moment the only unsmiling face in the motel room belonged to Cynthia, her anger evidenced in the curt way she handled the introductions. Her ire had been raised by the totally unexpected presence of one Frank Kaine, a rather ordinary looking man in his late forties, whom she had never seen before.
Arriving promptly at three o'clock, Anderson had hastened to explain that he had decided, at the last moment, to bring along one of his very best friends. He was sure Cynthia wouldn't mind since Frank, "a real sweet guy," had brought with him a wallet "just bulging with money."
But Cynthia did mind. All that prevented her from blowing her stack was her wish not to upset Sheila and Carole, both of whom she had already decided were going to make outstanding whores. But she still seethed inside, the fact that this Frank Kaine character was a big spender mitigating her displeasure not at all.
What Cynthia found so maddening was Charlie Anderson's balls. Without informing her beforehand, without even bothering to pick up a phone and ask if she'd like another John, he had simply waltzed into the motel room with a friend in tow. The son-of-a-bitch had some nerve, she thought.
Anderson, good customer that he was, knew how the game was supposed to be played. Time and again she had stated her policy to him and the others who frequented her place of business. A phone call, a lousy two minute phone call, was what she required of the customer before he sauntered into her brothel.
Nobody just walked in off the street and said, "Hi, my name's Joe Blow and I'd like to get laid." An appointment had to be made first, for safety's sake. And nobody suddenly upped and decided on bringing a friend along after the appointment had been scheduled. Not only wasn't it kosher, it was downright dangerous, because if she didn't get from the John some pertinent facts about his friend, like name, occupation, marital status, plus a strong assurance that said friend was completely trustworthy, she was faced with the most unnerving possibility of finding herself in jail, her brothel closed down, and her girls, if they weren't in jail with her, working for another madam.
A slap in the face, that's what it was, Cynthia said to herself. But good old Charlie would pay for the insult. The next time he phoned, horny as hell and ready to jump head first into the nearest cunt, she would matter-of-factly inform him that the fee for laying one of her girls had gone up fifty bucks.
"Well, what do you think, Frank?" Charlie was saying, his left arm draped around his buddy. "Are these good looking broads or are they good looking broads?"
Frank chuckled. "Yeah, just like you told me, Charlie. You said Cynthia Corral was a madam with taste and you were right. I don't think I've ever met two more beautiful whores."
"And very eager to please, too," interjected Scott, slipping up behind Sheila and Carole and draping an arm around each. "I can vouch for both of them."
"Both of you are married, right?" Charlie asked.
Sheila and Carole nodded.
"Good. Just checking up, that's all. When I phoned Cynthia to set up a session with one of her girls and she told me about this housewife-whore thing she was working out, well, I just about came in my pants. That's been one of my fantasies, you know. Making it with another guy's broad."
"It's a fantasy I have often too," Frank said.
Charlie was really an ass, Cynthia thought. As was this lanky, sallow-faced friend of his. Both of them had about as much sex appeal as yesterday's warmed-over mashed potatoes. And as far as a personality was concerned, forget it. They both looked and acted like Midwesterners in town for a dull convention and determined to spice their stay with a dash of naughtiness.
Carole had yet to form a real opinion of Charlie or Frank, one of whom would be her first paying customer. They both seemed like nice enough fellows, she thought, although it was impossible to imagine any girl with an eye for beauty falling for either one.
Of the two, Frank was probably the more attractive. He was tall and lean, almost skinny, with an angular, lantern-jawed face crowned by thinning brown hair and eyes, also brown, that seemed somewhat devoid of life.
Charlie, it seemed, was playing Hardy to Frank's Laurel. He was short and stocky, moon-faced and smooth-skinned. His eyes were a glacial blue and his hair, the color of soot, was combed across his head and not straight back as was Frank's.
Unprepossessing. That was the one word, Carole decided, that best described both men. From a purely physical standpoint, neither Charlie nor Frank possessed anything distinctive. They were very ordinary, typical, the kind one sees walking down the street or riding the subway.
"Well, fellas," Cynthia said, "are you going to stand there all day ogling the ladies? Why don't you get yourselves naked and start acting out your mutual fantasy?"
Charlie nudged his friend. "Miss Corral has a pretty good idea there, wouldn't you say, Frank?"
"An excellent idea, Charlie," the gangling man answered.
As the two Johns began undressing, Scott moved over to Cynthia and in whispered tones informed the madam of his intention to cut out for a while. He would return, he said, in about two hours, hopefully in time to fuck Carole's ass before she and Sheila had to start back to their respective homes and husbands.
Carole was struck by a strange sense of loss as she watched Scott don his clothes. It was rather like saying good-bye to an old friend, she thought. One whose visit had been all too short. Yet she realized the reason behind his departure. Professional etiquette, so to speak, required that Scott remove himself from the scene so that the john could fuck in private.
"I'll see you two later," Scott promised with a smile, stepping up behind Sheila and Carole when he was fully dressed and patting each naked female on the behind. In an almost inaudible whisper, leaning toward Carole, he added, "Don't go wearing yourself out for these clowns, sweetheart. Save something for me when I get back, all right?"
Carole smiled and nodded.
"Don't lose this precious thing on the street," Sheila said, a lewd grin on her face as she reached across Scott's front and squeezed his crotch.
"Have no fear, baby. Scott Langdale doesn't go around losing his valuables."
And with that, after nodding a farewell to Frank and Charlie, both of whom were now bare-assed naked and eager to screw, Scott departed. When the door closed behind him, Cynthia motioned with her head for Sheila and Carole to get on the bed, then took Charlie aside and asked him to ante up.
"Right now?" a puzzled Charlie inquired.
"Right now, Mr. Anderson."
"What's the big rush? You know I always come across."
"The bread, Charlie," Cynthia said wearily, sticking out her right hand, palm up. "And you can tell your friend that I'd like his money now, too."
Charlie shrugged. "Well, all right, Cynthia. Whatever you say, of course." A small smile suddenly blossomed on his smooth, rounded face. "I guess you're a little uptight this afternoon, huh? I know it isn't easy to branch out in business-especially when you're starting with new girls."
"Yeah, maybe I'm a little uptight, Charlie. Now if you'll stop talking and pay me you can go ahead and do what you came here to do."
"Yeah, right away, sweetheart," Charlie grinned, giving the madam's right breast a quick, hard squeeze.
Turning around, he walked over to one of the bucket chairs and picked up his slacks. He reached into one of the pockets, pulled out his wallet, then removed several large bills. He looked over toward the bed, where his friend was standing, hands on hips, taring to the girls.
Deciding not to bother Frank, he picked up the man's pants and started poking in the pockets. He found the wallet, took the money he needed, then dropped the pants back onto the chair and returned to Cynthia.
"Here you go, Cynthia. Don't worry none, it's all there."
"Have a good time, Charlie," Cynthia said matter-of-factly, after taking the money and counting it.
"I always have a good time with your girls, baby."
A minute later Cynthia was comfortably ensconced in the chair Carole had been sitting in earlier, a cigarette dangling from one corner of her mouth as she took in the proceedings at the bed. Already she was savoring the sweet smell of success, attempting to determine her average yearly take from this offshoot of her prosperous pleasure palace in the city.
"Yeah, that's a good idea, Charlie," Frank said with a wicked little grin. "A nice blow-job would get things off to a good beginning."
"And I'll bet they're great at it," Charlie smiled. "I mean, they probably blow their husbands every chance they get."
Frank chuckled. "I'll bet you're right, pal."
"All right, ladies," Charlie said, placing his hands on his beefy hips, "Let's see how fast you can harden a pair of peckers."
Sheila and Carole pushed themselves up off the bed and then started maneuvering into position. Seconds later they were both sitting on the side of the bed, Sheila in front of Frank and Carole in front of Charlie.
"A blonde for me and a brunette for you," Frank noted, the flesh under his eyes crinkling as again he smiled his lewd smile.
"Any complaints, old friend?" Charlie asked.
"Not a one. Besides, we'll be switching off later."
Charlie chuckled and then looked down at Carole. "Okay, sweetheart, wrap those luscious lips of yours around my pretty penis."
Carole didn't hesitate to obey. Reaching out with her right hand she took hold of her customer's limp pecker, then, her naked bottom in lewd squirm on the bed as she wriggled forward just a bit, she opened her mouth wide and took Charlie in, her lovely lips closing over the pear-shaped head.
"Mmmmmra, that's nice, honey," Charlie purred, still looking down at the beautiful brunette. "Eat it like candy. Yeah, slow and easy does it now. Good-oh, yeah, that's what I like."
Frank Kaine followed with suggestions equally salacious, his comments prompted by Sheila's having plopped into her warm, moist mouth his flaccid cock. She was sucking on his organ, pulling on it tenderly, rolling it around in her wonderful mouth as her tongue teased and tickled.
As she worked on Charlie's member, her head in sensuous weave at his genital region, Carole again tried to conjure up an image of her husband, one that would succeed in planting within her at least a seed or two of guilt. How was it possible not to feel any remorse, she wondered.
Even as she asked herself that question Carole realized that any attempt to dredge up a little guilt, a little self-disgust, was destined to fail. She simply could not concentrate on Jeff. His face would appear in her mind and then disappear, pushed off stage by the wicked vision of Charlie Anderson, her first customer, ramming his cock deep inside her yearning vagina.
Every time she tried to think about her husband, about the abundant love she knew he held for her, she was quickly steered back to reality by the exciting feel of Charlie's pecker in her mouth and the thought of that pecker plugging her salivating cunt.
"Like that, swetheart," Charlie urged, his voice beginning to thicken. "Pull on it-get it nice and hard for me."
"Oh, man," Frank breathed, "this is the greatest. This dame sure knows what it's all about."
"I wouldn't mind being married to either one of them."
"You said it, Charlie. Imagine getting blown like this every fucking night?"
"My fat-assed wife never goes down on me, The bitch thinks it's perverted."
"Mine, too," Frank said, laying his hands gently on Sheila's weaving head. "But she's gotten so ugly in the last few years that I don't really care whether or not she blows me."
As the men cursed their wives, Carole and Sheila continued to orally service them. Sheila, sitting on Carole's right, was sucking now with greater abandon, the feel of the cock thickening in her mouth triggering twitches of excitement from her warming womanhood.
Carole, too, was beginning to turn on. Keeping her right hand on Charlie's pecker, at its hairy base, she dropped her left down between her legs and began squeezing her snatch, one finger sneaking between her flowering pussy lips and sliding upward to diddle a swelling clit.
It wasn't long before both housewives were sucking totally tumescent tools, their beautiful heads bobbing up and down over then-respective cocks. On a signal from Charlie, one given in a raspy tone of voice, Carole removed his rod from her saliva-laden mouth and began licking it all over.
Sheila followed suit with her tasty tool, withdrawing it from her mouth immediately after Frank's request that she do so and commencing a lewd licking of its shiny, sticky surface. like Carole, she licked her fleshy pole with obvious pleasure, her tongue curling up under Frank's rigid root as it slid across the sensitive underside.
"The balls, baby," Charlie ordered. "Lick my balls, too."
"Yeah," Frank said. "Suck my ball, Sheila. Tickle it with your hot tongue."
Charlie turned his head to Frank and winked. Then both men again lowered then-eyes to feast on the truly obscene sight of a desirable, naked female swabbing a hairy scrotal pouch. Charlie, his hands still clamped onto his thick hips, stared down at Sheila as she burrowed her face into his friend's crotch and munched on a pair of sperm-packed balls, her beautiful head tilting this way and that as she licked and sucked. Frank gave his attention to Carole who, like Sheila, was hungrily mouthing a warm, hairy scrotum.
And then it was time to fuck.
"Okay, that's enough, sweetheart," Charles muttered, pushing the brunette's head back, away from his genitals. "Come on, stretch out on the bed now. I'm going to screw you senseless."
Carole obeyed without delay, pushing herself back on the bed and swinging her legs up as she quickly assumed the position desired by her customer. No sooner was she on her back, her knees up and splayed, than Charlie was crawling onto the bed and arranging himself over her.
"Baby, this is gonna be fast and furious." He breathed down into her face.
"Do it to me," Carole said excitedly. "Stick it in and then pound me. Hurt me, Charlie."
Charlie was of a mind to do just that. He ached with the need to fuck this married woman to the stars and back, to hear her lusty whimpers of gratitude as he stuffed his meat into her butter-soft cunt and then reamed it with vigorous, belly-slapping thrust. Often he had dreamed about screwing another man's wife, about driving her insane with pleasure while her poor slob of a husband toiled like a jerk at his job. The opportunity was now at hand.
Frank now pushed Sheila away from his genitals and ordered her onto her back on the bed. The beautiful blonde, her need to get laid evidenced by her leaking, pulsating pussy, quickly scrambled back on the large bed and into position. She drew up her knees and splayed them wide, her hands zipping down to her snatch to commence a lewd, heated massage as Frank climbed onto the bed.
"Get it in me, stud," she said thickly. "Fuck it good-hard and fast."
"I'll fuck you, you beautiful bitch," Frank growled, the passionate promise bursting from his mouth as he directed his saliva-coated cock on target. "You're gonna be begging for mercy."
"How is it, cunt?" Charlie asked, his foul breath blanketing Carole's face as he thrust deeply into her wet womanhood, his strokes swift, demanding.
"G-Good-it's good," Carole grunted. "More. Give me more."
"Like this?"
"Uuugh!"
"Yeah, baby, you like that, don't you? You love Charlie's big banana."
"Harder-faster. Up to my tits, Charlie."
Frank's cruel plunge into Sheila's waiting womanhood wrenched from the sex-happy blonde's throat a guttural snarl of pleasure. And seconds after penetration she was demanding a fuck to end all fucks, wrapping her arms around Frank's back as he fell atop her tender tits and began the joyous assault on her syrupy vagina.
"Deep, baby," she breathed hotly. "Screw it good. Make me burn, you bastard."
"Yeah, talk it up, Sheila. Tell me how great it is."
"It's great," Sheila fired back. "I love it-I love cock."
Side by side on the bed the friends fucked, Charlie plowing up Carole's happy twat while Frank pistoned his long, slender manhood in and out of Sheila's steaming vagina. Both men realized, with some sadness, that this first fuck would be of short duration. But they were too keyed up to attempt to prolong the pleasure, the tantalizing tonguing of their respective peckers having brought both men dangerously close to ejaculation.
The bed creaked and groaned as they worked the women, their excited grunts of pleasure mixing with the sighs of rapture and throaty groans of lust being emitted by Sheila and Carole. Buttocks bobbing rapidly, Frank and Charlie banged their cocks into pussies soft and wet and in molten boil.
Cynthia, puffing now on another cigarette, surveyed the scene from her chair with a small smile basking on her still attractive but hard face. There was nothing she enjoyed more than watching her girls please their customers. It suffused her with a sense of satisfaction, with a curious contentment.
Even making love didn't provide her with a pleasure as great as that derived from viewing an act of intercourse between one of her girls and a John. It wasn't that she was addicted to voyeurism, that she realized perverse pleasure from peeping. What turned her on was the thought that a satisfied customer was one who would soon return for more satisfaction.
And that, of course, meant more money for her. Contrary to what the foolish and naive believe, money was not the root of all evil. It was, Cynthia thought, just the opposite, something one could never have enough of. Her decision to begin catering to the suburban lustful had been prompted by a sudden concern over her dwindling savings account.
Cynthia took another drag on her cigarette, the sounds of lust emanating from the bed like music to her ears as she exhaled a cloud of smoke. She had gotten off to an excellent start, she told herself. Sheila and Carole were not only very beautiful females, but it was obvious that they both thoroughly enjoyed a good bang.
Now if she could round up another ten like Mrs. Wayne and Mrs. Davidson-
"I'm gonna come, cunt," Frank rasped, his fingers digging into the pillow under Sheila's jerking head as he slammed his meaty manhood into the hot mush of her soft, clasping vagina.
"N-No-not yet, please. More-I want more."
"I-I can't. It's too-arhhh."
The thick creamy semen spurted out of Frank's shuddering cock and into the beautiful blonde's sizzling cunt. She let out a moan of disappointment and began pummeling Frank's back with her balled fists. She had hoped for a long hump, a drawn out dicking the-likes of which she usually received from Scott Langdale.
But it was not to be-at least not this time. Frank finished coming and then rolled off Sheila onto his back next to her, his smooth, hairless chest rising and falling rapidly as he stretched out in weary sprawl.
"How-how was that, baby?" he asked when he had found his breath. "Much better than your husband, I'll bet."
Sheila was tempted to tell Frank that it was only slightly better than the weekly screwing her husband gave her. But she caught herself in time, the words choking in her throat as she suddenly remembered the exact nature of their relationship. Frank was, after all, the client, a paying customer. And she was the whore, a female whose purpose it was to satisfy the man come what may. So it wouldn't do at all to tell her very first john that he was a lousy lay. And besides, chances were that he'd do much better the second time out of the gate.
"Well, Sheila, how was it?" Frank asked again, turning his head on the pillow to look at the married whore.
"Nice-very nice," Sheila lied.
"Go down on him now, honey," Cynthia called out. "Get him hard again with a blow-job."
Frank lifted his head up off the pillow to look across the room at the madam, who was still sitting, legs crossed, in the red bucket chair.
"Have you any objections, Mr. Kaine?"
"Hell no," Frank grinned. "She can go down on me and stay down for the rest of the afternoon."
"Start in, Sheila," Cynthia ordered. And then, sensing the woman's disappointment, "but don't hurry things. Do it nice and slow and gentle."
"All right," Sheila said, pushing herself up to a sitting position on the bed.
"No, wait a minute," Frank said. "I've got a better idea."
After telling the hump-happy housewife to lie down again, he twisted around on the bed and proceeded to crawl up to her warm body until he was straddling her chest, his taut ass pressing down into her succulent breasts, squashing them.
"Like this?" Sheila asked.
"Like this," Frank echoed, once again grinning lewdly. "Now open wide and I'll just tuck him inside your sweet little mouth."
Sheila opened wide, her eyes closing as Frank began funneling his flaccid member into her mouth. She felt the slimy noodle wriggle wetly between her lips, onto her tongue, and then she started to slowly draw on it, to pull it firmly but not hastily into the warm, wet confines of her experienced mouth.
"Yeah, sweetheart, that's the way," Frank said, leaning forward and bracing himself on his hands as he looked down at Sheila's face and pushed his wilted organ further inside her oral cavity. 'Take it all in, baby. All of it. Mmmmmm, that's nice. Good-oh, yeah."
It was now, as Sheila worked to stiffen Frank's cock a second time, that a grunting, gasping Charlie Anderson announced his approaching orgasm and then, with a final series of brutal thrusts into Carole's cunt, let loose a torrent of creamy come. He bucked atop the brunette, his body quivering as the thick gunk spit from the tip of his tool into the mush of her vagina.
Carole moaned and locked her arms around Charlie's back, a good if not great climax sending her twat into a twitching fit. She thrust her hips up under Charlie as he spurted into her and emitted a cry that was half sigh, half groan, her fingers digging into his back.
Nice, very nice, Cynthia thought, her expression serious as she extinguished her cigarette in the ashtray on the table. The name of the game as far as a good prostitute was concerned was to please the John, to give her all during the screw and by so doing make the man believe, if only for a short while, that he was the greatest lover in the world. And it was very clear that both Sheila and Carole knew how to play the game.
They were whores at heart.
CHAPTER NINE
Her name was Susan Latham and her snug, compact figure turned male heads everywhere she went. She was a five foot four inch bundle of unadulterated sex appeal, a twenty-two-year-old package of pulchritude whose Hashing blue eyes and happy smile could turn the meekest of men into a roaring, cunt-crazy tiger.
Shiny black tresses cascaded around her shoulders and to a point midway down her back. Her face was creamy smooth, her features loving crafted, and when she spoke it was in a voice soft and sensuous. Her breasts were small but firm, twin turrets of succulent flesh that could usually be found straining mightily to escape the fierce hug of a tight bra and form fitting sweater.
Her ass, pinched and petted playfully by almost every male employee at one time or another, was a feast for the eyes. Susan's bottom beckoned the touch of strong hands and the kiss of thick, demanding lips. And those who found themselves pausing in their work to start at that heavenly heinie, to watch its sensuous undulation whenever saucy Susan swiveled into view, soon found themselves with the problem of a prick on the rise.
Although ambitious, Susan was not a sexually promiscuous female. Thus is was that while she flirted with almost every male who crossed her path, from the long-haired young bus driver who took her home to her pretty bachelorette apartment every night after work to the aging lothario who had a candy concession in the lobby of the building, only a mere handful had managed to get in her panties.
No one in the office had succeeded in transforming the dream of fucking Susan into reality. Many had tried to butter her up with promises of nice presents. Some of the married males had offered to set her up in a beautiful penthouse apartment if she agreed to become their mistress.
And a few, in a moment of madness when the urge to furiously fornicate was at its peak, had lewdly suggested a clandestine coupling in the storeroom or, better, yet, a quickie in the nearest hotel during the lunch hour. Wasn't she normal, they would ask. Didn't she ever feel like getting banged black and blue?
But the propositions, the wicked suggestions of sex on the sly, the fervent attempts to talk Susan into a bed, were all for naught. The always smiling raven-tressed beauty would politely but firmly shoo her would-be lovers away. A motherly pat on the head, a few words to soothe a wounded ego, and the disappointed male was sent back from whence he came, none the wiser but having resolved to grab a really good feel when next he bumped into the teasing Susan at the water cooler.
The fact of the matter was that only one man in the office stirred Susan's juices and caused her to tingle when she contemplated fucking him. Ever since becoming his secretary some thirteen months ago she had wondered what it would be like to get laid by her immediate supervisor, Jeffrey Wayne.
But because her boss seemed so happily married and since she had no wish to disturb even by a little that which appeared so satisfying and permanent, Susan had made no move toward insinuating herself into Jeff's life and thereby risk upsetting his harmonious relationship with wife Carole.
Nevertheless, she would come perilously close to creaming in her panties whenever she thought of her handsome boss.There were times when, sitting at her desk in the adjoining office, she would lapse into the dandiest of daydreams and imagine herself bare-assed naked before Jeffrey Wayne, her body ablaze with lust as she hungrily eyed his fully erect and throbbing manhood.
In her mind's eye she saw herself going down on her wonderful boss, sluttishly devouring his dick as he breathlessly praised her licentious efforts. Other times she pictured herself in a masochistic trance, in desperate need of a satanic spanking and/or a delightfully depraved ass-fucking.
And now, finally, Susan was about to have her wish come true. For sitting in her small living room right now was Jeffrey Wayne himself. Yes, he was here, right here in her apartment, she thought excitedly, desire wending its way through her fuckable little body as she combed out her long black hair.
"Are you all right, Jeff?" she suddenly called out.
"Yes, just fine," was the shouted reply.
"Pour yourself another drink if you like. I'll be out in just a minute."
"Take your time, Susan. I'm not going anywhere."
"You'd better not," Susan sang out, again running the long comb through her raven hair as she smiled at her reflection in the vanity mirror.
Jeff took another sip of the scotch and soda that Susan had prepared for him before her departure to the bedroom. It was a cozy little place she had here, he thought, cradling the glass in both hands as he looked around the unpretentious, attractively furnished living room.
Yet the question, the one for which there seemed to be no good answer still remained, what the hell was he doing here anyway?
Last Friday afternoon, at just about this same hour, had found him hard at work in his office, drafting some important letters for Susan to later type and mail. Now, one week later, he was in his pretty secretary's comfortable little apartment, relaxing on her love seat and sipping a drink while he waited for her return from her bedroom.
Damn peculiar, that's what it was, Jeff thought.
"Are you still there, Jeff?" came the light, airy question.
"Still here, Susan."
"Okay. Just checking, that's all."
Jeff smiled and took another sip of his drink. What had prompted him, he wondered, to accept Susan's bold and totally unexpected invitation to her apartment. Why had he, a happily married man, agreed so quickly to her wicked suggestion that he take the rest of the afternoon off and spend it with her-in bed?
Only two days ago, this past Wednesday morning, he had cheated on Carole for the first time with Patricia Richardson, the beautiful if weird wife of his most recent client, and now he was about to commit a second indiscretion, this time with a scrumptious little sexpot whose sudden aggressiveness had caught him completely by surprise.
And therein lay further food for thought. Although Susan's reputation around the office as a cock-tease was certainly justly deserved, her comportment when dealing with him had always been very proper, strictly business-like. Now all of a sudden she was coming on strong, speaking to him the words he knew every other male in the office would have liked to hear spoken.
But back to question number one: what was he doing in his saucy secretary's apartment in the first place? What was happening to him? Had the sizzling ass-fuck he'd administered to Patricia somehow awakened a long dormant desire to fool around with other women? As happy as he was with Carole, had he been harboring a hitherto subconscious urge to cheat on her, to do what every married male he knew, or so it sometimes seemed, was doing?
The seven year itch. The famous, or infamous, seven year itch. Maybe that's what he'd caught all of a sudden, Jeff thought.
"Close your eyes," Susan sang out from her bedroom, interrupting Jeff's chain of thought. "I'm coming out now."
Jeff set his almost empty glass down on the cocktail table in front of the small sofa, then leaned back and closed his eyes. There would be time later, he decided, to try to put the pieces of the puzzle together. Right now he found it impossible to concentrate on anything except his pecker, the one stirring within the warm confines of his undershorts.
"Okay, you can open your eyes now," Susan said.
Jeff did as directed, his prick swelling another half inch at the sight that greeted him. His sexy secretary was standing in the middle of the living room, just a few feet from the cocktail table, clad only in a diaphanous pink peignoir and skimpy white bikini panties that barely covered her cunt.
"Well, Mr. Wayne, do I pass inspection?"
Jeff smiled. "I like what I see very much Miss Latham."
"I'm glad. Because what you see is what you get."
"Seems I've heard that line somewhere before."
"Come on, Jeff," Susan said, turning serious. "Get undressed now. I'm so hot to fuck with you."
"How can you be so hot with so little on, baby?"
"Please, Jeff, don't tease me. I've wanted you to screw me for so long and-and now you're finally here. Please, let me see you naked. Let me see your beautiful cock, Jeff."
Could any man of sane mind and healthy prick refuse a request such as this, Jeff wondered, as he stood and peeled out of his tan sport jacket, his eyes on the smooth, clear complexioned face of the pretty girl from whose lovely lips the wicked words had come. It didn't seem at all possible.
Tossing the jacket behind him onto the canary yellow love seat, a few feet to the right of where he'd been sitting, the handsome young architect next undid the buttons of his shirt as Susan watched with keen interest. When the shirt had been deposited on his jacket, Jeff sat down on the love seat and untied his shoelaces.
"Wait. Let me do that for you," said the excited Susan.
"You want to take my shoes off?"
"Yes, please let me, Jeff. I like to help undress a man. Especially his shoes and trousers."
Jeff shrugged and smiled. "As you wish, Susan."
After pushing the small cocktail table out of the way, the girl dropped to her knees in front of her boss and undid his shoelaces. Jeff leaned back and looked down at her. Although he decided not to pursue the matter, he was tempted to ask her just how many males she had undressed to date.
'There we are," Susan said when she had removed the shoes. "Now for the socks."
This was nice, nice and novel, Jeff thought, holding his left foot up off the carpeted floor as his secretary began peeling down the black silk sock. He couldn't remember the last time he had been undressed by a beautiful female-unless it was during his honeymoon when Carole had pounced on him and ripped at his clothes in a hungry search for his manhood. When Susan, had bared Jeff's feet, flipping his socks atop his shoes, she crouched very low, and, lifting one foot at a time, planted a kiss on the instep of each. Then, after raising her head and settling back on her haunches, she smiled at her boss and told him to stand.
"Methinks you've done this before," Jeff grinned, getting to his feet.
"Not that often," Susan smiled, her fingers darting to Jeff's belt buckle. "But I'm sure you've allowed many women the thrill of taking down your trousers. Who could resist the temptation to get a peek at your pecker?"
Working quickly and skillfully, the crotch of her white bikini pants dampening with desire, Susan loosened the brown leather belt around Jeff's waist and tugged his cream-colored slacks down his hairy legs to his feet. Jeff, meanwhile, peeled out of his undershirt and tossed it onto the love seat.
Some seconds later, after working her boss' slacks around and off his feet and dropping the garment atop his shoes, Susan hooked her thumbs in the elasticized waistband of his white jockey shorts and began peeling them down. Jeff asked her what she expected to find when she uncovered his loins.
"As if you didn't know, Mr. Wayne," the dark-haired bundle of sex appeal grinned. "I expect to find a cock-a warm and fat and juicy cock."
"And when you find it?"
"I'm going to eat it all up."
Jeff grinned. "Like candy, huh? like a big lollipop?"
"Yes," Susan hissed. "I'm going to suck it. Ssssuck it."
Having resolved not to think of his wife, determined to expunge from his mind the slightest trace of guilt, Jeff placed his hands on his hips and watched his sex-hungry secretary as she resumed tugging down his briefs. Within seconds he was watching the briefs sail through the air and land on the floor some eight feet behind Susan, the cock-craving cutie having hurled them over her right shoulder with an animalistic growl.
"Oh, it's beautiful-just beautiful," breathed Susan, her eyes fixed on her boss' semi-hard pecker.
"Go ahead and suck it, baby," Jeff ordered, his voice thickening and, "put it in your mouth."
"Does Carole suck you often, Jeff?"
"Now what brought that up?"
"I'd just like to know, that's all," Susan said, slipping her right hand between her boss' legs and curling her slender fingers around his hairy scrotal sac.
"It's not really any of your business, is it?"
Susan looked up and smiled, her left hand wrapping lovingly around Jeff's hard, hard manhood. "No, I know it isn't, Mr. Wayne. And I know it's none of my business that you're cheating on your wife."
Jeff frowned, his brow furrowing. "Now just what is that supposed to mean, Susan?"
"Forget it. I'm sorry I said anything. I'll stop talking and start suck-"
"No. Tell me what you meant by that last remark," Jeff broke in, reaching down to cup his secretary's well-molded chin in his right hand and tilting her head back and up. In his mind's eye he saw himself fucking Patricia Richardson, his throbbing pecker plunging into the fiery depths of her rectum as she whimpered into the desk top.
"You won't like me if I tell you, Jeff," Susan said softly.
"Won't I?"
"No. You see-well, I-I spied on you when you were banging that Richardson woman."
"You spied on me? But the door was."
"No, the door wasn't locked," Susan interrupted. "I guess you thought it was but it wasn't."
"So I have a little snoop for a secretary, huh?"
"I got curious when you told me you didn't want to be disturbed, Jeff. I mean, I saw Mrs. Richardson enter your office and-well, I just put two and two together. So I left my desk and stepped over to the door to see if I could hear anything going on."
"And then?"
"Well, I finally decided to try the door. I was surprised to find it unlocked but even more surprised to-well, you know."
Jeff was unable to stop the smile that started creeping over his face. It made a little more sense now, he thought. Susan's surprising aggressiveness, her blatantly lewd request for a hot screwing, could be attributed not to an impulsive impudence, a sudden and thoughtless decision to begin flirting with him as she had with others, but to her having seen him feverishly fucking Patricia with the beautiful ass.
Susan had apparently refrained from propositioning him because she figured he was happy at home and wouldn't be interested in a little extra-marital sex. But catching him in the act of cornholing Patricia had started her thinking differently. Since her boss was already fooling around, she no doubt had reasoned, there seemed no point in remaining silent any longer. Jeff Wayne was ripe for the plucking.
"You're not mad at me, are you, Jeff?" Susan asked, giving her boss' scrotum a gentle squeeze.
"No, not really," Jeff answered. "But you should know that I never cheated on my wife before Mrs. Richardson."
"That's what I thought."
"But you also thought that I'd be interested in screwing around with you."
"Aren't you, Jeff?" Again Susan squeezed the warm, hairy pouch containing her boss' balls, a wicked little smile playing across her pretty face as her twat twitched in wet readiness.
"Yes, I am, sweetheart. But first you're going to have to apologize for playing Peeping Tom."
"That'll be easy," Susan said. Jeff released her chin and again she focused on his almost fully erect cock. "That'll be real easy."
And indeed it was. A moment to lick her lips, to gently stroke Jeff's pecker, and then Susan was inching forward on her knees and opening her mouth wide, her soft, supple slips slipping easily over the knobby head of her boss' taste-tempting tool.
"Yes, that's nice, Susan," Jeff whispered, laying his hands atop his sucking secretary's pretty head. "Suck it, sweetheart. Take it all in. Yes, like that."
This, the cuddlesome cutie thought, was a helluva lot nicer than taking dictation or typing letters. And what made things even sweeter, more exciting, was the beautiful realization that the best was yet to come. She had only to decide where she wanted to take Jeff's semen. In her mouth? In her itching, pulsating twat? In the dark, dank confines of her shitty rectum?
Decisions, decisions.
Meanwhile, back in the motel, decisions of a deliciously depraved nature had already been made. Cynthia Corral, surveying the situation from where she sat, had decreed that both Carole and Sheila would sample the perverse pleasure of a simultaneous screwing. Her girls, she explained, were sometimes required to satisfy two Johns at the same time, and so it would be well if Carole and Sheila practiced the perversion known in some circles as "the sandwich fuck."
Sheila was willing to give it a try since her back passage had been stretched on numerous occasions by her numerous lovers. Carole, too, was amenable, her beautiful backside having been banged many times by her handsome hubby. But there lingered within each woman a faint apprehension, a gnawing doubt, since neither Carole nor her friend had ever been reamed fore and aft at the same time. They even wondered if such a feat could be accomplished without considerable difficulty and/or pain.
Of course, both Charlie Anderson and his buddy Frank Caine were willing to engage in the delightful perversion wherein one of them would tend to a leaking twat while the other shoveled his meat up the woman's rectum. The husky Charlie and the lean, gaunt Frank had already given thought to testing the resiliency of each female's rectal canal. Their opportunity was now at hand.
And thus it was that Carole now found herself lying on her right side as Charlie worked his meaty manhood in and out of her cunt, his hot breath whipping her face as he slowly pumped his pulsating organ. Behind her, curled up against her back and buttocks, was Frank Caine, his grunts both lewd and loud and he struggled to push his stiff pecker all the way inside her squirming seat.
"C'mon, old buddy," Charlie breathed hotly. "Get it in her ass, dammit. She's dyin' to have your prick up there."
"I'm tryin', man," Frank rasped. "She's-she's fuckin' tight back here."
Sandwiched between the two men, Carole whimpered with pleasure and savored the feel of Charlie's cock moving rhythmically in her viscid vagina while waiting for his pal to secure total penetration of her posterior. It was hard to determine just how much prick had already been shoved up her ass, but she estimated the present depth of penetration to be at least three inches.
Nearby, engaged in equally salacious antics, were Cynthia, Sheila and Scott. Sheila had experienced a twinge of jealousy when the haughty madam had decided that Carole would be the first to enjoy a dual dicking. But the moment had been saved and her disappointment abruptly curtailed by the sudden appearance of Scott Langdale, her lover having brought back with him a fifth of rye from a nearby liquor store.
Two quick drinks and Sheila was ready to forget about Carole and Charlie and Frank and concentrate on pleasuring herself once again with the well-built virile Scott. Cynthia, too, was of a mind to satisfy her carnal appetite while waiting for Charlie and Frank to finish fucking the brunette beauty.
And so, taking the bull by the horns, the two women stripped an uncomplaining Scott and steered him to the floor, positioning him so that he was stretched out on his back. Cynthia then placed herself in a lewd squat above Scott's face, her odorous twat scant inches from his lips. Sheila, meanwhile, crouched between her lover's legs and enthusiastically set about stiffening his beautiful pecker.
The hump-happy housewife, her goal having been obtained without difficulty, was now happily posting on Scott's saliva-wet manhood, husky moans of delight spiraling from her lips as she bounced up and down on her fleshy fence picket.
Cynthia was no less happy than Sheila, for she was being hungrily licked and sucked by her long-time male friend. Exchanging the uncomfortable squat position for one that had her sitting on Scott's manly chest and leaning forward slightly, her upper body supported by chubby arms extended full length, the madam now purred like a fat, contented Cheshire as her soupy cabbage of a snatch was fervently munched.
Back on the bed, which squeaked and groaned continuously, the trio of pleasure seekers jerked and squirmed against one another, their grunts and sighs and moans blending to create a lewd, cacophonous song of lust.
"Just a little bit more," Frank husked. "Just-just a-yeah, ughhh."
"Oooooo-" Carole moaned. "You're in, Frank?"
"Yeah. All the way, pal. She's got it all now."
"I can feel you," Charlie stated thickly, not missing a beat as he pumped his blood-fattened cock in and out of Carole's syrupy sex chute. "Can you feel my cock in there, buddy?"
"Feels great," Frank breathed. "Let's give it to her now-really give it to her."
"Do it to me," Carole pleaded, her face twisted by desire. "The both of you-fuck me hard. Together, fellas. Fuck my ass and fuck my cunt."
"Hear that?" Charlie rasped.
"She's-she's some hot bitch all right. I'd like to-to take her home with me."
Charlie chuckled. "She'd be too expensive, pal."
"Maybe so. But I'm gonna get my money's worth right now."
Carole again requested an end to the talking and exhorted the men to screw her dizzy. The feel of their pricks, one sliding wetly in and out of her clasping vagina and the other chugging through the muck of her rectum, was launching bolts of pleasure throughout her warm, squirming body. She was stuffed with cock. Marvelously, beautifully, gloriously stuffed with two thick, throbbing cocks!
Soon it was that Charlie and Frank, spurred on by the lust-dazed brunette's vulgar pleas for a vigorous plowing fore and aft, increased the tempo of this fiendish sandwich screw, bestial grunts of pleasure bursting from their throats as they rammed their respective rods into Carole's quivering body.
"More-harder," Carole pleaded. "Hurt me, dammit. Split me open down there."
"You tight-assed bitch," Frank growled, again heaving his hard-on up into the housewife's gripping rectal canal.
Carole shut her eyes tight and threw herself into motion, jerking her hips forward to greet Charlie's plunging prick and then, as the beefy man withdrew, snapping her hips back to wantonly welcome Frank's thick organ as it trundled deep into her after passage. In this moment of madness she could think only of the twin peckers drilling into her body, the lewd thought of both cocks exploding at the same time and inundating her insides with gooey semen jitterbugging in her mind and keeping her lust at a feverish pitch.
Still perched atop Scott's rock-hard manhood but posting on it slower now, Sheila looked over toward the bed and smiled the smile of one very satisfied with a situation. There could be no doubt about it now, she thought. She had sized up Carole Wayne perfectly, and the decision to bring her friend and neighbor along on this memorable afternoon was one of the best she'd ever made. In fact, it ranked right up there with the decision she had made a few weeks after her marriage to Donald the Dunce, the one prompted by the sad realization that he was a lousy lover and that others would have to do unto her what her husband could not.
* * *
How could he have been such a fool, Donald Davidson asked himself for the thousandth time. How could he, a man intelligent enough to accumulate a great deal of money through complicated stock dealings and shrewd business manipulations have been so stupid and so utterly naive?
There could be no greater fool on earth, he decided, slipping even deeper into the well of despair as he sat in his favorite chair nursing a scotch and soda. Any other man would have known something was wrong, long, long ago. Any other husband, smelling a rat, would have taken remedial action on the spot. Perhaps that was what was needed. He tried to think through his stupor. Why had she done this? Was he that bad of a lover? Sure, she was quite a few years younger than he. Maybe he wasn't giving her all that she needed. He did love her, and the thought that he was denying her anything, even sex, which he didn't care that r much about, until now, when he learned that it was the thing he was denying her, made him even more desperate than before. How could he reverse the situation before it was too late? Before he lost her completely.
He was lost deep in thought, and hardly noticed that the lock in the door had clicked. When he came to his senses, Sheila was standing in the middle of the room, looking at him. He detected a glint of pity in her eyes, and realized that he must look horrible. Then he woke up. Completely. "Come here, Sheila," he commanded in a tome she had never heard before.
Sheila took a tentative step toward him, wondering whether this was the booze talking, or she was about to receive her long overdue punishment for her sexual sins. When she finally reached the spot to which he had beckoned her, she shot a timid glance up to his face. And she saw an expression she had never seen before. Donald The Dunce, old Numb Nuts was looking at her as if she were a whore and he hadn't gotten fucked in three years.
'Take your clothes off, bitch!" he said forcefully.
Sheila opened her eyes wide, and started to speak, but one look at his face made her stop in mid-stream. She began unbuttoning her blouse, but she wasn't moving fast enough for him. He ripped it off in one grand movement. Sheila was beside herself. He stood there, and with an almost apathetic look on his face, began to caress her quivering tit-flesh.
"Donald, dear ... W-what's happened to you?"
"You wanna' be a whore, well, sister, I'm going to treat you like one. Now get those fucking clothes off. NOW!"
He reached out and pulled her skirt off. Sheila began to whimper, totally unused to this kind of domination from her meek and mild husband. Then to her complete surprise, Donald picked her up and walked rapidly to the bedroom, where he dumped her unceremoniously on the bed.
He then began to remove his clothes. When he was undressed, Sheila noticed that his prick was fully erect and ready for action. Despite herself, her cunt juices began to churn, and she was visibly excited. She wondered how long he was going to be able to keep up this display of forceful aggressiveness.
Sheila was in for a big surprise.
Donald climbed on top of her and began to slowly gyrate his body in a slow steady rhythm. His prick was now rock-hard, and bigger than Sheila had ever seen it. She began moaning and writhing around on the bed, excited like she couldn't remember. Donald reached for her nipple, and pinched and squeezed it until it was bright red, and erect. Then he took the other one and did the same thing. Sheila was in ecstasy, more from the surprise of it all, then his technique. After all, she had just gotten laid about ten times today.
"Flip over," Donald said hoarsely, obviously aroused himself.
Again Sheila stifled a cry of amazement as she obeyed him. She heard him spit into his palms and then after a moment, he spread her ass cheeks as wide as he could.
Before she could think, he had his steel-like prick halfway in her dank rectum. She gave a gasp of passion as he completed his entry, and began to plummet into her like a rocket. With each in-stroke, he grunted from the force of his lunge. In the midst of her sex stupor, Sheila realized he was saying something to her.
"Now I want you to remember something, bitch, " he growled. Then he plunged even harder into her ass-hole.
"What," she cried, feeling a sensation quite near total pleasure.
"You aren't going any farther than this bed, ever again! Do you understand?"
And then he plunged in again, harder than before.
Sheila screamed in ecstasy. "Yes, oh yes, Donald!"
"Or I'll beat you to a fucking pulp, you got it?" Again he plunged.
"Yes, yes darling, I got it," Sheila screamed as she came all over the bedspread.
"Well you better not forget it, ever," Donald cried as he shot his load up her fiery rectum.
And she never did!
From that day forward, they made a perfect pair. He was a changed man, performing fantastic feats in bed, tricks Sheila had never gotten on the sly. She responded like any loving wife would have, and as a result they fucked happily ever after!
