Reports of liberalized divorce laws are to be seen regularly in the news media. No longer is it necessary to prove adultery or complete incompatability before husband and wife can be legally relieved of their marriage vows. A serious argument, a fleeting infidelity, boredom, any of these are enough to dissolve the bonds of matrimony in many States now, and the divorce rate is understandably increasing. Some may argue that these liberalized divorce laws promote closer marriages, that more care and respect is given to the marital partner when it is known how easy it is to lose that partner permanently. Others argue that times have changed, that it is no longer so necessary to treat marriage with the respect of by-gone years, and that the ending of a doomed marriage should not be delayed by a long legal battle and heavy attorney's fees. On either side of the argument, when all is said and done, there is a larger population of divorcees in America now than ever before in its history.
And what do these divorcees do with themselves, just coming out of an emotionally exhausting end of a long relationship, bitter in some cases and relieved in others, but with a degree of personal freedom that they have not known in years? This tautly written novel tells what some of them do. It tells the story of a divorcee of several years standing, of a battle-scarred veteran of more than one divorce court, and of a newcomer to ranks of passionate but manless women of today.
And who do they turn to for comfort, companionship, sex, these bitter, manless women? Having been cast aside by their men, they seek elsewhere for fulfillment of their needs, not realizing just how great these needs can be for a woman suffering from such an emotional shock as losing her provider, her bed-mate, her man. Their brains tell them that the last thing they want is another man, but their bodies tell them otherwise. In homo sapiens, the thinking animal, the brain most usually wins out, and thus unnatural relationships spring up with the divorcee, relationships that would have shocked and appalled them when first they married. Lesbian explorations are not uncommon. Oedipus-oriented affairs with men who are little more than boys are even less uncommon, according to statistics. But the sexual relationships which are so forbidden that they rarely break into the columns of the statisticians are those between homo sapiens and canus domesticus, or more specifically, between divorcees and dogs.
This novel examines all these relationships and more with the candor and frankness needed to understand the plight of the troubled new divorcee and the hardening older one. While the reader of the scant newspaper article telling of a woman's shocking sexual behavior might think that she is nymphomaniacally deranged, the reader of this worthwhile novel can fully understand why she is driven to having excessive and unnatural sexual relations. While it is a study suitable for the serious psycho-sexologist, it is written for the layman, in contemporary fictional style, suspense, and pacing. It is not, however, for the squeamish. While the concept of sexual prudery is an integral part of this novel, the destruction of that prudery is described with such impact that it could well have an effect on the prudishness of the reader himself.
But, read on. Read about the divorcees, their dogs, their delivery boys-and make up your own mind about what the current plethora of gay, liberated divorcees is having upon this country.
-THE PUBLISHERS
CHAPTER ONE
A big black dog and a big blonde woman, that was the only audience for Mary Stewart's maiden performance as a stripper. Her husband had often tried to get her to take off her clothes to the strains of such thumping music as this, but Mary had always refused him. Henry might still be faithful to her if she had complied with his wishes and strip-teased for him and catered to some of his other filthy bedroom whims. As it was, Henry had left her, and she was peeling out of her sweat-dampened clothes before the languorously interested eyes of her girlfriend, Claire Eaton, and Claire's Labrador retriever, Argo.
Mary was a thirty-six-year-old ex-housewife, and she was putting on a pretty good show, now that Claire had at last talked her into it. She couldn't have done it without the whiskey and Cokes they'd had on that hot summer afternoon in Claire's little tract house. She still didn't know if she'd be able to completely bare her breasts, for their great size had always been a source of embarrassment to her, and she couldn't quite see herself swinging and bouncing a pair of big globes like hers without any covering on them at all. Her audience seemed to be enjoying her dance well enough as it was. Dumb Argo's long, pink tongue lolled with his pantings as he lay under the broken air-conditioner. He was breathing fast and this caused his shaggy belly to shake and the long, furry foreskin that covered his penis to quiver. If he was a man, his prick would be poking out of that foreskin. He would be aroused if she was a bitch in heat, too, instead of a diminutive but top-heavy brunette, dancing along in bra, panties, and partially-opened pants. And Claire was enjoying this diversion from their talk about the unfaithful ways of men. She sat with her long legs curled up under her on the couch, dressed for the heat in bright red shorts and a slightly soiled white halter top. With her drink on the end table, she clapped her lacquer-tipped hands in time to the music, occasionally reaching back to move her thick blonde hair from the sweaty nape of her neck. She had a slow smile on her red-rouged lips, and her brown eyes were half closed as she watched Mary's moves. Even on that hot weekday afternoon, her eyes were shadowed with green, her eyebrows thickened with pencil, and gold earrings dangled from her ears. When Mary danced close to her, she could smell her perfume through the scent of perspiration. Claire frankly stated that she kept herself looking and acting as attractive as she could at all times, for a girl never knew when the next available man might show up. At thirty-eight years of age, Claire wasn't exactly a girl any longer, but she had apparently found the right way of life for a divorcee. Mary wondered if she herself would be living like that soon, either here or in the house she and Henry had bought, less tidy than it was now, with a dog like Argo for protection and companionship, waiting for the next man to come along and quell the cock itch between her legs for a little while, hoping that he'd marry her but knowing he wouldn't once she let him fuck her. But now was not the time to think of such things. She and Henry might get back together again, and until she knew that for sure, the thing to do was to have a good time and not even think about the future. She danced to the television set and picked up her drink from its dusty top, standing in profile to Claire as she drank from it, still moving her hips to the music.
Mary Stewart was just five-foot one-inch tall and weighed but a hundred and ten pounds. At least ten of those pounds, however, were in her bosom, the lushly creamy mounds that bulged together at the confines of her tight pink brassiere, deeply cleaved, with large pink areolas and nipples which poked at the nylon cups of her only garment above the waist. The straps bit deeply into her narrow shoulders, and the elasticized chest band was darkened with sweat. Mary's big breasts invariably drew attention from her girlishly pretty face. She had green eyes that in the past had been noted for their merry sparkle, but that were now somewhat glazed with the grief of separation from her husband, and with the drinks she'd had. Her nose was small and uptilted so that her nostrils showed clearly when faced full on. Her mouth was small, her lips protuberant, so that they looked too large for her heart-shaped face, as if they had to be held in position for a kiss at all times, just to make space for them. Her hair was a rich, auburn brown, slightly waved. That morning it had reached down nearly to her waist, but now it was in a fluffy cap of curls. It was more becoming that way, Claire had said, and it was certainly cooler, and so Mary had let her friend cut it. Mary had a small waist, unthickened by any past pregnancies, and a tummy that was very nearly flat. Her hips were slim, covered by only her pink nylon panties now as her green cotton pants had slipped down to mid-thigh. Her fanny was small, but it was very nicely rounded, creating interesting little folds in the clinging pink panties as it back-thrust over her sagging green pants. What could be seen of her legs was very good, proportionately dainty, quite shapely. Her feet were bare, her sandals having been kicked into a corner of the unkempt living room of Claire's house. They had been easy to remove, the rest of her clothing more difficult, but with the help of the whiskey, she knew she'd at least get her pants off.
"You ever think about being a real stripper?"
Claire asked. "With a figure like yours, you could sure do it. Especially those tits."
Mary winced and set down her empty glass. Just yesterday, she'd have ignored the remark. But things had changed since yesterday. Her husband had run off with his little slut, and she was already getting into the life of a divorcee. She was no longer a protected housewife, but instead a woman who had to make it on her own, dependent only on single friends like Claire. And if she was going to start a new life successfully, it was high time she was honest with her friends and with herself. She decided to speak up.
"I hate that word. Tits," she said, crossing her wrists before them. "Ish ... it's so vulgar."
"I think it's a cute word. Very descriptive," said Claire, hefting her little breasts with both hands. "Tits and titties have a good sound to them. Breasts or bosoms, those are Victorian words. Jugs, knockers, boobs, tits, even udders, I wouldn't mind any of those words being applied to me if I had a pair like you do, Mary-honey."
"Boobs," said Mary, opening her fingers over those heavy globes of hers, and opening her legs to prevent the further descent of her pants. "That's what Henry used to call them when he wanted to make me mad."
"Oh, forget about him. He's gone for good, no matter what he said. Forget about him and think about the future. Maybe you could be a stripper. There's good money in it. I'd do it myself if I didn't have titties like a teenybopper and hips like a water buffalo. Better yet, think about right now. Have fun. Pretend Argo and I are auditioning you for a job as a stripper, and that as soon as you're done stripping, your handsome lover with his twelve-inch cock is going to come in and eat your cunt and fuck you till you're nothing but a puddle of melted butter."
"Where is he? Lead me to him," said Mary, bumping her pelvis across the room, letting her breasts sway, following her itching, thrusting, cock-hungry cunt toward the door, easily letting herself get caught up in the horny mood of the afternoon.
Claire clapped her approval, saying, "I'm afraid the only cock we've got is Argo's. That and his tongue."
Mary turned to face the dog. His tail thumped as her hips bumped, pants down around her ankles now, pretty legs spread at the knees as far as they would go, hands held out to the dumb brute. Rivulets of sweat tickled and trickled down her small, constantly moving body. She was smiling and her limbs felt heavy, her belly full, her vagina empty, save for its wetness. Continuing in the carefree mood, she said, "Argo, if I kissed you, would you turn into a handsome movie producer, one with a twelve-inch thing?"
"You might do better," Claire said, "if you reached down and gave his pecker a little squeeze or two. I've seen it when it's hard. It isn't a foot long, but it looks like he could do a lot of good with it."
The words shocked Mary, but she couldn't help looking at the elongated furry ridge on the dog's exposed loins. A tiny tip of pink protruded, and she felt sick at her stomach as she had to wonder how much more of it would come sneaking out if she put her soft little hand on its protective sheath. She knew Claire was only joking, but she had to speculate' on what she might do if she was alone with the dog, horny and drunk as she was, with a curiosity about his member burning in her. If she was alone with him, she might indeed touch it. She might scratch his ears and speak soothing words to him, and stealthily run one petting hand down over his belly until she could at least feel how firm was that part of his penis which was concealed by the black fur. It was a weirdly sexy notion. Now, without a husband to sate the demands of her body, she would probably have a lot of such weird notions as she adjusted to the life of the gay divorcee. She continued to look at it while she danced, stepping out of her pants now, wearing only her sweaty lingerie, clinging to her moving body as her gaze clung to that small pink tip. Was it growing larger? Was his panting heavier, and was his tongue lolling for her? Did his large eyes, almost human, see the frustrated desire seething in her, and did Man's Best Friend want to help her in her sickness of yearning? With these questions crowding in on her, Mary didn't realize she was rolling down her panties until their bunched waistband was at the top edge of her triangle of dark pubic hair.
Mary jumped a foot when Claire's big, warm hand was placed in the small of her back, and her friend said softly, "Well, do you want to see the rest of it?"
"What? His thing? Oh, no!" she said, looking wide-eyed up at the big blonde with the easy smile who towered six or seven inches taller than Mary was.
"It's easy. Look," Claire said, squatting down, patting the dog's flank once, then without a qualm, drawing back the foreskin to show four more inches of bright pink dog-cock, small at the end, sharply tapering to thickness, causing Mary to draw in her breath and clutch with both hands at her churning tummy.
The dog seemed to grin, thumped his tail faster, and whined in a happy way, as Claire slid his foreskin up again, then drew it back down. The big blonde laughed and looked up at her obviously shocked houseguest, and said, "It's all right. There's nothing at all dirty about it. I'm just petting my dog a little differently than most people do. It's sort of pretty, isn't it? Too bad I can't let him out to use it on all the neighborhood bitches. But I have to keep him inside, and as happy as I can without letting him get it on with sdtne pretty collie bitch. Mmmm. It's getting harder. But don't worry, I can control him. Do you want to feel it, Mary?"
"Oh, no!" said Mary, shaking her pretty head, twisting her ringless hands behind her back. Disgusting as it was, she did want to touch it, she did want to feel it growing hard in her own little fingers, as she absorbedly and helplessly watched her friend's hand sliding the foreskin up and down, up and down over the big dog's slowly growing penis. Was it as hot as its color indicated? Was its glossy surface slick with lubrication? When a female dog saw it, did her vagina get as hot and juicy as Mary's was somehow getting? And what would Claire think of her if she stooped to touch it just once, as the smiling blonde was doing? Would she think Mary was drunk? Would she tell their friends how she'd lured Mary into this debasement? Would it be worth the kidding she would take if she got to feel that long, hard thing just once? And would feeling it in her hand help in any way to abate the glow in her loins, or would it make her feel even better, even sexier?
"Sometimes I wish I was a lady dog," said Claire with a little laugh, and her other hand going to Mary's calf seemed to transfer the heat of the dog's prick right up into Mary's slowly moving cunt. "Yes, it's getting good and hard now," Claire said, getting to her feet, running her hand up the back of Mary's leg and over her nicely rounded fanny, spreading the hot tingling so quickly that Mary's knees almost buckled.
Mary was actually sinking to her knees beside the dog, suddenly as drunk as she could be, when he turned and swiped his tongue over the reddened length that his blonde mistress had exposed with her manipulations. Overwhelming disgust flooded through Mary, washing away the weird desire she had felt, and she turned to stride to the TV and her drink, only to find she'd drank it. She tongued in the melting ice cubes, crunched them up with her small white teeth, and turned to face her friend with a forced grin.
"I want a real prick, not a dog's. An' shertainly not one with doggie lickings all over it. That goddamned hound, he's just like Henry. All he thinks about is getting his thing licked and kissed. Why in hell couldn't Henry have been happy with my pussy? It's tight and hot and I know how to move it," she said, covering it with her cupped hand as she demonstrated some lazy but provocative hip action. "I'll swear, if Henry was double-jointed, he could suck on his own thing, and then he'd never have run off with his dumb little c-cocksucker. But if he could suck his own thing, he prob'ly never would've gotten married in the first place."
An interested expression altered Claire's handsome features as she came to slip her hand about Mary's little waist. "Is that why you two didn't get along in bed? Because you wouldn't go down on him?"
"I guess that was one of the reasons," Mary grudgingly admitted.
"But sucking cock's delightful. I just love to do it."
"Well, I don't. I never have and I never will."
"Did he go down on you? And did you like it?"
"Well, yes. But I never asked him to do it. It was his own idea, and it didn't turn me on all that much," she said, though at that moment, she'd have given a lot for the feel of her husband's lapping tongue and sucking lips on her flimsily covered pussy. It was watching that dog's big tongue that had made her think of that. She wouldn't look at him anymore. Forget about him and his red prick, and have some more fun.
She whirled away from the light but cloying touch of her friend, laughed out loud as she did some more bumps and grinds, facing the much bigger woman, feet wide apart, thumbs hooking the rolled panties lower, a sultry, crooked grin on her face. The music was inside her, where a cock should be. Too bad Claire couldn't be a man for a little while. She was big enough to be one, and if it wasn't for her make-up, her face could be that of a man. Big nose, thin lips, prominent cheekbones, glinting eyes that swept down over Mary's moving body. She was about five-foot-nine and weighed at least a hundred and fifty pounds, quite large enough to be a man. She had the broad shoulders of a man, too, but there the resemblance ended.
Claire's long, thick, blonde hair was definitely feminine, and her face had been painted to obliterate all but the smallest traces of masculinity. Though small, her breasts were certainly those of a woman as they pushed at the little white halter top. Her waist was slightly thick, padded with a comfortable roll of pale jelly flesh. Her hips were very wide, straining at the tight red shorts, her buttocks very large and oval, and her legs were thick and long, but quite decently tapered. She was a great big hunk of woman, one which Henry had often and openly admired, but it was a damned shame she didn't have Henry's big prick in her shorts instead of the broadly bulging triangle that was a cunt every bit as lusting for a cock as little Mary's was. Still Mary danced for her as if Claire was a man and as if she was the professional strip-teaser that she felt like she was. She was enjoying the mock manly look Claire was giving her, enjoying her sexy agility, even enjoying those tickling fingers of sweat that probed between her jouncing breasts and crept down to make her crotchband even more sodden. She hardly thought about the dog behind her, hardly wondered if that big red cock of his was still sticking out. The trick to being happy, she decided, was to feel good at the moment and not to think about anything unpleasant. Without a handsome man to make love to her, the only thing that could make her feel better was another drink for her parched throat. One more drink and she could forget all her troubles and yearnings and go on dancing until she dropped from exhaustion. One more drink and her itching nerve endings would be all numb, and she could sleep, no matter how hot it was in the stuffy little house. With her panties rolled down under the twin mounds of her buttocks, she danced over to where Claire had left her drink and drained it.
"Hey, that's mine," Claire wailed, and strode over to take the empty glass from Mary's hand.
Mary batted her eyelashes up at her friend. "All gone. So sorry."
Claire swatted her bare fanny with a hotly clammy hand and said, "It is all gone. That was the last of the whiskey, and I haven't had enough."
"Neither have I," said Mary, feeling impish, plastering herself against the near nude body of her friend, letting wicked little Lesbian thoughts creep in on her. "So le's get dressed and go get some more. Le's go to a fancy bar and drink Daiquiris and pick up some horny men, some real men. Okay?" she asked, and drew away from the tempting softness beside her.
"Fuck that. I'm not about to get dressed and go out in this heat. The thing to do is get un-dressed and send out for some more booze."
"Get undressed and do what?" Mary coyly asked, both frightened and fascinated by the thought of a little Lesbian dalliance to add to her inexperience.
"Oh, dance, feel good, I don't know just what. I do know we're not going out. We're both too stoned to drive, for one thing. I'll call a liquor store that delivers, and then you can go on with your audition. I might even join you."
"Claire, there wouldn't be any ... well...."
"Any what?" Claire asked, taking the little brunette by her shoulders, facing her.
"You know. No ... fooling around together. I mean, you're not ... you're not ...?"
"A Lesbian? Me? A dyke?" Claire threw back her head and laughed. "Shit, no. I like cock. I'd get it on with Argo before I'd get it on with you, as cute as you are. But before I'd do that, I'd get it on with myself. Y'know?"
"No. I don't think I do know," said Mary, for she felt as if she knew nothing at all then in the presence of this worldly woman for whom she'd had fleeting and shameful feelings of desire.
"I'll make that call, and then I'll show you what I mean."
CHAPTER TWO
The proprietor of Ace's Liquor Store jotted down the order himself-a quart of Ten High blended bourbon and two quarts of cola. He was a big, burly man, going bald, with jowls that were beginning to sag, and a fine network of scars through his eyebrows that silently spoke of the sixty-eight professional fist fights he'd had, and of those amateur alley fights that had preceded his career as a boxer. He had fought as a heavyweight and was now some twenty pounds over his best fighting weight. At forty years of age, he carried that weight well, and few had any doubts about his ability to handle himself in any sort of a brawl. He had never had a hold-up in his liquor store, though he had been robbed a few times, and as he hung up the telephone, he shouted for one of those who had robbed him.
"BILLY! FRONT AND CENTER!"
"C-C-C-Coming!" replied the fourteen-year-old boy in the stock room, and his stammered word was laden with meaning, for in his hands he held those two instruments which placed him at Ace Varney's mercy-a pilfered girlie magazine and a hard six inches of prick that was very close to spurting out a load of his pure, white sperm.
Just as it had been on the day when Ace had caught him in the act of swiping a girlie magazine, young Billy had been unable to control himself on this day. How could he expect to control himself with those rows of glossy-paged magazines there on the rack, their cover-girls smiling winsomely at him, showing him their knockers, luring his itching palms to pick up a book and see what further delights lay therein.
Some of the girls were naked, completely bare-assed, showing off their superbly formed bodies, their silken textured skin, their proudly rounded asses, their jutting breasts, and the cunning triangles of hair which so provocatively concealed what he knew very well to be the sweetest delight in the universe. Some of the girls were not so perfectly formed, or perhaps they were a bit more modest, for they were partially covered with little wisps of panties and brazenly skimpy brassieres. Some wore tauntingly tight black hose, and others had on tight, tight corsetry which molded their bodies into even finer shapes, making up for the confining torture of the satiny, rubberized undergarment. But whether they were naked or in their lingerie, they all had enchanting names-Rose and Candy and Yolanda and Kelly-and they all had professionally alluring smiles. Billy Ralston had seen a lot of those smiles. He was an expert when it came to viewing those most perfectly made young women who exposed themselves to the camera eye to earn their daily bread. And as an expert, he could see through the professionalism of the smiles and detect the loneliness in those splendid females, borne out of the fact that they were too good looking to be approached in the flesh. They were all, each and every one of them, as lonely for companionship as he was, and if he could only meet some of them he knew very well he could wash away their loneliness forevermore-once he fucked them ten times a day for about six months or so.
And so, with compassion such as this residing in his pure young heart, is it any wonder that Billy Ralston couldn't keep his hands-and sometimes his lips-off the pages of those forbidden publications? It was true, he hadn't been able to help himself when he'd slipped this magazine under his shirt and gone whistling off to the back room with it. And by page two, when his prick was hard and itching like crazy, it was quite true that he'd been unable to keep his hand off it. It followed that he'd had to take it out of his pants and give it a few careful strokes with the turning of each fresh page. His heart went out to all the lovely, lonely darlings as he stood there between the cases of beer and booze that he so hated, trying to pace himself through to the last page before he let his prick erupt with a screaming, scalding, absolutely marvelous load of cum to spurt and squirt onto the floor he'd just swept. And it was true that Ace's harsh voice gave him such a start that he very nearly lost it and shot his ballful on page sixteen, on the dainty redhead in the black corset.
Billy had to hurry to the summons of his evil, blackmailing boss. He zipped up his threadbare jeans with difficulty. The faded blue cloth was too thin to conceal that erection of his that would surely stay with him until he could pump it down dry. Ace's voice bellowed out again, and in a panic, he stuffed the magazine down the front of his pants and tucked in his T-shirt over it. This was a borrowed magazine. He would return it, if he didn't soil it too much, or if he thought he couldn't get away with it for his collection, even though he had sworn off stealing of any kind. That promise had been made under the weight of Ace Varney's ominously dark eyes and his heavy hand laid on Billy's trembling shoulder. A promise made under such circumstances does not have to be kept, although he certainly did have to keep his promise to work for Ace's Liquor Store all summer long for a lousy fifty cents an hour. Billy's parents didn't know about his getting caught as a thief, and they thought his summer job was just swell. They didn't know how much he wanted to be at the beach, meeting girls, feeling them up when he could, always looking for that one whose face he'd seen on the pages of a magazine, lying on a beach towel by herself, too stunning in her well-filled bikini to be approached by anyone but the crass, vulgar, truck-driver type, or by a sensitive young man like Billy Ralston. That was what Ace Varney was keeping Billy from, and that was why Billy hated him so. That and those stupendously big fists of his.
"Yes, sir?" Billy piped, fists clenched at his sides, stiff prick feeling sweaty against the sticking cover of the magazine.
"Got an order for you to deliver over on Pine Street. Take it over on your bike, and then take off for the rest of the day. It's too friggin' hot to work. I'll pay you for the. rest of your time today. And listen," Ace's voice rumbled, "don't forget to get the money, you hear?"
"Yes, sir!" said Billy, already out the door with the clinking brown paper bag.
What a dope Ace was, to think he'd forget to get the money. Punch drunk, that's what he was. He'd probably even had his balls punched off, but Billy was very much aware that his own were still with him, squirming about on the bicycle seat in a bath of sweat, while the sensitive underside of his prick worked with each pedalling stroke against a clinging page of his new magazine. He wondered what girl had the good fortune to grace that page, wondered which of them he was vicariously fucking. Was she naked or teasingly garmented? Blonde, brunette, or redhead? Was the oozing head of his prick in contact with her open crotch, her bounteous knockers, or her smiling mouth? These questions kept Billy happily occupied as he pumped down the streets to deliver the liquor to some old drunk who was just as bad as his old man or his mother.
Big tumblers of water sustained Mary and Claire as they danced, sweating freely, naked, facing each other some five or six feet apart. Their styles of dance were as different as their shapes. Little, brunette Mary took mincing steps back and forth, holding her arms bent at the elbow, fingers pointing at Claire, swiveling her hips and her shoulders separately, pivoting her pelvis and making those gorgeous big breasts of hers swing widely from side to side. Claire stood in one place, going up and down on her moving feet, sinuously moving her big body like a snake, arms at her sides, shoulders and hips tilting, waist swaying. They were both grinning broadly.
Mary's muff was neat and trim, a tuft of fur that stood out from the plump little triangle of her loins and didn't jiggle as did her fast moving buttocks and breasts. Claire's muff was a wide thatch, several shades darker than her hair, reaching several inches down her heavy thighs, reaching almost up to her long navel, where it fanned out. It was all matted down with her perspiration now, so the slit there was more visible than that which cleft down through Mary's plump pudenda. They both danced and looked good, in their own way.
"You should put some tassles on those swinging tits of yours and make some money with them," said Claire.
"You should get a shave down there or you'll scare off the next man you meet. I didn't know a woman could have so much damned pussy-hair," Mary replied.
"My men dig it," said Claire, and smoothed her hand over it.
"All men dig breasts like mine," Mary responded, lifting the big beauties, squeezing them, forcing the big pink areolas and the erect nipples out farther between thumbs and forefingers. Too bad Claire didn't have a set like hers. She'd really be a knockout then. As it was, her breasts were uptilted at their brown-tipped ends, but quite small. Areolas no bigger than silver dollars, and nipples the size of fingertips. She wasn't much in the upstairs department, but those big, sweeping hips and even that spreading thatch of fur could attract a helluva lot of men. Between the two of them, they could get all the fucking they wanted, and to hell with Henry Stewart.
"By the time you're my age," Claire said, "your tits'll be hanging down to your waist, and then see how many men dig 'em."
"And your flabby old cuntlips will be hanging down to your knees, and you'll need more hair than what you have to cover up."
Claire stuck out a pointed tongue at Mary, and Mary followed suit, wrinkling her pretty nose in the bargain. They danced defiantly closer, tongues stuck out, until they were but a foot apart, breasts almost touching, body scents intermingling, nasty nice little thoughts flitting through Mary's fuzzed brain.
Claire licked her lips and said, "Keep this up and there's no telling what we might wind up doing."
"Another drink and I wouldn't much care," said Mary, in a sultry voice, and then felt a satisfyingly wicked thrill as she deliberately grazed one of Claire's jiggling breasts with her nipple.
Claire took a step back and looked at the dog, faithfully waiting. "We could have some fun with Argo. A lot of women do, you know."
"Be serious, Claire," said little Mary, her mouth going even drier as she was drawn to look at the black-furred, red-tipped ridge again.
"But I am. I've talked to lots of women who've trained their dogs to use their tongues or their pricks on them. They say it isn't so bad. I've even seen it done a couple of times, and believe me, it's a wild sight to see."
A hot shiver started in Mary's belly and spread out through her, threatening to buckle her knees, threatening to let her juices spill out and trickle down her thighs. "I'd rather play with myself than have anything to do with a damned dog."
"You might have something there, Mary-honey."
A look at Claire's face told Mary the answer to her question before she even asked it. "Are you serious?"
"Why not? We've got nothing better to do."
"You mean ... lie down in bed and ... and watch while we ... finger-fuck ourselves? Watch each other c-cum?"
"No need to go to bed. You sit there and I'll sit here. We can each have a view if we want, or else just close our eyes and groove on our own nasty little thoughts. Let's do it. Let's feel good," she said, and swayed close to wide-eyed Mary, a confident smile on her face, before turning to go to the big, sagging easy chair, her overblown buttocks shifting heavily with each step.
Mary went and sat on the couch. She had to, lest she collapse. This was something naughty high school girls did, not grown women. But there was her friend, thirty-eight years old, with her legs apart and her hand already spreading the thick fur aside to reveal a trough, that was bigger than Mary's, but certainly no pinker or wetter. "Oh, what the hell?" said Mary, and tried to laugh as she spread her legs and slid her hand down over the silky plumpness there. But it felt so good, so very good to at last be able to touch that part of her body that screamed out for any sort of contact, that her laughter died on her lips and she moaned and closed her eyes in a minor ecstasy of pleasure of the flesh that she could not relinquish until she'd cum.
Mary bit her hp to keep from crying out, but still her moans were quite audible as she rubbed and poked and pulled at her hot, sodden flesh. Freed by the opening of her legs, her sex stench wafted up to her flaring nostrils, disgusting her for a moment, then further stimulating her with its very rankness. Into her hungry hole went two fingers, spreading it as it should be spread, while with the fingers of her other hand, she tweaked and twisted unmercifully at her clitoris, swollen with its need. Claire was saying panting words to her, but she couldn't understand them. Her upper arms were squashing her breasts together as she worked with both hands between her legs, breathlessly close to cumming, soaring with marvelous feelings, sweeping away all the cares of the world with her wonderfully knowing and dextrous fingers.
"Nnnnnnggg! Oh, it's so good," she gasped, doubling over as her orgasm broke, holding it in there now with her legs clamped together over her wriggling fingers, with her tits mashed down against her thighs. Nothing at all mattered except the extension of this wonderful, giddy bliss. She felt that she deserved for it to go on forever, and as the first incredibly high wave of it began to subside, she sought desperately with her fingers for the next. She might have made it, might have gone on from one orgasmic crest to another until infinity, had she not at last comprehended what it was that Claire was saying.
"That's it! Cum? you big-titted little bitch! Lean back so I can see it! Open up your legs again so I can look at you while you finger-fuck yourself and make your cunt feel as good as mine does!"
Mary leaned back, opening her eyes but keeping her legs together, hugely ashamed of herself for the explosive and entirely childish exhibition she'd put on. She wanted to be rid of all sexual desire then, and to be rid of the alcohol that had led her to this awful display of public masturbation, but when her glazed eyes focused on her friend across the room, hot needles of what she'd been trying to banish lanced deep into her, and her fingers searched and found and moved again, slowly now, as she watched Claire at work.
The big blonde had drawn up her legs and hooked her heels on the edge of the seat cushion. The position made her legs look larger than they were already. Her face, seen between her knees, was twisted with her masturbatory delights, lipsticked lips drawn back from her teeth, green-tinged eyelids drooping, long nostrils flaring with her heavy breathing. She had her hands reaching around her big haunches, her nail-polished fingers drawing apart her fleshy cuntlips, making a gaping maw of her slit so that she could freely jab and rub and scratch at it as she came. There was no doubt she was cumming. She was squealing and grunting-"Oh! Oh! Eeee! Eee! Yess! Oh! Oh, shit, YES!"-and now with her passion-glinting eyes fixed on Mary's helplessly reawakening body, she began to slap her upturned asscheeks and squeal even louder:
"Love to cum! LOVE IT! YEEEE! OH, SHIT! SHIT FUCK HELL DAMN! OH! OH! OH! OHHHHHH!"
Mary had never seen anything approaching this spectacle. Even the usually placid dog was aroused to get to his feet and bark at his mistress, so apparently in distress, but in truth, feeling little more than Mary had felt just seconds before-and badly wanted to feel again. The difference between her and Claire, she decided, as her friend's gasps and grunts and moans began to subside, was that Claire went all out at it, while she held something back. Mary knew that she could easily have lost her head like that. It didn't seem possible that she could have felt more pleasure than she had, but the idea of it was more than just a little intriguing. Especially with her fingers helping her along in the reawakening process.
"Ohhh. Oh, shit," Claire murmured, a silly grin on her face, as her hands fell back from that gaping wound between her legs, and one foot plopped heavily on the floor. "I sure as shit didn't mean to cum that quick. I wanted us to take our time about it. But when I saw you havin' yourself a ball so fast, I just couldn't hold back. Whew! That was a good one."
"But only one," said Mary, feeling surprisingly devilish, and still ahead of her friend in the passion department. "There's no need to stop at jus' one lil ol' orgasm, is there?"
Claire's grin broadened. She stretched in the chair and ran her hands luxuriously over her body, crossing them at her cunt, squeezing her little breasts, and said, "Now you're talking. I think you're going to work out into a peachy fine roommate, you hot little doll. Let's do it all over again, but slow this time. Wait. I'll get something to help us both out."
Claire got up and left the room, her bulky body looking quite good in the nude as Mary followed her with her eyes. The little brunette gave a sharp start then, for the cold nose of the big black dog felt like it was a branding iron touching her outer thigh.
"Get away, you sonofabitch," she said, drawing her legs up on the couch, glaring into his big, warm eyes, trying not to look at his tongue hanging out, long and wet, curved concave, as if it would just fit the plumpness between her legs. "Get away, Argo!" He turned to go to his place by the defunct air-conditioner, tail sadly wagging, one testicle placed before the other in the black-furred sac between his legs. The moment he laid down he began licking his prick, and Mary curled into a smaller ball and muttered, "Disgusting. I don't see why she keeps him around."
"Try this. Sit on it."
Claire's words startled Mary. The little brunette looked up from the couch to see her friend's grin glowing from behind the fat green cucumber that she held out in her hand. Bewildered, Mary took it in her hand, gazing at it instead of Claire's big bottom as the blonde returned to her chair. The long, blunt vegetable suddenly felt quite different in Mary's hand as she looked at Claire, settling down with a sigh on the chair cushion, with the cucumber arranged in the groove of her ass, its green tip protruding from just below her drooling cunt.
"Stick it in you or just sit down on it. It feels good," said Claire.
Mary watched, astounded, as Claire rocked back and forth on the cucumber, whistling her breath in through her teeth as she squashed her cunt down on it, sighing as she leaned back and rubbed her slit with her fingers. It was another weird display of sex that Mary wasn't quite ready for. She'd been too much of a prude being married to Henry for all those years. If she'd been more experienced, less afraid of sex-or even if she'd sucked him off now and then-she'd have a prick instead of a cucumber. But at least she had the cucumber, and now, determined to overcome at least a part of her past prudery, she placed its end against the very wet flesh of her vulva and grinned at her friend as she rubbed it up and down and pushed the hardness against that most yielding spot, which was her cunt hole.
"Feel nice?" Claire asked.
"Mmmm. Nicer all the time."
"Best thing about it, it never goes soft."
"A perpetual hard-on. That's something for a gal to dream about."
"That's the idea. Dream. Go through your wildest sexual fantasies," said Claire, squirming on the cucumber, working her fingers in her splayed cunt. "I'll do the same. Watch me while you dream, and I'll watch you and maybe we can cum together, right at the same time. Deal?"
"I'm already dreaming," said Mary, and she was.
She was thinking back to the night in Henry's car when at last she'd been unable to refuse him, and of the pain and the pleasure of that first insertion of his cock into her young cunt. She was thinking of their wedding night, when champagne had turned their tenderness into a wildness she had not previously known existed. She thought of the hundreds, thousands of times his hard, good prick had slipped into her eagerly awaiting hole, sometimes as an end to an argument, sometimes for the sheer fun of it. She thought of how his past love for her had led him at times to kiss the little cunt that he so loved, bringing her a new kind of tender ecstasy, and then she thought of how he was probably eating his girlfriend's dirty cunt right at that moment, and she wanted to throw the slickened cucumber through a window.
But Claire was having herself an unremitting good time, using vegetable and hands quite expertly in her cunt, as if she masturbated a lot. Probably thinking about her past husbands, or boyfriends whom she'd kissed goodbye for the last time. Maybe she was thinking about Mary, younger and cuter, drunk and hot, and just how it would feel if they both got down on the floor and edged toward each other, playing with themselves all the way, until their hot, wet cunts were squelching together, kissing one another. A wild idea, one that made Mary almost cum before she was ready, before Claire was at that point.
Lesbian sex, sixty-nine with tongues in cunts, both of them working an end of the same cucumber while they mauled each other's tits, cumming, cumming, endlessly.
Claire's glance at the dog ended that fantasy. It fled from Mary's head, to be immediately replaced by that persistent notion of Argo's wonderful big tongue slurping and lapping up between her legs, covering every itching spot in her vulva at the same time-and all of it itched madly. His prick was protruding a good inch from its black foreskin, undoubtedly because of the reek of hot cunt that filled the room, and Mary moaned soft and low at the thought of it jamming and plunging and driving into her cunt, that mindless cavity in her body that wouldn't know if it was the prick of man or beast that was satisfying it. And unable to stop herself, she thought about groveling down on hands and knees, knocking heads with Claire as both ravenously hot women competed for the privilege of being the first to suck that rosy length of stiffening cock into her mouth, to taste its rank animal flavor, to gobble up the searing sperm that waited within it.
"Fuck shit hell damn," Claire croaked, and Mary managed to look from the dog to her friend, still actively working with both hands. She had imitated Claire's posture, feet up on the edge of the cushion, haunches sticking out, nether parts thrust forward. It was obscene. Long red gash, drooling pungent juice, tight brown hole, glistening with the overflow. It was obscene, quite delightfully so, and she knew that Claire, like her, could cum at any time she wished.
As if reading her thoughts, Claire murmured, panting, "You about ready to get off a good one, Mary-honey?"
"Any time, Claire-darling. Any time," Mary replied, voice husky, tits mashed by knees to chest, finger-pushing bordering on pain, sweetest pain.
"Longer we wait, better it'll be."
"Can't wait forever."
"Want to get it on with Argo next time?"
Claire's words knocked Mary's heat down a notch, but it rose swiftly again with the return of a montage of her fantasies. "I don't know. I don't know," she moaned, only wanting to cum now, just wanting sensations to wash her clean of all thoughts, so that her head would be clear when they started up again.
"Fuck shit hell damn," Claire gasped. "Argo fucking and licking us both, never getting tired, never able to tell anyone about it. Let's. Let's, MaryJioney. Let's!"
The doorbell chimed, bringing Mary back from the very brink of acquiesence, altering Claire from a hugely sexy, worldly woman to a fat, disgusting broad with revolting notions about sex and love, and Mary shivered and clasped her arms about her breasts as she lowered her feet to the floor.
"Better answer that."
"Fuck it," said Claire. "Got more important things to do. Gotta cum. And you gotta cum with me."
"It's prob'ly the delivery man with the booze," said Mary, and the word 'man' hit them both simultaneously, and Claire blew out her breath and got up from the chair.
"Yes, indeed. We'd better answer that."
Dizzy with her heat, Mary groped about in getting into her bra and panties again, while Claire lumbered off in the direction of her bedroom. Mary sat huddled on the couch, wondering if she could possibly get it on with a stranger, no matter how drunk and hot she was. Claire reappeared wearing a flowered rayon robe whose colors were predominately red and black. It flowed open behind her as she strode toward the door, from where the chimes sounded again. She gathered it in about her as she opened the door a crack, then allowed it to fall open again as she reached out and returned her arm bearing a big brown paper bag. Satan himself was looking through her eyes at little Mary as she spoke:
"It's not a man at all. It's something better. It's an apple-cheeked little boy with big blue eyes and curly brown hair. Should I let him in?"
CHAPTER THREE
It happened so quickly that little Billy wasn't sure it had really happened at all. Standing at the door, bag in his arms, prick half-hard, thoughts on the time he'd soon spend on the contents of his new magazine-door opens, painted face of a witch, bare arm snakes out and gets package, and Billy gets a clear view of a bare breast far too beautiful to be that of a witch. It's over as quick as that, and if it wasn't for the creeping enlargement of his prick against the magazine page, he would not have been at all sure it had really happened. It took several seconds of open-mouthed blinking before he could ring the bell again.
The door opened as if it was palace gates sweeping back, but if it was a queen who opened the door, she ruled over no sweet fairy-tale land described in the pages of a public library book. She towered over Billy by several inches, and there was a somewhat regal appearance to the long, dark robe she wore, but it was not this that made him tremble with awe. It was her long yellow hair in disarray, the crooked grin on her heavily made-up face that confirmed her state of drunkenness, and most of all, the narrow opening down the front of her robe through which he could see the floor of the valley between her knockers, her long navel, and the mysterious darkness of hair that disappeared down between her legs. She was not a witch at all, but beautiful, alluring, and surely as lonely as any of those younger, less poised damsels hidden inside Billy's pants.
She held out her hand and invited him inside to receive payment for the medicine she'd ordered for her loneliness. Billy's gaze was held captive by her radiant, red and white smile as he came past her into the relative dimness of that little house that was like so many others on the block, but his nostrils were assailed by the difference in this place as the door was firmly closed behind him. It was airless and hot, and it had the smell about it of stale booze and cigarettes and sweat and that acrid, unidentifiable odor that he'd smelled in his parents' bedroom following a late Sunday rising when they were both unnaturally good-tempered and happy. It reeked of sex, of sex and loneliness, filled with harsh radio rock and with the presence of this lonely, smiling woman whom Providence had sent him to comfort. Their age disparity would make no difference. He would get her off the booze, save her from cigarettes, spend long hours discussing Great Books with her, gradually get her out into the sunshine again, and in the process he would use all the words he had practiced with on his paper ladies to win her for all time. Theirs would be the romance of the century, in defiance of all the outdated laws of society, and he would somehow control his burning organ until their wedding night, when he would fuck her in the cunt and in the mouth and between her knockers and in her ass with his prick and his tongue and his fingers and toes, tenderly, cruelly, wonderfully!
"My, you're a nice, big boy," she said, simultaneously feeling the nape of his neck and the bulge of his bicep. "My name's Claire. What's yours, honey?"
"B-B-B-Billy," he told her, as the electric waves she was sending into him met somewhere between his balls and his heart.
She grinned down at him. "Cute name. Meet my friend Mary. Mary, come in here and meet Billy. You'll like Mary, Billy. She's a stripper. Ever meet a stripper before? Have you got time to meet her? I mean, you don't have to go buzzing off on your bicycle to some silly old baseball game right away, do you? You can stay long enough to have a nice cold drink with us, can't you? Mary and I were just sitting around doing nothing. Talking about-you guessed it, men-and we'd both be so disappointed if you had to take off as soon as you got here. Isn't he a handsome boy, Mary? Young man is more like it. Come into the kitchen with me. We'll get acquainted while I play bartender. You are old enough to take a drink, aren't you, Billy?"
Billy had no idea how or even if he answered her questions. All he knew was that the great leap from the outside world into Claire's imposing presence had been followed by an even greater leap, and now he was in a kitchen with a real, live stripper, one who had hardly anything on at all! One who was absolutely beautiful! Maybe tall, lonely Claire needed him more than little, busty Mary, but his need for Mary was boundless. This wasn't a woman who posed for a dumb camera, it was a ravenously sex-hungry broad who peeled off her clothes before the avid eyes of hundreds, thousands of screaming truck drivers, and who then chose the biggest and best of them to fuck her and suck her and eat out her asshole until it was time for her next show. The reason she wasn't working that day was probably because she was diseased, she'd picked up virulent dose of VD that was fatal to the male of the species, and she had just enough compassion not to spread it around. But it was an effort for her to do without cock during her treatment. He could see that from the way she looked at him, feel it clearly from the way she clung to his arm. Before he left that house, he'd have contracted the disease. It didn't matter. Here was a woman who knew everything there was to know about sex-absolutely everything!-and he had the opportunity to learn it all from her. He might not be a burly trucker with a foot-long whang, but he was available, and she certainly knew it. If she still had enough compassion in her to be reluctant about giving him her disease, he would just have to overcome that somehow, for he had to learn the Chinese Basket Fuck, the African Snake Screw, the Norwegian Knothole Poke, and the Armenian Crawl. He had to learn something more than the dictionary definition of words like urolagnia and cunnilingus and coprophalia. He had to learn what it felt like to have his hard prick in a hot pussy, and there was no one in the world better suited to teach him than Mary, the stripper.
They jostled him from both sides in the kitchen, giggling. They were both pretty drunk, big horsey Claire with her robe hanging open to show her skimpy, brown-tipped titties, and Mary, the professional nymphomaniac, in her hot-pink French lingerie, with her silicone injected knockers about to burst the bra. Claire sloshing whiskey and cola into glasses and nudging him in the ribs with her elbow, Mary standing back with hands on hips, sizing him up as she compulsively moved to the music-and surely finding him wanting. He had to have her. He had to!
His voice, unfortunately, cracked as he said, "How did you ever happen to become a strip-teaser?"
"Just did what comes naturally," she frankly replied, and progressively shook her incredibly fine little body from toes to forehead in a manner that turned his spine to jelly. A nympho from birth, no doubt about it, and there was a bare possibility that her disease was not invariably fatal to men.
A cold glass was thrust in Billy's hand. He gulped thirstily from it, eyes devouring his stripper, jumping and twitching at the touch of the big one's hand on his back, not realizing he was swilling liquor until it was half gone. Liquor! That was the answer! She was half shot already, and with a couple more drinks in her, she'd lose all her inhibitions about infecting him with Go-Go dancer's gonorrhea.
"Do you drink?" he asked, and when she nodded, he thrust his glass in her hand. She sipped, looking over the rim of the glass falsely demure at him, while he joined her with the fresh glass that had found its way into his hand. He liked the way her eyelashes shaded her green eyes. He liked the way her stage make-up made her skin look so naturally fresh and pure. He liked that enormously deep cleavage between her knockers, and he liked the rich, rank smell that floated up in thick waves from her burning, throbbing germ-laden cunt. Had her cunt been made surgically smaller by the same doctor who had enlarged her breasts? Billy hoped not. Even if Mary's thousands of fans had fucked it to the size of Carlsbad Caverns, he'd still cum the instant he touched it with the madly itching head of his prick. He wondered what her stage name was and if she personally knew any of the many models that he knew from the pages of his collection, but he couldn't ask her, occupied as he was with drinking in her beauty with his eyes and drinking in the sweetness of the drink with his gullet.
"Claire, isn't he a little young?" she said, and all his hopes were immediately dashed.
They knew very well he was fourteen, not twenty-one. They were a couple of school teachers on vacation, going to tease him to the brink of insanity, get him drunk, and then boot him out the door. The opportunity of his lifetime was gone, and all because of his stupid age.
"Let's just see if he's old enough," said the husky feminine voice at his ear, and a pair of hands began encircling his hips.
Billy's excitement was already extremely high. Now it completely obliterated disappointment, as the groping hands converged toward his loins. His arms rose from his sides, he went up on his toes, and Mary's face blurred before him as two hands-not his own-stole down through the hollows of his groin to end their errand of mercy at his throbbing prick and aching balls. But before they got there, before the wonderful woman who had introduced him to all of this could cure his raging turmoil with the touch of her hands, she stopped and spoke again at his ear.
"What the hell is this? Are you wearing a truss? What've you got stuck down inside your pants, Billy?"
"Nothing! Nothing!" he insisted, crouching over in an effort to protect the damning book from discovery, writhing and squirming and clutching at it, for now the alcohol was getting to the two women, and they were bent on uncovering his concealment.
They grabbed and poked at him, pulled at his clothes, laughing wildly, while he twisted and turned and gasped through uncontrollable giggling to be left alone, that he wasn't hiding anything at all. But they were completely unmerciful. His lonely benefactor, aided by the depraved stripper, tickled him right on down to the floor, and there he lay kicking futilely while his shirt was ripped up, his pants torn open, and that awful, filthy book torn from his belly.
Billy covered his face with his hands as Claire triumphantly said, "A nudie picture book! No, they're not all nudes. Look! He digs 'em in sexy underwear, too."
Billy rolled against the kitchen cabinets as Mary sneeringly said, "I told you he was too young for us. Hell, he's still in the looking stage."
"Well just see if he's old enough. By now, it's either him or Argo. Help me roll him over, Mary. Now he's gotten shy."
Four hands pulled him onto his back, still curled in the fetal position. He was just delivering the magazine to a customer, he tried to tell them, as their strong hands straightened out his body. Hands still over his face, he longed to sink through the floor into six feet of earth, but they had other plans for him. He was caught again, just as he'd been caught by Ace, but now, instead of making him work for them, they were going to strip him naked, call the police and report him as a sex deviant, and then throw him out in the street. He sent out a prayer to be stricken by lightning, but nothing came. Nothing, that is, but soft hands and a warm breeze on his bared belly, and words whose purring tone could have come from a big black panther.
"You see, Mary? I told you he was old enough. His dick's not too big and it's not too small, but it sure is hard enough. Let's see how it tastes ... mmmmmm...."
The hand encircling the base of his prick felt as good as the very soft, warm, wet sensations that flowed over the head of it. He dimly knew what was so miraculously happening to him in the aftermath of his great distress, but he still couldn't believe it. He was afraid to open his eyes, lest he find he was mistaken. A hand went to his balls, to roll them gently, squeeze them softly, testing the extent of the load they carried, and Billy gritted his teeth and squinted his eyes more tightly shut. The warm wetness slid up and down his prick, nostril breath searing his groin. His hand was taken and led over damply silken, extremely soft skin, through absorbingly interesting hollows, over long, soft hair, and pressed deeply against a deep wet mouth that emanated kilowatts of heat.
He had to look then. He had to open his eyes and look up his arm to the big bare flesh beside him, the looming huge hip, stark white, revealed by the black and red robe thrown back over its big curves. She was on her knees beside him, holding his hand and rubbing it over that big cunt he could not see, smearing her juices up over her hanging belly, then pushing it back for more. Looking down her body, he saw how her small titty swayed with the rhythmic rocking of her body, and how erect her little brown nipple was now. And he saw that it was true, he was getting the fabled Blow Job; her glistening red lips were moving up and down the length of his proudly standing pink prick, her cheeks were sunken in, and inside the loving cavity of her mouth, her tongue was swirling around the head of his prick as if it was an ice cream cone. He could see much of the woman who was so lonely and hard-up to do this for him, but he couldn't see her tongue or her cunt, those most important parts of her anatomy. But looking up, he could see Mary's.
She was standing over his head, a foot above it, looking down at his loins and the action there, and wishing she'd gotten to him first. Billy could tell that from the way her beautiful little pink tongue was licking at her passion-swollen lips. Her feet were a foot apart, her hands trembling, splayed fingertips touched against her panty-clad groins, inches away from that cunt that so yearned for the prick that was in Claire's sliding mouth. And he could see her cunt, a darkness through the taut, wet crotchband of her panties. He could see it as clearly as if her panties were absent from her body, and he longed for it with every fiber of his body, even if it did contain a microbe or two in addition to its honeyed sweetness. Looking at her like that, the object of all his desires, his excitement mounted so swiftly that he knew he had to have her before he exploded in a burst of glory that would end his life.
He wrenched his hand from the shaggy wet cunt, grabbed both of Mary's slender ankles, and blurted, "Lemme eat you, lemme fuck you, lemme crawl up inside your cunt head-first! I love you! I love you-I love MMMPH!"
As graceful as any ballerina, she spun about. She squatted then, and for one dreadful moment, he thought she was going to go to the toilet on his face, right through her panties. But down she came, shutting off the light with the warm, wet, wonderfully foul softness of her cunt, and at once he began to cum.
Billy's body arched up off the floor, as if it wanted to follow the spurts of his sperm that were erupting into the mouth at his loins. It spasmed upward, shuddering with each long, wracking stream of ecstasy, and still she sucked on his cock. It was by far the most fantastic thing he had ever known, and then it became even more fantastically good when he sensed that his Mary was cumming with him.
They were having a mutual orgasm, the ultimate in love and sex. True, his prick was in another's mouth, but still they were experiencing a trip to heaven together, as one. He knew she was cumming with him by the way she clutched handfuls of his hair, by the way she grunted and groaned and humped her gushing cunt against his fiercely working mouth. He was almost unable to breathe because of the hotly squirming muffle over his mouth, but he was able to clutch and grab at her beautiful, sexy, orgasming body all that he wanted to, and that was far, far better than mere breathing. She was banging his head against the floor and squealing loudly, but he hardly felt or heard it. All he felt were those long, wrenching ejaculations that kept pulling his ass up off the cold floor, and the spasmings of her flower-like cunt on his mouth. He tried to lance his tongue through the fabric of her panties, but it wouldn't penetrate. He tried to tongue the crotchband aside, to directly taste the heavily cloying flavor that was all but suffocating him, but the material was too tight and wet to leave the hot mouth that it covered. And so young Billy was mildly frustrated, yet hugely gratified when at last his Mary rolled off him, giving him sweet air to breathe, and the last of his copious spendings had been licked up and swallowed by her big, horsey friend. He lay there sighing, glowing with this, his first insight into the heavenly delights that existed here on earth, and further glowing with the knowledge that there was more, much more to be enjoyed with his Mary, his love.
Their voices came to him from afar, especially Claire's, as she said, "Goddamn, the little rascal sure did cum in a hurry. I wasn't ready for it, but once he started, I couldn't stop."
"You really ... liked it?"
"Damn right. It tastes good, and it's good for you. You came pretty damned quick, too." awfully....
"I was awfully ... ready from before."
"Well, I'm ready now. Billy-boy, how soon can you go again, with a little help from your friends?"
He was able to almost completely ignore the hand that grasped his wet, deflating prick, because he knew it was not that of his love. "Any time," he murmured. "But with my Mary. Only with her."
"We'll just see about that," said Claire. "Up! Get up!"
CHAPTER FOUR
Aided by a cruel twisting of his ear, Billy scrambled to his feet. With his trousers hobbling his ankles, he was dragged out of the kitchen by the big blonde, who was saying, "Your Mary, indeed! You aren't going to play any favorites here, you little twerp. A cunt is a cunt, in this house, and mine is next on your list, whether you like it or not!" In pain, weakened by his ejaculation, handicapped by his dragging trousers, he went along with her, though in truth, it was Mary's saucily swinging buttocks before him that pulled him on into the living room.
Blank TV screen, scarred table, sagging furniture, newspapers on the floor, it could have been the Ralston house, except for the rock music playing and the big black dog who got to his feet to growl. Billy's main captor shut up the dog with a single sharp word, and flung Billy down on the couch. Fists on hips, sweeping back the robe to bare both her drooping tits and that enormous island of fur in the center of the expanse of her body, she leaned forward over him to speak nearly as harshly as she'd spoken to the dog.
"Are you ready to fuck me, or am I ready to call Ace's Liquor and tell them that you tried to rape us both?"
"I can't," he whined. "Look," he said, and lifted a hand from his naked loins to bare his wilted prick.
She immediately softened. She plopped down beside him, snuggled up to him took his little boy prick in her hand, and said, "Oh, we can take care of that in short order. D'you want another little blow-job to get it up again while Mary does a little strip for you? Would that do it?"
Before he could answer, she was kissing him. On the mouth. Those same lips that had been so recently wrapped around his prick, were not on his mouth. That same tongue that had lapped up his cum was trying to tangle with his. You paid a price for everything, his mother had often told him, and now this terrible ordeal of her wet, penetrating kiss was his price for getting sucked off. As soon as he could, he twisted out of the kiss, and muttered, "Yeah, I'd like to see Mary strip."
He didn't want to see her do it there. He wanted to see her for the first time in the right circumstances, bathed in a blue spotlight, with throngs of men cheering and applauding the brazenly beautiful woman who belonged only to Billy Ralston. But there it had to be, in that tawdry little living room, for she was already starting to move to the music. How much better, how perfect it would be if they were in the bridal suite, and she was peeling out of her pure white garments to the jazzed-up strains of Lohengrin, with Billy as her sole audience. But it was here and now, in a stuffy little tract house, with a damned dog and perverted schoolteacher there to ruin things.
Still, it wasn't all that bad. Claire's hand on his prick was moving rather pleasantly, and the way she was moving his hand on her wet old snatch wasn't altogether disgusting. Her right hand working on his prick was better than his own, but it could never really excite him. And the feel of her cunt was interesting, the blind exploration of the many little folds and crevices of hot wetness that he'd so often thought about but never felt before this day, that was really pretty good, but that couldn't excite him either. What was exciting was Mary, six feet in front of him, unattainable for the moment, but showing up as clearly as if she was in a spotlight.
She was pretending to ignore him, pretending she was completely absorbed by the music, and by the crazy-wild movements of her stunning little body. She pranced up and down like an Indian, arms flapping, knees kicking high, knockers threatening to jump out of her over-worked brassiere. Her head was thrown back, an expression of mindless music-listening on her face, eyes closed, mouth hanging open. Billy had never really heard music before, he realized. He wasn't even hearing it, but feeling it, right down in his gut.
"Let's get rid of this," said the woman at his side, and he was pulled forward for his T-shirt to be stripped from him. Her hand felt somewhat better when it was returned to his prick. He could feel a twinge of life in that part of his body now. He automatically probed and delved in the wetness of her vast cunt, trying to keep her happy while he watched his love at her art.
The music had changed. There was a rapid-fire drum solo going on, and his Mary was right with it. Feet planted solidly on the foor, fingers pointing straight at him from her hips, she had her head thrown back and was emitting little yips and squeals of lusty, healthy desire for him as she swiveled her athletic body on the universal joint of her tiny waist, hips going one way, shoulders and knockers going the other, so fast that her beauty was being melted into a blur. Billy was breathing harder, his prick was swelling, his fingers moving of their own accord, as he understood that Mary was somehow setting the tempo for the recorded drummer with her fantastic little body.
"Might as well get rid of these, too," said the owner of the cunt he'd been fingering, and slipped to her knees before the couch to pull off his shoes and socks and drag his pants and shorts over his feet. As she did this, she took the opportunity to blow her warm breath on his loins and lightly but expertly use both tongue and lips on his prick and balls. It felt terrific, it was great, but not nearly so exciting as the sight of his Mary, dancing for him.
She was facing the dog now, and he was sitting up and wagging his tail and his tongue, as she did a combination of her Indian dance and her shimmy-shake. She was doing it in profile to Billy, not even looking in his direction, but he knew very well her performance was all for him, for one of her bra straps had slipped down, almost baring one of her marvelously big knockers, the one which was closest to where he was sitting.
Beside him on the couch again, the woman with the wonderfully knowledgable mouth and the eager cunt took his rising prick in hand and said, "Shit, we're forgetting why Billy-boy ever came over here. Mary, go get us some drinks."
Billy watched her as she danced her way out of the room, feeling hot tingles lancing down into his balls from the way the big blonde was darting her tongue in his ear and swirling and digging with it there. It felt good. It was exciting. There was no question about that. And with Mary out of the room, and no real commitment as yet made between them, there was no reason not to enjoy things a little, no reason not to be polite to her.
"Having a good time?" she asked. "Glad you came?"
"Sure," he said, turning from the empty doorway to her, and feeling the rubbery soft texture of her lips with his as she grazed them.
"After we have another little drink, you're gonna fuck me, and you're really gonna enjoy that.
Right?"
"Sure," he said, just before she planted her mouth right on his.
Strange, but he couldn't taste any prick on her lips, nor on her tongue, for that matter. Not that he'd recognize that taste if he tasted it. But the taste of pussy-Mary's pussy-he would never forget. It was wonderful, absolutely wonderful. He thought he could detect just a trace of it in Claire's mouth, and thinking that she might be about to draw away from him before he could fully savor it, he slipped his arms about her naked shoulders and held her where she was.
Yes, the faint taste of pussy was there. Had it come from Claire's having licked Mary's delicious pussy? Unthinkable, yet highly possible, for man, woman or beast could hardly resist the taste of Mary's pure sex. Billy searched for more with his tongue. It wasn't quite the same as Mary's, yet highly similar. Could it be that he was tasting Claire's pussy? Was a woman's mouth connected by a long tube that wrapped around her heart and terminated at her pussy? It was possible. After having fallen into this marvelous little love nest, anything in the world was possible.
Billy settled down for some serious necking with the beautiful big blonde. It was okay. His stripper was gone for the moment, she'd been unfaithful to him thousands of times, and it wasn't every day that a fourteen-year-old stud got to snuggle up to and kiss a gorgeous, mature woman like Claire. If his buddies could only see him now. Or punchie old Ace Varney. Or snotty little Becky Sloane from down his street. He wanted the world to see him, naked as a jaybird, with his statuesque blonde beauty queen shrugging out of her robe so that he could be given even more of her glorious charms.
Perfect little knockers, just the size to fit in a man's hand. Adorable little nipples, the exact size to be nursed on by a pair of adoring lips. Billy simultaneously felt up her knockers and, kissed and sucked them until his hand was drawn to a further exploration of her beauty. Great big hip, not too firm, just the right consistency for a man to sink his fingers into, just a little firmer than the sweet titty he was so avidly kissing. A beautiful cunt that opened right up for him when his hand even started to stray in that direction, and that filled his nostrils and his brain with her sweetly musky scent.
His lips gave up her perfect little nipple to sample the softness below it. Her scent was stronger then as she spread her legs wider and smoothed her soft hand over the back of his neck. He kissed her lush body lower, the better to smell her very distinctive scent, and she made little cooing sounds that encouraged him to test the softness of the point of her hip with his lips. Deliriously soft, just as her smell was delightfully stronger. As he kissed her and smelled her, her body was jerking and twitching as if she had hiccups of the cunt, but her words were smooth and soothing as she talked him home.
"Go on and eat it a little, baby. You'll like it.
Nothing like good hot cunt to turn a boy into a man. Go on and kiss it a little, suck on it, lick it up and down before you put your beautiful big cock in it and fuck me half to death. Go on. Go on, darling. Go on...."
Billy's mouth was in the fringes of the big blonde's dark pubic hair when Mary's sweet voice, softly slurred, stopped him. "Here's yer drinks. Where'll I put 'em?"
His head jerked up and he spun about to a fairly decorous sitting position, hands folded over his stiffly standing prick, as Claire cursed like a truck driver and said, "You can put 'em up your ass! My baby was just about to go down on me when you horned in. Here. Give 'em to me and go dance your ass off while Billy and me drink a little toast before we take up where we left off."
Billy could only watch his love from the corner of his eye as a glass was thrust into his hand and Claire's horsey, make-up-smeared face loomed close, grinning in what she thought was a sexy way. She clinked glasses and said:
"Here's to women, sweet and divine.
They bloom every month and bear every nine.
They're the only creatures this side of hell
To get juice out of nuts without breaking the shell."
They drank together, with her hand straying up his leg to fondle his nuts, with his eyes sidling over to look at Mary as she danced. He hadn't really noticed her ass before. It was a cute little thing, nicely rounded, as sweet and young-looking as Becky Sloane's, but with a lot more movement to it than Becky could ever hope to get into hers. Yeah, Mary could really move it. Up and down, to and fro, side to side, back and forth, and seemingly all at once. She must have learned that in bed before she took it onto the stage. Even his strong hands, clasping the small round mounds tightly, wouldn't be able to hold her hips still once he had his enormously hard prick in her wonderfully soft cunt. He'd fuck her twenty times every day, going down on her in between times, until she was eight months pregnant and he could get himself a little rest. He would have jumped up and punched his prick right through the wettest part of her panties if the depraved schoolteacher at his side hadn't had hold of it.
She let go of it to take his chin and turn him to face her. "What do you say, darling? D'you want to go down on me? D'you want a real taste of pussy, with no silly old panties to come between us?"
"I don't think I like what I tasted before," he lied, acting shy, turning from her big, blurry face in time to see his Mary slipping her other bra strap down, sinuously moving her shoulders out of them, and letting loose those magnificently beautiful knockers that he so longed to touch, to kiss, to fuck. He could do anything he wanted to with Mary. She belonged to him, and was proving it by the dance she was doing for him. And he was now a man, having gotten a blow-job and kissed a pussy and almost fucked a woman. His first woman should rightfully be Mary, but he supposed he really ought to fuck the woman at his side first. It had been she who'd invited him in, he had her terribly hot, and he should get in a little practice before he fucked his Mary. Besides, Claire was already pulling him toward her with the handle of his remarkably stiff prick.
"You ever laid with a gal before?" she asked, pulling him along as she stretched out on the couch. "Am I getting your cherry?"
"I've screwed lots of times," he lied, as he found how easy it was to get between her yawning legs.
"Then give me a good one," she said, tilting her pelvis up to him, taking his cheeks in her hands to kiss his face.
Prick in hand, he probed and poked at her crotch, while from the corner of his eye, he saw Mary dancing closer. He wondered if he was making her jealous. He wondered when he'd find the right place in the big, wet expanse of softness between the legs of the big blonde. Maybe he and the stripper would become swingers, wife-swappers, after their year-long honeymoon was over. Maybe he should back off and take a look for the hole he knew was down there instead of blindly stabbing for it. Would he be able to stand seeing Mary being fucked by somebody else at an orgy, as she was watching him now? Was it possible that the big, soft woman under him didn't have a vagina?
Billy shoved harder, and Claire said, "Ouch! Goddamnit, I don't want to get fucked in the goddamned ass! Here, gimme that."
His prick was taken from his hand. He laid his cheek on horny bitch's shoulder, eyes closed in the embarrassment of being discovered for the inexperienced idiot that he was. It took her but a moment to direct the head of his prick to the right place, and then he had to open his eyes in wonder as he felt himself sliding in her, deeper and deeper, the burning length of his prick being enveloped in a warm, wet heat that was somehow most cooling and refreshing. He sighed and clutched her beautiful body closer to his, squirmed as happy as a puppy deeper in her, and mingled his gurgles of contentment with her sighs of satisfaction. This had to be the happiest moment of his life, balls deep in a lonely woman who really needed him, watching the love of his life dancing just a yard away from him.
He tried to wink and grin at his Mary. Her bra was gone from her body and she was massaging her gorgeous breasts, rolling and rolling them about in her hands, lips pursed as she looked down at the constructive exercise she was performing. His hips were slowly moving with those of the owner of the cunt he was in, and in a way, it felt like he was cumming all the time. Then Mary shocked him by lifting a heavy globe and sucking its nipple into her mouth. Probably part of her body-building program, he thought, as the tempo of his first fuck increased. The expression on his strip-teaser's face grew vacuous as she sucked on her knocker, and now one of her little hands stole down over her belly and crept inside her pink panties. It moved like a little animal in there, as she with outspread legs thrust forward her hips to meet it. She wasn't exercising, she was masturbating, and Billy didn't like that at all. He recalled how many times he'd jerked himself off, and he could understand how hot the nympho stripper must be in watching him fuck another woman, but that didn't make him feel any better about her playing with herself like that. And she was really doing it! As if to prove she had no shame, she let her big jug flop down out of her mouth, rucked her panties down to her knees, and gave herself a good, hard rubbing in the place where Billy should rightfully have his prick. Mouth open and tongue hanging out, she did a dance she'd never performed on a stage, jerking and bumping her hips to jab her cunt against her moving hand, tits flopping about, panties stretched tight between her knees. It was wildly sexy, weirdly fascinating to look at, but Billy couldn't stand to see his love doing that to herself, flaunting her nymphomania so. He turned to bury his face in the sweaty hollow of Claire's throat, humping faster, trying to banish the vision of his hotly masturbating stripper with sensations of his own.
"Oh! Cum! Gotta CUM! AGAIN!" Mary cried.
Billy couldn't escape from her voice, even as his own climax approached as he squirmed and humped on the big wet softness beneath him. It seemed as if the beautiful big blonde was all cunt now, everywhere he was touching her with his wildly bobbing body. It was marvelous, wonderful the way she came to meet each of his rapid, ragged thrusts at her, the way she so eagerly accepted each new plunging of his rock-hard, pistoning prick. She was digging her nails into his back and clutching at his bouncing buttocks, groaning deep in her throat to help blot out Mary's hedonistic masturbatory cries.
"Fuck her, you little bastard! Fuck me! Eating cunts and fucking cocks, big hard ones, and sucking them off and swallowing the ... NNNNNNG! ORRRRRGGGGH! CUM! CUM!!! CUMMINGGGGGGGGG!!!"
The barkings of the dog helped to drown out some of her final outcries, and then Claire helped too. "Fuck shit hell damn, fuck me half to death, you little angel. Fuck me and cum with me! CUM WITH ME NOW! NOW!, DAMN YOU, NOW!"
"I LOVE YOU! I LOOOOOVE YOU!" Billy shouted, spurting and shooting, creaming and cumming, in perfect harmony with the gorgeous, sexy woman who was giving him such unimagined delights.
"FUCK SHIT HELL DAMN CUM!!! WONDERFUL!"
"MMPH! URRRGGGH! FUCK HER! FUCK HER!!!"
"ARF! ARF! ARF!"
"I LOVE YOU. I LOVE YOU! I LOOOOve ... ahhhh...."
The chorus of orgasmic shriekings subsided, along with Billy's great efforts. He felt as if he was melting, slowly molding to fit the living mattress under him, merging with the body of the woman he loved. Yes, he did love the beauteous and passionate Claire now, for who could fail to love the woman who had introduced him to such delights. He burrowed closer to her, kissed the dear, fetid hollow of her throat, feeling the vibrations of her purrings of contentment. This was the woman for him, even if Mary was prettier and hotter. No one could ever replace Claire in his affections, even if he lived to be a hundred.
But by then Claire would be long dead, and Mary, lovely Mary would probably still be going strong. She was younger as well as prettier than the big blonde, and with her vitality, she'd last at least as long as Billy did. He felt a little guilty now that he'd lost his virginity to the old schoolteacher instead of holding out for the strip-teaser whom he had first adored. If he'd stood his ground, Mary would have had his marvelously working prick in her cunt instead of the fingers she had had to resort to. Somehow, he'd make it up to her, even if it took a thousand fucks and a million eatings of her sweet cunt. At the moment, he felt like taking a nap, but duty called, and he should at least turn to her and apologize a little. She was right there at his side, making little cooing sounds, and he turned his head from the false comforts of the horny old schoolteacher to look at his love and say through his eyes that he was sorry.
But his eyes flew wide open when he saw Mary, for she was sitting curled up on the floor, embracing the big black dog. She held his head cradled in her arms, hugging him to her bosom, cooing to him and pressing her cheek against his furry muzzle. His tongue flipped out and licked her cheek. She laughed, and then Billy's shock turned to horror as he saw her lower the dog's head to her chest, and laugh again as he licked her knockers.
"You like that?" she said. "Sure you do. You're a good ol' dog, and you sure've got a good ol' tongue. How'd you like to lick me someplace else sometime? Hmmmm? I sure bet you would, you nasty old doggie-dog."
Claire laughed next to Billy's ear, and said, "We might've needed Argo before, Mary, but now that Billy's here, we've got something a Lot better. Billy might not be as big as I'd like, but ne's pretty good."
The bitch! The witch! She'd gotten poor Mary drunk and then filled her head with stories of dogs' tongues, and she'd succeeded in seducing him when all he wanted was his Mary. Billy wanted to kill her, and in his frustration, he thrust against her as hard as he could with his slowly softening prick. She moaned and thrust back, while poor, drunken Mary continued to hold the dog and his licking tongue against her breasts. He dug his fingers into the putty-soft flesh of Claire's hips, feeling that he could stab through her heart with his prick, trembling with the strain of it. She was trembling too, making an urgent little moan come out of her throat, and slowly lifting them both off the couch with the arching of her body. He pushed harder, to drive her down flat, to conquer her, while befuddled Mary giggled and rocked back and forth on her haunches as she held the dog in her arms. He was panting with the effort of it. The wicked, depraved witch dragged her hands down toward his quivering ass, nails first, and he thought he was going to win, thought he was going to subdue her so that he could then get up and kick the dog aside and flee with his Mary. But then long, strong fingers converged in the groove of his ass, and one of them wormed its way into his asshole, making the silently struggling battle hers.
It went right inside him, touching him in a place where man is not meant to be touched, bringing him sensations not meant to be felt. It was like he was cumming all over again, but now pain predominated over the intense sweetness he'd known before. The finger burrowed deeper, wriggled more obscenely, making Billy give up the straining struggle and wildly contort on the witch's big body in a frantic effort to expel that fiendish digit that was injecting him with the delights and the sufferings of the damned.
He squealed shrilly and gasped hoarsely, as she used her finger like an expert demon, her voice rising in her sadistic glee. "Harder! A little more! Deeper! Shit fuck HELL damn! Love it! Love to cum! One more' time! Now, now, NOWWWWW!!!!"
Her powerful thighs were crushing him, her hard heels drumming a tattoo on the backs of his legs, and that terrible long finger reaching for and finding some strange little organ inside him that was the button controlling all his earthly pain and pleasure. Held prisoner like that, being so diabolically stimulated, he would have gone on struggling in her grip and grinding his loins against her sodden crotch until his heart burst from the effort, had not she released him. With a long sigh, her legs slipped from around him, that horrible thing was withdrawn from his asshole, and Billy was permitted to roll off her evil body, off the couch, and onto the floor.
He lay there panting, utterly exhausted, as if he'd just run a four-minute mile. He was through with sex forever, finished with women for all time. With the exception of his mother-and at times he wasn't so sure about her-they were all cruel and evil and dirty. As soon as he was old enough, he'd get a job on a four-masted fishing schooner, and he'd never leave it again, he'd stay on board when the other sailors went into port to pay disease-laden prostitutes for the sufferings that Billy had just endured.
His asshole still tingled from the torment. He held it tightly clenched while he lay there getting his breath, the sounds of Claire's sighs and Mary's giggles coming to him from afar. It didn't hurt so much any more. In fact, it was the sexy tingling part of it that he could still feel now. Still and all, the painful part, the humiliating part had been such that he'd never go through it again if he could help it. What he'd do was get up and go.
He opened his eyes, and there over his head was Mary. Beautiful but dumb Mary was there, the woman he'd misjudged. It wasn't nymphomania that had driven her to the stage as a stripper, it was a sense of kindness, a need to be so good to mankind that she showed lonely men the gifts of beauty she had been given. She was showing that kindness now in the way she was handling the dog, smiling happily as she hugged him to her, holding his head against her tummy. He was licking her hip out of gratitude. Her beautiful knockers still gleamed from his saliva as they hung above Billy's eyes like ripe, exotic fruit, very pale but very nourishing. Half drunk as well as not too bright, she was thinking only of being good to the dog, not of how wrong it was to let a dog lick her like that. Billy had to do something about that. He had to save her.
He reached up and touched her knee, silken soft, pulsing with life, and he said, "Hey, how's about gettin' rid of that dog and lettin' me suck on your big ol' knockers for a while?"
CHAPTER FIVE
"What did you say?" said Mary, looking down past Argo the dog, as he continued to slither and slip his pink tongue over her belly and up to her coral-crested breasts.
Billy replied, "Uh ... I thought maybe we could sort of wash up a little and then you might ... uh ... like it if I sort of kissed your ... uh ... breasts a little. Huh?"
"What did you call them before?" she asked, leaning closer over the supine boy, one big, glistening globe swinging out over his forehead.
"Knockers," he said, with a grin that threatened to split his face.
"No time like the present," she said, and pushing the dog aside, she dropped one of her breasts onto his face.
"Mmmph!" It was all he could say. She'd been very accurate in the placement of the heavily pendant sphere, bringing its erect nipple against his mouth, mashing the big round flesh flat against his face. It was all wet, wet from the dog's dirty tongue, but Billy couldn't escape from it. She had two good handholds in his hair and was squirming and mashing it harder all the time. He managed to get some air in through his nostrils. He was almost gagging, and he longed to be able to at least run a soapy washcloth over the great beauty she was offering to him, but as it was, the only washing device he had access to was his tongue, and so he used it.
It wasn't so bad. Any doggy flavor quickly disappeared as he lay there swirling his tongue around the wide, delightfully corrugated circle of her areola. He had thought her nipple was fully erect, but now, under his increasingly avid suckings, it elongated to a full inch of hugely erotic flesh in his mouth.
She was drunk, and that was why she'd forgotten about washing for him. She proved her drunkenness by giggling and talking to him in the same tone she'd used with the dog. "Lick it and suck it, you horny little boy. Show how much you like knockers, you little shit. Do me up good, and maybe I'll give you somethin' else to suck on."
He nodded his head and sucked more passionately, and she rewarded him by pulling back to pop that long nipple from his lips and drop the other breast onto his face. In a trice he'd sucked away any objectionable flavor there and was feasting on pure eroticism. It was heavenly. He slipped his arms about her naked torso and she responded by loosening the painful grip in his hair and cradling him more gently than she'd held the dog. The texture and firmness of her nipple sharply reminded him of the blonde woman's tongue, and he longed to kiss Mary's lips. But that would come. And until he got to kiss her dear, sweet lips for the first time, he was more than content in sucking and kissing her knockers, those big jugs which thousands of men had hungered for, but which were now nourishing him.
He could feel his prick trying to stir. Soon he'd be fucking her, using all he'd learned from her friend in order to satisfy Mary beyond her wildest hopes. First, of course, he'd have to quickly wash himself, for it wouldn't do to put his prick, still wet from the school teacher's big old cunt, into Mary's immaculate little hole.
"Don't smother our boy," he heard the one on the couch say. "At least not till after he fucks you."
"He's not about to fuck anybody for a while. Fine friend you are, you've fucked and sucked him dry."
"He's young enough to get it up again pretty quick. He'd do it even quicker, Mary-honey, if you got down there and helped him along with your pretty little mouth."
There was a silence then. Billy went on sucking, feeling Mary's increasingly deep breathing, wondering if she was going to faint from how good he was making her feel, or if she would condescend to touch her lips to his slowly stiffening prick before he even tasted them with his own lips.
He heard Claire say softly, "Go on, honey. Start out with a nice little pink one like his, and then work on up to the big, hard beautiful cocks that taste even better. Don't think about it, just do it. Go on and suck him off a little, and before you know it, you'll be sucking black cocks and brown ones and maybe dog's cocks. Go on. Now's the time to get your start."
Billy felt Mary stiffen, and he sucked more ardently, the better to urge her to give him just a little blow-job. She shivered and backed off, withdrawing that nipple from his mouth, and he breathlessly waited for the next step toward the time when they would know each other fully, completely, in every way.
"You go on and suck it if you want, Claire," said she, and lifted an arm to cover his mouth with her armpit.
It was very sweaty. But Mary's own good sweat was far less objectionable to what he'd tasted on her knockers, and so Billy did his best toward pleasing her. It became easier when he felt a mouth on his prick, even though that mouth had to belong to Claire. He could just see her, on her knees at his side, while Mary knelt at his other side, Claire sucking him off, Mary giving him her armpit. It really tasted and felt very nice, getting better all the time. In that position, he was able to reach up and play to his heart's content with her heavy-hanging breasts. He greatly enjoyed the little shivers and giggles of delight she was making. They were every bit as exciting as the mouth and tongue and breath working over his prick and balls and groins. The hand nearest Claire was taken in tow, and he could see its progress as it was drawn up between her legs and placed against the drooling hole he'd just fucked so soundly. She wriggled happily on it, inspiring him to reach for Mary's dear little cunt with his other hand.
He found it, a deeper trench, not as long as Claire's by any means, but almost as wet. Its wetness had a creamy quality to it, a goodness that made him think of virginal milkmaids all laid out on a sunny meadow, even as Mary worked her hips like the most vulgar stripper on his probing hand. The music was softer now. It was an idyllic scene from which he wished he could get up, step back, and look at. Himself spread-eagled on the floor, simultaneously finger-fucking his love and his hostess, while the former allowed him to please her by frenching her armpit, and the latter indulged in one of her perversions by sucking his dick up to a state of complete hardness. It was perfect, then Mary made it better.
Billy got a few breaths of air when Mary turned around and clambered onto him. She straddled his belly, grinning down at him from above her bulging, looming, swinging breasts. Her cunt seared a wet burn on his belly and he held her by her hips as she dropped one breast after the other into his mouth. He just had time to get a good sucking hold on one jutting nipple before she popped it out to give him the other, and delirious with happiness, he did his best to keep up with the alternating white blur of her bosoms.
The music speeded up again. Claire responded to its faster tempo with more rapid swirlings of her tongue, and as the beat got to Mary, she too increased her action. No time to allow him the sucking he so loved, she got her whole body going, slapping him heavily across the face with her gorgeous big knockers squirming her amazingly juicy cunt on his belly.
"Keep up with me! Faster! Faster!" she cried. "You want to suck my knockers, you've gotta catch 'em!"
He couldn't though heaven knows, he tried. His head rocked back and forth, lips extended, tongue out, but he was unable to get more than a fleeting taste of those big, whipping globes that buffeted him from both sides. Mary was laughing wildly. He tried to still the frenetic motion of her torso by grasping her by the waist, then the shoulders, but she shrugged away his hands and continued to thud him back and forth across the face with her heavy sacs of goodness. But, soft as they were, good as they were, he felt close to lapsing into unconsciousness from the pummeling they were giving him.
"Stop! S-stop!" he cried.
She stopped, threw back her head and laughed insanely, then in a flash heaved her little body forward and mashed her open cunt down on his mouth.
Her little tuft of hair did not part for him. He had to burrow with his lips while she wriggled her crotch down on him in order to separate the hairs and get them out of his mouth so he could taste her creamy goodness. It came gushing forth. Its flavor was like the smell he'd first detected when walking into the house, but with none of the foulness. He tongued it up and swallowed it as best he could, while she squirmed and fed him more, and now he fought to keep from drowning as well as suffocating.
Then he felt a shudder ripple through her and he grasped her by the ass, pulled her closer. Despite any risk to his life, she was cumming, and he had to help her along all the way. A little nubbin of highly titillated flesh was thrust against his lips and, recognizing it at once as her love bump, he sucked it in and whipped it with his tongue. Even through the muffling softness of her damply silken thighs, he could hear her orgasmic squeals of love and pleasure. He sucked her clitoris harder, licked it better, kneaded deeper into the gloriously globular flesh of her quivering buttocks, and brought her off to a cum that he knew would satisfy her for a long, long time.
Her cunt was whipped from his face. Her beauty was a blur over his glazed eyes as she scooted down his body, tits swinging, mouth open and panting and grinning. He was only aware that his cock was no longer being sucked when Mary lifted her sweet little body up off him and plunged her still-cumming cunt down on his well-lubricated prick.
"Ahhhh," she sighed, head thrown back, eyes closed, nails digging into his belly, as she rocked back and forth on her impalement.
"Yessss," he hissed, as he pushed his rock up into her, reaching up to knead those gorgeous big knockers, returning her grin, though she couldn't see it.
"Now let's see if you can fuck me," she said, "better than you sucked me off."
"Yeahhhh," he growled, and threw his dick up at her.
He held onto her tits as he arched up several inches off the floor in a series of driving penetrations. He'd fuck her good, better than anyone else ever had! It was hard work, lifting her weight with his archings, but he didn't mind it at all. He did it over and over, while she settled her full weight on his humping loins and swayed back and forth to the music. She knocked his hands from her breasts and he grabbed her by her bent knees to hold her in the saddle, while she grinned crookedly, eyes still closed, and luxuriously lifted and massaged her breasts with both hands. Her juices were leaking down over his balls. His throat was parched from his panting, gasping efforts. He was dimly aware of the big schoolteacher by his side, blonde hair askew, urging him on to greater efforts as he strained and pushed up under the rocking, swaying body of his love. He needed no words to drive him on. The hugely apparent delight he was transmitting to his Mary was incentive enough for him to kill himself with his efforts, and the growing good feelings in his overworked loins was nothing but an added bonus. Billy glowed with good feelings in seeing his Mary like that, belly fluttering with her breathing, entire body attuned to the music he was now creating, huge knockers flopping about through the kneadings of her hands, and his fine strong prick being driven time and time again into the little, furry, surprisingly well-fitting slit between her splayed legs. He could have looked at it forever, and he would have, but then the magnificent view was obscured by a long, heavy leg thrown over his face, and the super-hairy crotch of the degenerate schoolteacher held an inch over his face.
"That's it," said Mary's voice. "Go on and let him eat you while he fucks me."
"I don't want him to die of a heart attack. He's too young for that," said the owner of that enormous big cunt, wide open and fuming, just over Billy's face. "If he wants it, he can just stick out his tongue and get it."
Billy stabbed sodden soft flesh with hot hard tongue. There was no tomorrow. He reached up and grabbed marshmallow soft hips and pulled down hard, completely inundating himself in cunt, both above and below. Feet planted flat on the floor, he humped up into the cunt of his loved one, while he showed his gratitude for the match-maker by pulling her down hard on his face and mouthing and tonguing wildly in her enormous big cunt. He was dimly aware that his nose was pressed against her asshole, but he didn't care. Nothing was too good for her, for she had shown him the way to happiness, and the greatest part of his happiness was in driving his prick hard into the cunt of his adored strip-teaser, Mary. They were squealing with delight, laughing and talking, though he couldn't distinguish words at this time, for now he was in the process of truly becoming a man, satisfying two maturely lusty women at once. And perhaps best of all, he was cumming.
His prick was shooting straight up, up, up into Mary's orgasming cunt, and she was accepting it well, cumming hard herself, squeezing his pistoning rod with her well-trained vaginal muscles, while the copious flowings from Claire's cunt told him that she too was experiencing the ultimate in earthly pleasures. Madly, joyfully, he strove to outdo himself in his wild heavings and heavy suckings, but inevitably those wrenching, grinding, completely ecstatic eruptions from his prick took their toll. His humpings grew more feeble, his suckings more flaccid, until at last he went limp and lay still under the dank and heavy weight of his two women.
Mercifully, they moved off him. He lay there feeling no thicker than the carpet under him, while his ears transmitted their words and sounds to a brain that had turned to apple butter.
"Didja cum good, Mary-honey?"
"A couple of times, but it would've been better if he was bigger."
"I thought I'd die laughing when Argo got up and started fucking your leg there at the end. You were too far gone to even stop him."
"And I thought I'd die when you grabbed onto my boo ... my breasts like that. You shouldn't of done that, Claire."
"Me? Shit, you grabbed my titties first!"
"Like hell I did!"
"You did so! You grabbed 'em both at once. Just like this."
"Stop...! I did not. And if I did, it was just an accident. Shit, I'm too drunk to know what I was doing. Where's my drink?"
"Here."
"Thanks. Hey, keep that goddamned dog away from me."
"Shoo, Argo. Lie down. See how he minds me?"
"He's a pretty nice dog, all right, but I don't like it when he tries to climb me."
"He likes you, that's all."
Billy managed to croak, "But I love you. Both of you."
For some reason, it sent them into peals of laughter. When it subsided, Mary said, "The kid minds as well as your dog, and he's got a bigger prick."
"You haven't seen Argo's when it's all the way up."
"No, and I don't want to. Did what'sisname make you cum?"
"Mm-hmm. He doesn't exactly know what he's doing yet, but he made up for that with his enthusiasm. Feel like pumping him up again and having another go-round?"
"I feel like taking a nap. Let's shoo him out of here, have one more little drinkie, and conk out."
Four strong hands peeled Billy Ralston up off the floor. He tried to tell them both how fond he was of them, how much he loved little Mary and how grateful he was to big Claire, but his words came out as mumbles and they kept talking over his head as they thrust his clothes upon him. They both kissed him soundly but briefly at the door, and he was left standing outside, clothes disheveled, very groggy, with a warm, sticky cucumber in his hand.
"Something to refresh you on your way home," Mary had said, and her words had broken up the two of them into new fits of laughter.
"Come back and see us again sometime," Claire had said, and then the door had been closed on the vast and beautiful expanses of feminine nakedness, and Billy was left alone in the hot sunlight with his newly lost virginity.
He got on his bicycle and started pedaling home, munching on the cucumber, peeling and all. Fantastic experience. He still couldn't believe it had truly happened. And to him! Weariness dragged at his body. His legs could hardly function on the pedals. He had always envisioned sex with a woman to be more invigorating, exhilarating, but now he felt more tired than if he'd jerked off ten times in a row. His tongue was sore to the root. He felt germs crawling around his sticky loins. They were probably in his mouth, too, so he masticated the cucumber thoroughly as some small means to cleanse his precious gums and teeth. Go back to see them again? Not for all the money in the world would he do that. It was the oilfields of Alaska for him, the snow-covered bleakness of the frozen north, where a man could work all day at something constructive and then lie down for a nice long sleep on the permafrost. Women were just too much for him. With the possible exception of his mother, they were sex-crazed maniacs, and as such, it was astonishing that any of them could keep a husband for more than a month. Maybe with a lot of training a guy could get in condition for that sort of a workout. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad with just one woman at a time. Maybe a weight-lifter or a truck driver could satisfy a woman without killing himself, but Billy Ralston freely admitted to himself that even half a woman was too much for him. He was through with women. All he wanted right now was a long, cool shower. And in the future, good hard work.
The Ralston house did indeed resemble the den of iniquity from which he had just come. But only superficially. It was sun-baked, shingles askew, lawn turning brown, shrubs getting scratchy. Just like the house on Pine Street, but it looked friendly, safe, quiet, sane, it looked like Home. Billy let his bicycle fall with a clatter in the driveway and dragged himself up the porch to the front door.
He paused with his hand on the knob. Would his mother recognize that he'd been fornicating all I afternoon? Surely she would. She wasn't that stupid. He fairly reeked of sex from nose to balls, and his clothes were still crooked on his body. Stupid she might not be, but half-drunk and sleeping she surely was, for now was the time for her afternoon nap. He was safe to sneak in and get to the shower. Still he twisted the knob and eased himself in as quietly as he could.
Betty Ralston habitually took a nap every afternoon. She said she couldn't make it through the day without her nap, but she always seemed to have plenty of energy left for her nightly arguments with her husband, Billy's father. She said her naps were an important part of her weight-building program, but her lean, angular body never seemed to gain an ounce. She said she took two ounces of whiskey in order to relax herself for her nap, but Billy knew it was four ounces she drank and that sleeping pills are more effective for the job. In any event, Betty Ralston took a big drink of alcohol and went to sleep on her marital bed every afternoon, and Billy often peeked through the crack in the door to see if she was sleeping soundly. As eager as he was to get into the shower on this day, he catered to his concern for his mother and looked in on her.
She was sprawled on the bed, arms and legs akimbo, wearing a light, knee-length yellow robe. Her mouth was open, her frizzy, taffy-colored curls fluffed out around her on the pillow like an Afro. Thin as she was, she was a pretty woman. When awake, it seemed as if her narrow face was all eyes and mouth. In sleep, she looked older, the lines in her face deeper. Her neck looked pitifully thin, and through the robe's open collar he could see the deep hollows over and under her collarbones. Her breasts made hardly a bump on her chest as her breathing made them rise and fall, and he wondered how he possibly could have gotten nourishment to survive from them when he was an infant. Still, their scant outline was very feminine, not at all like the gross knockers of the nymphomaniacal strip-teaser. His mother's robe was tied loosely at the waist. The knot was over her extremely flat stomach, a concave part of her body between the protruding ridges of her pelvis. His gaze went past her loins to her legs, very slender but quite shapely, so smoothly shaved they were almost shiny. Her bony feet were bare, polish flaking off her toenails.
He was about to go on to his shower when she stirred, drawing up one leg, giving him a view of a long, shallow indentation in her inner thigh that ran up toward the loins that were concealed from him, toward that orifice from which he had emerged as a squalling brat. It was weird to think of his father shoving himself in there, just as Billy had shoved himself into the pussies of those two voracious women that afternoon. It didn't seem as if his mother had the same thing between her legs that they did, and it was impossible to think she'd ever react so wildly to sex as Claire and Mary had. Certainly his father had never made her squeal and sweat and cum like they'd cum. His father was probably too old to exert himself as Billy had.
Maybe his mother was frigid. A lot of women were, so he had heard. He tiptoed to the side of the bed to have a better look at her.
Could she ever take his father's prick in her mouth? Impossible, even though she had very soft, very full lips. Billy had tasted them often. When his mother kissed him it wasn't a little peck on the cheek. She kissed him full on the mouth with slickly wetted lips, because she loved him as much as he loved her. And did she like to have her breasts kissed? His father probably didn't even think of doing that, even if she did like it. Were little titties like hers more sensitive to a man's lips or less than big old knockers like Mary's? He wondered a long time about that, looking down at her recumbent form, licking his lips. As thin and wiry as she was, she could probably really move once she got going. But without a doubt, his father always pinned her to the mattress under him when he climbed on her to hump and spew in her frail body, never giving her a chance to get up on top where she could really move on the big thing that was in her.
She stirred again, murmuring softly, opening her legs a little farther. Billy went around to the foot of the bed, just to take a look at her from that angle. Her leg bones were outlined clearly through her flaccid flesh. She had good legs, like those of a model, but a few years too old. The long indentation in her inner thigh was most interesting. Billy went up on tiptoe to see if her eyes were still closed, then crouched down to look under the hem of her robe.
The window fan was blowing across her body, making the robe flutter. He couldn't tell if she was wearing panties, or if he was looking directly at her cunt, deeply shadowed, darkly furred. He licked his lips and moved closer, chin on the edge of the bed. To him a cunt no longer held any mystery, but still it was interesting to speculate about whether or not his mother was wearing any panties, and she really did have beautiful legs. He thought he could smell her cunt, but he wasn't sure. He lifted a trembling hand to carefully draw aside her robe so that he could get a good, close look at her cunt from six inches away where he could smell it, but before he touched its hem, she muttered and turned on her side, and Billy fled from the room in a panic.
He was outside under the cedar tree before he stopped, breathing hard, still in terror that she would awaken and find him looking up between her legs. She wouldn't understand that he was just looking because she was so beautiful, because he loved her so much. She wouldn't believe that he was through with women as objects of sexual desire. She'd think he was horny and lusting after her, his own mother, and she'd be about half right, for Billy had a tremendous hard-on.
He couldn't believe it! He'd thought his experience with those two women had drained him of desire for all time, but there he was, all hot and itchy and prick-stiff again, with terribly wicked thoughts about his mother crowding into his brain.
Open mouth, sliding his prick in it-little titties to pinch and suck-long legs, to feel so smooth against his cheek-prim little cunt, but able to get creamy wet now that he knew how to kiss and touch a cunt, and that would be as hot as fire once he was sliding his prick into it, fucking his own mother, making her cry out and beg for more cock and tell him over and over that she loved him. Awful, shameful thoughts, but he couldn't drive them away any more than he could take his hand from his pocket, where it was squeezing the hardness of his prick, still dirty from two other cunts. He sat down on the grass, the better to conceal his moving hand, and dully looked through the shimmering heat waves at the familiar neighborhood scene which didn't register at all on him now. "Hi, Billy."
He looked up to see Becky Sloane, the former object of most of his flesh and blood desires, but now just a dumb little teenybopper who had no idea about what was really going on in the world. The car which had just dropped her off was turning the corner. She had her beach towel slung over her shoulder, her beach bag in her hand, and was smiling idiotically as she strolled over to where he was sitting under the tree. Her long red hair was still wet and scraggly from the beach, and her turquoise bikini was also still wet, drooping under her firm-standing knockers and bagging slightly at the triangle of her virginal little cunt. Prick in hand, Billy looked her over carefully.
A very pretty face, but too smooth, with no character lines in it. Nice knockers, real nice, for he'd 'accidentally' felt them, and they needed no padding. Slim waist, tawny tan belly, cute little belly-button, very trim hips and a darling little ass, and legs that couldn't be improved on in any way except perhaps length. Fantastic, golden tan, with hints of how pale her skin really was at the edges of her bikini. A few freckles across her nose, under her sparkling brown eyes. Shaved legs, turning to a fine, downy covering up the nubile plumpness of her thighs, and a few long, stray red hairs peeping out from the narrow bulge of turquoise between her legs. Incredibly smooth skin. A beautiful child, but nothing more than that. She wouldn't be a woman until some stud dragged her down on a bed and savagely kissed away her protests until he jammed his prick in her tight little cunt.
"Hi. How was the beach?"
"Far out. It was almost too hot, but the water was nifty. Did you have to work hard today, Billy?"
"No harder than usual." He sure would like to get his hands on those knockers. That would soften her up.
"I think it's so great the way you work while the rest of us play."
He grinned crookedly and said, "It's not all work. I meet an awful lot of women on my job."
"You ... you do?"
"Sure. You think I'm just in it for the money? Shit, I'm probably having a better summer than most of the guys at school are. I'm sure having some wilder times than you are at the beach."
"You don't have to talk dirty," she said, her cheeks flushing delicately through her tan. "Maybe those women you meet think that kind of talk is smart, but I sure don't."
Billy snickered and said, "Who cares what you think, Becky Sloane. You're just a kid."
"I was going to ask you over to my house for some lemonade, but I'll be darned if I will now!" she said, and flounced off, swinging her tight little ass.
Yesterday it would have been the biggest disappointment of his life, for he knew her parents weren't home from work yet and he was sure she'd let him neck with her a little and maybe even let him feel her up. Now it didn't bother him at all that she was walking angrily away from him, hips jerkily swinging, the smile under each buttock seeming to mock him. He could do without her. Now he had his Mary and his Claire to take care of all his needs and more, and he could clearly see that Becky was just a kid. Still, he watched her until she'd slammed into her house. Then he sighed and got to his feet, prick still in hand, and went into the house. He lingered at the door for another little look at his beautiful, lonely mother, then went on to the shower where he could jerk off in peace.
CHAPTER SIX
The summer heat had not started in earnest when Mary Steward awoke the next morning, but already she felt dry and dessicated. It was from all the liquor she'd drunk the day before, and from the insane excesses of the flesh in which she had indulged. She covered her face with her hands when she thought of what she'd been a willing party to, and at her side, Claire Eaton stirred. Mary remembered then that they'd climbed into the same bed together the night before. Fallen into bed was more like it. Silly drunk and giddy with exhaustion, they'd gotten into Claire's big bed to laugh over the events of the day while they had a final drink, and had fallen asleep immediately. Mary's stomach turned over when she looked at her untouched drink on the nightstand on her side of the bed. Claire's drink was almost as full. She could see it over the sheet-draped mountain of her friend's body. Claire was lying on her side, facing away from Mary, snoring softly. Mary wondered if indeed Claire was her friend, for what kind of a friend would lead her into the things she'd done the previous day?
How had it gotten started? With the drinks, primarily, the drinks Claire had made, 'to cool them off.' The drinks, the bitter complaints about her husband running off with another woman, then the cruel jokes about men, the irritations of the hot day, and the strip-tease she'd been persuaded to do. Awful, just awful, her taking off her clothes to music, while Claire and her damned dog watched her every drunken move. And then Claire touching that awful animal's penis, completely disgusting Mary, but at the same time making her think of Henry's cock going into his girl friend's mouth. Claire's talking about sucking cocks didn't help, either. It seemed in retrospect that Claire had been deliberately leading her on, subtly getting her aroused, pouring the drinks so that soon Mary hardly cared what happened to her. And to what purpose? Getting Mary to have an affair with her, what else?
At least it seemed that way at the time. The big blonde had even succeeded to a point where she hadn't looked so bad to little Mary, but now the big bulk at Mary's side was utterly abhorrent to her, and she was very glad it was covered with the sheet. She knew she should get up and get away from the sinful woman, but she was still too tired to move. But her brain moved.
It went back to how they had danced together, naked, and how she'd never looked at a woman like that before. Never really seen a naked woman fully aroused, with that fantastically hairy brown thatch of hers dancing and moving before her eyes. It had been while they were dancing that they'd started getting really nasty. Claire talking about doing things with the dog. Ugh. Teasing each other, just like a couple of high school kids who were looking for an excuse to start a wrestling match. Mary would easily have been subdued under the weight of Claire's big nudity, so perhaps their mutual masturbation had after all been the best course open to them. Perhaps Claire had been just as afraid as she was about where their horny, drunken mood was taking them. She looked at Claire again, and wondered if she'd misjudged her.
There beside her was a woman she'd seen masturbating, showing the most private side of her personal life, as well as the size and heat of her spectacularly big cunt. It was amazing that any woman could have a cunt that big, especially when compared to the dainty little plumpness of tufted flesh that Mary now cupped in her hand. She'd looked straight at Claire's cunt when she was cumming, and it had excited her! Of course, Claire had seen her when she was cumming too. How quickly she'd cum that first time! She'd hardly touched herself more intimately than she now was, and BANG!, off she'd gone. Her eyes had been closed then. The next time had taken forever, what with her looking at Claire and Claire returning the look. And the dog there, the damned dog.
And the cucumbers! Mary had almost forgotten about them. She covered her face again at this shoddy recollection. What if Henry had seen her doing that to herself! At least he'd never again be able to accuse her of being a prude. It had been a shameless, drunken thing to do, but at the same time it proclaimed her freedom, her lack of need for the husband who had let her down. Mary thought on, about the delivery boy, and she smiled and her hands slid down over her breasts and belly to move softly between her opening legs.
If he hadn't come along when he did, there was no telling what she and Claire would have done together. The boy-Billy was his name-had saved them both from even greater perversions, and she'd repaid him with cruelty. She should have told him right away that Claire was lying, that she wasn't a stripper at all. She shouldn't have let Claire give him those drinks. She should have sent him on his way right off, but she'd been too drunk and feeling too mean for that. And too horny.
But she'd felt so flattered from the way he'd looked at her in her sweaty little undergarments. Right from the start it had been clear that he'd liked her much better than Claire. Now Mary almost laughed out loud remembering the look on his face when he'd stood there gaping at her over his drink. A woman needed to feel wanted, and there had been no doubt about his want for her. And how his eyes had popped when Claire reached for his pecker! And how marvelously embarrassed he'd been when she'd found that silly girlie magazine! That was the first time Mary had laid hands on any man but her husband, and once she started, it had been impossible to stop tickling him until he was down on the floor, writhing in what looked like real agony. Mary smiled and softly rubbed herself, thinking about it. Her cuntlips and pubic hair were still slightly crusted with her juices and his. Inside, however, her vulva was nicely wet, and hardly sore at all.
And then Claire sucking him off. Mary shivered at the thought of that. His pink prick, so hard and straight, being caressed by Claire's red lips, his pan tings, the look on his face. It had been sexy and repellent at the same time. Watching him play with Claire's big body, watching Claire feast on his prick, Mary had felt drunker by far than the amount of booze she'd had would permit her to feel. And so when he'd blurted out a plea to kiss her cunt, she'd been unable to keep from spinning about and planting her hungry cunt on his hungry mouth.
He had seemed like an expert cunt-lapper at the time, but she knew from later experience that he was anything but that. It was just that she'd been so ready that even the touch of the damned dog's tongue would have brought her off at the time. It had been a wonderful cum, much better than the one she'd had from her fingers. If she had him there now, he could probably bring her off just as fast, for between her thoughts and her fingers she was quickly getting herself far too hot for comfort. But, unfortunately, he was gone, sent away with cruel jibes, surely never to return. Well, there were other men around. And Claire and even the dog if things really got tough. But it had been Billy who had restored Mary's confidence in herself, and she really wanted to treat him to something nice for that. For that, and for the fact that he was a dumb, horny kid, who'd do anything she told him to do.
Mary had been touched by his saying he only wanted to get it on with her and not Claire, but she hadn't been touched for long. She'd gone right along with Claire when her friend had dragged him into the living room by his ear, and she'd watched with malicious pleasure when Claire had coerced him into necking with her. Sated for the moment by his mouth, Mary had at last begun to enjoy her dancing, and to enjoy the way it was arousing him. Doing that had been exciting to her. She had started to get hot again in no time, and re-arousing her so quickly had always been impossible for Henry to do. In the kitchen, getting the fresh drinks, Mary had almost paused long enough to make herself cum again. But why do that, she'd thought, with a strong young boy in the other room?
But Claire had 'firm hold on him by then. No chance to sneak him away from her, nor to pile in on top of them. The kid had been too far gone. Hell, he'd been right at the point of eating Claire's big old box when Mary had interrupted them. It was probably the closest Claire had come to getting anyone to do that for her in years, and it was no wonder she'd been mad at Mary for the moment. Mary had thought the whole scene was quite comical by then, but when she'd seen the boy fucking Claire, when she'd seen his little ass bobbing like mad, Claire's legs wrapped around him, the look on her face, the look on his-she'd seen nothing funny about that. She had cum herself then. Watching them had done it. Of course, finger-fucking herself and sucking on her breast had helped it along, but it was watching them that had made her so ready. Maybe she and Henry should have joined a swapping club. Watching the others there would certainly enliven their sex lives, and joining in would probably do even more. But Henry was gone, the sonofabitch. And Billy was gone and Claire was still snoring and all Mary had was her fingers. She rustled the sheets in spreading her legs, dug deeper with her fingers, and reflected bitterly about choice of companions.
Henry was supposed to have been more than a friend. He'd promised to love and take care of her all his life, but after only ten years he was in love with a brainless little cocksucking cunt, and during those ten years he hadn't taken very good care of her. At least not in bed. Always the big hurry in bed. Always wanting her to suck him off, just like a baby. Shit, she'd had a better sexual time of it with little Billy than she ever had with her husband. True, it had helped having Claire there, to urge her on to a greater degree of sexual liberation. And when she'd been screwing Billy there dt the end and she'd been playing with Claire's titties and Claire with hers and the dog had been trying to screw her leg, that had been too much to ever expect from Henry. Henry was a bum lay, an unimaginative one. And he was gone.
Billy was gone too. But he hadn't had any imagination either. He was just a body, just a hard prick. Mary closed her eyes and bit her lip when she thought of how close she'd come to sucking that pink prick of his. She believed she would have done it, if Claire hadn't made those remarks about starting with his prick and working on up-or down-to black ones and brown ones and doggy ones. She was glad now that she hadn't yielded to impulse and done it. She was glad that they'd tossed Billy out when they had, or this morning she'd be a cocksucker. That was the way to handle men, give them a pussy-soaked cucumber and throw them out, then get another one. And there'd be another one soon. That very day she'd get one. It was just a damned shame she didn't have one at the moment. All she had was Claire, and her eyes turned in that direction now.
A big, warm body. No prick, but plenty of hot flesh to rub up against. She rolled toward Claire, felt shivers going through her body as she slid a hand over a big swell of hip. She nestled close to feel the shivers directly through her breasts and loins. Strong heat emanated against her hungry little body. Fitting like spoons. If she had a prick now, it would be sticking right up between Claire's big buttocks. Wild the way Billy had looked like he was dying when Claire had stuck her finger up his ass. She'd have to remember that one when she got a real man. What about getting fucked in the ass herself? Crazy idea, but nevertheless exciting. Squeezing her asshole tight closed, then letting it open, imagining a cock shoving in there. One in her ass, one in her cunt, one between her tits, and another in her mouth. Mary needed four cocks to stop the burning she felt in her body at the moment, and all she had was Claire, and Claire was still snoring.
Wake her up? Very carefully roll her over, spread her legs, bend over her loins and wriggle her tongue down through the matted hair until her friend was as hot as she was? Fuck each other on both ends of the same cucumber? Go sixty-nine, all day long, until they were both transformed into mindless puddles of cunt juice? Mary thought of all these things and more as she snuggled against the soft bulk of her dear friend. She thought too of becoming a Lesbian, doing without men entirely, and this made her stomach knot up and her pussy close and she slid away from the sleeping divorcee to see if she could calm herself down with a warm shower.
She sat down on the toilet to urinate first. She was so hot that her cunt was hurting, and it wouldn't come. She rocked forward and back, thumbs pressed deep into her inner thighs to spread her legs, willing her bladder to open and give her some relief. She was panting with the effort, looking down between her legs for the first anxiously awaited sight of her urine to come spurting out of the puffy crack scantily hidden by her wilted pubic hair. Mary was watching intently, until her head jerked up at the sound of scratchy footfalls on the linoleum floor.
There was Argo, the big black dog, head up, eyes bright, coming in to say good morning to her. Mary found that she'd automatically covered her breasts at the first sound of his arrival. No need for that with him. He could neither talk about her immodesty nor become uncontrollably aroused at the sight of her erotic charms, and so she bared her breasts and reached out to scratch behind his ears. He was after all a pretty good dog. He was obedient and gentle, for his size. He had been more than just a 'good dog' when he'd been licking her tits the day before, and not so obedient when he'd been trying to fuck her leg while she was fucking that boy. His eyes half closed and his tongue stuck out as she petted him, and her nipples tingled with slow hardness as his big head came closer for more of her attentions.
Through the open bathroom door she could see Claire, still sleeping, back turned. "Good old dog," she said, and lifted a heavy breast, leaned forward on the pot, and touched its tip to his nose.
She felt it all the way down to her knees when he gave it a little lick, and she moaned and hugged his shaggy head close to her bosom. He wagged his tail and scratched his feet closer. She burrowed her tits against his face, reveling in the harsh texture of his muzzle, the coldness of his nose, hardly caring that he wasn't using his tongue on her, and then her urine started to flow.
It gushed out, clattering loudly in the bowl, and the big animal used his strength to pull away from her embrace and lower his head to between her legs. "Stop. Don't do that. Go 'way," she breathlessly whispered, pushing at his head, urine coming in hot, interrupted spurts now, as spasms of muscular contraction seized her.
He kept pushing forward with his nose, curious, highly interested. He was too strong for her, especially in her suddenly weakened condition. A glance told her that Claire was still soundly sleeping. She fell back against the toilet seat lid, spread her legs wider, and the good, hot urine began to flow again. The dog nuzzled closer, snuffling, and she grabbed his ears and muttered, "Good dog. Good dog," as he flipped his tongue out and slapped it up under her cunt....
Once ... Twice ... It was all she could possibly stand, and the little brunette with the big tits rocked forward, pushing the dog away, closing her legs to hold it in, and groaning, "Nnnnggg! Rrrrrgggh! Ahhhhhh...."
She was shaking all over when she got up and flushed the toilet. The dog waited patiently, watching her as she washed her hands and scoured her crotch with a warm washcloth. It had not been an orgasm, she told herself. Whatever she'd felt had come from the weirdness of it, the surprise at feeling that long, slithery tongue swiping up from under through her open crotch, lapping up her urine. Another guilty glance at the sleeping Claire and she rubbed her clitoris hard with her washcloth-covered hand. That was what sex felt like, not at all what she'd felt from the damned dog's tongue. There couldn't be any sex between animal and woman. Desire, love was a part of sex, and not the dumb devotion that was all that could be expected from a dog. He hadn't wanted her or her urine. He was just thirsty.
"Come on, dummy," she said, and padded naked toward the kitchen, tits bobbing softly, buttocks tensed in expectancy of a cold nose, bladder still full, but not to the point of discomfort.
She dumped out his pan and filled it with fresh water. She smiled down on him while he lapped it up. He was a pretty good dog. Maybe she'd get one like him if she decided not to sell the house. Not, of course, for any of the sexual capers Claire had implied that some lonely women train their dogs for, but just to have around for company. He'd be good company. No arguing, not caring if her hair was messy or her make-up missing. Just feed him and pet him, and he'd be faithful to her forever. Feed him now, that was the thing to do.
First she drank a big glass of water, recalling as she did the fables about water getting a person drunk again after a previous day of drinking. Then she got out a can of dog food, took the can opener from the drawer, and dropped the unopened can on the kitchen floor. Mary bent to reach it, kicked it with her bare foot, and it rolled under the chrome and formica table. Argo started to follow it and she squatted down and pulled him back by his collar, petted him, and got to her hands and knees to crawl under and get it herself.
Then she became very much aware of her naked, upturned ass. She became aware of her pussy, too, for it itched. She opened her legs slightly, took her hand back from the errant can of dog food, and reached between her legs to scratch her. cunt. The dog, seeing the movement of her fingers between her legs, came closer and swiped his tongue over that soft and vulnerable part of her body that Mary was scratching.
"Oh, Gawd," she moaned, and collapsed on the cold floor. Her cheek and her breasts were flattened against the linoleum, but her hips were still up in the air, her bare ass at a level with the dog's head, while he licked between her moving fingers and she continued to moan, helpless to stop him.
She would have stopped him if she could have, but the sensations produced by his tongue were too exquisitely good. They were quickly robbing her of her strength to move, and even more quickly stealing away her desire to do so. Warm, slick flesh, ten times as big as any man's tongue, slipping and slithering up between her legs from behind. It was almost too much to bear. That flesh was plastering down her hair as it glided over the pair of lips anointed with juices far sweeter than her urine, thrilling her to the core in the process. She spread her cuntlips wider with her fingers and made an open-throated croaking sound as the super-tongue swept over the source of her rich juices and washed over that hugely sensitive button which controlled their flow.
His tongue flicked faster. He loved the taste of her cunt. She was delicious to him, and there was no way of stopping him now. He was licking from above her clitoris, all through her sodden vulva, clear on up to her asshole, and each long swipe of his tongue increased the mindless sensitivity of that part of Mary's body.
She had to let go of her cuntlips and support herself with that hand too, lest she collapse completely onto the floor. Miraculously, wonderfully, her cuntlips remained open, and without the hindrance of her fingers, his tongue found even more nerve endings to stimulate. She couldn't believe how good it felt. It had to be seen to be believed. Panting hard, she managed to get up onto her elbows, to look back between the inverted vee of her big, hanging tits, and see the monstrously big, wonderfully caressing tongue working between her legs.
She had never seen such a vibrantly beautiful pink color. It contrasted perfectly with her pale thighs, slowly being diffused with a pink blush. And its mobility was beautiful, molding exactly the contours of her pube, and those fleshy bulges of hairy flesh that marked the borders of her oozing, orgasming cunt. It was a cum the likes of which she'd never had before, and the sight of that tongue was helping to keep it going. No great explosion, to be followed by exhaustion, but instead a long, dizzy escalation to the very pinnacle of sensory pleasure where nothing else mattered in the world, and then a complete exploration of every nook and cranny of that peak. As long as that gorgeous long tongue continued to work, Mary was without a care in the world, completely lost in the deepest joys of the body. As best she could, she spoke to him to keep it going: "Good doggie. Good Argo. Feed you later. Taste me. Lick my cunt, oh, my cunt. Nice puppy. Good doggy."
Continuing to utter these words of fond affection, Mary was witness to a very compelling and quite a frightening sight. From under his shaggy belly, his penis was protruding. She could see it clearly, standing out an even brighter shade of pink against his black fur. It was more than the flavor of her cunt juices that was driving him on; he wanted to fuck her!
Unthinkable, and Mary closed her eyes. But they came open again, to confirm her fears, and looked past his grasping, licking tongue to see that his member had grown even larger. A good two inches of it could now be seen, as well as the single eye from which his sperm would shoot, if she let him have his way with her. She couldn't do that, no! matter what Claire let him do to her. Letting him lick her cunt was one thing, but she could never copulate with a beast. Never. She had an awful vision of herself giving birth to freakish animal-children she'd read about in mythology books, and had to close her eyes again. The sensations produced by his tongue became even better. Knowing full well that a dog could never make her conceive, she opened her eyes to stare at that fearful part of him.
It was bigger still! And now there was a drop of fluid oozing out its end, and that single eye was larger too! She had to stop him, for now his intentions were very clear. He was pawing at her hip, scratching her flesh painfully, and interrupting his fantastically good lickings to knock his head against the table's edge in trying to mount her!
She couldn't scream for help. Claire could not be allowed to see any part of this. She had to get out of this situation by herself. Very weak, she began to back out from under the table. Not only was she physically weak, but she was morally weak as well, for she could not yet give up the pleasures she was feeling from his tongue. With words and beckonings from her fingers, she kept him licking her cunt and asshole, her entire open crotch, until she'd dragged her throbbing tits and her burning cheek over the linoleum to a place where she could stand up. It was also a place where the dog could mount her properly, and this he did, clasping her strongly about the waist with his powerful forepaws, jabbing at her vulnerability until he'd found the hole which best accommodated him, and then fucking her hard and fast from behind doggy style, as Henry used to call it.
"Yes, yes, you beautiful animal, fuck me, fuck me," Mary gasped, "Do it hard and fast and stick it all the way in, ALL THE WAY IN!!!"
She'd thought she was cumming before, but she hadn't been at all. This was it. His prick, long and hard, sharply tapered, was driving into her and into her with lightning fast strokes, making it completely impossible to prevent her internal explosions even if she'd wanted to. She didn't want to by then. She had to have all there was of this adventure in total sensation while it lasted, and it couldn't last long at the rate he was going. She got up on her hands again and humped along with him, head hanging, tits flopping, hips working very fast, somehow keeping up with the dog, the wonderful dog, and his marvelous cock.
She could still see it. A flash of red jamming into her, her soft brown cunt pushing back his hairy black foreskin, tendons straining in his inhuman legs, balls swinging smartly. He never missed. Fast as he was going, his cock never erred in penetrating her gushing, orgasming hole, spreading it wide, then letting it collapse, ready for its next intake of purest pleasure. She saw his balls contract as he began ejaculating, felt the hot streams of his cum shoot into her to produce a new high in ecstasy that made her shiver and shudder as much as her dog was. His forepaws tightened around her waist with his wonderful final efforts, and Mary began to collapse again to the floor, grinning idiotically, murmuring mindlessly:
"Good dog, love you to fuck me, love to fuck dogs and anything at all with a cock. Ahhhhhh ... Good dog. Special dog. Ahhhhh...."
He was up and out of her before her belly kissed the linoleum. She lay there, legs apart, sighing, feeling the sleep she really needed come creeping luxuriously in upon her consciousness. But Claire would see her when she woke up. Her friend would come in and see her sprawled snoring on her belly, legs spread, puddle forming under her, arms reaching out toward the can of dog food which had led to all this.
Argo was under the table, trying to get his breakfast. Mary managed to roll over on her back, and he came to lick her face and sniff and snuffle his way down her body. She covered her well-used cunt with her hand and muttered, "Oh, no. No, that's enough for now, lover."
That word brought her to her senses. Good heavens, she was thinking of this dumb, savage brute as her lover! She staggered to her feet, swatting him away. Quickly she got the can of his food and opened it, curling her lip at its foul-smelling contents. Into his dish it went, and she stood with fists on hips, shaking her head as she watched him gobble it up, just as avidly as he'd licked her cunt. Stupid animal. Stupid her, for getting herself caught by him as she had. Still, it had felt good, there was no doubt at all about that. And he'd never tell anyone about it, and she most certainly would not. It had been nothing more than an experiment in sex, one which she had been unable to control. It was neither his fault nor hers, and she shouldn't be provoked at either of them.
Kneeling beside him, she ruffed up his hair and hugged him to her. She told him he was a good dog, and then her hand strayed under his belly and she felt his prick. It was hidden within his foreskin again, but still it was nice and firm, as if it was ready to leap to life again once he'd gotten a little nourishment.
Quickly, Mary rose to her feet. What in hell was she doing? What was she turning into? She was still drunk, that's what she was. What she needed was a stinging cold shower, and she almost ran toward the bathroom to take care of this urgent need.
Claire had beaten her to it. The big woman could be seen as a frosty shape through the plastic shower curtain, singing loudly as the cleansing water poured down on her. Mary needed that water very badly, for now she was itching most unpleasantly everywhere the dog had touched her. His hairs seemed imbedded in her skin, and she could feel dog germs climbing around on her body. She called out, "Are you going to be long, Claire?"
"I just got in. Where've you been?" Claire called back.
"I was giving Argo something to ea ... I was feeding the dog. How much longer are you going to be in there?"
"It feels so good I might stay in here all day. But there's room for more. Come on in, the water's fine."
CHAPTER SEVEN
Claire had been so befuddled with her hangover that she had forgotten about her house guest until she was in the shower and the vitamins and pep pills she had taken were doing their work. Taken on an empty stomach, they sent her soaring, and minutes after awakening sick and sorry, she was belting out ballads while standing in her bathtub. The water felt terrific. It was great to be alive. The day before had been a lot of fun, she'd gotten caught up on her sex, and there was more fun to be had in the future. If Mary moved in with her, there was a danger of drinking and fucking themselves to death, but Claire couldn't think of a better way to go. And if the big-bosomed little brunette chose to stay on in her own house, the two of them would still get together for some fun times. But had it really been fun the day before? Claire stopped with the bar of soap nestled under one breast and thought it over.
Was it really fun, getting drunk with a heartbroken young woman and seducing an innocent boy? What happened to the fun she used to have by going out on a simple picnic with her husband at the start of one of her marriages? Had she become so old and calloused that she needed whiskey and marathon fucking where once a sip of wine and a kiss had made her happy? Was that her real future, drinking and fucking herself to death with the little divorcee with the Lesbian notions in her empty head? Booze, sex, pills, and alimony-how long could a woman survive on those things before she was claimed by the grave? Claire abandoned such heavy philosophical questions when she heard Mary's voice through the rush of water.
She was actually finished with her shower. She should give up the bathroom to her friend who'd been so good as to feed her dog, but Claire recalled some of the byplay between herself and her little friend, and she saw no reason not to extend it. Mary had gotten the most out of their couplings with the boy, Billy. That was understandable, for cute little Mary was considerably more attractive than big, hippy Claire, and Claire knew that very well. But throughout those couplings, Mary had looked at her with timidly covetous eyes. Little Mary, jilted by her husband, wanted to make a little Lesbian voyage, with Claire as her First Mate.
Claire wasn't dumb; she'd seen that. It undoubtedly would have transpired if Billy had not arrived so opportunely. It had been just great to have him and his prick wander in at that time, but it might have been greater still if Claire had gone on to successfully lure Mary into an act of overt homosexuality. Another drink or two, some more fooling around, and she could have gotten pretty little Mary to eat her cunt and cunt-fuck her as she'd heard about, and maybe even put on a show with the dog. Billy's arrival had spoiled all that, and then Mary had used her big tits and cute face to monopolize his prick. As a result, Mary hadn't gotten her share of fucking and she'd missed out on a new experience. With no cock in the house except Argo's, she couldn't make up for the lost fucking, but she could do something about her missed experience.
The moment Claire got Mary to climb into the shower with her, she grabbed her and kissed her on the mouth. It wasn't a long kiss, but it was right on the mark. Claire emphasized the fact that it was not just a friendly kiss by slipping her tongue between the soft lips of the little woman with the big tits and the temporary hatred for men. It wouldn't take much of this sort of coaxing, Claire felt, until she had Mary back in bed with her, kissing her cunt, making her cum. Who could tell? Claire might give it a try herself. After all, she hadn't had much lasting luck with men. And the smooth wet slickness of Mary's body in her arms and the yielding softness of her mammoth tits felt quite good, at the moment.
But the moment passed. Mary slipped out of the kiss, looked accusingly up at her, and began soaping herself vigorously. "Good morning, Mary. How's your hangover?" she asked, sorry for the advance she'd made, but knowing full well that Mary would soon be making advances of her own.
"It's awful."
"I've got just the pills for it. Take a couple and you'll feel as good as I do. And do I ever feel good!" she said, and as if to demonstrate this, Claire began to laugh and tickle her little friend. In seconds Mary was helpless, writhing in a corner of the shower while the warm water poured down on her and Claire's probing fingers poked and prodded into sensitive soft flesh. Claire was dominating the much smaller woman with gratifying ease. With just a little show of force now, she could have Mary on her knees, mouthing beseeching kisses on her clitty. If Mary protested, slap her across the face a few times, and the result would be that Claire would have a docile little Lesbian playmate for the day, and for as long as she chose to rule over her in the future. But Mary at last managed to knock her hands away, and Claire couldn't quite bring herself to slap her pretty face. There would be Other ways, however. Better ways, with both of them approaching the problem of their sexual needs in a sensible way, with them being Lesbian partners from time to time. It would work out, once they had a talk about it. Claire wanted it to work out now, this very instant, for her pussy burned in longing. Sensibly, however, she got out of the shower and got the pills for her friend's hangover.
Claire dried off watching Mary's petite body and its movements through the shower curtain. She took the vitamin and the pep pills, then set about washing herself in earnest. Her cunning little shape was ethereally hazy when seen through the plastic that separated them. She seemed to be concentrating on her pussy, scrubbing it thoroughly, making it sweet and clean and receptive to a loving tongue. Claire touched her own cunt. It was wet, though she'd just blotted it dry moments before. Did she smell bad there? Did she taste bad? Would Mary be repelled by her and would she be reduced to fingering herself while she licked Mary's clean cunt? She dipped her fingers deeper, brought them to her mouth and tasted them, and her cunt seemed to open up in longing for Mary's sweet mouth to be pressed against it, just as Claire's would be sucking hard on Mary's cunt and finding its taste even more exciting than her own.
Lest she attack the new divorcee prematurely, Claire left the room. Naked, trembling with this weird new desire which had come over her, she automatically went to the kitchen. Argo was lying on the floor licking his chops. She wished she had as few problems as he did, and further wished that Mary had brought her breakfast as she had the dog. Claire would have set the tray aside, pulled her into bed, and covered every inch of Mary's body with kisses, terminating the meal with a long, deliriously satisfying suck on Mary's cunt. But it was the dog who had breakfast served to him, and not Claire.
The big blonde set about making some Bloody Mary's. No vodka, so she used whiskey, with plenty of spices to cover its taste. Big pitcher of the mixture, so they could quench their hangover thirst with plenty of it while Claire got the conversation around to the subject at hand. It was perfectly logical that they become Lesbian lovers from time to time, and the booze would help Mary see that.
Claire turned, big smile on her face, full glass in hand, as Mary entered the kitchen. Disappointingly, Mary had wrapped a big towel around herself. She was better to look at in the nude, but not at all bad now, freshly scrubbed, deep cleavage just over the top of the green towel, fascinating juncture of thighs just under the bottom of it. Argo rose to meet her and she reached down and scratched his ears. The adorable little woman made Claire feel ungainly and ugly-and more than a little horny. She handed Mary a glass and Mary sniffed it, asked if it had any liquor in it.
Claire laughed and said, "No. We drank it all up last night. It's just spiced tomato juice. Drink up while we talk. I've got a proposition for you." She could hardly think with Mary leaning against the sink that way, dog sniffing at a dimpled knee that Claire craved for, green eyes watching her from over the rim of the glass. "Sell your house. Move in with me, like we talked about before. Maybe we could invest in a little dress shop, work together as well as live together, and I'd turn half my ownership in this house over to you. It could be good, Mary. It could be even better than we had with our husbands."
"There'd be a little something missing," she said, and sipped her drink. She looked at where she was scratching Argo's ears and said, "but it might work out."
Claire drank and moved closer. "Even that could be worked out. We get along well, and...." Sharp desire for the petite woman stabbed at Claire and she stammered as she said, "You're talking about sex, and that wouldn't have to be missing. Lots of women live together, even sleep together nowadays, and it could be good, Mary, real good if we ... try it."
Mary's lip curled as she looked up at the hovering woman, and she said, "You mean ... be Lesbians?"
"No, no!" God, she was so beautiful that Claire could scarcely hold herself back! "Not exactly Lesbians, but b-bisexual. We could have all the men we wanted, and still have each other when we got lonely. We wouldn't have to ... do anything except sleep together, hold each other on the lonely nights. Mary, think about it. Please do."
"Oh, I'll think about it," she said, shrugging, looking down at the dog. "But it's not for me."
Now desire overwhelmed Claire. She set her glass down on the sink, fell to her knees, and clasped Mary's body to her face. Panting, she said, "Honey, you don't have to do anything to me if you didn't want to. I'd do it all. I'd make you happy!" she pleaded, burrowing with her mouth, thrilling at the touch of Mary's pubic hair against her chin.
But Mary pushed her firmly away. Hands on Claire's bare shoulders, she leaned over and looked into her imploring eyes and said, "I'll think it over, Claire. I will. I'll do it while I take Argo for a walk, maybe for a drive with me. Okay?"
"Yes, Mary. Fine. He ... he loves to be in a car. You'll be back soon? With your answer?"
Mary nodded and Claire couldn't hold herself back. She placed a hot, hard kiss directly on the thrusting pube before her, then almost fell to the floor on her face as the dainty brunette twisted away from her and left the room, with Argo following.
Claire wearily got to her feet. A ten-minute wait would be too long, and she had at least a lonely hour in front of her before Mary returned. Her cunt burned. She tried to quell it with the cold surface of her highball glass, then lifted the glass to drink deeply from it. At least she had the Bloody Mary's to keep her company while she waited for the return of Mary with her dog. She felt miserable. Her husbands had both rejected her, just the day before the delivery boy had preferred Mary to her, and now there seemed to be no hope for even a Lesbian love affair with Mary. Mary had even taken her dog away with her, leaving Claire all alone in the stuffy, untidy house. It wasn't even ten in the morning yet. Mary would be back soon, and with the right answer. But Claire wouldn't wait forever. Give her an hour. Two at the most. Then forget about her and actively seek out what it was that she needed. Grab the first available warm, weak body, and use her strength and her cunning and her vast knowledge of sex to hold that body, forever.
At exactly two that afternoon, the telephone rang at Ace's Liquor Store. Ace Varney answered, listened, nodded and said, "Okay, Miz Eaton, I'll send him over to your Pine Street address with gin and vermouth right away. Do me a favor, will ya, and don't let him run off without gettin' paid this time. Okay?"
He hung up the phone and clucked to himself over the many housewives in the city who spent their days drinking. He shouted for Billy, berated him once again for not collecting the money from the woman the day before, and issued orders for this new delivery. He watched while the boy bagged the order with cautious haste. Billy was a good boy, showing signs of getting better, but like all kids that age, he couldn't concentrate on anything for more than five minutes at a time. Ace knew what the boy's problem was. Slice open his skull, and you'd find his head jumping with a thousand miniature pussies. But Billy would straighten out. Time would take care of that. Watching the boy pedaling furiously away, Ace knew he'd be okay.
Claire sat on the maribou-covered stool before her vanity table, looking imperiously cool as she watched her gloved fingers daub magenta lipstick on her exposed nipples. A cigarette in a long ebony holder was smoldering in an ashtray at her right, a fresh drink was on her left, amid the cut glass bottles of perfume and cosmetics. She was feeling the drinks she'd had, but was in perfect control of herself. If Mary or Billy or for that matter, anyone came to her door, she was quite ready to receive them. She had spent an hour dressing for the occasion in apparel left over from a past business venture in running a ladies' lingerie shoppe. The shoppe had failed, but now the leftover lingerie was a huge success in making her appearance match her mood.
Her blonde hair was covered with a wig of close-cropped black curls of shiny dynel. Her eyebrows were thickly swept back with black pencil, her eyelids deeply shaded with purple, and thick black false eyelashes all but obscured her brown irises. Pale face powder made her magenta lipsticked mouth a cruel wound. Earrings adorned with tiny silver maces dangled from her earlobes. Her large nose completed the image of great strength in her face. Round her neck was a purple velveteen choker, and a pair of thin black nylon straps cut deeply into her large white shoulders. These supported a bra of black, lace-trimmed, lycra spandex whose cups went under her breasts to lift them as a pair of platforms might. The cups were all but filled with firm foam, so that her breasts now looked large, pointed, jutting straight ahead with their bright tips. Rising to within three inches of the cups was a matching corselette. It nipped in her waist most effectively and formed an interesting bulge of dead-white flesh between it and its bosom-containing counterpart. It was highly filigreed with nylon lace, through which more of her flesh showed as a pale blur. The tightly restricting garment laced down the front, its metal-tipped laces dangling just over the crotchless lower hem of it. It had a patented Flirt Skirt, a six-inch flounce of stiff black nylon lace which was conveniently cut out before and behind to expose the lower halves of milady's buttocks as well as her pubic area. Six shirred black elastic garters stretched four inches down from the bottom of the corselette to the tops of black mesh opera hose, which in turn disappeared into the tight depths of gleaming black leather boots whose long lacings greatly improved the contours of Claire's somewhat heavy legs. Their five-inch heels helped in this too. The gloves she wore were of very soft leather, stretching from elbow to palm, softly wrinkled, fingerless, with a button holding them closed at each wrist. Standing up before the mirror, turning to view herself from back and front and in profile, she nodded in approval of what she saw. Still, it didn't seem quite right. Too much black and white, not enough red. A small, sharp manicure scissors took care of that. Two minutes work and there were long wavy hairs on the shag rug, and her exposed cuntlips could be touched with more of the magenta to provide the additional touch of color she needed. She looked at herself standing, fists on hips, feet wide apart, mouth twisted in a harsh smile. Yes, she was ready for anyone who rang that bell on her front porch, male or female, friend or stranger. A ridiculous get-up, but she knew it would be effective. And the contents of the eight-inch-long pasteboard box on her vanity table-would make up for any deficiency in her uniform of the day.
The doorbell rang. Claire forced icy calm upon herself. She pulled at her drink, clenched the cigarette holder between her pearly teeth, and sauntered forth to receive her unsuspecting caller.
She swung the door open wide and glared out into the heat of the day. Billy Ralston stood on her porch in his threadbare jeans and T-shirt, mouth slowly falling open and brown paper bag slowly slipping down from where he held it. His wide blue eyes, his long curls, made him look even younger than he was-but Claire knew very well that he was old enough.
She snatched the parcel from him before it fell and snapped, "What the hell took you so long? Get in here, young man, and give me an account of yourself. Move!"
He jumped through the door as if he'd been goosed. She closed and bolted the door behind him, turned to see him peering curiously around the living room and up the hall. Her hackles rose and she said, "Mary's not here. I booted her out. Like this!" said she, and gave him the toe of her boot in his ass. That gained his full attention, and her beautifully angry appearance held it as she backed him down the hall, tits jiggling as she prodded him in the chest, saying, "Well? What took you so long? Did you fall down on your stupid bicycle? Did you forget where I live? Or were you afraid to come back, afraid pf me, afraid of a little sex?!?"
"N-no. I just ... "
"No, what?"
"No, I just came over as quick as I...."
"No, ma'am!" she said, as he stumbled backward into her kitchen, completely terrorized, at her total disposal.
She let the sight of herself sink into his reeling brain while she prepared an icy pitcher of martinis, turning this way and that as she did, showing him bare tits and ass and cunt, as if this was everyday attire for her. She filled two stemmed glasses and held one out to him.
"No, thanks. I ... don't drink, m-ma'am."
"When I drink," she said, lifting the glass over his head, "you drink."
She let it trickle down into his hair, flow down over his face past his blinking eyes until the glass was empty. Then she refilled it, and now when she held it offered to him, he took it and gulped it down, making a dreadful face as he did so.
"What's wrong? Don't like the taste of it?"
"N-No. No, ma'am."
"I know a taste you do like. Lipstick," she said, and grabbing him by his liquor-wet hair, she held him fast while she mashed her mouth hard on his. She only let it last a moment. Then she pulled him back, pushed him down, and thrust each of her rouged nipples through his startled lips in turn. Down he went to his knees under her grip, and Claire grunted loudly as she ground her tonsured cunt against his mouth, then laughed at his dismayed expression when she pulled him to his feet. "There," she said, triumphant, "you liked the taste of that, didn't you?"
"No. I just want to go home," he wailed, close to tears.
She slapped him across the face. She grabbed for the bulge in his trousers, squeezed it hard, and snapped, "Don't you lie to me! You came here to fuck me. You liked the taste of my cunt. This proves it."
"It's almost always hard like that," he protested. "Lemme go."
"I'll let you go! I'll let you go into my bedroom. March!"
She prodded him along in front of her. He looked balefully frightened at her over his shoulder. It wasn't going to be as easy as she'd thought. But her fear alone was exciting enough to drive her on.
"Take off all your clothes. Everything," she said, and stood tapping a boot-toe before the mirror while his tremulous hands plucked and pulled at his clothing until he was standing naked before her, pink prick pointing straight at her moistened cunt. "Now, kneel."
He looked about him for help, then slowly sank to his knees on the rug. And as he did, Claire sat comfortably down on the furry stool behind her. She spread her legs, took his cheeks in her gloved hands, and drew him forward until she could close her knees on the backs of her hands. Her smile was almost kindly as she said, "D'you like me?"
"Well, sure ... ma'am."
"Better than you liked Mary?"
"I dunno."
"But I do excite you. Your stiff prick proves that."
"But it's like that almost all the time. Honest, ma'am."
"You make me sick," she said, shoving him away, then tethering him with a handful of his hair. "I don't even like to look at you, or your ugly little prick. Cover up."
There was a small pile of discarded, soiled lingerie beside Claire's vanity. She picked up two pairs of panties. One of these she draped over his erection, the other one she pulled down over his head. His nose and one eye showed through a leg-hole in the flimsy pink rayon. She laughed as she pulled the elasticized hole apart until it encircled his face from chin to hairline. She smiled as she reached down and grasped his filmily covered penis. Bringing her lips to his, she kissed him deeply with her warmly tangling tongue while she stroked his prick, up and down, up and down. It took less than a minute. Then he was groaning through the kiss and grasping her booted feet, his body jerking uncontrollably as he spurted his cum into Claire's panty-covered hand. His body was starting to sag when she quit the kiss and hunched her hips forward on the stool, pulled him closer and jammed his mouth against that mouth that waited between her legs.
"Eat me good," she told him. "If you don't, I'll report you to your boss. If you do, there'll be no end to the fun we can have together. No end at all."
She held him until he was going at it good with his tongue and his lips. Then she leaned back and picked up her drink. Elbows resting on the edge of the vanity table, she sipped the martini and glowed a smile down at the top of his busily working head. This was the life. This was as it should be. Dominate her lovers. Overpower them. Give them the minimum in sexual pleasure while taking the maximum out of them. She'd approached sex all wrong in the past. From now on, she was in command!
She settled back to enjoy it. He had already improved in his technique from the time before, teasing a little with kisses along the fleshy lips of her cunt, then getting back to sucking and licking that spot wherefrom she derived the most pleasure. Claire reached down to rub the back of his head, to pull him closer, and to show him that some tenderness existed in her hard heart. He was going pretty fast, and her pantings were such that it would be hard to tell him to slow down without revealing how much he was getting to her. She had intended to make it last, to hold herself back, loosening the reins of her passion slowly before she permitted him to give her a really big orgasm. But he was hers all the way already. Dominating him completely had been absurdly easy, and now the boy was hers for just as long as she wanted him, her little sex slave, eager to give her a dozen orgasms in exchange for every one she deigned to give him. Then let it go, her rising passion told her. Start having your fun in earnest.
She twisted her left ankle from his grasp and snaked that leathered leg around his neck, opening her cunt wider still for his kisses. "Use your hands, damn it. Spread me wider," she told him. Of course he obeyed. Her labia were spread wide for his subservient mouth, giving him access to the deepest reaches of her oozing, aromatic vulva, and as he lapped and kissed her to a climax, Claire's big hips humped uncontrollably at him, and she grunted, "Uh! Uh! Uh! Shit fuck hell damn! Ahhhhh...."
She held him prisoner there until pleasure dwindled into pain, then let her leg slip from its embrace around his neck. It had been a good one, but not good enough. Now she needed to be fucked by her boy, though he didn't look like he was quite in shape for that. He was crouched on the floor, head down, rubbing the back of his neck, breathing hard. With a past husband or lover, she'd have been down there with him, showering him with kisses, thanking him for the pleasure he'd given her. But the new Claire only prodded him with her booted foot and said, "Get up and take me to bed now."
"I can't," he whined. "I gotta get back to work."
"Don't you want to fuck me? Don't you want to put your little prick in my beautiful hot cunt?" she asked. Then she added sharply, "Look at me when you answer! And stand up!"
He slowly got to his feet, looking comically ridiculous with the pink panties draped around his boyish face. The other pair of panties, the white ones, clung to his loins until he was standing up, whereupon they fell away to reveal his penis flaccid. He looked where she was looking and said, "Honest, I'd like to do it to you, ma'am, but I just can't. See?"
"Humphf. And I thought your cock was always hard. Well, I'll get it that way again. I have just the thing for it. Stand right there."
From the drawer in her vanity Claire took the magazine that she and Mary had found in Billy's pants on his visit of the day before. She had used some of its illustrations as inspiration for her costuming of herself bn this day, and she knew very well that between those glossy photographs and the living picture of herself clad as she was, Billy's penis would be inspired to new stiffness.
She opened it across her abdomen and began slowly turning its pages. She looked down at the inverted images across her corsetted middle and pointed out their best features, commenting on them as she did. He stared at the pictures, glancing up at the bare, brightly tipped tits above them and down at the big, open cunt below them, and sure enough, his prick began to stir.
"It's getting hard," she said, "feel how hard your prick's getting. Go on, Billy. Do as I tell you."
His hand went to his prick and squeezed. The look on his face grew more vacuous as she continued to turn the pages and he continued to feel his growing prick, then to stroke it lightly as it approached its full length. Before she'd finished with the magazine, his prick was hard and she wanted it badly. Still, there was a danger that it wouldn't stay hard for as long as she had to have it that way, and to ensure against this catastrophe, Claire picked up the pasteboard box from her vanity table before leading him on to her big, rumpled bed.
There she lay on her back, legs drawn up comfortably, boot soles planted firmly on the covers. She told him to mount her then, and this he did in the most basic position. She sighed in contentment and wriggled against the mattress to be as comfortable as she could be for the long fucking session to come, and then behind his back, she opened the box.
The box contained a battery-operated vibrator, very smooth-surfaced, the shape and size of a stiff male member. A twist of the knob on its end and it began to silently quiver and shake in Claire's hand. She touched its bluntly tapered point to Billy's moving buttock and he grunted in surprise and heaved harder against her with his prick. That was the desired effect of the device. She wanted a good, vigorous fuck as well as a long one, and with that device in hand, there was no need for her to do anything but manipulate it while she lay back in complete comfort, exerting none of the effort it usually took to throw her heavy hips up to meet her current lover' thrusts into her body.
Claire closed her eyes to better enjoy the sensations of cock moving in cunt, of strong young body moving against soft flesh. No need to look anyway. The vibrator was behind his back, and her guiding hand was directing its buzzings very nicely. At first it panicked him a little, and he tried to look back over his shoulder to see what was doing that to him. She commanded him back to kissing her throat, her face, her lips. Then he got to like it, rotating his hips to move his buttocks in anticipation of its finding a most sensitive spot back there. By stabbing it into his buttocks, she could produce deep, erratic jabs of his cock. By sliding it up and down the groove between his buttocks, she could produce deeply rhythmic strokes. By alternating between these two manipulations, she was able to enjoy two very nice orgasms, while the sweating administrations of her lover continued almost unabated.
He was getting tired, however. She could tell that. She thought he might have cum once himself, but by then they were going so good and fast and hard that she couldn't be sure. It didn't matter. And giving him some rest didn't matter either. He had a young, strong heart, one which wouldn't give out no matter how she made him exert himself. But he was getting tired enough to slow down a little.
The bed was jiggling when Claire reached down with the end of the vibrator and anointed it with her overflowing juices. When she drew it up again and located his asshole and pushed two inches of it inside, the bed began to creak. He began to squeal through his pantings, tried to twist away from the plastic invader from behind. Claire just laughed and pushed it in until it was secure, then settled back to hold it there and enjoy one long, endless orgasm. Endless, at least, until the battery gave out.
It was marvelous. This was sex in its purest form. A strong young body, a prick so deeply imbedded in her that it hardly mattered if it was hard or soft, and solid electric American technology in her hand to keep it going for as long as she liked. Orgasm after orgasm, finally blending into one steady state of hypersexuality in which nothing could touch her but her thoughts. Wild thoughts, a kaleidoscope of every man she'd had, every man she'd wished she had but missed, the fantasies she'd never fulfilled with her dog, the teasing intimacies she'd indulged in with Mary and other females, the guilty lustings she'd had after inexperienced young boys. Claire had all these thoughts and more during her perpetual orgasm, and it was all so pleasant and all so exciting. His frantic thrustings continued unabated. Claire was driven to fuck madly back at him during the peaks of her great pleasure, and when these had passed for the moment and she was catching her breath, he still continued to fuck her. Up and down she was taken, over and over, never to end. But after a time the peaks flattened out, the valleys of rest deepened. Her body grew heavy, more difficult to move even during the best of it, and at last she fell quietly asleep, not even hearing the anguished cries at her ear.
CHAPTER EIGHT
If Billy Ralston's exertions had not dislodged the fiendishly tickling thing from his asshole, he might have gone on humping and heaving and fucking for all the rest of his life. By the time the thing fell out, however, he was no longer truly fucking, for fucking feels good. There was pain involved in what he was doing, but still he had had to continue doing it. He couldn't even tell if he had cum in that gaping hole he was plunging his dick into or not. He had just fucked it, had insanely tried to fill it, driven by that stimulus up inside his asshole which he didn't understand at all. When he was at last given rest from the wild ordeal, he was so exhausted that he slipped off the softness under him and slid onto the floor, and there he lay panting on his back for a full five minutes before he could sit up.
His asshole tingled and twitched, his prick had shrunk to peanut size. He gazed dully around him. It seemed as if he was in a surrealistic rendition of the Ralston master bedroom, just as messy, but with slightly different furniture and colors, and with that weird and terrible woman sprawled dead on the bed.
Her boots dangled over the side of it, her feet wide apart. Looking up past that net hosiery on her fleshy legs, he could see the vast red, fringed with dark brown, that he had once so dearly coveted. It was horribly ugly. Its shades of red ranged from pink to purple, glistening with that same foul wetness he had tasted, bordered by flaccidly scalloped lips, all set in a vast valley of fish-belly white flesh. It looked more like some part of a creature from outer space than it did a portion of the anatomy of a human being. But that big dead thing which lay up there was a woman. The amazingly bright red nipples sticking up over her weird garments told him she was a woman.
He thought he saw movement in those nipples and found that he could drag himself to his feet, to see if she might still be alive. Her face was a sight. Slack-jawed, open-mouthed, smeared with red and black and purple paints, one false eyelash hanging diagonally down. Scraggly long yellow hair stuck out from under her tilted wig. Her arms were extended, palms up, one button popped off those weird gloves. Behind her eyelids her eyeballs looked shrunken, and there was a complicated network of wrinkles under her make-up from her hairline to her throat. She snorted a snore and Billy jumped back, away from that parody of a woman which he had been fucking.
His foot encountered a hard cylindrical object. Curious, he stooped to pick it up, and when his fingers felt its faint vibrations and he realized what it was and where it had been, he quickly tossed it onto the bed. His senses were returning to work for him as he cautiously approached where it lay. It was one of those goddamned vibrating dildos like he'd seen advertised in the backs of girlie books, one of those things they made for the cunts of lonely old maids. And it had been inside of him!
He pulled back his lips in a sneer, realized then that he had a pair of girl's underwear shrouding his head, and whipped off the elasticized softness and flung it from him. He wanted to kill that big monster lying on the bed, but he was already in too much trouble to do that. Very gingerly then, he picked up the vibrator between thumb and forefinger. It was still buzzing, but not nearly so hard as it had been when it was up his ass. He dangled it over her heart, lowered it over her loins. He touched its tapered end against that hole which had all but consumed him and shoved it in hard, all the way. The corseted woman's only response was a grunt and a sigh, a slight upheaval of her hips, and the muttered words, "Shit fuck hell damn...."
By the time Billy got his clothes together, she was already snoring. He couldn't stand to even look at her again as he dressed. He couldn't stand to be in that house for another minute. He dressed while heading for the front door, buckled up his belt on the front porch, out in the open air.
Kneeling before the hose bib in the bushes, Billy flooded his mouth with sun-warmed city water. Still he could taste her cunt. And he could feel where the damned dildo had been when he was straddling his bicycle and heading back to the store. He hoped his mouth would always taste that foul and his asshole would forever itch so disgustingly, so that he would never forget how utterly rotten women were. Not all women, of course, but the sexual ones like the one he'd just left. Like her friend, Mary, too. No more fucking for him. No more sex of any kind. He'd get himself a job as a deep sea diver, and just before his ship steamed into a port, he'd drop over the side and wait on the bottom until it finished with its business and returned to pick him up. He'd become a soldier, and any time he saw a woman, he'd just shoot her. (He'd spare the mothers of the world, of course.) But those occupations were for when he grew up. Now he was still indentured to Ace Varney. He was bicycling toward more drudgery while his friends played at the beach. Tomorrow he'd probably be sent back to the torture chamber on Pine Street, for he'd forgotten the damned money again. There he'd be subjected to an even more diabolical experience. Tomorrow he could die.
"To hell with that," he said aloud, and turned left, heading for home.
He felt better already. The ex-boxer might beat him up, he might be sent to jail, but either of those fates were better than going through another five minutes of torment with that big broad or any like her. What in the world had he ever seen attractive about her or that big-knockered girl friend of hers to begin with? And those undergarments she'd been wearing. Ridiculous. Things like that couldn't get any guy hot. If anything, it had been the sight of the naked girls on the picture pages that had given him his stiffy. Aided, of course, by his trusty hand, that hand which would never again touch his penis, not even when he had to take a leak. He'd tie a string around it. Pull it out with the string when he had to whiz, push it back in with a fork when he was done. Or a wooden tongue depressor.
Reminded of his tongue, he spat again. Cunt wouldn't taste good even if it was filled with ice cream. His asshole still itched, so he walked his bicycle for a block, going over his new resolutions in his head. With his house in sight, he mounted again and pedaled onward. First a shower. Then a peanut butter sandwich and a glass of milk. Then he'd sit down and record his resolutions for future celibacy on paper, written in his blood.
Billy dumped his bike in the driveway. He went inside and straight to the shower, washed himself long and well under the cool water, and scrubbed his prick and balls and asshole thoroughly. He was famished. With a towel wrapped around him, he headed for the kitchen. Habit caused him to pause and peep in at his sleeping mother. She was facing him curled up in the fetal position, careworn face looking troubled even in repose as it rested its cheek on her clasped hands. Her robe had gotten thrown back over her flanks. He could see a deep crevice between her tummy and her thighs, but just barely, for her knees were drawn up nearly to her breasts. Her bottom was exposed to the breeze from the fan. Was it possible for a person to get a cold in the ass? Best to cover her up, he told himself, and quietly went around the bed to do that little task for his mother.
He stopped in his tracks and swallowed hard at the sight of her from the foot of the bed. Her bottom was all there, meagerly plump buttocks, shallowly cloven, tan anus like a puckered mouth, and extruded from between the backs of her thighs the long, oval bulge of her sex, split with her crack, thinly protected by her hair.
"Mom? You awake?"
She didn't stir, and he moved closer, until his knees were touching the mattress. She might take cold in her cunt. It looked so very different from the one he'd so recently seen. It seemed impossible that he had emerged from that prim split in the ripe bulge of strange fruit there. He put one knee on the bed, leaning closer. His hand went to the towel to hold it closed, and stayed there to grip the growing length of itchiness it concealed. It was all right. He'd already touched it in the shower, and now it was covered with thick terry cloth.
It was fascinating, almost beautiful, that ovate bulge. Not like even the strangest of tropical fruits he had ever seen. Much more like a mouth than her asshole, for it had lips, the biggest he'd ever seen, like the lips of a giant Negro resting peacefully between those gracefully smooth thighs. He froze when she drew her knees up higher, then sighed softly when she settled down again, with even more of those sweetly hairy lips pushed out at him. He got up on the bed to see it more closely, throwing the towel aside, the better to move his hand on his prick. Yes, it was as he knew it would be, entirely different from the other pussies he'd seen. It probably even smelled different.
Billy held his breath till his nose and his eyes were but six inches away from the compellingly lovely plumpness that he'd been fortunate enough to see. Then he inhaled, long and deep, and sighed his breath out, eyes closed, head feeling very light from the sweet mixture of perfume and musk and summer sweat. He looked again from three inches away, breathed more deeply still of her intoxicating scent, and pursed his lips to softly blow his breath against his mother's dear, sweet cunt.
"Mmmm," she murmured, and wriggled her legs a little, making the thick lips before him all but smile at him. Closer still, he bent, to touch the point of his tongue against the sweet slit, to run it an inch along the lips, for if she smelled that good, she had to taste divine.
And she did. There was nothing at all repellent about this. Even the slight taste of raw meat was good as he lengthened the exploration of his tongue, and as he probed a fraction of an inch inside those lips, just to see if there was any of that sloppy wetness there. It was dry warm, comforting and yet exciting. It felt so very nice and he was so very close to her now that he had to let go of his prick and feel the smoothness of her bottom with his hand.
Yes, it was very smooth. Touching her very lightly, he tried to feel the faint tan line under her buttocks, that demarcation of flesh tones that led round to where his tongue was moving, ever deeper, ever longer. His thumb had almost touched the lovely bulge when her hand grasped his, she stirred and murmured softly, and he again froze, this time with his tongue half an inch inside his mother's cunt.
He was paralyzed with fear. He would go to jail. His father would kill him. His mother would cry. But he already faced jail and a beating, and his mother seemed to be still sleeping, so there was no real reason not to continue on for just a little longer.
He puckered up and kissed her there. She squeezed his hand against herself, emboldening Billy to give her a deeper Frenching "Oh, Will. So nice," she sleepily muttered, and thrust and wriggled her softness back to give him more access at it. "'S been so long."
Billy was very appreciative of the effects of booze just then. His mother was just drunk enough to think that it was his father doing it to her, to think it was her husband going down on her. Apparently it was something her husband hadn't done for her in years. All he did was leap on her and jam his outrageously big cock into her. So this was a special treat she was getting from her son, something very special that he was doing for her. He thrilled at the knowledge that he might be able to do it every day, sneak in there and lick and kiss her cunt, making her feel good and have good dreams while she rested her weary body. He settled closer to her, kissing more warmly and deeply, feeling her beautiful body with his hands. He was breathing ever faster. His nose was but a fraction of an inch from her asshole, and even the slightly unpleasant odor of her there was exciting to him at this point. He licked down past the wetness in her slit and on over her asshole, something his father had probably never done in his life. Probably nobody had ever done it to her, if the way she reacted was any indication.
"Oh!" she said, and pushed away Billy's head. But she held onto his hair as she quickly rolled over on her back. Legs wide apart and drawn up at the knees, she pulled Billy's mouth against her cunt once more, and murmured, "Oh, Will. Will, I love you so."
Her cunt was spread pretty wide now. It had filled to the brim with her sexy rich goodness while he'd been eating her as she'd lain on her side, and now it was all opened up for him to lap up and swallow. This he did, from clitoris to vagina, while she held lightly onto his hair and crooned in her delight as she slept. He knew she was asleep, for looking up past her breasts with their rigidly erect nipples, he could see that her eyes were closed. Her eyes were closed, but her mouth was open. She was smiling in her sleep, having wonderful dreams of a handsome prince kneeling to part her royal ermine robes and eat out her queenly jewel box. And Billy had a dream too. He dreamed of the times he'd been sick in bed, his mother standing at the side of it, reading his fever on the thermometer, while he looked up at where her cunt was and wished he could see it or taste it or even smell it. The ancient boyish dream was coming true for him. He spread her cuntlips wider with his thumbs, to experience all he could of his dream. To help him with it, his sleeping mother raised her legs higher, hooked them under the knees with her arms, and sighed deeply when the pleasures of this better access to her cunt reached her.
It was a great big patch of the most sensitive flesh imaginable, completely open to Billy's kisses. He kissed every bit of it, licked it all, swallowed all the sweet nectar that clung to his tongue. He worked his head lower, kneading her buttocks with his hands, and now when his tongue reached her asshole, he pushed it inside. He tasted her dirt and he tickled her where no one else had before, and he was very glad for this, because it made her cum.
She trembled all over in her sleep, straining hard to pull her legs wider apart for him, and then she abruptly snapped her hips down so that her cunt was against Billy's mouth, and began vigorously fucking him there. Her head whipped from side to side, eyes squinted shut now, gasping, "Oh! ... God! ... Damn!"
She strained and trembled harder at what had to be the peak of it, then broke and snatched her cunt away from his mouth, scrambled round on the bed and went face-first for his loins. She got on top of him and sucked his cock completely into her mouth, mashing her cunt down on his mouth as she did this. She rolled over and he came with her, mouth glued to her cunt, until he was on top and could slowly and luxuriously fuck straight down into the gullet of his mother.
"Mmmm! MMMMM! MMMMMM!" She was making sounds as if she was dining on the most exquisitely delicious food in her dreams, undulating her cunt up against her son's licking mouth as she did, until another series of orgasmic spasms broke over her and she twisted out of the sixty-nine position, turned quickly around to meet him in a hungry kiss. Billy had seen her kiss his father many times, had imagined them kissing many more times than that. Now he knew very well that his mother was not dreaming about being made love to by her husband, for never had she kissed him with such ardor and abandon. Her mouth was half open, lips all pulpy and soft as those lips he'd kissed between her legs, tongue palpitating against his as they rolled around all over the bed. Her legs got wrapped around him somehow. She'd been fucked so many hundreds of times by his father that it came to her automatically, even in her sleep, and when he drew back his hips and shoved them forward again, lo and behold, his big hard cock was inside her cunt.
Still they continued to roll about. Her ankles were locked behind his back, but that didn't restrict the movements of her hips, surprisingly agile, moving at a nice, even pace that kept him from going crazy and fucking her just as hard as he could. That might awaken her, and he didn't want that to happen. He wanted all he could of this incredibly sweet time of loving, of sliding his prick in and out of that wonderful slick hole that he'd been inside of once before, fourteen long years ago. Several times he could feel that hole pulse strongly and clamp closed on his prick, coincident with the throwing back of her head, the tightening of her arms, and the open-throated cawing that was a part of her cumming. Each time it happened, it was greater than the time before. Each time it happened, he wanted it to be happening to him at the same time, but his afternoon of frenzied sex with that awful Claire had had its effect on him, and his usual quick climax was taking a long time in coming. He could feel it coming, he knew it was on the way, and even in her sleep, she could apparently feel it too.
She was working harder, throwing her entire body into it as she heaved against him as he fucked her with his hard, hard cock and buried his mouth in her soft, soft throat. Her nails were digging into his back, her heels drumming against his buttocks, and then she gasped out, "Cum, Billy! Now! With me! NOW!"
She was awake! Impossible! He snapped back his head, saw her eyes opened to slits, but blazing with her heat, and with a superhuman effort, he wrenched himself off her and ran to his room, slammed the door behind him and leaned against it, panting, his prick slowly dying.
He was the worst person in the world. He'd sneaked in on his mother, taken advantage of her, and committed the greatest sin possible. Now he would have to pay for that sin for the rest of his life. The payment? No more sex. He would go to the grave never having fucked another woman, of this he was absolutely certain, for never again would he be able to have an erection.
He trudged to the bathroom and washed his prick clean of the stuff that would never again lubricate it. He dressed to leave the house. He figured he'd leave the city. Hop a freight and head for the Coast. Sign on as cabin boy for an Estonian tramp steamer. Work his way up to Captain of the Fleet. Might as well. He could never face his mother again after what he'd done to her. He paused at her door for one last look at her. She was sleeping as if nothing had happened, and Billy bade her a silent farewell before setting off on his own.
Maybe she'd been asleep through it after all. Maybe she'd thought it was all part of a dream. Or maybe it had been a dream, and hadn't happened for real at all. No, it had happened. His shriveled prick, which he hated so staunchly that it was trying to crawl up inside him, never to get hard again, assured him of his sin. Forget her. She was better off without him. He headed bravely in the direction of the railroad yard.
It was getting cloudy, but Billy hardly knew if he was walking in shade or sunshine. He did know that his solitary walk was taking him past Becky Sloane's house. It wouldn't be right to leave without saying good-bye to good old Becky, schoolmate and pal since medieval times in the third grade. Just go in and say hi, not good-bye. No one should know about his leaving until he was on the high seas.
He turned up her walk and knocked at her door. It moved a quarter of an inch, and through the crack it made he could hear the television sounding off. Snarls and an anguished voice. A violent mystery program instead of the usual bland daytime fare. Maybe an afternoon movie instead of the housewife quiz show. He listened more closely, automatically trying to identify it, and he knocked again. A day or two before, he'd have stuck his head through the doorway and hollered for her. Now he was about to slink away to his wandering career, but a girl's voice stopped him.
"Steve, stop it! Just stop it! I'll tell! I'll scream! Get your hands off me! Let me alone!" It wasn't a televised voice at all, it was Becky's, and it was filled with a fright that was very close to panic. There was the sharp sound of an open hand meeting soft flesh, a growling chuckle, and Billy burst into the house.
They were in the living room, Becky sprawled on the floor, eyes vacant, holding her hand to her cheek, a tall, black-haired boy towering over her, legs apart, prick up hard, as naked as she was, but hairier, much hairier.
He was six inches taller than Billy and outweighed him by twenty pounds. It was like a frail wasp attacking the grotesque tarantula, swarming over him, stinging him from above and below, and still avoiding ferocious claws and a lethal stinger. Billy was stung once there in the quiet suburban living room. While Becky cringed against the couch, the bigger guy's fist came from nowhere to explode against the side of Billy's head and send him staggering back against a wall. But it wasn't a lethal sting after all. It dazed him but at the same time it removed any last vestiges of caution from his attack. He knew he couldn't be hurt now, and he waded directly in at the hairy monster, lifting his knee sharply to double him up into a helplessly moaning child. Billy knew that no one remains a child for long, however, and while he still had his opponent in that happy state, he bundled him right out the front door. He threw what clothes of his he could find out after him, locked the door, and returned to see what other items he might have missed.
He had certainly missed Becky. Still on the floor, her wide brown eyes beamed admiration up at him. Her cheek was very red from where she'd been slapped, and now Billy could feel his cheeks going red at the sight of her unveiled nudity. He smiled reassuringly as he reached down to help her to her feet, and to lay his hands on some small portion of that unbelievably beautiful nudity. As she reached the vertical, her blush deepened and she crossed her hands before her breasts, small, perfectly formed, glowing pure white against her tan, tipped with the most passionate pink imaginable.
She hiccuped a sob in saying, "H-he tried to r-rape me."
Billy's voice resonated deeply as he said, "The bastard. You're safe now. He won't bother you again."
"W-what if he comes by tomorrow? What'll I do? I can't tell my folks."
"Don't you worry, Becky dear. I'll be here to protect you." His prick had never been so hard in its entire career. It burned and itched so that he had to push it against her firm little tummy. She was still so dazed and frightened she didn't pull away.
"You'll be around? What about your job?" She looked so pleased that he couldn't resist kissing her a little.
"I told that big ape to shove it. I got better things to do than hustle booze. I gotta go to the beach. I gotta get a tan. Like yours," he said, quite entranced by the satiny taut texture of her perfectly colored shoulder.
"Oh, Billy, I'm so happy." She nestled closer. "I'm happy you're going to be around. I'm happy ... you called me dear."
"Shoot, why shouldn't I call you dear? Heck, I'm in love with you."
"Y-you are?" Her eyes even wider now, her body warmer, smoother, more supple.
"You know darn well I am. And you're in love with me too. Don't try to say you're not, Becky, 'cause if you do, I'll just prove different."
She wriggled in his arms, smiled coyly up at him, and simpered, "How could you do that? How could you tell how I feel about you?"
"By this," he said, and his hand slid down over her cunning little body, beautifully molded, perfectly made. Her eyelashes batted rapidly when his fingers slid over the soft point of her hip and found the much softer bulge of her pube, silkily covered with hair, sweetly split with a plump slit which was brimful of the creamy warm evidence of her feelings toward him.
She drew in her breath through pursed lips, breathing faster and faster, buttocks tensed and trembling under his hand, slit warming and wetting his finger to the knuckle. She murmured, "Don't, Billy. I'm a virgin."
"I am too, in a way. We're going to take care of that right now. Here. You he down on the couch while I undress. It won't take long."
He helped her to he down, protesting weakly. She looked very small lying there, very vulnerable, in need of more permanent protection. He kept watching her as he removed his clothing. Her small beauty was proof that there was a God, just as his giant erection was proof that the Devil existed. At the moment, the Devil was winning out, for Becky was looking at his engorged member through slitted eyes, hands clutching at her diminutive breasts, but legs slowly coming open. The Devil in him was so powerful that it was infecting her. It already had such a good hold on Billy that nothing could stop him. Even if she'd started screaming as he settled between her legs, he'd have gone right on, would have raped her as brutally as Steve had tried to.
But she didn't scream. She winced and knitted her brows as he eased himself into that perfectly fitting, warmly lubricated hole, and she gave a sharp little start when the obstruction was broken, but then she sighed with him and managed a small smile as he began to move. He didn't move fast. There was no need for that. Hardly any need to move at all. Just lie there and soak in her sweetness, in their joined happiness, in the completion of their love. But then the need to move came, to both of them at once. Becky looked startled at the manner in which she was squirming and jogging with her hips, and Billy was indeed surprised at himself for moving with such unthinking urgency. He feared he was hurting her, yet knew he was not. He wanted it to go on forever, but inside him he knew that it could go on forever, after this time, blending into the next time, each time better than the last, though nothing could be better than this. The Devil in him was being banished, taken inside the gates of heaven, blasted with the ecstatic delights therein, and rendered harmless in a long, gasping, sighing expurgation of all his strength, all his wickedness. But even as he lay there all weak and buttery and going as soft as she was, he knew very well that the Devil would return, again and again, and that it would take a century or more of visits within these Gates of Heaven before he could find everlasting peace. He knew too that those Gates would be forever open to him, and he'd always be close to protect them from intrusion by any other adventuresome Devil like himself. krrr-RRRRACK!
He had thought they were as close together as they could be, but when the heat lightning flashed and the thunder sounded as if it was in the room with them, she threw herself even closer against him. He smiled and petted her back, almost glad that she'd been frightened by the sound and the fury. Her tremblings turned to nestlings when the rain started down. They kissed and snuggled, relaxing together.
She said, "Looks like you can't start in on your tan for a while, Billy."
"Aw, there's other things to do."
"Like what?" she asked, pushing her lower body forward at him.
"Like playing Monopoly and eating cookies. Remember how we used to do that when it rained?"
"Yes. With your mother. But I just want to play with you, today."
"Quit pushing me. Come on and get up. Let's run down through the rain and get the set and come back here, and I'll betcha I beat you."
CHAPTER NINE
Mary felt rather sporty driving across town in her bright yellow Pinto, with the big black Lab perched alertly on the seat beside her. She knew she presented a beautifully contrasting picture, the stunning little brunette in the little white dress, with her big black dog there to protect her. She hoped, however, that people weren't looking too closely at that picture as she stopped at a signal. There she ruffed the dog's ears, and in turn he affectionately nuzzled her neck, making her laugh as merrily as she had in weeks. He was a good old dog. Not so old, really. Just a big pup, with another ten years of useful life ahead of him. And now Mary knew that his usefulness could extend far beyond service as a watchdog.
She patted his heavy ribcage, scratched his shaggy belly, glanced about her and felt quickly and intimately of his prick and balls. Why not touch him there? He was just as clean as her husband, maybe even cleaner by now, after Henry's having fornicated for several days with his slut. And now that she'd had Argo's prick right up inside her cunt, there was no reason at all not to play with it with her hand. To this touch he responded by nuzzling his cold nose against her shoulder. His nose was cold, but his muzzle was warm. She glanced around again. None of the other drivers were paying any attention to her. She placed her arm across the back of the seats, opening her armpit and releasing the warmly human odor from there. He nuzzled and licked, going for her salty sweet sweat, just as she knew he would. He liked the taste of her. All over. And she in turn liked that feeling of languorous heaviness spreading through her body, the thickness of limb and the moistening of flesh, as the big, friendly animal swiped his tongue up under her arm. She could feel the ticklings from it far deeper than her skin went. She could feel it down in her gut, and she liked that too.
She liked it so much she could hardly stand it, and yet her brain was numbing to a point where she could stand almost anything, as long as it was pleasant. And so she lifted her arm to pat at her hair, and for a moment she thought she was going to wet her little panties when he covered that whole sensitive underarm area with one big warm swish of his tongue. The big armholes in her little summer dress permitted that. It was a skimpy little dress, with its large armholes and its short skirt, but the thin cotton garment seemed binding and heavy on her now, and almost intolerably scratchy. She longed to be naked, romping on a deserted beach with her dog. But she knew if they were in that situation, she'd simply lie down and bask in the sun, lazily scratching him while he panted hopefully at her side. He really did like her. She could so easily train him. Then she could lie there with her legs spread wide open, scratching his ears and anticipating an even warmer kiss than she was getting from the sun on her pussy. One snap of her fingers and Argo would shuffle around and lick her cunt, a second and he'd mount her and fuck her there in the dazzling sun.
Mary swerved to avoid hitting a parked car, and the dog almost tumbled to the floorboards. She was fully alert, back from her fantasy trip to the beach, as she petted him and soothed him. "It's all right. I won't hit anybody. You didn't hurt me, and I won't hurt you, big boy. Here. Lie down and put your head in my lap. In a few minutes, I'll take you for a nice walk."
She had to coax him to get his head down there. He was still a little frightened from her near miss, and he wanted to see the view. But he had to do things her way if he wanted to be with her. He had to learn, far better than her husband had ever learned. She ought to buy him from Claire, she thought, as she shifted her hips on the plastic seat cover and hiked her little skirt up as far as it would go. She had to take several deep, even breaths when she felt his bristly underjaw against the bare soft flesh of her upper thighs. Buy him? No, that wouldn't be right. He'd be like a whore then. She'd either talk Claire into giving him to her, or else she'd steal him. But she had to have this beautiful animal who was so intelligent and so easily trainable.
All she had on under the dress was bikini panties and a bra, but she'd made a mistake in wearing even those. Without panties, she could easily get him to dip his tongue down to the sweetness between her spreading legs. And when that pleasure got too intense, she could cool off a bit while he tried to reach a bare nipple through the armhole of her dress. He was such a wonderful animal, so much better than that surly mongrel who lived next door to her. He was so good that he was trying to reach through the leghole of her panties for a taste of straight, uncovered cunt. A fast look around, for it would never do to have some high-perched truck driver see it, and she drew out that leghole with one finger, and caught in her breath in an open-mouthed gasp as his tongue flipped all too briefly over her labia.
She pushed him away and pulled down her skirt. The thrill of his tongue touch had been so stabbingly quick that she wasn't sure if she'd had an orgasm or not, driving along down the street. She looked around guiltily. The man driving beside her turned his head in her direction, a hopeful smile lit his face, and Mary burst out laughing. How foolish to think anyone would know what she did with Argo. They might suspect, but never believe she let him lick her and fuck her, not even if they saw it. Be careful with him and she could keep him forever, just as he would keep her. She reached her hand under her skirt and inside her panties, dipped a finger in her richness and wriggled it about to thoroughly wet it, enjoying every moment of it. Then she held that finger for Argo to lick, which he did, gazing soulfully up at her, his tongue on her finger tickling her as much as her finger in her cunt had. She scratched his ears and impulsively licked that finger, wrinkling her nose because it tasted more of cunt than of doggie. "It won't be long now, fella," she said. "It won't be long now. In a minute we'll take our walk, into our house."
Mary parked the car at the curb, tortured herself by playing with Argo's ears instead of going right inside the house. She'd have plenty of time with him in there, and besides, it wouldn't do to have the neighbors see her dragging a big black dog with a stiff red prick into her house so soon after her husband's leaving her. "At least I think you have a stiffie," she said. "Let's see."
She looked casually around her as she slyly reached under him. There were the same old houses, hers included, with the weathered shake shingles and the dusty ivy on their outsides, and the same dusty people on the inside. Soon the rain would come and wash the dust from the houses, but not from the people inside them. She wasn't going to be one of those people. Not any more. From now on, anything would go, as far as she was concerned, and as long as she didn't get involved emotionally. By being discreet, she could do whatever she wanted to with whomever or whatever she cared to choose. She didn't have to rely on liquor to release her from her inhibitions any more, either. All she needed was cock, and that one in her hand, tapered and hot, hard and getting harder, was good enough for Mary Stewart at the moment.
"Come inside, Argo," she said, "and see your new home."
He padded along at her heels while her sandaled feet went briskly up the walk; he was properly obedient. He growled softly but continued to follow her when the dog next door barked; he was a good protector. A glimpse had told her that his prick had receded again, as quickly as it had come up; erections came and went with him with great rapidity, and Mary walked faster toward her front door, her buttocks feeling swollen just like her cunt.
Inside the door, Mary paused to catch her breath, clasped hands pressed against the liquid pillow of her pube. Then she got down on her knees in the entryway to hug him and play with him. Her clothes felt like horsehair on her flesh. Her body was all aglow as if with a heat rash, and her arms were getting pinker from being rasped against his fur. She was terrifically uncomfortable and highly excited, but she knew that the discomfort would end soon.
She began taking off her clothes while she played with him.
Unzip your dress, peel it down to your waist, hug the dog's head to your aching tits. Growl in his language and rock him back and forth while it felt the bra might burst. Work the dress up over your head, for your legs are too weak to even move from the kneeling position now. Then thrust your torso forward and grin in all enjoyment as you direct his tongue to both cool and heat your exposed belly. Push his nose away from your cunt, laughing, wanting to enjoy this foreplay a little longer, and sure that you're not offending him by making him wait.
Get that bra off. Get it off! Damned hooks! Then rip it off! There. Oh, shit. Oh, fuck. What a beautiful sight, gorgeous big knockers swinging back and forth before his face, brushing nipples against his flicking tongue. His teeth whiter and incredibly harder than her bulging softnesses. How would it look if he bit her there, made the blood flow over that milk-whiteness while he simultaneously sank his prick into her cunt...?
Roll down the panties and dip the finger in the cunt, wipe it on that big udder and feel your grin widen as you watch his tongue at work, licking it off, as you feel the way his tongue molds and clings to every little corrugation on your super-sensitive areola and nipple. All the time, of course, digging deeper in that gloriously juicy hole for more of the richness that he so loves, more to be applied to the other udder for him to lick off.
Mary alternated with her fingers. Kneeling in the hallway, back swayed forward, looking dully drunk, she wormed and squirmed fingers of her left hand all about in her vulva and vagina, then smeared her cunt juices on her right breast, all over the nipple and areola. The dog was licking between her fingers as she applied it, and already she was reaching for more from her cunt with her right hand. It felt crazy. Both above and below. She'd never been that sexually turned on before, never gone so completely past the point of her deepest inhibitions. There was nothing she wouldn't do now, if she took a fancy to it. Little boys, little girls, fish, porcupines, even elephants could fuck her now and she wouldn't care. Shit, she'd love it!
"Oh! OH! GAWD!" she cried, and began to cum.
A whole montage of incredibly sexy, wonderfully dirty pictures came to her as she wrenched and tore at her panties, doubled over every few wonderful moments as a new spasm of intense physical pleasure ripped through her body. Thin as they were, the panties were fiendishly strong, but she succeeded in ripping them off her body, leaving it nude, and still orgasming. The dog knew it. He wasn't waiting so patiently now. He was pushing in at her, trying to fuck her foot, until Mary fell back on her back, hitting her head against the door, throwing her arms and legs up to meet her dog in his onslaught of hot prick.
It stabbed into her asshole and against her vulva, for he was that excited now. She thought it didn't matter, for anywhere he touched her with it down there now was a good enough place for triggering another orgasmic spasm. She thought it didn't matter until he found the real mark and drove it into her cunt, swelling it up to bursting with each of his rapid penetrations, making her think her skull would swell and burst, and almost wishing that it would. She knew this insane flood of feelings would only last as long as his hair-triggered prick. She knew that would be long enough for her to feel more than she ever had in her life before, but still she had to try for the most of it, for more of it, for all of it, by yipping and squealing like an animal gone mad, and by humping up under him just as hard as she could. She reached some sort of pinnacle of other-worldly pleasure before he shivered and shuddered and came and got off her, but she couldn't say what world it had come from. All she could do was lie there, complete as a sexual animal, feeling wonderfully good despite the itch of dog hairs all over her sweaty belly and crotch and tits.
She lay there until she thought of his prick getting hard again, and then she stirred. She got up on one elbow, looked down and felt sick at the sight of the long red scratches on her sides. She hadn't even felt them being made, at the time.
She was quite a disgusting woman, fornicating with a dog. She'd let a beast of the field penetrate her, all for the sake of a few minutes of escape. Disgusting. And what was even more disgusting was that she was thinking of installing him permanently in her house. More disgusting yet, she was thinking again of his prick!
But, why not? What the hell, the door was locked, and no one really cared what she did to herself behind it. Let's see that prick of yours. Stop licking it and let me hold it. Or does licking it make it get hard quicker? Okay, you lick and I'll play with it, and together we'll get it up. I hope it's not sore. If you get sore that quickly, I'll just have to get myself another dog.
"Oh, I'd never give you up and never have another," she said aloud, and hugged him and squeezed him with one arm around his neck and one hand on his prick, until it was hard again.
Then she had him fuck her again. It wasn't the unexpected, wildly uncontrolled fucking of a few minutes before, but a long, slow enjoyment of her latest sex-mate. She did it his way, on her hands and knees with his mounting her from behind. Partially because he might like it better that way, partially because she might as well get dog hairs on her back as well as her front, but mostly because it felt so fucking good. She got her hips into it, rotating them to present a changing target for his prick, and changing internal surfaces for contact with it. She got her torso into it, bending her vertebrae in a most supple fashion that caused her cunt to move up and down, and her tits to drag their hot nipples against the rug. She got her whole body into it, watching it between her tits as she rocked back and forth to meet the high frequency of his thrusts with a slower frequency of her own. It started out as slow enjoyment, but it ended up with the same gasping, frenzied orgasms as before, until she was flat on her belly on the rug, and he was licking up her dog-sperm laden cunt juices, bringing sweetly diminishing spasms of joy to her.
Mary couldn't stir for a good fifteen minutes. She'd have lain there forever if she could have remembered whether or not she'd locked the front door behind her. Someone might come in looking for her in a few days, and the knob was only three feet above her head.
She found it to be unlocked, and pressed the button in. She saw the new scratches on her sides and ribcase and said, "Shit, Argo, if you keep going on doing that, I'll have to get you some damned mittens or something."
He didn't indicate he'd even heard her. He just lay there curled up sleeping. Just like a damned man. Worse, for at least if he was a man, if he was Henry for instance, she could tell him he'd been a lousy lay and it would mean something to him. It would mean enough so that maybe he'd try again.
Disappointing as it was, Argo was tired. He wasn't a Superdog after all. He was just a tired black mutt, without even a pedigree. He was a lot like her, except that she was a bitch. The two of them would make a good pair. Maybe she'd get him bred when he got older, and take her pick of the litter. She'd choose a male pup, of course, and then engage in some sort of animal incest. Why not? She'd have done everything else by then.
Mary grabbed the doorknob and pulled herself up off the floor. This was no time to let herself slip into one of her black, feeling-sorry-for-herself moods. What she needed was a drink.
She found Henry's Christmas bottle of expensive Scotch in the kitchen cupboard, poured four fingers of it and filled the low, squat glass with ice cubes. She sipped it while looking out at the clouding skies, wishing it would rain, feeling most uncomfortable now from the dog hairs clinging to her perspiring body. She looked away from the sky, knowing that wishes wouldn't change the weather. The damned dog looked comfortable enough. Compared to a human, a dog had very few feelings. She had fewer feelings for him now. He was just a dumb animal, a mute companion, and a very unimaginative sex-mate. Foolish to think of even buying him from Claire. Just borrow him from time to time for a 'walk', and save the trouble and expense of feeding and caring for him, while she still got the benefit of his prick when she needed it. She sipped and smiled, thinking over her future as a sensual woman, looking at the dog and mentally transforming him into other animals, including man himself. Yes, she'd do it with all of them, she'd leave nothing out, and there was no time like the present to start filling in the gaps in her sexual experience.
Mary finished her drink and went over to the dog, got down on her knees and rolled him over on his back. He drew up his forelegs as if he was begging and he lazily blinked his eyes as she scratched his belly and looked him over. There wasn't any fat on his belly. She could see his double row of nipples through the sparser hair of his underside, and a flea that scurried toward the thicker hair of his throat. His balls were clearly outlined in their black, hairy sac, one of them situated forward of the other. She couldn't see his prick. It was completely retracted within his foreskin. She drew that foreskin back with the small white fingers of her left hand, still scratching his belly with her right, and then she could see his prick. Only a half inch of it, not so red as before, tapered like a candle's tip, with the dark single eye in the middle of it from which had spurted his doggy cum into her bitchy cunt. Only a half inch of it, just enough to get her lips around.
He began to flop around and try to get up as she used her lips and tongue on it, but she held him down with one hand on his belly and the other on his balls. She sucked and got more of it in her mouth, swirled her tongue around it and dabbled it into the hole there, and then she could feel it begin to stiffen and elongate by itself. She wished it would hurry, for she didn't like the feeling of his furry foreskin brushing against her lips. This wish was granted her, and in moments she had her lips and tongue on pure, hairless dog cock, and only her hands were in contact with the coarse hair that covered the rest of his body.
His tongue and his prick, that was all of him she needed. Let somebody else feed him and clean up after him and take him for walks and give him the affection that dogs are supposed to need, and just give her his tongue and his prick. She told herself that she liked sucking his cock, but still there was a little part that roved through her body looking for a place to be sick, and so she thought of tangling tongues with him someday, and this made sucking his cock so much easier.
She closed her eyes and rocked back and forth, bobbing her head over his loins, sliding her soft lips up and down the heated hardness of the dog's prick. She licked it lavishly with her tongue and was even able to feel his foreskin with her lips without being ill. She sucked it hard, all the way into the back of her throat, clenching her hands tighter into his fur as he struggled under the discomfort of her more vigorous suction. Let him struggle, let him be in pain, this was for her pleasure, not his.
The trouble was, there was very little pleasure in it. It was amazingly easy to suck off the dog, but she was deriving very little sexual excitement from it. Even when she took her hand from his belly to dig and delve and finger-fuck in her cunt, there was more effort involved than pleasure. Was it possible that she'd had enough sex for a while? Had the Lesbian flirtation with Claire and the fucking and licking from the boy and the dog satisfied her so completely and so soon? That was impossible, for there'd been weekends with Henry when they'd hardly gotten out of bed, fucking time after time, with her losing track of the times she orgasmed. She did feel a stir of excitement remembering those weekends, but she pushed that away, irritated with herself for even thinking of Henry at all. Her husband was gone, and creatures like Argo were more than enough to excite her now. She wasn't the one who was fucked out; it was Argo who was the sluggard.
Dumb dog. What the hell beyond sucking his cock did it take to excite him? But he wasn't the only dog in the world. There was another right next door. Go get him. Tempt him over the wall with a hot dog, and then feed him a hot pussy. After he ate, he'd service her. And it'd be a new kick to have two dogs at once.
Mary rose and went to have another quick drink before she got on with her pleasure. The black dog alertly followed her now, licking the back of her knee while she emptied out the bottle into a glass, licking her ass while she got more ice. He tried to fuck her leg as she leaned languorously against the sink, sipping. She grinned and bent her knee to give him more to fuck at, then withdrew it and spoke to him before finishing her drink and going out into the back yard.
"There's nothing special about you. You had your chance and you muffed it, and now you're going to have to take sloppy seconds."
CHAPTER TEN
Ace Varney looked with increasing irritation at his watch. His goddamned helper had been gone for more than two hours, probably shoplifting somewhere, probably sneaked into an air-conditioned girlie show on his way back, surely up to no good. He couldn't let the kid get away with that. He'd forced Billy to take the job in order to keep him out of trouble, but the kid would be in for a lot of that commodity when Ace got his hands on him.
He closed the liquor store. All he was selling that day was cold beer, and he didn't feel like being cramped up there any longer anyway. He got in his car and headed for the address on Pine Street. He had to start looking somewhere. If he couldn't get a clue as to Billy's whereabouts there, he'd check his house, then go to a refrigerated bar and partake of some of the wares he usually sold, but he first had to at least make an effort to find the runaway.
The house on Pine looked substantial and comfortable to him. Although its front yard was a little overgrown, that gave it a more spacious, sylvan look, a far cry from the apartment house look he was used to. He almost turned back when he reached the porch. Probably night workers living inside, a man and wife who got a little booze from him in order to help sleep through the heat of the day. They'd think he was nuts coming looking for his delivery boy, and they'd be mad if he woke them up. They might even think he was a queer, running after the kid like that. But he didn't care what they thought of him and, looking up, he saw that soon the clouds would break and end the heat wave, and nobody in town could be mad at anything when that happened.
He pressed the doorbell button and got no response. The door was standing wide open, and he leaned inside and softly called, "Billy? Oh, Billy?"
No response from that, either, but he had a good look at a slovenly house. What kind of a husband would put up with that sort of crap? Maybe a couple of drunks lived there after all. Maybe they'd passed out by the time Billy had arrived, and he had burglarized their house and split. Or maybe the couple who lived there were in bed, fucking in the blast of an air-conditioner.
It was this last maybe that drew Ace into the house. Big and strong as he was, he felt weak and sick as he crept silently inside, helpless to quell the craving to see a nice solid married couple showing their love for each other in defiance of the heat of the afternoon.
The kitchen was even more of a mess. He glanced into it as he tiptoed to his left into the hall where the bedrooms had to be. Soft snoring almost made him turn back, but if they were asleep he was safe, and it would be almost as good to see them naked in post-coital repose than actually fucking. He held his breath as he eased his big head around the doorway, then caught it in sharply at the sight he beheld there.
The bedroom was a shambles. There were overturned bottles of perfume and make-up on the dressing table. Its fur-covered bench was turned over, and beside it lay one of those girlie books, its crumpled pages turned open to two full page layouts of whorish-looking women in long stockings and severe corsets. But they looked quite pristine and virginal compared to the woman snoring on the bed. The heels of her boots were a foot apart on the floor, her mesh-covered knees almost that wide apart on the edge of the bed, and the lips of her nearly hairless cunt looked even more wide apart than that. Above her cunt, the tight black corset barely moved with her breathing, but her sideways sagging tits moved with each breath, their passionately colored nipples speaking as much as her cunt did about the hot time she'd had with sneak-thief Billy. Her gloved arms were spread out as if she'd been crucified. Her wig was askew, showing the straw-colored hair under its shiny black curls. Her face was a grotesque mask of smeared paint and unglued eyelashes and dangling open mouth. As he was drawn closer, he realized the heavy smell in there was coming from her, and that that white thing in the center of her open gash didn't belong there.
With shaking fingers he touched the hard end of it, and as he slowly drew out the long, prick-shaped object, she stirred and murmured, "Billy...."
Ace's scarred lips drew back in disgust. He'd thought she was a lonely woman, driven to masturbation to get what she had to have, what any person had to have. Now it was apparent that she'd seduced his adolescent employee, and he was furious with her for that. He dropped the wretched dildo and balled up his fists, ready to beat her to a pulp, but then she stirred and murmured again. This time her hand went to her cunt, she half-smiled, and her words were those of an old song-"Lover, come back to me."
Ace's cock burned like fire. It stood straight out, throbbing, looking her over as he ripped off his clothing, every stitch. It bobbed up and down with his rapid pulsebeats, nodding its big, ruddy head as if in agreement with his first evaluation of the sleeping woman, agreeing that she was by far the sexiest women either of them had seen in their entire lives together.
He tried and failed to breathe evenly, calmly as he got on his knees and nudged her legs wider apart. He also failed to stop the shaking of his hand as he carefully centered the huge knob of his twelve-inch cock exactly where that vile, useless bit of plastic had been. His hands were still shaking when he carefully placed them on her bare thighs, between the welts of her hose and the bottom edge of that fiendishly alluring black corset, touching what had to be the softest flesh in all the world. Then his hands dug in and he lunged forward, all the way, and found that there was indeed a part of her anatomy that was softer by far than her thighs.
It got hard at once, though. Her cunt tightened on his plunging cock as she came awake, tried to sit up, frightened nearly out of her wits, shouting, "Rape! Help! Rape!"
He shut her up with his mouth on hers. He felt stronger by far than he had when he was Number Four and fighting Floyd Paterson. She was a big woman, but he handled her easily, pinning her down with his hands, stabbing her with his tongue, and all the while driving the full length of his massive cock into her madly writhing body.
He really fucked her! He could feel the head of his cock slamming into her cervix and dislocating her fallopian tubes. He could feel himself killing her with it. But he could also feel her getting even wetter than she'd been at the start, and this made him absolutely sure he couldn't stop it till he'd finished raping her all the way.
And she fought him all the way, this most beautiful, sexiest woman he had ever encountered. She was as wild as she had once been lonely as, with toes dug into the rug, he fucked her and the bed up against the wall. She raked his back with her nails, but that didn't even slow him down. She bit his tongue as well as sucking on it, and that only drove him to fuck her harder, harder still! And then the devilishly clever woman rammed her finger up his ass, and that did it.
Ace howled and began to cum. He was frantic to get that finger out of his ass, yet wild to feel more of this sensational orgasm, and each of his efforts to dislodge it drove him into her suddenly loosened cunt once more. He rolled toward the head of the bed, dragging her with him, then rolled back toward the foot of it, still deep inside her, and when his heavy ejaculations reached a peak, and when they were both shouting and squealing in each other's ear, they rolled off the bed and landed on the floor with the sound of a sonic boom.
It knocked the breath out of both of them. They lay there panting, fused, dazed.
At last she said, "Whut whazzat? Whut happened?"
"Jet plane. Sonic boom."
"No. I mean ... what happened inside me?"
"You cum. You cum pretty damned good. Me too."
He could feel her blushing as she hid her face in the hollow of his throat. He knew he should comfort her, but he felt so ridiculously good that he had to laugh. He looked briefly up at the window and said, "Hey! It's raining!"
She nodded, nestling closer, and whispered, "What's your name?"
"Ace Varney. What's yours?"
"Claire. Claire Eaton. You own the liquor store where ... that little boy came from?"
"He don't work for me any more. I just fired him."
"Are you ... going away now, Ace?"
"Sure I am," he said. "I am if you should happen to pull a big old black snake whip out of that cute little old corset you got on and drive me away with it."
Now he could feel her grin and bite his throat before she said, "Oh, I'd never do that. All there is under this cute little corset is little old me, in person."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Mary didn't even know the name of the dog next door, but that didn't matter; he didn't know her name either. What mattered was that he was a big dog, big enough to jump over the four-foot high fence once she'd sufficiently lured him with the meat, and big enough to fill up her cunt once she was ready for that. His shoulder came to well above her knee as he gulped down the hot dog and she leaned against him, rumpling the hair on his back. His hair was considerably longer than Argo's, reddish brown with white splotches. His ears stood up like a Doberman's and his muzzle was long like a collie's and he had the long shaggy tail of an Irish setter. He was either some breed of Martian wolfhound or just a plain old mongrel, but he did have a nice big prick and balls. Mary tested for this while he was eating. She didn't give a good damn if the neighbors saw her playing with a dog's prick in her back yard, naked as she could be, because sooner or later they'd find out what a hedonistic nymph she was, and it might as well be sooner. That way it might make it easier to fuck some of the husbands in the neighborhood before she was run out of it. All her life she'd been told not to touch a dog when he was eating, lest he turn on her. She didn't care about that, either. Following her post-orgasmic somnolence in the hallway, she was ready for some really strenuous foreplay and fucking with this dog.
She pushed him over on his side and kicked away the last end of the hot dog, then took a squatting stance between him and the tidbit. He looked puzzled, and she laughed and advanced at him, caught him by the collar and threw a leg over his back. He nipped at her bare foot and she kicked him in the teeth, holding onto his collar with both hands, riding him like he was a short-legged horse and feeling his hard and hairy spine with her juicy cunt. She felt it so hard that she bore him to the ground with her weight, and got a scissors hold on him as she rolled onto her side.
The grass hadn't been watered in weeks. It was long and dry and scratchy. It felt good against her pampered skin, but not as good as the living scratchiness of the mottled brown dog. He was in the mood to play now, but he'd never played Mary's game before. She kept her legs around his muscular body and her ankles locked as she rolled him around, laughing gaily. He kept struggling to get to his feet, growling in a good-natured way, tempting her with his tongue hanging out. She was no longer in a mood for dog tongue, however, what she wanted was dog cock.
She'd slipped around until she had her leg-hold on him from the side. Now she got a grip on each of his forelegs with her hands and tried to twist him further, to a better position between her legs. She longed to reach down and feel if his cock was hard, but she couldn't let go of his legs, very hard and very strong. She tried to move her ass around to feel for it with her buttocks, but he kept kicking her there with his knees. She could feel the buffeting in her brain, knocking away any last reluctance she might have in getting it on with this strange mongrel. But then she did feel his cock, and it was hard, and if there had existed any reluctance in her, it quickly fled.
"Come on and fuck me, you big bastard! FUCK ME NOW!" she loudly said, in the proper position now, underneath him, with her legs pulling him down toward her open cunt.
"OW! GAH! OH! YES! FUCK IT!" she cried, the words bursting out of her with each new jab of his hot, hard cock against her soft, bruised flesh.
He was just entering her, just taking her to the heights of mindless bliss where she wanted to exist, when with a loud bark and a serious growl, he started forward off her, dragging her spine a yard across the burnt grass before she lost her hold. She was both dazed and furious until she saw what had drawn him away from her at that crucial time, and then she covered her mouth with her hands and looked in horror.
Argo had gotten out the back door, and the two big male dogs were circling each other, hackles up, ready to fight for this new territory and the strange female that went with it. She gasped as they clashed together, ripping and snarling, going for each other's throats. She felt sick at the thought of either of them spilling blood, perhaps dying, but then the sickness changed to a very primitive form of excitement as she realized fully that they were fighting for her.
Mary got unsteadily to her feet. She'd never really liked dogs, always been a little afraid of them, but now there was no fear at all in her, just this wonderful new excitement, as she waded in between the two sets of snarling, snapping jaws in an effort to save both the canine gladiators for herself.
Their fur was flying, and soon her hands and the skin of her body was bleeding from touches of their sharp teeth. She was right in the middle of it, and the din was terrific, growls and barks and pantings in her ears, and the sound of those jaws snapping. She was caught in a whirlwind of brown and black and white dog flesh, stinking from the heat of their vicious battle, and still she hung in there, panting out admonishing words, reaching for cock.
Between her words and her gropings, they began to slow down. Mary, however, was panting harder than ever when at last she got her bleeding hands on both of their pricks. Rapidly, she milked the pair of long pricks into a growing state of hardness, taking the fight out of the dogs. Soon they had quieted. They stood at each of her sides, gazing soulfully down at her, licking her face, while she lay on her back and stroked their beautiful stiff pricks. She didn't know which one to take on first. She wanted them both in her cunt at the same time. The more experienced Argo solved her problem for her by dragging his prick out of her hand and trotting around to hunker down between her legs and start fucking her.
He was the right one for it. He'd last longer. But that prick in her other hand itched for immediate satisfaction, and if she gave the brown and white mutt a cum now, he'd last longer when he got his chance to fuck her.
"C'mere, honey. Nice doggy. C'mere, dear," she told him, pulling him forward by the handle of his prick until she could get a clear view of it just above her left shoulder.
It was so beautiful, such a deep shade of red, so very hard, that she had to eat it at once. Mouth open, lips extended, she pulled him right down on her, got it in her ravenous mouth, and then hugged her arms about his very shaggy flanks to pull him down on her so she could get more of it.
He started fucking her. He thought her mouth was a bitch's cunt, and he started fucking it even more vigorously than the other one was slamming his into her cunt. Over and over his dog cock was jammed between her twisted lips, skidded over her palate, driven into her throat, while below, in that other part of her body, the hard thing kept slipping out and stabbing like a blunt knife against her helplessly exposed chtoris. She had gone too far, much too far. This was it, she was going to be killed, fucked to death by two dogs, and then eaten by them. Her bones would be buried right there in her back yard, and by then she wished they'd get it over with, for her hedonistic excursion into bestiality had turned into an excruciating nightmare.
She could feel every scratch they'd made on her body, every bleeding toothmark. She was being smothered, her mouth full of foul, flea-ridden dog hair, her eyes clogged with it. Each blade of grass felt like an individual razor blade, blunt, digging into her back. Her body felt all pulpy and boneless, but the worst of the torture by far were those two pricks she'd invited into her body.
They were relentless, tireless. One of them was being stuck into her lolling mouth, being driven down into her throat with such rapidity that she couldn't even throw up, while the other was squelching into her cunt and piercing into her asshole and crashing against her clitoris so hard that she couldn't even cum! They were going to go on fucking her after she was dead. Animals she'd only seen in her dreams would follow them before her carcass was torn up and divided between them. She was slipping into unconsciousness, quite prepared to dwell forever in that special corner of hell reserved for total sinners such as herself, when a hot stream of rankly tasting fluid gave her hope that she might survive.
She sucked avidly. She managed to get one hand on a pair of shaggy, pulsating balls, and a finger of the other hand up the dog's asshole, the better to get all she could of the stuff that might save her. It came in heavy, hot streams, and she swallowed it down as quickly as it came, wishing to hasten its end and her salvation, but fearing it might go on forever, that this might be that corner of hell she was doomed to.
But it stopped, quite abruptly, and the thing was quickly dragged from her mouth, and she could breathe again. Then the black monster between her legs quit his specialized torture and she was free-free to gulp in great lungsful of air through her cum-flecked lips, free to cover her poor, bruised pussy with her hand.
Her exhausted body gave a jerk when the thunderclap sounded. She wanted to laugh hysterically when the first big, hot raindrops began hitting her, but she was too tired and she'd been to close to death to laugh. Instead she uncovered her cunt and stretched her jaws open wide, not caring if she drowned in the increasing torrent, just wanting to be cleansed-at least on the outside.
Between the time Henry Stewart locked his car door, shooed the two dogs out of his front yard and unlocked his front door, he was drenched. It was the second time he'd taken an unexpected bath that day, the first coming when he'd awakened in the motel, with a hangover, without his wallet and the pretty little blonde trick he had thought he was in love with. Live and learn. Carry an umbrella, and stick with your wife. Now he had nothing. His suit was wet, his house vacant, his wife gone to God-knows-where, and not even a drop of Scotch left in the decanter.
At least he could get into some dry clothes. He started to head for the bedroom, then said to hell with it and stripped off his wet clothes there in the kitchen. He rummaged around in the refrigerator, found a can of beer, and flipped it open. The first big mouthful of it was sent spraying against the back door as he saw his wife lying spread-eagled in the back yard, rain pouring down on her, obviously dead.
Murder or suicide, it didn't matter as he rushed to her, for either way it had been his fault. He brought her to a sitting position,-then choked out a sob and clasped her to his naked breast when he realized she was alive-alive!-and still warm beneath her wet, badly scratched skin.
"Mary! Mary, what happened to you?" he pleaded.
"Those dogs," she mumbled, reaching her arms about his neck. "Those dirty dogs."
"Who? Dogs? What happened? My God, who did this to you?" he cried, as he saw the full extent of the awful cuts and scratches on his beloved wife's delicately beautiful body.
"Uhhhh ... it was the Hell's Angels. Some motorcycle gang. Had drinks with Claire. Too many. Picked up a hitchhiker. I shouldn't have, I know. Long hair. Nice-looking boy. Pulled a gun on me. No, it was a knife. Made me pick up his friend, take them all here. Four of them...."
"Mary, don't even talk about it," he sobbed, hugging her to him, his heart breaking.
"No," she said. "I want to talk about it now, while I'm going good, and then never mention it, never even think about it in the future." She sat up by herself, pushing him away, her hand sliding up his rain-streaming thigh to rest in the hollow of his groin. "So anyway," she said, much more briskly, "they got me here and they all raped me. All of them! First they beat me with their belts. That's how I got all these scratches and things. See?" She turned to show him her buttocks and her rain-washed crotch, closing her hand about his cock, then went on. "Really, Henry, it was just awful! Don't stop me, let me tell it. Two of them-or maybe it was three-made me put my mouth on their things. Like this," she said, and pushing him further back and opening his legs, she sucked his cock into her mouth, swirled her tongue around its swelling knob, milking the stout shaft with her hand as she did so.
He smote his forehead and pushed her away, crying, "Mary, what's become of you? Did something snap in your brain, in your libido? You never sucked my co ... never kissed me like that before!"
"What's the matter?" she asked, glaring at him. "Did that little tramp you ran off with drain you completely dry?"
"N-ho. But she was a tramp."
"I knew it all along," she smugly said, and went for his rain-kissed prick again with her mouth, and got it.
He pulled her away from it again, though it was fully hard now, and much in demand of her dear attentions, whatever they might be. "Mary, Mary," he moaned, "did they give you Spanish Fly? Did they turn you into a ... a nymphomaniac?"
"Gee, I don't think so," she said, after but a moment's thought. "But I don't want to talk about them any more, remember? While you were off with that slut, I tasted a man's thing, and it wasn't bad, in fact it was good, and if we're going to have any chance at all of getting together again, I'm going to want to taste your thing from time to time. Is that all right with you, or did you get turned into some kind of a prude while you were gone?"
"Gee, I don't think so," he said, a big grin on his face now, as he took up where his wife's sexual liberators had left off, rolling about in the sweet, fresh grass with her, doing just about everything with her that is possible between a very loving husband and wife.
