IN HIS BOOK SEX WITHOUT GUILT, ALBERT ELLIS WRITES: "WOMEN ARE NOT NECESSARILY intrinsically different from males in their sex drives and needs; and, when they are, they are frequently more rather than less highly sexed than are men ... Every human being, just because he exists, should have the right to as much (or as little), as varied (or as monotonous), as intense (or as mild), as enduring (or as brief) sex enjoyment as he prefers-as long as, in the process of acquiring these preferred satisfaction, he does not needlessly, forcefully, or unfairly interfere with the sexual (or non-sexual) rights and satisfactions of others." Every couple in the neighborhood had their sex problems, but when mass swap orgies developed, and it was one big melting pot, everyone seemed suddenly able to work it all out.
CHAPTER 1
GLORIA MORRISON WRITHED BENEATH THE BURLY truck driver. Her black hair tumbled about the white pillow. Her lovely face was passionately screwed up. She dug her fingernails into his brawny back and arched upward to receive into her deepest region every thrust of his sturdy cock.
Sam Bates felt like a poor bastard who had stumbled into paradise. When he had brought that parcel up to Gloria's front door, he had assumed it was going to be an ordinary delivery. "Just sign here, ma'am," and that would be all there was to it.
But then he was face to face with this luscious creature, wearing only a frilly peignoir. She smiled at him and said, "It's such a hot day; wouldn't you like to come in for a cold drink?" The next thing he knew, she was in his arms. Her peignoir opened easily and slid away. He picked her up and carried her into the bedroom.
Now she was under him and he was socking it to her. Man, how great it felt!
To Gloria it was more than just good sex. It was something she had to do. She had to do it or go out of her mind.
"So goood!" she grunted, grinding her cunt around him. "Oh, what a prick! I love it!"
"Goddamn, you sexy bitch!" Sam growled, and socked it to her harder than ever, putting all his 210 pounds behind every plunge.
Gloria's eyes rolled back behind closed lids. Her mouth gaped. She pressed her pelvis upward with all her might. Then lightning struck and seemed to open her from crotch to scalp. All the built-up tension gushed out of her in rolling waves and she cried as she tore furrows across the man's back.
He jerked and groaned as his joy juice spurted into her. With a deep rasping sigh, he lay still. Gloria lay contentedly beneath him, breathing deeply.
In a few moments, he pulled his spent tool out of her and stood up. He pushed his brown hair back. A grin split his flushed and fleshy face.
"Izzat the way yuh take all your deliveries?" he asked, trying to make light of it because he was nervous and unsure.
"Noooh," she breathed, her eyes still closed. "But I've done it a few times."
The woman was married. The parcel had been addressed to Mrs. Morrison, and she was living in this swank house in the suburbs. There was no evidence of kids around, but she had to have a husband. It only figured.
He turned to look at her again before starting to get dressed. Her eyes remained closed and she lay perfectly motionless except for the gentle rising and falling of her breasts.
Man, he couldn't remember when he'd seen a prettier pair of titties. They were round and milk-white, in contrast to the toasty tan of her shoulders and middle. They had small, dark nipples which had been very hard a little while ago, but now had grown soft.
His eyes swept down to her loins where there was another swath of whiteness, punctuated by the glossy black wedge on her mound. It was damp from the products of their mutual passion.
Her legs were long and shapely. They were very lady-like.
Sam liked lady-like legs, which were a contrast to the plump peasant ones of his wife.
"Well ... I guess I better be goin', " he said tentatively.
Her dark eyes opened. "Do you have to?"
"I've got a route t'cover."
"What will happen if you're half an hour late?"
He belched out a laugh. "I'm already later'n that."
"What if you're an hour late?" she asked, her eyes narrowing. They dropped to his hanging, circumcised cock.
"Jesus Christ, lady!" he blurted. "Is somethin' the matter with your husband?"
"Don't talk about him. Do you want to spend some more time with me or not?"
"Yeah. I want to."
"Then get down here."
He dropped his shorts and climbed onto the bed again. She noticed the bloody scratches on his back.
"Lie on your stomach," she said, getting up. "I'll rub something on those claw marks."
"Oh, them," he chuckled as he complied. "I forgot al! about 'em, though. I'll hafta be careful my wife don't see 'em, though."
"Is she the jealous type?" Gloria asked casually, as she stepped into the adjoining bathroom to get some lotion from the medicine cabinet.
"She would be if she had any cause. She don't know I ever stepped out on her."
"But you have many times, hm?" Gloria said, returning.
"I'm a man, ain't I?"
"You're all man," she affirmed, as she knelt on the bed beside him.
Sam winced a little but said nothing as she began to rub the lotion into his passion wounds. Her hands felt great.
She kept massaging him, working her way downward. She kneaded the firm but supple flesh at his waist. She backed up a little, and her gaze became fixed on his manly rump. After hesitating for just a moment, her hands surrounded each of his buttocks, her thumbs in the creases underneath, and she began to work those buttocks as she gazed, becoming excited again.
"Hey, lady!" he growled, starting to turn. "What the hell?"
But then she swooped, bringing her lush, red mouth against his right buttock and, with a ragged groan, he fell prone again. This was an extra special thrill. He had never had a woman kiss his ass before. He sure as hell wasn't going to stop this beautiful witch, if that was what she wanted to do.
She licked and sucked all over that buttock, then moved to the other. His fanny stirred beneath her. She got a faint scent of something which, at another time, she would have found distinctly unpleasant. But right now she felt so raunchy that even this turned her on.
She spread-eagled herself atop him and began to grind her front against his rump.
"Lady ... goddamn, we can't do no thin' this way!"
"Will you quit calling me lady?" she rasped, still grinding. "Call me anything, but not that."
"I don't know your name," he protested, "an' get off!"
She got off him. "Call me bitch."
He turned, looking up at her impassioned face. "You mean that?"
"Yes! Call me bitch, you bastard!"
Growling exultantly, he sat up and pulled her against him. His hand came up between them to grasp a bowl-like tit as they kissed bruisingly. Her hand dropped to his hairy hp and surrounded his half-hard cock. She began to stroke it as his thick tongue filled her mouth, writhing, and his band squeezed her breast as if he were testing a melon.
With a groan, she pulled her mouth away. She bent and pushed him onto his back as she kissed his hairy chest, then his middle. In another moment, her hand fed his resurrected cock to her eager lips and she began to suck at the swollen, purplish head of it.
"Oh, you bitch!" he cried. "You wild, filthy bitch!"
"That's it," she said, gasping as she raised her face for a moment. "Call me everything you can think of. Be nasty!"
She dropped her head and resumed sucking him as he let loose a stream of gutter talk. Most women-like his wife, for instance, got mad if you said shit in front of them, but this imagine broad liked to be talked to that way. Well, it took all kinds, he supposed.
Finally she was so wild with want that she leaped astride him, bringing her hot, wet pussy down around his column of manhood, and she wiggled and stroked it up and down as he just lay there, throbbing in her steaming grip. He reveled in the sight of her white, round titties bouncing up and down. After a time, he reached up and grasped them.
"Squeeze! Squeeze hard!" she ordered.
He contracted his strong fingers brutally, enjoying the way they sank into the smooth titty flesh. He started to bump up into her twat.
It was a wild bucking ride that lasted quite a while because they had slaked their initial passion only minutes ago. Gloria keened with delight as she took the jabbing thrusts of his poker as deeply as a man could go. The blunt head battered her womb.
Finally she fell forward, slamming her tits down onto his chest, she demanded:
"Ram me! Rock me! Knock me off if you can!"
He rammed and rocked her, but there was no danger of knocking her off because her hot thighs were gripping him. She was a hell of a bareback rider.
"Oooh, God.. .oooh, God!" she wailed. "What a stabber! What a cock!"
"My cock . . .jus' loves it!" he rasped. "Hold still now. Hold still!"
He grasped her around the butt and spread the satiny cheeks as he powered up into her, pummeling rapidly.
"Oh, you dirty pricky bastard!" she cried.
"You filthy cunt!" he yelled, and he corkscrewed his middle finger into her hot little ass-hole as he banged her for all he was worth.
She came. Blindingly.
He grunted and gushed.
They wailed and she sobbed.
They must have lain together for five minutes with neither of them speaking. Finally she lifted herself slowly and got off.
He sat up.
"Get dressed and get out of here," she ordered coldly, turning away.
"Damned right," he said. And that was the end of it.
Herbert Morrison was a slight, bespectacled man who ran an institutional laundry which he had inherited from his father. Actually, the laundry pretty much ran itself.
It made lots of money, for which Herbert was grateful, and-he was careful not to do anything that would louse it up.
Gloria had married him for his money. He knew that at the time because, after all, he was no prize physically and he didn't have a clever way with women. He had met her at a imagine restaurant where she was the hostess. She catered to him shamelessly when she found out how rich he was, and it was easy enough to ask her for a date and to be accepted.
They were married three weeks later.
On their wedding night, he came the first time before he could get this peter into her. The second time, she reached a soggy climax, but she had already made up her mind that bedtime with Herbert was going to be no picnic.
Well, so what? She hadn't picked him for that. She had been playing the field for quite awhile and it was time to settle down with a man who could take care of her in a material way.
But scarcely two months had gone by before she concluded money wasn't enough. Every time Herbert crawled atop her in bed, she thought of some perfectly glorious fucking she'd had in the past, and she turned off as Herbert turned on. She began having erotic dreams. From there, it was a quick step to adultery.
Now she had frozen up with Herbert completely, yet she continued to enjoy the material benefits he gave her, and this made her feel guilty. Her guilt was all the worse because Herbert never blamed her. "I understand," he said, and seemed grateful for the crumbs she tossed. He catered to her and fawned over her as if he thought she really was the fine lady she had externally become, and all the while she knew down inside that she wasn't worthy to shine his shoes because she took and didn't give, while he gave and asked practically nothing. So it was no wonder that she sought out the commonest men she could find for the sex satisfaction that she needed, and it was no wonder that she yearned for them to humiliate her. This assuaged her guilt and allowed her to live with herself, in Herbert's luxury, for a little while longer.
Herbert had something going for him, too.
He somehow had gotten it into his head that Gloria was above sex, above rutting. Oh, he bedded her, perhaps once a week, always with the utmost consideration for her feelings, and he titillated himself by frequent glimpses of her in the nude or nearly so. (She liked to flaunt her charms in front of him.) But this wasn't enough for a man who had just turned twenty-nine. He needed more action, and he got it from a girl in his office-a girl he didn't have to be considerate of because she was common and no great beauty, and she appreciated the gifts he gave her.
Her name was Daisy Watkins and she did filing in his outer office, when she wasn't doing double-duty on Herbert's couch.
To say she was no great beauty didn't mean she was without sex appeal. She was a lusty sort-built that way; and she acted that way. She was the kind of girl who could break down a man's resistance in a hurry (if he had any) and put him in the mood to sock it to her.
Right after she went to work in the laundry office, she perceived that there was something wrong with Herbert. He had a hang-dog look most of the time. She had been told he had a very beautiful wife, and a man with a beautiful wife and a going business shouldn't have looked that way ... unless...
Daisy started playing up to him; going out of her way to do little things he would notice and appreciate. He noticed more than the things she did. He began to notice her.
Daisy took to wearing tight sweaters and flimsy brassieres, so that her cow-like tits would shake and quiver in an obvious way. She also wore tight skirts and nothing but the flimsiest of panties underneath them to sheath her plumply rounded ass.
Herbert got the message.
Then one day when she brought some papers in to him, she came very close, leaned over his desk, and let a full boob rub against his arm in such a way that he could feel what it was made of.
Herbert's throat got dry and he thought: Goddamn! A man's entitled to have some fun, even if he is a husband.
He reached for her.
She landed in his lap.
Their mouths were together and, as he suctioned her plushy lips, she pushed her tongue forward and he got a mouthful of that. At the same time, she gripped his hand and lifted it to a thrusting, sweatered titty.
Herbert's bone came up against her warm bottom.
"Oh, Mr. Morrison!" she said, as she pulled her mouth from his. "What have you got down there, anyway?"
Red-faced, Herbert grinned. "Nothing that any other man doesn't have."
She looked him right in the eyes and her dark lashes drooped. "Do you want to do something with it?" she asked boldly.
"Yes!" he exclaimed. "Goddamn, yes I do!"
"You want me to undress?"
"L-lock the door first."
And thus was born an affair which, while lacking in style, had a great deal to be said for it in the way of utility.
Herbert remained at his desk, because he was bashful about showing Daisy his hard-on, and he watched entranced as she removed her clothing, strutting back and forth and having a ball about it.
Her sweater was the first garment to go, and there were her gorgeous, big knockers, cupped in transparent nylon which held them up and out without keeping them from wobbling back and forth or jiggling up and down or quivering all over with every motion she made. And her thick, round nipples, surrounded by pebbly, wide pink disks, were on shocking display.
She let him feast his eyes on that as she unzipped her skirt and pushed it down. Her long brown hair hung straight.
Herbert immediately became fascinated with another bunch of hair, however-the fluffy clump that showed through the front of her pink nylon briefs, on the mound where her thighs and torso met.
He squirmed in his chair and, as surreptitiously as possible tugged at the crotch of his shorts so as to give his pecker greater growing room.
Daisy caught the motion as she tossed her skirt aside. And she said with a grin:
"Why don't you let your rod out, Mr. Morrison? You'll be more comfortable that way."
He blushed crimson, but then he decided her suggestion was sound and he unzipped his pants. He removed his uncircumcized penis from its confinement. Oh, it felt good to let it stretch, hard and stiff, in the open as Daisy smilingly continued her strip tease.
She didn't have much farther to go because she now wore only the transparent bra and panties. She whipped the bra away and her titties sagged somewhat. Herbert didn't care. They were big bouncy beauties and they had a right to sag a little if they wanted to.
Her panties came down and he gazed at her loins in their natural glory, without the pinkness of the sheer panty cloth to disguise the rich brown hue of hair and natal lips.
She tossed her pants aside and turned to him. Aaah, what a rear-rounded and quivering, deeply divided, a light gooseflesh rising on the cheeks.
"Get up, Mr. Morrison," she invited, when she once more faced him.
"Call me Herbert," he said and rose, heedless now of the fact that his pintle was standing out through the front of his clothes.
"Oooh, what a cute one!" Daisy gushed and she rounded the desk to meet him halfway, her hand wrapping around the stalk as she rubbed her bare breasts into him and sought his mouth with her lips.
Her tongue was immediately ready to plunge, and it did as soon as their lips joined. Herbert's pecker hardened even more in her hot grasp. His pulse raced.
Daisy could tell by the tremors passing through his magic wand that he wasn't going to last a great deal longer this way, and she knew he would be disappointed if he didn't get it into her before he went off.
So she let go of him and turned to scamper to the old leather couch at the side of the room where Herbert's father used to take an occasional afternoon nap in his latter days.
She sat on it, said "Oooh" because of the coldness, and swung her legs around so she could stretch out. Herbert hurriedly rid himself of coat and tie, shirt and belt, then shoes and trousers. He left his boxer shorts on, with his rod standing out through the fly of them, and he left on his socks. He also retained his glasses, which were the closely fitted kind with metallic rims.
"Come on, honey," Daisy murmured as he approached her. "Let me have that kicky thing."
He climbed onto her and immediately sank his rather short rod all the way into her happy hollow. He felt like a million dollars as he began to pump.
Daisy didn't get a chance to feel much of anything except the thrill of being screwed by the boss. This was something she could brag to her friends about.
As he humped her, her loose titties shook. One leg clamped down around his back while the other pushed against the floor to give a little swivel to her twat. To Herbert, this was only great and he came, convulsively shooting his sex serum into her. She bumped and acted as if she were having it, too. She didn't mind the fact that she missed. There was a guy living in her rooming house who would take care of her tonight.
Herbert was so pleased and grateful about everything that he wrote Daisy a little check. "To buy yourself something nice," he said.
"Oh, you don't have to do that," she told him as she leaned to read the figures he was writing down:
Twenty-five dollars.
Well, that wasn't bad. She could use it. And there was lots more where that came from.
Strangely enough, that night he took his wife a jewelry trinket which cost $79.95.
CHAPTER 2
AMY EDWARDS LET THE CURTAIN FALL BACK INTO place at her front kitchen window and remarked to herself that the deliveryman had certainly been in Gloria's house for a long time.
Now he was driving away and Amy left the window with a sigh.
She couldn't bring herself to act the way Gloria did-giving it to any Tom, Dick or Harry. Or giving it to any dick, she amended. Tom and Harry were superfluous.
The tall, tousle-headed blonde strolled into the living room and wondered what she was going to do with herself for the rest of the day. Boredom was her problem. She supposed boredom probably explained Gloria's conduct, too, and there was no doubt that some plain and imagine screwing on a lazy afternoon added zest to one's life. But with a deliveryman? Really!
Because of the way the streets in the expensive subdivision curved through the hills, and because of the trees and shrubbery which were planted between the houses, Amy's house was the only one which afforded a view of Gloria's. Therefore, only Amy knew of the hanky-panky which frequently occurred there. Sometimes a man would drive up in a car, evidently by appointment, and be let right in; sometimes Gloria entertained a meter reader, door-to-door salesman, or delivery truck driver, as today. Amy had never told anyone what she saw because she wasn't the gossipy sort. Anyway, if word got around the neighborhood, it would inevitably find its way to her husband, Pete, and Pete, hound dog that he was, would start sniffing around Gloria's place himself. It was bad enough that Amy had to contend with Pete's occasional affairs with clients of his reupholstering business. A floozy right across the street would be a bit too much.
Amy glanced at the clock. It was 2:25. Was that too early to have a little drink? she wondered.
Of course not. As long as she made it only one.
Or two, at the most.
She sauntered to the bar and poured.
Amy had long and exceptionally beautiful legs, a pert rear, and thrusty, cylindrical tits that stood very nicely of their own accord. Of course, she had a bra on now, and she was dressed in sleek green stretch-pants with a white top.
Because of a very slight protrusion of her upper teeth, her mouth had a somewhat downward slant when her features were composed. But this condition prevailed rarely, for Amy's features were almost always in motion. She smiled readily, and her eyes and lips and nose all got into it. Her eyes were greenish and she was a natural blonde, though she lightened the hair on her head with a rinse.
Carrying her drink, she walked to the long, green sofa in front of the patio windows and sat on it. She slid one leg over the other. She glanced at the clock again.
There was little on television that interested her in the afternoon. Today she didn't feel like turning the set on.
What to do?
She got up and, sipping at her drink as she walked, moved through the sprawling, ranch-style house, into the central hall, and back to the master bedroom.
She hadn't consciously decided that she was going to take out the paperback novel she had stashed yesterday, half-read, in a drawer underneath her undies. Something just seemed to draw her to the dresser. Only when she slipped the drawer open did she consciously realize what she was up to.
Well, why not? It would help her pass the time. She lay down on top of the bed, with her drink on the nightstand at her side, and she turned to the page of the novel which she had crimped. She read:
Rick's hand slid into the open front of Stella's blouse and wrapped itself around her voluptuous left breast. He began to squeeze and roll the resilient mound, causing its nipple to rise against his palm.
She said, "Oooh, Rick ... darling ... we shouldn't do this ... "
She felt Rick's warm breath against her quivering globe as he studied the puckering nipple at close range, then with a little growl he bent the rest of the way and gathered that luscious tidbit into his mouth.
He chewed on it gently, then pulled it deeper and sucked as his tongue lapped the surrounding soft flesh.
Almost without realizing it, Amy's hand had crept to her own bosom and she was massaging her own left breast, feeling the nipple rise within her bra.
Yesterday was starting to repeat itself.
As the prose became more and more graphic, Amy's caressing of herself became more urgent. Her nipple began to ache. It needed freedom.
She lay the book aside for a moment, knocked down the rest of her drink, and sat up to haul her knitted blouse up and over her head.
She took her bra off, too.
You little devils, she thought, as she looked down at her shapely projecting tits. The nipple of the left one was standing rigidly erect, while the right was still flaccid. That wouldn't do, she decided. She should have a matching set.
Gently and lovingly, she cupped both tits-one in each hand-and began to knead them, at the same time rubbing her thumbs back and forth, across the light-pink nipples. The left nipple bent this way and that. The right nipple rose. Soon it was bending also.
Oooh, Pete, she thought. Why the dickens aren't you here to suck them?
She had to release one breast in order to pick up her book, but she made allowance for this by cradling both titties in one arm and handling one as she rubbed her arm against the other.
Rick now had his girl friend down and was removing her panties. The panties were moist, the author pointed out.
Amy's panties were moist, too.
After getting Rick to the point where he was about to remove his own clothes, Amy decided she had better have that second drink. So with her jutting breasts bobbing pertly, nipples extended she walked through the house, carrying her empty glass.
Just then the door chimes sounded.
Oh, God! Who was that? Of all times for somebody to come calling!
Because her front door was solid wood, she had no way of knowing who the caller was. She could simply have failed to answer, but if the caller was a friend from the neighborhood, they would know she was home. The old car she drove on shopping errands was parked in the driveway.
She stopped near the door, cleared her throat, and called, "Just a minute..."
She ran back to the bedroom, breasts leaping crazily, and tossed the paperback novel under the bed. She picked up her blouse and bra, decided she didn't have time to put the bra on, and tossed that under the bed, also. She slithered into the blouse and pulled it down over her naked tits. A quick look in the mirror was followed by some frantic fussing with her hair.
She returned to the front of the house and took a deep breath to compose herself before she opened the door.
"Well, hi!" chirped blonde Patty Claiborne, who lived down the street, "I didn't interrupt anything, did I?"
"Oh, no," Amy smiled. She was a little flushed. "I was just changing clothes."
"At this hour?" Patty asked as Amy let her in.
"I was trying something on."
"Something new? Let me see."
Amy squirmed. "It's nothing, really."
Patty's gaze lit on the empty liquor glass which the other girl left unthinkingly in a prominent position on a small table in the entry hall. Amy noticed the direction of Patty's glance.
"Oooh," Amy said. "Want a drink?"
"If you're serving, I'm taking," her friend replied breezily as she moved on into the living room. "I've just been shopping in town and I'm tired and hot."
"Did you find anything nice?" Amy asked as she went to the bar to pour.
"Nothing much. Some pants and tops. They're being sent."
"Is Scotch all right?" Amy called "Great."
Amy brought two drinks and sat down beside her friend on the sofa.
Patty's hair was an ashen shade, while Amy's was more golden, and Patty wore hers in a teased style, fluffed out. Patty's figure was a bit thicker through the hips and she had a less projecting bosom. She was shorter and her thighs were fuller at the tops.
Today she was wearing a beige two-piece outfit with tan stockings and medium heels.
"Say, have you heard about the hot love affair up the street?" Patty asked after taking a quick sip of the booze.
Amy shook her head.
"I'm talking about Tom Fraser and Joan Brooks."
"You're kidding!"
"Nope. The word is out. Tom did some bragging at the Drifter's Bar, and my man picked it up. It's probably all over town by now."
"Do you think Joan's husband knows about it?"
"I don't think he hangs out in the joints very much, but some good-Samaritan joe is sure to tell him."
"Poor Joanie," Amy breathed.
"Yeah." Patty took another sip of her drink.
"You know, Tom's a pretty attractive guy. I can understand how she went for him."
"Sure. So can I. But it's mighty dangerous to fool around right in the neighborhood."
"You aren't kidding. I don't know Kay Fraser very well, but she doesn't strike me as the kind of person who would put up with that."
'I'll bet she won't. Tom's only hope is that the word won't get to her. He was such a shit-head to talk."
"Well, he drinks pretty heavily. And, you know, when a guy gets drunk, the first thing he tries to do is build himself up in the eyes of the other guys."
"That's for sure," Patty set her empty glass down. "Mmmmm. That hit the spot."
"Another?"
"Well ... do you want one."
"Sure."
"Then I'll join you."
Amy noticed that Patty was looking at her critically when she returned with the replenished glasses.
"Hey, don't you have a bra on under that blouse?" Patty asked.
"No," Amy said with an embarrassed laugh. "I told you I was changing when you arrived."
"You look mighty sexy that way," Patty said, her voice roughening a trifle. "I could tell by the jiggle that you weren't wearing a bra, but your boobs shove out so nice, even without one." She took a quick sip from her glass.
"Let me see them, hm?"
"Whaaat?"
"Take your blouse off," Patty smiled. "I want to look at your tits."
Amy laughed. "Pat, what a thing to say!"
"I mean it. My man's such a tit-bug, and he's been complaining that mine have been getting soft lately. I want to see what a good set looks like."
"Kid, you're embarrassing me!"
"Nonsense. We're just girls together. Take your blouse off."
It was an impertinent thing to ask. Amy wasn't sure what her response might be. But she had a tickling urge to give in to the request and decided: What the hell. Why not do it?
"Well, I don't think mine are so great," she said as she set her glass down and prepared to pull up her blouse.
She noted that Patty's eyes were narrowing, almost tensely. For a moment, Amy experienced a nameless fear. But she shrugged it off. She had been nude in the presence of girls when she went to college, and nothing out of line had ever happened. She conveniently failed to recall that she had wished more than once, when she and another girl had been alone in the dorm naked, that the other girl would start some action. Amy had never had the nerve to do so.
She brought her blouse up, and her jutting tits gave a sexy hop as the fabric pulled away from them.
"Oooh, honey, they do stick out!" Patty breathed.
"I'll bet yours are just as good," Amy said, without consciously realizing where this might lead.
Patty took a fast sip and put down her glass. She was feeling the booze nicely now.
"I have an idea," she exclaimed, hopping to her feet. "Let's compare builds. Yours against mine."
"Oh ... Patty!"
"Come on. Don't be chicken. Who'll ever know?" She was starting to undress.
It was one of the wildest things that had ever happened to Amy. She wasn't at all sure that she wanted it to happen. But there was a zinging sensation going through her. The Scotch had her head light.
She watched as Patty took off her beige jacket, revealing a white brassiere. The other girl reached behind her and unhooked the harness. The bra fluttered away.
Amy became more excited as she gazed at the other girl's naked breasts. They didn't project very much, it was true, and were kind of soft-looking. But since they weren't large, they didn't really hang. Amy found them daintily appealing with their small nipple rings surrounding rigidly up-thrust tips. Both tips and disks were wider, pale pink and smooth. But the boobs jutted far better than Patty's.
"Come on," Patty said, gripping Amy's arm. "Let's get in front of a mirror."
Amy started to move toward a small oval mirror on the living room wall, but Patty tugged her toward the rear of the house. "Let's go into the bedroom," she said.
Amy went with her, excitement continuing to build in her veins.
What was she expecting? What was she afraid of, if fear it was? She didn't know ... at least, not on the conscious level.
The two blondes stood in front of Amy's wide dresser mirror. Each turned a little, this way and that, preening.
"I like your nipples," Amy heard herself say as her voice sounded a little hoarse. "They're so thick and long."
"like little peckers, my Art says," Patty retorted with a laugh.
"Does he talk to you that way?" Amy wanted to know. "We say everything to each other. Don't you and Pete."
"Well ... sometimes Pete gets a little salty. But I don't think he'd use a word like ... pecker." Amy laughed at the sound of it dropping trom her own lips.
"Go on! You've thought those words many times. Why not come out with them? That's the trouble with people-they keep too many things bottled up. Do you mind if I touch your tits, honey?"
Amy's throat tightened. But she said, "Go ahead, if you want to."
Patty slowly reached and took hold of one of Amy's cylindrical, tapering breasts from underneath. She tested its firmness, and a new blast of excitement went off inside the other girl.
"Oooh, yes!" Patty said. "Firm as anything! God, my Art would love you."
"Patty . ". "
She took hold of both boobs at once and squeezed them rhythmically. Now she palmed the tingling nipples. Amy's lightheadedness increased. She felt shaky on her legs.
"You can touch them if you want to," Patty invited huskily.
Amy did. She marveled at the warm, satiny softness. She had never touched another girl's breasts before. It was altogether different from touching her own. She flicked one of Patty's little nipples back and forth.
"Mmmmm ... angel ... you are going to make me awful hot!" Patty's head was tilted back slightly and her eyes were closed. She arched her chest against Amy's hands.
Amy already was hot and suddenly she realized it. Her pants had gotten moist again, just as they were when she was reading the sex story.
Patty's fingers, twiddling and tugging at her nipples, became the fingers of the fictional lover, Rick. Amy shut her eyes. Her breath was coming hard.
"Come on," she heard Patty murmur. "Let's get on the bed. I can show you a real good time."
Amy's eyes popped open. Fear was in them.
"Come on," Patty said again, urgently. "We'd be fools not to."
"Patty, are you...? " She left the question dangling.
"A Lesbian? No. There's nothing I enjoy more than being bedded by a man. But that's not the whole world; let's face it. Honey, don't tell me you never diddled yourself?"
"WeU, I ... "
"Sure you have. So have I. Everyone does. Now, if your own hands can give you pleasure, think of how much pleasure another woman's hands can give you. And another woman's mouth ... "
"Oooh, Patty ... "
"Get on the bed."
Patty was sliding out of her skirt and half-slip taking both garments off at once. This left her in blue briefs, the bikini kind, under a white garter belt. Patty's thighs were gorgeously full at their tops.
"What are we doing?" Amy asked, directing the question as much at herself as at the other woman.
"We're having fun. That's all. Now get on the bed."
Amy obeyed, stretching out on her back. She couldn't remember when she had been so tense with excitement-perhaps on her wedding night with Pete, but not since then.
Patty skinned out of her stockings, then her garter belt, finally her pants. She moved to the bed totally nude, her smallish tits trembling and brownish-blonde bush at her loins holding Amy spellbound with fascination.
Patty got down on the bed beside her, and she rolled Amy into her arms. Patty began to kiss her about the face.
It was the weirdest, wildest sensation. Patty's lips were so soft and gentle; her cheeks were so smooth; she felt nothing like a man and she didn't smell like one, either. God help her, Amy thought at this moment, she liked Patty's presence better.
She raised her arms around Patty's back and gripped hard. "Oooh, love me!" she cried.
Patty found her lips and pressed them with her own. Both mouths opened. Patty teased Amy with the tip of her tongue.
Patty even tasted different from Pete. She used her tongue differently. Now her hands were caressing Amy's breasts and the touch there was more delicate. Amy thrilled wildly. There didn't seem to be any limit to the excitement she could feel.
Slowly Patty began to tug off her stretch-pants and the clinging briefs she wore beneath them.
"Oooh, it's too good to be true," Patty crooned, as she gazed at Amy's blonde-haired mound. "You're as real as I am!"
Then suddenly she was removing Amy's pants and underpants with lightning speed. Amy helped to kick them off. Patty ran electric fingertips up and down Amy's legs, and the legs inched apart ...
Farther. . .
Patty's hand cupped the other girl's burning mound, caressing gently, her fingertips toying with the lips of Amy's cunt.
"Oooh ... oooh..." Amy whimpered, and her hips stirred against the glorious touch.
Patty began to kiss her belly. Her grazing lips slid along. She was in Amy's pubic hair now, rooting and whimpering. She worked lower still. . .
As her rapacious lips came in contact with Amy's soaked pussy and worked those wet, velvety lips apart, Amy thought she would pass out from sheer delight. She felt Patty's tongue slithering inside of her.
Oh, Jesus in heaven!
Amy cried like an infant and clenched her fists. Her head was reeling. Bright lights seemed to be flashing before her eyes, as if she were on an LSD trip.
Suddenly Patty stopped.
"No! Oooh, Noooh!" Amy wailed.
"We'll get back to that later," Patty promised, as she stretched out facing Amy again.
She wriggled her upper body, rubbing her tits against Amy's. Their lower bodies writhed, cunt to cunt. Amy's clit throbbed wildly. She was getting ready to pop.
"Let's turn around," Patty murmured, pulling back just in time.
"What do you mean?"
"Do a 69," Patty told her. "Here. I'll show you."
First she urged Amy lower on the bed, then Patty reversed herself. Amy was shocked. But shock had piled upon shock that afternoon, and each had been sweeter than the last. She didn't recoil from this one.
As Patty snuggled close, Amy let her face become enfolded in the aromatic softness of Patty's hot inner thighs. Patty's pussy was very close.
Now Amy felt Patty's mouth, back where it had been before, doing what it had been doing. Tender but demanding hands gripped Amy's buttocks as that loving mouth licked and sucked at her pulsating cunt.
Suddenly Amy's mouth was against Patty's slick, wild-scented pussy. Amy gripped Patty as the other girl was gripping her. Amy tongued Patty as her lips clamped and sucked.
Heads were bracketed by thighs. The girls worked furiously, mounting toward climax.
They came in perfect unison, and it was like nothing Amy had experienced before.
A taste of honey demanded devouring of the whole jar.
Amy couldn't stop now. She had to know every wonderful sensation that female love had to offer.
"Let me suck your tits!" Amy demanded. "You can do mine."
"With pleasure, dear," Patty purred. Time crept along.
When the girls heard Pete's car pull into the driveway, they leaped up, consternation on their faces.
"My God!" Amy cried. "No! Oh, we gotta get straightened up!"
They moved like a couple of whirlwinds, breasts bobbing and buttocks shaking as they snatched up discarded articles of clothing, smoothed the bed, and struggled into their outer garments.
"My blouse!" cried Amy. "It's in the living room."
"So's mine."
They stood frozen, as they heard Pete letting himself into the house.
"We'll have to put on some other blouses," Patty said.
"Hurry!"
Amy leaped to the dresser and pulled a drawer. She tossed a blouse to Patty and took one for herself, then stashed their undies in the drawer and slammed it. They put the blouses on quickly.
"What will he think?" breathed Amy in anguish.
"He won't think anything if you act cool," Patty clipped. "Tell him you were showing me some clothes."
"Hey ... who's here?" Pete called from the living room.
"Hi, Pete!" Patty sang.
"In the bedroom, honey!" called Amy, her voice cracking a little.
Patty elbowed her in the ribs. "Be cool!" she admonished.
Pete appeared in the doorway. He was a slender, handsome man with dark hair, wearing a business suit. Grinning, he dangled Patty's brassiere from an outstretched finger and held the girl's blouses in his other hand.
"What's going on here, anyway?" he inquired good naturedly.
"Nothing, honey," Amy said too quickly. She forced a nervous smile. "Pat and I were trying on clothes."
"You sure mussed up your hair while you were at it," he observed.
Both girls looked in the mirror. Their hairdos were a fright, particularly Patty's, which was a less casual style to begin with.
"Oh, God..." Amy murmured.
Pete studied the women, a quizzical expression on his face.
"Well, I've gotta be going," Patty said, after pushing futilely at her hair. "See you."
"Yeah," Pete said, "So long, Patty."
Amy made a move to escort her out, but Patty told her, "Never mind. I can find my way." She disappeared into the hall.
Amy looked at Pete helplessly.
"What's this all about?" he asked, serious now.
"Nothing. I told you."
"Trying on clothes? What clothes? And Patty left without her bra and in one of your blouses."
"Oh! She did, didn't she?"
Amy moved toward the door, but Pete grasped his wife's arm.
"Never mind," he said. "She can get her blouse and bra later. You two were drinking, weren't you?"
"Ooh, Pete ... now don't get all excited..."
"I'm not excited. I'm just puzzled. I'd like to know what the hell's been coming off-besides bras and blouses." He reached and touched one of Amy's breasts. "You don't have a bra on, either. I wonder ... "
"What?" Amy asked breathlessly.
"I wonder if you're wearing pants."
"Pete!" she squealed as he grasped her.
"No. I want to find out."
He wrestled her down onto the bed and pulled her stretch pants away from her hips. White flesh greeted his eyes.
"I don't always wear panties," she said, gasping.
"I've never known you to go without them."
As he released his hold on her, she scrambled across the bed and to her feet, straightening her clothes. She was flushed in the face as she gazed at him.
"You two broads were fooling around, weren't you?"
"What do you mean ... fooling around?" She was breathing hard.
"You know what I mean." Cold condemnation glinted in his eyes.
"I haven't the slightest idea."
"Yeah?"
In her desperation she found some courage. "Just what are you accusing me of?"
Pete's mouth opened, then closed. He didn't really have any evidence. But the situation looked mighty funny.
"Well ... what are you accusing me of?" Amy demanded again. This time with added indignation.
"Nothing," he said, and turned quickly to stride out of the room.
But his suspicions were not laid to rest. The trouble was, he didn't want to believe what his suspicions seemed to point toward. Amy had this factor working in her favor.
CHAPTER 3
"GLORIA! I'M HOME, ANGEL."
"In here, honey!" she sang from the bedroom.
Herbert walked through the door, flowers in hand, and found his beautiful, black-haired wife seated in front of her dressing table, wearing nothing but peach-colored panties.
Her luscious, white tits stood full and round, like halves of wonderfully soft-skinned cantaloupes, their nipples erect from the thumbing she had just given them.
"Mmmmmm ... darling..." he said, and bent to give her a kiss at the side of the neck.
"Herbert. How sweet." She turned and looked at the flowers. "For me?"
"Yes, my love."
"Herbert, you shouldn't have."
He laid them down on the dresser. "I like to give you things, darling."
"I know you do, Herbert." She smiled. He smiled.
"How's Clara coming with dinner?" she asked, as she faced the mirror again and patted lightly at her cascading hair.
Herbert gazed at the reflection of her breasts. "I don't know. I didn't ask her. I was so anxious to see you."
(The Morrisons had a combination cook and cleaning woman who came in early twice a week and tended to the house. On other days, except Tuesdays, she arrived only in time to prepare the evening meal. On Tuesdays the Morrisons ate out.)
"Why don't you find a vase for those flowers?" Gloria suggested gently.
He tore his eyes away from her tits. "Yes. Yes, I will."
He bustled out of the room to do that.
Gloria stood and preened this way and that before the mirror. She cupped her breasts and gave them a little jiggle. Very nice, she thought, and she was not flattering herself by any means.
She had picked up a bra by the time Herbert reappeared, vase in hand. She was in no hurry to put the bra on. Let him look all he liked, was her motto. She enjoyed having him admire her.
She wasn't wild about it when he touched her, and she was even less pleased when he insisted on going all the way. But tonight she would let him, if he wanted to. She'd had two glorious releases with the parcel deliveryman that afternoon.
Herbert set the vase down, his gaze trained on her beautiful breasts.
"Angel ... " he breathed, and moved up to her.
He raised his hand tentatively. She smiled. His loving fingers closed around her dome-like left tit. He squeezed very gently, glorying in the firmly resilient feel.
Daisy had not come to work that day. The day before, she had begun her period, and Herbert granted her time off on such occasions, when she requested it.
He had gone four days without any sex, and he was hurting.
"May we ... please?" he murmured. "Yes, Herbert, if you want to."
He beamed like a child who had been told he could have a lollipop.
She moved to the bed, her carriage stately. The soft surfaces of her breasts quivered, their small, dark nipples thrusting forward. Herbert drank in the beauty of the sight.
She lay back the covers of the bed and stretched out. Herbert quickly pulled at his clothing. Gloria didn't watch. As she gazed languidly at the ceiling, she thought about what she was going to do tomorrow. There was a meeting of her garden club, and after that she would shop.
Herbert came to the bed, his unimpressive cock straining forward. He made a little sound of pleasure as he climbed onto the mattress beside his wife.
He began to kiss her, his hand moving gently on her stomach, then down inside her nylon briefs. He toyed with the silken hair on her cunt.
Gloria felt nothing.
His lips slid onto a rich breast and captured the standing nipple. He teased the rubbery little erection with his tongue.
Gloria remained perfectly passive.
He leaned more fully over her and began to lick back and forth across both titties, moaning with happiness as he shaped and rubbed one with his fingers. He plucked at its tip and sucked at the other. Now he alternated the plucking and sucking.
He browsed along to her belly and drew the waist elastic of her panties down. He leaned back to take the briefs completely off, enjoying as he did so the sight of her darkly whiskered loins. She let him part her legs and he visually adored her rosy cunt.
He went down there, as he had learned he had to do in order to make her ready, but he didnlt kiss with command or any special gusto. The truth was, as much as Herbert wanted to please his wife, he didn't really care for cunnilingus. So he placed his mouth only briefly against her vaginal lips and let his saliva drool into her crevice. That would make her ready to accommodate him.
After nibbling for a few moments along the inner slopes of her thighs, he climbed atop her. Moving slowly and with infinite consideration, he fitted the end of his prick into her pussy, then gently pushed. Inch by inch, she absorbed him. Since Herbert wasn't built big in the cock, there was no problem.
"Ooh, angel ... ! " he cried ecstatically, and began to pull and thrust ... slowly ... then faster ... then very fast ... and it was over.
"Mmmmm," said Gloria, because she was pleased that he was finished. She hadn't moved at all.
He kissed her tenderly on the cheek and got off.
Ho-hum, Gloria thought. Now she would have to fix her hair again.
It was late in the evening. Joan Brooks had put her children to bed. Now she appeared in the living room with a light coat on and told her husband:
"I guess I'll be leaving, dear."
"Okay, honey," Wes said, hardly taking his gaze away from the television. "I hope your sister's feeling better."
"So do I. She worries me. Her condition has been hanging on so long."
"Do you think she'll want you to stay late again?" Wes asked, as Joan moved toward the front door.
"I hate to leave until she drops off to sleep. She's been having such trouble sleeping."
"Sure. I understand. Drive carefully."
"I will."
Joan let herself out and breathed a sigh when she had closed the door behind her.
Her sister couldn't remain seriously ill much longer. Even Wes, trusting as he was, would start getting suspicious.
But at least she and Tom would have tonight together.
She lived for these nights.
The illicit affair between Tom Fraser and herself had started one day when he was home from work, nursing a hangover. Since Kay worked also, he had the house to himself. Wes was at his office, and Joan was pruning a rose bush in her back yard.
Tom had spied her from a window of his house, which was next door to hers. He could barely glimpse her over the dividing brick wall and through the branches of the trees that grew along it.
That glimpse had whetted his male appetite for a better look, because Joan was wearing some very snug and very brief shorts. Their whiteness brought out the toasty tan of her legs. The way her buttocks molded those shorts was something to be appreciated by any male.
His hangover immediately felt better.
Putting a wolfish grin on his face, he sauntered out of the house and over to the brick wall. He could barely see over it.
"Hi, neighbor!" he called.
Joan straightened up and turned to smile at him. "What are you doing home?" she asked.
"Looking at you," he said. "And, man, there's lots to see!"
"Watch out, fresh guy," she warned lightly. "Kay might not like you to give compliments like that to a neighbor lady."
"You let me worry about Kay," he replied, his eyes eating Joan up. "Hey! How about joining me for a lemonade or something?"
He was a neighbor and Joan wanted to be sociable. Under the surface, there was another factor involved: Tom Fraser was a very handsome man, and Joan's lovelife with her husband, Wes, had been lagging. They had fallen into a rut.
"Okay, Tom," she smiled. "I'd like that. I'll come 'round."'
Oh, baby, I hope you do come 'round, Tom thought. He was determined to do his best to see that she did. This was the opportunity he had been waiting for, ever since he and Kay had moved into the house next to the Brooks.
Joan was a very cute brunette with piquant facial features and a gangbusters build. Her fanny was nice and round-luscious in shorts-and she had a pair of headlamps that filled her blue, sleeveless blouse. Her tanned thighs were mouth-watering, her calves finely arched, her ankles trim.
Tom was an easy-going, dark-haired guy with a reckless grin. He worked as a salesman ... when he felt like it. If it weren't for Kay's job as a teacher, the Frasers would have had a hard time meeting their bills some months.
He was an opposite type from stodgy, dependable Wes who had a good job with a stock brokerage firm. He wouldn't allow Joan to work, even though she held credentials as a nurse. Anyway, the kids kept her busy, when they were home from school.
A sense of adventure tickled Joan as Tom let her into his house through the side door. The air conditioning was welcome after working for half an hour in the warm sun.
"What do you like," Tom asked, "Scotch, bourbon or gin?"
"Oh, now wait a minute," Joan laughed. "You said lemonade."
"That was just a lure to get you into the house, me proud beauty." He twirled an imaginary moustache. "Now I intend to ply you with intoxicants until you fall into my arms."
A little thrill corkscrewed through her. "No hard liquor, please," Joan said, as she moved toward the living room. "But I could go for a beer."
"Then beer it is, milady," Tom replied, as he watched her twisting buttocks. He thought: Daddy, what an ass!
Joan didn't intend to let herself be seduced, but all conditions favored it. The beer lulled her inhibitions, and Tom's sexy stories offered a pleasurable contrast to her husband's rather Puritanical attitude toward life. Joan had swung a bit before she was married and, as a nurse, she took a more worldly view of things than her husband did. His head seemed full of profit and loss calculations most of the time.
After the second beer, she found Tom sitting very close to her on the couch. To her surprise, she began to respond to him physically. It was almost like her dating days when she had found herself alone with an attractive man in her apartment or his.
Tom slid his arm along the top of the couch, behind her, and she pretended not to notice. But she was very much aware of it. She told herself, You're a married woman and a mother. But that didn't swing much weight right now.
Tom wasted no time in capitalizing on his favorable position. Very shortly he brought his arm down around her shoulders and turned her toward him.
He was something of an expert at the art of reading women's eyes. He read Joan's warm brown ones and concluded that she wanted to be screwed. There and then. So he paid no attention to her words:
"Tom, don't do that! We can't! Tom..."
His eager lips sealed themselves to hers, and his tongue leaped forward to enter her mouth. The response which Joan felt was immediate and jolting as that which she would have experienced if she'd placed her hand on a hot stove. Without thinking, she raised her arms around Tom's back.
Joan was at his left and his left arm was around her. With his right hand, he quickly opened the front of his pants. She couldn't see this. He dug into his knitted briefs and brought his penis out. He pushed the skin back from its head.
Now he lifted his right hand to Joan's breasts and began to massage those marvelous mountains through her blouse and bra.
The added intimacy, thrilling as it was, shocked her into a further attempt at resistance. She took her hands from behind Tom's neck and began to push at his arms and chest. She tried to tear her mouth free, but he pressed her back against the couch bolster.
This half reclining-posture had its effect, as did the added ardor of Tom's kissing. When he gripped her left hand and carried it to his erection, she was lost.
She continued to offer vocal resistance and struggle feebly, so that later she could tell herself she had tried to prevent what was about to happen, but in her heart she welcomed it. This was demonstrated by the eager way in which she gripped Tom's rampant prick, squeezing the swollen, plushy head as she cried:
"No! Don't you dare! I'm a married woman! Think of Kay!"
But Tom continued to open her blouse, then reached around inside to unhook her bra. Her tits tumbled out of the cups to land quivering in his hands. They were hangers, but how big and round and full they were!
He squeezed them and lifted them and rolled them about.
"Oooh, Tom! You dog! Don't dooo that! I can't stand it!"
"Good," he murmured. "I want you to give in. I want you to roll onto your back and stick your legs up. You want that, too. You want me to slide my stiff penis deep into your cunt. Don't tell me you don't. I'll bet that little cutie is dripping!"
"Tom! Oooh, God!"
He let one of her titties go and ran his hand down across her waist, under the band of her shorts and the thin elastic of her panties ... across her belly and into her fur...
She tried to clamp her thighs together, but instead they flew apart. Tom's hand cupped her heated mound, and his middle finger teased her dewy cleft.
"Yeah...! " he said, as his fingertip became very moist. "Oh, baby, let me lick that honey!"
She gazed at his rosy-headed rod which her hand still encircled. She thrilled to his caresses on the velvet lips of her vagina. And his last remark sank into her deepest consciousness to stimulate her daringly. Wes had never kissed her down there. Wes didn't do that sort of thing. Oh, God, if Tom only would!
But today she had been gardening. She was hot and sweaty. She couldn't let him!
She struggled to get his hand out from the interior of her i ants. She let his shaft sway free.
He sprang to a commanding position and pressed her Onto her back on the sofa. "You're going to let me have it, because that's what you want. We both want it. And on this Day of days, we're going to do what we want and livel"
It was a corny speech but, in Joan's present frame of mind, it carried more persuasive power than the Gettysburg Address ever had.
She let him draw her shorts and white panties off, whimpering all the time, and she let him part her legs and begin kissing upward along a silken inner thigh. The faint scent of her perspiration, mingled with remnants of her morning's bath soap and spiced with the heady aroma of aroused womanhood, had a powerful impact on his fevered brain.
He dived for the fragrant center of her warmth. Too late, she tried to stop him. But, of course, she didn't want him to stop.
And he sure as hell wasn't going to.
Giving a little growl, he opened her outer lips with his thumb and pressed his eager mouth fully against her inner cunt, clamping onto the sopped flesh with his lips and letting his tongue slide as far as it would go into that burning chasm.
Joan went wild.
She kicked. She clawed. She cried in joy. She gripped her own flopping titties and squeezed them hard, only to have his hands push hers away and clamp hold. His tongue kept stroking in and out of her pussy and all around the inside of it ... licking ... lapping ... eating her with relish.
When he finally got on top of her, Joannie was nearly out of her mind. She was as close to a climax as a girl could be without tumbling over the line. She was hanging in that delirious state, unable to come or go.
She clutched at Tom hungrily and pulled him down against her, squealing with delight as she felt his long stiff pecker slide all the way into her hole.
"Oh, move it! Move it!" she cried. "Go fast! Screw me! Screw me like hell!"
He screwed her for all he was worth, and that was quite a lot. The sofa fairly jumped up and down on its legs. Joan arched herself and writhed, her legs clamped around his back as he pumped furiously. Her hobbling breasts were crushed against his hairy torso, the nipples tingling with all their might.
"Oh, give it to me ... bop me ... sock me!" she cried.
He pounded his hard meat into her and, with a great fluctuating wail, she came, shuddering and quaking from head to toes. She sobbed and clutched his back. Her heels drummed his flanks. He finished in a spurting eruption that was so sharp it seemed to tear him apart.
Afterward, they talked about what had happened, and Tom took advantage of the opportunity to get something steady going for himself.
"Man, I'm crazy about you, baby," he said, as he gently massaged her tits. "You're so beautiful and sweet. I can't live without you."
"But you're married to someone else. So am I."
"We can't help that now. How were we to know, when we married other people, that we would find each other some day: There's no way to know about those things, baby. But the point is ... when they happen, you've gotta make the most of them."
"What ... what can we do?"
"We can go on seeing each other and being together like this."
"But the neighbors ... "
"Frig the neighbors."
"Well, you're not at home usually in the daytime, and Kay's here at night. So is Wes."
"So we'll meet someplace else. Look ... Fm a salesman.
I can work any night I want to. Kay will never know the difference."
"But I can't get away."
"Sure you can. You're a nurse, aren't you? You can have a sick sister or something. Old Wes won't be suspicious."
He pressed her onto her back on the bed-for that was where they were by now-and he began to eat her again, his loving tongue stroking deep into her flooded cunt. . .
What could she say?
She moaned and writhed and got ready for come number two.
But first he rolled her onto her belly and nibbled up the backs of her legs. He played with her buttocks as if they were rubber beachballs (which they somewhat resembled), then licked all over them and on up her back.
When his body was fully covering hers, he lifted her at the hips and easily slid his prick into her pussy from behind. He got his hand underneath and played with her clitoris as he pumped, bouncing his straight, firm front against her butt-cheeks.
It was wild.
Now she was hooked on him. It was like a narcotics addiction, and it threatened to lead her to ruin just as surely as dope would have done.
She wanted to keep her home and children, but Wes was nothing to her in bed any more. She tolerated him and tried to act like the loving wife she had once been, all the time thinking of Tom and wishing it were him on top of her, stroking his penis up and down in her cunt.
She didn't know what the future would bring. She tried not to think about it, as if not thinking would hold things in suspension forever as they were.
Now she hurried to Tom again-driving through the night, her snatch already moist from thinking of him.
It entered her consciousness that she had two children tucked into bed at home, innocently sleeping, and a husband looking at TV. He undoubtedly wished she were there beside him, knitting or doing some damn fool housewife thing.
Oh, it was a bitch.
She was a bitch.
So what? She was what she was. If there was any blame, it belonged to God for making her that way. She rushed to Tom.
CHAPTER 4
IN THE MOTEL ROOM, TOM NERVOUSLY PACED THE floor. He crushed out a cigarette and immediately lit another.
Man, he had done it! He and his big mouth.
He was his own worst enemy, that was for damned sure. Nobody in the neighborhood where he lived would ever have found out about his affair with Joan if he hadn't done the blabbing himself. She never would have talked, and neither Wes nor Kay would have gotten wise.
But he wasn't content to let a sweet thing be. He had to screw it up.
Shit!
Now, the question was: should he tell Joan or not? She probably hadn't heard the talk. Maybe it wouldn't reach her at all.
Who was he kidding? Wes was bound to hear it from somebody-some meddling bastard who would think he was doing another guy a favor.
And Kay would hear it, too. Women yammered about tilings like that even more than men did.
He knew when he was blabbing to those pricks at the Drifters that he shouldn't be doing it. But he'd had four strong martinis on an empty stomach and was flying-just high enough to give in to a crazy impulse, but not so high that he couldn't remember it later. It would have been a blessing if his memory had blacked out. That way, when the story got back to him through Kay or Joan, he could scratch his head and wonder how anyone had found out.
He was a frigging big baby, that was the trouble. Big enough to promote himself a hot piece of ass next door and keep it cooking for several weeks with nobody catching wise, but not big enough to keep from bragging about it, as if it really mattered what those other clowns thought of him. It was enough that he had this hot affair going on the side. He knew it and he enjoyed the benefits. He didn't need any medals for it.
Well, no use flogging himself to death. The question was, what was he going to do?
Joan arrived, bursting into the room before he had reached a decision.
With a whimper, she came into his arms and he enfolded her warm female softness. Their mouths merged in heat. Her tongue fluttered against his and writhed. He clamped it and sucked.
His rod came up inside his loose-fitting robe. When she felt it, she moaned and pushed the robe aside, wrapping her hand around his stalk. She would never have treated Wes this way, so shamelessly, but it seemed the natural thing to do with Tom. This was a carnal love affair, and she gloried in it.
Tom's hands were just as daring on her body. He didn't let her skirt hamper him, but lifted it right away and filled his hands with the silk-covered divisions of her fanny. He rolled and rubbed those lush globes against each other. He bounced them in his open palms. Then, contemptuous of even the slight restriction imposed by her flimsy pants, he got underneath the waist elastic of those pants with both hands, stretching the elastic well back as he reached down inside, and he held Joahnie's quivering bottom in his hands ... patting, petting and pinching it.
For the moment he had no problem, except the happy one of wanting her and needing only to take the simple steps necessary to place her in screwing position.
Joan needed to do something else first. She needed to adore orally the man she loved.
Tom had taught her to do this after she became addicted to the oral love he gave her. At first she reciprocated because she felt it was only right. Then, strangely enough, she gained a liking for the practice. Now she blew him in sheer joy, nearly every time they were together.
She still hadn't gone down on Wes and had no desire to do so. Her relationship with Wes was totally different. Even if somehow the physical attraction between the two of them could be restored, she still wouldn't want to take his peter in her mouth.
But Tom's peter ... mmm, that was something else!
She dropped to her knees right now and, holding his robe wide open with both hands, bent to the gleaming rosy head which stuck up toward her. Her lips encompassed as much as she could hold of it. She sucked and nibbled and licked.
Tom ran his hands into her hair and said, "Oooh, baby! That's the way! Make me know it! Suck it good! Yeaaah!"
He writhed and bumped into her mouth as her sucking became even more intense. Finally he pulled her away.
"Jesus, I almost lost it!" he cried. "You need something more out of my rod than that, don't you?" "Oooh, yes," she said, as he helped her to her feet. "I need to get it way inside me."
"Then take your clothes off."
That's all there was to it. No I-love-you's or did-you-miss-me's. Those things went without saying.
Tom gazed at her as she removed her jacket, then her dress, pulling it over her head. She wore the minimum of under things, only bra and pants, and she released the bra in a hurry and let it slide down her arms. The cups dropped off her heavy, aching tits.
Tom tossed his robe away, leaving himself stark nude; his phallus thrust high, its head swollen and rosy with desire for her.
She caught the waist elastic of her sheer pink briefs and pulled them away from her middle, drawing downward in the same motion. The pants peeled inside-out, away from her belly and her fur-trimmed mound. She bent, breasts cascading and shaking back and forth as she got the clingy pants off her legs.
Now she turned to the bed and Tom joined her. They fell onto it together and rolled into a happy ball in its center. He grasped a flopping, fruity breast and brought its wide crest to his hungry mouth. He licked all over the smooth-textured, sensitive cap and nudged the nipple with his tongue-tip. He drew the nipple deeply into his wet, warm mouth and nursed.
At the same time, his middle finger jabbed into her yearning cunt. It stroked it in and out, in and out, across her throbbing clitoris.
He removed it from her pussy and ran it backward between her butt-cheeks as he switched nipples. Joan moaned delightedly as he teased the super-sensitive nerve endings of her anus, but he didn't try to drive his finger in
There was other driving which was more urgent right now. Joan proved that she felt the same way by rolling atop him and immediately sheathing his rapier with a happy cry. She began to bounce up and down, enjoying his cock to the maximum possible extent as he pawed at her swinging bouncing tits--squeezing them, rolling them, juggling them up and down.
It didn't last long. Their first copulation never did. Each was too hungry for the other when they met.
Now they exploded with rapturous delight, the hot semen leaping from his turgid cock as her cunt contracted around it. She milked him of every drop, then fell away, sighing pleasurably.
It had been great, as usual.
Also, as usual, there seemed little to say or do for the next few minutes. They had absolutely nothing in common except sexual attraction.
Tom resumed thinking about the problem that had bugged him earlier. It started to bug him again.
He would have to take it up with her, he decided. He couldn't bear the brunt alone.
"Honey..."
"Yes?"
"Don't get mad now, but I made a little boo-boo."
She turned on the pillow to look at him. "What are you talking about?"
"Well, I was having a few drinks the other afternoon. You know how it is. I was in a bar with these guys and ... "
Apprehension touched her. "What?"
"Well, I ... talked a little too much."
"Oooh, Tom! No!" She sat up, breasts bouncing.
"I'm sorry, baby." He put out his hand to touch her. "I didn't mean to do it, but I was a little high and..."
She knocked his hand away. "You mean you told the men about us?"
He nodded sadly. "Oh, you jerk!"
"Baby ... . " He looked hurt.
"I mean it! Tom, how could you? This will ruin us!"
"Maybe it won't be that bad..."
"What do you mean it won't be bad? Wes is sure to hear about it. So is Kay. You know how things get around. Oh, Tom, God damn you!"
She leaped off the bed, tits swinging, and began to snatch up her clothes.
"Honey, don't run off," he said helplessly, sitting up. "That won't help things."
"Yes, it will. I'm going right home and confess everything. Maybe Wes will understand and forgive me. You'd better take my advice and do the same with Kay."
"Baby, you don't know what you're saying!" He leaped up and stopped her just as she was about to step into her panties.
"We can't break up, honey," he murmured. "We mean too much to each other. We've gotta ride this thing out somehow. Deny everything. Nobody can prove we've been seeing one another."
"Don't be crazy!" Joan cried. "All Kay and West have to do is get together and compare times when you and I have been away from home. Also, Wes can find out that my sister in Long Beach is perfectly well."
"Haven't you arranged things with her?"
"I told her not to call and talk to Wes. But if he goes to see her, he'll see she's all right."
"He wouldn't do that, would he?"
"Of course he would. And how about Kay? She'll start checking up on you."
"Honey ... " Tom said thoughtfully, "you said something a little while ago that rang a bell in my head. You mentioned Kay and Wes getting together."
"Well? Don't think they won't."
"What if they were to get together in another way-like you and I are together right now?"
"Oh, that's ridiculous! Wes isn't the type."
"Don't be too sure. You've heard about mate-swaps, haven't you? Lots of people are doing it these days. Even squares like old Wesley."
"Swaps?" She blinked at him. "You mean, bring everything out in the open-try to get Kay and Wes to pair up while you're with me?"
"That's the idea."
"I don't like it."
"Why not?"
"I just don't like it. Maybe it would be all right for you and Kay to engage in something like that, but Wes and I have children."
"So what? The kids don't have to know about it. You can park them with a sitter."
"But the whole neighborhood would find out."
"Not necessarily. I won't do any more talking. I know you won't. And I doubt if either Kay or Wes would."
"I doubt if they would go for the thing at all. God, I couldn't suggest it to Wes."
"You won't have to. I'll take it up with Kay. I've been wanting to get something like this going for a long time, but I just never knew of another Couple to swap with. You and Wes are perfect."
"I still say, Wes isn't the type."
"Let's find out, hm? Here's what we'll do..."
In spite of herself, Joan listened. She didn't care for the scheme but, since it depended entirely on Tom and Kay to carry out, she agreed ... on the condition that Tom not try it unless Kay found out about the affair from someone else first.
Joan wouldn't get back into bed with Tom.
She didn't want to give him up as a lover, but she'd had enough of his company for tonight. She had to be alone for a little while and think.
She went into the bathroom and cleansed herself, then got dressed in there. When she came out, Tom had his clothes on.
"Don't be mad at me, baby," he said. "I didn't mean to get us fouled up."
"You and your drinking!"
"Yeah. I know. That's the whole trouble."
She went to a coffee shop alone and sat there, staring into her cup. Why did people have to do things that amounted to throwing their lives away? For what?
Were the physical thrills she got from Tom good enough to warrant such a price? Her common sense told her no, but something else argued that they were, if that was the price which had to be paid. She felt as if she couldn't live without Tom ... or someone like Tom. It wasn't just him, she realized. It was what he stood for-free enjoyment of sexuality, a renunciation of the responsibilities that bogged marriage down.
She wondered if Wes ever felt that way. If so, he had given no hint of it.
Perhaps soon she would find out, if Tom got the chance to work his plan.
Tom and his big mouth!
It was just her luck to get mixed up with that kind.
CHAPTER 5
AMY WANDERED ABOUT THE HOUSE AIMLESSLY.
She couldn't stop thinking of what had happened yesterday, when Patty was there. The experience had opened up a whole new world to her.
Pete was suspicious, and that was something to be concerned about. But she could think about only so much at one time, and now Patty crowded her consciousness.
Wonderful, sweet, loving Patty.
God, how that woman had kissed her-better than any man ever had!
And how Amy had responded! That was perhaps the biggest shock. She hadn't believed herself capable of such conduct, but she had swung just as strongly as Patty ... and she had enjoyed it immensely, on both the taking and giving ends.
What now? That was the question.
She was a married woman with prospects for a family some day, if Pete ever decided he wanted children. She had been counting strongly on that. Now she wasn't sure what she wanted.
At one moment she would tell herself that the thing with Patty had been only a novelty-a strange kick that had appealed to her because it was so wild, but which she wouldn't enjoy for a second time. After all, she was a man's girl. Wasn't she?
In the next moment, she laughed at that analysis. She now had to admit that, in the back of her mind, she had always been titillated by thoughts of Lesbian sex. When she finally had experienced it, she was anything but disappointed.
She had to talk with Patty right now. Impulsively she moved to the telephone and picked it up.
"Art! Oh, you devil!"
Art and Patty Claiborne were in bed, wrestling erotically. It was his day off from work, and he enjoyed morning sex on his days off. Patty enjoyed it, too. Woman-love was the farthest thing from her mind as her husky husband pressed her onto her back and pulled the nightie away from her quivering, stiff-nippled breasts.
He pressed his face to a ruddy, up-thrust bud, his whiskers scratching her delicate titty-flesh.
"Oh, your beard!" she cried. "It's killing me!"
"Go on!" he said. "You love it." And he nuzzled her all the stronger.
It was true that she did enjoy the abrasive caresses. They titillated her because they were so masculine. She sincerely enjoyed her husband's masculinity.
This fact was proved now by the way she gripped his long, thick cock as he bent over her. She rubbed the sensitive corona and palmed the circumcised head.
He tugged on a tall, sturdy nipple and used it to shake the breast to which it was attached. He went to the other one and treated that in the same way.
"Yeah, babe, you're getting soft up here," he teased, when he lifted his head.
"Well, if I am, it's because you play with 'em too damned much!"
"Hell no. Tits were made to play with." He leaned down again. "And lick." He licked them. "An ... suck." He slowly surrounded a red quivering nipple and pulled it up into his mouth where he prodded it with his tongue, pushing it this way and that as his lips contracted against the surrounding slippery flesh. He palmed the other breast and kneaded it.
Patty moaned and tried to get her legs open around him.
He shifted his position a little, so that she could accomplish her purpose. Both creamy legs came up and her nightie fell way back. Art shifted again and bore down. Her hand directed his dong into her dripping split and he slid way up inside her passage.
"Oh, Mister Cock!" she cried. "I love you."
Art began to move slowly but forcefully and she rocked beneath him in exactly the same tempo. The tactile sensations were wonderful for both of them.
"Mmmmm Daddy!" Patty purred, as she ground her breasts against his hairy chest and luxuriated in his steady stroking. "Is there anything better than getting screwed?"
"Hell, yes!" he panted. "There's screwing."
She laughed even as she moved and he moved with her.
"They're the same thing, you dope."
"There's a subtle difference," he said, driving deep and hard. "You're getting screwed. I'm doing the ... screwing."
"And how, Daddy! Christ, what a big fat pecker!"
The phone beside the bed rang.
"Shit!" Patty said.
Art kept stroking.
The phone rang again.
She said, "We'll have ... have to answer ... it."
"Okay..." he sighed deeply, and lapsed atop her, but he still supported most of his weight on his elbows and knees.
She reached for the phone and carried it to her ear. "Yes?" she said, her voice a little rough.
"Patty?" the feminine voice on the line asked tentatively. "Are you coming over today to get your blouse and bra?"
"Oooh, Amy. Look, I'll call you back in a little while, okay?" Amy was disappointed, but she said, "All right. If you want to."
Patty hung up.
"What'd that cute blonde want?" Art grinned.
"Never mind. This is the only cute blonde you need to think about." She slapped him on the rump. "Get going."
He chuckled, grabbed a quick kiss from her lips, and began to pump his prick once more.
Patty had lost a little ground during the pause. Sexy conversation would help her regain it, so she said:
"Mmmmm, what a wonderful ... prick you have! I love to ... feel it ... sliding up and ... down inside ... me."
"And I love to ... slide it up and ... down, baby," he breathed, sliding it steadily against her tingling love tip.
She squirmed as she bumped beneath him. "Uhhh ... do you like ... my cunt?"
"I love ... your hot cunt!"
"Oh, I like to ... hear you ... say that!"
They talked on and on as they screwed. Gradually they neared the peak. Art kept from switching to the short strokes until he simply couldn't hold off a moment longer, at which time he began to bang her rapidly.
"Oooh ... oooh ... OH!" Patty cried, and she had it, bucking and quivering as her vaginal muscles grabbed at him.
"Uuuuh!" he said harshly, and expelled his sperm into her.
Breathing deeply in gratification, he let himself down against her and licked her cheeks and neck and finally her mouth, letting his tongue gradually slip inside. Their lips caught and clung.
Patty was as pleased as he was.
She thought vaguely of Amy and concluded, the girl is going to be a bore.
Amy's husband, Pete, was on his way to call on a client of his firm. The woman owned several apartment houses and was one of his largest customers for furniture reupholstering.
He had made her on his first visit to her home. Since then, he had called her twice and managed to avoid bedding her each time.
She wasn't the most appealing dish in the world. She was close to forty and overweight. Her belly protruded, and her big boobs flopped around like cows' udders.
But today he might just screw her. He felt mean enough. That business with Amy and Patty yesterday was bugging the shit out of him.
It was possible, he kept telling himself, that nothing really happened. They could actually have been trying on clothes, as Amy had said, and Patty-she was kind of a kook-might have suggested a strip tease or some damned thing. That would account for his wife being bare underneath her outer clothing and for Patty being without her bra.
But he found it hard to believe that. He had seen too much of the world, and he knew Lesbianism was pretty widespread. It was possible that a woman might have such tendencies and keep them covered up. Even get married and try to lead a normal life, but they would come out eventually. Perhaps that was the story with Amy.
He would have to watch her closely from now on. It might not hurt to do a little checking up behind her back. If it did turn out that she was queer, he would walk out on her. He was a real man, and he'd be damned if he would live with anyone except a real woman!
He turned into Mabel Kern's driveway and brought his car to a stop. He got out and walked to the front door of the large house.
A uniformed maid admitted him. She showed him to the library where he took a chair and waited.
Mabel appeared in five minutes. She wore a dark dress. Her reddish-gold hair was up.
"Well! Mr. Edwards! It's nice to see you again."
Standing, he said, "It's nice to see you, Mabel."
"Oh, is it?" she asked skeptically. "And how does it happen that we're on a first name basis again? When you phoned me yesterday for the appointment, you called me Mrs. Kern."
Standing, he said, "It's nice to see you, Mabel."
"Oh, is it?" she asked skeptically. "And how does it happen that we're on a first name basis again? When you phoned me yesterday for the appointment, you called me Mrs. Kern."
"That was just a slip," he grinned.
"Want some coffee or something?"
"Thank you, no."
They sat opposite each other. Mabel crossed her legs, but her hemline was conservative and didn't show much. The truth was that she didn't have a great deal which was appealing to show. Her thighs were on the flabby side.
Still, today, Pete was interested.
It was as if he felt called upon to prove his masculinity anew in the face of what he suspected had happened in his home yesterday.
"So you want to talk about another upholstering order ... is that it, Pete?"
"That's right."
"I don't know if I'll give your firm any more business or not."
"Oh? Why's that?"
"I wasn't entirely satisfied the last two times I gave orders to you."
Pete knew what she meant. She was a shameless slut. Her husband had died several years ago, and Pete thought he knew shy: The old broad had screwed him to death.
He smiled. "You'll be satisfied this time, Mabel."
"Will I? Really?" Her eyes narrowed.
"Guaranteed." He stood up and crossed to the sofa where she was sitting. He sat beside her.
"Well ... Pete! This is more like it. You know, you have a remarkably persuasive manner as a salesman, when you choose to make use of it."
He felt like saying, how do you want it, baby-on your belly or on your back? But he just grinned and took her hand in his.
"Are you sure you wouldn't care for something to drink?" she asked. "Perhaps a little shot of whiskey?"
"What do we need whiskey for, Mabel? You're all it takes to make me high."
"Oooh, Pete..." she murmured. "What a thing to say."
"I mean it." His hand slipped to her leg, just above her knee.
"You know, I had the notion that you didn't like me any more."
"Well, we'll get you over that notion right now."
He slid his arm around her and drew her close, turning the trunk of her body toward him. At the same time, he slipped his hand underneath her dress and began to slide it up her stockinged thigh.
His mouth caught hers and they kissed.
His hand crossed the top of her stocking and patted her very full upper thigh. She rolled onto her opposite hip, leaning into their embrace. His hand went all the way to her bottom, which was sheathed in snug-fitting nylon briefs. He patted and petted her large fanny globes, then worked his fingers underneath a panty leg elastic and directly onto her ass. His fingertips teased her rear crack.
By this time, she was panting wildly and her tongue was thrashing in his mouth.
Well, he thought, it was time to nail down that order ... and get some of the meanness out of his system, at the same time.
He took his mouth from hers and slipped his hand out of her panties. "Shall we go up to bed?" he asked.
"No," she breathed heatedly. "I want to try something else. Let's do it here. See that leather hassock? I want to lie on that and have you kneel in front of it."
It was all right with Pete. One position was as good as another to him. He had tried them all. The only thing that mattered was getting his pecker into her hole and having room to stroke it.
"Sure," he said, and got up. He didn't have a hard-on yet.
Mabel, happy as a bride, jumped to her feet and presented her back to him so he could lower her zipper. He did so, and he unhooked her bra for good measure.
She turned and, facing him with a smile on her face, pulled her dress up. She wore a blue, lacy half-slip over her stockings.
Her bra came away with her dress, and her gigantic knockers swung free. Some men would have liked them, he supposed, but to Pete they were gross and bovine. Her nipples were big and round with wide, pebbled bases.
He began getting undressed.
Mabel took her slip off, then sat on the hassock and crossed her legs revealingly to remove her stockings. Dark hair curled out around the crotch of her blue satin panties. Her tits flopped and swayed as she moved. In taking off her stockings, her outstretched arms squeezed those big bulbs together.
Pete thought about inserting his prick between her tits and going off that way.
Better not, he decided. She might not appreciate it, and he was interested in getting her order.
By the time Mabel had gotten rid of her stockings, garter belt and panties, Pete had stripped off everything but his boxer shorts. Now he drew those away, and Mabel gazed at his hanging thick cock. What he had seen hadn't been appealing enough to make it hard.
But "he wasn't worried. He'd never had trouble with impotence.
"Hey, you're a little slow there, aren't you?" Mabel teased.
"Come here, baby. Maybe you can speed me up."
"Up is right," she said. "That's the way I want you."
She gripped a big breast in each hand and lifted them as she walked toward him. That, along with her round belly and black, bushy loins, created a spectacle that was unsurpassed for lewdness.
Still, he didn't gain an erection.
He pulled Mabel into his arms and began to kiss her heatedly all over the face. Her floppy tits rubbed against him. Her belly felt like a balloon against his lower middle.
He put both hands on her large ass, gripping the dough-like cheeks. He kneaded them, letting his fingers dig into her crack. She writhed and moaned. Her tongue pistoned.
Still, his bone didn't come up.
He bent and lifted one of her breasts in his hand. He rubbed the stiff nipple all over his face and back and forth along his lips. He let the cherry pop inside and he sucked on it.
Nothing.
He gripped goth tits and rolled them roughly.
"Easy...! " Mabel panted.
"Get down on the hassock," he ordered.
She turned to comply. He watched her fat fanny wiggle.
She sat on the hassock and leaned back pushing her open loins forward. He stared at her hairy box ... at the pinkness which showed between the parted outer lips. She was wet in there, ready for him.
He looked down at himself. He remained limp as a piece of rope.
"Wh-what's the matter?" Mabel asked, genuinely concerned now.
"I don't know," he admitted. "I've never been like this before."
"Do you want me to ... help you?"
He wasn't sure what she meant, at first. She had shown no oral inclinations when she had been with him before.
Interpreting his hesitancy as consent, she got up and approached him. She got down on her knees on the carpet.
A surge of excitement went through Pete. It wasn't every day that a guy got his cock sucked by a woman who owned three apartment houses.
She took his limp tool in her hand and raised it to her puffy, parted lips. She sucked its circumcised head into her mouth and worked it with lips and tongue and teeth, gently. The sensation was tremendous. But still, unbelievably, Pete didn't stiffen!
My God! What was the matter with him?
She let his dong fall away.
"You've got a problem, honey," she said, and stood up. "I'm sorry, Mabel."
"You oughta be, making me strip down like this and all."
He was searching his brain frantically, trying to come up with an explanation. There was nothing physically the matter with him.
He supposed that the fault was Mabel's. In spite of her mouthing him, she just wasn't appealing enough to turn him on.
He looked at her cow-like tits and her fat belly. Sure, that was it. He honestly didn't want to screw her.
Okay. So he wouldn't. And the devil with the upholstering business he would lose.
He turned and picked up his underwear.
"Well, is that all there is to it?" Mabel demanded. "You're just going to get dressed and leave?"
"Do you have any other suggestions?" he snapped.
"We could keep trying. Maybe if we were to get into bed..."
"That wouldn't make any difference," he said. "How can you be so sure?"
He whirled on her. "Because you repel me, you old bitch! Screwing you, to get an order, is more than my body can stand."
She gasped.
He resumed dressing.
"I never would have believed it," she said miserably, as she picked up her own clothes. "You seemed like such a decent person."
"What would you know about decency, you sow."
"Oooh!"
She didn't return the abuse he had heaped upon her, and this made him feel cheap. It would have been better if she had responded in kind.
She did say, just before he left, "You needn't ask me for any more business." The statement was superfluous in the circumstances.
"Don't worry," he said. "I won't."
It felt good to step out into the fresh air. It felt even better to drive with the windows open and let the fresh air rush past him.
There was nothing the matter with him, he kept assuring himself. It was just that Mabel Kern was unappealing; perhaps he was also bugged over what had happened yesterday and the possibility that he might be living with a Lez. A he-man like him! Jesus...
Well, he would prove what a he-man he was.
Another woman who had given him business, and with whom he had screwed around, was Debbie Parker. She owned a swank home on the west side.
He decided to drive out there right now. Maybe she wouldn't be home. On the other hand, maybe she would. If he were to drop in unannounced, his chances for a quick score might be better than if he were to call and allow her an opportunity to think matters over. He and Debbie had enjoyed a rather hot affair for a while, but then he had dropped her, as he had dropped every woman after the initial excitement wore off.
He visualized her beautiful body as he pointed his sports car in the direction of her house. His peter stirred slightly.
There! he thought. That proved there was nothing the matter with him.
He'd been a damned fool to think he could get excited over Mabel Kern. He was a discriminating stud. A woman had to have something in order to interest him.
He parked in front of Debbie's home and walked up the curving strip of concrete to her front door. The lawn was wide and green. Flowers bloomed in profusion along the front of the house.
He rang the bell and waited. There was no response. He rang the bell again.
Just as he was about to give up and go in search of other game, the door opened.
Debbie stood there, her black hair piled up on her head and a terry-cloth robe wrapped about her. She looked surprised to see him.
"Hi, honey," he purred. "I had time on my hands and just thought I'd drop by." He motioned toward her robe. "I didn't get you out of the tub, did I?"
"No. I was sunbathing."
"Great!" he grinned. "Let's both get some of that."
"All right. Come in."
Debbie was a divorcee at the age of twenty-eight. She was tall and trim with real black hair and cone-like breasts. Once Pete got a load of her in the nude again, he would be ready to go, he felt sure.
He followed her through the cool house and out to the patio.
"Are you alone?" he asked. "Yes."
She took off the robe and he stood speechless for a moment. She was totally nude.
Her body was every bit as good as he had remembered.
"Well, why don't you strip down?" she suggested. "There's a high fence around this place, so all you'll have to worry about are planes and helicopters."
"Fll chance them," he said, and began to take off his clothes.
"Why have you been such a stranger, Pete?"
"Oh, you know how it is."
"I thought you'd lost interest."
"Christ, no!" he said enthusiastically, as she bent to adjust the air mattress on which she had been lying, and thereby showed him a rear view of the black-haired pussy which lived between the tops of her thighs.
He couldn't get his clothes off fast enough.
Debbie lay down on her back beside the pool. Her cute tits pointed straight up, the nipples firm and plump as berries. Her curly black V glistened.
He took his shorts away and was rewarded by the pleasant caress of a cool breeze, mingled with the benediction of warm sunshine.
He drew an air mattress over beside hers and reclined on it. His penis was soft.
She asked, "Wanta rub me?"
"Damned right."
She said, "There's a bottle of goo around here somewhere."
He found the plastic container, uncapped it, and squirted a little of the lotion on his palm. He rubbed his hands together.
This will wake up the tiger, he thought confidently as he knelt beside Debbie and began to massage her upper arms and shoulders.
Nothing happened.
His hands slid down onto her resilient tits and he worked them, trapping her tall, stiff nipples between his fingers and squeezing them a little.
Debbie opened her eyes. "You're getting to me," she said. "I thought I'd try a little test and find out if I'd gotten over you. It looks like I haven't."
"I'm glad," Pete said, rolling her nipples between his thumbs and index fingers now.
He looked down at himself. He remained limp.
What the hell ... ?
Debbie's gaze followed his and she remarked, "Maybe you've gotten over me."
"Don't be silly."
Her hand stole to his loins and began fondling him. He still didn't stiffen.
"Pete, are you all right?" she asked.
"Hell, yes!" He was defiant now. He knew he was all right, and yet ...
She lay back, taking her hand from him. He massaged downward on her body. Real apprehension licked at his mind.
What if he really couldn't get a hard-on any more? Christ, that would be a fate worse than death!
He worked the pliant flesh of her middle, watching her belly button wink. He went to her hips, then the mound where her pubic hair grew. Those curls felt wonderful to his fingers.
Yet his pecker still wouldn't come up.
Good Christ! What was he going to do?
A joker would have answered that question with the simple word-nothing. But Pete was in no joking mood. He was desperate.
He gripped one of Debbie's thighs and kneaded it roughly. Her hand went to his loins again and found that he was still soft.
"Pete," she said with a cutting edge to her voice, "don't you think you'd better put some more lotion on your hands? The least you can do is give me a good rub-down."
He jumped to his feet.
She looked up at him, squinting.
She said, "You've been having trouble and you came to see me, thinking I could accomplish something that your wife couldn't. Is that it?"
"No! I haven't been having trouble."
"Well, you sure are now." She closed her eyes and lay back in disgust.
It was true. He was having real trouble, all right. When he couldn't get a bone up for a girl like Debbie, he needed a doctor ... or a psychiatrist.
He started putting his clothes on.
Debbie lay there for a few minutes watching him out of the corner of her eyes, saying nothing. Finally she laughed.
"Goddamnit, shut up!" he snarled.
She shut up ... and got up, her tits quivering tautly. The nipples still stuck out. mocking him.
"Let yourself out through the side gate," she advised, and strolled toward the house, dragging her robe behind her.
Pete could have killed someone-her or himself. If there had been a gun handy, he might have. As it was, he grimly got dressed and returned to his car, and drove to the nearest gin mill.
He got stinking drunk.
CHAPTER 6
"AMY. IT'S ME," PATTY SAID INTO THE PHONE AS she seated herself beside it. "Sorry I couldn't talk before." She lit a cigarette.
"Well, are you coming over?" the other woman asked breathlessly.
"Oh, there's no hurry about picking up that bra and blouse. You don't mind keeping them for me, do you?"
"You know that isn't why I called." Amy sounded distruaght.
"I don't understand, honey."
"Yes, you do! You're trying to play coy with me, and I don't like it."
"Amy ... look. What happened yesterday was just for a lark. It didn't mean anything. Oh, by the way, did you have any problem explaining things to Pete?"
"I don't want to talk about Pete. I want to talk about us."
"There's nothing to say about us. We're a couple of married women who had a little time on our hands and shared a few drinks."
"We shared more than drinks, Patty."
"So, we fooled around a little. That was all it amounted to, just fooling around."
"You didn't enjoy yourself?"
"Of course I did. For the moment."
"You never want to do it again?"
"Maybe. Sometime. If we have an hour or so to kill. Today I don't," she added pointedly.
"Patty, I think you're horrible!"
"Whaaat?"
"You heard me. I think you're horrible, teasing me this way."
"Amy, I'm not teasing. You get that through your cute blonde head. I mean exactly what I've been saying. It was only for kicks. Just to break the monotony. Fm a straight girl and I live straight. So do you. Let's not do anything to louse up what we've got going for ourselves."
"But, Patty..." the other girl whined.
"Just forget about it. Take care of Pete. Show him a real wild time tonight. That will overcome any suspicions he might have about yesterday."
"But don't you understand? I don't care about Pete. Not really. I care about you and me."
"Then you're a fool," Patty replied coldly, "because I don't care about you in that way."
"I don't believe it."
"Well, I don't know how I could make it plainer."
"Come over, Pat. Just so we can talk for a while. I mean it-I have to see you."
"Then this is exactly when I shouldn't come over. If you have a problem, you'll have to work it out yourself."
"But you gave me the problem."
"No, I didn't. You wanted to play around just as much as I did. We played. Now we're back to being housewives and taking care of our husbands."
"Pat ... "
"If there's nothing else, honey, I'm going to have to hang up. Art's due back any time. This is his day off, you know, and he just went down the street to get some cigars. We're going on a picnic later."
"You and Art.. .on a picnic V
"Of course." Patty's voice changed, a sly smile coming into it. "Now, if you take my advice, you'll arrange a picnic for your husband tonight in bed. It will do both of you good."
Amy slammed down the phone.
So that was the way things were! It didn't mean anything to Patty at all. And here she had gotten Amy hung up so she couldn't think of anything else. As for having a "picnic" with Pete, the mere thought made her ill.
How was she going to tolerate him tonight? He would probably want sex. They hadn't done it last night-he had seemed upset-but he rarely went two nights in a row without balling her.
How could she do it with him, when the only person she wanted was Patty? What had happened between them had been so gentle and lovely-and tremendously exciting, too! She'd never felt so torn asunder by a climax.
Amy felt more and more apprehensive as the day wore on, but her apprehension was nothing compared to what it would have been if she had known what condition her husband would be in when he arrived home that evening.
She probably would have fled the house.
When he burst through the kitchen door at four-thirty, his coat was awry and his shirt collar was open. He lurched toward her. The aroma which preceded him would have tested out at eighty-six proof, at least.
"Pete!" Amy cried. "You're drunk!"
"Damn right," he mumbled, a dull light coming into his bloodshot eyes. "An' y'know why I got drunk? Y'know why, li'l wife?"
"I'm sure I haven't the slightest idea."
He grasped her and pulled her away from the stove, forcing her to drop the spoon she had been holding.
"Pete! I've gotta stir that. Dinner will be ruined."
"Fffrig dinner! I don' give a goddamn!"
Amazed, Amy let him draw her into the living room.
"I'm drunk 'cuz of you," he said. "Now, y'know what Tm talkin' about?"
She had-an idea. Her instinct was to defend herself, regardless of how she felt:
"I didn't do anything to make you get drunk. If you think so, you're just imagining things."
"Oh, I am, am I? An' I s'pose I'm imagining ev'rything else, too."
"What else? What are you talking about?"
"Never mind ... come here..."
He flopped down onto the sofa.
"But I have to fix dinner."
"I told yuh, frig dinner! Come here!"
Fearful of his tone, she came, sitting down beside him.
He pulled her into his arms.
At first, panic struck Amy. Then she decided he was too drunk to start anything. He might paw her a little, but that was as far as it would go. She supposed she could put up with that.
If she tried to fight him, God only knew what would happen.
He put a hand on the front of her blouse and grinned foolishly. "So you're wearin' a bra today!" he said thickly. "Of course."
"How 'bout panties? Y' got panties on, too?"
"Of course, I have."
"Show me."
"Oooh, Pete..."
"Show me, goddamn you!"
She pulled her capri pants down at the side and showed him the pink nylon underneath them.
"All dreshed up ... all dreshed up," he mumbled. "Are you satisfied?"
He laughed, as if she had said something hilarious. Naturally she didn't get the joke. She started to stand up.
He grasped her arm. "Wait a minute, baby! Wait a li'l old minute!"
"What do you want?"
"I wanta see some skin! Strip! Take all your clothes off!"
"Pete, not now...! "
"Yeah, baby! Right now. Before I get mad."
She forced herself to smile and lean toward him. "Let's wait until after dinner, honey. Then I'll go right to bed with you if you want."
She was counting on getting him into bed first, with the thought that he would fall asleep before she could join him. The way he looked and acted, he was close to passing out right now. It was a wonder he had been able to drive home.
"Nothin' doin'! " he said, shaking his head so vigorously that he almost keeled over. "I wan' a li'l piece right now. I wan' a piece of my lovin' li'l wife."
Amy bit her lip. She would have to humor him.
Well, maybe she could get him to drop off to sleep first.
"All right, honey. We'll go into the bedroom now. Just let me turn the stove off."
She got up and hurried into the kitchen. The pudding was boiling. Well, that was ruined. She turned everything off.
When .she went back into the living room, Pete was standing on his feet.
"Come on," she said, and started to help him toward the bedroom.
"Wait a minute ... wait a minute," he said, as they passed the door of the guest bathroom. "Hafta take a piss. Just a minute."
She waited for him while he went into the room, not bothering to close the door. She heard the horsy sound of his urine striking the water in the John.
He came out with his trousers open. She guided him the rest of the way into the master bedroom.
"Help me get my clothes off, hmmm?" he asked.
Silently she helped him, mostly just holding him up as he pushed his outer garments away. She half-supported him as he got down onto the bed, then pulled his shoes, socks and shorts off.
Somehow she got him underneath the covers.
"You just relax now, honey," she said. "Fll be back in a minute."
"Well, hurry up." He rolled over and groaned. "Uhhh. Bed feels good."
"Sure it does," she said soothingly. "Just take it easy now. I'll be there in a minute."
She stood for a few moments, looking at him. His eyes were closed. He began to breathe deeply.
She went back to the living room and sat down. She let out a deep sigh.
So he was really upset about what he'd found when he got home yesterday! He suspected the worst.
Well, did she care?
She wasn't sure. She wasn't sure about anything right now.
When she tiptoed back into the bedroom, she found Pete asleep, snoring loudly. Thank goodness she had gotten out of that!
Kay Fraser had received a phone call that day at school. She had been called out of her classroom to take it.
The female voice, which she couldn't identify, had said, "Your husband is playing around with Joan Brooks. Everyone knows about it." Then the woman had hung up.
Kay sat, stunned, until a clerk in the school ottice asked, "Are you all right, Mrs. Fraser?"
"What? Oh. Yes, I'm all right. Thank you."
She got up numbly and returned to her class. But she could hardly concentrate on her teaching for the remainder of the day.
She normally got home well ahead of her husband, and today was no exception. She busied herself in the usual fashion, setting about to fix dinner.
She kept thinking, how could this happen to me? It happens to other women, but that's because they don't show their husbands enough love and understanding. I give Tom everything; all a man could want.
And it's not as if Joan Brooks were so much prettier than I am. She has more bust and fanny, but my figure is good. Anyway, a man's desire for a woman isn't dictated by physical dimensions. An inch more or less at one place or another means nothing. Desire and desirability run a lot deeper than that.
So, why?
More than anything else, she had to know. Anger didn't play as large a part in her reaction as did shock and curiosity.
Kay gave the impression of being morally strait-laced, actually she was less a moralist than a pragmatist. She took a strict view of marital fidelity because she believed the future of a marriage, and of society as a whole, depended on this. She didn't believe in the concept of sin, as such, only what was good or bad for a marriage ... and, in the larger context, for people in general.
Now she found herself faced with a practical problem. A problem required a solution. But in order to find that solution, she would have to make sure she understood the problem first.
What had happened? Where had she and Tom gone wrong?
She couldn't have children. Perhaps that was the basis for it. She would discuss that with him.
Or perhaps there was something else, something she had never considered. Whatever it was, she would get to the root of it. And right away.
She was prepared to discuss the matter with her husband as soon as he got home.
Tom arrived in his usual good humor, blissfully unaware of the fact that his wife had found out about his adulterous affair with Joan. He hadn't been worrying about the possibility that day because of the scheme he'd hatched when he was with Joan last night. That would work, he felt sure, because Kay had an open mind. She was the perfect school-teacher, possessing an orderly mentality attuned to scientific inquiry. His scheme would appeal to her curiosity.
He came through the kitchen door whistling.
Kay was a pretty dark-haired woman with expressive eyes. They could be soulful one moment, submissive the next, and sometimes commanding. Her lips conveyed less of the way she felt, being on the thin side and usually composed in a firm line.
"Hi, beautiful!" Tom said breezily and approached her.
But he didn't give her the kiss he had intended to bestow. Something about her expression stopped him.
"What's the matter?" he asked.
"That's what I want to know. Dinner's cooking. Come on into the living room. We have something very important to talk about."
Oh-oh, he thought. This was just the way she might bring it up, if she had heard.
He mentally girded his loins.
"Now, Tom, I hope we can talk about this like intelligent human beings who have a problem and want to find a solution to it."
"Of course," he said. "Do you mind if I have a drink?"
"I think it would be better to talk first. Alcohol interferes with thinking."
Kay was never much of a drinker, but she usually didn't object to Tom taking a few. Today he deferred to her wishes. Anyway, he didn't need booze to fortify himself. He had the fortification of a sound idea.
He sat, and she took a chair opposite him.
"I received an anonymous phone call today at school," she began. "It was a woman. She said she thought I should
Know you are having an affair with Joan brooks. "I see."
"You don't deny it."
"No."
"And you're not surprised someone found out."
"No. I suppose it was inevitable." She studied him. He was far cooler than she had expected. Well, that was good.
"What does Joan mean to you?" Kay asked directly. "Variety. That's all."
"You're not in love with her."
"No."
"I must say, Tom, you're being remarkably candid."
"Why shouldn't I be? There's nothing to hide, as I see it. It's too bad our society clings to puritanical values; otherwise these things could be out in the open and nobody would be hurt."
"That's an interesting theory."
"We've been married for three years, Kay, and this is the first time I've been ... to use the popular term ... unfaithful to you. The time came when I simply had to be. I had to get with someone else. Joan was handy. That's all."
"You don't want to break up our marriage."
"Of course not."
"You don't find me inadequate in any way?" He smiled benignly. "On the contrary, you're a very fine wife."
"Well!" She relaxed a little. "But still you felt the need for someone else."
"That's natural, Kay, and I suspect it's as natural a feeling on the part of the wives as it is on the part of husbands. Tell the truth now, haven't you ever felt the urge to screw around?"
Kay considered the question objectively, which was something most women wouldn't have done-at least, not in a direct confrontation with their husbands.
"Well, I must admit that I've felt drawn to other men at times ... purely in a physical way ... but I have realized it wasn't wise to entertain the urge."
"So you've accepted your frustration and adjusted to it. How long do you think you'll be able to keep that up? I tried the same thing and found I couldn't do it any longer. That's why I began seeing Joan. Incidentally, she feels the same way. She wants to stay married to Wesley, but she needed some outside excitement."
"I see," Kay said thoughtfully.
"The healthiest thing, in my opinion, darling, is to avoid getting frustrated in the first place. Give in to the urge to experiment, to have some outside thrills, and do it in a way that doesn't interfere with marriage."
"But how? Your affair with Joan isn't the answer. Now the word is out and everyone's gossiping about it-that makes us all look bad."
"Granted," Tom said, warming to the conversation as if he were trying to make a sale to a client. "Joan and I did what we did because it seemed the only way. Wes isn't very broad-minded and ... well, frankly darling, I was afraid to bring the matter up with you. I wasn't sure how you would react. I should have known, though, that you would be objective and open-minded. Fm sorry I didn't have more confidence in you."
"I still don't quite see what you're getting at."
"There's one way that a married couple can have their out-side kicks-which everybody needs-and their marriage, too. That's by swapping mates, for a night at a time, with other couples.
"Mmmmm. I've heard about mate swaps."
"I think it would be the perfect answer for the Brooks and us."
"I see what you mean."
"For the sake of our marriage, Kay, I suggest that we follow through on this. Wesley's a nice chap. You should enjoy him, as I enjoy Joan, and we will reserve our love for each other."
"One problem: You said yourself that Wes isn't broadminded. What makes you believe he will go for this?"
Tom smiled wisely. "We'll maneuver him into it. Here's how..."
Tom's salesman mentality had correctly sized up Kay's probable response. In fact, he had sized it up so perfectly that he wondered, after their discussion was all over, why he hadn't sprung this idea on her a long time ago. It would have saved him some sweat.
As for Kay's feelings, she had no particular desire for Wesley Brooks. He was not the sort of man to inspire passionate yearnings in a woman. But there were men she had been attracted to, as Tom had encouraged her to admit. Swapping with the Brooks would yield some experience as to how such arrangements could be handled. If she found she liked the way everything turned out, the next choice of swapping partners could be hers. Also, swapping with the Brooks would heal the rift in her marriage and overcome whatever damage had been done to her pride.
She agreed to it.
Afterward Tom suggested that they seal the bargain by going to bed immediately, thereby re-pledging their love to each other.
Kay agreed to this, too. Perhaps never before in human history had a marriage been snatched from the brink of disaster and reestablished so neatly as a viable institution. This spoke much, Kay believed, for the maturity of her husband and herself.
Tom just breathed a sigh of relief and hurried his wife into the bedroom.
Hurrying was necessary, since dinner would require some attention in a few minutes. But how long did it take for old marriage partners to tear off a robust piece?
Each shed their own clothing, and they fell happily into the center of the bed. Kay's arms came up around Tom's neck, while his right hand went directly to her loins. As they kissed he traced her female division with marvelously exciting fingertips. She moistened and her pussy lips tensed, making it easy for him to deepen the caress.
Their tongues stroked with passionate feeling. Her cupcake-like breasts, with their wide, dark aureola, stirred against his firm, hairy torso.
After a while, he slid his mouth down onto those chest adornments, licking the roughened crests all over and nibbling at the nipples as his middle finger steadily stroked in and out of her pussy, rubbing her love tip on each thrust and withdrawal.
"I want it, darling," Kay murmured at last.
Tom mounted her.
He gripped her at the trim, pliant hips and inserted his pulsating penis deeply into her slick, warm snatch.
"Uuuh!" she sighed pleasurably, and lifted to his thrust.
Commanding her hips with his hands, thereby lending guidance to her frenzied motions, he stroked his rod in and out of her cunt.
They speeded up together, and it was like flying in the rarified atmosphere high above the earth. They felt gloriously free and happy and removed from every problem, even the potentially serious one which had threatened to destroy their marriage.
Kay gasped and cried and came while Tom continued stroking feverishly. Then he, too, finished, spurting delightedly into her chamber of love.
Sighing, he relaxed against her and they kissed.
Both were gratified and reassured.
Now both looked forward to the future and all that it might hold.
CHAPTER 7
DAISY WATKINS WAS BACK AT WORK AND, IF Herbert's calculations were correct, she had completed her menstrual period. That meant her little cockpit should be free and clear and ready for his use again.
That morning he wasted no time in getting around to using it.
Herbert had become very offhand in his treatment of Daisy during recent weeks. Her own free-and-easy manner invited such treatment. She was used to letting men have fun with her, and she seemed able to grab her fun in the same way, at the same time.
He called her into his, office and asked cheerily, "Well, how are you feeling?"
"Lots better," she assured him, lifting a lock of long brown hair back over her shoulder.
She looked great in a cotton knit minidress with horizontal stripes of green, red and white. A silver chain belt encircled her middle.
A foxy look came over Herbert's normally mild features and he said, "Come around here, will you? I want to find out just how well you are."
Daisy, with a notion of what he might have in mind, grinned and walked around his desk to stand next to his chair.
Herbert took hold of her miniskirt at both sides and lifted it. His eager gaze took in the thickening of her thighs, then the smooth nudity of them above her stockings. He lifted her skirt farther and stared at the plump V of her green nylon panties.
"How are we doing here?" Herbert asked rakishly and touched that V with his fingertips.
There was no hint of a pad (though Daisy could have used tampons). He felt, through her panties, the familiar fatty mound covered by its mat of rather coarse, curly hair.
"Herbie!" she squealed. (She liked to call him that, and he rather enjoyed it.) "You know what it does to me when you touch me there?"
"Tell me," he grinned, and kept touching, stroking the smooth panty surface with the tips of his fingers.
"It makes me awfully hot," she confided. "It sends shivers all up and down."
"Shivers are cold, not hot," he pointed out, still stroking her.
She squirmed to his touch. "Oh, you know what I mean!" Then she added softly and huskily, "Get under the pants."
He hooked a panty elastic away from her loins and ran his fingers inside, directly onto her hairy crotch. "Oh, golly!" she said.
He stroked her lips up and down, then impertinently wormed a finger up between them to discover that she had no tampon there.
"Let's do it," he said.
Her answer was, "Man, do I want to!"
And she did. During the weeks in which he had been putting it to her, Herbert had developed into quite an acceptable screwer, as far as Daisy was concerned. She was never a slow girl, and she had learned to attune her responses to his.
He gripped the top of her panties and slid them down, taking them all the way along her meaty thighs, past her knees, and down off her calves and ankles. He tossed them onto the floor.
"Oooh, Herbie!" she protested. "They'll get all dirty. I have to put them back on again."
She turned and bent to pick up her panties, thereby causing her minidress to hike up at the rear, and Herbert leaned forward to jab two goosing fingers up the backs of her thighs and between her smooth, cushiony buttocks. That propelled her forward with a startled cry.
She straightened up and faced him, holding her briefs. "Herbie, you devil! What's gotten into you today?"
"It isn't what's gotten into me," he replied. "It's what's going to get into you. Come over here."
She obeyed, as always. Daisy was a remarkably cooperative wanton.
Planting herself across his lap, she pursed her fruity lips for a smooch. As he pressed his lips to hers and happily enjoyed their soft moist sweetness, his hand snaked upward between her thighs. She opened herself to grant access to his probe, and he fingered the hairy velvet of her snatch as they kissed.
His cock rose to nudge her near the anus.
With all this stimulation going on, it was no wonder that Daisy began to drip.
"I'll get my dress soiled if we don't look out," she said, and hopped off his lap.
In no time at all, she had removed her belt and was whisking the minidress over her head. She stood in a green half-flip, mesh stockings and white bra.
"Come on, Herbie, Strip down."
It was an invitation which Herbert could not resist.
At precisely that moment, his wife, Gloria, was pursuing her own special means of attaining pleasure. This time the lucky man was a joe who had stopped by to sell a few brushes. As Gloria's frilly robe fell away, revealing the very exquisite little brush which grew at the juncture of her thighs and belly, the salesman couldn't think about his own brushes to save his soul ... let alone make a lousy few dollars commission.
He much preferred to take advantage of the opportunity to make Gloria.
He was not as physical or as commanding as the truck driver had been, however. He had to be a little more certain of his ground before he made a move. This broad could just be teasing him, secure in the belief that he wouldn't dare lay a hand on her.
He grinned across at her as she sat on the sofa, the robe hanging open from her waist, her thighs uncrossed but together. "You're a very beautiful woman, Missus ... uh ... Missus ... "
"Never mind my last name," she said. "Just call me Gloria."
"All right." His grin and slight blush deepened. "Gloria it is. Heh-heh-heh."
He was a rather pudgy little man and nearly baldheaded. There was nothing attractive about him. But Gloria never sought out attractive males for her extra-marital screwing.
"I'm tired of hearing about brushes," she said. "Isn't there something else you'd like to tell me ... or ask me?"
Was there! But still he was hesitant. He'd heard of women like this who just led a man on. He had a wife and three children, and he couldn't afford to take chances.
So he (his name was Hal Simmons) edged around to the subject by asking, "Have you ever been in motion pictures, Gloria? You certainly have a lovely pair of legs. Heh-heh."
"I never have," she said with a tense smile. "But thank you for the compliment. Is there something else you like about me?"
"Gosh, yes! In fact, I wish..."
"You wish what, Mr. Simmons?" (He had given her his card right after he rang her doorbell.)
"Hal. Please. I wish ... well, I hope you won't think I'm too forward..."
"No. By all means, go on."
"Well, I wish ... heh, heh ... that I could see more of you."
She looked down at herself. Her thighs were still snuggly together. Only the top tuft of her pussy hair was revealed. Her robe remained fastened over her bulging breasts.
"Just what in particular would you like to look at?" she asked sweetly.
Oh, gosh! Goddamn! Already his cock was straining at the confinement of his shorts and pants.
"Well, if you could ... huh, huh ... just part your legs a little ... "
"You mean, like this?"
She parted them-very slightly at first, then farther and farther apart until he saw not only her entire bearded bun but the pink slit down the center of it.
His mouth was hanging open. At any moment, she expected to see his little bow tie spin around. He was staring at her cunt, speechless.
She helped him out: "Why don't we go into the bedroom, Hal? That is, if you'd like to."
"Holy Mackerel, yes!" He leaped up, mindless of his thrusting hard-on.
Though he was a small man, Gloria was pleased to note that he was well-hung. She wondered why he didn't have more confidence in himself.
She got up and, smiling at him, led the way into the hall and back to the master bedroom. Her carriage was erect. Her robe flowed away from her flashing bare legs.
Once in he bedroom, she faced him and stripped off the robe completely. He gazed in fascination at her highly-placed, bowl-like tits with their sharp little points poking forward.
"Would you like me to undress you?" she inquired.
"Lady!" the poor man groaned. "This has gotta be a put-on of some kind. It's too good! I know we aren't on Candid Camera, but have you got somebody hidden here, spying on us or something?"
"Of course not," she said, as she moved up to him. "There's just you and me. And I simply want to be loved, that's all. A woman has a right to a good loving when she feels like it, hasn't she?"
"Hell, yes!"
He grabbed her and pulled her into his arms.
The tiger which lived within him, usually in a near-comatose state, had suddenly awakened. It demanded meat.
Hal ground his mouth against her fragrant, soft lips and forced them apart to grant entry to his tongue. At the same time, his hand slid down her back and onto her delicious, pouting buttocks. He grasped a satiny cheek and kneaded it as they kissed.
Even before the kiss ended, Gloria was pulling at his clothes, drawing his jacket away. He backed up to let her pull it down his arms. She tossed it onto a chair.
Now she proceeded to unknot his tie while he lifted his hands under her titties and enclosed those pneumatic mounds in an ardent grip. His fingers thrilled to the resiliency of her flesh. He toyed with the up-thrust red studs of her nipples.
She slipped his tie away, then unbuttoned his shirt. He was bending to suck at one of her joy jugs, and this made it a little more difficult for her to undress him, but she went right ahead.
It was a dull kind of excitement that gripped Gloria. The whole thing was more of a ritual than an expression of true lust. She derived a deep psychological satisfaction from what was going on, so the physical aspect was secondary. But she would reach her release, and that was something she needed, too.
She pulled his shirt up and out from under his pants. He twisted to help her strip it off. He was panting in heat by this time. The taste of her tit had been tremendous. Her jugs were so much fuller and firmer than his wife's.
Gloria fumbled with his belt buckle, then the snappers at the top of his pants. She let his zipper down over the hump caused by his phallus.
"Let me ... finish," he croaked, and tried to push Gloria away.
But she had no intention of giving ground. She wanted to undress him ... and suddenly she knew that she wanted to suck him first. She had to get his cock into her mouth!
She dropped to her knees before him, pulling his trousers down his legs.
"Don't! Oh, God ... don't!" he moaned, as she pulled his pecker out of his shorts.
It was a lengthy, very stiff rod with skin over its head. She pushed the skin back and gazed at the moist rosy knob. She leaned close and protruded her pink tongue.
Hal gazed down in rapt fascination. He saw his cock give a jerk just before Gloria's tongue touched it. At the touch, he experienced a most voluptuous sensation.
He hadn't been blown since a prostitute did it for him years ago, and that was nothing like this. She was good enough, in a technical sense, but she had no feel for it. This woman
Gloria worked her soft lips against him, then began bobbing her head, thereby sliding her lips against his so-sensitive flesh. The motions were marvelously exciting to Hal-so exciting that he feared he might explode.
Yet he didn't want to stop her.
Finally he said, "No ... no!" and tried to push at her head, but she just worked all the stronger. His pelvis shot forward, jamming his joystick deeper into her mouth, and he came, gushing into her throat.
She kept her mouth in place until she had caught all his fluid then leaned back, looked up at him, and smiled.
My God! Even the prostitute had spit his semen out!
Hal felt rocky on his legs, and his penis had lapsed to near nothing. Apparently unconcerned by this, Gloria bent and removed his shoes, then his socks and trousers. She pulled his shorts away.
"It's no use," he groaned. "I won't be able to go again."
"Oh, won't you?" she challenged and added, "get onto the bed."
He did, but only to humor her. He'd had such an intense climax that he was sure to remain dormant for a half-hour or more. He doubted if this hot bitch would be willing to wait that long.
He was right about her, but wrong about himself. Gloria had ways of resurrecting his peter in a remarkably short time.
She began by leaning over him and dragging her tits lightly up and down his legs, across his stomach, and finally to his chest and on up. She dropped each turgid nipple against his lips, let him take a quick suck, and pulled it away. She touched a nipple to each eyelid in turn, then tickled the end of his nose with one.
Now she backed up and let her cascading breasts play over his loins, tickling the head of his penis with a tip. She lifted his penis and jammed it between her tits, which she. held at their outer sides. She rubbed her lush globes against his softened shaft.
It didn't come up. Not yet. But he was beginning to sense new life surging into it.
She manually fondled and caressed his hairy balls. Then she reached down farther, running a finger into the groove between his buttocks. She teased the sensitive nerve endings at his ass-hole.
She ordered him to roll over and she straddled him. Shaking her shoulders slowly, she bounced and rolled her tits against his back, his middle and his buttocks. She bent and kissed him-first on a shoulder blade, then in the small of his back, finally on his rump.
He groaned and his rod fattened against the bed.
She had him roll onto his back once more and she began to stroke his peter in her hand while she crooned the most deliriously-obscene things. She used every four-letter word he had ever thought of, some of which he had never spoken himself, and she ended with an abject entreaty for him to take her:
"Screw me, Hal! Please screw me, Hal! I need you to screw me!"
His rod stood tall and straight, quivering with a fresh resurgence of desire.
She quickly moved atop it and let her loins down. He arched and groaned and closed his eyes as he pawed blindly at her hobbling tits. Gloria did all the work.
She came just before he did, and it was good.
Hal felt as if every drop of life had been siphoned out of him.
In her husband's private office, Herbert was seated on a straight chair while Daisy squatted over "him, her thighs spread wide. She let herself down on his spear of manhood, and it slid way up inside her lubricated passage. She twisted and bounced up and down, her great tits swinging.
Daisy was built in the boobs a great deal differently from his wife. While Gloria's tits were erect and dome-like, Daisy's tended to hang. But they had good projection.
Herbert grasped them and squeezed them as Daisy screwed him. Her twat was marvelously warm and wet and roomy. Its roominess became an asset when she used it in this way, circling it and tilting it and sliding it up and down, all at the same time.
Her plump buttocks rhythmically smacked his thighs. He gripped her tensing, thick thighs and enjoyed the ripple of her muscles beneath the soft surface.
She moaned and panted and gasped as she worked. Herbert gave a jab upward every now and then, but he let her provide most of the action.
When she felt him suddenly tighten and stretch upward inside her, she bore down and ground her cunt against him hard. He ejaculated and she came when she felt his juice geyser up. She quaked and bounced up and down on his lap. He squeezed her titties like warm loaves of dough, then his hands fell away.
"I never asked you," Daisy said a few minutes later, as they were getting dressed, "but doesn't your wife like to screw at all?"
"We make love," Herbert said, declining to use a word like screw in relation to Gloria. "But she's a very sensitive person. Physical things aren't so important to her."
"In other words, she's cold, hmm?" Daisy commented, sighting over her shoulder to straighten a garter.
"I suppose you could say that. However, she's a wonderful woman, and we're very much in love."
"Poor Herbie."
That made him angry and he snapped, "I don't require your pity, Miss Watkins!"
"Oh, come on now," she laughed. "No offense intended. It's just that a nice guy like you shouldn't be stuck with a woman who don't like her nookey."
"There are other things in the world."
"Yeah?" She wriggled her dress down over her head. "Well, you can say that after you're all nice and satisfied, but you wouldn't have said it a little while ago, when you were pulling up my dress."
"Daisy, I'd advise you not to take me or your situation here too much for granted."
She just looked at him.
"I like you," he said. "You know that. And we get along pretty well. But I am, after all, the head of the company, and you're only a file clerk."
She continued to gaze at him for a few moments, then she broke into a grin and hip-rolled over to where he was standing. She tilted her cute face up and gave him a kiss.
"There you are, boss sweetie," she said. "Let's not fight, huh?"
He didn't scare her. She understood him and was sure of the position she occupied in his life.
Herbert grudgingly admired her for that certainty. He wished he could be as sure ... about himself, Gloria, and lots of things.
CHAPTER 8
PETE SAT MOROSELY IN THE OUTER OFFICE OF Leslie Holloway, M.D., and studied the receptionist's legs with only mild interest. If he had been his old self, a pair of knees and thighs like that would really have turned him on.
The girl was a gorgeous redhead and she was seated with crossed legs. She had swiveled away from the well of her desk to answer the phone, and her knees were pointing directly at Pete. Her white uniform was only a little longer than mini-length, and its hem had ridden up to the tops of her hose. On her under thigh, Pete visually caressed a patch of creamy naked flesh.
Nothing.
His pecker didn't begin to get hard.
In fact, his confounded pecker hadn't been hard in two days, and that was what had brought him to the psychiatrist's office. Perhaps Dr. Holloway could help him. If not, he didn't know what he would do.
"Mr. Edwards?" the receptionist said sweetly. "The doctor will see you now."
"Thank you," Pete said, and managed a wan smile as he got up and trudged toward the door marked Private.
He opened the door and walked into the adjoining room. He stopped short.
The pretty blonde behind the desk stood up. "I'm Dr. Holloway," she said. "Sit down, won't you?"
"But ... "
"I know what you're about to say, Mr. Edwards. Many of my patients do, when they see me for the first time. You were expecting a man, right?"
"Well, yes. I was. Your name's Leslie and I thought ... "
"Leslie's a feminine name, also." She smiled. "In any event, it makes no difference whether you're treated by a male or a female. Regardless of what your problem may be, scientific knowledge rather than the sex of the practitioner will determine the solution."
"I suppose that's right," Pete said, and sat down. He certainly didn't want to discuss his intimate sex problem with a woman, but now that he was here it appeared that he had no choice. He couldn't very well turn around and walk out.
Leslie Holloway was in her early thirties, bright-eyed and trimly built. Her golden hair was bobbed short, in an attractive wavy style. She wore a white smock which revealed little of the figure underneath.
"Well, Mr. Edwards ... " She folded her hands on the desk. "Suppose you tell me your problem."
He cleared his throat.
"Please," she said. "Don't grope for words. Just come right out with it."
"Very well. For the last few days, I haven't been able to get an erection."
"Hmm," she said clinically. "Have you ever had this trouble before?"
"No."
She was making notes.
"Are you married, Mr. Edwards?"
"Yes."
"Living with your wife."
"That's right."
"How has she reacted to your failure."
"She doesn't know about it." The doctor looked at him.
"I haven't tried to have intercourse with her during the past two days," Pete explained.
"But you have tried with another woman."
"Two."
She kept writing everything down.
"Were the circumstances conducive to sex?"
"Damned right," he said. "Oh, I'm sorry, doctor. I didn't mean to speak that way."
"Please do not guard your speech, Mr. Edwards. Say whatever you feel like. There are no taboos in here."
"All right." He shifted uneasily in his chair.
"Now, you say you failed to acquire an erection with two different women during the past two days, under circumstances which normally would have given you an erection. Is that correct?"
"Right."
"And you've never had the slightest trouble in developing an erection before?"
"Never. In fact, women have told me I'm pretty fast, as men go."
"I see." She studied him impersonally.
"Has anything happened in the past two days, or just before this trouble developed," she asked, "which upset you? Have you been worried about anything?"
"Yes."
"And what was that?"
"I came home two days ago and found my wife in the bedroom of our home with a woman friend of hers-a neighbor. My wife and this neighbor seemed very flustered. I found the neighbor's blouse and brassiere in the living room, along with my wife's blouse."
The doctor's eyes narrowed slightly. "In other words, your wife and this woman were partially nude together?"
"No. They had slipped other blouses on. But they obviously had been nude a little while before. I think they got dressed in a hurry when they heard me arrive home."
"I said 'partially nude' and you said 'nude', Mr. Edwards. Did you mean, you believe they had no clothes on at all?"
"I'm convinced my wife didn't, because I checked her and found she wasn't wearing pants. Underpants, I mean. And she had no bra on."
"What explanation did she give?"
'That she and this neighbor were trying on clothes, but both of them were upset. They looked very guilty. Also, they'd been drinking."
"I see."
"That upset me, doctor. I'm frank to admit that. But I don't see why it should keep me from getting my ... that is, from getting an erection now."
"Perhaps it didn't. On the other hand, it very well could have. Tell me, Mr. Edwards, you pride yourself on your masculinity, don't you?"
"Sure. I guess so."
"And on your prowess with women."
"Mmmmm ... yes."
"How long have you been married."
"Four years."
"Do you have any children'. '"
"No. My wife and I haven't wanted any, yet."
"Tell me, Mr. Edwards ... what would be your opinion of a man who lived four years with a woman, believing she loved him and was attracted to him, believing she admired and appreciated his manhood, only to discover she had never had any interest in him in bed-that she had, in fact, merely tolerated his sexual advances for the sake of the material security he gave her, and that she was a Lesbian? What would you think of him?"
"I'd figure he was a fool, I guess."
"And how about his manhood? Would you have much respect for that?"
"I guess not."
"Well, if you would have no respect for this hypothetical fellow, how could you expect to have respect for yourself under the same circumstances?"
"But I don't know that my wife's Lesbian. There could be another explanation."
"Of course. But you do suspect her of Lesbianism, don't you?"
"I suppose I do," he admitted.
"Now let me put it to you-if a man lacks respect for himself as a male and as a lover, he isn't very-likely to develop a hard-on when the time comes to make love to a woman, is he?"
Pete's eyes narrowed. "I see what you mean. But, hell ... I'm not to blame for what my wife did, even if she was fooling around with that other woman. It's not my fault."
Leslie Holloway smiled. "That's your conscious mind talking. You're rationalizing. That's not really the way you feel. Underneath you feel inadequate, and your sense of inadequacy relates to your penis."
"But ... "
"The penis is the male love organ, Mr. Edwards. You feel inadequate as a lover, therefore your penis must be inadequate, therefore your penis refuses to get hard."
"Maybe you're right."
"Of course I'm right." She leaned back in her chair and smiled. "Your case, Mr. Edwards, has turned out to be ridiculously simple."
"Well, now, just wait a minute, doctor. Even admitting that you may have the right idea about what's wrong with me, that doesn't solve the problem. And I don't really know that my wife's queer."
"That's right. You don't. And your problem is not solved. I merely said that the case itself was simple. The solution still must be worked out."
"How do I go about doing that?"
"No doubt you will want to determine what the true facts are, concerning your wife. Either she has engaged in Lesbian activity or she hasn't. If she has, it was either a serious thing with her-an expression of her true nature-or merely an experiment. You're apt to have difficulty finding out these things, if she doesn't choose to confide in you. But I'm telling you now, that it doesn't make the slightest difference whether you find out these facts or not."
"Whaaat?"
"I mean, with respect to your cure. You see, the problem does not concern what your wife was or was not doing or how serious her attitude may have been toward it. The problem relates to your attitude, not hers."
"I don't quite follow that."
"Very well. Let me phrase it in more simple terms: "Your wife does not have the power, either through her conduct or her attitude, to prevent your penis from getting hard. Your own psychological processes control that."
"Yeah, but ... "
"No but's. It is a fact. Now, what we must do is to demonstrate this fact so that your subconscious mind will grasp it. Once that has occurred, you will be rid of your problem."
"I suppose that's right," Pete admitted. "But how do we do that?"
Dr. Holloway smiled. "Well, what is the matter with your psychological processes now? You suspect that your wife is a Lesbian; you have been living with her for four years and failing to satisfy her all that time; therefore you have lost confidence in your ability to perform as a man-in other words, as a lover of women. That is why your penis will not harden. All right! So we must create a situation in which you are stimulated sexually but are not called upon to perform. Provided the stimulation is strong enough, your penis should respond to it ... since you will know at the beginning that nothing is expected of you. Do you follow me now."
"Vaguely."
"Some added work may be needed to rebuild your self-confidence as a lover. But that can come later. First we must prove that you still possess a functional prick."
"Doctor!"
"Let's not be puritanical, Mr. Edwards. You are suffering from a problem of inhibition right now. All inhibitions must be broken down."
She picked up the telephone on her desk and touched a button on its base. "Come in here, will you, Charlotte?"
When the redheaded receptionist appeared, Dr. Holloway told her, "Hang the card on the door. I want you to help me for a little while."
Pete looked at the doctor in amazement. "You don't mean that you're going to try to ... stimulate me here and now!"
"What better time could there be?" she retorted. "The approach may be unconventional, but I have never held much with conventions in therapeutic practice. Sometimes it's best to cut right through them and get at the heart of the problem. In your case this is especially important, because the longer you experience your present difficulty, the more firmly ingrained your negative attitudes will become. We must explode the myth of your impotence right away."
"All right, Charlotte," she said, when her girl had returned and closed the door. "I want you to take your clothes off in front of Mr. Edwards. You won't mind doing that, will you?"
"Of course not," Charlotte said. "When I first came to work for you and you treated me, you removed all my neurotic inhibitions. But why do you want me to do this?"
"Because Mr. Edwards has the notion that he is unable to achieve an erection. I believe that you can give him one, by stripping down and parading in front of him. What do you think?"
Charlotte looked at Pete and grinned wisely. "I believe I might be able to."
"One thing, however..." Dr. Holloway said. "There is to be no intercourse. That must be clearly understood. Do you agree, Mr. Edwards?"
"Of course." Pete was reddening slightly.
"And you, Charlotte?"
"Sure," she smiled.
"Then let the strip begin!" Dr. Holloway sat back.
It was the damndest situation Pete had ever walked into, and certainly one he had never expected to encounter in a doctor's office. But it was clear to him now that Dr. Holloway was no ordinary doctor. If her method worked, he would be grateful to her indeed.
Charlotte didn't seem reluctant in the least to stage this little entertainment. Pete could only wonder about the way in which Dr. Holloway had "treated" her in order to bring her around to this point.
But he didn't wonder about it now.
Now he concentrated on visual enjoyment as the gorgeous redhead opened the zipper down the back of her white uniform dress. She moved back and forth slowly, turning so that he could appreciate all angles, though really there were no angles about her. All her aspects offered lovely curves.
A white strap crossed her back. It was visible in part through the opening of her dress.
As she lowered the dress, letting it slide down her arms and slither off her body, Pete admired her full thrusting tits which were sheathed in a clinging white bra. She wore a short, white half-slip.
She continued to move back and forth, gradually working the petticoat down. She wore white, nylon briefs underneath it and, under those, a white garter belt which supported her sheer, tan stockings.
Her buttocks were cheeky, her thighs full and smooth.
It was when she reached behind her to unhook her bra and draw it away that Pete experienced a familiar stirring at his loins, as if his handy-dandy were about to stand up. But something seemed to keep it from doing so.
Even when Charlotte drew her bra away and left her quivering tits standing bare, their beautiful rosy nipples out-thrust, Pete's dingus didn't stiffen.
He admired the tits. He enjoyed looking at them. He had the notion that he wanted to hold them in his hands-to wobble them and jiggle them and roll them around-and to suck at each of them in turn. But his pecker didn't get hard, as a man's pecker should when he entertained such lustful thoughts.
Charlotte bent and let her breasts shake back and forth a little as she ungartered her stockings and pushed them down. She took her stockings off and replaced her shoes. She drew her garter belt up from underneath her pants and tossed it away.
Now she wore but the single garment-those snowy white briefs of sheer nylon which clung to her rear globes, her hips and her gently-curved belly. They showed an enticing, dark shadow at her delicate pubic mound.
She smiled at Pete and gripped her lush titties from underneath, squeezing them and lifting them and kneading gently. She plucked at her projecting, stiff nipples.
Pete felt a rush of response entering his loins, but nothing happened except a slight fattening of his cock. It didn't get hard.
Dr. Holloway glanced at him. "Would you like to take Charlotte, Mr. Edwards?"
"I would if I could."
"I see. Very well, Charlotte, go the rest of the way, if you will."
Charlotte would ... and did.
She stripped her white panties down, showing a beautiful reddish-brown bush and delightful cunt lips. She turned her back to Pete and exhibited a bottom which was stunningly formed. She bent, aiming her smooth butt slightly away from him, and drew her clinging panties off one foot, then the other. She turned to face him again.
The sight was a lovely one, and highly stimulating, but
Pete still couldn't gain an erection. "Anything?" Dr. Holloway asked. "No," he said miserably.
"Relax, Mr. Edwards. Let yourself go. Remember, you're not expected to perform. You only have to watch and please yourself. Charlotte ... sit down facing Mr. Edwards."
She did, choosing a straight chair and seating herself on the edge of it.
"Now, spread your thighs," Dr. Holloway instructed.
Charlotte did this, also, and the sight was marvelous. Her pink pussy opened like a rosebud at dawn.
Pete's body was trying hard to produce a hard-on. If he could just let go a little more, psychologically.
"Stimulate yourself, darling," Dr. Holloway said to her girl. "Caress your organ."
She did this, with fluttery fingers. Pete stared, his mouth hanging open, heat and pressure rushing toward his loins but somehow not gaining admittance to his penis in sufficient degree to stiffen it.
Dr. Holloway rolled her chair closer to Pete's.
"I hope you won't mind," she said and, with that, she placed her hand on his lap.
She fondled his limp peter through his clothes while the lovely Charlotte stroked and invaded her own cunt.
Suddenly Pete groaned and his rod shot out and upward, assuming marvelous hardness and pressing against the interior of his shorts and pants.
"Aaah," Dr. Holloway said.
"Is he there?" Charlotte asked.
"He most certainly is," the doctor replied. "And handsomely so."
Pete grinned. "Goddamn! I thought I'd never get it up again."
Dr. Holloway chuckled and removed her hand from his lap. "So you see that your emotion was all wrong. There is nothing the matter with you. All right, Charlotte ... you may put your clothes on."
"But ... "
"Yes, Mr. Edwards?-" the doctor said.
"I know we agreed nothing would happen, but you also said some work was needed to convince me I was a good lover."
Dr. Holloway laughed like a rippling brook. "Later, Mr. Edwards. We have accomplished quite a bit for one day."
Charlotte stood and picked up her clothing. She headed for the small dressing room which adjoined the doctor's office. Her buttocks winked delightedly as she walked, her thighs caressing each other.
Pete watched wistfully as she left. His hard-on still throbbed.
"You'll be all right," the doctor assured him. "I would advise you, however, not to attempt intercourse with your wife tonight. Not that you aren't capable of it, physically, but there may still be a block as far as she's concerned. I wouldn't want you to undergo another failure-that's very bad for the ego."
"You can say that again," Pete affirmed.
His excitement subsided and he stood up.
"I want to thank you, doctor. When shall I come in next?"
"Tomorrow. Charlotte will make an appointment for you as soon as she is dressed and returns to her desk. You may wait for her in the outer office."
Charlotte was pleasant but business-like when he spoke with her. A remarkable girl, Pete decided. And she had a remarkable boss.
Just how remarkable they both were, Pete had no idea.
After he had left the office, and after Dr. Holloway had taken care of her next patient (who happened to be her last for the day), Charlotte locked the front door and went into the doctor's private office.
"At last," she breathed as she zipped open her uniform. "I didn't think I could wait."
Leslie Holloway chuckled and stood. She came out from behind her desk and took her smock off.
"It made me so hot, playing with my pussy before," Charlotte said. "I kept imagining those were your fingers and that your lips would soon be down there."
"Dear Charlie," the other woman murmured as she lifted her dress. "You're such a minx."
Both women became nude in a hurry, and together they got down on the floor in the center of the office. They rolled into an embrace, Leslie's smallish tits mashing Charlotte's large, fruity ones. The true blonde caressed her love partner's buttocks as Charlie's impudent fingers made their way to the doctor's warm loins. They plucked at the golden down on Leslie's cunt, then parted the cunt lips and stroked inside.
"And to think that Edwards fellow was so upset," Leslie purred, "because he suspected his wife of Lesbianism."
"That's a laugh, all right," Charlie murmured. But she wasn't laughing. She was breathing hard and passionately, and now she flopped onto her back, her legs spreading wide.
"Oh, my little sweetmeat!" Leslie crooned and began to kiss her on the face ... then the shoulders ... then the tits ... and finally all the way down as she worked Charlie's tits with knowing hands, gently stimulating the large, erect nipples.
Leslie's face buried itself in Charlie's red bush, her lips opening the lips of Charlie's pussy and her tongue sliding deliriously inside.
"Oooh, so goood!" Charlie moaned. "Eat me! Eat me!"
Leslie ate.
After a while, they changed positions and Charlie ate her.
Then they rolled into a 69 and ate each other simultaneously. They rose to a thrilling double climax which had them shuddering passionately together as they washed each other's faces in joy juice.
Finally, as they were getting dressed, the doctor asked, "How would you feel about screwing Mr. Edwards?"
"I will if you want me to," Charlotte replied.
"I would do it myself, except that he should continue to regard me in a professional sense, not as a lover."
"I understand," Charlotte said.
"It may be, of course, that he will catch himself some action on the outside and restore his self-confidence that way. He seems like an enterprising fellow."
"I would just as soon he did. I don't get much fun out of men, any more."
"Poor Charlie. I suppose I've ruined you."
"Oh, Leslie! Never say that. I adore doing what you've taught me. It's really a great improvement over male-female rutting."
"That's what I discovered at an early age, but I still keep my hand in with the male sex. I don't dare lose my perspective."
Charlotte sighed. "Well, let me know."
"I will, dear. If Mr. Edwards doesn't report some progress tomorrow, I'll set up a date for you two tomorrow night."
"Won't that make you feel like a kind of a pimp?" Charlotte giggled.
"No more than you should feel like a whore, darling. What we do is for science. Never lose sight of that."
Charlotte vowed to try and remember.
CHAPTER 9
THE BROOKS AND THE FRASERS WERE HAVING A bash.
As far as Wes Brooks knew at the beginning, it was just an ordinary get-together for barbecued steaks, a few drinks, and Monopoly or Scrabble. His wife, Joan, and the Frasers knew better.
It fell to Kay Fraser to change the tone of the affair. She did this by going to work on Wesley in a way she had never done with any man before. It made her feel wicked and this, surprisingly, was an agreeable sensation. But more important than that, it promised a broadening of insight.
And it seemed an acceptable thing to do because Wesley's wife and her husband were already screwing around and had given their permission. Only Wes was in the dark, which made it kind of a trick that all the others were playing on him. It wasn't as if Kay were a she-predator, prowling alone.
The party was at the Fraser's home, and Tom had been pushing the drinks as aggressively as he could. But Wes wasn't much of a drinker. If he had downed a little more of the hootch, it would .have been easier for Kay to work on him.
She did well, considering the circumstances.
While Tom and Joan were dancing, she sat down beside Wes and moved close, watching him with a sensuous quality in her expressive eyes. He was a large man, but soft. His personality was superficially smooth, but a perceptive person knew he was dull as dishwater underneath.
"They make a nice couple, don't they?" she commented, nodding toward Wes's wife and her own husband.
"Yes. They certainly do."
"Wanta dance with me, Wes, or shall we step outside and get some fresh air?"
"The air conditioner gives you fresher air than you've got outdoors, what with all the smog," Wes chuckled.
"But I like the night. Don't you? When you're out in the dark, anything could happen."
He looked at her closely for the first time. She smiled.
He said, "Sure. We'll step outside if you want to "
Joan and Tom each took surreptitious glances as Wesley and Kay left the room. The two dancers silently wished Kay luck.
Outdoors, crickets chirped. There was a moon. The night air was reasonably fresh and cool. Kay walked a little ways from the house and Wes followed.
Suddenly she stopped and turned to him. If he hadn't stopped very short, he would have bumped into her.
She looked up into his eyes. "Kiss me, Wes," she demanded.
He laughed nervously. "You're joking."
"No. I mean it. Kiss me!"
"Baby, you've had too much to drink," he said. But he did move a little closer, and his voice had taken on a slight huskiness.
Now he could inhale her perfume and sense her warmth. She was looking up at him earnestly. Goddamn, he thought. Who would have believed it of prim little Kay?
Suddenly she pressed herself against him. He felt the firm mounds on her chest and the highly-charged energy in her body.
Her hands came up around his neck and drew his head down.
They kissed.
It started softly but gradually became more intense. Kay alone was responsible for the buildup of passion, as she writhed against him and quivered her lips, letting her tongue-tip through. Wes remained outwardly phlegmatic. His arms had come up around her back and leaned backward, panting.
"Oh, God, Wes! Don't you feel it?" She felt deliciously wicked at that moment.
"I feel my little neighbor's going to hate herself in the morning," he replied.
She felt like cursing him. He was such a clod. But she wasn't about to give up now.
"Maybe you should have had more to drink," she said. "It would have loosened you up a little."
Again she burrowed into his embrace. This time her tongue shot forward as soon as their lips touched. It speared deeply into his mouth.
She felt his arms tighten around her, then he began to kiss back. She pumped her tongue in and out, between his lips.
"Kay!" he said hoarsely, when the kiss had ended. "You don't realize what you're doing."
Feeling more like a whore than ever, and loving it, she said, "The hell I don't!" She placed her hand at his crotch as she moved in again.
As they kissed, with mutual passion this time, she fondled his dong until it came up. Then she unzipped his pants.
"Kay! Oh, God!"
She reached into his fly and gripped his stiff penis.
Panting, he pushed her away. "We can't!" he croaked. "Goddamnit, we can't!" He quickly zipped himself up.
"Wh-what's the matter?" he asked.
"It's you. You're so righteous."
"I try to be decent, if that's what you mean."
"I believe you're drunk. Come on, Kay, let's go back inside."
"You're afraid of your own feelings, aren't you, Wes? You're afraid to let yourself go."
"I guess so. In a way. But fear isn't the main part of it. Fooling around with somebody else's wife or husband is wrong, especially when the people are next door neighbors.
"You mean, it wouldn't be so bad if we didn't live next door to each other?"
"Well ... "
"You're a hypocrite, Wes. But I love you anyway. Come on and kiss me again."
She bore in with another attempt to make him forget why, according to his Victorian morals, they couldn't tear off a piece in the back yard.
But it didn't work. He quickly gripped her by the arms and moved her away.
A woman of less determination might have given up. But Kay had committed herself to the project of seducing him, and she had considerable strength of purpose. Also, she realized that her vindication depended on Wes giving in. If she stopped now, she would stand as a slut and he a saint. She couldn't have that.
She went back into the house with him, but carried the firm intention to pursue her project in there. She would proceed according to the alternate plan she and Tom had agreed upon and Joan had okayed.
She immediately took another drink. Wes was flustered. He cast guilty, uncertain glances at both his wife and Tom. They seemed happy, laughing and joking together.
Carrying her glass, Kay strutted to the record player.
"Y'know what I've always wanted t'do?" she asked loudly, and with less steadiness than she actually possessed.
"Tell us, honey!" Tom said, waving his glass. He didn't have to fake his own inebriation.
"I've always wanted t'take off my clothes in front'v a bunch of people."
"You mean, do a friggin' strip-tease?" Tom chortled.
"Damn right! Whataya say, folks? Would ya like t'see that?"
Joan clapped her hands and jumped, causing her half-exposed breasts to bounce erotically. 'Oh, do it, Kay! Come on!"
"Joan!" Wesley grated, moving close to her. He said to the others, "She's had too much to drink. Can't you see that?"
"Look at the party pooper!" Joan said, pointing at her husband.
"Well, heck ... "
"Come on, baby," Tom said, popping his cute wife on the ass. "Show 'em what yuh got." She started the music.
The conflict drawn on Wes's rather pudgy face was plain. He wanted to see his cute neighbor's charms, but at the same time he wanted the party to retain its respectability. Respectable stockbrokers didn't attend non-respectable parties-at least, not in the presence of their wives and the wives of their neighbors.
But Kay couldn't be stopped, not with Tom and Joan egging her on.
Wes dropped into a chair. Tom and Joan snuggled close on the sofa. Wes didn't notice this at the moment; he was too intent upon watching Kay.
She wore a snug-fitting black dress, and it didn't take her long to wriggle the top of it down, exposing a lacy, black. brassiere. Excitement clogged Wes's throat and fattened his whang.
Grinning and prancing back and forth, to the accompaniment of a raucous beat furnished by multiple drums and electric guitars, Kay got rid of her dress and stripped her lacy half-slip away.
She was in bra and black pants, which had garter straps of the same color traveling from beneath them to grip the reinforced tops of dusky sheer hose. She moved back and forth, making her buttocks work in the clinging nylon.
Wes's cock got very stiff.
He glanced once at Kay's husband, who sat beside Joan grinning and seeming to enjoy the show Kay was putting on, and Wes decided:
Shit! If he doesn't care, why should I?
Wes reached for his glass and finished what was in it.
Kay now took her bra away, and her cupcake breasts, with the wide, dark caps, bobbled prettily. Wes wanted her. Those cute, firm boobs of hers would be a nice change from his wife's large and rather pendulous ones. He tried to imagine how they would feel in his hands.
As Kay strutted, her pert titties bobbed up and down.
"That's the way, baby!" Tom yelled.
Wes could hardly believe this was happening. It seemed so out of character for Kay, as he had always known her. God, what if the school board were to see her now! She would certainly lose her job in a hurry.
Suddenly she stopped her prancing back and forth and centered her attention on Wes. She approached him and lifted a leg, placing her foot on his thigh.
"Take my shoe off, honey," she begged.
Tom whooped.
Wes could hear his own wife's giggle.
He gazed at Kay's crotch, where the black nylon of her briefs was pulled taut against the crescent of her womanhood.
"Well ... come on," she coaxed.
Swallowing hard and wishing there was more room in his pants, he took her shoe off.
Now, keeping her foot on his thigh, she pivoted on winging her own thigh close to him. "Ungarter me," she said.
"Go on, Wesley!" Tom yelled. "Open her friggin' garters!"
"Wes is good at that," Joan said. "Do it for her like you Jo for me, honey."
Had everyone gone mad? Wes wondered. But he complied with the multiple requests. He gripped Kay's garters one by one and opened them, with her wiggling and presenting different aspects to him all the time. He was acutely conscious of how close her knockers were to his face.
He pulled her stockings down and took them off while she whipped her black garter belt out from under her pants and tossed it away. Now she wore but the single clinging, black garment.
She plunked herself onto Wesley's lap, directly against his straining cock, and rubbed her tits against his shirt-front.
"For being such a good boy," she purred, "you deserve a great big kiss."
She brought her tempting lips down to his and lifted his hand at the same time, carrying it to one of her shapely breasts.
Wes couldn't help but grasp hold. And he couldn't help but stroke his tongue next to hers in their heated kiss. But he thought all the time about the fact that her husband and his wife were just a few paces away, watching. They had both been in favor of the strip tease, and of Wes helping Kay with it, but what was happening now was something else again. They certainly couldn't favor this.
The hell of it was, Wes couldn't stop himself. Everyone's self-control had a limit, and Wesley had reached his.
On the couch, Tom pulled Joan into his arms, rolling her toward him on her near hip. His hand went to her opposite thigh and pushed her skirt up, baring a delectable slab of smooth, rounded flesh traversed by white garters. He petted that thigh, pushing her skirt higher. As they kissed with deep passion, his hand reached her panties and he caressed her elevated buttock through the sheer nylon.
Wes couldn't see this. Kay was blocking his vision. Anyway, he was all but lost now in the excitement of their kiss and his explorations of her body. He had moved from one tit to the other, then slid his hand down her belly and across the front of her clinging silk pants.
She parted her thighs and gave his hand a further shove. It skidded down across her mound and onto the very warm softness between her legs. Wes detected the ooze of hot moisture through her panty cloth.
This was too much. Whereas first he had resisted, then he had merely gone along, suddenly his latent male aggression expressed itself and he pulled the top of her panties down. Kissing Kay all the stronger, and with a lusty groan rasping in his throat, Wes ran his hand directly into her hairy, hot passion nest and let his middle finger slide way up into her lathered cunt.
By this time, Tom was under Joan's pink panties, too, but his hand was on her buttocks, not her twat.
Kay leaned back suddenly, her eyes closed and lips parted. "Oooh, Wesley," she crooned, "You're really getting to me!"
Wes gazed at Tom and his wife on the sofa. Joan's skirt was wound around her belly and Tom was petting her ass inside her panties. At the same time, she had removed his dick from his clothes and was stroking it up and down as it bristled blatantly at his lap.
God help us all, Wes thought, and helped Kay lower herself to the floor. He sprang down beside her, tugging her pants off as she went to work on his clothes.
Tom saw and grinned to himself. But he didn't say anything now. He just pulled Joan's panties down.
For the next few moments, everyone concentrated on removing clothes-their own or someone else's. It was something which could never have happened, and yet it was happening. Amidst her own disrobing, Joan cast glances at Kay picking the clothes from her pudgy husband. Maybe
Wes was attractive to Kay, Joan thought, just as Tom was attractive to her.
Wes didn't look at anyone else. He concentrated on Kay's vibrating tits with the very dark, wide nipples, and then he got down to them, rooting and rubbing, sucking and slobbering, as she stroked the foreskin back and forth across the ridge of his cock.
Tom stretched Joan out on the couch, then lifted one of her legs to the top of it while he draped the other down to the floor. He climbed atop her.
Wes scrambled atop Kay.
Tom's urgent prick slid into Joan's slippery envelope while Wes nailed Kay with his eager pecker. Panting and groaning-wallowing in the sudden outpouring of illicit passion-they rutted.
Wes did glance at the other couple now-his wife taking the hard penile strokes of another man as she writhed and gasped and ground her big tits against him. Wes was stimulated by the sight. It was as if his moral nature had been put to sleep, and he had become a purely sensual animal.
Kay panted and clawed beneath him, rising to his thrusts. Her cunt was thrilling.
"Go ... go!" she cried. "Screw me! Screw me! Drive me ... through the floor ... screwin' floor!"
He pounded her with everything he had and gloried in the voluptuous sensation. Just a few feet away, Joan and Tom were making the couch springs bounce and clatter. The walls of the room fairly throbbed with the pulsating passion which had been unleashed within.
Wes finished first. Kay barely caught a climax as his fountain erupted within her, filling her with spurting warmth.
Tom and Joan humped on, gasping and pulling at one another, their lips pumping fiercely.
Finally she cried, "Uh ... uuuh ... UUUHHH!" and pressed her pelvis up to him, grinding it as she shook. Tom bucked spastically atop her and jerked in her wanton well. His sperm sped from him, pooling within her.
They lay still.
Wesley got up. "Wh-what have we done?" he asked stupidly of everyone, including himself.
"We've had a hell of a time," Tom said, sitting up naked and lighting a cigarette. "Haven't we, Joanie?" he asked Wesley's wife, slapping her on the ass.
"Sure we have," she affirmed, looking directly at her husband.
She still lay on the sofa, her lush legs drawn back to make room for Tom to sit, her dark wet pussy completely exposed.
Kay got up. "There's no reason to make a big thing out of it. So we screwed around; we kicked over the traces. It was fun and we'll do it again some time."
"I need another drink," Wes said, and he turned to get it, his flabby rump wobbling.
CHAPTER 10
"MAN, I'LL TELL YOU THERE'S NOTHIN' LIKE IT!" Tom exclaimed drunkenly as he sat with two neighborhood friends in the dimly-lit interior of the Drifters. "There you are, lobbin' your meat into another guy's wife an' her husband is jus' a few feet away, screwin' hell outa your old lady! Shit, it's terrific!"
"You mean, you've actually done this?" one of his drinking buddies asked. "Or are you just puttin' us on?"
"Hell, am I a liar? It happened jus' last night." He leaned toward the two listeners confidentially and added, "Right in my house."
"Who was the other couple?" one of the men asked eagerly.
"Aaah," Tom chuckled, "that'd be telling! I got in trouble for sayin' somethin' jus' the other day that I shouldn't have said."
"I heard about that," his friend grinned. "You and Joan Brooks, huh?"
"Yeah. So I'm not shootin' off my mouth any more. But we had a swap party tha' was terrific!" He slopped up some more booze.
The other men looked at each other. One of them said, "You know, I'll bet the other couple at that party was the Brooks. If old Tom's been playin' around with Joanie, her husband probably figured he might as well get a piece of Tom's wife."
"Aw ... guys!" Tom said. "Jus' remember, I didn't tell yuh. I didn't say a fffriggin' thing."
"Sure, Tom," one said, and winked at the other, who grinned broadly.
The word traveled fast from there.
Patty Claiborne heard about it, and she couldn't wait to get together with Joanie. She'd had her eye on the voluptuous brunette for some time but hadn't had the opportunity to close in for the "Kill". An evening's swapfest between the Claibornes and the Brooks might furnish just such a chance. Art would enjoy that, too. Once, when they were vacationing at a resort, he had watched her with another woman and had gotten a charge out of it.
When the pert blonde confronted Joanie with the fact that she had heard the news, Joanie at first was shocked. Then she realized that Tom, most-likely, had been shooting off his mouth while drunk again.
God, Wes had been almost impossible to live with during the last couple of days, suffering as he was from a moral hangover due to the swap, all over town, he would crap his drawers!
"What's the matter, honey?" Patty said. "Don't look so upset. I envy you and your husband, and the Frasers, for being so broad-minded. Art and I are pretty broad-minded ourselves, but we didn't figure there were any other couples in the neighborhood who would care to swing with us."
"You mean, you and your husband ... are interested in ... swapping?"
"We sure are! How about if you and Wes get together with Art and me at our place Saturday? We could have a great time."
"But ... but ... "
"Art's very well hung," Patty added confidentially. "And does he know how to ball a girl! Oh, he'll go crazy over you, sweetie."
But it was Patty who was going slightly crazy at that moment, as she gazed at Joan in her snug shorts and top. Patty was imagining how grand it would be to lick along those sumptuous big thighs and to squeeze those marvelous melon-like tits. Oh, she could kiss Joanie just everywhere, including the backside!
Joan said in confusion, "I'm not sure Wes wants to do it again."
"You mean, he didn't like Kay Fraser? She's a cute little thing."
"He liked her, all right, but he hasn't liked himself very well since."
"Don't tell me he's a prude!" Patty responded. "He tends to be, I'm afraid."
"How'd you ever talk him into swinging the first time?"
"It just sort of happened," Joan said.
Patty smiled wisely. "Well, maybe it could just sort of happen at my house, too. You know ... I've got an even better idea. Instead of just the four of us getting together, why don't we set up a big neighborhood bash? Get everybody in on it. Unless I miss my guess, there are a lot of potential swingers on this street! Now that I know you and the Frasers swing, I could easily believe the same thing of the Morrisons. And how about Pete and Amy Edwards?"
"Oooh, Patty! This is going to get out of hand."
"Don't you worry about that. Just leave everything to me. I'm going to do some circulating and see what I can come up with."
Joan couldn't stop her. The situation was already out of control. Oh, Tom and his big mouth! She could kill him!
Pete Edwards felt like a new man that day. He'd had a date last night with voluptuous, red-haired Charlotte, and what they hadn't done wasn't worth doing! He had proved himself a great lover, three times over.
Or, at least, Charlotte had given every indication that he sent her to cloud nine, and why should he believe that she was putting on? Her obligation to Dr. Holloway didn't go that far, surely.
It was funny, though. Dr. Holloway had set up the date. But that was only because the doctor knew what a nympho she had for a nurse, Pete figured.
His attitude toward himself had done a complete flip-flop. Whereas the other day he had been prepared to believe he was no good between the sheets, and had therefore actually been incapable of performing, now he regarded himself as the greatest gift to women since the birth control pill.
Charlotte had a way of affecting men like that.
As he called on clients during the day, driving from place to place in his car, Pete thought about the night before, reliving the lust-charged moments. His memory painted erotic pictures:
There was Charlie (as she had asked him to call her), atop him on the bed, her flaming mane swinging and her tits hanging down as she propped herself on elbows and knees. Pete, gripping his phallus in his hand, rubbed the tip of it back and forth, back and forth, in the split of her cunt. Finally she lowered her hips all the way and sheathed him to the balls, after which he wrapped his hands around her glorious, plump knockers and just squeezed those beautiful, silk-skinned babies to his heart's content, thumbing their turgid tips. Charlie slid her loins up and down, up and down on him, taking him to her innermost depths, then nearly giving him up, then taking him deeply inside herself again.
After awhile he let her tits go, and oh how they bounced and shook! He wondered what a babe like this was doing futzing around a doctor's office when she could have much more as a stripper or even a topless waitress. Watching those titties bob would really make the men quaff their beers!
Another picture had Charlie on her back with him atop her, bearing down, his happy prick slid all the way up into her hole, then nearly out, then deep, then back. In-and-out, up-and-down, back-and-forth. Gliding, sliding, riding. Humping, bumping, jumping with joy.
He joined her in the shower before the evening was over. First he stood there, facing her, and soaped her hobbling tits, rubbing them good and rolling them around. Then he rubbed her middle and loins, her hips and buttocks, and her long, full thighs. He got up in between her thighs and soaped her where her libido lived.
Then she soaped him, and this was even better.
God, she had held his cock and balls in her hand and soaped them with the other hand, then both hands together, coddling his balls tenderly as she rubbed his long-john back and forth, back and forth, until it got brutally hard.
They toweled each other briskly, then raced for the nearest bed. This time she positioned herself on chest and knees, presenting her gorgeous ass to him. He parted her buttocks, examined her cute little flower, and moved up to it. Luckily she still retained some soapy lubrication there and he still had some on his prick (since they had been in much too much of a hurry to towel each other well), so he was able to work that pulsating prick through the tight aperture and into her rearmost chamber.
She cried and moaned and began rotating her ass. Pete pumped, not trying to go very deep. He didn't have to. The head of his dong was deriving the most wonderful sensations from her spasming sphincter muscles.
Charlie must have enjoyed it, too, because she bucked beneath him, her buttocks bouncing, and she had an anal orgasm which set him off. He reached underneath her and gripped her tits as he stabbed forward and ejected his joy juice into her ass.
What delightful mental pictures!
Today he was less troubled by Amy than before. If she were, in fact, a Lesbian, it wasn't his fault. He had proved himself a competent lover last night and had thrilled his partner greatly.
But there remained the question of what would happen to his marriage. He wasn't going to stay tied to a human three-dollar bill when the world was full of genuine, hot-for-screwing females that he could get for little more than a wave of his peter. He would have a serious talk with Amy tonight, he decided, and try to find out where they stood with each other. He could talk about the matter now. A couple of days ago, the mere suspicion that she might be queer was so distressing to him that he couldn't face up to it in a direct confrontation.
Meanwhile, at home, Amy was having a talk with Patty.
"A swap party?" Amy exclaimed after Patty had told her what she had in mind. "Pete would like that, you can bet your life! But I don't know if I would or not. I'm still not sure of myself, Pat. You left me in an awful dither the other day."
"You silly little bird," Patty cooed, and petted her on the cheek.
Amy grasped the hand and forced it down to her tits. Patty closed her grasp around one of the brassiered oranges and worked it a little through the rather coarse bra-cloth.
"Oooh, honey ... baby..." Amy breathed, eyes closed and head tilted back. "That turns me on so goood! Take me, Patty. Please take me. I haven't had anything since that day."
"You mean Pete hasn't been putting it to you."
"Nothing, Patty. I'm about to go out of my mind."
"Honey, I'd like to play with you a little, but I really don't nave time today."
"Oh, you bitch!" Amy exploded. "Tsk-tsk. That isn't nice."
"I don't give a good goddamn if it's nice or not. I need something and I need it from you. Right now."
"No can do, darling. But maybe something can be worked out at the party."
"What are you talking about? That's for swapping husbands and wives, isn't it?"
"At first, I suppose. But then, later in the evening, when the men have emptied their balls..."
"Oooh, Patty, do you think...? "
"Why not? Confidentially I'd like to give Joan Brooks a little working over. And how about Gloria, across the street. I'll bet she has a juicy snatch."
"Patty!"
"Maybe all we girls can get together and the men can watch us."
"Oh, no! Pete's fit to piss over what happened between us as it is. He's hardly spoken to me since."
"Maybe we can bring him around. Lots of men enjoy watching women make love, you know. My Art does."
"Really?? "
"Of course. You let me kind of go to work on Pete-boy. Maybe I can do a bit with Joan or Gloria first, then you can join in. If all we girls are going at it together, Pete can't get sore."
"I don't know."
"Well, let's see. I'll expect you two at the party on Saturday night."
From Amy's house, Patty went across the street to call on Gloria. Patty had heard from the milkman that Gloria had tried to seduce him one day, but he had resisted her ... he said. That proved, at the least, that Gloria was in need of something more in the way of bed-fun than her mousy husband, Herbert, provided.
Perhaps she wouldn't be averse to the idea of a neighborhood swap party ... and possibly even some girl-with-girl loving thrown in.
Patty found that Gloria had already heard about the swap between the Brooks and Frasers. The meter reader, who had stopped by that morning, had picked up the information somewhere along his route and had passed it on to Gloria as he undressed her.
(Of course, she didn't tell Patty how she had found out the facts.)
When Patty broached the idea of a swap party, Gloria said:
"Herbert's a very conservative man. I doubt if he would agree to it. As a matter-of-fact, I'd be almost afraid to suggest it."
"Well, I'm going into town tomorrow morning. If you'd have no objection, I could stop by his office and..."
"You hadn't better do that, dear," the sultry brunette said with a menacing edge to her tone. "I'll feel him out tonight."
"You know, Gloria," Patty smiled wisely, "all sorts of things could happen Saturday. After the men are satisfied, we girls could all get together."
"Just what are you suggesting?" Gloria lifted her head haughtily in the way that so impressed her husband.
It didn't impress Patty much, considering what she'd heard from the milkman.
"Oh, come on now!" Patty said. "A little girlie-go-round never hurt anyone. And Herbert might get a real bang out of watching it."
Patty had the idea that Herbert was the sort of man who would particularly enjoy that type of play.
"I'll talk to him tonight," was all that Gloria would say.
But after Patty left, the lush brunette did a lot of thinking. A girlie-go-round, hmm? God, she hadn't had any fun with a female since her days at the restaurant. There had been a cute little waitress who worked there-Penny, her name was. Oh, how that sweet bitch could make love!
Gloria's cunt became damp just from thinking about it.
But Herbert was such a problem. She just knew he wouldn't want to take part in a swap party. And as for watching her with another woman or women ... oh, that would never do! most-likely leave her, and then where would she be? Flat on her ass, having to earn her own living again, at least until she could get some loot out of him through the divorce courts.
The trouble was, Herbert was a man who idolized women. He didn't look upon them as flesh and blood creatures, but as goddesses. That, more than-likely, was why he couldn't make love worth a damn.
If only lie wasn't so strait-laced, she could really have some fun for herself at that party!
CHAPTER 11
LATE THAT AFTERNOON, AS HERBERT WAS walking down a corridor in his office, he noticed that the door of the supply room was standing open and a light burning inside.
This was strictly against the rules. The supply room was to be kept locked at all times, and the light was to be turned off whenever anyone left. It was necessary to maintain close control over pennies in order to make dollars, his father had always said. Herbert never forgot that.
He stepped to the door and leaned in to turn off the light. Then the thought struck him that perhaps someone was inside, even though he couldn't see them. A row of cabinets ran across the center of the room, with only a narrow passage at one end, which led to the shelves beyond.
He could have called, but he thought he would have a look instead. He walked to the end of the row of cabinets and peered around them.
What a sight greeted his eyes!
Daisy was back there. At this very moment, she was bending forward, selecting something from a lower shelf, and her miniskirt was hiked way up in back. It was so high, that it was above the tops of her long, mesh stockings, revealing the creamy flesh of her rounded thighs.
Herbert's juices started churning.
A sly grin came over his face and he crept up behind the girl. He was so intent upon what he was about to do that he forgot he had left the hall door open. If he had closed it, it would have assured privacy for Daisy and himself, since the room could be opened only with the key which Daisy apparently now held and which had to be obtained from the office manager.
Nevertheless, he came up behind Daisy, who was still bent over, and quickly flipped up her skirt, exposing her panty-sheathed bottom. The panties were white and silken and they clung to her lush rear cheeks. Herbert quickly drew back his hand and gave her a pop on that pantied ass, causing a sharp, erotic sound and making her fleshy half-moons jiggle.
"Oooh!" she cried, and straightened up, whirling.
Then she grinned. "Herbie! You old devil!" She came into his arms. The intimate spank on the fanny had turned her on.
They kissed passionately and Herbert's poontanger came up.
He had a wild idea.
"Let's do it in here," he husked. "Just the way you were before-bent over."
She giggled and immediately whirled, bending and aiming her buttocks at him again.
Herbert didn't think of the half-open door. In fact, on the contrary, he took it for granted that they had security, because security and the supply room were subconsciously linked in his mind.
And if Daisy realized that the door was still open, she didn't give a damn.
So she didn't make the slightest resistance when he flipped up her skirt again. In fact, this was what her hastily assumed posture had invited. And she just said, "Oooh, baby!" when he gripped the top of her panties and pulled them down, denuding her butt and the hairy little treasure which peeped backward between the tops of her creamy thighs.
Herbert bent fully forward, sliding her panties all the way and removing them from her feet. Then, with a growl, he began kissing upward along her legs, first on top of her stockings, hopping from one to the other, then on her naked upper thighs ... finally on the plump, smooth cheeks of her buttocks and, very quickly, on the crack between them.
Standing once more, he fumbled open the front of his clothes and brought out his shaft.
Daisy was looking backward between her spread legs.
"Oh, give it to me, baby!" she erred. "But make sure you get the right place."
Herbert wasn't the sort to try the wrong place. Daisy's right place was good enough for him. In fact, it was a little beauty!
Holding himself, he moved up and nudged the division of her puffy box. Gradually the head of his cock worked its way inside. He slid a hand around her hip and to her front where he found and began to fondle her clitoris. She quickly began to cream. Her little clit stood up and quivered with delight as her cunt became nicely lathered. Only a couple of gentle strokes were needed to distribute the lather perfectly, then Herbert began to pump with a straight forward and back action, slamming his front against her bouncy buttocks.
It was a great thrill for him, and hardly less than great for her, with him twiddling her little joy button the way he was. As Herbert pumped, Daisy cooo'd and rotated her ass. Then she bumped back against him as he pushed forward into her.
It was bump-bump-bump, hump-hump-hump, back-and-forth, in-and-out, round-and-round, twiddle-twiddle, and:
"Oh, daddy, does that feel goood!"
Herbert began to go at her like a ram, pumping furiously into her split bun.
Neither he nor Daisy heard the two passing secretaries stop at the door of the supply room push it open all the way and look around, wondering who-if anyone-was inside. They glanced at each other, both aware that it was contrary to company rules to leave the door open and the light on.
On the chance that someone might be in the room, they moved forward and rounded the tall row of cabinets which concealed the erotic action going on at the rear. When they saw it, they merely stood and gaped. Neither of them could utter a sound.
Of all people, there was proper Mr. Morrison with his pants open and his dong sticking out, just giving it to Daisy Watkins to beat hell, while she was bent over with her legs spread, her panties lying on the floor.
It was quite a sight for two young, unsuspecting secretaries to stumble upon!
It was too much to believe that they could merely drop in and observe this shocking spectacle and stealthily take their leave, without the happily screwing couple having been aware of their presence.
Daisy happened to glimpse them as she looked backward between her legs. At first, her eyes just widened. Then she grinned, for she figured it was kind of a feather in her hat (as well as a cock in her ass) to be taken by the big boss this way.
The girls gulped and one of them said stupidly, "Hi, Daize."
Herbert pulled his prong out of her pussy and whirled to face the intruders, his red-headed cock swaying as it gleamed with Daisy's moisture.
"M-m-mister Morrison!" one of the girls mumbled.
"Get out of here! Get out of here!" he yelled. "You're both fired."
They turned and fled.
In less than half an hour, the whole office had heard about what happened.
Daisy enjoyed being the center of so much sensational attention.
Herbert at first was deeply chagrined. But then, as he sat in his private office and thought about it, he began to take some satisfaction in what had been seen and doubtless widely reported.
This meant he was gaining a new image around the office. He would now be known, behind his back, as Herbie the Swinger instead of Herbert the Square. It was a status he had never thought he would be able to attain, though he always had secretly wanted to make it. Now he had arrived.
Aaah.
That wasn't half bad.
He immediately sent word, through his secretary, that the two girls he had fired were to be reinstated. That was the least he could do in return for their spreading the word.
When he marched through the outer office that day, on his way home, all eyes were on him. Daisy winked and he winked back.
Aaah, yes!
He didn't take his wife flowers that night. Or candy. Or some trinket he had picked up.
He took her something more precious than that: himself, in the mood to make love.
He hadn't gotten his rocks off with Daisy, because of the interruption just as he was approaching climax, and his nuts were congested as hell.
When a man's nuts were in such condition, and he had a beautiful brunette wife to go home to, it was only natural and proper that he should take advantage of her presence to help him get rid of his load.
The fact that it was proper didn't interest him, one way or the other. He was fed-up with propriety. He was also fed up with the pussy-footing around his own house, being constantly tantalized by Gloria's presence but usually afraid to approach her, for fear she wasn't in the right mood.
Screw her mood!
In fact, screw her!
That was his motto for today.
He was Herbie the Swinger now. Did a swinger get down on bended knee and beg for his nookey? He did not. He grabbed his woman, whether wife or whatever, and took what he wanted ... as Herbert had taken what he wanted from Daisy that very afternoon.
Or almost taken what he wanted.
Right now, that was his big trouble.
He roared into the house, past the cook who labored in the kitchen, and headed for the master bedroom where Gloria was no doubt dressing for dinner.
She's probably sitting there in her black, lacy pants, he thought, all set to tease me. Well, he'd had enough teasing in his own goddamned house. So what if she wasn't wild for sex? She had a body that was made for nothing so much as a good screw. This afternoon, by Godfrey, he was going to use it just for that, whether she liked it or not.
He entered the bedroom, and ... sure enough, there she was, seated in front of her vanity mirror. Her panties were black, elaborately decked in lace, as he had expected. But it happened that she wore dusky hose and black garters, too. Just the pants, garters and hose-that was all. A more enticing picture could hardly have been imagined.
"Hello, Herbert," she murmured, and tilted her cheek up for a kiss.
Instead he gave her a real sharp pinch on the tip of a tit.
"Herbert!" she said between gasps.
"Hi, baby!" he grinned. "Let's hit the sack."
"Wh-what?"
"Let's go to bed," he translated. "What's the matter, are you too high-toned to understand a little ordinary slang?"
"But, Herbert," she said numbly, "It's almost dinner time, and I have a headache."
"This will help your headache, 'baby," he said, as he began getting undressed.
She jumped to her feet, her bowl-like breasts jouncing. "Now, just a minute, Herbert. You have no right ... "
"I have every right, baby. We're married to each other, don't forget."
"But how about my feelings?"
"It's time you started adjusting your feelings to mine, instead of vice-versa, don't you think?" He let his shirt flutter away and went to work on his pants.
"But ... but ... "
"Put it on the mattress, Gloria! Daddy's coming in with a load."
Suddenly Gloria was thrilled. All her married life, she had wished he would talk to her this way and take command. At last, he was doing so.
She quickly slid off her panties and positioned herself in the center of the mattress, knees raised slightly and thighs spread. Herbert gazed at the delightful sight-her black-fringed, pink pussy dramatized by her dark stockings and garter belt-and he broke some kind of record getting rid of the rest of his clothes.
He mounted the foot of the bed with his staff standing high and quivering with lust, then came down atop her, landing in the saddle of those luscious thighs, but back far enough so that he could comfortably kiss her tits first.
He kissed them all over and rolled them and pinched them.
"Oooh, Herbert, you're so different tonight!" Gloria gushed.
"Damned right," he said. "The old Herbert is gone.
Baby, you've got a new husband."
Her belly began to bob up and down in anticipation. Already she was wet with desire for him. This was the kind of stimulation she needed. Thank goodness, he understood.
"Oh, screw me, Herbert!" she cried, grasping his rigid cock. "Run this into me all the way and pump it. Screw me like hell!"
Now Herbert was as happily shocked as she had been, moments before. She did like sex! She really did! And today she actually wanted him!
He felt for the opening of her tunnel of love, parted the velvety orifice, and sank himself to the hilt.
"Oooh Herbert!" she happily wailed.
She began to pump up and down as he glided in and out of her. Holy Christ, it was good! If it wasn't for the fact that he was so dammed up, due to his abortive experience with Daisy that afternoon, he probably would have finished after only a dozen strokes. But today he humped and pumped like a frigging robot, and she went simply wild.
He enjoyed himself tremendously. Each thrust of his pulsating pecker lifted him closer to his goal. In fact, he seemed so close that he might lose his load any second. But still he held on and rode her.
"Oh, Herbert! You lover! So goood! Oh, baby, how you're screwing me! What a cock! Screw me, Herbert! Give it to me! YeYes ... yesss ... YESSS!"
She came, quaking blissfully and all but strangling his joystick with her contracting spasms. He growled and kept pumping, rounding off her orgasm in perfect style before he finally unleashed a strangled groan and plowed very deep, jerking and squirting and squirting some more.
Nothing would do, after that, but for Herbert to roll onto his back and let Gloria take a kissing tour of his body. She insisted on it. He lay there, amazed and thrilled, as she kissed his chest and middle, suctioning his navel and fluttering her tongue tip into it. But the greatest thrill was yet to come when she pinched his flaccid peter between her thumb and finger and directed that little darling to her lips. She sucked it into her mouth and began to work on it greedily.
Herbert quickly stiffened up again. This was the thrill of thrills, to think that his beautiful Gloria would treat him this way!
Now she vaulted astride him and settled down on his cock. She rotated and posted, her tits shaking up and down as her slippery cunt gave him more pleasure in ten minutes than it had during all the previous length of their married life.
She moved faster and faster, her black hair whipping about her creamy shoulders, her titties doing a madly erotic dance. He moaned and clutched her flexing thighs, then her supple middle, finally her hobbling breasts. He began jabbing upward.
They finished together this time, as she dropped and seemed to suction around him while he quivered and went off, geysering like Old Faithful.
"Oh, Herbie, I love you!" Gloria moaned, as she fell forward and kissed him all over the face.
Herbie!
She had actually called him Herbie! What a day this had been.
Later she told him about the party which was set for Saturday night.
"They've planned all sorts of things," she explained.
"I wasn't sure you'd be interested. But now, since I've finally discovered the kind of man you really are, I know you will be."
"What kind of things, baby?" he asked, as he gently fondled her tits.
"Oh, a regular orgy! Mate swaps and circuses and all that sort of jazz."
"It sounds delightful," he told her.
"You won't mind swapping me with Pete Edwards or Art Claiborne?"
"Hell, no, as long as I get a chance to screw Amy or Patty."
"Oh, you will, darling! You will!"
"What's this business about circuses?"
"Well, Patty suggested that we girls might get together and ... well, put on a show for you boys." He grinned. "That would be a new kick."
"You mean, it's all right, Herbie? You'll let me do it."
"If I can watch."
"Oh, I hope you will! Darling, I'm so goddamned happy! You know, you're going to have to screw me again tonight."
"Any time, precious. Any time at all." Somehow Herbert knew he could make good on that pledge and bring his beautiful wife satisfaction each time. And as a man thinketh, so is he.
CHAPTER 12
THE BASH AT PATTY CLAIBORNE'S HOME BEGAN at nine o'clock and continued all night long.
Nobody really had intended it would last all night, but it became so good and so wild that nobody wanted to leave until dawn split the darkness with its shafts of light.
These people, who had been sinning separately, each in his or her own way for so long, had suddenly discovered they could all sin together and do, within the sight of one another, all that they had ever done in private ... and enjoy it many times as much.
There was no form adopted for the party. Patty and Art had decided it would be best that way. Let everyone do as the spirit moves them, it was agreed.
Booze was the lubrication. Music set the mood.
The revelers danced a little and chatted. Sexy stories were told. They drank. Then finally they began to fall into each other's arms.
Wes Brooks was no problem. He went along as he had before.
Pete Edwards and Amy had had their talk. She had leveled with him and begged for another chance. And now that it was all out in the open, she found she was not as hung up as she had thought she was.
Kay Fraser admired Art Claiborne. She had for a long time. So that was the way she tumbled.
Art's wife, Patty, paired off with Pete.
It was Joan with Herbert, Gloria with Tom, and Amy with Wes.
This was for round one.
Art took Kay into the master bedroom. Amy and Wes took another bedroom. Herbert and Joan got the third.
That left the other two couples in the living room: Gloria with Tom, and Patty with Pete.
They didn't mind performing in each other's presence. In fact, that heightened the fun for all of them.
Tom pulled Gloria down onto the couch while Patty and Pete sank to the floor. They undressed one another as they writhed and caressed, pausing for kisses and deep, intimate feels.
Tom petted Gloria's lovely mounded pussy through the gossamer sheerness of her pants, then he drew those pants away so he could visually admire the beautiful, black-haired snatch. By this time, Patty had Pete's pecker out and was stroking it as they kissed with slowly dueling tongues. He held one of her perfectly formed, tall nippled titties in his hand, then bent and fastened his mouth to the rosy stud. He suctioned gently against her aureole, lashing her nipple with his tongue.
The couples in the bedrooms were disrobing and sinking to the beds.
The first to begin copulating were Art and Kay. He got atop her and ran his thick, heavy cock into her quivering loins. God, what a man he was! She loved how he felt in her cunt, and how he moved.
Shortly afterward, in the "living room, Tom mounted Gloria on the couch. Patty and Pete were a little slower, but not much. She had him lie on his back and she crouched atop him. She slid up and down on his slick pole as Tom poled Gloria's upward arching vagina.
By this time, Herbert and Joan were screwing, lying on their sides, in bed. She had one thick, smooth thigh up over him and he was caressing and compressing her buttocks as they twisted and pumped together.
Amy and Wes were the slowest. But when he began to pet her very firm, cone-like tits and felt them quiver tautly to his touch, he hurried to place her on her back and clambered aboard. He took her with long, steady strokes, happy now that he had come to the party. Amy was happy, too, because she was re-discovering that man-love had something to be said for it which woman-love couldn't quite match: that glorious pronging.
Bedsprings and couch springs sighed, and Tom's buttocks thudded against the carpeted floor, as five couples fornicated at the same time. No house in the community had ever known so much balling within its walls at a given moment.
But this was only the beginning. Everyone wanted seconds, and all agreed that they would change partners for the next round.
Temporarily satiated lovers drifted out of the bedrooms in the nude. There was no need to hide anything from anyone. They all congregated in the living room because that was where the booze was, and the music.
Several fell into kind of an untidy heap in the center of the rug. There was Art latching onto Joan's big, melon-like titties because he liked big titties. But Pete liked big tits, also, so he sucked one of Joan's while Art sucked the other.
Joan thought it was a marvelous sensation to lie on her back and have two men bending over her at the same time, each mouthing one of her nipples. After awhile she felt fingers sliding up and down in her furrow, and she opened her eyes to see Herbert investigating that part of her. But then he went on to Patty, and Art slid down Joan's heaving, voluptuous body until he arrived at her loins. At first he tongued her cunt very lightly, but the excitement got to him and he hunkered down to it, clamping hold with his lips and vigorously lapping in and out. She moaned and bobbed her pussy against his face.
Gloria noticed that Art's dong was getting hard and, since it was one of the biggest and most beautiful dongs she had ever seen, she guided him onto his side as he continued to make oral love to Joannie. Gloria then proceeded to make oral love to him, wrapping her red mouth around his pecker and bobbing her head.
Patty was doing the same thing for Herbert while he fondled her jouncy jugs.
Patty had her lovely butt up in the air, sort of waggling it, and after watching this for a while Wes was ready for action again. He crawled up behind her and fitted his thick stick into her weaving, blonde-haired cunt.
Amy knelt astride Tom's lap on the couch while Pete took Kay dog-fashion on the floor in front of it. Tom could watch the whole thing by craning his neck a little, while enjoying the lubricated slidings of Amy-up and down, round and round, up and down.
Later Gloria accommodated Pete with her mouth while the indefatigable Wesley took her from the rear. He had found that lie enjoyed that way very much.
Finally, the girls did their thing in the center of the room while the men watched. Patty, Gloria and Amy began it, writhing about and continually changing positions-mouth to cunt, cunt to cunt, tits to mouth. Kay, watching it, found she was getting hot and she joined them. Joanie was curious, if nothing else, and finally Patty talked her into going down-down to the floor and down to Patty's sweet loins as Patty went to hers.
The men were fascinated. Even Pete, who had regarded the suspected session between his wife and Patty with such disdain before. Now that everyone was doing it, it seemed different somehow. But wasn't that the way things always were?
Lassitude finally washed over the party, like the rising tide inundating a beach, and people slept. But not everyone, and not all the time. As one stirred, he or she would awaken another, and they would begin slowly to screw or to suck or just to fondle and explore each other's bodies until ambition bade them do more.
By the early light of morning, they got dressed and drifted home. But the homes that the married couples returned to were not quite the same as the homes they had left on the evening before.
And they would never be the same again.
Take Gloria and Herbert.
She, the woman whom he once had idolized, was not enough for him now-even though she responded fully to his passion.
So he began to invite home single girls from the office.
Daisy was the first. He and Gloria had a ball. And, of course, Daisy was willing to do most anything.
They began with Gloria lying over the edge of the bed and Daisy eating her while Herbert moved up to Daisy's rear. Then Daisy lay on the bed while Herbert crouched over her face and Gloria bent to her loins. Daisy sucked off Herbie while Gloria licked and feasted at Daisy's flowing cunt.
It was lots of fun for everybody, and fun was all any of them cared for.
Occasionally Gloria still entertained an itinerant salesman or a deliveryman during the day, and she told
Herbert about it when he got home at night.
And, of course, the neighborhood parties continued, but they were growing stale. After all, it was the same group of people every time, and it had gotten so they all knew one another inside and out. There were no surprises, no new kicks.
Herbert used to be cowed; now he was simply bored. Gloria didn't hate herself any more, but she didn't like herself, either.
As for Amy and Pete Edwards, they had a fine understanding, all out in the open: He wouldn't interfere with her occasional dates with women if she didn't complain about his evenings out ... also with women, she presumed.
They made love together, and it was all right. They also went to the neighborhood parties.
Would they have children? Pete didn't think so. Why louse up a good thing? Amy more or less agreed with him.
Impotence didn't trouble Pete again. He was virile as a bull all the time.
Amy came to accept herself as an AC-DC female, like Patty. It was kicks. It was, she told herself, the epitome of sophistication and sound adjustment to life. After all, a woman sometimes needed a degree of understanding and quality of affection that a man couldn't give her, while at other times nothing would do but a good, stiff cock.
So she swung both ways and Pete never objected.
The Claibornes kept on pretty much as they were before, though their wayward drift, which had begun before the neighborhood swinging had started, speeded up.
They began to wonder if they shouldn't call it quits. Each had given the other just about all the kicks that they could give.
Still, they remained together. It was more a matter of habit than anything else. They fought quite a bit. And Patty took to heavy drinking.
Cheers!
Kay and Tom Fraser split up.
Tom had enjoyed the swapping a very great deal, and Kay had come to see it as an exercise in futility. It was intended to enhance excitement but, to her, it defeated its own purpose. When a person had tried everything with everyone, while the rest of the crowd looked on, what else was there to do?
Anyway, she had viewed it at the beginning as an experiment, and as far as she was concerned it was an experiment that had failed.
She convinced herself, in the process, that Tom didn't love her and probably never had. So why should she remain with him? Life was too short.
Only to Joan and Wesley Brooks did the period of frantic swapping have a lasting, beneficial effect.
They realized they'd had enough of it one evening and walked out right in the middle of the festivities, while Patty and Amy were entertaining the crowd with a sizzling 69 in the middle of the living room rug. Neither Joan nor Wes had yet disrobed. When he caught the pleading look which she directed his way, he nodded and stood up. He ushered her from the room, and no one seemed to notice that they left.
They went directly home.
Their children were with her mother for the night, which was the usual arrangement on party occasions, so they had the house to themselves.
Wes poured them each a drink and they sat down in the living room to talk things over.
The swapping experience had changed them both. Joan was able to view objectively her desire for sexual variety, which had led them into the swapping game in the first place, and she could talk about it without assuming an automatic defensive pose. Wes, on the other hand, had been shaken out of his puritanical stolidity. He had developed a taste for the more exotic forms of sex, but his love for Joan remained unshaken. It was, in fact, stronger than ever, since he had been able to compare her intimately with all the other women on the block.
"So ... what are we going to do, honey?" he asked. "Have we had it, or are we going to go back for more some night?"
"I've had it," Joan said simply. "I needed to screw around. Well, I've had my fill. We have children to bring up, after all. When they get older, we're not going to be able to keep all this from them, as we have up to now."
"You're right about that. But the question is-do we still want to live this way? If we do, the children aren't the first consideration. It will be up to them to accept us as we are."
(Was this old strait-laced Wes talking?)
"I don't want to live this way any more," Joan stated positively. "I've got it out of my system."
"No more leching for Tom or Pete or Art?" Wesley asked.
"Absolutely not."
"How about the girlie sex? Take that 69 Amy and Pat were doing-did you have a hankering to get down there with them?"
"No, Wes. Oh, m admit I like oral sex." She smiled. "But I like your brand better than Patty's or Amy's. You want to know why?"
"Yes. I'd like to."
"Because you can finish it off with a good, big whang. Those girls can't. They just aren't built to give me the ultimate satisfaction I need."
"It's good to hear you say that," Wes remarked. "I was a little afraid, for a while there, that you were sliding over the line."
"Of course not. It was just that oral lovemaking was so new to me. You'd never given me any of that before. Remember?"
"Yes," he said and added, "to my shame. I guess I never understood how to care for a warm-blooded woman like you."
"The fault was partly mine," she replied gently. "I had never sucked you off, either."
"What do you say we do that right now?" Wes suggested with a grin. "That is, if you feel up to it."
"If you start feeling me up, I'll feel up to it," she assured him, returning his smile.
They stood and headed, arm-in-arm, for the bedroom.
Joan let him undress her slowly, first drawing her dress up over her head, then unhooking her strapless bra. He petted her lush, bulging titties to his heart's content, then bent forward and lifted one of the crests to his thirsty lips. He wrapped his warm, wet mouth around that tingling nubbin, drew it deep, and sucked, moaning pleasurably in his throat.
Joan's hand went to the front of his trousers and set his penis free. She stroked it idly as he sucked her breasts, going from one to the other and back again. Her nipples were very firm and moist when he left them, and his cock was standing rigidly at attention, the plump rosy head gleaming dully.
He had Joan lie down on the bed, and he spent lots of time ungartering her hose, then sliding her stockings down. He kissed the length of each leg, down and up and down the other side.
Now he rolled her onto her tummy, took her garter belt away, and drew her black panties down from her rounded, quivering ass.
He held that ass between his hands and wiggled it as he kissed it all over.
After that, he removed her panties completely and backed off the bed to disrobe himself.
Joan turned onto her back and watched him with parted thighs, her knees propped up slightly. This afforded him a luscious view.
He could hardly wait to become naked so that he could get down there between her legs and root in the folds of soft moist flesh which comprised her pussy. He rooted well. He kissed her with a deep-plunging tongue, alternating the thrusts with a general licking up and down her split, all over the lips and onto her erectly throbbing little clitoris.
He took that cute tip in his mouth and rolled it between his lips as he sucked gently. Joan was delighted and thrilled. No woman could do this better and, with Wes, she had something more in store.
Finally, when she felt he had kissed her as much as she could possibly stand, she had him lie over, onto his back, and she bent above him, starting to kiss him at the forehead and working her way down. All the while, her silken dark hair trailed against his fevered flesh.
She poked her fluttery tongue-tip in between his lips, coaxed his tongue out, and sucked on it. She kissed each of his closed eyelids. She planted a kiss on the end of his nose.
She worked her way to his shoulders and nibbled along them and on his upper arms. She jumped to his hairy chest, found a small masculine nipple and suctioned at it. She switched to the other one and sucked there.
His hands moved lightly over her all this time, caressing those portions of her body which he could reach as she twisted and turned. He pulled on her lush-hanging tits, gently pinching the nipples.
Her mouth slid to his belly and she kissed all over it, not neglecting his belly button which she invaded with the tip of her tongue.
She moved further and finally was in his thick bush, at the base of his bristling staff. She pulled at his hairs with her teeth, then kissed down onto his nuts, holding the now-tense sac in her hand and raising it slightly so she could lick it all over.
She traveled from there to the base of his prick and licked that prick up one side and down the other. Finally she fastened her mouth to its very tip and shoved the foreskin all the way back with her lips, taking the knob of his pecker into her mouth. She sucked lingeringly, sliding her lips and bobbing her head slightly.
It was heavenly for Wes. Almost too good.
But Joannie knew when to stop. She lifted her head at precisely the right moment and it was glowing. Her eyes shone with tender warmth.
She moved atop him, and his marvelously stimulated cock slid up into her pussy-that glorious passage of velvet which was lubricated just enough and was just snug enough in its fit around him.
She began to move it, slowly at first, then faster ... rotating, bobbing, rotating some more.
Wes played with her hobbling titties and drove his cock up into her in perfect rhythm. They mounted toward orgasm together.
When the finish struck them, it was marvelously good, shaking them both to. the very foundations of their being and draining every drop of desire from them.
Joan dismounted and lay beside her husband. It was then that she said:
"I think we'd better move, darling."
"Oh?"
"Yes. We'll never be able to enjoy a normal life with the people in this neighborhood. In fact, the neighborhood has gone to hell altogether, if you ask me."
"I suppose it has."
"We can get a good price for the house, can't we."
"Of course."
"And we can find another location just as good, where the children will be just as happy."
"Certainly, we can."
"Why don't we start looking right away."
"I think that would be a fine idea."
They got up and strolled naked through the house to refill their glasses in the living room.
"I wonder what's happening at the party now?" Joan asked idly.
"Why? Are you wishing you were there?" Wesley chuckled.
"Of course not. But I just wonder how far along they've gotten by now."
"Oh, everybody's probably screwing everybody right in the middle of the floor. Front and back. Top and bottom. You know."
"How well I know," she said, her lips kissing the Old Fashioned glass.
If there was something wistful in her tone, it didn't signify a desire to get back with the crowd again. It was just that she had derived a good deal of pleasure from them. She had also learned a great deal.
So had Wes. Thanks to the swap parties, he had gotten to be quite a lover.
She glanced at him fondly.
It wasn't long before they had finished their drinks, and each felt in the mood for a little more fun. There was no reason why a happily married couple couldn't have their own private orgy, was there? Right in their own living room?
They sank to the rug, nude together, and Joannie's expert fondling brought Wesley's rod up.
"Do me doggy style," she requested and turned, presenting her beautiful bottom to him.
This was a way that Wesley particularly enjoyed, so he eagerly moved up behind her and ran his rigid joystick between the tops of her thighs and into her warm, wet socket. As he pumped, Joannie moved her hips forward and back, then circled them
It was thoroughly delightful and they made it last.
Wes dug his hands underneath her and played with her large, cushy tits. He kept one hand there and slid the other down her silken flesh until it encountered her furry mound. His fingertips entered her division and he felt his firm rod moving in and out.
He teased her clitoris as he moved faster and faster.
Yes, an orgy at home suited Joan and Wesley just fine, and they needed no one else to help them enjoy it. Their marriage was stronger, as a result. So in their case, at least, out of sin had come salvation. And they couldn't have been happier about the whole thing.
