The Wranglers... Mary Bates thought she would never see her old high school girl friends together again. She was more shocked to find out that they were all leading pretty normal married lives-especially when she remembered all the crazy man-hunting escapades that the horny foursome had carried out. Now though. The Wranglers had doubts that their husbands were leading normal sex lives. It didn't take long for the girls to personally find out about each other's husbands though-and to find out that The Wranglers were still horny as ever!
CHAPTER ONE
Mary Bates opened her eyes and rolled lazily over in bed. She clutched the pillow between her naked legs as if it was the muscular thigh of her construction-boss husband, Walt.
"Mmmm," she crooned, sleepily, not bothering to blush as the corners of her lips turned up into sharp angles of remembered satisfaction-Walt had fucked her last night better than he had in many a moon.
She moaned again kittenishly and hugged the yielding pillow a bit closer against the hollow curves of her pelvis. She loved the way the grainy texture of the pillow case pushed against the mossy, damp shag of her pussy. She knew, without even looking, that the lips of her cunt would be thick this morning. They would be thick and a little sore, but beautifully sore like two tongues that have rubbed together all night long in erotic rapture.
She stirred and opened her eyes. At the same time she reached hungrily crossways toward the other side of the bed, to the spot where only a few hours ago Walt had been lying. He had been aroused as a healthy young tiger, with that husky, big prick of his standing up between his legs like a bar of hard candy. But he wasn't there now.
She felt a small twitch of disappointment that he wasn't still in bed. She had wanted to find him still there, and still temptingly naked. She had even thought about bringing him right back to life by playing around. She knew exactly how to do it-how to lightly tease his penis with just the tips of her fingers, or even the edges of her lips, until it was as stiff as the devil's horn. And then...
But there was no point in driving herself half-wild with an itch to get screwed this morning. She knew Walt too well. Once he was up and out of bed, he was through fucking for the night or the day. And sure enough, she could hear him puttering around in the kitchen making himself a couple of those poached eggs that he thought only he could do justice to.
"I might as well give up, damn it," she breathed to herself. "He won't come back in here to give me one last little romp. Lord, he wouldn't come back in here to screw a fourteen-year-old virgin full of Spanish fly-not my disciplined and hard-working Walt!"
She lay in bed for a few more minutes, helplessly feeling her itchy pussy grow from a little teasing crackle of need to a big roaring bonfire of itchiness. And that wasn't all. Her tits were having a few problems of their own. Mary recalled now that sometime during the night-sometime during one of those two or three fucking sessions when Walt was riding her hard-he had elected to suck on her nipples. And nobody could give Walt lessons in how to lick and tongue a willing tit. She knew it and he knew it! The only problem was that once her nipples had been worked up like that, once they had been sucked until they were twice their size, they simply didn't want to go down again.
She edged back the sheet and looked at her plump breasts. She was proud of them and always had been. Even when she was a girl the boys had stared at her boobs, and later in high school they had done more than stare. Mary couldn't even remember the number of times boys begged her until their voices were hoarse, just to see her tits.
And now here she was, alone in bed and damn near wishing she had one of those seventeen-year-old horny studs in bed with her. She would let him do more than look. I'd make him wear his sonofabitchin' tongue off on 'em, Mary thought.
The obscene idea made her really blush. She was just glad that Walt couldn't read her mind from the kitchen. Lordy, he'd come in and tan my fanny with a fly swatter for being such a greedy slut, Mary laughed.
"Hey, honey!"
It was Walt, yelling at her from the kitchen, and she knew why.
"The scraper is in the cabinet!" she yelled back. "And don't get your hand burned again!"
That took care of him for a bit, and she knew that if she waited long enough he would come back into the bedroom to kiss her good-bye... and maybe, just maybe.
To keep her fine edge of horny interest aglow, Mary substituted her hand for the pillow and began to gently rub the pouting lips of her pussy. She did it under the sheet, so that if he came suddenly back in he wouldn't notice anything. She certainly had no interest in letting her husband see her playing with herself, knowing how oddly strait-laced he could be at times.
In fact, when Mary thought about it too much she sometimes wondered if maybe she hadn't really married the wrong guy. Maybe she should have married Walt's brother, Willy, after all. She didn't really mean that, she always told herself, but the fact remained that Willy had dated her first, had fucked her first, and had asked her to live with him first. Not that Willy had asked her to marry him, that wasn't his style. But sometimes in her horny moods-such as now-she wondered if life with that big-pricked bastard might not have been a whole barrel of fun, marriage certificate or not. But she hadn't married Willy, she had married his big brother who had a head on his strong shoulders and the promise of a future in the construction business. All Willy had was his sexy face and a nine-inch cock that would have turned a saint into a whore overnight.
Mary was still thinking about the cheapest moment of her life-about how Willy had actually fucked her behind Walt's back three hours before the wedding-when Walt came strolling into the bedroom, still munching his poached eggs.
"Hey, how's my baby," he said, grinning at her.
He was dressed for work: laced boots, khaki pants, white shirt with cuffs rolled halfway up his arms, and clipboard and hardhat in his hands.
"Morning, construction boss," she purred, making the greeting sound exactly like "want to bang me, mister?"
Walt sat down on the edge of the bed and reached over to pat her hip with the strong paw of his hand.
"You have fun last night, honey?" he asked, casually.
"Can't you tell," she joked, teasingly. "You did it so good I can't walk."
He chuckled and patted her hip again, making little lusty ripples spill over between her legs and pull at the edges of her cunt. Mary just wished she could be slutty enough to beg her own husband to fuck her one more time!
"Well, doll," he shrugged, "I gotta go to work. Baby needs dancing shoes, like the man says."
That's not all baby needs, Mary thought, almost having to close her legs to keep her pussy from barking to be fed. She leaned up on her elbows, purposely allowing the sheet to fall down and hang just on her nipples. "You be home for lunch?" she asked, hopefully.
He was halfway across the room when she asked the question. He turned and smiled at her burlesque-queen tits. "Hey," he whispered, "maybe I better come home for lunch 'cause I already know what I want to eat." But he was only joking.
"Won't make it home today, hon. You ought to do that shopping for a new dress you've been wanting to do. I'll see you about six this evening, okay?"
"Yes, darling, okay."
After Walt was gone she lay in bed for a longer time than was healthy. Because despite her long avoidance of masturbating, Mary had the wildest urge to do just that. To do what she hadn't done since she was in junior high. To get a hairbrush and slide the handle in and out of her hungry slit until that damned itch was gone.
Mary Bates, she breathed to herself, throwing back the sheet with a disgusted fling of her wrist, you get such thoughts right out of your home. You've got a man in the house to soothe that need now!
Once up, she dressed in shorts and matching halter and tied her hair up so that she could shower later without a lot of bother. She had already decided that going dress hunting was just the medicine she needed to get her mind off screwing. Besides, tonight was another night. She fully intended to make Walt do an encore between her legs if she had to tickle his balls with a feather to do it.
Mary made herself breakfast. Then she poured a second steaming cup of coffee and perched for a moment in her favorite place in the whole apartment, on a stool by the kitchen window.
And it was there that she saw something that made her best intentions about forgetting the urge to masturbate go flying out of her head like crazed bats. My God, Mary gawked, the couple in the apartment across the way are fucking like maniacs-with the curtains wide open!
She almost burned her tongue on the coffee as she froze in a fascinated trance. She blinked, put down her coffee cup, and looked again. Sure enough, they were fucking, all right, really fucking. And both of them seemed like Olympic champions at the business.
With her heart thumping like a rabbit's foot, Mary ran wildly out of the kitchen and into the bedroom. She dug into the clutter of junk above Walt's clothes and found his hunting binoculars.
She ran back to the kitchen window so fast she almost slipped twice. But she made it, and homed in on the erotic exhibition with all the greedy interest of a big winner watching a horse race.
"Goddamn," she whispered. The high-powered glasses suddenly brought a male asshole so sharply into view that Mary gulped. She adjusted the view-finder to perfection, then sucked in the sight with gluttonous pleasure.
She knew the gal getting fucked, and she also knew that the little tramp wasn't married. She was a secretary of some kind, and the guy on top of her was either her boss or probably some traveling salesman.
"He's traveling, okay," Mary whispered, moving the tip of her tongue nervously over the edge of her lips. She watched the horny male pumping his prick in and out of the splayed thighs of the naked little bitch.
Mary felt her cheeks filling with color as she gobbled up the sight across the way. The powerful glasses were giving her the kind of view that only a good camera might give. She could see every pore and pimple on the bare ass of the fucking man. She could see the deep, hairy crease of his rectum, the whiskered fullness of his large balls, the underside of his fully extended prick. She could see exactly the way the secretary's juicy pussy rolled back its wet lips to take that jumbo rod right to the nuts on each thrust.
She couldn't see the guy's face-for one hellish moment she wondered if it was Walt.
"I must be crazy," she hissed at herself. "My Walt wouldn't dream of doing anything like that with another woman!"
And after a second or two of ragged, frenzied fucking, the man turned his flushed profile toward her and she saw that it wasn't Walt, or anybody else she knew. The face was a mighty good-looking one though, the kind of lusty, grinning male face that can drive a gal crazy if her pussy is itching.
Mary could see the secretary's face perfectly. Little snakes of jealousy began to crawl up Mary's thighs as she read the brazen, drunken pleasure on the cute young female's face. Obviously, the secretary had done this before-probably with an assortment of willing males. Her cheeks were flaming with a glow of need, and her mouth was parted below her flared nostrils. But it was her eyes that told the final erotic depths of her ecstasy. They kept rolling in her head like big marbles, going out of focus over and over as the plowing cock rode up between her legs with savage greed.
"The little bitch," Mary breathed. "She ought to be ashamed of herself!"
The young female was anything but ashamed of the pleasure she was giving and receiving. She proved that over and over by the way she kept crawling her legs up around the pumping hips of her lover. She kept digging her red fingernails into his biceps and biting his ears and neck. The fucking kept going, and Mary kept looking!
Now and then she would let the glasses wander over the room briefly. She saw the guy's clothes piled on a chair and what was probably his briefcase on the floor. She saw the panties and bra and hose of the little tart draped over another chair. But she didn't linger long on those trappings before she swung the binoculars back to the main attraction. It was the lewd sight of two amorous people banging out the bedslats that was making Mary hot herself. Hot wasn't the word for it.
All that determined work she had gone through promising herself not to masturbate or to think naughty thoughts were gone with the wind. She was heating like a tea-kettle, and the lips of her pussy were pulling back into the hairs of her cunt like the opening petals of a swamp blossom.
"God, I wish I was getting that!" she moaned, feeling the nipples of her tits hardening into prongs against the thin halter of her sun suit. "Where is that damned Walt when I need him?"
Mary's attention picked up even more when the couple stopped their screwing for a few seconds and concentrated on playing around in different ways. Apparently, the girl needed to have her titties sucked on. The guy was now doing just that, bending his head this way and that so that he could chew and lick on the elongated, pink nipples that were sticking up toward his mouth like thumbs.
Mary watched without breathing as the male mouth suctioned powerfully away on the lucky boobs. He sucked at her coned flesh so hard that his cheeks indented and the soft mounds of her tits crinkled and puckered-as if he were trying to milk them with his tongue.
Meanwhile, the gal was giving him a good time with her toes. Like some little acrobat she was hooking her legs up around his naked buttocks so that she could toy and rub his balls with just the tips of her toes. Apparently it was something that the guy liked because even as far away as she was, Mary could see his testicles literally swell and throb as the toe-teasing progressed.
It was just about all the damned exhibitionism Mary could take without doing something about her own problem. With a ragged little gasp of zealous need, she ran back to the bedroom. It took her a few feverish moments of rummaging through drawers to find the hairbrush-and a few more to locate the big jar of Vaseline. In seconds Mary was back at the kitchen window with her shorts down to her ankles.
She put globs of gooey Vaseline on the long, thick handle of the walnut brush. Then she inched it quickly up between the yearning folds of her throbbing cunt. She pushed it all the way in, until only the bristle part of the brush was visible. It sure as hell wasn't a prick, but her pussy seemed to think it was.
With one hand she began to slowly, pleasurably move the brush back and forth in her clutching, twitching slit. With her other hand she took up the binoculars again. They were still at it, only with a bold new difference. Now the secretary was on top, fucking him.
It was hard for Mary to believe it. The sight of the firm-assed young female astride the muscular hairy legs of the man was even more excitingly erotic than the regular way had been.
She watched, grinning slackly, as the love-swollen lips of the secretary's pussy rode up and down on the huge column of hard meat standing up between the guy's thighs.
By zeroing in on the man's balls, Mary got a deliriously stimulating picture of just how much fun the girl was having. His nuts were glistening with her pussy juice. Being on top the way she was, and pumping as madly as she was, her cunt was free to drip and run with all the ravenous abandon possible.
With a deep moan of her own, Mary worked the stiff handle of the big brush deeper and deeper into the tunnel of her pussy. She pushed it so deep that she could feel the blunt end of it rubbing sensuously against the mouth of her womb.
Mary was close to cumming, and she knew it. With a hungry gasp of lust she let the glasses clatter to the window sill. She yanked her bra off to free her swollen tits. Keeping one hand at work pumping the brush handle in and out of her soft, hot slot, Mary used her other hand to tweak and squeeze the exploding nipples of her tits. It was the kind of self-abuse they write textbooks about, but it was maddeningly sweet fun.
Throwing her head back, Mary opened her legs wider and wider. She churned the brush handle madly until the hairs on her pussy were mingling with the stiffer quills of the brush itself. She closed her eyes and let her tongue waggle whorishly out of the side of her mouth. Droplets of saliva rolled down her chin as she brought herself closer and closer to a vaginal-deep orgasm.
"Cumming!" she hissed, rolling her tits against the palms of her hand like sponges. "Cum! Ah, Cum! Aargh... "
Her pussy clutched at the base of the brush handle as every muscle of her cunt contracted like a fist to bring her spasming joy to a peak. Her juices flooded in a hot torrent of pleasure, running over her fingertips and down the insides of her naked thighs.
Mary almost fainted from the raw pleasure between her legs. And to make her delight even sharper, the brush handle didn't soften like a satisfied prick. It stayed boldly stiff and long inside her pulsing pussy.
She kept the odd dildo plunged deeply up her cunt for a few long seconds. She luxuriated in the way the grainy, sappy walls of her vagina seemed molded to its contours. She was almost tempted to do it all over again, to simply wallow in the pleasure of, fucking her hairbrush until hell wouldn't have her.
But she didn't. She pulled the greasy, dripping handle gently out of her slit and wiped it off with a towel. It made her wonder if she wouldn't get horny now every time she combed her hair.
She slipped back into her shorts and halter and took up the binoculars again. But too late. The dumb shits had finally pulled the curtains on her. She grinned, and wondered if maybe they had seen her-if maybe they had used a pair of hunting glasses to watch her do her own thing. Not that she really cared. After all, she and Walt were practically strangers in the city. They had moved into this apartment only two weeks ago, and they would be moving out again in about a month. So there wasn't a soul in the wide world who knew that she even existed here. Not one, single, solitary...
The phone rang in the hall. With her pussy still pleasurably tingling from being so delightfully plowed, Mary made her way to the phone and snapped up the receiver. She expected to hear Walt telling her that he had changed his mind about not coming home for lunch.
Instead, it was a female voice-singing to her.
"Bang 'em, gang!
Ball 'em, gang!
Hump and pump and crawl 'em, gang!
We like 'em big, and we like 'em long!
We'd walk a mile for a cowboy's dong!
Woo-hah, wranglers!"
For a few stunned seconds Mary was too shocked to move, and then she found her voice with a shrill and happy whoop.
"Sara Broomley," she boomed, "is that you?"
CHAPTER TWO
Indeed it was Sara Broomley, speaking to her like a voice out of the past. It had been she and Sara and two other high school buddies who had formed the club they called The Wranglers, an exclusive little female club devoted to the pursuit of males.
"My God, Sara," Mary gasped, "where on earth and how on earth and when on earth did you-"
"Hey, slow down," Sara chuckled from the other end of the line, "one question at a time, honey."
"All right, how did you find me? And do you live here in the city?"
"That's two questions. But I can answer both of 'em real easy. I read in the paper something about a Walter Bates moving to town to be a construction boss on some damn building or other. I just had a hunch that it might be the same Walt Bates you were so gaggy over the year after we got outta high school. And the answer to the second question is yes, I do live here-and so do Joan and Priss."
The news almost floored Mary.
"Joan Wonger and Priss Sanford both live here?"
"Right. I ran into Joan about a year ago, and Priss and her husband moved to town last Christmas. Small world, eh?"
"That's hot the word for it! Lordy, you mean The Wranglers can have a reunion!?"
Sara chuckled again in that same old sultry, deep-throated way she had done back in high school. "You bet your booties, honey. Priss and Joan are as anxious to see you as I am. Say, speaking of booties, you don't have any little feet trampling around, do you?"
"You mean a baby? God, no. Not yet, anyway."
"Wow, I'm glad to hear that. Neither do any of the rest of us. So it makes for more fun time over cards and swimming pools and drinks and stuff. And speaking of that, what the hell are you doing for lunch?"
"Why... why, nothing."
"Hubby isn't coming home?"
"No."
"Great. How about meeting the rest of us at the Golden Drake cafe and bar. Know where it is?"
"Yes, but that's no cafe, is it? I mean, Walt and I passed it the other day and it looked like they serve you out of gold plates."
"They're overpriced bastards, if that's what you mean. But this is special, honey. You meet the three of us and we'll treat you to booze and food."
Mary laughed. "You haven't changed a bit, Sara. Still as blunt as bullet, aren't you."
"I'll drink to that."
"I'll meet you at the Golden Drake."
"See that you do. The four of us tramps can talk for a goddamn week without stopping, I figure."
Mary was still laughing when Sara hung up.
She still couldn't believe it, either. The Wranglers together again! My God, she thought, I haven't seen Priss and Joan in four years. And the only reason I saw Sara two years ago was because she came back to our home town for the funeral of her Aunt Martha.
She didn't even know if Joan was married-or if Sara was still married. She hadn't thought to ask.
"Oh, well," she sighed, dashing off to take the shower she had promised herself, "I guess I'll soon find out!"
The shower didn't take much time at all, but selecting something to wear turned out to be a monumental problem. Mary wanted to look her best, but not overly dressed. She wanted to look sexy and attractive, but not whorish. And above all, she wanted to make an impression that would make her friends suck in their breath with something between envy and admiration. So she wore her tight black dress with the red sash and matching pumps and purse.
She took a taxi to the fancy restaurant which was downtown. The second she entered the place she heard Sara yelling to her from a corner of the sedate restaurant-much to the irritation of the well-manicured, high-rumped hostess who glared at Sara over a stack of newspaper-sized menus.
Mary went over to the table, smiling from ear to ear at the sight of her three lost cronies. Sara was the oldest of them: an ageless twenty-seven, with red hair piled higher than ever, and with good cheekbones and greenish eyes that always looked hungry and lusty. Joan was Mary's age, twenty-five, and her smallish, cute face still looked the same in the soft circle of her dark black hair. But Priss was still the prize. At twenty-three she was the baby of the group, and her golden blonde hair looked almost too pretty to be real.
"Woo-hah, Wranglers!" Mary yelled, in only a half-subdued whoop, making the people at the next table look up and smile.
They went through an exhibition of hugging and kissing and all talking at once. They settled down only when the waiter came over to take the order for their drinks.
"Martinis all around," Sara informed the balding waiter, "and make 'em so lonesome for vermouth, they'll cry!"
The waiter smiled, and Sara watched him walk away with that same old lusty twinkle in her green eyes. "Well, he'd do in a storm, I guess," she cracked, "so get on your knees and pray for rain, gals!"
That dissolved the group in laughter again, and Mary felt that the four years had melted away like smoke.
"So who isn't married?" Mary demanded.
They all shrugged, looking eagerly at Sara to provide the usual joke.
"Wal," Sara hummed, "let's put it this way, Mary. If the three of us were any more married, we'd have to put zippers on our snatches!"
Priss giggled so long and loud that her pretty cheeks flushed the color of dark wine.
"Is everybody as happily married as I am?" Mary asked.
"I certainly am," Joan murmured. "My Bill is the best provider in town."
Sara grinned. "Yeah, and I've seen pictures of him. And I've got a hunch just what he provides every night, too."
"You mean you haven't met Joan's husband?" Mary asked Sara, a little surprised by the reference to pictures."
Sara chuckled and nudged Priss. "You tell her, honey."
Priss grinned, showing those perfect white teeth of hers that had driven the boys wild in high school. "To tell you the truth, Mary, none of us have met each other's husbands."
Mary gaped at them. "But why haven't you?"
"Because we want to keep it that way," Joan explained. "We want it to be just like it was-our own little closed clique. We thought if we started doing all those dumb things that married couples do, you know, patio parties and going out to dances and dinner, we'd take all the fun out of being together again. Lord, I can say things around you three gals that I'd never let Bill hear!"
"Same with all of us," Sara cut in. "My Christ, if Jim ever heard me tell about all those wild times we had in high school, he'd jet me to Reno with my hands tied behind my back."
Mary blinked, but she certainly understood the logic of their attitude. She knew that she wouldn't want Walt to know about some of the things she had done in high school.
"Remember Coach Henderson?" Priss whispered, her cheeks flushing all over again with naughty pleasure.
"Who could forget him," Joan grinned.
Sara chuckled. "I'll bet Buzzsaw Henderson never forgets us!"
Mary remembered exactly what they were talking about, and as the waiter brought the first round of strong martinis, she let her mind flit briefly back to that wild night when they decided that Coach Henderson needed to have his push-ups improved.
It had been the night of the big game at a neighboring town, and they had laid their plan of attack as professionally as a troop of whores stalking a lone marine. The high school football boys always called the coach Buzzsaw because of the size of his penis. They saw the coach's prick all the time in the locker room and the gym shower. Boys talk about things like that, and they go around comparing cock size among themselves the same way girls talk about tit size and pussy length. So the word had been out for months about how the coach's pretty young wife must get it every night like a buzzsaw. And The Wranglers wanted some of it, too.
Their plan had been relatively naive, but enormously successful. Since Priss was one of the cheerleaders for the football team, the coach knew her very well. So she was selected as the perfect decoy to get the coach into their clutches. The plan was simply for Priss to pretend to have a flat tire two blocks away from the coach's house. On his way home from the game the coach would see her, stop to help, and Priss would take over from there.
It was Priss' job to seduce the coach, and to talk him into taking her to a vacant house where they could fuck. If he fell for that-and they knew he'd have to be a superman not to-the rest of them would be waiting to have some fun, too.
The plan was wanton and full of all kinds of crazy dangers, but it worked. The coach was young and hot-blooded, with a nice but pregnant wife at home. He was more than willing to take advantage of some free, seventeen-year-old pussy if the price looked right. So he allowed himself to be taken to the house, allowed himself to be stripped down to a bare-assed screwing condition, and while he was lustily pumping away at Priss' spicy young cunt the others strolled in from a back room and demanded some of the action for themselves.
"Remember the look on Coach Henderson's face?" Joan asked, when the waiter had departed.
"Remember it," Priss breathed, "how could I ever forget it."
"Yes," Sara grinned, "I always did think we came in just at the wrong time. Those blue eyes of yours were going like sparklers, baby. Did we barge in before or after you got your jollies?"
"Sara," Mary gasped, flushing.
But Priss only grinned mischievously.
"All I remember," Joan continued huskily, "was that once that big stud got over his confusion, he was good for the night."
"I'll say," Priss whispered.
"You enjoyed screwing him, too, didn't you, Mary?" Sara teased.
Mary was still blushing. It had been too long since she had carried on such spicy conversations with her pals. But she was beginning to realize that they were used to the sessions.
"Well, I... "
"You did enjoy it, honey," Sara smiled. "Hell, I remember how you gave that poor dope a big hickie on his neck just as your hot doughnut started leaking like a faucet. Say, I wonder how the shit Buzzsaw explained that mark to his pregnant wife...?"
"Sara, you're awful," Joan giggled.
"I get worse. For example, remember the time we hijacked those two cute farm boys, those two brothers that lived out on old man Stone's place?"
"They were twins," Priss said. "Johnny and Jimmy Sizemore."
Sara grinned wickedly. "You would remember the part about size, dear. Not that I blame you. Lord, I've heard all my life about doubling your pleasure, but those two big-pricked young... "
The waiter interrupted them again, to ask if they were ready to order.
"Yeah," Sara snapped, "bring us another round of these soda pops-and for Pete's sakes put some gin in 'em!"
The waiter shrugged and sneaked away.
"Where was I," Sara grumbled. "Oh, yep, I remember. Those two twins, those cute farm boys. Hey, who did what to who up in that damn barn loft?"
"You should know," Mary breathed. "I remember that it was you who got Jimmy Sizemore to take off his overalls."
"Oh, yes," Sara grinned. "I guess I wasn't too subtle about it, at that. But when I saw that big bulge in his pants, I thought what the hell."
"Joan was the one that got the best of that deal," Priss insisted.
They looked at Joan, and she couldn't keep the naughty twinkle out of her eyes. "Well," she admitted, slowly, "I do seem to recall that Johnny and Jimmy both insisted that I come back out the next Sunday to learn to ride their horse."
"Ride their what," Sara grinned.
"I know it sounds silly. I don't expect you to believe me, darn it, but I really did think they wanted to teach me to ride a horse. They taught me to ride, okay, but it was back up in the barn loft, and it was two big horsies."
"Stallions, you mean," Priss breathed.
"I wonder what those two prize studs are doing right now," Sara mused, licking at the rim of her martini glass with the tip of her tongue.
"Either bailing hay or rolling in it," Mary smiled.
"Wish I was rolling with 'em," Sara shot back.
Mary kept smiling. "You know you don't mean that, Sara. You're happily married."
"Sure I am, but I'm not dead. And I'll bet Jim wouldn't toss off a little free pussy if he got the chance."
"Your husband?" Mary echoed.
"Uh-huh. And my guess is that he would be about as faithful as a tomcat if something bouncy walked by and winked."
All three immediately protested to Sara that she was probably mistaken.
"Wanna bet?" she responded, gamely. "Listen, a man is a man. What makes you think my husband, or your damn husbands, are one bit more holy than old Coach Henderson was? Hell, give 'em half a chance and they'd screw their way to China with anything in loose panties."
"Ahem," the waiter said, standing beside the table with his balding head turning pink. "Your drinks, ladies."
He put the drinks down, but Sara couldn't resist giving him something else to blush about.
"Hey, Mister," Sara whispered into the poor guy's ear, "your fly's unbuttoned."
He walked away like he had a crowbar up his ass.
"Honestly, Sara," Mary sighed, "you're going to get us thrown out of this place."
"Good. Then we won't have to pay for these sodas they call drinks. Now where was I? Oh, yep. Back to our faithful hubbies. I'll bet you a bag of rubies each that... "
"You'd lose," Joan said, curtly. "I don't know about the rest of you, but my Bill is as true to me as ever."
"So is Greg," Priss chimed in. "I'd trust Greg with a woman on a desert island. How about you, Mary?"
Mary took a deep, dedicated breath. "Walt has never even looked at another female." Sara let out a little muffled whoop of derision.
"Wow, what is this, a meeting of saints? Listen, I'll bet I could crawl into the sack with any man in this town, your hubbies included. And I'll bet they'd hump like they'd never seen an altar!"
"You're getting tipsy, Sara," Priss said.
"Drunk," Joan huffed.
"Like crap I am! You three trusting souls care to give me the signal to try my luck with your husbands?"
There was dead silence for a few moments.
"Well?"
"All I know is," Mary managed, "that Walt loves me and I love him."
"Who the Constitution is talking about love?" Sara snapped. "I love Jim, too, but I'm talking about a quickie. I'm talking about what Coach Henderson did with us. He didn't rush home and divorce his wife, you dummies. Hell, for all I know he appreciated her even more after we balled him. But the point is, he balled strange pussy-and so will any man alive with healthy balls!"
The people at the next table were looking, and the two men at the table were shyly grinning.
"See what I mean?" Sara whispered.
"Well, I wouldn't tempt Bill with anything like that," Joan said, primly.
"Sure you wouldn't," Sara shrugged. "You're afraid I'm right."
"It isn't that."
"I say it is. I say we oughta draw cocktail straws and play a little game at seeing how easy it is to play house with each other's husbands."
They stared at Sara as if she had just farted in a fishbowl.
"Are... are you out of your mind?" Priss stammered.
"Nope, I never felt more sensible. Hey, what's happened to the old school spirit, gang? What's happened to the old bang 'em, gang, ball 'em, gang jazz? We Wranglers used to hang together."
"But we're married now, for God's sake!" Joan grunted.
"So what," Sara purred, "so we're keeping it in the family because we're such good friends. Besides, every damned one of you has slipped a little after your marriage. I know for a fact, Joan, that you fooled around with a car salesman who worked for your Bill."
"Well, I... "
"And you, Priss, how's about that sailor last summer who followed you to a swimming pool?"
"That wasn't my fault."
"So why didn't you yell rape when you went with him to the motel, huh?"
Priss blushed. "Well, so I slipped once. But he seemed so... uh... lonesome. And he reminded me of my brother."
"Your nine-inch brother, no doubt," Sara meowed. "And as for our Little Miss Mary Sunshine here... "
"You haven't got a damned thing on me," Mary snorted.
"Listen to her," Sara grinned. "She wants the Virgin of the Year award, yet! Or do I have to tell the whole glorious story of you and your sexy brother-in-law, darling?"
"You leave Willy out of this," Mary snapped, shakily.
"Uh-huh. The cards go on the table. Would you believe that three hours before she married her husband, Mary was letting that lovely hunk of immorality named Willy Bates get a good-bye diddle between her legs. Lord help us, honey, did you do it with him in your wedding gown?"
Despite herself, Mary found her mouth twitching up in a helpless, defeated little grin.
"All right, you heartless bitch," she smiled, softly, "you win. We're still something like the old Wranglers, I guess."
"You're damned right we are," Sara breathed, earnestly, "and all I'm saying is that it might be fun to find out if our husbands are any better or worse than we were."
"Well," Joan muttered, thoughtfully, "I guess if Bill is capable of playing around, I'd rather find it out from one of you three than to find it out from a gossiping neighbor."
"How about you, Priss?"
"Same here, I... I guess."
Mary could feel a hot little knot of dull fear in her tummy, almost as if she dreaded to find out something like that about Walt. But she was still a Wrangler, after all.
"I'll go along with it," she said.
Sara grinned with the triumphant pleasure of a true nympho, the type who loves justifying the chance to fuck by calling it a necessary evil.
"Hey, waiter," Sara called, making more heads turn, "bring us something with four straws!"
CHAPTER THREE
All the way home from the Golden Drake Mary kept telling herself that Sara's idea about seducing each other's husbands was the nuttiest idea on record-even though Sara had always been noted for her nutty suggestions.
Mary would never forget the time that Sara wanted The Wranglers to see just how big the village idiot's prick was. In this case the town character had been a twenty-year-old yokel who always rode a bicycle and spent most of his time poking around the dumps out at the city trash area. The young male was called Pedal Pete, and if he hadn't had about ten buttons missing from between his ears he would have been a handsome guy.
It was Sara who found out about how well Pedal Pete was hung. She found out on Saturday morning behind a mountain of wrecked cars while the rest of them stood watch to see that nobody bothered them. Sara used about as much finesse on the problem, Mary remembered, as a butcher handling meat. She simply unbuttoned the grinning dum-dum's pants and fished his cock out.
Sara said later that she almost lost her breath at the size of Pedal Pete's prick. She said that the way it got instantly stiff in her fingers made her wonder if some of Pete's perfectly normal sisters hadn't maybe played around with their well-hung big brother themselves. Then Sara became pretty damned sure of her theory when Pete begged her to let him fuck her, right then and there. To cool him down-and to indulge herself in one of her little vices-Sara elected instead to suck on the big whopper a tiny bit. She ended up blowing his huge cock for twenty minutes, and getting her gullet blown brimming full of the hottest cum of her career.
Now, thinking back on just that one scheme of zany Sara's, Mary had to grin about the latest one. And her grin was wider each time she realized that the drawing had produced an even funnier surprise. Mary had drawn Sara's hubby as her object of seduction.
The other results had gone this way: Joan had drawn Walt; Sara had drawn Priss' husband, Greg; and Priss had drawn Joan's husband, Bill. They had spent the remainder of their luncheon giving each other intimate rundowns on the habits, foibles, and vital statistics of their husbands. And Mary had already decided that Jim Broomley sounded like something of a real loser, despite the fact that Sara insisted he was hot as lava in the sack.
"I guess I'll find out," Mary sighed, feeling both a tinge of apprehension and a ripple of lusty anticipation in her tummy at the prospect of hunting down an unwary male just in order to make him fuck her. She was still, she told herself, interested only in one man-Walt. He was stud enough for her, and always would be. Except that night he wasn't.
He didn't get home at six o'clock, the way he had promised, but at eight o'clock. And he was dog tired. He said that he had been forced to lay a couple of guys off the building crew and that he had spent most of the day rounding up replacements. He said that if she didn't mind he would have a sandwich and a beer, take a good hot bath, and hit the sack early and alone.
So... no encore on the sex bit. No lovely screwing to take her mind off things... and to make it worse, that damned secretary across the way had her curtains open again and was giving a party.' Long after Walt was snoring in the bedroom, Mary was propped up in the dark kitchen and staring out the window at all the gaiety just beyond her reach. The secretary had her apartment filled with people. Mary recognized the same guy the little bitch had been so avidly fucking that very morning. He looked even better in clothes. But Mary couldn't get the memory out of her mind of having seen him bare-assed and pumping his husky prick in and out of that free and willing pussy. And the thought that probably the secretary was planning to get it again that night sent those little green horns of envy sprouting out once more through Mary's brunette curls.
And sure enough, when the party wound down there the spicy little whore was, alone with two guys, including her pillow pal of that morning. Mary could only watch with her own nagging little twat-itch as the two guys began to take off their ties and coats. Then the secretary pulled the curtains to shut out the prying world.
"Damn," Mary hissed, "maybe you do have more fun being single!"
The next morning was a repeat of the morning before, as far as Walt was concerned. He was up at dawn, poaching his eggs in the kitchen, and he was gone by eight o'clock, after having tiptoed into the bedroom to give his wife a quick little kiss on the cheek.
And it was also a repeat for Mary. She woke up with her nipples brazenly erect and the hairs on her pussy trembling with need. And for the first time she realized that Sara's sultry brainstorm had some merit, after all. The way she felt, she would fuck the grocery boy if he knocked on her door.
Following a quick breakfast, she went through her toilette again. Only this time she was aware that she wasn't dressing for the gals. She was dressing for a strange man, one that had to take one look at her and think sex. She had to look frisky and fuckable.
She solved the rather uncomplicated problem by simply putting on the most daring dress in her closet. Walt had seen it on a store mannequin and had given a low wolf whistle. It was one of those Hawaiian prints with cleavage at both ends. She just hoped that Jim Davis didn't turn out to be the shy type.
Mary put on a pair of dark glasses and made up her lips with bright red color. Then she atomized her earlobes-and the tit cleavage-with something called Storm Tossed, and called the taxi. Then, while waiting for the taxi, she thought better of it. What in hell would Jim Davis think if she came riding up to his credit agency in a taxi. Instead, she decided to beg the car out of Walt, and that way she and Jim could take a little drive out in the country, if necessary.
So she took the taxi to the construction site on the other side of the city and easily purred Walt into letting her take the car for the day.
It was only when she was actually on her way to meet Sara's husband that she began to get butterflies in her stomach.
Jesus, she thought, what has that dizzy Sara talked us into! We're not silly little gals in high school, anymore!
But it was too late to back out. And she was damned if she would go back to the group and tell them that she was too old, or too scared to consider herself a real Wrangler anymore. Goddamned if she would do that!
Fortunately, Sara had filled her in pretty well on Jim. He had been to college for a couple of years taking business courses; he had been a high school football star; he had a couple of years in the marines, and in bed he was a slow starter but a big finisher.
"And a long runner," Mary smiled to herself. Any man who was married to Sara would have to be something of a hero in the endurance department, unless Sara had changed colors since her Wrangler days.
She found the entrance to the credit agency on a side street off one of the main avenues of the downtown area. It wasn't the most impressive looking business in the world. But she was satisfied that Sara was telling the truth when Sara insisted that Jim's venture allowed him to employ three or four helpers and pulled in around fifteen thousand per year, flat profit.
She parked as near as she could, then walked up to the glass-fronted building with Davis Credit Agency printed on the front. The motto in smaller letters read: There's No Hole We Can't Fill For You. Mary had to grin at that!
She stepped into the carpeted foyer and was met by a young man. "May I help you?" he asked.
"I'd like to see the manager," she said. "I believe I want to see Mr. Jim Davis."
A tall handsome man entered from a back room and smiled.
"If you're Jim Davis," Mary said lightly, "then you're the one I want to see. My friend told me you could help me solve my problem."
Jim Davis stared at her for a few seconds, as if thoughtfully sizing up her bankbook, then grinned and took her hand.
"Won't you come on in the office, Miss... uh...?"
"Smith."
"Miss Smith?"
"That's right."
He smiled, and she thought she noted a little twinkle of moderate interest in his eyes-interest that had nothing at all to do with investing money, either.
"You say you have a problem?" he asked, helpfully.
"I certainly do," she replied, crossing her legs so that he couldn't fail to notice how shamelessly short her hem was. And notice he did.
"Want to tell me about it?" he breathed, his voice just a shade lower and huskier than before.
"I need a vacation," she lied. "I think I need to get away from the stress and strain. I can't seem to sleep at night. I think I need something, so I guess I need a vacation."
He had to drag his eyes up from the expanse of thigh that seemed to be signaling to him from where she sat. Mary could see that the color had deepened once more in his cheeks, and that his hands were clenching and unclenching on his lap. And finally, with a sigh, he crossed his legs.
"Where did you think of going on your vacation, Miss Smith?"
"I thought Acapulco, maybe. Thought I might like to lie in the sun."
"You want to go way down there alone?"
"Why not. I make friends easily."
"I'm sure you do, but I was in Acapulco once myself, and you have to watch out for those beach boys."
She grinned. "I'll be more interested in watching out for some beach men."
He swallowed slowly, and nodded. "Yes, I guess there's something to be said for maturity in a... uh... male. But what I meant was... "
"I know what you meant. And I think you know what I meant. And I think you know why I need that vacation."
That took care of the conversation for a couple of seconds while he looked over her shoulder to see that the other workers were well out of earshot. Then he zeroed in on her exposed legs again, and for good measure took a hard stare at her braless tits.
"You understand, Miss Smith, that a trip to Mexico involves a few hundred dollars, if you do it right. That's a lot of money."
"I need a lot of vacation."
"You haven't had any, uh, vacations lately?"
"A couple of short ones, here and there."
"You liked them, enjoyed them?"
"Loved them, but I want a longer one."
"Uh, maybe a longer and a bigger one, Miss Smith?"
She grinned. "Now what are we talking about?" she purred.
He smiled slackly, and lowered his voice again. "Don't you know?"
"I know, but I'm wondering if you know."
His smiled twitched upward and his dark eyes twinkled. "What I think you need is a vacation today, maybe this afternoon."
"What's wrong with right now, honey."
That really did it. The game was over. Both of them obviously had fucking on their minds. It was just a matter of getting away.
"Do you have a place to go?" he muttered softly, making the old line sound as fresh as a teen-aged boy's lust. Mary shrugged, knowing that she couldn't take him back to her apartment-not with Walt's erratic habit of sometimes coming home in the middle of the afternoon.
"Don't you have a place?" she countered.
"Well, I certainly can't take you to my house... but, yeah, I think I can manage something."
"We can take my car," she said, the second they were out on the sidewalk.
He was tall, she realized, a lot taller than Walt. And he had shoulders that wouldn't quit. Mary remembered what Sara had said about her husband being a football star on his high school team. She knew that it was going to be a whole basket of fun getting, or letting, him tackle her into bed.
"Where are we going?" she asked, as soon as they got into the car.
"Little place I share with a couple of buddies. Not much of a house, but it's fine for vacations."
She smiled.
He told her how to get to the house, which was one of those cheaper places before you got to the outskirts of the city. And on the way she couldn't resist probing just a fraction into his relationship with Sara.
"You do this a lot?"
"Do what, Miss Smith?"
"Take girls on vacations."
He grinned. "Only when they're as pretty as you. And only when they seem to want it real bad."
"You want it too, I trust."
He reached over and closed his hand on the inside edge of her thigh, squeezing her just enough to make her blood rise. "Why the hell do you think I had to cross my legs in the office back there," he whispered. "All that sexy double-talk was giving me a hard-on that wouldn't quit."
They reached the house and Mary drove into the drive. He told her to park the car around in back, out of sight, and she was more than happy to do so. Even though she and Walt were strangers in the city, you never knew who might drive by and spot the car.
They entered by the back door, and once inside Jim locked it securely behind them. Then he turned and put his hand firmly on the plump hill of her ass.
"Hey," he breathed, huskily, "I'll bet you're the cat's meow." She hadn't heard that expression in a but she had a quick answer for it.
"I'm more like the pussy's pant, you-"
"That's nice. What say we go into the bedroom and take that vacation together."
She grinned. "I damn sure didn't come all the way out here to take it alone!"
CHAPTER FOUR
The bedroom turned out to be something of a surprise. It was painted a light blue pastel color, with frilly drapes and a Vanity table piled high with cosmetics. It looked like a girl's room.
"I thought you said you rented this place with guys," Mary asked, curiously.
Jim grinned. "I do, but we like to be prepared. Besides, one of the fellows enjoys the idea of having fun in something that looks like a female's bedroom. Just a harmless hobby."
"It doesn't bother me, as long as fun is what we have."
He scooped one hand back down around her buttocks and gave the cheeks of her ass another urgent squeeze. "Don't worry about that, baby. I think I know how to make you giggle like a virgin."
It was her turn to feel, and she did so by reaching over his crotch and feeling for his penis. She found it-a long, large lump of hardening meat. Just touching his prick gave her a thrill.
"Haul out of your things," he breathed, hoarsely. "I've been wanting to see those tits of yours for an hour!"
She gave his rising cock another quick, hungry testing with her fingertips. Her blood leaped a few more degrees as she felt it turning into a bar of iron.
"Let's both strip," she crooned.
It took them less time to tear out of their clothes than it usually took her to put on lipstick. She was finished just a fraction before he was-just in time to enjoy watching him crawl out of his jockey shorts. His body was something else. There wasn't an ounce of fat on him, despite the slabs of muscles in his arms and shoulders. The hair tufting his flat nipples made her purr deep in her throat with appreciation. But it was that prick on him that really turned her on.
She had seen big ones before, including Walt's, but what Jim Davis had swinging stoutly out from between his legs was less a cock than a club.
"Lordy," she managed, her cheeks coloring a deep pink with pleasure, "your wife must worship that thing like a totem pole."
Jim grinned, and turned so that she could get a real focus on the length and size of his cock. It was a good nine inches of solid meat, one of those perfectly made pussy pleasers with thick veins along the sides, and a plump helmet of flesh at the tip. And to add to the zesty, erotic appearance of it, the strong root seemed to be jutting out of a tangled snarl of thick pubic hair. The kind of prick-bristle that can tickle a clitoris like a thousand fingers.
While Mary was admiring his cock, he was looking over her naked body, drinking in the promising rise and size of her swelling tits, the dark, long nipples and the plumping amber aureoles. He obviously liked what he saw because his mouth pulled up in a faintly leering grin, and his enormous prick gave one or two twitches of anticipatory lust.
"Shall we fuck, Miss Smith?" he rasped, jokingly.
Just the invitation made the maddeningly itchy lips of her cunt began to spread.
Without a word she strolled quickly to the bed and crawled into the middle of it. She plumped a pillow under her buttocks and arched her legs wide apart. Then she lay back with her arms outstretched, more than ready and willing to let such a marvelously hung stud fuck her all he wanted.
Jim wasn't shy about it, a point which did nothing to decrease her rising passion. He joined her on the bed, making the springs creak in complaint as he knelt on his knees down between her legs. Apparently, he was going to inspect her pussy a bit closer before stoppering it with his king-sized prick.
To increase what she so mightily hoped for, she rolled her head to one side and closed her eyes. That way every little touch of his fingers or tongue would be a thrilling surprise. Very gently he placed the tips of his fingers a few inches away on each side of her cunt, where the humps began to rise that led to the deep, moistened crack of her slit. She tingled all over at his touch. The hairs on her pussy seemed to vibrate individually as he pulled ever so gingerly to spread the puckered folds of her pussy wider open.
Mary's clit was reacting to his teasing foreplay. She felt that thick love-muscle begin to rise, pushing up between the top of her cunt like a baby's pink finger.
He lowered his face right into the cradle of her crotch and blew lightly on the nap of soft pussyhair, moving it back and forth with his breath. She moaned softly and opened her legs even wider for him.
Then his tongue touched the wet burrow of her cunt, and licked lightly up and down while letting just the tip of his pussy tickler probe inside the inner lips of her hole. The titillating effect of having her snatch licked began to drive spikes of pure lust through her loins. She knew that if he kept that up a few more minutes she would be mad to fuck him! She wanted to have that big prick satisfy her for hours.
He was licking a bit faster now, and getting his tongue deeper into her gulping slit. To open her pussy wider so that he could plow into her better, he put both of his hands around the heating circle of her trench. He flattened his palms out and pulled the pouting lips of her cunt so wide that the red, meaty mess of her sex offered his mouth a real feast of hotness.
Spearing his tongue into her to the roots, he removed his hands quickly and the thickened folds of her sultry gash rolled and closed over his wriggling lips. When Mary let out a moan of demented lust, his tongue spurred deeper, licking and sucking at her like crazy.
"God! Do it!" she hissed, rolling her hips in circular, fucking rhythms against his face. "Fuck me with it! Make me love it!"
Jim's whole face was buried in her snatch. His flared nostrils were covered with her pubic hair and the bottom of his chin was pushed almost against her asshole. The obscene sounds of his slurping tongue ground in her ears like the lewd music of hell.
"Uh! Uuh...!"
He was making her covet having her pussy lapped, making her grunt and growl like a cheap whore.
To add the final touch to her rising heat, he reached both his hands up and found her pointing nipples. They were large and pink, and the second his thumbs rubbed against them they twitched like little tongues. He played with them, rolled them, tweaked and squeezed them while his mouth continued to suck greedily at her juices.
With a little shriek of ecstasy Mary wrapped her legs around his head, holding him between her legs like a football. Then, she raised her hips and pushed her flowing cunt hard against his jaws, making him thrust his tongue deeper than ever into her lascivious hole. The next five minutes were heavenly for her. She thought his tongue would never stop darting against the liquidy walls of her throbbing pussy.
"C-c-cumming!" She gasped, her voice so ragged and hoarse that she barely recognized it. "Cumming! Cum! Oh, God! Suck me! Suck the shit out of me!"
Her voice trailed off into broken sobs of joy as she spasmed, hard. She heard him gag on her spouting juices, and both her hands darted down to the back of his head to hold him flush against her slick and brimming cunt. He drank it all, smearing the inner lips of her swollen pussy with the flat of his tongue, licking brutally at her clitoris. He once again drove the whole of his hungry tongue so deep into her quivering snatch that she had to grab his ears to keep from fainting with pleasure. Finally it was over for her-for her, but not for him. His prick was as stiff as stone, and sucking her pussy had been the kind of honing of his male appetite that whores dream about with sailors.
"You need fucking now," he growled, roughly.
She made one or two little kittenish moans of protest, but keeping his strong body from ravaging her was like trying to hold back a hurricane with a butterfly net. He was on top of her, grabbing her wrists and holding them down. The brutal head of his large prick slid into her with a sucking noise deep up between the lubricated lips of her slit.
Now she was glad he had sucked her cunt, glad that he had made the walls loose and wet. She needed every advantage in taking even half of his stallion cock. She crinkled her toes and sighed as he pumped his prick methodically up into her cunt, going a few inches deeper on each thrust.
"Right to the goddamn balls, baby!" he husked.
With his intention ringing in her ears, Mary let her vaginal muscles relax just in time to take his enormously stiff prick right to the root. He buried it out of sight between the plump, pink lips of her pussy. She could feel his hairy balls pressing flush against her asshole-and the bulbous head of his cock touching the mouth of her womb.
Jim stopped moving for a second, letting her girlishly tight cunt absorb the monster that had rudely invaded it. While he rested, he licked and sucked the swollen thumbs of her nipples until her face was flushed and hot.
"Yes," she breathed at him, hardly able to communicate through her clenched teeth, "yes, fuck me, you bastard! Fuck me with it! Make me cum all night with your fucking!"
It was the kind of wanton begging that can drive a man mad with lust, and he was certainly no exception. By digging his knees deep into the mattress on either side of her hips, he got the leverage to screw her with powerful, up-to-the-cunthair thrusts. The old bed squeaked and rocked and groaned for the next twenty minutes as he fucked her harder than she had ever been fucked in her life. All she could think of as one delicious, whorish spasm after another dripped over his slapping balls was that Sara got this beautiful stud every night!!
But even a fucking machine has its limits. And at the crest of one of her throbbing orgasms, his prick stiffened into a gross club of lustful meat and he emptied his mighty balls into her like a madman. At least five strong, solid spurts of his boiling cum roared up into the deepest corners of her cunt. Before he finally stopped pumping and ramming against her happy slit their joined juices had made a puddle on the sheets. Finally, he rolled half-off of her. But his gleaming, half-swollen cock stayed plugged goatlike deep up between the slack folds of her cunt.
"Wow," she whispered, panting, weakly pulling back the tangled strands of hair from her sweaty face, "you are one damned bull of a stud, Mister."
He grinned, and she felt his prick twitch lustily once or twice inside the warm, soft sheath of her satisfied slit.
"You're not bad yourself," he offered, moving one strong and hairy hand up to rub the rosy nipple that seemed to be pointing at his face. "You and I are going to have to go on a vacation again. And soon, I hope."
"Just let me lick my wounds first," she managed.
That remark made Jim's cock firm a bit inside of her, and she realized with both fear and joy that he wasn't even half-through screwing her. But Mary needed a rest, and to that end she tried to stall off another bout of balling by starting a conversation. She supposed that it was her own subconscious urge not to let him get talked out of fucking her again that made her point the dialogue toward sex.
"You do this often?" she asked.
He grinned. "Not often enough. I guess I've fucked eight or ten women here on this bed."
"And your wife doesn't know?"
"That dumb wife of mine wouldn't know if I came home with lipstick on my nuts. She's too busy screwing guys to worry about what I do."
"You mean, your wife... uh... "
"Fucks around? Hell, I've caught her six or seven times since summer started. One time I came home and found her getting balled by the biggest black guy in town."
Mary gulped. "I... I can't believe that!"
Jim gave her a casual glance. "Why not? You know my wife?"
"Well... uh... no, but having sex with a black person. I mean, that's hard for me to believe about a white woman."
He grinned. "Don't knock black meat if you haven't tried it, doll. Hell, I got my rocks off the first time with an old black whore."
"You did?"
"Sure. Want to hear about it?"
She blushed, but her curiosity was scratching at her defenses like a sack of cats. "Well, if you really want to tell about it, I suppose so."
His grin still held. "Okay, but I think I should warn you. Whenever I tell this story, my cock always gets hard as a hammer. Sure you won't mind if I start stretching the sides of your cute pussy all over again?"
"You let me worry about that!"
Jim chuckled, then slid one strong leg up over her thigh. His oversized cock was still snugly fitted up inside her cunt. He seemed to know from experience that before he was through with his naughty little tale of adolescent fucking his prick would be bone-hard from tip to root.
"I come from the South, originally," he began, "although you might not believe that from my accent. I got rid of that cornpone way of speaking by taking a lot of speech classes in college. Anyway, like I said, I grew up in a small town in the South. In those days the black folks all lived in one spot down below the tracks. Us white boys used to go down there on Saturday nights to play poker and drink beer. We had another reason for our trips-and that was to hunt us up some good, hot, cheap black pussy. Hell, we could hustle up a fourteen-year-old cunt for a couple of bucks. And those black gals could really fuck. Christ, I remember the time that six of us paid this one good-looking little bitch to let us fuck her two at a time all night long. She kept grinning and pumping that cute little black ass until we... "
"Hey," Mary cut in, gasping. "You were going to tell me about the first time, remember?"
Jim grinned and nodded. Then he reached up and cupped one of her lush titties, running his thumb over the dark pap of her nipple until it erected. At the same time, she could feel the large head of his cock begin to nudge against the wall of her pussy.
"Yeah, that first time was really something. I was only sixteen, but I had a prick on me-as you damn well know by now. I was horny as a hyena, and tired of jacking-off to dirty pictures, like the other guys. I wanted the real stuff. So one Saturday night I went down there by myself with five bucks in my pocket. I figured that I ought to really get a good piece with that kind of money. What I was after was something about my own age, or maybe a little younger. Some nice, tight black pussy that would moan and cry while I fucked it.
You know how boys are.
"But what I got was something a helluva lot older-and a helluva lot better. And I learned another lesson, too. I learned that older woman really get turned on by younger guys. The older the cunt is, the hotter it is for young stuff, you know what I mean?"
Mary smiled. "If you mean do I ever see an Eagle Scout and think naughty thoughts, the answer is yes!"
He chuckled. "See, I told you. Anyway, I was sitting in this cheap black bar having a cold beer when a real fancy bitch comes in. She wasn't a local black because she drove up in a goddamn Cadillac. She was also old enough to be my mother-not that fucking somebody's mother didn't appeal to me! But to make this fuck story short, she bought me a few beers then offered to take me to a motel in a more liberal town a few miles away."
"And you went?"
"Like a bear going after a barrel of honey. Yeah, I went. I went after she made it clear that she not only wanted to fuck me, she was willing to pay me twenty bucks for the privilege."
"So what happened?"
"We crawled in her Caddy, and she let me drive. The reason she wanted me to drive, I soon found out, was so she could unzip my pants and play with my hot prick. Hell, she sucked on me from the second we left the city limits until we drove up to that goddamn motel."
"Did you, uh... "
"Cum? Damn right I did. Twice. You think a sixteen-year-old stud can keep from shooting his load when a pair of big black lips is licking and sucking his horny prick. Missy, I fed that chocolate whore so much sperm I'll bet she sprouted hair on her ass in a week!"
"And the motel? Were you still able to do anything?"
"I didn't have to. She did it all for me. She stripped me down and told me to lay on the bed. Then she took off everything but her garters. She had some thing about keeping her damn garters on. Then she gave me a round-the-world that wouldn't quit. Baby, you haven't lived until somebody has licked you from head to toe with a slow, hot, wet tongue. Man, by the time she got to my asshole I was so fucking hot you couldn't have softened my prick with a sledge hammer!"
Mary swallowed slowly. The picture of him as a teen-aged stud getting wickedly eaten from toenails to hairline was turning on her juices again. And his, too, judging by the way his cock was ballooning quickly in her cunt.
"Tell me about the rest of it," she pleaded, huskily. "Tell me about how she balled you."
"You wouldn't believe it if I told you. I mean, you wouldn't appreciate how good it can feel to have a black nympho crawling all over you, sucking your armpits and elbows, begging you with every breath to let her fuck you until she's satisfied-begging you not to cum until she's had her own kicks four or five times. Hell, she didn't want to let me get on top. She wanted to control it. She wanted to ride me so that she could pump with her pussy to please herself. She did, too. I didn't think I'd be able to keep my hard-on very long. Then I realized that the only reason she had sucked me off a couple of times was to make me slow to come again. Man, if she fucked my stiff prick for an hour, she fucked it for two hours!"
"And she liked it?"
"She was drunk on cock, honey. That big black pussy of hers teased my sixteen-year-old prick until she was milking my balls a drop at a time... "
The tale was over, but the memory lingered on. Jim's cock was stiff again. So big and horny and overpoweringly aroused that the lips of her pussy were puffed out like the jaws of a frog.
"One more thing," he breathed, casually. "You remember me saying that I'd screwed eight to ten gals on this bed?"
"Uh-huh."
"Well, the rest of it is that they were all black. Every damned one of them, except you."
Mary gulped. "And how do I compare?"
He grinned, and began the slow, sexy roll into fucking position.
"Ask me later," he whispered, beginning to pump even as he said it.
CHAPTER FIVE
I wonder what a Wrangler would do in a situation like this, Joan Wonger mused as she sat alone in her pink Volkswagen across the street from where the big building was going up. I mean a Wrangler like Sara.
Joan had never considered herself one of the more avidly interested members of The Wranglers when they were all back in high school. Oh, she had enjoyed sex when it came right down to it. And a couple of times she had been something of a leader in tracking down and tripping up a couple of the cuter boys in their school. But to think of herself on the same level as Sara and Priss, or even Mary, was something she found hard to accept.
But here she was, sitting across from the construction site where Mary's young husband, Walt Bates, would be getting off work in only a few seconds. And she didn't have a ghost of an idea on how to go about attracting his attention.
The old flat-tire routine wouldn't work, she decided. Instead of being lucky enough to get Walt Bates to come over and help her, she would probably get a dozen or so roughneck types who would be trying to look up her dress all the time they were fixing the flat. And the same would be true of pretending she had run out of gas, or needed a push down the hill.
Joan vetoed trying any of those dumb things. Instead, she elected to just still her thumping heart and stay right in the car, hoping that fate would show her a way. She was positive of what Walt Bates looked like, and even what he would be wearing. She had worked all that out with Mary who had described him to a T. Mary had seen to it that Walt wore his red shirt today. Besides, if all else failed he was wearing one of those, name tags below his collar. She certainly couldn't miss that.
She was still flipping over the safer approaches to this crazy mess she felt herself in when a whistle blew and the construction crew across the street began to pack up.
Lord, it was time-and she felt about as seductive and sexy as a damp noodle, worried Joan.
With a small burst of female egotism, she leaned over to check herself in the mirror. Her pale, almost girlish face stared back at her from the soft frame of dark hair. Deciding that her lips looked too lifeless, she unscrewed the cap on her lipstick tube and painted her mouth until it was almost bright red. Then she had to bite into a half-dozen tissues to bring her lips down to a shade of whore-scarlet.
Joan had just begun a frantic teasing of her bangs when the men began to pour out of the front of the construction site. She watched with her nerves tingling as the horde of husky, laughing, dirty men filed by her car with lunchboxes and tools swinging in their muscled arms. Some of them looked her way with more than casual interest, but she had only eyes for a red shirt. Then she saw him.
Walt was walking along with two other men, and he was carrying the biggest part of the conversation himself. Joan was glad of that because it gave her a good opportunity to take several long and zesty looks at him without his being aware.
"Nice," she breathed, feeling a faint little nudge of sexual interest beginning to coil somewhere in the region of her pussy, "but then I never did doubt Mary's taste in males... "
She watched as Walt continued on down the sidewalk to his car. He stood there for what seemed an eternity, still talking to a couple of the men. Then he waved good-bye to them and crawled into his car for the trip home. Joan felt depressed at her own lack of initiative. There she sat, like a dumb toad on a stool, while Prince Charming walked right by her. She could almost hear Sara's cynical, nagging voice in the back of her mind saying: Well, don't just sit there, you little ninny-follow him! Maybe he'll have a flat tire!
So, when Walt pulled away and started down the street, she gunned up the VW and zipped right up after him. She was too timid to follow him bumper to bumper, but she did keep him in view. She told herself that at least she could see where he and Mary lived-in case she had to get there on a more decent occasion. She had almost given up hope of snagging her man when her luck changed.
Walt pulled his car up to a bar, and got out. It wasn't really a bar, but more like one of those cheap beer joints where working men go. The kind of place that has a big, blinking Schlitz sign in the window and a pool table in the back.
"Well," she breathed, addressing herself the way she thought Sara would, "are you going to sit here until he comes out and miss him again, or are you going to march in there and pray for luck?"
She decided to march. The second she walked into the place, she knew she had made a small tactical error. It was full of men only, and she looked about as conspicuous as a neon propeller on a burlesque queen's tit. A dozen spirited wolf whistles and catcalls greeted her quick safari to a middle stool at the bar. But after she had eased her buttocks up on a stool, most of the men went back to talking and drinking.
The bald, fat bartender came up her way, looking at her with that fishy-eyed look reserved for streetwalkers. It was obvious to her that he didn't like a female gumming up the social club he was running.
"You want somethin'?" he husked at her.
"Uh, yes, a beer, please."
"You drink any special kind, sweetheart, or just anything the boys will buy you?"
She blushed scarlet as her lipstick, and was about to give the fat bastard a piece of her mind when Walt Bates stepped up and did it for her.
"Hey, Jack, easy on the lady. Can't you see she's not like your sister?"
"Now you look here, buster!"
"No, you look. Give the lady a drink, or I'll make this bar off limits to every working union man in town. Then you'll be drawing that weak beer for your kinfolks, hero."
The bartender muttered a quick apology and limped off to get the lady a drink.
Walt grinned and touched the tip of his hardhat with his finger. "You'll have to forgive the management. He went to college in a barn, most likely."
"But you didn't," she managed, her voice a trill of warmth.
"I didn't go much at all. Uh, you here waiting for somebody or something?" Lord, Mary's hubby is a quick worker, Joan thought.
"No, I really did just come in for a drink. Would you care to keep me from being molested again?"
His smile was quick and a little unsteady as he slid onto the stool beside her. "Well, I can't promise I won't try a little molesting of my own," he said, huskily.
She grinned, feeling a slight swell of her tits at his suggestive remark. "Are you sure your wife wouldn't mind?"
She saw the dull little glint of indifference in his eyes. "Like they said when I was in college those two weeks," he breathed, "what your professor and your wife don't know, won't hurt 'em."
"I guess you learned it all right there."
"I'll tell you one thing I learned. I learned that it's a lot more comfortable to drink your beer in a booth than it is on a stool."
She got the message, and without a word she allowed him to escort her back to a booth at the far end of the bar. A booth that sagged to the side of the wall because so many couples had sat in it close together, hip to hip.
Walt sat on the same side with her, and she felt almost threatened by the size of him. Even when she was walking across the floor with him she had felt a little like a midget. But she had always felt that way. She was as small as a ballet dancer with a waist that almost any man could practically reach around with one hand.
"Say," Walt said, settling in beside her and pushing her beer over into her reach, "how tall are you, how big, I mean?"
She smiled. "I'm a little over five three in spiked heels. And I weigh... "
"Never mind," he cut in, grinning. "The next thing you know I'll be wanting to know your age and how big your husband is."
"I'm not married," she lied, casually. "Are you?"
"Me? Naw, this is my grandmother's wedding ring I've got on. I wear it for sentimental reasons, period."
"I like a sentimental man."
"Yeah, well that's me. I'm so sentimental I cry over dirty socks. Hey, want to hear some good music?"
She nodded and he climbed out of the booth to play the juke box. It didn't take her long to see why he made that particular move. The box was standing sideways to the booth, and that gave her a perfect view of him from the belt down. She didn't pass up the opportunity to check his box, which was the whole idea. And the rather promising lump she saw against the side of his leg sent a wanton little thrill down her spine.
Joan Wonger, she warned herself, you ought to be ashamed of doing this! You know darned well that if you go to bed with Mary's husband, you'll hate yourself in the morning... but you also know you'll hate to see the morning come!
He came back to the booth and slid up beside her again. This time his hip pushed flush against hers, and one of his hands casually rested on the top of her thigh. Since they were back in the shadows, she didn't try to push his hand away. In fact, she welcomed the heavy warmth of it. She felt her pussy begin to thicken and tingle.
"You know what I like about you, hey, have you got a name?"
"Veronica."
"No kidding? Can I shorten that to Vee?"
"Be my guest. And your name?"
"Uh, how about Joe?"
Joan smiled. "Could you make that Walt?"
He looked dumb for a second, then remembered that his name tag was showing plain as shit. He grinned. "Okay, so you know me. Fair enough."
"You were going to tell me what you like about me, remember?"
"Oh, yeah. What I like about you is you're just playing some kind of damn game doing this. You're not the type to play hooker in a cheap dive like this."
"Thanks a lot."
"No, I mean it, damnit. Listen, I know a real lady when I see one. I knew a countess once."
That opened her ears for her. "A countess?" she echoed. "You mean a real person of nobility?"
"Correct. It was when I was stationed in the MPs in Paris-in the army about six years ago."
"And I remind you of her?"
Walt backtracked with a sly grin. "Well, I wouldn't go so far as to say you remind me all the way of her. At least not yet. Anyway, she was a lot older than you. About forty or over."
"But a real lady, eh?" she breathed. "One like me?"
She made the pointed remark because his hand was busy moving lower down her thigh. It was trying to locate her pussy. But from the casual way Walt was continuing the conversation and sipping his beer with his free hand, you would have thought they were talking about flower arrangements.
"I met the countess one day in one of those little street cafes down in the Latin Quarter in Paris. I was out of uniform, you know, and just killing time watching the girls. Man, that's one great city to girl-watch in."
He had his fingers under the hem of Joan's dress now, and everywhere he had touched her she was getting goosebumps like crazy!
"So this countess sits down at the table next to me and starts up a conversation. Real correct and polite kind of talk you could hear from anybody, but with a ritzy accent and a voice that would have sliced a London fog. To make it short, she invited me up to her place for a glass of wine."
Those damned fingers of his were now up to the elastic band of Joan's panties. The vaginal lips of her cunt were pushing out against the tight nylon crotch. She wanted to trade a little banter of her own with him, but she didn't dare trust her voice. She was afraid anything she might say would come out as husky as a whore.
"So I go up to her place. I figure, what the hell. I figure if she wants to show me a good time, I'll let her. I'd been shown a couple of good times in Paris already by real Frenchy gals, if you know what I mean."
Joan knew all right, but at the moment she was more involved with making love to his fingers with her panties and thighs. She wanted him to get his damned hand under the elastic band because she knew that if he didn't scratch her itching slit, she would have to.
"Want to hear the rest of it?" Walt whispered, checking at the same time to see that nobody in the bar was looking back at them or paying them any attention. "Want to hear the good part, like they say?"
"Uh... mmm... "
His whole hand was up under her dampening panties now, cupping her cunt like a warm muffin. He squeezed it the way a baker might squeeze a lump of dough.
"This countess was the oral type... hell, that was okay with me because I'd had my pipes drained by experts ever since I was fourteen. Remind me to tell you sometime about the Widow Green on my paper route when I was fourteen... about how she used to put her false teeth in a glass of water before she... hell, forget that story. I just mentioned it to let you know that when that fruity old countess suggested I might like a nice hot blow job, I knew she wasn't talking about whistling forty choruses of "Stardust"-know what I mean?"
"Aaargh!"
Walt had his finger up her cunt now, all the way up to the second knuckle. He was wriggling it in a circle so that her whole pussy seemed to be sucking on it, the way a hungry baby tries to suck a fat nipple.
"She wanted me to take off all my clothes, which I did. Then she wanted me to take a shower, which I did. Then she wanted me to get on all fours in the middle of her big gold bed so that she could squirt whipped cream on my balls and up my asshole, which I damned sure didn't want to do."
He waited for a few seconds, diddling her lathering snatch with that cunning finger of his. Joan couldn't get her breath except in short, half-gulps of joy. So, to keep her from coming right then and maybe yelling like a pirate as she spasmed, he pulled his finger quickly out of her twat and started dragging his hand out from under her panties.
But her own hand shot down under the booth and grabbed Walt's strong wrist, forcing him to push his finger back into the pouting, plump lips of her dripping hole.
"Hey, you like that, eh?" he grinned.
"Make me come," she whispered, raggedly.
His eyes twinkled with the kind of lust that a man feels when he has a female so goddamned hot that she's begging for it.
"You don't want a finger baby," he whispered. "I was just doing that to steam you up a little. Hell, I've got something a million times bigger and better than my finger to tease your pussy with. Feel it under there!"
Joan's hand feathered blindly over his leg and into his crotch. She could feel it, all right. She could feel eight or so inches of stiff meat that was pushing up against his pants like a tent pole.
"Want me to fuck you with that?" he asked, hoarsely.
"Yes! But please finish what you started!"
He grinned. "You mean the story of how the countess ate out my asshole with her tongue?"
"No, damnit! Finish making me come!"
But he wouldn't. Despite her pinching fingers on his wrist, Walt pulled his hand arrogantly out of her panties and brought his finger up to his mouth. He smelled his knuckle, grinned, then licked his finger with the flat of his tongue. "I sure like the taste of pussy," he admitted, huskily.
Joan was more than just a little frantic now. She knew that in a sense he had tricked her, fooled her, made a mockery of her. But she couldn't have cared less about that. She knew that she wanted to be fucked. And the sooner she got this bastard pussy teaser Mary had married into a motel, the better.
"Well," she said, finally making her voice as flat and crude as she could, "do you enjoy making females miserable?"
He glanced at her over his beer. "Hey, honey, don't get your hormones all tied in knots. I'm gonna fuck you... maybe."
"You mean there are conditions?"
"A couple, kind of."
"Name 'em, damnit."
Walt smiled, then shook his head warily. "Hell, I don't know whether I should name those conditions, or not. You might wanta call the cops, or something."
"I didn't yell for mama when you had your elbow up my hole, did I?"
"Well, no, but... "
"So name your conditions, stud!"
He took a deep breath and a long swig of his beer. Then, making sure that nobody was within shouting distance of their booth, he leaned his mouth over to her heated ear and gave her the glad tidings.
"I'll fuck you if you'll promise to do everything that crazy countess did. She taught me some positions that aren't even in the book. I've been wanting to do that stuff with a willing female ever since-including my wife. But I haven't had the goddamned nerve to suggest it. You say okay to going to a motel with me and letting yourself go, and I'll make that pussy of yours gush like a faucet!"
Joan took a ragged breath of joy, and nodded her agreement: Hell, for a chance to learn just what positions he was talking about, she'd have promised him Fort Knox.
CHAPTER SIX
Walt led the way to his car, and Joan followed behind. She couldn't keep down the thumping pressure of her heart against her ribs. All that fingering he had done to her pussy back in the bar had driven her into a rut worthy of her best days as a Wrangler.
Lord, the kind of fun Mary must have with that shameless stud! Joan wondered.
It made her wish that she had married somebody with a little more sex urge than Bill, her husband. Not that she and Bill didn't have a swinging time of their own, but golly, she thought, living with a slick-talking, slit-hungry man like Walt Bates was exactly what made some women tick!
As she followed close behind his lights, Joan tried to fight down the urge to rub her itching cunt. She knew that allowing herself to be so quickly and wantonly turned on by a strange man was a bit sick. But what else was she supposed to do when the lingering memory of his finger inside her pussy was making her break out in sweaty goosebumps?
"Just don't think about it," she breathed to the steering wheel. "Just go to the motel with him, have your fun, and keep reminding yourself that this was all Sara's idea!"
When they finally turned off the main drag and headed for a poorer section of the town, she wondered if going to a motel had been such a hot idea, after all. Maybe they could have driven out in the country and tried a few of those French connections in the back seat. But she didn't stop following him. She couldn't, not the way she felt.
They passed a few halfway respectable places, but Walt didn't stop. He kept going until they came to a place that looked as if bums and hippies might have moved out. A broken-down Old motel with a dozen small units set back in a cluster of trees. It was the kind of place that college boys could take a high school girl and gang bang the hell out of her without fear of being disturbed.
Walt stopped at the office and motioned for Joan to drive on around and park her car out of sight in the trees. Just as she did she saw the evil-looking old man peering out of the office window at her, sizing her up to make sure there wouldn't be any trouble.
She waited in her car while Walt made the arrangements, and she was almost ready to back out of the whole deal again when he tapped on the back windshield and crooked his finger for her to follow him. Like a puppet pulled by an erotic string, Joan hopped out of her car and walked quickly up the worn path behind him. Despite her inner feeling of being cheap and whorish to come to such a place with a horny male, she had not managed to fight down the excitement the idea had for her. Once in a lifetime, she told herself, that's how often something like this happens-so don't back out now!
Walt had rented the unit furthest back from the office, the one most isolated from the other units. Obviously, they would be as safe there from prying eyes and ears as they would have been inside a cave in the mountains. He grinned and winked at her as he unlocked the door, and once they were inside he double locked the portal so that not even a rhino could have horned his way in.
It was a small room with a small iron bed, a bureau, and two kitchen chairs. The bathroom was only big enough for a stool and a shower.
"Perfect," he said, tossing his hardhat in one corner and beginning to unbutton his shirt. "Not exactly the kind of quarters the countess lived in, but I'll bet we have the same kind of fun."
Joan watched him take off his shirt, and the sight of his hairy chest did something funny to her crotch. She liked his muscular arms, too.
"Hey," he breathed, casually, "how can we play if you don't take off your clothes. C'mon, honey, I played with your pussy, so now let me see it!"
She smiled, a bit nervously. But she went to work on getting her blouse and skirt off. Walt stripped down to his boxer shorts, then stopped to do a little business with the chairs. She watched during the process of undressing as he placed the chairs face to face, with only about three feet of space between them.
"What's that for?" she asked, raggedly. "Little game the countess thought up," he grinned. "She called it bull and calf, only she said the damned thing in French. You talk any French?"
"Sorry."
"Doesn't matter. It feels the same in any language, I'm sure. You about ready to try it?"
Joan was down to her bra and panties, and hesitating. He strolled over to her and she saw that the bulge in his shorts had grown enormously. In fact, his half-hidden prick was pushed out obscenely so that the head of it was outlined clearly.
"Baby, you're gonna like this a whole lot better if you're stripped down to your cute birthday suit. C'mon, let me play with those pretty tits of yours."
Without asking permission Walt reached around her and unsnapped her bra. The scrap of cloth almost boomeranged off her full, swelling tits. Walt caught it with a chuckle in her hand. Her breasts were the suckable type, a little small but very firm and pointed. The nipples capping the coned tips were as large as pink erasers, perking upward in different directions.
"Now the panties," he breathed, hoarsely.
He hooked his thumbs into the top of her filmy underwear and pulled them down over her shimmering hips. He didn't stop until they were laying in a pink crinkle around her ankles. Joan easily stepped out of them. Nude, she felt herself beginning to let go again.
Her blood leaped in little fountaining spurts of warmth through her loins. Walt ran his hands up the sides of her legs and crudely cupped her hairy pussy, exactly the way he had done in the dark bar. Only this time there was nothing to stop him from playing with her cunt as boldly as he wanted. He rubbed the maw of her slit until the lips were thick and distended, and when he pulled his palm away it was already damp with her juices.
"Yeah," he grinned, "when you're hot, you're hot!"
Following up her new surge of sensuality, Joan reached out and found the snaps on his shorts. They came popping open in one tug and his handsome prick shot upward, hard as iron.
She was fascinated by the length of his penis. It looked darker than the skin around his thighs as it stood out from the dark whiskers of his pubic hair. It was a big prick, all right, and big pricks had always charmed her like snakes. She supposed it was because she was a small female. She supposed all smallish females found themselves both frightened and fascinated by the thought of being impaled on a large prick, being deliciously tormented by having a husky cock shoved up the narrow tunnel between their tiny thighs.
He saw her staring at his tool, and the corners of his mouth curled up toward his earlobes in a sultry smile.
"Like that big thing, honey?" he whispered, taking one of her hands and fitting her fingers around the middle of his thick cock. "Think you'd like to love it a little with your mouth?"
That jarred her a little. She had never enjoyed doing anything like that to a man. She could count on one hand the number of times she had touched her lips or tongue to a hard prick. But there was something different about this time-something compulsively appealing to the way his hoarse voice seemed to be begging her for something special.
"Is that what you liked the countess to do?" she crooned.
Joan felt his large prick grow a bit stiffer between her fingers. "One of the things, yeah," he said. "But she did it in a special way-the bull and calf way."
"Show me... " This was where the chairs came in. And she soon found out why they were necessary to get just the erotic effect that could turn him literally into a bull-with bull nuts, to boot. Walt told her to lie down so that she had her head directly under the space between the chairs. Then he half-sat and half-squatted between both chairs. He was balanced above her with his buttocks and balls hanging down above her mouth like forbidden fruit.
"Now lick 'em," he commanded, lustily. "Raise your head up as high as you can and lick my nuts like crazy!"
The view she had of his spread asshole and the hairy, heavy-hanging balls was the most obscene picture of a male body she had ever known. But there was something wildly exciting about it, too. And having come along this far with him, she wasn't about to turn back without at least trying a taste.
Joan raised her chin up until the hairs on his balls were tickling the tip of her nose. Then she rolled out her tongue and licked lightly on the firm contour of the left nut first. She felt it swell and vibrate at her touch. She lapped it wetly until the flat of her tongue was moving it back and forth like a warm pod of honey.
"Jesus, yes!" Walt groaned from above her. "Now lick on the other one-then both of 'em! Suck me, too-suck on my hot nuts!"
His filthy desires reached her ears the same way a sizzling fuse reaches two kegs of dynamite. She couldn't resist the feminine need to show how much pleasure she could give a male. With an ability born more out of instinct than experience, she bathed the surfaces of both his balls with her lapping tongue until they gleamed with warm saliva. For the next few minutes no sound was heard in the cheap room except the stubborn, constant slurping of her tongue. His swollen, heating balls were hanging down between his legs like oversized pears.
Then, without being told to, Joan directed her attention to his asshole. She didn't really think about it, about how nasty it might be or how totally degenerate he might think her. All the motivation which drove her tongue from his testicles to that dark hole between his buttocks was the sheer madness of wanting to discover once and for all what all the fuss was about. The fuss was the final need for a female to degrade herself for her male. Then he would fuck her as a reward for her worship.
Walt trembled with pleasure as he felt the tip of her tongue winnowing deep up into his rectum. The cheeks of his ass seemed to spread apart as she got more and more of her tongue deeper and deeper into that unlikely hole. She tongued him for several minutes before going back to warm his nuts again. At that point he had another treat for her. By forcing his stiffened prick down between his legs, she was allowed the pleasure of licking on the head of it. She slathered her lips and tongue greedily over the large bulb of meat. She sucked loudly and hungrily until his cock became so uncontrollably stiff that he couldn't hold it down any longer. With a grunt of animal lust he sprang off the chairs. He did it so quickly that he left her licking the air with her bloated tongue.
"Time for the next position!" he blurted, huskily. "Get on the bed, baby. Kneel low and hitch your ass as high up in the air as you can get it!"
Joan was more than ready for a little joy herself. She did as he directed, climbing on the bed and trying to assume the position he wanted. He wasn't satisfied until he had pulled her legs wider apart and made her lift her plump buttocks as high as his hips. And all the time he was positioning her, he was touching her cunt, teasing her vaginal lips, rubbing the mossy hairs surrounding her pubes, and generally making her so goddamned hot that she was gulping for breath.
"This one is called the honey-rod rock," Walt whispered. "The countess invented it to be done to music. But we'll have to do with the creak of the damn bedsprings, I guess."
Joan didn't care if they did it to harps and drums-just so they did it. With her head buried in a pillow and her thighs lifted four feet up in the air behind her, she waited for the thrust of his big prick. And she wanted it madly because the fat lips of her dripping cunt were hanging open like twin slabs of hot liver-red, meaty and wet.
But he didn't drive his engorged cock all the way into her yearning snatch on one thrust. Instead, he honed her lust to a finer edge than ever by moving only the head of his prick around and around the slick comers of her hole. He teased her like this for several long minutes, making her grunt and moan like a wounded doe.
"Damnit," she hissed, at last, "fuck me with it! Stick it in and fuck me!"
Walt did-but with a delicious difference. First he put the tips of his fingers at the corners of her steaming cunt and pulled the pink folds back as far as he could. This made her pussy open like a hairy mouth so that he could look deep into it and see the hardened knob of her clitoris. Then he nuzzled the bloated head of his cock between the sucking folds of her gash and fucked it deep up into her cunt. He stopped when it was halfway in and pulled his hands away. The plump, flushed lips of her cunt rolled back hungrily around the stiff pole of flesh and throbbed happily.
"Fuck it all in!" Joan begged, her voice a husky rasp of wanton need. "Pump your balls up against my ass!"
She could scarcely believe the filth that was tumbling out of her mouth. She only knew that somehow it added whole new dimensions to her joy to talk to a strange man this way-a man who had his cock rammed lustily up her slippery slit.
"Anything to please a lady," he breathed at her, mockingly.
The muscles in his naked buttocks tightened and with one mighty thrust he buried his prick up her cunt to the hairs. Those balls of his, still wet from her devilish licking, pressed into the tender contours of her buttocks like prickly pears. Then he began the long, languorous humping he had called the honey-rod rock. It wasn't fast fucking, and it wasn't slow fucking-it was just good fucking. Joan had never known fucking could be so madly satisfying.
She had also never been fucked in this position. Although, she seemed to remember Sara saying something about doing it with a cowboy once. The cowboy had called it "mare-style" and had called it necessary as well if the prick doing it was big and long and hard enough. And she certainly had no complaints to make on the size of the cock that was rudely, powerfully working in and out of her pulsating pussy-not if the constant, wet spasms of her pleasure counted as proof of passion.
The music that Walt had said was so necessary was indeed being provided by the old bed they were fucking on. The springs jerked and whined and clanked in demented and lusty tune to their moves. And added to such a symphony of sinful ecstasy was the funky noises his prick was making as it slurped huskily in and out of her squishing hole.
Joan was coming so good and fast that she lost count of her orgasms. They seemed like firecrackers tied together, popping one after the other until her whole nervous system was one constant eruption of sluttish joy. He fucked her ruthlessly, going after his own ultimate orgasm with as much indifference to her pleasure as a fuck-crazy hog feels for its mate. The mirror on the cracked bureau behind them was recording the scene like a dirty movie. The reflection showed his naked butt humping like mad as he leaned over her and pulled at her furiously excited tits.
"Here it comes!" he gasped, finally, increasing his thrusting until her whole body was jerking and bouncing before his steady blows. "Comin' for you! Comin'!"
She felt his prick grow stone hard inside her, bloating out the grainy walls of her cunt like expanding jaws. Then with one final, powerful plunge Walt drove the head of his crazed cock far up into her cunt and released his sperm.
Four or five strong spurts of cum filled her cunt to overflowing. She made a soft, whinnying sound in her throat as he emptied his heated balls into her willing body. And the pleasure of feeling him come inside of her carried her cunt to one last dizzying crest, only to bring her down again in one last twitching spasm of added lust.
He stayed hunched over her long after they were finished. Then, finally, he leaned back and pulled his swollen cock gently from the lathered, pink lips of her dripping pussy.
"Mmmm... " she moaned, sinking in a soft heap back on the bed.
When she opened her eyes, Walt was sitting on the edge of the bed beside her looking yearningly at her tits.
"Ready for another one?" he asked, grinning through the mussed tangle of his eyebrows. "Ready for what the countess used to call 'the piece you can't resist'?"
Joan smiled, and felt a sudden, stubborn throb of licentious pleasure go through her well-fucked cunt. She knew it was wrong to even think about screwing again, after what they had just gone through. But if he could do it, she damned sure could.
"You... uh... sure you've got the strength?" she whispered.
He grinned and pulled his big prick up from between his legs with his fist. It looked red and thick, with veins sticking out all over it from the furious fucking he had just done. He jacked it boldly for a few seconds, then turned it loose. The cock twitched, throbbed, stiffened-and pointed straight up at the ceiling.
"That answer your question?" he demanded, softly.
"This new position," Joan purred, weakly, "is it wilder than the first two?"
He chuckled. "Well... the countess and me used to do it in a bathtub filled with champagne. But I think we can make a hell of a college try in the shower."
She gulped. "What's the position called?
"It's called 'hide the soapy submarine.'"
"In which port, may I ask?"
Walt grinned. "In the back one, baby. Yeah, in the ass-back one!"
CHAPTER SEVEN
So I cheated a little, Sara thought smugly, so I palmed one of those damned cocktail straws so that I would draw Priss' husky husband, Greg. So what!
She knew that she had done something a tiny bit wrong, but she also knew that what her three friends didn't know wouldn't hurt them. And she had been hankering like a vulture after raw meat for a crack at the kind of man Priss had described to them as her hubby.
Probably the item that had appealed to Sara's prurient mind the most was what Priss had casually dropped one afternoon a few months before. She had said, "Greg was Mister Arizona, y'know. Lord, he's got muscles on his damn muscles. The first few weeks we were married I got so blasted tired of cramp sit-ups, squats, leg-curls, and seated twists... "
"Seated what?" Sara had wheezed.
"Those exercises muscle boys are always doing dear. They sit on the kitchen floor in their jockstraps and put their hands behind their heads and twist until their elbows are around behind their hips. It's awful!"
Sara had grinned. "Sounds like it might be a hell of a lot of fun doing that in bed!"
But Priss had seemed totally unimpressed with the body that her husband had, except in the way that it made all the females drool at the health spa where he worked. Or, as Priss once put it, her blue eyes twinkling: "Sometimes Greg comes home and tells me how many propositions he got that day. He says they are always from women old enough to be his mother."
Sara knew why, too. That health spa where Greg Sanford worked was one of the most exclusive places in the city for airing out the bodies of rich old broads. Just visiting the place for a sauna bath was twenty-five bucks.
"So what if something as young and cute as you propositioned Greg?" Sara had teasingly asked Priss on that same occasion.
Whereupon Priss had tossed her head with the same kind of arrogant possession that a mare feels regarding her favorite stallion, and said, "Greg tells me that I satisfy every desire he has-or has ever had."
And Sara had, at that precise moment, decided to test Priss' belief at her earliest opportunity.
Now that opportunity had come, and it was so aboveboard that even Priss couldn't stop her from trying. The stalking of the muscular and handsome Greg Sanford, however, would not be quite as easy as she thought. In the first place she knew damned well she couldn't really afford to trot over to that health spa and blow all that money on the chance of luring Greg into a motel. And in the second place, her own bitchy and nympho personality wouldn't let her go begging. She wanted a way to make Greg come after her, and come after her with that powerful prick twitching between his lovely legs. So it took her a day or two to figure out the scheme.
What she finally decided upon was as sneaky as palming the cocktail straw. But Sara had a cunning hunch that it would work. So the day before she called Greg at the health spa she visited a friend of hers. She was a Chinese girl Sara had met only a few weeks before in a neighborhood cocktail lounge. She and Lin had sort of got to talking over a martini that day, and in nothing flat Sara had sized up the cute little Chinese as a Lesbian.
Sara had absolutely nothing against Lesbians! In fact, she had fooled around more than once with pussy-hungry females. The first time-and this was something not even The Wranglers had known about-was with her high school English teacher, a dry-cunted old maid called Miss Ellen. The teacher had taken a deep interest in Sara on the first day in Shakespeare class. And after a couple of tea-time talks at the teacher's house, Miss Ellen had made her move. Looking back on it with a wry grin, Sara remembered that she really liked having her pussy lapped. In fact, it took a male with a good strong tongue to beat the kind of greedy sucking that a middle-aged Lesbian could offer once she got her head between the legs of a lusty, sixteen-year-old girl.
So Sara had not been turned off at all by the way Lin had teased her with those almond-brown, slanted eyes. She had even encouraged her a bit, just to see how far the girl would go. She found out, too. She found out that very night when Lin invited her back to her apartment for a drink.
The result of that visit was a kind of hobby in sex for Sara. Lin never insisted that she suck her pussy. Sara casually rationalized that if taking off her clothes and lying on Lin's fluffy bed while the new pal guzzled and chewed her meaty cunt into an orgasm was perverted, then she was as queer as a purple pineapple. So Lin was a friend.
"Do you know what you are asking me to do?" Lin had exploded, when Sara called her and proposed her scheme for catching Greg Sanford.
"Sure I do doll," Sara had purred. "All I want you to do is lend me your apartment for an afternoon. And let me pretend that I'm you. Also, of course, I want your permission to run some of those dirty movies you keep stacked up in the closet. Something that will really turn a man on."
"But-a man!" Lin sniffed. "I thought you were satisfied with me?"
"Only on Tuesday and Friday," Sara grinned. "On the other days of the week I get itchy for something with hairy balls."
"You are terrible, Sara."
"You gonna let me have the apartment?"
There was a long pause, during which Sara could almost hear those oriental cogs turning in Lin's lusty little brain.
"Well," Lin muttered, at last, "I will do this for you only on two conditions."
"Two, eh? Name 'em."
"You must let me watch what you do with this male. Because it excites me to see you passionate and happy. I can hide myself in the closet and watch without the man knowing."
"Fair enough. And the second condition?"
"That I am allowed to have what you Americans call sloppy seconds!"
Sara had grinned from ear to ear. "You just made me an offer I can't refuse!"
So, on the next morning Sara called the health spa and asked to speak to Greg. Some haughty bitch answered the phone and tried to put up a little argument, but Sara told her that if she didn't let her speak to Greg, she would tell all her friends to drop their memberships immediately. The bluff worked, and in seconds Greg came on the phone. His twenty-four-year-old voice was both light and husky sounding, and sexy as a sailor in tight pants.
"Greg Sanford?"
"Yes."
"This is Lin Lee Long, visiting from Hong Kong."
There was a dead silence.
"Are you still there, Mr. Sanford?"
"Uh, yeah, sure. You say... "
"I say that I am here representing my father. He is very much interested in opening a chain of! health spas in Asia, all catering to rich American ladies."
"So what does that have to do with... "
"With you? Everything!"
For the next five minutes Sara had laid out a line of phony garbage that would have convinced a jackass he had six legs. She told Greg that he was one of the three young men being considered as a manager for the biggest spa, the one in Tokyo, and that she would like to interview him.
"You don't sound very Chinese," Greg said, finally.
"I was educated over here," Sara parried, swiftly. "My father wanted me to have the decent things in life, and he gave me the kind of education that allows me-to make quick decisions about family affairs. So how are your deltoids, biceps, triceps, and the old pectorals?"
That line had finally made Greg chuckle. "Say, you sure sound like you know what you want."
"You haven't answered my question."
"Well, I guess you know all about me. Guess I've got a fair enough body. No complaints yet."
"Bring a jockstrap."
"Huh?"
"I said, when you come over for the interview, bring your jockstrap. I want to see what I might be hiring."
"Kind of using the old noggin, eh?"
"You might say that!"
When the phone conversation was over, Sara didn't have a ghost of an idea whether Greg would fall for her line, or not. But she was certainly one jump ahead of him in some respects. By giving him Lin's real name, she knew he could check the apartment directory and find that she really lived where she said she did. And the other big plus was the fact that Lin's father did live in Hong Kong-and exported dried fish.
"You think the man will come?" Lin said that afternoon, as the two of them were whipping the apartment into shape.
"Why wouldn't he, honey. I think he'll come out of damn curiosity, if nothing else."
"And what will you do when he arrives?"
Sara grinned slackly. "First I'll feel those cannon-ball deltoids of his, then... "
"You will feel his balls right off!" Lin gasped, her slanting eyes opening like two little cunts.
Sara laughed. "No, sweetie, his muscles. Those muscles in the arms or wherever the hell deltoids are. He's a muscle man. Big all over, I hope!"
When the apartment was in shape, Sara decided it was time to sort through Lin's collection of dirty movies to find a couple that might turn on a muscle man. Luckily, Lin had a few films that weren't strictly Lesbian in nature-not that a normal male can't get roaring hot watching a couple of females eat each other. But Sara wanted a movie with some good old-fashioned cunt-fucking in it.
"What have you got, Lin, anything with screwing? Something maybe in color and with a lot of good close-ups?"
Lin gathered her stack of films out of the closet and brought them over for Sara's inspection. Just as Sara expected, the Lesbian dug into the pile and came up with a couple of queer flicks.
"This one is nice," Lin hummed. "I buy this one in San Francisco."
"I'll bet you did," Sara smiled, taking the can of film and glancing at the title. The name of the smutty thing was Pussy Playpen. And the little plot summary under the title was enough to make the devil blush: Watch Jill and Jane really play nurse and nurse! More sucking and licking, more tit-pulling and pussy-petting in OUR movie than in anything Denmark ever made! Makes Fanny Hill look like a nun!
Sara grinned. "That might be something to look at on a cold night curled up with you on the sofa. But I want something for our muscle man that has... "
"This one is good, too," Lin interrupted, handing her a large spool of film that looked like it might run an hour in length. But it was a loser, also. Sara could tell that right off by reading the title. It was a Lesbian epic called Miss Mary Mouthful, and the brief description promised the viewer the fascinating pleasure of watching Miss Mary work her way through six hot pussies-three white and three black-and top it all off with a double-dildo fuck and a tit-licking contest!
"It's in color, too," Lin breathed, appreciatively.
"I don't care if it's in three-D with stereophonic sound, honey. I want a fuck movie, something that shows a pussy being balled by a horny man."
Lin grinned. "You mean you want a queer movie!"
"Have it your way. You got one?"
"I have two. Wait, and I will find them for you."
Lin had to dig deep to come up with the necessary flicks. They were on the bottom, and a bit dusty. But the search turned out to be worth it. One was called Orgy On The Stairs. It described how one French maid gets fucked by the butler, the cook, the delivery boy and six marines who just happen to be in the neighborhood. The second film, however, sounded like the real winner-the kind of dirty, no-holes-barred, ball-bustin', cock-stiffening kind of stag movie that would make a corpse hot. It was titled I Was A Fuck Freak. The description luridly revealed how the heroine of the film learned very early in life that it is better to have fucked every man she met, than never to have fucked at all. The forty-five minute movie-in true color and endless close-ups-promised no less than twenty horny partners for the fair damsel, forty-eight to sixty positions for fucking, cunt-eating and cock-sucking galore, and a climactic scene with a German shepherd dog doped half-crazy with Spanish fly.
"Sounds a little tame," Sara grinned, flushing salaciously, "but I'll bet after seeing some of this, Greg Sanford will be ready to jog a country mile-in a horizontal position!"
"And I am to watch all of this cannibal behavior from the closet," Lin reminded Sara.
"Be your own guest, doll, but don't sneeze or anything at the wrong moment. I wouldn't want to throw Greg's timing off."
Lin giggled. "I think I will take my watch into the closet with me. If he does it without stopping, it might be interesting to compare his time to my time."
Sara grinned. "Wouldn't be fair, sweetie. He's got bigger equipment to work with!"
They were still chatting softly as Sara threaded the dirty movie into the projector and aimed it at the screen.
Just as that operation was completed a sharp buzz came from the apartment door and Sara pushed Lin into the bedroom toward the huge wardrobe closet.
"Hide in there and for God's sake don't make heavy breathing noises!"
Lin giggled, nevertheless, as she wriggled her petite body in among the coat hangers and clothes, pulling the winged doors almost shut. But she left a healthy little peeking crack so that she could see the bed and anything that might happen on it. Sara hurried back to the front door as the buzzing came again with a shrill insistence. She opened the door on what had to be the best damned looking young male in captivity.
"I'm looking for Miss Lin," Greg Stanford said, giving Sara one of those quick toe-to-top assessments that young guys automatically give females, as if they are instinctively wondering what kind of humping they might be capable of in bed.
"Are you Greg Sanford?" Sara trilled, pretending to be not quite sure.
"That's right. Do you know if Miss Lin... "
"I'm her secretary," Sara cut in, brazenly, "and she told me to ask you to wait. Won't you come in?"
Greg shrugged his enormous shoulders and strolled into the room as Sara shut and slyly locked the door behind him. Her heart was still thumping from the sight of male perfection exhibited so casually by Priss' handsome young husband. He had blond hair, even more golden blond than Priss, and his dark eyes set around a strong nose and blunt cheekbones made him look sexy enough to howl at. And this wasn't even counting the gorgeous body that not even a sports coat and slacks could hide.
"Have a seat. How about a drink?" Sara gushed.
He grinned and took the seat, but waved aside the suggestion of a drink.
"No vices?" she asked, moving in front of him so that he couldn't fail to notice her body.
He grinned again, showing teeth white and strong as marble, and shook his head. "I've got a couple of vices, but drinking just doesn't happen to be one of them."
That husky, almost innocent voice of his was doing things to Sara that were bordering deliciously on the indecent! In fact, the borderline was already being crossed if the hardening of her nipples were any indication-added to that development was the equally excited itching that had started in her cunt. The lips of her pussy were pouting wickedly out against the nylon crotch of her panties, reaching out blindly for the tool she knew Greg Sanford had nestled inside his shorts.
God, she was gonna fuck this cute young stud if she had to drive him into the bedroom with a whip and a chair, Sara thought.
To steel her nerves for the seduction, she slinked her hips over to Lin's well-stocked liquor cabinet and poured herself a drink of raw Scotch that would have killed a python.
"Here's to... what d'ya' want to drink to?" she asked, smiling at him with her glass lifted. She saw the embarrassed and confused little flicker in his eyes, and that made her bolder.
"How about drinking to jockstraps?" she said, flatly.
He tried to grin, but it twitched uncertainly on his lips.
Sara tossed down the whisky and felt it burning like lava all the way down to her liver. But it immediately did wonders for what little inhibitions she had left. She felt woozy, nervy and curvy! She maneuvered her way over to the sofa and crawled up beside him. He didn't move, but sat there with his hands in his lap, looking straight ahead.
She grinned and wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. Yes, indeedy, she thought, this is going to be one fun fucking-if I can ever get him to look at me! She reached one hand out and toyed with his shirt collar, moving her mouth a bit closer to his face. "So tell me about your work, honey," she breathed, huskily. "Do you do massages and stuff at that flesh parlor you work in?"
Greg pulled away from her, leaving her finger twirling in the air. "Look, Miss... "
"Hotz. Miss Hotz," she grinned.
"Well, uh, Miss Hotz, I came here to talk to Miss Lin. And I think you've had enough, don't you?"
"Enough what, hero?"
"Enough to drink."
"Oh... yeah, I've had enough of that. But I sure could use a whole heaping lot of something else."
He didn't answer, and it amused her to see his ears turning a baby pink. All he needed, she decided, was just a tiny bit more coaxing and she would have him in bed and humping like a goddamn animal.
"You want to model that jockstrap for me?" she purred.
He gave her a stricken, helpless stare, "I certainly don't," he snapped. "All I came up here for was to be interviewed by Miss Lin. And I know she lives here because I checked the name on the mailbox."
"Bright boy. So if you don't want to model that strap for me, and since you can't interview Miss Lin until she gets here, what do you want to do?"
"Anything, I guess. I mean, anything so long as I it's harmless. I'm a married man, you know."
"Do tell. Okay, so we do something harmless. How does a movie strike you?"
"Huh?"
"A movie, a motion picture, a flick!"
Greg thought about that for a second, then shrugged. "That sounds okay," he said. Then he grunted coldly. "I suppose you're going to show me a boy-gets-girl one."
Her grin traveled all the way up to her earlobes. "Make that boys," she whispered, huskily. And then she got up to pull the drapes.
CHAPTER EIGHT
"Hey," Greg gulped, sitting a little forward on the edge of the sofa and showing his muscular arms through the sleeves of his coat, "what the hell kind of picture are we going to watch?"
Sara was already over at the projector, flipping switches. "You'll see," she sang. "And if you don't like it, you'd better turn in your barbells!"
"It's a blue movie, isn't it?" he demanded, coldly.
"I'd say it was more like something to get rid of your blues, sonny!"
She got the right switch flicked at last, and returned to the sofa just in time to push him back down into his seat.
"Whoa," she teased, huskily, "don't go turning puritanical on me. Not until you've at least given the flick a chance."
"But I don't want to see a pornographic movie," he insisted, stubbornly. "I'm a happily married guy with a beautiful and sexy wife waiting for me back home. And besides if you think for one second that watching a smutty stag movie is going... oh, wow... I mean Jesus, look at that...!"
Greg's moralizing tone of voice had suddenly shifted into a brazen, brassy gasp of shocked pleasure at what was suddenly taking place on the movie screen not four feet away from them. I Was A Fuck Freak had started off with a real bang-gang bang, that is.
The damned film had started with a close up of the heroine's large, hairy pussy being heftily fucked by one of the biggest cocks in the business. The lens of the camera had nosed so close to the coital contact that every hair on the love-swollen lips of the girl's pussy was visible. The pink folds of her slit rolled like a mouth around the huge prick that thrust in and out, out and in.
"Christ," groaned Greg, falling back with his shoulders pressed into the sofa pillows, "did you ever see anything as wild as that?"
Sara grinned, and felt the folds of her own ambitious cunt trying to stretch in her panties. She yanked her eyes away from the screen and stared instead down between the legs of the heavenly male beside her. She wanted to see a bulge there, wanted him to hurry up and get hot for her. But Greg had not quite had time to really react to the obscene movements on the screen. He was still looking, his mouth parted in dumb, almost country-boy awe at what big folks could do if they tried.
Now the gang bang part was being shown in the movie. The camera had pulled back to show that not only was Lusty Louella getting fucked between the legs, she was also getting fucked in the mouth-by a black stud with a prick too big to describe. The hungry heroine also had two others besides the ones fucking her. Kneeling on either side of her so that their butts were pointed toward the camera-balls, pricks, and assholes gloriously showing-two hungry and horny guys were seeing who could suck her tits the best. It looked like a draw, because both of their grinning mouths were stuffed so full of her big tits that their cheeks looked like balloons.
"Look at that," Greg groaned, his eyes as big as washers, "she's getting it from four guys at the same time!"
"I'll settle for one," Sara purred, reaching over to feel for herself if anything was happening between his legs.
"Hey, cut that out," he snapped, pushing her hand willfully away. But she shot it right back, and this time he simply put his own hand back on hers, and held it there. She could feel it, all right. She could feel the quick rising hump of his sheathed prick pushing up against the palm of her hand like bread dough rising.
"Look," Greg husked. "I mean, Christ all mighty, looky there...!"
Sara gave a heated glance in the direction of the screen, and remained staring at what was happening for a full minute. What was happening had to be seen to be believed. The actress in the film was now getting fucked by three pricks. One in the ass, one in the cunt, and one in the mouth while the fourth lucky stud was licking her tits and tummy while she jacked him off.
Greg let out a low, ragged groan of lust and pushed Sara's hand down over his crotch, forcing her fingers to fit around the pipe of hard meat between his legs. She had him, now. She had him just the way she wanted him-hot as a goddamn pistol. But there was one more obstacle to overcome, and she reached it when she began to unbutton his pants.
"I can't screw you," he breathed.
"Gimme sixty-nine good reasons why not!"
"Because of my wife. I'm married. I'm faithful! I told Priss I'd never fuck another female but her!"
"So what's the problem, hero? You won't fuck me. I'll fuck you!"
Before he could sort out the half-baked logic of that idea, she had his fly unbuttoned and was pulling his stiff prick boldly up out of his shorts. Sara made a little beelike humming in her throat when she finally saw his meat. He had one of those pricks that seemed disappointing at first glance. It was short and thick, but what saved this one from being in need of a French extender was the head on it. The bulb on Greg's stone-hard cock was the size of a swamp mushroom, flared on the edges and sitting atop the thick column of his prick like a pink helmet. And Sara knew from long experience that getting fucked by a tool like his was more fun than a fourteen-incher with a tiny head.
"Let's go in the bedroom and ball," she whispered, testing the marvelous glans of his cock with her fingertips. "Lemme crawl on top of you and fuck that thing dry!"
He grunted disapproval. "I wanta watch this dirty movie," he breathed, "then you can fuck me, if you want to."
"Then let me take off your clothes, honey. I wanta see that body of yours!"
Like any muscle man in the world, he was perfectly willing and even eager to let a female drool over his great body. So, while she yanked at his shirt buttons, he took off his coat and pushed his pants and shorts down to his ankles. She wasn't satisfied with that. She wanted him stripped to the buff. She wanted to be able to kiss his toes if she wanted to.
"Take off your shoes and socks, baby," she hissed, her voice a knot of lust in her throat. She ran her fingers over his naked chest, feeling the hard-packed muscles everywhere she touched.
While he worked on getting his shoes and pants all the way off, Sara hopped up from the sofa and tore out of her own clothes. When she came back on the sofa with him, they were both as nude as babies-but what a damned stud-muscled baby she had on her hands.
She knew right then and there that if she was that dumb Priss, she would keep this masculine marvel chained to the bedpost, feed him pheasant and champagne, and fuck him around the clock.
"Mmmm," she murmured, feeling his arms and shoulders and reaching her mouth down to lightly lick the hard male nipples that peaked his pectorals. He seemed to like having his chest kissed, so she worked on him for awhile. She smeared her tongue all the way across his powerful, hairless chest, pausing only at the nipples so that she could tease and lick them into nail-heads of lust. Then she moved further down his gorgeous body, lapping and licking with the point of her tongue until she reached his navel. She bored in until he giggled with ticklish joy.
Meanwhile, the movie was rolling away. And the stuff the heroine was doing now with two teen-aged boys from some poolhall was enough to ignite the celluloid. As Greg stared greedily at the screen-being pleasured both by Sara's tongue and the fucking in front of him-his prick rose straight up between his legs and throbbed so that little droplets of salty juice flicked over on his flat stomach.
Sara fondled his balls with her right hand as she went after that prefucking liquid oozing out of the end of his cock. First she licked it off his stomach, using the flat of her tongue like a brush. Then she ovaled her mouth around the head of his cock and sucked with gentle, pumping movements. His cock twitched and jumped between her suctioning cheeks like a young boy's.
"You're gonna make me cum," he husked. "Don't you want to fuck me?"
She lifted her mouth up reluctantly from the tasty stiffness of his prick, leaving the plump, pink head of his cock glistening with warm saliva.
"I don't wanta ball you on this damned sofa," she wheezed, remembering for the first time in a long time that Lin was still waiting in the closet. "Let's go do it on the bed where it's comfortable!"
By now Greg was too horny and hot to argue. She pulled him up by his arms and then got behind him and pushed him toward the bedroom by placing her palms on his small, hard buttocks and forcing him to walk. He had not once touched her, and ordinarily that would have driven her out of her mind. But the innocent way he was acting seemed to be honing her lust for him to a sharper edge. She felt like some dirty-minded old bitch luring a male nephew or boy-next-door into her bedroom. She wanted him to be passive! She wanted to do all the fucking herself, and let him just lie there and enjoy it.
Sara didn't dare glance at the closet when she pushed her horny stud into the bed. But she knew Lin was there, with those beady, almond eyes popping out at the sight of a beautiful male with a hard-on between his legs.
"How do you want to do this?" he offered. He was spread-eagled in the middle of the dainty bed, his hands behind his neck.
"Like I said, doll," she slurred, "I'll do all the fucking and keep you pure and innocent for your wife!"
He grinned guiltily and little coral blushes of anticipation appeared on his cheeks. "Fine with me. But suppose that Chinese gal comes in while we're doing this?"
"Don't worry about that. I locked the door."
"You shouldn't have done that. Maybe I'd like to try a little slanted pussy."
Sara's ears picked up on the lusty language he was using now. So to make sure he didn't lose his steam, she crawled quickly on the bed and got between his legs on her hands and knees. Right in front of her was that thick, iron-stiff cock. The thick shaft stuck up in the air from the black bush of his pubic hair. The velvety-pink plum of the glans was still moist from her sucking.
"Want me to talk Chinese to that pretty thing?" she purred, grinning up at him from around his standing prick.
His eyes were crackling with lust now, and her warm breath on his proud prick was making him so lecherous that his balls were quivering.
"Lick it, you crude bitch," Greg husked.
She grinned all the more, feeling the lips of her pussy expanding with joy at the coarse way she had driven him to talk.
"You lift those husky legs of yours up in the air," Sara whispered, "and I'll lick on your balls, too!"
The invitation to a waltz of lust was one he found impossible to turn down. With a groan of raw need, he shot both of his muscular legs into the air, forming a powerful V. Then he clamped both his hands under his buttocks and lifted his ass a few feet off the bed, and thus allowing his nuts to hang down over his anus.
With the itch of a true-born nympho, Sara nuzzled her mouth up between his legs and began to lap and kiss his balls. She spaded her tongue in and out of her mouth, grinning wickedly as she sponged and caressed his swelling nuts. To show him just how far she was willing to go to please him, she lifted his gleaming nuts with one hand and licked gently into the dark bud of his asshole.
"Christ!" he rasped. "I love that. Keep that up!"
She kept doing it to him, darting the point of her tongue a bit deeper into his expanding rectum with each thrust. In the meantime she played with herself, massaging and rubbing just the pouting lips of her pussy with her left hand. Now and then she teased the erected knob of her clitoris. Sara knew that Lin was watching from the closet. It made it just that much more fun to know that she was heating Lin's horny young brain.
"Suck me a little," he begged, easing his legs back down almost over her shoulders. "Suck me real good. Then crawl on my prick and fuck the shit out of me!"
She went back to her favorite pastime of licking and blowing young men's pricks. And he was Grade-A, government inspected meat. By holding his stiff prick at the root, she was able to lick the tasty cock from one end to the other. She licked it savagely and gently, backward and forward, frontways and sideways. By the time she had worked her way up to the bursting purple head, Greg was ready to be eaten alive.
"Suck it, whore!" he panted, bucking his hips until his cock was fucking upward toward her open mouth. "Go down on me! Eat me! Milk me!"
With a gurgling, gulping noise Sara took almost all of his throbbing prick into her throat and began to pump up and down, moving her head back and forth to increase the friction of her revolving tongue. It was the best goddamned blowjob he had ever had. His cock was on full stretch, stiff enough to batter through steel plate. His animal moans of pleasure whipped up her own passions, and while the bedsprings creaked in complaint she went after his storehouse of sperm like a hog after slop.
Her face was dark and flushed. Her hair was hanging over her brow. Her cheeks were bloated with the full column of his rigid cock. But she kept sucking faster and harder. She wanted what he had in his balls. She had licked those sexy bags of juice, and now she wanted him to empty them down her throat. She didn't have long to wait.
With a snarl of demented lust, Greg wrapped his muscular legs around her neck and held her pumping head at its task. One second before he actually came, he slapped both hands around the sides of her head and forced her to suck him so deep down that her nostrils were smothered with his pubic hair.
He gave Sara his cum. It came blasting out of his exploding balls with such force that she gagged and sobbed in her greedy fury to swallow it all. Her tongue and mouth made smacking, slurping noises for a full minute while she sucked and milked every delicious drop from his discharging prick. And even when she thought she had got it all, he pulled her back down and let another hot spurt of sperm fill her mouth. When he was really finished, she kept moving her clasping lips up and down the oily, swollen pole of his cock. She teased it along, making it keep its hardness by using her tongue in kittenish, tickling maneuvers. He had some fun, but she still wanted to have hers. She still wanted to crawl on his beautiful body and fuck him with her hot pussy.
Her lusty technique worked. Instead of growing soft and limp between his legs, Greg's prick stayed dutifully hard. By the time she slipped her mouth off the glistening head, his prick was like a slab of stone. While he lay under her, Sara threw one leg over his hips and guided his cock up between the drippy maw of her thighs. Her cunt was so hot and lubricated that it swallowed up his whole tool in one lascivious gulp. She loved the feel of his stiff cock inside of her.
With a slack, dreamy grin she leaned back until her hands were clasping his ankles, jutting out her tits and tummy until her nipples were poking out like ripe red plums. He reached up and rubbed her stomach with the palm of his hand. Then he used both hands to play with her tits. He stroked and pulled them until they were so damned swollen that she thought they would spurt milk.
"Fuck me, baby," he whispered. "Ride me... pump some hot cum out of my-JESUS!"
Sara twirled her head around just in time to see Lin staggering nude out of the closet. Her almond eyes were glazed with what Sara first took to be anger, but gratefully realized was nothing but lust. Greg's eyes kept popping as he watched the petite female stroll over to the bed, her smallish breasts hard and pointing. Her deeply-clefted pussy looked like a scarlet gash in the mossy puff of her cunt.
"Uh, Lin, I'd like for you to meet Greg," Sara said, idiotically.
But it was a shade late for formalities. Without a word of warning, Lin crawled up on the bed with them and positioned herself so that her cunt was directly over Greg's gasping mouth. In order to keep from being choked by her inflamed young Pussy, he had to hold her up by her buttocks, the way a strong acrobat holds up his partner.
"I've had enough to watch," Lin breathed, raggedly, "and now I want to have some fun, too!"
"Fine with me, honey, if it's okay with Greg. Hey, Greg, can you hear me down there?"
Lin was facing Sara, but Sara could see Greg's chin peeking out from under the pubic hair whiskering Lin's proud little cunt.
Greg didn't answer, but suddenly Lin's startled tongue came slathering out the side of her mouth. Her eyes rolled in pleasure. Obviously Greg had started eating his chop suey for the day-even if he was using only one big chopstick.
It was something not even the dirty movie had thought of. Sara was astride Greg's gorgeous male body. Greg was bestially sucking out Lin's Lesbian cunt. Lin was facing Sara so that they could kiss while Sara fucked the thick cock. What more in the world could any of them have asked for?
As Lin bent her rosebud mouth down to gently suck Sara's distended nipples, Sara began to slowly, lusciously move her pussy up and down on Greg's throbbing prick. Then Sara did happen to think of something she would like in addition to the whorish pleasure she was getting from this shameless threesome. She would have liked a camera-just so she could see the expression on Priss' girlish young face as she recognized the husky playmate on the bottom!
CHAPTER NINE
The very day-and almost the very hour-that Priss Sanford's handsome and muscular young husband was getting his rocks with a Chinese Lesbian and the insatiable nympho Sara, his own cute little wife was going after her own trick. And that trick was the one she had casually drawn from the assortment of cocktail straws-Joan's curly-headed husband, Bill Wonger. Priss had made it a point to get a complete description of Bill from Joan. She had to practically pull it out of Joan using steel hooks.
"Well," Joan had grudgingly admitted, "I don't think you will find Bill the sexiest guy on earth. I mean, I'm very happy with him and all. But he had a very strict childhood. His dad was a preacher. He grew up with four older sisters who doted on him to the point that he thinks females are kind of scared and innocent."
"He married you, didn't he?" Priss had retorted.
"Of course. I'm not saying my Bill isn't as interested in sex as the next normal man. But I am saying that he's very shy. We've never had sex in daylight, for example."
That remark had brought a leer from Sara, who was listening to the whole conversation. "Listen, honey, you show me a guy who only wants to do it in the dark, and I'll show you a stud who believes sex is dirty. And the dirtier a fellow thinks screwing is, the better he is at it!"
Sara's rather practical philosophy hadn't convinced Joan, who only sniffed and shrugged the idea aside. "That's not true of Bill," she insisted. "My Bill thinks sex is a wonderful thing between a husband and wife. But he learned respect for womanhood from his sisters."
"Just who the hell were these saints in panties," Sara cracked, sarcastically.
"I told you, damnit-his four sisters."
It had been the revelation of the sisters in Bill's life that had taken seed in Priss' cunning young mind. She didn't know enough about psychology to really figure anything out. But she did have a savvy about what it meant to grow up with three brothers in the house when you were the only female.
Priss and her four big brothers were something she had not even discussed with The Wranglers, even at the height of their promiscuity in high school. It had been something she kept as her own deep, dark little secret. But the truth of the matter was that her brothers had started fucking her when she was thirteen or fourteen, and had kept it up until they had graduated and gone off to college.
She couldn't remember exactly how she and her brothers got started at incest, but she did remember not thinking a damn thing about it. To her it had been nothing more than a lot of fun-once she got her virginity taken away. She recalled that Phil was sixteen, Bob and Pete were fifteen, and Tony was fourteen the first time any of them had sex. Phil had been the leader that one rainy afternoon when both her parents were away for the weekend. She remembered that Phil came to her room and hopped right into a conversation about sex. The next thing Priss knew he had his hand in her panties and was playing with her tight, lightly-fuzzed pussy.
After that, Bob and Pete wanted to feel her hot young cunt, too. And then Tony got in on the act. They did it only in secret, sometimes standing guard while one or two of the others took turns pulling down her panties and playing with her pouting little slit. At first nobody suggested fucking her, but Phil finally talked her into letting him mouth suck her off. She thought it was vaguely dirty, but the pleasure she got from letting her big brother roll his tongue in and out deep inside her pussy more than made up for the guilt feelings.
Pete and Bob got into the habit of eating her-and since they were twins, they did everything together. One would lick and suck her foaming young cunt for five minutes, then let the other one take over. Priss could remember coming four or five times in one hour of such tonguing.
She liked getting her pussy eaten so much that one day when everybody but she and Tony were gone from the house, she seduced her youngest brother into trying his talent between her legs. The little bastard turned out to be the best tongue man in the bunch. He got her so panting hot that when he begged her to let him fuck it, she gave in like a teen-aged whore.
So Tony got her cherry in some forty minutes of frantic and youthful fucking. After that she gladly spread her legs for Pete and Bob and Phil-especially for Phil when she discovered that he had the biggest and longest cock and could screw forever with it. So she knew about brothers with a little sister. And she had more than an educated hunch about big sisters with a little brother.
After giving the matter almost a whole night of thought, Priss decided that the best approach to Bill Wonger would be to look girlish and young-even younger than she was at twenty-three. And she knew that she could do it with a little help from clothes, hair-do style and sunglasses. In fact, the Halloween before she and Greg had decided to go to a costume party, and she had gone as Alice in Wonderland.
She didn't need to look like Alice today, she told herself as she prepared to go meet Bill Wonger on his own ground. But she did want to look very young and very tempting. Before getting into her garb, she made a trip to the local shopping mall and found just the right pair of sunglasses to top off her costume. The glasses were red plastic in the shape of two hearts.
When she got back to the apartment she put on a red-and-white-striped polo dress with a huge snow-white collar. That style was currently popular with the high school girls she had seen around. Then she slipped on a pair of platform sandals and combed her hair down so that it hung straight to her shoulders. In the mirror Priss looked seventeen.
Shortly after one o'clock, about the same time that Sara had been cuddling up to Greg on Lin's sofa, Priss took a taxi to within a block of where Bill Wonger's huge car lot sprawled out under a sea of shiny hoods and gleaming bumpers.
She knew which guy to look for because Joan had taken great delight in describing him to the last hair on his curly head. He's about six feet two, Joan had crooned proudly, and he's got a cute cleft in his chin and dark brown eyes that sometimes look like a spanked poodle's-and he's still wearing his high school graduation ring.
It was all the identification Priss needed, and the second she walked up into the office, she spotted Bill like a bird dog sighting quail. She smiled at him and he came over to her, a flicker of interest in his saddle-brown eyes.
"May I help you, Miss?"
She answered in a little breathy way, using the kind of half-panting, half-lisping voice that sexy little girls latch on to early in life.
"Daddy said I could pick out a car for my graduation," she said, casually, "and you sure look like you've got a bunch of them."
He smiled at her, trying to avoid looking at what appeared to be a couple of gorgeously mature tits on her teen-aged body.
"What did you have in mind," he managed, huskily. "Would you want something in a compact, or maybe something in a good, one-owner convertible?"
"I love convertibles," she panted.
"Well, uh, I tell you what. I've got a few in the back lot. We could stroll around and look at 'em."
"Fine!"
Priss was enjoying the little-miss-innocent act to the hilt. And she knew without looking that as she walked along just a bit in front of him, Bill was staring at her hips, legs and tight buttocks.
They had gone away from the office, back in a cluster of cars that were hidden from any prying eyes. The couple of oldies that he pointed out to her looked like real junk. But she didn't care since the only kind of mechanical power she was interested in was the kind he had hanging between his legs.
"See anything you-uh-like?" he asked.
It was the greatest leading question, and she wasn't about to let it get by without an answer. With a suggestiveness that would have shocked the panties off a real seventeen-year-old girl, Priss glanced over at Bill's face and grinned slyly at him. "Want to take me for a ride in it?" she purred.
He blushed, but kept his business air. After all, how the hell could he be sure what he had on his hands?
"Sure, I guess I could give you a spin, just to try out the motor. You wanta just zip around the block, or... "
"Let's give it a good test. Let's drive out to Half Moon Lake!"
A smile twitched uncertainly at his lips. "Say, that's kind of far, isn't it? I mean, it's a few miles out of town.
"I know, but there are some good stretches of road out there without very many people around. We could really open it up. Do you think it might get hot out there?"
She saw the nervous bob of his Adam's apple, and grinned. In less than ten minutes they had the big yellow convertible out of the lot and were heading for Half Moon Lake. The lake in question had a dubious reputation, to say the least. There was not one person in the city who didn't think about sex when the lake was mentioned, because it had so many fabulous little nooks and crannies and sandy places where lovers could do their thing all night, if they wanted. Once or twice a year the police made their weary rounds of the lake, trying to discourage outright screwing. But most of the time the little suburban retreat was as wide-open as a whorehouse.
"You come out to Half Moon Lake a lot?" Bill asked, when they were breezing along with the convertible top flapping in the wind.
Priss had assumed a position beside him in the front seat of the car that allowed her maximum exposure of her legs. The polo dress really helped since it hid almost nothing if a gal was sitting the way she was. In fact, if Bill had bent his head just a bit down and sideways, he could have seen her panties tight against her heating crotch.
"I come out here sometimes with my boy friends," she lied, casually.
He waited a heartbeat, not knowing whether to pursue the obvious line or not. But finally, he took the plunge.
"I guess boys love to get girls out here, considering the reputation it has."
"Girls like it, too. I don't know a single girl in my class who doesn't brag about being boned out here at least once."
"Boned?" he echoed.
She grinned at him. "Oh, I forgot you don't know the modern slang. Boned means going all the way with a guy. You know."
"Yeah," he breathed, raggedly, "It was the same when I was in high school. That wasn't a thousand years ago, either."
"What did you call it when you... "
"What'd we call getting boned? Well, I think we called it feedin' the kitty."
"You sure that wasn't pussy?"
Bill turned a beet-red and didn't dare look at her. Priss was beginning to think that maybe Joan was right about his being shy, when he turned to her with a slack smile.
"You young gals nowadays sure don't give a goddamn what you say, do you?"
"Does it embarrass you, Mister?"
"Aw, hell no. I mean... well, I guess I grew up being used to different kind of talk from females."
"You had sisters?"
He gave her a quick, hot glance. She thought she saw another deepening shade of pink suffusing his cheeks. "Yeah, I had some sisters- Four of them."
"Younger?"
"Naw, older. Cindy was eighteen, Marge was seventeen, Betty was sixteen, and Lorrie was fifteen, and I was fourteen at the time."
"What time was that?"
"Eh?"
"You said at the time. I was just wondering what you had in mind. I mean, did something happen between you and your sisters when you were fourteen?"
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't say anything."
They had long since turned off the bypass, and now the old convertible was chugging as smoothly as could be expected along a stretch of the lake. The trees and bushes were getting thicker around them, and they could see the water winking in the sunlight every few yards.
Priss knew she was making Bill uncomfortable. She wondered if she was taking the right tack. After all, her mission wasn't to scare the poor dear to death, but to see if she could make him take his cock out of his pants. It wasn't his wicked past she was trying to uncover-it was the possibility of his wicked present.
Going just one step beyond what her conscience might ordinarily have allowed, Priss casually unbuttoned the two buttons of her polo dress. Since she hadn't bothered to wear a bra, her full and heavy tits quivered temptingly at the open cleft. She noticed that Bill was having a hard time keeping his eyes on the road.
"Nervous?" she asked, teasingly.
He shook his head, but she could see the knuckles of his hands turning white on the steering wheel.
"I think you're nervous," she crooned, softly. "I think you're all nervous and jumpy inside, huh? Aren't you, huh? Huh... "
Bill had enough. With a jerk of the wheel he pulled the big car sloppily off onto a side road and drove it to a deeply secluded spot, where a blanket of white sand made a natural little nest-private as a bathroom in a church.
"Wow," she tittered, licking her lips under the heart-shaped glasses, "I was right about you're being... "
"Nervous?" he exploded, huskily. "And why the hell shouldn't I be nervous with you hoisting up your skirt and unbuttoning your dress! What the fuck do you want from me, baby?"
"You said the right verb," she breathed.
"That's what I thought! Jesus-in-Detroit, girl! Do you think you can con me into fucking & somebody your age? Hell, they could put me away for life!"
"Not if nobody told."
"Sure! That's what you say now. You'll probably keep saying it until you get your rocks off. But what about tomorrow? What about when you run to Mommy and Daddy and tell 'em how this big bad man rammed his banana between your legs, and papa can't we sue him and get a really neat big car out of the deal!"
She stared at him: But he didn't buy the surprised look in her eyes. Instead, he leaned over toward her and pointed his finger in her face. "Listen, dollie, do you think you're the only cock-teasing female who's wanted to come out here on a joy ride with me? Hell, they come in every day. I can spot 'em a mile away. I can even smell 'em a mile away! They all have that pussy-hungry walk and that prick-eating grin. And I always know what they want. They want a free fuck!"
"And do you give it to them?"
"Hell yes, I do. But not to any sassy little bitch like you who isn't dry behind the ears!"
Priss found her voice again with difficulty. "You mean that you... you do this all the time?"
"Fuck the customers? Hell, I fuck the men with their money when they buy a piece of junk. And I fuck their women whenever they ask for it."
"Every day? All the time?"
"Day in and day out. Last week I fucked three dumb cunts in one afternoon. I was busy as a bird dog sniffing assholes. I balled the last one right over there on that soft stretch of sand after hanging her damp panties on a bush!"
His obscene confessions rocked Priss right to her toes. And she couldn't wait to throw the garbage in Joan's direction. It would serve that righteous bitch right.
"Fuck me, too," she said, flatly.
"Not a chance, doll. You're cute. And I can see that you've had a couple of high school studs maybe hump you a few times, but you're barking at the wrong stud."
"Why, damnit!"
"You're too young. I don't rob the goddamn cradle."
"I'll bet your four sisters robbed yours, though!"
He gave her a hooded glance, and she could see the corners of his mouth turning up in an evil, calculating little grin.
"You do have a damned dirty mind, don't you?" he rasped.
"You fucked them, didn't you?"
"Well, I... "
"I'll bet you filled those hot holes anytime they wanted it!"
"Maybe so, but... "
"No buts about it! I'll bet you're just dying to see what it would be like again to screw a young girl. I'll bet you have wet dreams thinking about all that tight pussy you used to get your boyish prick into!"
Bill's grin was twitching all over his face. His eyes were glittering with the rare lust that males usually save for fucking dirty-mouthed whores.
"You really want it bad, eh?" he whispered, hoarsely.
"Wrong, Mister Car Casanova. I want it good. I've had it bad enough times from those slam-bam-thank'ya-ma'am high school slit-hounds. Now I'd like to have it from a man!"
Priss could see the bulge tenting up the front of his pants. He had a hard-on, all right. What male worth his balls could have managed to not get one hearing a pretty young thing like her beg for a good fuck.
"You promise to be a good little girl, if I ball you?" he breathed, hotly. "You promise not to tell your daddy how you let a dirty old man put his great big pussy-stretcher between your cute legs?"
"What do you want, damnit, a notary public? Yes, I promise!"
He grinned and winked at her. "In that case, I'm sure lucky I brought this along."
Out of his pocket he pulled something that looked like a shuttlecock for playing badminton. Instead of feathers, it had dozens of little springy prongs of rubber.
"What's that?" she demanded, weakly.
His grin was even bigger now, curling up toward his ears.
"It's what they call a tickler, baby doll. Something to make that hot little pussy of yours fell so good it'll tingle for a week."
She had heard of such things, but she had never seen one. Nevertheless, a lusty little ripple of pleasure rolled up the center of her cunt.
"How does it work?" she wheezed.
"Get those goddamn panties off your ass, and I'll be happy to demonstrate!"
CHAPTER TEN
Priss gulped and looked around the quiet, sandy, lakeside area. There were plenty of trees, but she wondered if it was as private as it looked.
"You sure it's safe here?" she asked, uncomfortably.
Bill grinned at her while he unbuckled his pants and zipped down his fly. "Safe as your grandmaw's cookie jar, honey. This is a dead-end road. And even if somebody started down it, they'd back up if they saw my car. That's the rule out here, and everybody seems to respect it."
"But can't somebody see us from across the lake?"
"Maybe with a good pair of binoculars and a tendency to get their kicks watching folks fuck. But I wouldn't worry about it. We're pretty well hidden by the trees. Say, what is this, anyway? I thought you were the one with sopping-hot panties?"
She smiled back raggedly. "I guess I am."
"Well, get a move on, then. I'm horny as hell. Besides, I wanta see if those jugs of yours are really as big as they look. Most of the high school gals I've fucked have had juicy ones, but nothing near the size of those boobs of yours."
"You've... uh... had other high school girls?"
Bill had his pants down and was taking them off, standing on one leg in the bright sunlight. Priss could see the big bulge in his jockey shorts and the dark hair growing up out of the white cloth toward his navel.
"Hell, honey, I told you I fuck 'em when I can. Sure, I've had a lot of pussy from-where was it you said you went to school?"
She thought quickly, and remembered the name of the big high school in the heart of the city. "I go to Hamilton High."
"Yeah, good old Hamilton. You know a girl named Susie?"
"Susie who?"
"I forget her last name. But I've been fucking that hot little chick for six months now. Jesus, but she's got a slit like a volcano-comin' and comin' and comin' from the time I put it in until I pull it out!"
"She sounds like a real whore," Priss said, coldly.
He grinned at her as he hung his pants on the fender of the old car and began to unbutton his shirt and take off his tie, "Naw, she's no whore. She's a nice young gal just like you. She just digs older men. And I'm not the only one she's getting fucked by. She told me. She said she's even getting it from a couple of her teachers. She told me about this one history teacher of hers that's got a prick on him the size of a horse. Says the guy's wife is pregnant all the time so he puts it to high school girls who like big ones. Says this joker fucks four or five of her pals as regular as crapping. Boy, what a goddamn racket that bastard has. Maybe you're one of his pussy pals, huh?"
"Not me."
Bill gave her a quick, worried look. "Hey, you aren't something stupid like a virgin, are you?"
"No, but I... "
"Boy, that's some damn relief. I had a virgin last week. I'd forgotten how goddamned nervous and giggly they can be. Hell, it took me thirty minutes to work her snatch into screwing condition. I'll bet I licked that bitch's cunt and played with her tits longer than she'd ever had it before I got her juiced up hot enough to fuck. Good gash, though. Tight as Satan's pocketbook-and a vaginal grip that damn near squeezed my balls off."
And this, Priss thought, was the sly and shy young husband that Joan was so proud of! Jesus, he sounded like the idea man in a Mexican cathouse!
He was over by her now, helping her out of her bra and panties. He was stripped down to his shorts, and the angry bulge of his stiffened prick showed lewdly that he was ready to fuck. Her panties came hissing off her buttocks. He patted her ass with one hand while unsnapping her bra with the other. The second her big tits plopped out white and quivering in the sharp sunlight, he let out a low whistle of appreciation.
"Goddamn, Sam," he grinned, "you've got one pair of nice knockers for only a kid."
"You like me?"
For an answer, he brought both hands up and cupped his fingers over the cones of her breasts. He felt the spongy prongs of her nipples until they began to harden. He pulled on them, stroking them out and teasing them until they turned a dark amber, and throbbed wickedly.
"Want me to suck on 'em?" he husked.
"Is that what you used to do with your sisters?" she teased.
He sighed. "Shit, are you back to them again?"
"It makes me, uh, hot to hear about them. You will tell me about how you used to do anything they wanted you to, won't you?"
"Maybe. Maybe later I will. But right now I'd rather show you how I used to fuck 'em."
Priss felt a throb of raw lust trickle across the lips of her spicy cunt. There was something so deliciously evil in having sex with Joan's husband that she knew she would probably have to do it again with him. He was rubbing her pussy now with his hand, pressing the soft ringlets of blonde pubic hair hard against her pouting slit. His breathing was thick and panting. He was working his shorts off his erected cock with his left hand.
"Lemme fuck you, baby," he growled, lustily. "I'd rather fuck a teen-aged cunt like yours than win a barrel of gold!"
"Eat me a little, first."
Bill's mouth twitched into a ragged, flushed grin. "Yeah, good idea. Lemme tongue that cute snatch a little-lemme heat you up for the good fucking to come!"
They assumed the best position without even speaking, as if both of them knew exactly the best method of mouth sex. He sprawled on his back on the warm sand. She dropped to her knees over his face and shoulders, digging her kneecaps deep into the sand on either side of his ears. In that pussy-eating position, all she could see of his face was his eyes and part of his nose. He had already started running his tongue up into the crease of her cunt. She reached both hands back under her buttocks and used her fingertips to spread the folds of her twat wide open. She heard a muffled groan of pleasure from him as he guzzled his mouth and jaws deep into the sultry valley of her slit. She gasped as his tongue explored the inner walls of her pussy, licking and lapping like the tongue of a Saint Bernard.
While he greedily ate her, Priss leaned her head back and looked up at the blue sky. She watched little clouds drift by, forming odd little shapes. At times, when the pleasure of having his tongue doing wild and wicked things so high up in the tunnel of her cunt began to make her hover at the brink of an orgasm, she would shut her eyes and open her mouth in a ragged grin. The sound of his lustily smacking tongue tingled on her eardrums like erotic music. Finally she began to hunch lower over his face, smearing her pussy over his wide-open mouth like a giant, dripping doughnut.
"Eat it!" she moaned, gently fucking Bill's face while his rigid tongue worked between the lips of her cunt like a maddened lizard. "Suck me. Suck! Meeee!"
She was spasming into his throat, letting her liquids flow and slop against his chin and nose. She shoved her ass crudely against his Adam's apple while his tongue speared her cunt to its root.
"Aaahhh," she purred, going limp while he continued to help himself to her meaty hole. She leaned back and dug the palms of her hands into the sand while he stubbornly licked the swollen, wet lips of her pussy until he was as satisfied as she was. Then he pushed her over into the blanket of softness and crawled between her legs with a grunt.
"I wanta fuck that hot thing, baby," he growled, working the stiffened head of his long cock up into her cunt. And all she could do was moan and nod, opening her legs as wide as a wishbone to let him fuck her.
His rod found little to stop it as he thrust his buttocks boldly up and down, driving his prick halfway into her slippery twat with no effort at all. But there his prick was so engorged and throbbing that it was necessary for him to stop.
"No," she purred, reaching both her hands up and digging her fingernails into his biceps, "don't stop now! I want it all, all of it!"
Bill was poised and grinning above her. The sun had made both their bodies as oily and hot as sunbathers. Priss could smell the sensual made odor of him, the pungent aroma of a stud in heat. But the sexy stink of his body didn't offend her-if anything, it made her as horny as a wild mare.
"Beg me for it," he whispered, running his tongue out and licking her lips. "Say you want me to fuck you with it! Say it, you salty little bitch! Beg for my goddamn prick!"
She could feel it lodged only halfway up her hot pussy. She longed to have it the rest of the way, to see if the head of his cock could kiss the mouth of I her cunt. She wanted his balls hugging her asshole. But above all, she wanted him to fuck her in the hot sand until she was coming again, and making him come too.
"Yes, yes!" she husked, her voice as hoarse as gravel. "I'm begging you for it! I'm begging you to fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!"
It was more than his overheated male ego could stand. With a deep growl of lust he raised his sweaty butt in the air and slammed his prick home. The flaps of her deliciously tortured pussy rolled back to take him. Her legs flew open and clamped down over his naked calves. Then it began-the most savage fucking she had ever endured. And she didn't give a damn that they were doing this in broad daylight. She knew that even if she opened her eyes and saw a circle of people staring and grinning at them, she wouldn't have stopped, she wouldn't have let him stop.
He was slamming his prick in and out of her foaming pussy with such power and animal force that her buttocks were digging deep trenches in the I sand. She pumped her cunt up to meet his thrusts. She wallowed and twisted in the ecstasy of such an animal screwing. With her mouth open and sobbing she found his neck and sucked the sweaty flesh. She smelled and licked at his skin, feeling continuous throbs of lusty joy go through her loins.
It was over much too quickly. But fucking like they were, it was hard to hold back the explosions of prick and pussy for long. Bill signaled his own shameless orgasm by pumping his cock deeper and faster until his balls were slapping against the sand below her ass. Priss took his cue and used her vaginal muscles to nip and clasp the root of his glorious cock until she was literally milking the sperm out of his balls.
"C... C... Coming!" he gasped.
The power of his hard-on seemed to grow to its final height as his balls knotted toward eruption. It was as if his cock knew it was buried to the hilt in the debauched cunt of a seventeen-year-old beauty, and that maddened it into a column of stiff lust for its final plunge. Priss luxuriated in the way his raging prick bloated out against the clinging walls of her pussy, the gorged head bumping her cervix, the bristles of his pubic hair scratching against her tummy. To reward his tireless efforts, she came wildly only a second before he did. Bill's cock bolted out cum into her in such strong and endless spurts that it oozed out of the lips of her sucking cunt like gravy.
When it was over, they lay panting like animals in each other's arms. It was only when he began to feel heavy and uncomfortable against her smaller body, that he pushed up on his elbows and grinned down at her.
"Last one in the lake is a fucker," he whispered.
He eased his tall, muscular body off of her. His half-swollen prick came sliding out from between the slack, pink lips of her ravaged cunt with a little sucking noise. The folds of her lathered slit pulled upward as if to hold the head of his retreating cock in place.
Standing above her so that his body cast a shadow across her nude and flushed tits, he clapped his hands together like a drill sergeant.
"C'mon, doll! Into the water. We'll cool ourselves off. Then I'm gonna show you what real fucking is like!"
Priss watched him trot off down to the lake, his firm and naked buttocks bouncing behind while his wet prick swung in front. She followed him more slowly because her whole body was still tingling from such heavenly exercises as the ones they had just performed. Lordy, help, she thought wickedly, can you imagine sleeping with that sex machine every night-and that damned Joan puts on such a sedate act! God, if I had a stud like that in my stable, I'd send Greg off to boy's camp!
After they had enjoyed a good romp in the lake, they came slogging back up to the car and sat nude in the front seat while they had a cigarette. Priss had never enjoyed anything so much in her life, she decided. And she didn't feel the least ashamed of acting like a damned nudist with Bill. There was something so animal and natural about him that she thought she wouldn't mind walking naked down a busy street with him.
"You certainly are casual about not wearing clothes," she grinned, finally.
"Yeah, and now we're back to my sisters. I promised to tell you about that."
She felt a little worm of erotic interest twisting just inside the hair-lined folds of her cunt. She did want to hear about him and those sisters of his, if for no other reason than to see the look on Joan's face when she repeated it.
"You said you were fourteen at the time," she grinned, "so go ahead from there."
He smiled back at her and sighed. "Yep, fourteen years old and a virgin. That was me. I guess I might have stayed that way for a couple more years if it hadn't been for Cindy. She was the oldest one, all of a mere eighteen and off at college. But the weekend she came home was the weekend I'll never forget."
"She seduced you?"
"More or less, not that I didn't help things along. You see, I might have been a technical virgin, but I sure as hell knew the birds and bees liked fucking!"
"Get to the good part!"
"Well, there I was sleeping in my own little bedroom that night when Cindy came sneaking into my room. She had had a couple of beers, as it turned out. I also found out later that she had had a pretty rough time in her college dorm because the dumb cunt had admitted she was a virgin. The gals had laughed her out of college, practically. So I guess old Cindy decided it was high time she learned something about what guys had between their legs. And I was the safest bet she could think of."
"Lucky you, eh?" Priss purred.
"Damn right. I had a hard-on before she came into the room because I'd been jacking off. I always did every night in order to get to sleep. So in she comes with me ass-naked in the middle of the bed and my prick sticking up in the air like a signal tower."
Priss let her eyes flutter down to the husky, long cock laying across his leg. "Were you... uh... pretty well-hung at that age?"
"Same size as now. Only I could get it so slit-splitting hard at fourteen that a hurricane couldn't have blown it over."
"So back to Cindy. What did she do?"
"She tiptoed around the bed for about twenty minutes, too damned scared to touch me, or anything. So I just lay there with these big phony snores coming out of my mouth, hoping for the best. And sure enough, Cindy finally crept over and touched my prick. She just played with her fingertips at first you know, feeling the size of the head, feeling how strong and thick and stiff it was, feeling it up and down to measure the length of it. And I guess she liked what she was feeling. I could hear her breathing hard in the darkness. She was breathing the way all young girls do when they're getting hot and bothered, when they're beginning to want a fuck real bad."
"And... and did you fuck her that night?"
"Naw. But I did the next day. Shit, I figured that if she had played with my cock she was game for anything. So when the folks were out of the house I just came right out and asked her if she wanted to screw with me. She acted shocked and excited. So I told her about being awake while she played with my prick. That really floored her. But when I unzipped my pants and brought that beast out again, hard as iron, she gave in like the whore she wanted to be."
"And you made her?" Priss managed, weakly.
He grinned. "Made is a tame word for what we did. Honey, if there's a special hell reserved for brothers and sisters who like to fuck each other, old Cindy and me will have a front row seat! Christ, I fucked her cunt that whole afternoon. We lost our virginity about six times apiece, as I recall. I've never had tighter, hotter pussy in my life!"
"And what about your other sisters?"
"Women talk, especially sisters. Before the week was over I had Marge and Betty pulling down their panties for me. This was after Cindy had gone back to college to find herself some fraternity fucking. But I didn't care, because Marge and Betty were hot enough to keep me busy. Know what those two slit-tailed little minks used to do to me? They liked to get me worked up like a grunting bull. So while one of them sucked and licked my balls the other one offered me her pussy to eat. Man, that did it every time! Eating a little cunt always makes me good for fucking anything with hair around it!"
"What about your fourth sister?"
"Lorrie? She was the hardest to get, but I got her. I guess I ought to be ashamed of myself in a way for fucking her so young, though."
"Want to tell me why?"
"Yeah, I guess."
Before continuing, Bill dragged up his pants from the fender of the car and pulled out the tickler he had shown her earlier. His cock had assumed a solid stiffness during the recounting of his incestuous experience. Now he fitted the rubbery monster over the head of his cock until his tool looked something like a wooden indian wearing a headdress.
"I sent off for a tickler so I could satisfy Marge and Betty for a couple of hours at a time. When it tame I couldn't resist trying it out first on Lorrie."
Priss gulped. "You mean you fucked your fifteen-year-old sister with that thing on your... "
"Uh-huh. Took her to an old barn out in the country and turned her every way but loose. I broke her in good, too. Christ, after that I couldn't take a piss without Lorrie coming into the john and grabbing my prick. She wanted to fuck all the time!"
"And you regretted that?"
"Hell, no. But I did feel kind of bad when Lorrie started taking on the whole high school. One time I discovered my trusty old tickler was missing. I found out later that Lorrie had let the whole ROTC squad pump her pussy with that cock-tickler."
Priss fought down a slack grin. "And so you made a whore out of your baby sister, you naughty thing!"
He grinned. "Yeah... naughty but nice. You want to see how nice?"
Iron bars couldn't have stopped her.
"You mean you want to ball me with that crazy tickler stuck on the end of your prick?" she breathed, softly.
"That's right, doll."
Priss grinned. "Does your wife let you do that to her?"
"Naw, but who gives a fuck about her! C'mon, honey, lemme tickle your innards!"
She felt a wave of lust sweep over her as she reached out and touched his stiffened penis with her hand.
"That's a hard proposition to turn down," she cracked, huskily.
"It'll get harder," Bill grinned.
And he spent the next hour proving it to her.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The kind of war council that had been brewing all week finally had to come. And it came over coffee in Mary's living room. Since Priss had been the most recent discoverer of the truth about their errant husbands, she told her tale first. And the more she talked about that madly passionate afternoon on Half Moon Lake, the wider Joan's eyes got and the lower her lovely jaw dropped.
"And then," Priss was purring, teasing the ends of her blonde hair as she let the precious venom drop, "your Bill did it to me with this thing he called a tickler. I think he said the brand name of it was a Satan's Tongue, this big rubbery item he slipped over the... uh... end of his cock. He told me he had been using one since he was in high school, and that he had pleasured his sisters with one just like it."
"Pleasured?" Sara hummed, grinning. "C'mon, Wranglers, let's call a spade a spade. You mean Bill used to fuck his own sisters with a French tickler!"
"Sara," Joan moaned, "don't make it any worse than it is!"
"I don't see how it could be any worse," Mary observed.
"Lordy," Sara grinned again, "he must have been one bucking stud of a teen-ager."
"He still bucks pretty well," Priss admitted, her blue eyes twinkling wickedly.
"Well, I don't think it's the least bit funny," Joan snapped, blushing with both shame and anger to hear about the sexual exploits of her own husband.
"Don't be a poop, honey," Mary laughed. "After all, men will be men."
Joan shot Mary and burning glance. "Uh-huh, we'll see how merry you sound after I tell you about your husband!"
Mary shrugged. "I'm sure that if you flirted with Walt, he might have given you some attention."
"Attention!" Joan boomed, revengefully. "I suppose you could call feeling between my legs in a bar booth giving me some attention! And I suppose you could also call all those perverted stories he told about... "
"Perverted?" Mary snapped. "My Walt isn't perverted!"
"Wanna bet on that, sweetie? Or didn't he ever tell you about his days in Paris with his countess!"
"Huh?"
"You heard me! And not only did he fill my shocked ears to overflowing with tales about the things he did with that slutty French whore, he took me to a cheap motel and showed me!"
Mary's face was a mask of splotchy blushes. "I don't believe you," she managed, huskily.
But Joan's voice had the kind of truth that everybody else found easy to accept.
"Oh, we played some wild games, let me tell you," Joan trilled, "games like bull and calf, the honey-rod rock, and something you do in the shower together called hide the soapy submarine."
"Hide the what?" Sara giggled.
"You heard me! It was just one madly perverted kind of plain old screwing position after another. I was so shocked that I... I... "
"That you couldn't bring yourself to leave," Priss hissed.
"Joan, you're fibbing about my Walt!" Mary panted.
Sara took a drag on her cigarette and blew a long blue puff of smoke toward the ceiling. "S'matter, honey. Can't you believe that your sweet hubby likes to poke a little strange pussy?"
Mary whirled on Sara. "My husband? And what about yours, damnit!"
Sara grinned. "I never said Jim was perfect!"
"Not perfect?" Mary yelped. "Listen, if Jim was any less perfect, he'd be the social director in Hell!"
Sara's eyes slitted patiently. "Now don't make my Jim out to be any worse than he is, darling."
"Any worse than you know he is, you mean," Mary thundered. "The trouble is, I'll bet you don't know any more about your husband than you think we know about ours! The truth is that Jim craves sex. He takes his females out to a house he and some guys rent just so he can fuck them!"
Sara's lips twitched in irritation, but she wasn't about to admit her real thoughts to the group. "All right, so Jim does misbehave now and then. So he does take on a piece of free pussy now and then, so what?"
"So make that free black pussy, that's what," Mary hissed.
Sara came up out of her chair like a cat. "Don't you stand there and tell me my Jim screws black stuff!"
Mary's smile was a satisfied and jagged line across her face. "Okay, then get him to tell you. All I know is, he told me he'd rather ball a black ass than a white one almost anytime. He just made an exception of me. He told me he'd humped at least three darky cunts last week alone!"
Sara took a deep, murderous breath and snapped: "Why, that goddamn black-pussy-lovin' bastard! What in the shit does he think I'll stand for!"
"A lot of waiting at home while he chases choice dark meat, sounds like," Priss giggled, tossing her golden hair like a schoolgirl who is happy to see a friend in trouble.
Sara gave Priss a withering stare. "Oh, and so you think your hubby is perfect, I suppose!"
"I didn't say that, Sara," Priss breathed, archly, "but at least my Greg doesn't go around with his breath smelling like corn pone and flour-sack panties."
"No, maybe not. But let me tell you something, little Miss Prissy Pureheart. After the other day that muscle boy of yours ought to have breath that smells like chop suey and Lesbian cunt!"
Priss looked suddenly as if somebody had shoved a rolling pin up her tight ass.
"Explain that bitchy remark," Priss croaked, weakly.
"Glad to," Sara trilled. "That stud husband of yours digs watching dirty fuck movies while any female within shouting distance licks his beautiful muscles and plays slave to his Atlas physique. I oughta know, I did it!"
"A... and the other one," Priss managed, helplessly, "the one you called a... a...
"Lesbian? Uh-huh, he wanted a piece of that action, too. I wouldn't say little Greg has a machine gun for a tongue, babydoll, but he sure as hell shot the shit out of that dyke's hot twat with it!"
"That's... that's unforgivable!" Priss gasped.
"You said the right word," Joan snapped. "By God, if I hadn't heard about Bill with my own honest ears from the lips of one of The Wranglers, I'd swear to Heaven I was hearing lies. But we can't all be lying about them, can we?"
She was answered by a chorus of righteous protests. Nobody was lying. And the truth was opening their eyes like grappling hooks.
"They deserve to be divorced," Mary said, finally. "And if that's too strong a word for you spineless cowards... "
"It damned sure isn't too strong for me," Sara hissed. "If that big-pricked bastard thinks he can pump black pussy during the day and my white pussy at night, he's got another... "
"The same for me," Joan grunted. "Bill can go tickle the whole world with that rubber thing, but he's not going to get another chance to tickle me!"
"I'm with you, Wranglers," Priss nodded, fighting back a sob of rage. "If Greg will degrade that beautiful body of his to the point of making love to a... a queer female... then he doesn't deserve me!"
"We're agreed then," Mary said, coldly. "We'll divorce the whole oversexed, lusty lot of 'em!"
"Agreed!"
Almost on invisible command, they stood up and joined hands like The Wranglers of old. And it was Sara whose fierce, treble voice first started the old war chant of liberated females. But soon they were all joining in, at the tips of their voices. Bang 'em, gang! Ball 'em, gang! Hump and pump and crawl 'em gang! We like 'em...
It was at that point that Mary stopped and twisted her head in the direction of the doorbell. It was ringing, and it had been ringing for some seconds. She broke from the group and made her way to the door. She was even hoping on her way that it was Walt. She was ready to give the perverted bastard a very large chunk of her mind. French countess, indeed! Hide the soapy submarine her ass, she croaked.
But it wasn't Walt. It was a creaky little bald-headed florist bearing four of the largest baskets of red roses she had ever seen. And behind the florist was Walt, grinning at her like a possum full of poultry.
"Missus Bates?" the florist demanded, happily. Mary nodded in confusion.
"Flowers for you and for Missus Wonger, Sanford and Davis. One big basket of red roses each!"
Mary's mouth was hanging open, and Walt was still grinning.
"Happy now, honey?" Walt said, as the other Wranglers came up with popping eyes. "We all decided the joke had gone far enough. So we thought roses would help smooth things over."
"Who is we, damnit," Sara hissed.
"The husbands of all you gals," Walt smiled, "and that includes me, although I've only met one of you besides my wife."
On that confession, Joan blushed as red as the roses.
"I know all about your meeting with Joan," Mary snapped. "And I also know all about that countess in Paris!"
Walt chuckled. "That's just it, you dumb bunny. There wasn't any countess in Paris. I just made that if up when I knew that one of your three friends here was going to try to seduce me. We fellows thought it would be a good joke on you Wranglers to get the full treatment. So we all made up some wild tale about ourselves. Bill made up some hairy deal about French ticklers and how he had fucked with his four sisters. Hell, he never touched his sisters in his life. And that tickler was something he bought in one of those adult novelty shops they have all over town."
"I knew my Bill wasn't a pervert!" Joan moaned, softly.
"And my Jim," Sara boomed, "how about him?"
Walt chuckled. "Well, I suppose my wife has told you all about Jim taking her out to this rented house?"
"She told us more than that, you big lug. She told us he said he liked nothing but black pussy," rasped Sara.
"Yeah, well that was a big fib, too. Jim knew Mary would tell you that. He knew it would hack you off. Hell, that house he took my wife to is owned by that little squirt he's got working for him. And Jim has only been out there a couple of times to drink beers."
"And Greg?" Priss stammered, hopefully.
Walt glanced at the pretty young blonde in front of him and gave her a sly wink. "Don't worry too much about Greg. By the process of elimination he knew that it had to be Sara who was luring him into that Chinese trap. So he played it innocent and went right along with it."
The four gals were still too stunned to totally comprehend what Walt was saying. And they were still stunned when the bald-headed florist retreated with a ten-dollar tip from Walt clutched in his greedy fist. But the huge baskets of roses looked beautifully impressive all lined up as gifts. It was Sara who found her voice first. And it was a voice etched with just a touch more than casual sarcasm.
"Just a damn minute, damnit," she croaked. "How do we know you're telling the truth! How could you guys possibly have known what we four were up to? You'd never met us!"
"Simple," Walt grinned. "My wife tipped us off to your little ruse the second she walked into Jim's credit agency. He recognized her right off from those billions of pictures you gals had when you were in high school. You know yourself, Sara, that you've got scrapbooks full of 'em."
"I'll be damned," Sara gulped, smiling.
"Besides, all Jim had to do was copy down the tag number of the car Mary was driving. He runs a credit agency and it's his business to be able to check out people real fast. He found out the car was registered to me, so he called me on the phone and asked me a few questions. We met for a beer, pieced part of the picture together, checked to see if maybe we could do a little detective work of our own. It took only a little snooping to turn up Bill and Greg. Hell, we knew what you females were up to almost before you did!"
Even Priss and Joan had to break into ragged little grins at the sudden exposure.
"And so you decided to send us some flowers to make up for pulling such an underhanded trick," Mary purred.
"Yep But the guys sent me over with 'em to see how the cookie was gonna crumble. Since it was my apartment you four had decided to meet in, they thought it might be safer for me to test the ice."
"So where are those big handsome lugs," Joan grinned.
"Right where they want you to be-at your own homes. Only I think you might be interested in a little suggestion they have for you when you get there."
"What kind of suggestion?" Sara piped.
Walt just grinned at her. "I'll let your own husbands tell you about that. And as soon as you clear out, I'll tell my own wife about it."
"We can take a hint," Priss smiled, knowingly. "C'mon, Wranglers. Let's go round up those men of ours!"
With happy whoops, Joan and Priss and Sara grabbed up their baskets of roses and streamed out the door. Walt and Mary could hear them laughing and talking all the way down to the elevator.
"Bastard,!' Mary whispered, when they were alone. But the word was half-crooned, and there was a warm little grin on her face when she said it.
Walt came over to her, took her in his arms and kissed her for a full minute. During the hot kiss they explored each other's throats with their tongues, pulling away with a hp-smacking reluctance. Mary felt the old hot-blooded need for her husband coming up like a fire in her loins. The edges of her nipples began to harden behind her bra. Instead of letting Walt go, she clung to him, holding his strong shoulders with her fingertips and sliding her thighs lightly up against his hips. "Is it true?" she breathed, huskily.
"Is what true, honey?"
"All that wild stuff Joan said you did with her in that cheap motel."
A wicked little twinkle appeared in his eyes. "Yeah, maybe. But like I told you, we were trying to really freak you gals out. I guess I could win a medal for thinking up some of that sexy stuff I did with Joan."
"Wanta try for two medals?"
His eyes were still twinkling, and his mouth was twitching in a horny, eager grin. "Hey, you mean you'd really like to try something like that with your own old man?"
Mary ran one finger up and tickled his glowing ear. "Let's just say that I wouldn't rest in peace if I thought Joan had had more fun with you than I have."
"Baby, you don't know what you're asking for. I mean, I did some really raunchy stuff with Bill's wife. Stuff that might shock your panties off."
"Just so you get them off," she grinned.
It didn't take long to go beyond the point of idle talk. In seconds they were in the bedroom, yanking their clothes off like teen-agers. Mary found herself unable to control a deep-throated, persistent little giggle as the passion was building between her legs. In all their married life she had never wanted Walt to fuck her as much as she did right now-and she wanted it raunchy, too! She was naked before he was, and she had her hands on his stiffening cock even before he got his shorts off.
"Hey," he grinned, quivering a bit as her eager fingers pulled and stroked at his large prick, making it grow long and hard, "you act starved for this."
To show him just how starved she was, she dropped to her knees and ovaled her mouth around his boldly erected prick. She sucked in half the column of meat in one gulp, and moved her lips up and down on it with humming noises of greed coming from her throat. Walt stood with his legs apart and his arms hanging down at his sides while she worked on his cock. He liked the way she wanted to suck him. It was something he didn't even know she knew how to do. Having his own wife blow him was churning his blood like lava. His husky, horny prick stiffened to its fullest, and each time she rode it down almost to the pubic hairs her cheeks bloated out like a whore's.
"Yeah, honey," he breathed, pumping his hips gently so that he could mouth-fuck her with slow rhythms, "suck on that big thing... eat your daddy good... yeah... yeah!"
Mary could feel the bulging hotness of his cock. It was like trying to chew and swallow a huge bone. And when he began to fuck her throat she went a little wild with the lusty madness of it. Both her hands came up to play with his balls. That brought a fresh groan of pleasure from him.
"Milk 'em!" he husked, humping at her mouth until his big prick was choking her. "Milk my goddamn balls off!"
She could tell when he was ready to cum. She knew by the way his nuts swelled in her hands, and by the way his grunts and gasps came faster and heavier.
And then Walt shot for her. The nozzle of his prickhead rammed into her windpipe bolting spurts of creamy cum into her throat. She grabbed the root of his huge prick and squeezed it until more cum came spitting out. She held his swollen cock in her mouth until it began to go slightly soft. Then she slipped it slowly out and licked the shrinking stick the same way a kitten licks a bowl of milk. The salty drops of his sperm tasted like nectar to her, and the hot, male odor of his satisfied prick filled her with a fresh desire to work him up again, to fuck him.
She pulled him over to the bed, and they collapsed together. She curled up into every possible nook and cranny of his flushed body, kissing his nipples and shoulders. She wrapped her fingers around his weakened prick so that she could gently jack him up again into lusty stiffness. Her salacious plan worked in less time than she had dared hope. Within seconds he was groaning like a healthy tiger. His virile cock was standing up as beautifully stiff as a young boy's. This time Walt fucked her.
He pumped between her sprawled thighs until she was whimpering with deep joy. Her cunt leaked juices that trickled into the crease of her buttocks, wetting his balls as they slapped there. It took him twenty minutes of stubborn fucking to get his rocks off again, but his sperm sprayed her cunt like a hose. She came all over again, meeting his throbbing completion of lust.
Then they lay in each other's arms again. He played slowly and teasingly with her erect tits, reaching down now and then to lick and suck each hard nipple.
"That suggestion," she breathed, finally, "what was it?"
He grinned. "You mean the one I said the guys had for their wives? Just a suggestion not to let this whole thing drop."
"You mean... "
"Yeah, sure. Why not. We damned sure don't have too many secrets from each other now. So why not make it into a real swinging kind of hobby. We thought we might have a little party next weekend-and swap around till hell won't have it."
Mary thought of Greg and Bill-and the idea of having another chance at Jim. And then she grinned.
"You guys. You think of everything," she purred.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Even before Walt and Mary pushed the buzzer on the front door of Sara and Jim's comfortable suburban home, they could hear the festive noise from inside.
"I told you we'd be late," Mary sniffed. "I don't know why you thought you had to work an hour later tonight of all nights."
Walt shrugged. "Sorry about that, honey, but I'm sure the party hasn't really got underway yet."
At that precise moment they heard something that sounded like a crashing lamp, followed by a wild peal of laughter.
"Hasn't got started, huh," Mary hissed, stabbing at the door buzzer again, "it sounds to me like it's well underway!"
After a few more seconds of stubbornly pressing both their thumbs at the buzzer, the door swung open and their hostess appeared-almost naked. Sara was wearing what looked like a costume for one of those cheap movies about the Arabian nights-puffed, see-through satin bloomers and a veil draped casually around her large tits. The veil did no more to hide the thrust of her erect nipples than the bloomers did to conceal the shag of her pubic hair.
"My God, Sara," Mary gulped, taking in the almost nude and grinning figure of her friend, "you didn't tell us to come in costume!"
Sara grinned again and waved them inside. "This isn't a costume, you dummy. It's the latest thing on the west coast. I paid so much for this that if Jim ever finds out, he'll kick my ass all the way to Reno!"
Walt was staring down at her ass as she talked, and he looked back up with a faint flush of lust in his cheeks. "Say, Sara, before old Jim kicks it to Reno, how about letting me soften it up a little."
Sara gave him a slurred look of appreciation. "Honey, you can soften me up all night, any night!"
"Anything wrong with tonight?" he grinned.
She grinned back, winking. "Can't you make it a little sooner-say in two seconds in the middle of the living room floor!"
Mary had caught sight of what looked like an orgy in the half-dark living room, and she found her voice just in time to gulp, "Looks like you two might have to find another place to get acquainted. Lordy, who all is in that pile?"
Sara chuckled. "Joan and Greg and some guy who works at that same health spa where Greg works. That's his ass you see pumping up and down!"
"You mean you invited people here besides... uh... "
"Besides us Wranglers and our men? You oughta know, honey, since your own cute hubby here invited one of the choicest young... "
"Sara," Walt snapped, "can't you keep that fucking mouth of yours shut about anything?"
Sara looked momentarily blank, then glanced from Walt to Mary and back again. "Oh, I get it. Mary here doesn't know anything about it yet."
"Know anything about what?" Mary echoed.
Sara grinned. "Don't worry, sweetie. You'll find out soon enough. And I gotta say that you've got one swell man here in Walt. Not many men would spend all afternoon setting up a nice surprise for his wife, like he has."
Mary glanced at Walt, and felt a new throb of affection for the handsome lout. "Why didn't you tell me that's why you were late for dinner. And why we were late getting here."
"Hell, I wanted it to be a surprise," Walt muttered, smiling.
"No point in keeping her in suspense any longer," Sara smirked. "Go on upstairs to the bedroom on the left, Mary. I think you might like what's waiting for you, 'cause I sure as hell did!"
"You... you mean there's a man up there?"
Sara grinned slackly. "All I can say, honey, is that if it ain't a man up there, then I got fucked at four o'clock this afternoon by the goddamnedest stud ghost in town!"
Walt chuckled and gave Mary a soft pat on her buttocks. "Go on up, sweetheart, and have fun. I'll see you later in the party."
"Much later," Sara husked, reaching one hand inside Walt's belt and starting to drag him toward the darkened living room. Then she turned back to Mary with an afterthought. "Oh, be sure it's the first bedroom on your left, dearie. Cause the one on the right is currently being demolished by Bill and Priss. The last time I peeked in on them they were still going at it like rabbits."
Mary watched Walt being pulled off by Sara. A small smile traced her lips as she saw Walt dig one of his large hands into Sara's spicy buttocks. It was obvious that they wanted to play the rabbit game too-and soon. Taking a deep breath, Mary walked the few necessary steps through the shadowy living room to the stairs. As she climbed each step, her heart thumped like crazy. She didn't know whether she was scared or just plain horny at the prospect of being "surprised" by somebody in that bedroom.
But she had little time to ponder all the possibilities of the matter. She was at the top of the stairs almost instantly. She found herself tapping on the bedroom door as timidly as a nun knocking on the door of a men's bathroom.
"Come on in," a voice called from inside.
There was something faintly familiar about the sound of the male voice. But it wasn't until she pushed the door open that the rush of warmth filled her blood.
"Willy!" she trilled. "What are you doing here!?"
Walt's younger brother was sprawled on the bed, still in his army shorts and dog tag-but spectacularly naked otherwise. His coat was draped over the back of a chair, along with the rest of his clothes. His long, hairy strong legs were crossed at the ankles-but not crossed enough to hide the huge bulge in his white shorts. The bulge had been generated by what he was reading: an old copy of Playboy.
"Hi'ya, sister-in-law," he said, grinning up at her and showing those white teeth that used to drive her wild. "Hey, you haven't changed a bit. Walt said you were still as tempting to look at as ever." He patted the bed beside him. "Come on over and sass out of those clothes. We can get it all together-like old times!"
Mary could scarcely believe her eyes. But she had no trouble in believing the sudden and greedy itch that she was feeling between her legs. That old purr of her pussy that she used to feel for Willy Bates was coming back to her with a wicked vengeance!
"W... when did you get back from Vietnam," she managed as she took the few steps over to the bed.
He grinned and reached down to scratch his flat, muscled stomach. "I got back last night. I wrote Walt I'd be coming in. But he told me this afternoon he thought it'd be a cute surprise for you to do it this way. So Sara and Jim have been putting me up all afternoon."
Mary smiled as she began unbuttoning her dress. "Yes. Sara told me how friendly you and she got this afternoon."
"We had a lot of catching up to do, too. Old Sara and I used to have a lot of fun back in high school."
"She told me about that, too, you big bastard."
"Hey," he chuckled, "you got the size right. I'll bet you remember all about this big, evil bastard, eh?"
He indicated what he meant by moving his hand on down to rub the growing hard-on that was tenting up his shorts.
"I'm not sure," she teased. "How about letting me see it?"
Without the faintest trace of modesty, Willy unsnapped his shorts and lifted his hips to strip out of them. His large cock flapped out against his leg, and then started a steady climb up into the vertical position. Just the sight of that horse-sized prick made the hairs surrounding Mary's cunt begin to tingle. It had been entirely too long since Willy had made her moan with that prodder, had made her throw her legs apart and come over and over and over. But the last time he had fucked her-that time in her wedding dress only hours before the ceremony-was still something that made her blush.
"Does Walt... uh... know very much about what we used to do together?" she breathed, softly.
Willy had his hand around his jumbo cock, stroking it gently into a ramrod of hard meat. "You mean about all that screwing we used to do? Hell, yes. He knew about it at the time. He even knew I fucked that hot little cunt of yours right before the wedding."
The news came to her shocked ears like explosions.
"He... he knew about that?"
Willy grinned from ear to ear. She could tell by the way his king-sized cock was throbbing that he somehow enjoyed making her feel slightly degraded. "Baby, old Walt knew about it first-hand. Hell, he was hiding in the closet that day when I did it to you. We had a small bet on. I bet him that I could fuck you in your wedding dress, and he bet me I couldn't. I won, as you damn well remember."
"And he married me anyway!"
"Christ, gal, that big dumb brother of mine loves you. I just love that hole between your legs-and still do. C'mon, strip off your panties and let's fuck our heads off!"
She really knew now that she had married the right guy; and that the right guy had the right kind of brother! With a little whimper of need, Mary got naked in record time and crawled into bed with Willy. Her nippled tits were already swelling even before he touched them. But the second his strong fingers began to stroke and squeeze those quivering bowls of flesh, she purred like a tigress.
"Yeah," he whispered, staring at her boobs and pressing them together until the nipples were touching, "I've thought about sucking on these hot babies lots of times!"
Willy pulled her forward and began to vigorously suck and chew the pink nipples. They popped out large and wet under the attention of his tongue, and she felt down blindly with one hand to grab his prick.
His cock felt even larger and harder than she remembered. It was as if his cock had grown a couple of inches since she screwed him last. It made her wonder how many tight, yellow slits that shameless prick had milked of their honey. She could barely get her fingers around his prick, and the size of it was exciting her to fever pitch. She didn't want to wait another second before feeling it between her legs, before getting fucked again by such a handsome young stud.
"Fuck me, Willy," she whispered, hoarsely, bending her mouth down to lick his knuckles that still held her tits. "Please, Willy, please fuck me, now! Now!"
With a growl of lust, he forced her over on her back and dug his knees high up under her buttocks. She gladly opened her legs. Her cunt spread apart like a wet, scarlet mouth, ready to receive every stiffened inch of his mighty cock. He held his tool at the root and rubbed only the bursting head of it iii a slow, teasing circle over the pouting lips of her pussy. The pleasure was so intense for her that she threw her head back and opened her mouth wide, yawning with quickening lust. At that same moment, he shot his own mouth down over hers and drove his strong tongue deep into her throat.
Mary sucked blindly at him with her own tongue, mixing their saliva with a greed that even animals would have found hard to match. With such kissing going on, their twin natures demanded a sharper pleasure-and that could only come in savage and constant fucking. To accomplish it, Willy rammed his overgrown cock deep into the mouth of her seething cunt. Her cuntlips parted; then the stubble of hair circling her pussy was matted against his balls. She made moaning noises in her throat, and Willy's tongue seemed to be sucking them into his own mouth. He began fucking her with quick, brutal thrusts of his hard buttocks. Each plunge drove the bulge of his prickhead flush up against her boiling cunt.
She let him fuck her for a few minutes with her legs sprawled open. But as the pleasurable friction of his hard cock began to turn her cunt into a foaming slit, she wrapped her legs greedily over his pumping ass and aided his thrusts with her own. The bed rattled and creaked as they fucked for dear life.
To make him hornier, to turn him into a stud bull with balls throbbing to be emptied, she used her fingers to tease every inch of his naked body. She played with his flat nipples until they were hard as nail heads. Then she tweaked and teased the hair whiskering his armpits. Her brazen fingers tickled his ribs, stroked his ears, played with the hair at the nape of his neck-and all the time he continued to fuck her with such punishing strokes that her cunt trickled a constant stream of salty juice.
She came twice before he did Each spasming gush made her so wild with lust that he had to hold her against the bed with his arms. She thrashed like a wild mare with her pussy nipping and squeezing his huge prick for a full minute after each orgasm. But finally Willy, too, had to feed his lusts into her. And when the torrents of his pent-up passion came spurting into her boiling cunt, he twisted her mouth sideways and tongue-fucked her into a coma of joy.
Their mouths were still crushed together long after the final drops of his sperm had oozed out somewhere deep in the meaty folds of her twat. But his cock was still the same large and swollen pole of meat that it had always been; she knew that he would fuck her again... and again...
He rolled off of her, but dragged her clinging body with him.
Mary reached her trembling fingertips down and felt the plump, pinkish swollen lips of her pussy. The root of the stiff column that was still solidly buried in her.
"I'm going to want more of this," she whispered, huskily. "As long as Walt doesn't get all hot and bothered about it, I want to be fucked by you as much and as often as possible."
His handsome, cunning face was only inches from hers when he grinned and winked back at her. "Don't worry, baby, I plan to keep your cunt happy a lot. I'm moving into the same apartment you and Walt are in. I'm going to work on the construction gang Walt runs. It was his idea, too."
Mary thought about the brazen young secretary who lived in that building-and how she would probably go after a well-hung young stud like Willy the way a bee goes after honey.
"You watch all that strange pussy," she warned, half-jokingly and half-seriously.
He grinned back at her. She felt his giant cock throb lustily against the hot walls of her cunt.
"You mean like that blonde dish across the hall. What's her name, Priss?"
Mary's eyes slitted with jealousy. "Yes, damnit, and that goes for Joan and Sara, too. I've got enough between my legs to keep you satisfied anytime you want it."
"Hey," he breathed, "I thought Sara told me you four gals were pals, that you call yourselves The Wranglers, or some damn thing."
She smiled, and began to move her thighs in a slow, rhythm, gently fucking the big prick buried between her hot legs.
"That was when we were kids," she confided, sneakily. "I'm a big girl, now."
"Yeah, baby," he agreed, closing his eyes and letting her pump all by herself, "yeah, you're a big girl now... yeah, yeah!"