Skeets Willoughby had a hard-on, alright, and it was a thing of beauty to Sheri's cock-starved eyes. It was very long and thick, poking straight at her face. The shaft was mottled down in color, the head a deep purple. The head was wider across than the shaft, swollen and shiny. Sheri leaned forward, sitting on the very edge of the couch, and reached up and put her left thumb under his heavy-looking rigid cock, at the base. She took as much of his cock as would fit deep into her mouth.
CHAPTER ONE
When the phone rang, around four that afternoon, Sheri Bates was just sliding an ice-cube tray out of the freezer compartment of the refrigerator to start the ceremony of making her first drink.
"Oh, balls," she said, and slid the tray back in.
It was Yancy.
"Listen, love," he said. "I have a suggestion."
"You always have a suggestion."
"This is a practical one. Put the ice away for a while."
He was uncanny, she thought. He knew her much too well for only two years of marriage.
"I already did," she said "Why?"
"We're having company for dinner."
"Oh, balls," she said, for the second time in less than a minute.
"Don't say 'balls' until you know what you're saying 'balls' about,"
"All right," she said. "What am I saying 'balls' about?"
"I'm bringing Dilson Pickering home with me for dinner. You like Dill." I've met Dill." she said, being noncommittal.
She did like Dill, very much, from the three times they'd met for drinks, but there was no sense in telling Yancy that. He sensed too much without any help.
"What don't you like about him?"
"His ears," she said, improvising.
"For Christ's sake," Yancy said. "What about his ears?"
"One of 'm's higher than the other."
"Overlook it. You're a big girl now."
"I sure am. What am I going to feed you?"
"You'll think of something," Yancy said, and hungup.
Lamb chops, she thought, looking for her sandals. When in doubt, feed diem lamb chops.
After she got back to die apartment from Gristede's she had time for only two gin and tonics before she heard the elevator doors closing and die sound of Yancy's voice coming down the hall. She looked at her watch. Quarter to six. Good God, Yancy hadn't even stopped at a bar before bringing Dill home. She quickly stepped into die bedroom, carrying the dregs of her second gin and tonic with her, and closed the door. She'd have to slip into something, for the guest.
She peeled off her jeans and blouse and thought for a minute, but only for a minute. She'd noticed the way Dill looked at her legs. Dill sure liked her legs. But so did Yancy. So did all men. Sheri wasn't tall, only five-four, but she had spectacular legs, and a high, pert, ripely rounded ass, and high, pert, ripely rounded breasts, with nipples that were an embarrassment sometimes, the way they poked out, like stiff wrinkled red pointing fingers, at practically no provocation at all. But it was her legs that men noticed first. Her legs had been raising hard-ons, she knew, since her second year in high school.
She slipped into her shortest, lightest summer minidress, flung her light brown hair around behind her, stepped into her sandals, and moved airily into the living room.
Dill Pickering's face showed nothing, but his eyes sucked her in. Yancy looked smugly proud.
"We're leaving it up to you, hon," Yancy said, looking at the empty glass in her hand. "Sensible drinks, or martinis?"
"Martinis," she said, making the hem of her skirt swirl up as she turned toward the kitchen.
"You're a good girl, Sheri" she heard Dill say, to her back, and she turned in the kitchen doorway.
"I could have told you that," she said.
By the beginning of the third martini, Sheri had pushed all thought of lamb chops from her mind She had been getting hornier by the minute since her first sight of Dill Pickering.
He was a tall man, taller than Yancy, who stood an inch over six feet, and very lean, compared to Yancy, who was getting a paunch. Also he was younger than Yancy, by about six years at least. Yancy was forty-four now. He'd lied about his age before they were married, implying that he was thirty-eight when he was actually forty-two. Sheri had been twenty-four.
Covertly, while the men talked, she had been studying Dill's strong-boned mobile face, his quick, crooked grin, his deep-probing eyes. And his big-knuckled hands, holding a glass, lighting a cigarette, were driving her up the wall She could feel those hands moving over her body, stroking the velvet resilience of her ass, squeezing her breasts, sliding between her opening thighs, teasing and probing into the moist oozing entrance of her welcoming cunt.
And all the while Sheri was watching him, covertly, she thought his eyes kept sliding over her, tasting her body, her breasts, her legs, her mouth. And then, all at once, it appeared that Yancy, damn him, had been reading her mind. Both their minds.
"Why don't you do some modeling for us, love?" he said, turning toward Sheri. It was evident then that he had been doing some drinking during the day. Of course he had been drinking during the day. He always did. Line of duty, he said.
"What modeling?" she asked, looking at him. Martinis didn't make her any brighter, she thought. Only hornier.
"That outfit you bought last week."
Oh, Christ, she thought He has been reading my mind.
"That's for the bedroom," she said, stalling. "Stricdy for the bedroom."
"It'll look just as good in tie living room" Yancy said, giving her his earnest, little-boy look. It looked goddamn silly, in the grayed parenthesis of his sideburns.
What the hell, she thought It's his home, his wife. And she knew she wanted to do it. She'd been keeping her legs crossed so the dark seepage between her legs wouldn't show.
"All right," she said, standing up abruptly, "I will." She walked slowly toward the bedroom, letting her hips sway deliberately, making her ass jiggle a little. She left her drink behind her.
She undressed swiftly and pulled the 'outfit' out of a bottom drawer. She'd bought it she remembered, for the express purpose of giving Yancy a hard-on. He hadn't fucked her in weeks.
The 'outfit' was made of some kind of faintly rose-hued gossamer cloth, as sheer, as transparent, as flimsy as Yancy's mind. She stepped into the bikini-style panties, pulling the elastic high on the breathtaking swell of her hips, and looked down. The wispy material concealed nothing. The dark luxuriant growth of her pussy hair showed clearly through. She shrugged, slipped into the nothingness of a bra. The puckered pinkness of her stiffened nipples poked through, laughing at the garment. She drew the short gown over her shoulders and snugged it at the waist. It came down just barely two inches lower than her pussy, only making the darkness of her twat fur shadowed instead of clear.
For just a fleeting second she wished she had her martini with her. Then she tossed her head back and stepped barefoot back into die living room.
"Holy good Jesus ChristP Dill said, putting his drink down. His features were frozen, but his eyes were an agony of lust.
"You look lovely, dear," Yancy said, sipping, "but you didn't have to wear the whole outfit It isn't cold in here."
God, he had sure been drinking during the day. Feeling her excitement mounting to a pitch of wildness, she went back into the bedroom and removed the bra. If he wants his guest to admire my tits topless, fine, she thought.
It seemed to her that her nipples preceded her back into the room, they poked out so far through the transparent nothingness of the gown. They were a deepening pink in color now, she noticed, looking down; almost scarlet.
"Like this better?" she asked boldly, speaking to Yancy. Without looking at Dill, she knew that he was sitting very still, not moving a muscle. At least not moving a muscle that showed. She was confident that there was some movement of muscle between his legs.
"You're still overdressed," Yancy said carelessly.
She went back into the bedroom without another word. She was beginning to get the picture, now. Yancy was inordinately proud of her, proud of her body, and he wanted to boast to his friend in the most primitive way: to show her off, to let Dill see the body that he, Yancy, had won as a prize. For what, she wondered? Yancy hadn't been able to do anything about his prize in quite a while now. Except go down on her, when the spirit moved him.
Well, she'd go along with his showing her off. She was game for anything right now. She was actually excited at the prospect. She stepped out of the panties and pranced back into the living room, her pussy winking free under the short gossamer hem.
That's better," Yancy said, sipping, glancing over at Dill.
Dill still wasn't moving. Not where it showed.
All at once Sheri was angry, angry at Yancy, as well as being very, very excited. He wanted to show her off to Dill? All right, she'd show off. And she'd find out just how far Yancy wanted her to go-She did a pirouette in front of Dill, making the hem of transparency lift up and away from her hips, putting her proud pussy on open display. When she'd finished the whirl, she stopped, facing Dill, not three feet from him, her feet apart, and unfastened the joke of a gown. She did a small, exquisite bump as it fell away in front, and held the bump at its upthrust, her hips forward, her pelvic mound up, her glorious ripe cunt on ultimate display, the swelling dusky-pink outer lips parted in the rich oasis of fur, the bright pink moist inner petals tender and glistening, peeping through.
She saw Dill's tongue appear briefly as he licked his lips. Aah, he'd moved a muscle. And then she knew how far Yancy was prepared to have her go.
"Looks good enough to eat, doesn't It, Dill?" Yancy asked from where he sat, off to her left. Dill made a strangling sound in his throat. "Wouldn't you like to kiss it hello?" Dill only groaned.
"You didn't ask me, darling," Sheri said, not looking at her husband. "Ask you what?"
"If I'd like Dill to kiss it hello."
"Would you?"
"Well...." she said. It was all a game. Play the game. And now she was loving this game, all of a sudden.
Dill was leaning forward now, his face two feet from her upthrust cunt. There was sweat on his forehead.
Sheri took a step forward, stood with her feet farther apart, and thrust her cunt to within inches of Dill's parted lips. He sat frozen for a moment, then his hands went up slowly behind her, cupped the soft resilient mounds of her ass and pressed her forward as his mouth fastened over her hospitable, warm cunt in a deep, probing, sucking kiss.
A shudder ran over her.
"Aah" she said, putting her hands lightly on the back of his neck. "Hello."
Dill began sucking her cunt in earnest, licking and gulping like a starving man. But Sheri had bigger and better ideas, now. The martini fog was lifting. She put a gentle hand on Dill's forehead and stepped back, leaving him licking nothing but air.
"Yancy can do that to me anytime," she said, and looked over at her husband, hoping the stab would penetrate deeply. But Yancy looked unperturbed. He was actually smiling.
"Wouldn't you like to fuck her, Dill?" he asked.
Dill retrieved his tongue and got his voice back with it.
"You talk like a man with a paper asshole," DiH said. "Of course I'd like to fuck Sheri. Love to. Nothing in this world I'd rather do."
He sounded as if he meant it, right up from his socks. Sheri was more than just pleased.
"Would you, hon?" Yancy asked her. An academic question, she thought Being polite. Part of the game.
"Would I what?" She could play too.
"Like to have Dill fuck you!"
"Well yes. If you want me to."
"You can talk plainer than that"
Now she knew what he wanted, right this minute. He'd always wanted her to talk dirty in bed, right after they were married.
"Yes, Pd like to have Dill fuck me," she said, talking in a parrot sing-song. Then she dropped the sing-song. She was in dead fucking earnest "I'd love it" she said, dropping her voice to a low vibrant whisper. I'd love to have him spread my legs and play with my pussy and then slide his big hard cock into my hot wet cunt; every thick, stiff, beautiful fucking inch of it, and then fuck me hard, fuck me deep, fuck me, fuck me, FUCK ME."
With the tips of her fingers she had parted the lips of her pussy as she spoke, opening the wet warm intimacy of her cunt to Dill's unwavering gaze.
But without dropping his eyes, he had been undressing. When he stood up, abruptly, he had nothing on but his shorts. The left leg stood out grotesquely, like some sort of idiot's tent.
In one swift motion, Sheri reached out, bent, and drew his shorts to the floor. The velvet-feeling side of his bone-hard cock brushed her cheek as she straightened up.
God, he had a big one! She stared at it, unabashed. It stood straight out, pulsing a little, looking stiff enough to hang a heavy handbag on. It was as big, almost, as Yancy's at its swollen best, and Yancy had the biggest cock she'd ever had inside her, or had sucked. But it was so long since Yancy'd had a full hard-on that she couldn't be sure. Maybe Dill's cock was even bigger. It was certainly stiffer. She reached out and closed her fingers around it, as if shaking hands. It felt like a thick crowbar under a soft sheath of skin.
"I love your cock," she said, squeezing it, looking up into Dill's face.
"And I love your cunt," he said. "It tastes so good, I want to find out what it feels like squeezed around my cock."
"I want to taste your cock with my cunt," Sheri said. "It's like a mouth, you know, my cunt. It has lips, and a tongue, and a palate, a very soft palate, and it can suck and lick and gobble and chew and swallow. All in a nice, gentle way, you understand. I have a very nice, warm loving cunt for that wonderful big cock of yours."
"Go ahead and fuck, for Christ's sake," Yancy said.
They ignored him. Completely. She still had Dill's cock in her hand, and was sliding her hand back and forth slowly, squeezing tenderly, moving the soft sweater of skin up and down along the iron shaft. His hand was behind her, feasting on the heavenly hills of her ass. She felt one finger sliding into the Sensitive crevice between the mounds, wriggled, then sank to her knees.
"I want to taste your cock with my mouth first," she said, looking up at Dill. "I want to kiss it hello."
She leaned forward, opened her moist warm mouth wide, and enveloped the swollen, glistening-hard head of his shaft, letting her tongue slide underneath to lick back and forth on the wrinkled sensitive shawl of skin just behind and under the purpling head.
"Mmmm," she moaned, taking his cock deeper into her mouth, sucking and licking at the same time.
"Aah," Dill said in a tone of reverence. "Jesus!"
"For Christ's sake," she heard Yancy saying in a tone of exasperation, "he wants to fuck you. Don't just suck him off."
That did it. She took her mouth away, giving the underside of Dill's cock one last, loving lick, and stood up.
"All right, Yancy," she said, without looking at her husband. "But I'll fuck him. After all, he's a guest."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Yancy asked. She heard the tinkle of ice as he tilted the pitcher for what remained.
"You'll see," Sheri said, still not looking at him, her eyes fixed instead on Dill's rapturous features. But she saw a question mark there, too, between his eyebrows.
"Lie down, Dill," she told him. "On your back."
The question mark disappeared. He did as he was told, without saying anything.
She stood for a long moment, astride his hips, watching his face as he stared at the moist pink welcome of her ripely parted cunt and she shed her wisp of a gown. Then she let herself down very slowly toward his granite-hard, muscley obelisk of a cock, feeling her twat opening wider in welcome as her legs spread and her knees touched the floor.
She reached down to guide the head of his cock to her open, oozing, hungry cunt-mouth, but it was only token guidance. That cock would have found that home in total darkness. Her cunt was a flesh magnet to that great steel cock.
A second before letting her cunt envelop the head of his cock, Sheri looked down at it. The rich brown triangle of fur was glistening with her wetness, the neat open cleft of her cunt lips showing the delicate, quivering little ridges of soft pink membrane inside. Her whole cunt, she noticed, from the lips inward seemed a much deeper pink than usual.
She lowered herself a little more, gently, until the mammoth hard head of Dill's straining prick touched the open, wet outer lips of her cunt. She lowered herself further, carefully, not touching the rigid shaft with her hand now, until the whole head was inside her, extending her inner-inner lips. Then, inch by delicious inch she lowered herself on the long, thick, impaling shaft, feeling the hard, warm rod of muscle going up inside her, joyously spreading her resilient cunt walls until it was all the way up, deep inside her, and her cunt was pressed hard against his raised pubic mound. She felt completely filled, as if the head of his cock were in her throat. She couldn't have spoken if she wanted to.
She raised herself then, until her inner cunt lips were at the sensitive neck of his cock, just below the head, and squeezed, contracting her cunt muscles once, twice, three times.
"Holy good Christ," Dill said. His eyes were closed and he started to raise his hips, to arch his cock deeper into her ravenous cunt.
Tie still," she said, "I'll do everything."
She let herself down again so the great hard knob of the head of his rigid prick was deep up inside her again. Then she began to fuck him, ever so slowly, lifting her cunt away from him almost imperceptibly; the lips clung to his shaft like the lips of a mouth, sucking. Then, when her cunt was up around the neck of his cock, she'd lower herself again, slowly, until he was fully imbedded. God, it felt wonderful, that gigantic, alive, rock-hard cock up inside her. Delicious was the only word. She could almost taste it.
Sheri kept it up for a long time, sliding up and down slowly, tasting every inch of the thick hard delicious shaft, and there were a lot of inches to taste. Every once in a while she stopped her sliding, up-and-down fuck trips to squeeze his cock with tiny contractions of her inner cunt lips.
Then, to her intense disappointment, she saw Dill's eyelids, squeezed shut, go smooth, and all at once she felt some of the swollen hardness diminishing in his imprisoned prick.
Quickly, she wetted the middle finger of her right hand in her mouth and reached down behind her. She probed beneath the soft heavy sac of Dill's balls, found the puckered entrance between the cheeks of his ass, and pushed. Her finger slid into his asshole, to the middle joint. Dill's eyes popped open, and she felt his cock become hard as granite again in her slippery cunt-grasp.
"Now, Dill!" she said. "Now?"
She slid her finger deeper into his asshole and began working it in and out, at the same time sliding up and down his shaft, faster and faster. Dill's hips arched upwards as he pumped his long thick cock up into her, meeting her every descent.
Impaled as she was on that great hard javelin of muscle, Sheri still had the feeling of being in complete control, as if the great cock pounding up Into her were her very own toy, to play with, to pleasure herself with. His instrument became her instrument, the bow to draw across the strings of her rapturous violin of a cunt. She was making beautiful music inside herself, sliding up and down in a rhythm of her own making. The great head of his cock became a drum thumper, pounding on the tom-tom of her inner cunt She had a whole symphony going as she slid up and down on the thick, slippery shaft of his cock, but gradually her selfish vertical fucking took on a jazz rhythm, her finger working in and out of his asshole on the offbeat.
And, all of a sudden, there was Yancy, naked, pulling up a footstool to sit very close beside them. And Yancy had a hard-on! A great, swollen, mammoth, pulsing hard-on!
Without a moment's hesitation and without pausing in her fucking or her fingering, she leaned over, opened her mouth wide, and began, with ultimate expertise, to suck Yancy's stiff cock.
"You're a good girl, Sheri," Yancy said. "You always were a good girl."
Being careful to keep up her enthusiastic sucking of Yancy's cock, she began to ride her hips back and forth as well as up and down, giving Dill's pumping shaft a wild beating, but he was game, and his hips kept pumping his cock up into her, as if asking for more. Her swollen, sliding clitoris ground against the hard mound at the base of his cock with every squirming thrust Her inner cunt lips were contracting, grasping, holding the still sliding shaft, and she heard a quivering, gasping groan starting deep in her throat muffled by the great gag of Yancy's probing cock.
She could hear Dill groaning too. Her symphony was as a crescendo, reaching a climax of inner sound and rapturous sensation.
Then she was coming and coming and coming, and it was the best orgasm she'd known in a long, long time. Her cunt lips kept tightening and squeezing spasmodically; her climax went on and on in a sort of clenching delirium, in waves, over and over. She could hear herself moaning and groaning at her inner agony of delight, but she couldn't help herself, and didn't care. Her expert sucking of Yancy's cock was automatic now.
And then she felt Dill gushing up into her, bathing her inner fires, and a second later Yancy was coming, warm copious jets of his juices spurting into the back of her throat. She swallowed and swallowed again, feeling her cunt doing the same thing with Dill's gushing flow.
She slid sideways, finally, letting Yancy's diminished cock fall from her lips, feeling Dill's limp member slide from her sated cunt.
She lay on her back, her legs apart, her cunt oozing, and looked wearily up at them both. She knew she was smiling.
"It's what's known as northern hospitality," Yancy said, looking at Dill without any expression on his face. "I'll make us another martini."
Lying there, not moving, filled with contentment, she wondered idly how good Yancy was at broiling lamb chops.
CHAPTER TWO
After Yancy left for the office In the morning, Sheri rattled around the apartment for a couple of hours with her hangover complicated by that most distressing of her own idiosyncratic symptoms: a case of the galloping hornies. It always happened to her after a busy night of sexual activity following a long layoff. She could get along without sex, all right, if she had to, for weeks sometimes, without even thinking about it too much. And then, wham-one good fuck and she was ready for anything, ready to fuck the bellies off the Russian Army, if they happened to be stationed somewhere nearby.
She was about to calm her nerves with a whiskey sour, around eleven, when the phone rang. She answered it, gratefully. Even the Welcome Wagon lady' would be welcome right now. Anything to take her mind off the itching little swag of desire between her legs.
It was Yancy's old friend from his agency day?, Skeets Willoughby. Sheri had only met him a couple of times, briefly, and had thought him a silver-haired, senatorial-looking phony who wouldn't say cunt if he had a mouthful. And where, she thought now, did these pompous old farts dig up their nicknames? Skeets, for Christ's sake. But she was polite enough to him on the phone. She was glad to talk to anybody.
I've been trying to reach Yancy at the office, Sheri," Skeets said, sounding fatherly.
"And?"
They tell me he's out, probably won't be back till after lunch."
That's his job, he tells me," Sheri said. "So whatever he's doing, he's doing in the line of duty." What was she doing, she wondered, defending Yancy?
"I know that. But today's Friday, and I wanted to talk to him before lunch."
"Why?" Sheri asked. She was thinking about the whiskey sour, and only half-listening.
"Because, dear," Skeets said, sounding even more fatherly than before, "if I talk to him after lunch, he may not remember anything about it."
Sheri's mind came back into focus, off the whiskey sour. "You know him too well," she said. "Let's just say I know him."
"Well, you can give me the message, if that's what you had in mind. I'll remember."
"Good. Are you and Yancy doing anything special tomorrow?"
She thought a moment. "Not that I know of," she said cautiously. "Well, Myrtle's been away a couple of weeks, visiting her sister. Oh, Myrtle's my wife. I forgot, you never met her."
Good, Sheri thought. Saved her asking, Who the hell is Myrtle?
"Anyway, I'll be all alone at my place in Larchmont for the weekend, except for my nephew, and I wondered if you and Yancy would like to come out tomorrow afternoon. We can sit outside, if the weather's good, and down some drinks and broil a steak."
"Larchmont?" Sheri asked. "Is that on the Sound?"
"My place is," Skeets said. "Right at the water's edge."
She was glad he hadn't wanted to know why she'd asked. What she was thinking was, maybe a fresh breeze off the water is what I need to cool me off between the thighs.
"Sounds wonderful," Sheri said, almost meaning it. "Yancy know where your place is?"
"He sure does."
"Then well be there. Unless something comes up, arid nothing will." She was sure he didn't know she was talking about Yancy's cock.
"Fine," Skeets said, "I'll look for you around four."
There was nothing more to say, but she didn't hang up for a second. It was good just to have someone to talk to. And Skeets seemed to sense her hesitation.
"Sheri?" he said.
"I'm still here."
I've often wondered what you girls do all day in an apartment in the city. No kids to chauffeur around, no rhododendrons to barber..
"What this girl is about to do, right now," Sheri said, "if you really want to know, is make a whiskey sour."
Skeets was quiet for a long moment
"Sounds sensible," he said at last slowly. "But you know that even a city girl, alone in an apartment shouldn't start solo-drinking whiskey sours at eleven in the morning." He was sounding fatherly again. But nice, somehow. It would be good to spend a little time talking even to old Skeets, the way she felt now. And she had a sudden, startling idea.
"I could wait till noon," she said, "and make it a martini instead, if you'd like to come up and have one with me. I could fix us some lunch."
There was another silence.
"I'd love to, Sheri," Skeets said. "But I think Yancy might have some archaic ideas...."
"I'd just like to talk to someone, damnit," Sheri said. "Yancy doesn't have to understand because Yancy doesn't have to know."
"I understand, dear girl," Skeets said, talking very slowly again, as if wrestling with some profound thought "I know where your pad is. I'll be up a little after twelve."
Tad?' she thought. He was trying to talk her language. She put the phone back in its cradle, softly, then shook herself.
God, the lengths she'd go to just to have someone to talk to. Skeets Willoughby, for Christ's sake.
She moved briskly to the kitchen and put a couple of stemmed glasses in the refrigerator to chill
CHAPTER THREE
It was only a few minutes after twelve when the buzzer sounded. Sheri let Skeets Willoughby in with a flourish, grinning broadly. She felt a little foolish, being so happy to see this silver-haired old friend of Yancy's. But the galloping hornies had made her desperate for company. Any kind of company.
She led him to the living room and sat him in the big easy chair.
"Back in a minute," she said, and she was, carrying the frosted, stemmed glasses in one hand and the already-made pitcher of martinis in the other.
"I wonder what the poor people are doing," Skeets said, watching her pour.
It was an old line from somewhere, she knew, but it made her laugh. Her hangover, she thought, had made her giddy.
"Cheers," she said, raising her glass, and looked at him solemnly over the rim as she sipped.
Halfway through the second martini, Sheri had completely changed her mind about Skeets Willoughby. In the first place, he wasn't stuffy or a phony at all. In the second place, he wasn't so old; the white hair had her fooled. Maybe he dyed it to give him some dubious advantage in that phony business he was in. And in the third place, she liked him; he was Yancy's friend, and she was feeling sentimental. Martinis on top of a hangover always made her sentimental. And she'd made sure to make a big dividend on the second martini; there was that to look forward to, sentimentally.
"Whatever happened to the girls in their summer dresses?" Skeets mused, looking at her with a half smile. He was slumped in the big chair, his long legs out in front of him.
"Why?" she asked, and put her drink down and stood up abruptly, pirouetting in her tight white slacks, letting the delicious ripe roundness of her ass jut a little, make a living presence of itself in the room. "Don't you like me in these pants?" He'd been looking, she'd noticed; fatherly or not, friend of Yancy's or not, he'd been looking.
"I love you in those pants," Skeets said, with deep gin sincerity. "It's just that sometimes I get a nostalgic yearning to see a pretty girl in a summer dress."
"Am I a pretty girl?" Sheri heard herself saying.
"You're a lot more than just a pretty girl," Skeets said soberly, looking at her with something like sadness in his face. All at once she wanted to kiss him. She didn't. She put her martini down and stood up.
"Be right back," she said.
When she came back into the living room, moving gracefully on bare, tanned feet, she was wearing her light, white, nothing-to-it summer dress, the skirt so short it covered only the upper part of her thighs, putting the ripe breathtaking swell of her tanned legs on open display. Under the dress she wore nothing, but only the pink jutting swell of her nipples would tell Skeets that, and it didn't seem to matter.
"Like this better?" she asked demurely.
"Jesus," Skeets said, sitting up straighter and taking a deep gulp of his martini. His eyes were gulping her in as his throat swallowed gin.
She sat back down on the couch, diagonally across from him, and girlishly raised her hare feet to the coffee table in front of her, momentarily car Jess with the skirt, making it seem that if he did get a glimpse of her pussy, it was an accident.
As she looked across at him she was not unaware of the maddening magnet for his eyes the softly shadowed undersides of her thighs made. She swung her knees slightly, keeping the warm, young flesh-magnet of her legs minutely in motion, but angled slightly away from his line of vision so he could see at most only a shadowy hint of hair, never her pussy or any part of it. She was getting quite excited, now, her dormant galloping hornies rising in her, but she didn't quite know what to do about it.
"Jesus," Skeets said again. "You look good enough to eat."
And that did it. She swung her knees directly toward him, together still, but the shadowy pink ribbon of her cunt was there for him to see, under the fallen-away hem of her skirt.
"Well?" she asked, smiling at him.
He didn't say anything.
"Well?" she asked again. She let her knees come slightly apart, feeling the moistening lips of her twat part with them. Skeets was staring openly now at the pink delicacy in the soft warm frame of her underthighs.
She saw him lick his lips and had a glad surge of anticipation. But he didn't move.
"What's wrong?" she asked softly.
"It's Yancy I'm thinking of," he said, wrenching his eyes up to look into hers.
"Were you thinking of Yancy when you came up here today?"
"I'm thinking of Yancy now."
"Fuck Yancy," she said, ever so softly.
"That's your department," Skeets said, his eyes drifting downward again.
"Ho," she said, and it came out as a short, angry, derisive snort.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Never mind."
She moved her bare feet on the coffee table, letting her knees come further apart, giving Skeets a better angle, a clear view between the softly tanned swell of her upper thighs, at the parted pinkness of her cunt lips in their frame of dewy fur.
"I can't look at you," Skeets Willoughby said, and made a token motion with his eyes toward the ceiling.
"I want you to look," Sheri said, her excitement mounting. She pushed the coffee table aside then, using both feet, and slid over to die end of the couch, directly across from Skeets. She raised one knee high and draped her leg over the low arm of the couch, letting her other leg spread wide. She could almost feel the lips of her pussy moistly parting as they opened their warm welcome to Skeets.
"Oh, God," he said, but he brought his eyes down from the ceiling, and he looked, and he looked. His jaw muscles bulged. So did his left pant's leg. Or was she imagining things?
"Like it?" Sheri asked.
Skeets Willoughby only groaned.
"Love it," he moaned. "A gourmet's delicacy, if I ever saw one."
That was the kind of thing she wanted to hear. She slid forward on the couch, spreading her legs further apart, opening her wet cunt even wider in welcome.
"Well?" she asked when he sat unmoving, just staring. "I can't."
"Why not?"
"Yancy."
"Forget Yancy. Fuck Yancy. I'll tell you why, sometime."
"No," Skeets said. He was sweating now. My God, she thought, talk about old-fashioned morality! Maybe he was as old as his hair said he was.
"Don't you just want to kiss it hello?" she asked.
He groaned.
"It'll kiss you back. I'll make it kiss you back." He wrenched his eyes upward again. "Just one little lick?"
His tongue was moving across his lips, his eyes casting wildly about the room. But always coming back to the bright pink magnet of her moist open pussy in its dark background of matting curls.
"No," he moaned from somewhere deep in his throat
"I'll open it up for you."
"No."
"Make it easier."
"No." Tastier."
"No."
Tenderer." She was whispering now as she moved her hands down and with her fingers spread the soft yielding lips, exposing the tender pink folds of glistening moist membrane, the squirming little bud of her clitoris. It looked tempting, inviting even to her, she thought glancing down.
"I can't, don't you see?" he said in an agonized voice.
"Don't you really want to suck my cunt?" Sheri asked softly.
"Oh, yes." Skeets was staring fixedly now at the ceiling.
"Kiss my cunt?"
"Oh, yes."
Tick it? Suck it? Eat my delicious hot twat?"
"Yes."
"Gobble it?"
"Yes."
"Don't you want to fuck me?"
"Oh, God," he said, still staring upward. "Slide your big cock into my nice warm, loving, squeezing cunt?"
"Oh, God," he said again.
"It's all wet and warm and slippery inside my cunt. Try it. Just taste it first."
Skeets groaned one last time, brought his eyes down from the ceiling, and stood up.
CHAPTER FOUR
Sheri lay back as she was, immobile, her legs wide apart and her thirsting twat thrust upward, waiting.
She didn't have long to wait. Skeets stepped over and stood in front of her for only a moment, then sank to his knees, his eyes drinking in the soft, tanned confluence of ripe swelling naked thigh and soft silken fur and moist pink open cunt.
With one hand he gently raised her elevated ankle to his lips, kissed it, and continued kissing his way softly, gently, along the inside of her leg, tonguing and caressing her calves with his fingertips, then her knees-then, even more slowly, he kissed and tongued his way along the incredibly soft expanse of her inner thigh.
She felt her skin tingling at the touch of his tongue and lips, and knew that her cunt juices were oozing now in a steady flow. After what seemed like a long time, too long, she felt his fingertips expertly parting her cunt lips as the tip of his tongue first touched the swelling bud of her clitoris, then slid deep between her inner twat lips, his mouth covering her whole cunt, taking it in in one deep, sucking loss.
"Oooh," she moaned, shuddering, and brought her thighs together warmly around his thrusting head. Aah, that felt good, so good, that, tongue and mouth fused with her now-gulping cunt, seeming to open now and flower and become a mouth too, eating the mouth that was eating it.
"Ooh, God, lovely," she breathed, her hips pumping her cunt upward as if she couldn't get enough of it, enough of the mouth that sucked and licked and gobbled the juices of her day-long lust. Writhing her whole body around the axis of her silently gasping, gulping twat, the cunt-core of her being, she pressed her heels hard behind his back, urging his tongue and mouth deeper into her well of churning lust
"That's it, Skeets," she whispered with desperate urgency. "Lick me, love me, gobble my cunt, swallow my cunt!"
She knew he couldn't hear, with her swelling thighs filling his ears, but it didn't matter. He was lapping her emit like a man slaking a desert thirst; her juices were bathing his parched-for-her-pussy lips, and her hips were squirming and bouncing in wild abandon on the soft dark fabric of the couch.
She wanted more, much more than his plunging, probing, licking tongue, his hungry, sucking mouth devouring her cunt, but at the same time she didn't want him to stop, didn't want the warm pulsing sensation in the depths of her to stop, even for a moment. So she put her hands behind his head, spread her thighs wide as if she were being fucked, and ground her cunt with spasmodic strokes up against his lips and tongue, literally fucking his mouth. Skeets was game. He gobbled heroically, lashing her pussy with his tongue, until, shuddering and whimpering, she came.
"Ooh, a ah," she murmured weakly as her spasms subsided. "That was very nice."
"Loveliest lunch I've ever had," Skeets said, getting to his feet and looking down at her. "But aren't you hungry?"
She looked up at him sleepily for a moment, then she smiled.
"Since you ask so nicely," she said, "I'd love to suck your cock."
Swiftly, he stepped out of his loafers and slid his pants and shorts to the floor, stepping neatly out of the puddled pile of cloth. His eyes stayed on the sensitive morass of pleasure his mouth had just left.
Sheri sat up straight, pulled the skirt of her summer dress down to her hips, swung her knees demurely together, and looked at him. She felt her eyes widen.
Skeets Willoughby had a hard-on, all right, and ft was a thing of beauty to Sheri's cock-starved eyes. It was very long and thick, poking straight at her face. The shaft was a mottled brown in color, the head a deep purple. The head was wider across than the shaft, swollen and shiny and apple-hard, gleaming, somehow obscenely, with a fevered blood-lust that belied the silver in Skeet's hair.
Sheri leaned forward, sitting on the very edge of the couch, and reached up and put her left hand behind his bare right hip to urge him closer. Skeets' hips swung forward readily, his swinging boom of a cock reaching to within inches of Sheri's mouth. Tenderly, she placed her left thumb under his heavy-looking, rigid cock, at the base, and applied a slight pressure, so it stood almost straight up, nearly parallel to his lean, flat belly. She leaned forward a little farther and touched the soft wrinkled shawl of velvet skin at the neck of the shaft where it narrowed under the broad shelving head, with just the tip of her tongue. Then she gathered the loose folds between her lips with tiny, sucking kisses. She heard him grunt almost as if he were in pain.
She took her thumb away from the base of his undercock and let it stand straight out, opening her mouth wide as she did, and took the whole head between her lips and then all the way inside her mouth, back into her throat. Then she let her tongue ran down underneath the shaft, licking, first back and forth, then sideways. Almost imperceptibly, she increased the tempo of her licking until her tongue was fluttering wetly around on the whole supersensitive area of his tingling undercock.
She put her hands behind his buttocks then, and took as much of his cock as would fit deep into her mouth. She started sucking in earnest, moving her head back and forth like a feeding bird, her moist lips soft but tight around his shaft, her tongue licking and smothering the sensation center beneath his cockhead. Skeets Willoughby's hips thrust forward spasmodically again and again, as if he were fucking her mouth-just as she had fucked his mouth with her cunt just minutes before.
Then Sheri felt a thumb on her forehead, a gentle hand under her moving chin.
"Enough, dear," he said. "Enough of that." It sounded something like a prayer. "I don't want to come this way."
She gave his cock a deep suck, licked ft back and forth under the head, looked up at him and smiled.
"You mean you want to fuck?" she asked softly. "Yes," he said, "indeed." He stepped back and looked down at her.
"Me too," she said, starring to he back on the couch and spread her legs. But Skeets Willoughby wasn't in a creative business for nothing. "Not there," he said. "Not enough room."
"Where then?" she said, but she needn't have asked. Skeets was moving the coffee table further out of the way., Sheri slid to the floor and lay back, her legs spread, her mind filled with eager anticipation, her cunt waiting to be filled with that big hard cock. Sheri was completely mindless now, about who was about to fuck her. All she wanted was to be fucked. Fucked. Fucked. She loved the sound i of the word in her head, so she had to say it aloud.
Tuck me now, Skeets," she said. Tuck me good."
Skeets fucked her good. And she helped from the very beginning, reaching out with one hand to guide the big glistening purple knob of his cock-head to the soft wet lips of her ravenous, tingling twat. She let go as his king-size cock slid into her cunt's snug embrace, and gasped happily as, with one long, firm, practiced stroke, he plunged it all the way home.
Sheri felt it sliding to the core of her being, her soul; it seemed imbedded all the way up to her throat, deep in the slippery clutch of her twat walls, into the deepest part of her aching need.
She hooked her heels behind him, loosely, and he began to fuck her with an expert thrusting, slow shuttling motion. Sheri wanted that cock so badly now, so deeply, that she goaded him to greater; deeper-thrusting efforts, with the insistent pressure of her heels against his naked straining buttocks.
He hooked his hands up behind her shoulders to keep her cunt from sliding away from his deep, pounding fuck-strokes, and she tightened the grip of her calves around his hips, without slowing or shortening the unfettered pounding of his plunging shaft into her gulping, clutching cunt. Ah, sweet heaven, she thought, her twat twitching and squeezing in frenzied gratitude. This was the answer to a horny girl's prayer. This was the kind of fucking she'd been needing all day. All a whole lot of days, lately. Ah, sweet Skeets, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, sweet Skeets; and in her fuck delight, she felt her happily crazed hips grinding out more gratitude to the rock-hard, in-sliding guest.
Gradually she felt the tempo of Skeets' strokes increase, and her hips rose and writhed in perfect accord to meet his every plunge, her cunt grinding upward against the hard base of his cock. Then she heard herself gasping; she was unable to control the sound issuing from her throat, even if she'd wanted to. She was only dimly aware of the words that were forming themselves on her lust-swollen lips.
"Fuck it deep, Skeets," she heard herself chattering. "Shove that big beautiful hard cock all the way up to my throat Fill my cunt beautiful Skeets. Fuck me hard, Skeets. Fuck me harder. Fuck me deeper."
He fucked the great shaft into her with renewed energy, faster and deeper, it seemed, with every stroke. Sheri hooked her hands around his neck, making him bend forward over her as she felt her spasms beginning, and then she was blind with sensation, at the point of no return. She came, and came again, grunting and gasping, her hips writhing toward him, her cunt grinding against the mound of bone at the base of his shaft.
Skeets held his cock still, deep inside her, and as she strained her cunt against his pelvic mound in her exquisite agony, he came too, his great hard hose of a cock gushing deep into her, bathing her innermost fires with his warm juices.
She lay inert on the carpet for a long time as her spasms subsided, and Skeets kept his diminishing cock pressed inside her sated cunt lips until she looked up at him and smiled.
"Lovely lunch," she said weakly.
"Duncan Hines will never know," he said, as his now-limber cock slid slowly from her pussy's parting kiss.
She made him eat a quick chicken sandwich before he left to go back to his office. He bent and kissed her goodbye, just inside the door, and as she reached down to give his pecker a fond farewell pat, she found to her amazement that it was swelling and coming up again.
"Have you time?" she asked, wide-eyed but ready.
"Afraid not, dear," he said. "Goddamnit. What worries me is, how I'm going to get through tomorrow, with you sitting there with Yancy."
"I'll think of something," she said, squeezing his stiffening cock with deep affection. "If it's only a hand job behind a hedge."
"You make me feel young again," Skeets Willoughby said, patted her fondly on the ass, and closed the door behind him.
CHAPTER FIVE
All through the early part of Saturday, Sheri was busy with shopping and assorted chores, and by the time they were on the East River Drive on the way to Larchmont, on one of those rare, clear August afternoons after a heavy all-night rain, she had almost recovered from her acute case of galloping hornies.
But it was a hot day, clear and sunny though it was, and she was wearing only a light, loose cotton T-shirt with her breasts bobbing free underneath, and her favorite old faded chopped-down, frayed blue jean short-shorts that fitted a shade tighter than her own skin, and sandals. Nothing else.
Yancy, who loved her luscious legs with an inordinate passion anyway, loved her especially in that outfit, and kept taking his eyes from the road to look longingly over at the delicious display of smooth, swelling, tanned flesh. Once on the Connecticut Turnpike, he began reaching over to squeeze the incredibly tender swell of her upper thighs, stroking and caressing. He couldn't do anything, she knew, but he couldn't keep his hands off her. By the time they got to Skeets Willoughby's place, she was in approximately the same state of hornies she'd been in on Friday morning, before Skeets' lunchtime visit.
Yancy knew nothing of that, of course. Never would, unless Skeets got gin-confidential with him sometime. Sheri wasn't worried about it too much. She was beyond caring. The hornies did that to her.
Skeets had a hell of a place, she noted appreciatively as they moved slowly along the long, curving driveway and came to a stop in front of the house. The house was old but beautifully kept, like the surroundings of crew-cut hedges and manicured shrubbery. Out back, she could see a long lawn sloping down to the edge of the Sound, alive now with sailboats. The edge of a swimming pool was visible too, behind the house. Evidently Skeets didn't believe in swimming in the Sound, with the riff-raff from New Rochelle.
Skeets came out of the house before Yancy had cut the engine, and opened the car door for her with an impressive show of archaic courtesy. From the happy, fatuous smile on his face, she thought, looking up at him, you would think he wouldn't say 'cunt' if he had a mouthful. Especially hers. She shook her head abruptly, as if to shake the thoughts away.
"Can't tell you how glad I am to see the two of you," Skeets said, leading them through the front door. "This bachelor business is tough on a man crowding menopause." Old faker, Sheri thought making a conscious effort to suppress a grin. I'll menopause him. The pause that refreshes, as the Coke ads used to say.
"What'll you drink?" Skeets asked as Yancy and Sheri sank into chairs in the expansive living room.
"I thought you'd never ask," Yancy said. "Gin and tonic, for me," Sheri told him. "Me, too," Yancy said. "Too early for martinis."
"You're getting wiser with the years," Skeets said, turning to a bar in one corner of the room.
They hadn't finished their first drink when the phone rang. Skeets went out to the hallway just inside the front door to answer it, and came back shaking his head and frowning.
"Son of a bitch," he said, sitting down and finishing his drink.
"Who?" Yancy asked.
"Sam Lawless."
"Son of a bitch," Yancy said.
"Who is Sam Lawless and why is he a son of a bitch?" Sheri asked.
"He's a client. He's over at the club and he wants me to have a drink with him and talk about some damn thing."
"Don't go," Sheri said. "If you don't want to see him and he's a son of a bitch."
"You don't understand," Skeets said, trying not to look at her crossed bare legs. "He's a client."
Sheri shrugged but said nothing. Some life these men led.
"I'll go over with you," Yancy said. "That way you can pry yourself away from him quicker."
"Want to come, Sheri?" Skeets asked, looking at her now but keeping his eyes on her face.
"Dressed like this?"
"You would shake them up a little."
"Doesn't matter. No matter what I was wearing, I wouldn't go to any damn club to meet some son of a bitch I didn't want to see. Anyway, I think I'll he out back and get some sun."
Skeets stood up. Yancy finished his drink and stood up too.
"We should be back in an hour, honey," Yancy said.
"Sure you will," she said.
"Not much more," Skeets said. "You know where the booze is. Stretch out in the recliner by the pool, and well be back before you know it" He was holding the front door open.
"Don't hurry," Sheri said. "I'm perfectly happy."
Before she went outside, Sheri made herself another gin and tonic. A stiff one.
She woke up at the sound of a splash, and it took her a few seconds to remember where she was. When she turned her head on the back-rest of the-recliner to look toward the pool, a boy was bouncing up over the edge. He came over and stood a few feet from, the foot of the recliner, dripping, grinning at her.
"Wake you?" he asked.
"That's a silly question," she said, eyeing him. He was a beautiful boy, not tall, but trimly built, nicely muscled, very tan. He was wearing very brief black trunks, and she couldn't keep her eyes off the unabashed bulge in the front, lively when he moved.
"I'm Terry Willoughby. Skeets' nephew."
"I'm Sheri Bates. My husband Yancy and your uncle went over to die club to see somebody. Some son of a bitch, they said."
"I know," Terry said. "They were just pulling out of the driveway when I came in."
"When was that?"
"Ten minutes ago. Fifteen at the most."
"Then I must have just gone to sleep." She found her drink, half full, beside the chair, and sipped. "Sit down and talk to me, Terry."
"Nothing I'd rather do," he said cheerfully. "Back in a minute." He trotted up toward the house, rubbing himself with a red bath-towel.
When he came back he had an open can of beer in his hand. So he wasn't a child, anyway, she thought. Eighteen, maybe. He straddled a straight chair in front of her and looked at her in open admiration.
"I can't remember when this house ever had a guest like you," he said finally.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You're too beautiful to believe," he said.
She felt a warm glow at his candor, and drew her knees up, relishing the hungry look in his eyes as he gazed at the soft undersides of her thighs.
"Well, thank you," she said. "You're pretty beautiful yourself."
He looked down at himself.
"I try to keep in shape," he mumbled.
"You haven't had time to get out of it How old are you, Terry?"
"Almost nineteen," he said. "Not much younger than you."
She laughed.
"Thank you," she said, but didn't answer his unasked question. No sense shattering the boy's illusions. And anyway, come to think of it, she was a lot closer to Terry's age than she was to Yancy's or Skeets'. The thought gave her an odd, tingling sensation. She stretched her legs out in front of her and crossed them, squeezing her thighs together. The hornies were galloping back as she looked at this lithe young man. Worse than yesterday, if that was possible. She felt lust rising in her like mercury in a thermometer in the hot sun.
She shook her head from side to side as if shaking off bees, to try to dispel her horniness, and took a deep swallow, finishing her drink. Good. That gave her something to do. She got to her feet abruptly.
"I'm going to fix myself another drink."
"I'll do it for you." Terry was on his feet too. She noticed that his swim trunks were the quick-drying kind. They'd dried around the bulge in his crotch, and lay loosely over the bunched mass that bobbed and bounced, minutely but alarmingly, every time he moved. Like a couple of caged wildcats, she thought, and headed for the house.
I'll do it myself," she said over her shoulder. "I need to get my blood circulating." He should know, she thought Her blood was doing too damn much circulating already, down where she didn't want it circulating.
I'll come with you." He followed at her shoulder, then stepped ahead of her to hold the kitchen door open for her. Manners like his uncle, she thought She wondered if he'd inherited any other traits from his uncle.
He sprawled on the couch as she started to build her drink, working slowly with studied deliberation. Damn the hornies, anyway. Maybe she ought to see a doctor about this condition. A horny doctor.
Her back was to the boy, but she could feel his eyes on her, and her skin tingled.
"You know something?" she heard him ask.
No. What?"
"Can I speak, well, frankly?"
"Why not? We're part of the same damn generation, practically."
"You have the most glorious little ass I've ever seen."
"Ho," she said, trying to keep her cool, not turning to look at him. "So you're an ass man."
"What's that mean?"
"Don't you know? Really?"
"No, I don't."
"Well, all men are specialists when it comes to women's bodies. They get particularly excited about a particular part of the female anatomy." She stretched sideways to get an opener for a fresh bottle of tonic. "So there are tit men, and leg men, and ass men. Sounds like you're an ass man."
"For you, I am," he said. "But I'm also a leg man. You have gorgeous legs, too."
"Well, thank you," she said, and turned to face him, finally. There was nothing eke to do. She had the full drink in her hand, and sipped it. "You know what previous generations would have said about your kind of talk?"
"What?"
"You have a bold tongue, young man." Oops, she thought. She shouldn't have said that.
"You don't know anything about my tongue," he said, not smiling. "Only what I hear."
"Have I said something wrong?" There was a faintly wounded look on his handsome, open face.
"Not really," she said. "I liked it"
"I meant every word of it You probably have the nicest ass in the whole western hemisphere."
That's a whole lot of territory."
That's a whole lot of ass."
"Well!" she said, feigning insult but she knew what he meant
"I meant it's a whole lot of heavenly ass, in a small package," he said lamely.
That's better." But she was excited, more than she could bear. She had a sudden, uncontrollable urge to tease the boy, just a little.
"Since my ass seems to be under discussion," she said, leaning one elbow on the bar, standing sideways to him, putting the pert roundness in question into clear profile, "would you like to get to know it just a little better, instead of admiring it from afar?"
He put his beer down on the floor and gulped, just once. His Adam's apple disappeared, then came back into view again.
"I don't quite know what you mean," he said in a choked voice.
She walked slowly over to where he sat, turned, and stood in profile to him again, letting the ripe swell of her ass jut slightly.
"You can appreciate things you admire by other senses than sight," she said. "Touch, for example."
He looked up at her, not smiling, looking tense, in fact, then reached up one hand tentatively and laid his palm across the bursting swell of her shorts in back.
She stood very still. His hand moved lightly back and forth, then became bolder, stroking, caressing, squeezing.
"Jesus," the boy said.
"Don't you find those pants a little inhibiting?" she asked, looking at him evenly. She felt quite calm, all at once. In complete control of herself, of Terry, of the whole situation. And she knew that she was enjoying herself. Thoroughly.
He looked up at her without saying anything. There was bewilderment in his eyes. And a stiring of hope.
Moving her hands very slowly, she unbuttoned her shorts at the waist and drew down the zipper in front with teasing, inch-by-inch deliberation. When the zipper was all the way down, she gave the boy just a glimpse of hair-she was wearing nothing under the shorts-then turned slightly away from him, standing in three-quarter profile. Terry had taken his hand away during the unzipping. He was now doing nothing other than staring, as if he couldn't quite believe what was happening.
"You're not just an ordinary ass-man," Sheri said, smiling down at him. "You're a deep-dish, dedicated ass-man."
"Even if I wasn't," Terry said, speaking with evident difficulty, "you'd make one out of me."
With exquisite slowness then, watching the boy's face, she slid her shorts downward, letting the ripe, gloriously symmetrical white delight of her twin globes swell into full view.
"Jesus," Terry said, gulping. He leaned forward suddenly and kissed the fullest swell of one velvet-soft white globe. His mouth felt at once moist and tender.
She let the shorts slip from her fingers and slide down her legs to the floor, and stood very still, watching him.
As if in a slow-motion dream, his hands came up and began stroking and caressing the smooth, resilient jutting swells of her ass, his hands feeling both reverent and feverish. But she sensed that he wasn't satisfied; the angle was wrong. What the boy wanted was a couple of real handfuls.
It was evident, then, that the same thought had crossed Terry's mind. He stood up abruptly, moved around in front of her and dropped his hands down her back, cupping the globes of her ass in his moist palms.
Looking up into his taut, ravenously frustrated face, she was suddenly very sorry for the boy. She never should have gone this far with her teasing, she knew; and she knew at the same moment that she'd have to do something for him.
Without hesitation, she hooked her thumbs into the top of his brief swim trunks, at the hips, and slid them downward, almost to his knees. Something bumped her stomach as she straightened.
She looked down at the most vibrantly alive cock she'd ever seen. It was surprisingly long, made to look longer by its comparitive slenderness, the bridal-gown whiteness of the bone-hard shaft; but it was the lancing, spearhead-shaped head of his cock that really shook her up. It seemed to be a live entity, all in itself-swollen, glistening-hard, a deep pink in color, flushing deeper as she watched, bursting with lusting blood. The entire shaft kept twitching upward with a pulse of its own.
"Ah, Terry," she said. "I shouldn't have done this to you." She felt one of his hands traveling down the intimate crevice between the cheeks of her ass. His little finger, exploring downward and forward, touched the tender, rearmost folds of her cunt.
She wriggled minutely away from the touch of his fingertip, took the base of his cock tenderly in her palm and began, very gently, to jerk him off.
"Please," he said, a look of desperation on his taut features, "can't we do something?"
She looked at him seriously, calm despite the itching, oozing desire between her legs.
"What?" she asked, not teasing now. Her hand, squeezing softly, moved very slowly on his twitching, swollen cock, back and forth, back and forth.
"Can't we...." He was having a lot of trouble getting words out.
"Fuck?" she said softly, her hand squeezing and releasing, squeezing and releasing.
"Yes."
Amazingly, she was still very calm. "You really want to fuck me?" she heard herself saying. She just couldn't help teasing this boy. "Oh, God."
"You'd come too quick. You'd explode the second your cock slid into my hot wet pussy."
"If you keep that up," he said, looking down at her hand moving back and forth along his cock shaft, "you're damn right I'll explode."
She let go of his cock abruptly and stepped back, smiling at him. God, she was calm, considering the circumstances. She loved that feeling of being in control.
"I tell you what," she said.
"What?"
"Why don't I just suck you off?"
"I want to fuck you," he said, not looking at her, stepping out of his trunks.
"Don't you want me to suck your cock?" she asked, smiling. Her mind was working behind that smile.
"Oh, Jesus," Terry said.
"I'll suck your cock now, till you come. That'll take the pressure off. Then later on this evening, who knows?"
"What do you mean?"
"Yancy-my husband-will get drunk"
"Soil my uncle," Terry said, beginning to smile.
"So, maybe well find a way to get together for a good, good, good long fuck."
"All right," he said, still smiling over his rampant hard-on, "but I still want to fuck you now."
"I told you," she said, turning to pick up her drink and take a swallow, "you'd come too quick. You'd leave me in a state of nerves for the rest of the day." It was ludicrous, she thought, the two of them stark naked, standing here taking the matter under discussion like a board of directors.
"How do you know?" he asked, stepping closer to her again.
"I just know," she said, brushing the underside of his high-poking prick with the tips of her fingers. "I just know. And so do you. Why don't you want me just to suck you off, for now?"
"Because I want to fuck you, just for now," he said, his face setting stubbornly.
And all at once, with the tingle in her twat pulsing stronger again, she had a thought.
"There's a way," she said. "If you think you'd like to do it."
"Anything," Terry said, hope like a sunrise in his widening eyes.
"Would you go down on me?" she asked, speaking slowly and distinctly, watching his face.
"What?" he asked. But he'd understood her,' all right A slow flush crept toward his cheekbones, under the tan. I'll be damned, she thought He's blushing.
"Will you eat my pussy?" she asked softly. "If you'll lick and suck my cunt till I'm ready to come, then we can fuck."
He looked confused. And embarrassed.
"What's wrong?" she asked him.
"I've never done that before."
Then it's about time you did. But if you don't want to...."
"It's not that. I'd love to. Only I don't know how. I don't know if it would be any good for you." He had trouble getting the words out but he managed.
She laughed, and stood tall to Kiss his cheek.
"You'll learn fast," she said. "And I'll like it fine."
He grinned, in evident relief, and bent down to pick up his trunks from where they lay on the rug.
"We better go upstairs," he said. "Just in case they come back."
They won't. Not for a long time."
"Just in case they do. You can be in the bathroom by the time they get out of the car."
'You're a clear thinker," she said, gathered up her shorts, picked up her drink and followed him toward the stairs.
She always had admired clear thinkers.
CHAPTER SIX
Sheri lay back against the pillows on the three-quarter bed in Terry's room, and slowly, lazily raised one leg, bent at the knee, and put her foot on the edge of the bed. She swung her knee back and forth in a short, slow arc, watching Terry's face as he stared at the furred confluence of her upper thighs.
Late afternoon sunlight slanted through the window directly on her lower body, accenting, she knew, the moist darkness of her pussy fur, the dusky-pink soft frame of her outer cunt lips, the bright pinkness-of the inner folds peeping through. The pink petals of her flower, an early, older lover had once called them, she remembered; and remembering, she smiled.
Terry was staring, hard, the whites showing around his eyes, his cheeks flushed again under his tan. His long, rock-hard cock was twitching upward, pulsing, as if to reach a higher angle.
Then Sheri saw what she'd hoped to see: unconsciously, Terry was licking his lips.
"Go ahead," she said. "Do what you're thinking about doing. I'll like it."
He licked his lips again. She arched herself to the edge of the bed and lay back with her legs apart and her knees raised, her bare feet in the air.
"Come on," she said. "You know you want to. Bend down and lass it hello."
He dropped to his knees beside the bed, his head between her warm, welcoming thighs. The tip of his tongue touched her cunt, tentatively, on a tender pink fold peeking out from between her pouting outer lips.
"Lick it," she said, her excitement rising. He was young. He hadn't been lying. This had to be the first time he'd gone down on it.
"Put your tongue in there," she said. "Lick it, up and down. Then suck my whole cunt. Lick my pussy. Lap my twat. Eat it. Gobble my cunt."
He began to lick then, licked and sucked and gobbled and groaned in his excitement. She urged his tongue deeper, nudging him gently with her heels against his back. But he didn't need any urging, or any lessons. Aah, no. Oooh, no. She began to writhe and squirm, her hips pumping, her open ravenous cunt pressed tight against the boy's eager sucking mouth, his probing, sliding, deep-fluttering tongue. Aah, now. Ooh. Lovely. Lively, fresh young tongue in her cunt, a hungry, dewy mouth eating her own flowing dew.
Her juices were flowing freely now, she knew; his mouth was wet and gleaming every time he lifted it from her pussy for a fleeting moment, to take a breath She'd drown him, she thought. But he'd drown happy. His slurping moans were downright ecstatic.
Her cunt seemed to be smoldering, now. She imagined steam curling up past his bobbing nose. Without thought, she felt her hips pushing the whole concentrated being in her devouring twat forward to meet every frantic thrust of his delving tongue, every sucking demand of his hungry mouth. Ah, now. She was ready to come. She could wait no longer.
She put a finger on his forehead.
"Get into me now," she said. "Slide your hard beautiful cock into my cunt. Fuck me now, Terry. Please, quick, fuck me. Now."
She thrashed back onto the middle of the bed with her legs spread wide apart, and waited, trembling slightly as Terry knelt between her thighs. She took his straining cock between her thumb and forefinger, holding it at the neck where it narrowed just below the bursting, spear-shaped head, and guided it to the steaming, swollen, wet lips of her cunt. She moved it up and down in the soundlessly gasping entrance, wetting it, and guided it between the clutching outer lips, into the warm soft sucking embrace of her inner twat lips.
Terry drove the entire length of his too-long-teased cock into her pleading pussy with one strong, young thrust. Sheri held him there, her ankles crossed behind him, the granite base of his cock jammed against the moist matted fur on her mound. She held that wet cleft mound hard against him, grinding in small circles.
Then she gradually released the pressure of her legs behind him.
"Slowly, now, Terry," she said. "Fuck me slow, slow, slow."
He drew his cock back until only the head was inside the greedy clutch of her cunt, and she tightened the inner lips around the neck of his cock, once, twice, three times. She was even better at that now, she knew, than she'd been when she was Terry's age, in high school and naturally tight.;
Oh, Jesus, he said, and began to pump his cock into her slowly for the first few strokes, then faster and faster. For a long moment, then, with that lively, frantic youth between her thighs, she wasn't where she was anymore. She was somewhere else in place, and somewhere else in time. It was as if the inexorable, undefiable mechanism that kept time moving at its assigned pace had developed a slipping clutch. She was a thirteen-year-old again, on her back in the scratchy grass among the blueberry bushes, watching a wisp of white cloud move slowly across the deep blue September sky. The wide spread of her legs then was the wide spread of her legs now, and the hard, eager young cock plunging into her now was the same hard eager young cock that had been plunging so furiously into her then.
She had even come, that first time, Sheri remembered. Even the first thrust hadn't hurt, and it certainly wasn't hurting now, but Terry had forgotten what she'd told him about going slow, or just couldn't help himself. But she was beyond caring. She had been on the very edge of coming with Terry's mouth on her cunt, and even his furious, frenzied fucking was a delight, teetering as she was on the edge of orgasm.
She met every frantic thrust of his wildly plunging cock with a thrust of her own, and found that she was panting and writhing and gasping in unison with him, in the same wild young abandon. His cock seemed to be whipping in and out of her, whipping her cunt to a froth, and her hips seemed to be responding with a beat to match that of a hummingbird's wings.
Then, deep inside her, she felt the clenching of joy, and knew she was over the edge, in the grip of her climax.
She held the boy tightly to her and screamed silently as he pumped and pounded, clutching at him in the ecstasy of her orgasm, and felt him spurting, jet-like, inside her grateful cunt-cavern.
She was in the upstairs bathroom, drying herself off after a shower, when she heard the car stop on the gravel of the driveway in front of the house. She heard Terry whistling as he trotted down the stairs, to be there when Yancy and Skeets came in.
A cool one, she thought happily. I must see more of that boy.
CHAPTER SEVEN
They lounged in beach chairs between the house and the swimming pool, Sheri and Taney and Skeets drinking martinis, Terry drinking beer, bounding about and bursting with energy. Yancy and Skeets had had more than a couple at the club very evidently, but not too many more. They were relaxed, cheerful warmly affectionate and frequently very funny.
"You know, I do a little sociable drinking once in a while," Yancy said earnestly at one point, "but mostly I just get drunk."
"That sociable drinking is overrated, anyway," Skeets said. "I like to do most of my drinking alone."
"Anyone who can't drink alone is sick," Yancy agreed, Skeets looked at Sheri quickly, thinking of yesterday, she knew, then looked away. Then he grinned, despite himself, as if at some private joke. Sheri found herself smiling, too. Sharp as Yancy could be about these things, she doubted that he could read anything into the smiles. And if he did, who cared?
"It wasn't that funny," Yancy said, and sipped deeply, in happy oblivion.
"I get drunk sometimes," Terry said, joining the conversation. "But I never vomit on my friends."
They all had to laugh openly then. Sheri shook her chair, she laughed so hard. Good God, she thought. He's funnier than the grown-ups-and they're trying to be funny.
"Anybody feel like going in for a swim?" Terry asked, standing up. He was in his swim trunks again.
"I'm happy doing what I'm doing," Skeets said, raising his glass.
"Water's poison to me," Yancy said. "I can barely look at it, much less touch it."
"I haven't got a swim suit with me," Sheri said.
"Maybe one of Aunt Myrtle's would fit you," Terry said, hopefully.
"Ha," Skeets snorted. "They'd fall right off Sheri."
"I'd be willing to bet that Terry would like that," Yancy said. "Wouldn't you, Terry?" He asked it in a kindly way, Sheri noticed. Not nasty. But Terry flushed anyway, under his tan. She noticed it, but she didn't think Skeets and Yancy did:
"Well, maybe after it's dark, so you won't shake up the neighbors, you and Sheri can go skinny dipping," Yancy said, smiling at the boy. He liked to have men see her naked body, Sheri remembered, thinking of the Dill Pickering night.
"Maybe we can all four of us go skinny dipping after dinner," she said boldly. And maybe Yancy could drown, she thought. He'd be drunk enough by then.
"Who's ready for another drink?" Skeets asked loudly, getting to his feet.
They switched to martinis while there was still plenty of light left, except for Terry, who stayed with beer. He was a clear thinker, all right, Sheri thought. She looked at him, covertly, every chance she got, at his lithe, lean, tanned young torso, his gracefully muscled, strong, straight, blond-furred legs. She found it necessary to cross and recross her own legs often. Her lust ascended steadily as the martinis went down.
As dusk descended Skeets started a charcoal fire in the blackened fieldstone grill, and appeared magically with a tossed salad in an enormous wooden bowl just before he started broiling-the steak.
They were eating at the wooden-plank table, thirty feet from the deep end of the swimming pool, when the last slim segment of red sun slipped out of sight. The air seemed to cool almost immediately, and Sheri was all at once aware of a breeze from the Sound across her bare legs.
Skeets seemed to sense her sudden awareness of the chill air.
"Well go inside for coffee, Sheri," he said. "No sense overdoing this fresh-air business."
"Steak's as good as any I've ever had," Yancy said, helping himself to another chunk.
And just in time, too, Sheri thought. Yancy had been slipping under fast, swallowing martinis with a relentless dedication. But the food was reviving him. It was the one thing that seemed to keep him going, while a lot of his drinking contemporaries were dropping like flies. He always managed to eat, to eat well.
With substantial help from Terry they finished die last of the sirloin and salad, got up from the table and moved inside, piling plates and utensils on the drainboard by the sink.
Skeets put a kettle of water on the stove and turned on the burner under it.
"Coffee'll be ready in maybe ten minutes," Skeets said. "Who'd like a stinger?"
"I would," Sheri said without a second's thought. She loved stingers.
"Me too, of course," Yancy said.
"How about me?" Terry asked, coming through the door with the empty salad bowl. "I've never had a stinger."
"Wel!" Skeets said, and looked at him, weighing the suggestion. "I guess so. Since you're here, and not going anywhere. I wouldn't want you to drive a car after your first encounter with stingers."
"You make it sound like a big thing," Terry said, grimacing.
"For a young, healthy, enthusiastic drinker of beer," his uncle told him solemnly, "your first experience is a very big thing. Like your first experience with sex."
"Oh, balls," Terry said clearly, and looked at them all, and didn't blush. They laughed, and Terry laughed with them, after a moment.
A cool one, Sheri thought again. She admired this boy. Liked him very much.
With the first stinger, inhibitions started to melt like ice cubes left in the noonday sun. By the time they'd started on their third stinger right after the coffee, inhibitions had melted completely. Whatever moist puddles they'd left had dried up.
"What about this skinny dipping?" Yancy asked, putting his stinger down carefully and beaming at the three of them, beatifically, like a parson after a prayer meeting.
"Don't tell me you want to go swimming, Yancy," Sheri said, feigning surprise. She knew he didn't want to go swimming. She knew exactly what he had a mind. And she didn't mind a bit. Her hornies were galloping hard now, after the stingers. She was a little drunk, and knew it, but not nearly as drunk as Yancy. Nor as Skeets, for that matter. She couldn't tell about Terry. He'd been sipping his stingers very quietly, not saying anything.
"Not me," Yancy said. 'You know better than that. But you and Terry could go in for a dip. And Skeets, if he wants to."
"Not me," Skeets said, looking uneasy. "Liable to drown."
"I'm ready," Terry said suddenly. Sheri knew he would be. But she hadn't expected him to say so. The stingers had gotten to him too, she knew then.
"All right," she said, standing up and setting her drink down. "Let's go."
She was surprised to see Skeets stand up slowly.
"I think I'd like to watch the young people," he said, giving Yancy a level look.
"I go along with that," Yancy said, and stood up too, making a job of it.
Oh, balls, Sheri thought. She'd had a fleeting hope that she and Terry might have sneaked in some underwater fucking.
Skeets left the room and came back a minute later carrying two bath towels and a terrycloth robe. He handed the robe to Sheri.
"For after you come out of the water," he said. "It might be a little chilly out there, with the breeze and all."
She thanked him, took the robe and followed Terry out the kitchen door. Yancy and Terry came along slowly behind them.
It was the purest, most sexless skinny dipping Sheri had ever done. She stepped out of her shorts and sandals, slipped off her shirt at the edge of the pool, and with her back to the men, dived in. Terry followed her immediately, but carefully never swam closer than fifteen feet of her. After a few disappointing minutes, Sheri climbed out of the pool, boldly facing Yancy and Skeets, dried herself with the big towel, belted the terrycloth robe around her and started for the house.
Terry stayed in the water. She was sure she knew why.
"Very refreshing," she said when she and the men were seated again in the living room. "You really ought to try it, just for size."
"Stingers make much better sense to me," Yancy said, finishing what was left in the bottom of his glass.
"Christ, yes," Skeets said, getting to his feet and picking up the empty pitcher. "We've been wasting a whole lot of time."
Yancy grinned at her through the cheerful sound of rattling ice, as Skeets busied himself at the bar in the far corner of the room.
"Feel like playing, honey?" Yancy asked softly.
"Sure," Sheri said. "Any land of games you want to start." She crossed her legs, letting the short robe fall away from her hips, and looked at him evenly. "Anything that pleases you pleases me." She meant to sound wifely, but to her own ears she sounded only horny.
And ready for anything.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Terry came back into the room from the pool, barefoot, dry, wearing his black trunks, also dry, just as Skeets was refilling glasses.
"Another stinger?" Skeets asked the boy, looking at him closely. He had no sign of a hard-on now, Sheri saw. CooL all right. She wondered how long that cool would last, after Yancy started suggesting whatever he was going to suggest.
"Sure, I'll have another stinger," Terry said. "Nothing to them. Liquid Lifesavers."
"Sure," Skeets said, pouring into the boy's glass. "You'll probably still be saying that when you're flat on your ass."
The stingers were getting to Skeets, all right, Sheri knew. Otherwise he'd never use the word 'ass' to his nephew in front of a lady. Lady. Ha. God bless the stingers. This lady was ready to get fucked, no matter how it came about. But Yancy would think of something.. Yancy was good for something, after all. Since he couldn't fuck her himself, apparently it pleased him to get her surrogate-fucked. While he sat by and watched.
And Yancy had help, breaking the ice. He got help from a source that surprised her.
"I have something to confess to you, Yancy," Terry said, sitting down with his drink in his hand, looking across at the older man, eye-to-eye.
"What's that, my boy?"
"Your wife has the loveliest ass I've ever seen. Anywhere." He took a deep swallow of his stinger. Probably needed it, Sheri thought, after that candid revelation. She felt a warm glow at the compliment. And an eager anticipation of the way Yancy would handle it.
"Hasn't she?" Yancy said pleasantly. "Shame Sheri's sitting on it now. You'd probably like it even more, seeing it in the light."
"I don't have to keep sitting on it," Sheri said, sipping, eyeing first Terry's face, then Skeets', then Yancy's. She was excited but cool, in control. She was going to enjoy this, she knew, whatever happened. She loved the feeling of being the only woman there, and being intensely desired by Terry and by Skeets. And by Yancy, too, in his own perverted way.
"Since Terry is such a connoisseur of asses," Yancy said, smiling and sipping, "maybe you wouldn't mind letting him admire yours, dear, in ell 'ts glory."
"I don't know," she murmured, looking at her drink. No harm in teasing them all a little. She had all the time in the world now, until she got what she wanted.
"What don't you know?" Yancy asked, looking perplexed. He was thinking of the Dill Pickering night, she knew.
"I don't mind letting men see my body, if that's what you want," she said, looking at Yancy. "But, after all, your old friend Skeets. And his nephew." What shit, she thought, smiling inwardly. What delicious shit. Old friend Skeets and his nephew had both fucked her within the last, what was it, thirty-six hours?
"I don't mind," Skeets said heartily. "And as for my nephew, I think he's old enough for a little wholesome voyeurism."
Voyeurism? Sheri thought. Jesus. Is that what looking at my ass is called?
"All right," Sheri said, and got to her feet, "if it's voyeurism we're talking about."
She unbelted the terrycloth robe, shrugged it from her shoulders and let it slide to the rug.
"Jesus," she heard Terry say, and stepped to the middle of the room and twirled around, once, twice, three times, her exquisitely ripe rounded ass flashing white, her pussy winking pinkly in the rich, dark, triangular frame of her pubic fur.
She stopped twirling, facing Skeets, glancing quickly over her shoulder at Terry, then looking back at his uncle.
"Think that's enough voyeurism for a growing boy?" she asked.
H don't know about him," Skeets said, groaning and looking over at Yancy. "But it's too much for me, and I've long since stopped growing."
She stared pointedly at the swelling ridge bulging down his left pant's leg.
"Oh, no you haven't," she said. He looked up at her face, trying to suppress a smile.
"Seen enough?" she heard Yancy asking Terry.
"I'd never see enough of that," Terry said. "It's the loveliest thing I've ever seen."
"It feels even better than it looks," Yancy said. "Wouldn't you like to feel it?"
"Oh, God," the boy groaned.
"Don't I have anything to say about that?" Sheri asked, turning to face Yancy.
"About what?"
"About what Terry does or doesn't do with my ass?"
"Sure you do, love," Yancy said. "Make whatever arrangements you want with Terry."
"Anything at all?"
"Anything at all."
Ah, now. She was getting somewhere. She hoped the seepage from her tingling twat didn't give her away too soon. She could do anything she wanted now, with Terry and his uncle. Anything she wanted, anything she could think of. Her mind raced but she was still calm, still in control.
She stepped over to where Terry sat, in a straight-backed armchair, and turned so she stood in profile, as she had that afternoon.
"Like it?" she asked softly.
"I love it," Terry said, just as softly, looking up into her face. His hands came up and began to caress the soft snowy hillocks.
This isn't fair," she said suddenly, turning her head to look at Yancy. "What isn't fair?"
"Letting Terry see me like this, and I can't look at him."
"Talk to Terry," Yancy said. Gleeful, he sounded.
I'd like you to take off your trunks," she said, smiling down into the boy's face. Both his hands were enjoying the velvety smoothness of her ass now, patting, squeezing, kneeding, caressing.
Terry looked across the room, first at Yancy, then at his uncle. He looked back up into her face, his right hand very low on the tender under-swell of her ass, his little finger stealing toward the warm intimacy of the rearmost soft folds of her moist cunt. She was facing Yancy and Skeets, putting her pussy proudly on display so they couldn't see what Terry's hands were doing.
"I can't," he said quietly, talking only to her. "What about them?"
"Forget them," she said.
"Not that," he said. "I'd feel silly being naked with them sitting there with all their clothes on."
"I'm naked." That's different."
"All right," Sheri said and turned her head to face Yancy and Skeets again.
"It's warm in here," she said. "Yancy, Skeets, please take off your clothes."
They both looked amused. As well as drunk.
"Why?" Yancy asked.
I want Terry to take off his trunks so I can get a look at his cock." Yancy would like that. The franker she talked, the better he liked it. And it was time for that kind of talk, she knew. High time.
"What's Terry's cock got to do with Skeets and me?"
"He's embarrassed to let me see his cock with you both fully dressed. So get undressed."
Yancy stood up and started unbuckling his belt Skeets did the same.
"You've seen my cock before," Yancy said, grinning fuzzily.
"Mine...." Skeets said, and choked.
I'm always willing to be surprised," Sheri said swiftly. Yancy hadn't noticed anything. "Now, Terry. Will you get out of your trunks? You're not ashamed to show me your stiff young cock, are you?"
Terry looked up at her then, grinned, and relaxed. He slid his trunks to the floor. His pent-up hard-on suddenly freed, poked ceilingward, looking longer, harder, redder, angrier than it had that afternoon. The pointed, bursting-hard red spear of a head fascinated her.
"It's lovely," she said, talking to Terry, but deliberately clearly enough for Yancy to hear. "It's a beautiful cock. So young. So lively. So hard? She hoped Yancy was cringing at her words.
But he didn't sound as if he were cringing.
"Like young cocks, do you, love?" he said cheerfully.
"I like this young cock," she said over her shoulder. "It looks good enough to eat"
"Give the boy a little head, then," Yancy said. "Suck his cock"
"Would you like me to suck your cock, Terry?" she asked, looking down at him and letting one eyelid droop.
"Love it," Terry said. He was paying no attention to the men now. Sheri had a mischievous thought Yancy should be pleased by her mischievous thoughts.
"All right, I'll suck your cock, just a little bit if you'll do something for me first"
"Anything."
"Lick my pussy, just a little bit."
She heard Skeets groan behind her.
"Jesus, Sheri," he said. "First stingers, now this. We're aging the boy fast."
"I don't mind a bit" Terry said without looking at his uncle.
Sheri raised one leg high and placed her foot on the arm of the chair Terry was sitting in, swinging her knee wide, opening the tempting, tender pinkness of her cunt to the boy's wide-eyed gaze.
Without looking over at the men, without looking at anything but the moist delicacy of Sheri's moist parted pussy, Terry leaned forward and gave it a deep, sucking kiss, his tongue delving upward, fluttering and licking.
"Oooh," Sheri said, "aah." She put her hands lightly on the back of his head.
"I thought it was her ass you liked so much, Terry, not her muff," she heard Yancy say in a tone of mild complaint. Skeets was breathing deeply. When she turned to look at him, he was skimped in his chair, completely naked, his mammoth cock in full erection. Ah, Sheri thought. Everything's too good to be true.
"I do like her ass," Terry said, but the words were muffled in the fur of her cunt. He didn't interrupt his lapping for a second.
Then why don't you see if Sheri would let you put your fine young cock up her ass?" Yancy asked. Jesus, Sheri thought. Drunk as he was, Yancy was full of surprises. But she felt a new tingle of excitement at his suggestion. She put a finger on Terry's bobbing forehead and coaxed his head backward, his mouth free of her pussy.
"Would you like that?" she asked.
Tike what?" He hadn't heard Yancy.
"Would you like to fuck me up the ass?"
"Jesus, would I," he said.
"No time like the present," she said, stepping back and looking down at him demurely. The air felt cool on the wetness of her cunt.
Terry stood up, came to her, turned her around, gently. He reached around her, placed a hand on the swell of her lower belly and pressed her back against him. She felt the entire length of his undercook fit itself between the pouting globes of her ass, up along the warm intimacy of the crevice between them.
"Not like that," she said, laughing.
"I know. It's just that that feels so good, I just wanted to hold my cock there for a second."
"Second's up," she said. "Let's get down to business."
She bent around swiftly and took his straining, twitching, rigid young cock into her mouth, deeply, sliding her tongue around the sensitive undershaft, wetting the head thoroughly. It was gleaming wet, soaked with her saliva when she took her mouth away. Terry was trembling now, but still grinning at her.
"Lubrication," she whispered to him, as if it were their own little secret.
She turned away from him, bent from the waist and leaned forward, her hands braced on an arm of the couch, her legs spread wide, her ass elevated, tempting.
"Oh, God," she heard Skeets say, and realized that her openly inviting cunt was staring him full in the face.
But Terry quickly obstructed his uncle's view as he took his position behind her and grasped her hips firmly with both hands. She felt the tip of his cockhead touch the lowest part of the warm crevice of her ass, hesitate, then move minutely downward.
Then, before she could move, she felt the head plunge into the open folds of her cunt, the shaft slide swiftly in, all the way.
She gasped, wriggled minutely.
"Ooh," she said. "That's lovely, Terry. But I was expecting your cock elsewhere."
"I know," he said. "It's only for a second. I just wanted to know what it felt like, inside your cunt."
"You're sweet," Sheri said, loving every inch of the hard young cock probing her pussy. She pressed her cunt backwards against him, lovingly.
"If you're going to fuck her up the ass, my boy," Yancy said amiably, "then fuck her up the ass."
"Yes, sir," Terry said.
CHAPTER NINE
Terry withdrew his eager, slippery spear regretfully from her cunt's wet warm embrace, his hands reaching around under her to cup and fondle her jiggling breasts.
She felt the hard spear-like head of his lively, eager young cock sliding up to the soft crevice between die exquisite snowy hills of her buttocks, seeking the tight puckered entrance of her asshole. Sheri reached around with one hand and guided the taut swelling spearhead to the welcoming tenderness of her hole, letting her sphincter loosen hospitably.
Terry pushed gently, tentatively, and with a wave of relief she felt the hard, pointed head of his cock slide inside. She'd been afraid her asshole might choke up, it had been so long since she'd allowed a cock to slide into her ultimate intimacy.
Then, with one strong thrust, Terry imbedded his cock deep, far up inside her ass, his stomach flat against her cheeks, his buoyant balls bouncing against the soft-underfolds of her cunt. She groaned with newfound pleasure.
"Beautiful!" she heard Yancy say. "I wish I had a camera. This picture belongs in the family album."
And a new idea came to her in a flash. Yancy shouldn't have made that crack about family albums.
"Hold it there, Terry," she said. "Just keep that lovely prick tight up my ass, all the way."
Terry did as he was told. His hands were at her hips, holding the connection tight
"Skeets," she said, "how would you like a nice, family fuck? You and Terry at the same time." She turned her head to see his reaction.
Skeets looked over at Yancy, but only for a second. Yancy was already saying, "Go ahead." Skeets stood, his boom of a cock swaying in front of him.
"How?" he said.
"To the floor, Terry," Sheri said. "Move slowly. And keep your cock in there, tight"
Together they sank to the floor, lay on their sides, and Sheri raised her top leg high, opening her cunt to Skeets. Quickly, he lay down in front of her, on his side, and guided the deep purple swollen head of his long thick cock to her wet open cunt lips. They seemed to envelop it, drawing it inward with a suction all their own. She felt the mammoth joint sliding up into her, bearing against the stiffness of Terry's stiff young shaft with only a thin wall of tender membrane between the two parallel sliding staffs.
When Skeets' cock was imbedded to the hilt in her clutching cunt, as if by some prearranged signal he and Terry started to withdraw slowly, in unison, until only the heads of their pricks remained inside her-Skeets' held at the throat by the inner lips of her ravenous cunt, Terry's by the tight constriction of her stretched, sensation-filled asshole. Then they plunged simultaneously-some kind of secret family signal, Sheri thought giddily-driving deeply up inside her, their stiffnesses pushing against each other's along the channels of her deepest joy.
For a delirious moment, Sheri thought she was going to faint. But she rallied, waving her free leg in her mindless ecstasy.
"More," was all she could manage to groan. "More. More. More fucking cock."
They gave her more, uncle and nephew, driving up into her with a slow rhythm that made her think wildly of waves swelling and breaking on a beach. Again, again, again, they fucked their cocks up into her in perfect unison, their balls making slapping sounds against each other and against the tiny pink peninsula of flesh between her open, gorging, gulping lower mouth.
She didn't want this compound fucking to end, ever. She reached the peak of orgasm once, came off it in shuddering spasms, then came, wildly, again, and again, and again, and then found herself in one perpetual, open-end orgasm. She knew her mouth was open, she heard the sound of groans and screams, but she was not conscious of making the sounds herself. Along with the slow-motion delirium that made her think of waves, she had the disembodied sensation of being underwater.
"Now, Terry!" she heard Skeets say, from way off somewhere, and the rhythm of their fucking increased. She gritted her teeth to keep from screaming out the agony of her delight.
Even the new, fast tempo kept up for a long time, with Sheri staying at a plateau of orgasm-and when Skeets and the boy did come, shooting their warm juices up inside her at the same time, she came again with them, a pinnacle of orgasm on top of orgasm. She shuddered again and again as the inner spasms kept up, tearing at her insides until she thought they would come apart.
They stayed inside her, their slackening cocks motionless as little by little the spasms subsided. When Sheri was completely limp, and almost comatose, they withdrew their now-limp hoses, slowly, gently, lovingly.
"Jesus," Skeets said, rolling over on his back.
"You're right, uncle," Terry said, standing up.
"Beautiful," Yancy said, from behind her somewhere.
She rolled over to look at him. He was still sitting in his chair, naked, a drink in, his hand.
And his giant cock, rock-hard, was pointing straight at the ceiling.
"Ah, love," Sheri said, and scrambled to her feet. "That's what's really beautiful."
She stepped over to him, knelt between his legs and gulpingly, lovingly, tenderly, took his cock deep into her mouth and began to suck him off.
CHAPTER TEN
Yancy went upstairs to bed early, right after the all-in-the-family fuck with Skeets and Terry. He shook off Skeets' considerate offer to give him a hand, lurched with glazed dignity to the stairs, and went up one stumbling step at a time, handover-hand on the bannister.
"I guess the sensible thing," Skeets said, getting up, "is to make us another stinger." He walked with careful, dignified steadiness, in all his tall nudity, to the bar in the corner of the room, and started putting ice in the shaker.
As he walked slowly across the room toward where Terry and Sheri sat balls-ass naked, slumped and contented on the couch shaking the stingers with vigor, Sheri noticed to her private delight that Skeets' long limp hose of a cock jiggled, bounced, and almost flapped with his efforts.
"You'd drive a girl mad, Skeets," she said as he bent to fill her glass, "flapping that lovely hunk of meat around like that."
"I'll be glad to try to drive you mad with it, my dear," he said, "a little later, when it won't be flapping anymore. I hope."
"Why, Mr. Willoughby," she murmured, sipping. "You mean you'd like to fuck me again?"
"You talk like a girl with a paper asshole," he said, smiling down at her.
"Not paper," Terry said, holding out his empty glass. "Not paper at all."
She noticed that his wrinkled pale cock slender in repose, was beginning to swell again. So soon, she thought happily. So beautiful.
But it was Skeets who got her talking about sex, in a way she'd never talked before. Stingers not only melted inhibitions, Sheri thought, they evaporated them!
"You're a lovely sight," Skeets said, gazing across from his easy chair at the tempting picture she made, one knee drawn up, the tender pink slit of her cunt a vertical bright ribbon between her legs.
"Thank you."
"When were you first aware of it?"
"Aware of what?"
"Of the effect the sight of your body produced on the opposite sex?"
"When I was sixteen. In high school. I was built just the way I am now, a few pounds slimmer, maybe. My boobs were a shade smaller, but very bouncy, you know? And I always had pretty good legs."
"Pretty good!" Terry said, on the couch beside her. "They're spectacular. Luscious. Gorgeous."
"Anyway, I noticed how the boys were always looking at my legs. I wore very short skirts in high school, and went barelegged, except in very cold weather."
"Can't blame them for looking," Skeets said.
"It got me sort of excited," Sheri said, "the way they looked at my legs and my ass. So I started letting them see a little more."
"How?" Skeets asked. He appeared to be intensely interested in what she was saying, but his eyes never wandered from the mute appeal of her tender, slitted ribbon of pink.
"In class, I'd cross my legs a lot, very slowly, raising my knees high and wide, sort of casually. And the boys across from me would nudge each other when the teacher was looking the other way, and stare at my legs, up the insides of my thighs under what there was of my skirt, all the way up to my panties."
"A teaser," Terry said, turning to grin at her.
"I sure was. Then, one afternoon, I'd teased them all I could stand, in Latin class. I'd gotten myself all excited, not knowing exactly how. That's when I noticed that the afternoon sun hit me just right. Lighted up my legs, and was better than a spotlight up under my skirt. So I decided I'd let the boys get a peek at my pussy."
"In class?" Terry asked.
"In class."
"Good girl," Skeets said. "How'd you go about a project like that?"
"Held up my hand and asked to be excused. I almost chickened out when I got to the girls' room, but I was very excited and-well, reckless. I took off my pants and put them in my handbag and went back to class. The boys across from me were watching me very closely when I sat down. I don't know if they were guessing what I'd done, but I didn't give them long to guess. I lifted one knee, high, wide and handsome, and held it that way, showing them my pussy for as long as I dared before I covered it up by crossing my legs. The teacher never noticed. He was pretty old, and blind in one eye, I think."
"I'd like to have been there," Terry said.
"Would you?" she said. "A lot of boys flunked Latin, that spring term. I kept showing them my pussy all the way up until June."
"What happpened?" Skeets asked.
"I passed Latin all right I got a B-plus, I think."
"I don't mean that. What happened after class, that first day you gave the boys a peek at your pussy?"
"It wasn't just one peek," Sheri said. "It was a good long look. Several good long looks, with my legs pretty far apart, at my whole thirsty little cunt. They had time to count the hairs."
"But what happened after class that first day?"
"It was the last class of the afternoon. Four of the boys were waiting for me on the steps outside school. Anybody could see that they all had hard-ons."
"Not only them," Terry muttered, beside her. She looked over at him, then down. His cock was surging upward, stiffening, swelling, becoming rigid, the head a bursting, angry red, in only a few seconds.
Sheri laughed and reached over and put her hand loosely around his cock. Not moving her hand at all, not squeezing, she simply let his cock stand upright in the soft tender circle of her palm and fingers.
He looked over at her and his mouth formed the words, "I want to fuck you. Now."
She only smiled at him.
"Later," she said soundlessly.
"A-humm," Skeets rumbled, across the room. "Then what happened, with the high school boys and their eager young hard-ons?"
"One of them had a car. They wanted me to go for a drive with them."
"Did you?"
"Sure. I was very excited. Horny, if you want to know. I hadn't even put my pants back on after class."
"Were you a virgin then?" Terry asked.
"Practically. I'd been fucked only once, in a blueberry field, a couple of years before. My mother caught us, and scared me out of fucking for a long time."
"But did you fuck the boys from your Latin class?" Terry asked, pushing his pubic mound up against the soft bottom of her loose fist
"No."
"What did you do?" Skeets asked impatiently.
"Well, we drove around in the country for a long time, and the boys kept taking turns sitting with me in the back seat. I let them kiss me, and gave them a lot of tongue, and I let them feel me up, you know, take my tits out and squeeze them and diddle around and suck the nipples. I was very horny."
"That's all you let them do?" Terry was very excited, now. She could feel a strong pulse along the underside of his cock.
I let them feel my legs, and my ass, all they wanted. And they wanted to, a lot, all of them."
"What about your pussy? Didn't you let them touch your pussy?" Terry was full of questions.
"Well, yes, finally. I let them touch my twat, and diddle with it But I wouldn't let them put a finger inside. I didn't want to be finger-fucked."
"Why not?"
"I had better ideas, even then," she said, smiled mysteriously and sipped at her stinger. "Anyway, finally we parked out on an old, wood road somewhere, and got out of the car. God, those boys were horny. Hornier than I was, I think."
"Did you do anything for them?" Skeets asked, still staring at the moist bubbling spring-of her slit in its luxuriant oasis of curly fur.
"I jerked them off," Sheri said simply, "one at a time. Some slowly, like this." She tightened her hand around Terry's straining prick and slid her fist up and down, very slowly, twice. "Some fast like this." She gave Terry's shaft a few swift strokes, then took her hand away. "I loved it. I loved to see them come, spurting onto the grass. But I was still horny as hell. And by the time I'd gotten the fourth boy to come, the first one's cock was hard again."
"Then what?" Skeets wanted to know, draining his glass without looking at it
"I made a deal with them."
"What land of deal?"
"I said if they'd go down on me, if they'd lick and suck my cunt, every one of them, then I'd suck them all off. If they promised not to tell anyone."
"And?" Skeets asked.
"They went for the deal. Wow, did they go for it."
"High-school boys?" Skeets asked, sounding surprised despite himself. "You got them to go down on you?"
They loved it. They took turns, sucking and licking and gobbling my cunt until they were out of breath. I came twice. And then I'd had enough."
"And the boys?"
"I sucked them off, one right after the other, licking and lapping their cocks very slowly, making it last for them as long as I could. And I swallowed their come, every last drop of it."
"Didn't you ever fuck them?"
"No. Not until the fall term, anyway," Sheri said, grinning.
"Did they tell anyone about your sucking their cocks?" Terry asked.
"Of course they did."
"Didn't you mind?"
"No. It was good advertising."
"Jesus," Terry said, taking a gulp of his stinger. "What do you mean, good advertising?"
"I had all the dates I wanted from then on. Two a night, if I felt like it."
"What happened on the dates?"
"I sucked a lot of good, hard cocks," Sheri said, smiling, remembering. "And?"
"I loved it."
"I mean, what did you get out of it?"
"I had my cunt sucked a lot An awful lot And I loved that even more."
"You're a good girl, Sheri," Skeets said, putting his drink down carefully. "Now show me what you showed the boys in Latin class."
"Sure," Sheri said, smiling at him.
She hitched her lovely ass over to the end of the couch, raised one knee slowly, and draped it over the low arm.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
"I think that's the loveliest sight I've ever seen," Skeets said, getting to his feet, "and I'm a long way from being a high-school boy."
He dropped to his knees in front of her and kissed the inside of one swelling calf, then moved his tongue slowly upward, making soft, small circles on the responding flesh of her inner thighs. Sheri could feel herself begin to purr as his tongue touched the soft globes beneath the lower opening of her cunt, "Eat all of it, Skeets," she said, her voice suddenly tight. "Don't just taste here and there."
She spread her knees farther apart as his fingers came up and opened wide the softly swelling outer lips of her now-greedy cunt. His tongue came forward slowly, extended fully, and with one long, hard, broad stroke, licked the entire inner length of her twat, rolling the folds of pink quivering moist membrane.
She felt her hips responding, all on their own, pressing her pussy to his mouth as his tongue probed deeper. His lips closed over the elusive eel of her clitoris, and as he sucked and licked and gobbled her cunt, his whole mouth, lips and tongue worked together to stir up the already stormy little pink sea of sensation between her furred shores.
Then, squirming, Sheri was conscious of another sensation, a sensation reminiscent of the front-and-back fucking a little earlier: one of Skeets' fingers was probing into the newly puckered entrance to her asshole. She let her sphincter go loose again, welcoming the intruder, and his finger slid deep, wriggling and exploring.
Her mind opened and a gasp escaped. She felt all loose and warm and tingling down there. Like Yancy and the rest of that whole damn generation, Skeets was full of surprises-finger-fucking her asshole while his tongue probed her cunt.
Sheri felt her hips rising and thrusting faster and faster to meet the probing of Skeets' tongue, the suction of his mouth glued tight to her pumping twat. Her ass twirled to the added excitement of his diddling, deep-plunging finger. She reached a plateau of pure pleasure, and stayed there, deliberately, not wanting to come that way, while Skeets, hungry Skeets, kept gobbling, licking, devouring the tender fiery flesh of her cunt. But Sheri had to have more-much, much more.
"Please, Skeets," she said at last. "Please." Her hand had found Terry's rock-hard shaft again, grasped it now as a drowning man clutches a floating stick of wood.
Skeets took his mouth a fraction of an inch away from its pink squirming sustenance and looked up at her. His tongue kept licking air. He didn't say anything. He didn't look capable of saying anything.
Take a breather, Skeets," she said. "Let your nephew have a little fun. Let him cool his cock in there."
He moved his mouth back to her cunt for one last loving lick, then got to his feet, backing away. Terry was on his knees, on the rug between her legs in an instant, his cock searching. She reached out with expert thumb and forefinger to guide the now-familiar spearhead of his cock into her wet, open cunt lips. His cock penetrated her, all on its own, in one eager thrust.
He was all eagerness again, she felt immediately, like the first time, in the afternoon. Terry was breathing fast, almost panting, but hi pumping thrusts came much faster than his breath. There was no way to slow him down.
Sheri wrapped her legs around his hips, clung to him with her arms and let him pound away at her quivering quiff, raising her hips lazily to meet every third or fourth thrust of his slippery, shuttling cock.
There was something contagious in his uncontrolled excitement, and she found that her hips were moving faster of their own accord, her cunt rising and pushing to meet the boy's frantic fuck-strokes. But then, as her excitement began to mount toward a peak, she felt Terry build up to a trembling, erratic rhythm she could not meet, and she knew the end was only seconds away, for him.
Too much for a growing boy, she thought, in a few short hours.
In those few remaining seconds, she compressed the fucking of his lifetime for him, fucking him furiously, with lightning-swift, grinding thrusts of her ravenous cunt mouth, at the same time holding herself at an even level of ecstasy, keeping herself away from the peak of her climax. Even now, sliding and clutching and pumping the wet, warm dream of her fantastically fevered cunt around the rock-hard reality of his driving young cock, she knew exactly what she was doing. Her busy mind was moving on to her cunt's next immediate desire.
Then, suddenly, Terry was coming-pushing, straining, spurting into her depths of joy. She warned to call, then, for Skeets, but she couldn't make a sound above a moan.
She didn't need to. As Terry's still-spurting cock withdrew from her cunt's sucking clutch, Skeets was standing where Terry had knelt. His cock, fully erect again, looked enormous, the head a deep violet shade.
"Are you ready for me, my dear?" Skeets asked, teasing. Oh, God, was she ever ready.
"Fuck me deep, Skeets," she almost whimpered. "Fuck me deep and hard with that big juicy cock. Ream my cunt. Finish me off. Please."
Skeets got to his knees between her open legs, at the edge of the couch, and lodged the head of his massive tool between her writhing, passion-slimed cunt lips. The head of it was the size and shape of a lemon, she thought inanely. Only the color was different It seemed different to her, every time he fucked her. How many times was it now that Skeets had fucked her? It didn't matter, nothing mattered. Only more cock. Only to fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
She spread her legs wider and lifted her cunt to meet his opening thrust He worked his thick cock into her writhing twat slowly, an Inch at a time, until her cunt cavity was distended and full, all the way up, deep inside. She could feel her inner twat lips and cunt muscles contracting spasmodically about the heavy, sliding shaft.
Skeets withdrew the entire length of it, slowly, until only the head remained inside her, and held himself poised, his cockhead just spreading her inner cunt lips. Sheri quivered and tried to suppress the shudder, but Skeets knew-he knew that she was at the very thin, ragged edge of orgasm. He thrust his great cock forward then, in one deep plunge, to the hilt, and held it that way, stiff and swelling full inside her, probing, filling her whole consciousness with nothing but blinding sensation, blinding sensation of thick hard cock.
Then she was coming, writhing, squirming as if to take in more of that huge rigid shaft moaning deep in her throat. Still Skeets held himself still, arched over her, letting herself gorge herself on his immobile, rigid obelisk of a dream cock.
As her spasms slowly subsided, Sheri became aware of Skeets watching her face, smiling faintly. His huge prick, granite-hard was still inside her, was the beginning and end of every sensation, the concentrated center of her being. He began to stir his hips slowly, grinding the hard base of his pelvis against her tender, fuck-fiery mound.
"Now that you've gotten over all that girlish excitement, Sheri," he said, "why don't you relax a while and really enjoy it? Some real old-fashioned, deep-dish fucking."
She was-in no mood and no condition to argue. She lay still, her head against the back of the couch, feeling his seemingly endless, wrist-thick shaft sliding out of her, almost to the end, then slowly plunging back in, filling her to overflowing with cock and contentment. She felt her hips starting to respond again, slowly at first, rising almost imperceptibly to meet each long, sliding, deliberate stroke. She had thought she was finished with all sensation for a while, but she felt the feeling building inside her again, a much deeper, warmer, rounder, fuller pleasure than before. It reached to the roots, not just to the ends, of every responsive nerve in her body.
Without being conscious of it, she moved her legs around to hook her feet behind Skeets' thighs, giving her the leverage she needed to pursue the dedication she was formed for. The exquisitely tuned and oiled machinery of her hips began to move in earnest then, complementing the slow, deliriously torturing shuttling of Skeets' own enormous, and enormously accomplished, tool of delight.
They fucked slowly, deliberately, tasting the ultimate joys of each other's bodies for a long, long time, and Sheri lost track of everything except the delicately demanding suck of her cunt around Skeets' sliding shaft of smooth, hard, skilled muscle.
Gradually, very gradually, in perfect accord, the rhythm of their strokes increased in tempo, and soon she heard herself gasping, unable to control the sounds issuing from her throat She was only dimly aware of the words that formed themselves on her swollen lips.
"Drive it in deep, Skeets," she heard herself saying. "Shove that big cock all the way up to my throat. Fuck me hard, Skeets. Fuck me deep."
He drove the great shaft into her with renewed fury, faster, and deeper, it seemed to her, with every plunging stroke. Then she was blind with sensation for a long second, and she had reached the point of no return.
Skeets held his cock still, deep inside her as she writhed in her own exquisite agony, and then he came with her, pumping and squirting deep into her, but in small, diminishing spurts, not nearly enough to extinguish the inner flames of her burning lust.
When his shrinking prick finally slipped from her cunt's sticky, unfeeling farewell, he got to his feet, looked over at his nephew, looked down at Sheri without smiling, and shrugged, hopelessly.
"I've got to get to bed now," he said, and grinned crookedly. "Good night."
He was weaving as he walked to the foot of the stairs, Sheri noticed; but, unlike Yancy, he made his way up the steps without any help from the bannister.
CHAPTER TWELVE
She sat side by side with Terry on the wide couch, both of them stark naked, but holding hands, like two tired country kids after a strawberry festival. Sheri hadn't known how drunk she was until she'd seen Skeets lurching toward the stairs. Now she felt so fuzzily weary that she couldn't have stood up if the couch had caught on fire. She hoped, weakly, that it wouldn't.
"You know what?" she asked, letting her head fall to Terry's shoulder.
"What?"
"I don't think I could stand another stinger. But I'd like a beer."
"Good idea," he said, but when he got to his feet she noticed that the move wasn't exactly easy. Stingers aside, she thought, it had been a wearying evening for everybody. But good. Ah, so good. She squeezed her sticky thighs together, thinking about it
"What's with Yancy?" Terry asked as he sat down again next to her and handed her an open can of beer.
"He's drunk"
"I don't mean that. So's my uncle. So's everybody, I guess, including us."
"Then what do you mean?"
"How come he doesn't mind you fucking other guys?"
"Mind? He encourages the whole thing. You must have seen that."
"Sure. But why?"
"He likes to watch."
"Jesus," Terry said, shaking his head. "That's land of weird."
Sheri was quiet a minute, biting her hp. Then it all started to come out. She couldn't help herself. She had to talk to somebody. And all at once the boy beside her was her only friend.
"Weird, maybe," she said. "But it's the only way he ever gets a hard-on."
"What!"
"You heard me."
"Christ!" Terry said. "You'd give a hard-on to a statue in the park. On a cold day."
"Yancy isn't a statue in the park," Sheri said. "He's my aging, drunken husband."
"Well, shit," Terry said, bending to kiss her on the soft tender swell of her lower belly. "It must be awful for you."
"It is. I guess it's awful for him too."
"Isn't there anything you can do about it?"
"Just get fucked while he watches, I guess. I just found out last week what it does to him."
"Haven't you got any ideas about what you might do?"
"I'm just having one," she said, slowly. "Maybe I've had the idea right along, but it's just coming into focus."
"Why don't you tell me?"
"Why don't I?" But she didn't say anything for a long minute.
"Well?"
"All right," she said. "You saw the hard-on he got while you and your uncle were fucking me?"
"I sure did."
"You saw what I did about it?"
"Of course. You sucked him off. Did a beautiful job, too."
"Well," she said, "I think it was the wrong thing to do."
"What should you have done?"
"I should have fucked him, right then. I should have give him the fuck of his lifetime."
"You think that would have helped things?"
"I'm almost sure it would."
"Why?"
"Well, once he gets the feel of having his cock in my warm loving cunt again-I think, next time around, his cock will remember, even if he doesn't."
"Well next time...." Terry said, and stopped. "Will you help me?"
"Anything I can do."
"I have a plot," Sheri said, speaking slowly, thinking. "You live in New York with your folks, don't you?"
"Yes. I'm only up here for the weekend."
"Are you doing anything Monday night?"
"No. Especially not if there's anything I can do for you."
"You can fuck me" Sheri said, looking at him and smiling, squeezing his hand.
"I'm all yours," he said. "Monday night, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday...."
"Never mind," she said. "Now, do you have any friends who might be broadminded enough to dig this fucking scene?"
"I don't have any friends who wouldn't dig it," he said earnestly.
"Good. Bring two or three guys with you to the apartment Monday night around eight. I'll give you the address in the morning."
"Can we bring something? Beer, maybe?"
God, he sounded young, Sheri thought.
"Bring your eager young pricks, ready for action, is all." She should have been getting excited at the thought of it, she knew, but the excitement she felt was the faintest of low-down stirrings. Jesus, she was tired. But hopeful, all at once.
"That much I can guarantee," Terry said. "And all the cocks will be hard before we get there, if I tell them what you're planning. Should I tell them?"
"You better."
"All right. I'll tell them."
"And there'll be a bonus, for you."
"What bonus?"
"A bonus named Tanya Pell. She's a good friend of mine, not much older than you, and kind of flaky. But you'll like her. She's a great-looldhg redhead, a model, and she loves to fuck, and fuck, and fuck. And suck cocks. And have her cunt sucked."
"Sounds like a wonderful girl," Terry said, not smiling. "But why?"
"You mean, why am I asking her over?"
"Yes."
"Because I might not be enough for you young fellas. And you might like to fuck a girl closer to your own age, you know?"
"Cut that shit," Terry said, gently stroking the moist mat of her muff.
"Anyway, there's another reason I want to have Tanya there."
"What's that?"
"Yancy's got the hots for her. Has for a long time. He can't do anything about it, but he has the hots for her. So maybe watching her getting fucked, along with me, will give him a double hard-on. Tanya's a kind of insurance, you see? Erection insurance."
"Good thinking," Terry said, taking a deep swallow of beer and grinning at her. "You haven't told Yancy anything about this, have you?"
"How could I? I just hatched the plot in the last couple of minutes."
He finished his beer.
"You know something?" he said. "I'm beat." She bent and kissed the head of his limp pecker.
"Let's turn in," she said, stood up and started turning off the lamps in the room. "Maybe I'll come visit you in your room, toward morning."
"Hey!" he said. "Would you do that?"
"We'll see," she said.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Sheri woke up slowly as the sky outside the bedroom window started to lighten. She rolled her head lazily on the pillow and focused on the clock on the bedside table. Twenty past five. Beside her, Yancy was sleeping on his back, snoring gently.
For old times' sake, she slipped a hand inside his pajama pants and fondled his inert prick. It stayed inert. So did Yancy. His eyes stayed closed and he kept on snoring, not missing a note.
"Shit," she said soundlessly to herself. Why not? She slipped quietly out of bed, naked as the day she was born, and padded silently down the hall to the door of Terry's room.
The door was ajar. A clear thinker, that boy, she thought appreciatively, even with a snootful of stingers.
In die early-morning gray of the room, she could see Terry, sleeping on his back, like Yancy. But not snoring. Asleep, he looked far younger than he looked awake. She moved close to the bed and looked down at him. Like a god-damn altar boy, she thought. Well, even altar boys wake up with hard-ons. Lifting the edge of the covers, she slid silently in beside him.
He didn't wake up, didn't even stir. It was warm under the covers with him, but Sheri was far warmer than the covers could account for. All the fucking she'd done the afternoon and evening before only made her want more. The end of the galloping hornies, she thought. This one ought to do it.
Like her, Terry was completely naked. She lifted the covers, leaned down and put her tongue in the boy's navel. She felt him stir and heard him moan, but he didn't open his eyes. She flung the covers down to the foot of the bed and looked down at his cock, hanging loose and long between his legs. She lifted it and lay it on its back, up along his stomach, and bent and ran her open mouth up and down the length of it, tickling the soft underskin with the tip of her tongue, fluttering it back and forth, then kissing the velvet softness with moist warm lips.
"What?" she heard Terry say. His cock stirred and started to swell, then rolled and started to rise up with a life of its own.
It didn't come up fast enough to suit Sheri. She stretched out alongside the boy and rubbed his belly and put the stiffened tip of her tongue into his ear, then reached down and felt his cock. It was alive at last-stiff and hard as a bone, standing straight up.
"Still sleepy?" she asked, looking through the morning grayness into his half-closed eyes. "Sort of," he said.
"Just lie still," Sheri said. "You don't have to do a thing."
She reached down with one hand and cupped his balls in her palm, lifting them, weighing them. They seemed somehow lighter than they'd been the first time she'd touched them, the afternoon before, but she was sure it was just her imagination. She studied his prick for a fleeting second as it stood there proud under her gaze. Even in the faint light there seemed to be a touch of color along the shaft that had not been there only hours before.
On impulse, she swung around, reversing herself in the bed, and straddled Terry's face, lowering her pussy slowly toward his mouth as she took his cock into her own. His head lifted, his lips and tongue found her cunt with hungry enthusiasm. Her head bobbing as she sucked his cock with consummate skill, her cunt pressing down to get the most from his eager lapping, she was amused to think that this was certainly the first time the boy had awakened with a cunt in his mouth before his orange juice. The first time he'd had his cock sucked before getting out of bed, probably. Positively the first time he'd ever played the classic game of sixty-nine, in the classic position. He'd told her yesterday he'd never even gone down on a woman before.
The whole thought amused her, but not enough. Not the way she wanted to be amused. She lifted her mouth away from his now-pumping prick.
"Enough of that," she said, but relished the feel of his lively young tongue between her open legs. "That's just for an appetizer."
She swung around again and straddled him at the hips, holding herself in that position for a moment while she watched the look of rapture on Terry's face as he drank in the sight of her open cunt suspended over his stiff, waiting cock.
She didn't keep him waiting long, but lowered herself firmly down on it, enveloping it in her ravenous wet twat, gulping it in, feeling it slide deeply up into her.
She began to fuck him mercilessly then, with a sort of skilled abandon, riding up and down, thrusting, grinding down hard in a circular, pumping motion against the hardness of his pelvis, raising herself again and holding the neck of his cock in the tight muscular embrace of her inner twat lips, squeezing, relaxing, contracting again.
"Oh God," Terry moaned. "Oh, Jesus."
She leaned forward, her mouth close to his ear, still fucking him furiously.
"Like my cunt, Terry?"
"Mmmm," he groaned. "Love your cunt."
"Will you suck it in anytime I want you to? Eat my pussy when I call you?"
"Anytime."
"Fuck me anytime I phone? Anytime I want that beautiful cock pumping into my cunt?"
"Anytime," he moaned again, and came, spurting, trembling, shuddering.
But it didn't matter. She came too, just as suddenly.
She stayed with him for only a minute more, then kissed him on the forehead as she got out of bed and padded toward the door.
"Remember Monday night," she said softly.
"How could I forget?" he whispered. "I'll be there with bells on."
"With balls on is better," she said, and went back down the hall to Yancy.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
When she woke again it was full, bright morning, and Sheri discovered to her relief that her attack of galloping hornies was over and done within an atmosphere of great calm and amiability, she had brunch with Yancy and Skeets and Terry, then she and Yancy drove home, both hungover and Yancy a little shaky, but otherwise at peace with the world.
"Serene Sunday," she called it later. It was the last sip of serenity she would taste in some time.
When the phone rang late Monday morning, she wondered, in the moment before she picked it up, if Skeets were calling to suggest another lunchtime session so soon after the first one, so soon after the weekend. She wasn't at all interested in the prospect, and had made up her mind to tell him so, firmly, when she said "Hello."
It wasn't Skeets calling her. It was another of Yancy's friends from last busy week: Dill Pickering-
"I've been wanting to call you since last Thursday night," he said. "But I didn't want to call over the weekend, with Yancy home."
"Neither one of us was home over the weekend."
"Well," he said lamely, "you're home, now."
"Sure am. But why didn't you want to call with Yancy here?"
"You know."
"No. I don't know."
"I want to see you alone. Without Yancy."
"Oh," she said. It was her turn to sound lame. "Well, I don't think that's such a good idea." She did think it was a good idea, though. It had been in the back of her mind since Thursday. Not a good, idea, but a tempting one.
"I think it's a damn good idea. Since Thursday night I haven't been able to think of anything else."
"It's not a good idea, Dill," she said, sitting down and lighting a cigarette. "A little friendly fucking is fine, on an occasion like that. But I don't think we should make a big thing out of it."
"I do. Because it's not just the fucking I'm thinking about. It's you."
"That's very flattering," she said. "But don't put me on, Dill. I'm over seven."
"So'm I. And I want to see you, even without the other thing. Can't you just meet me for lunch, so we can at least talk."
God, it was a tempting thought, even without the hornies. But not a good idea. Not a good idea at all. She liked Dill too much. Liked him? She thought of his eyes, deep in that craggy face; of the sure feel of his strong, big-knuckled hands; of that long, lean muscled body; and, inevitably, of his big, hard, plunging cock. She crossed her legs.
"Let me tell you how it is, Dill," she said, grinding out her cigarette in an ash tray. I'm married to Yancy. I like being married to Yancy. We have our troubles, but I think there's something that can be done about them. And if something can be done, I want to stay married to Yancy."
"That's fair enough," Dill said. "But suppose there's nothing you can do about your troubles?"
"Let's wait and see about that."
"All right. I'll call you."
"I can't stop you from doing that.'"
"I'll be dunking of you," he said, then hung up.
And I'll be thinking of you too, she thought Damnit She slammed the phone back into its cradle.
Yancy was home from the office before six on Monday, comparatively sober. But that was not unusual for a Monday or Tuesday, Sheri knew. His drinking accelerated as the week progressed.
Out of perversity, she hadn't told him about the party she'd planned for that evening. She broke the news to him over coffee.
"I forgot to tell you earlier," she said. "I invited Terry Willoughby and a couple of his friends over here for the evening."
"Skeets' nephew?"
"You know perfectly well who Terry Willoughby is," she said.
"Not as well as you do," Yancy said, looking out at her from under his eyebrows.
"Oh, come off it, Yancy," Sheri said. "You approved of the whole episode Saturday night. You sponsored it, if you don't remember."
"I remember," Yancy said. "And I still approve. It's just that I get twinge attacks of the old-fashioneds, sometimes."
"Maybe it'd be better if you suffered those attacks in silence," Sheri said. She wanted to make sure he didn't have an attack of the old-fashioneds this evening. Not with all those horny young people depending on her.
"I'll try to remember."
"Before you go into another fit of the sulks, I better tell you that Terry and his friends aren't the only ones I invited."
"Who else?" Yancy asked. "The local Boy Scout troop?"
"Goddamnit, Yancy."
"I'm sorry. Who else?"
"Tanya Pell."
"Well," Yancy said, suddenly engrossed in sipping his coffee, avoiding her eyes.
"I thought that might grab you," Sheri said, watching him with open amusement.
"Doesn't grab me, especially," Yancy said, elaborately casual about how he put down his coffee cup. "It's just that I like your young friends. Any friend of yours, as they used to say when I was a boy, is a friend of mine."
"Especially Tanya."
"Not especially Tanya. I think she's a nice, bright, funny girl, is all. Like a lot of your friends."
"She's prettier than any of my other friends."
"She is rather attractive," ' Yancy said, studying the ceiling. But at last even he had to smile, when he looked at her. "She fucks like a mink," Sheri said, watching his face.
But Yancy was ready for her now. His face showed nothing.
"Does she now?" he said.
"Wouldn't you like to fuck her, Yancy?"
"Come on, honey. You're my girl."
"But wouldn't you like to fuck Tanya?"
He was silent for the space of two heartbeats.
"If you want to know the absolute truth," he said, "I'd like to fuck you, is who I'd like to fuck."
"That's what I'd like, too," she said. His eyes held hers for a long moment, then dropped to the table.
She pushed back her chair and started putting dishes on the drainboard.
Tanya got there first, a little before eight. She was a startingly lovely redhead, with white, almost translucent skin that stayed that way, even in summer. Tanya took no chances with the sun. Her body was slender, almost fragile-looking, with high, young budding breasts and long, slim, exquisitely formed legs. It was difficult to imagine her doing anything so indelicate as spreading those legs, except that Sheri had talked with her. At length and in depth, Sheri had talked with her.
"I'm smashed," Tanya said happily, sprawling in an easy-chair. "Drinking Rob Roys with a bunch of people. Ever drink Rob Roys?" She was still young enough to find new taste thrills in the drinking world.
"Have you eaten anything?" Sheri asked.
"What, and dampen this glow?" Tanya said. "Wouldn't think of it."
She was wearing a dress, of all things, a light orange summer dress with a skirt that stopped just below the hips, putting her lovely, mouthwatering legs on open display. It was obvious, from the way her breasts jiggled and bobbed, that she was wearing no bra under the dress. Sheri wondered idly if she were wearing panties. Not that it mattered.
But the dress made her curious. Usually, after her busy day of modeling, Tanya got into clothes that made her look as if she's just fallen off a motorcycle-faded, patched bellbottom blue jeans worn with Civil War surplus jackets and shirts, with most of the buttons missing.
So the dress made Sheri curious.
"Can I ask you something, Tanya?" she said, unable to stop herself.
"Anything at all," Tanya said. "Ask me anything, while you make me a drink."
"I'll switch you to Scotch and water, after the Rob Roys. All right?"
"Sounds sensible."
"Now," she said, coming back from the kitchen and handing Tanya the drink, "what in hell are you doing wearing a dress?"
"You said there were some young boys coming." "Yes. And they're used to the kind of shipwreck costume you normally wear, when you're not working."
That's just it. I thought maybe they'd like to see what a girl looks like in a dress, for the first time maybe in their young lives. I'll model for them, is what I'll do."
"I think you look lovely, Tanya," Yancy said, dipping deeply into his own Scotch."
Thank you," Tanya said, beaming at him, her smile dazzling in its whiteness.
Shit, Sheri thought. Two can play that game.
"Excuse me for a minute," she said.
When she came back she was wearing her short summer dress. With nothing underneath it. So if Tanya didn't have pants on, they'd start the evening even.
The two of you are too much," Yancy said as she sat down. "You'll have those kids coming in their pants. Pardon me, Tanya."
"I hope not," Tanya said, ignoring his token apology. "It'd be such a waste. Listen, speaking of the way I usually dress, I have a hippie story. Can I tell you my hippie story?"
"Go ahead," Yancy said. "I don't usually understand them, but go ahead."
There's this establishment-type, see," Tanya said, sipping. "He's wearing a tie and a crewcut and an American Legion look, and he sees this pair of hippies talking, long hair, the unwashed look, the works, and he knows from the way they're talking, the way they're, you know, touching each other, that one of them is a boy and one of them's a girl, but he can't tell which is which.
"So he walks over to them, land of snotty, and he says, 'Pardon me, but can you tell me which one of you is the girl?' "
They give him a blank look, like he deserves, and they don't answer him.
"So he says, 'Let me phrase it another way. Which one of you has a menstrual cycle?"
The hippie guy looks at him. Now he answers.
"'Must be her,' he says, motioning with his thumb. I got a Honda.'"
Yancy laughed so hard he almost spilled his drink. It wasn't that goddamn funny, Sheri thought. She was starting to make herself a dark brown, angry drink when the buzzer sounded.
She was cheerful and smiling again by the time she got to the door to open it
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Terry and his friends surprised her: they went through the confusing ritual of introductions without a trace of shyness or awkwardness. Terry's friend Billy Webb, dark-haired, athletic-looking, cheerful and smiling, looked enough like Terry to be his brother. Ray Hagberg was a solid-looking, stocky blond boy. Gene Rafferty was a tall redhead, his hair as red as Tanya's; he looked a couple of years older than the other boys. He was the only one-who wanted whiskey. The others were happy with beer. Luckily, she'd stocked up on beer that afternoon.
Once they were settled in chairs around the room, with their drinks in their hands, Sheri .noticed with pleased amusement that the boys couldn't decide on whom to stare at, her or Tanya. Their eyes drank her in, then switched hungrily to Tanya, then came back to her. They were aware of Yancy's presence, but only dimly. They never looked at him. Yancy was openly amused.
"You know something, Yancy?" Terry said, tearing his eyes away from Tanya to look over at Sheri s husband for the first time. "What?"
These are the two best-looking women I've ever seen in one room at the same time."
They're the two best-looking women I've ever seen in the same room at the same time," Yancy said, "and I've been in a lot more rooms with a lot more women."
"I bet you have, you bastard," Sheri said, but she smiled when she said it.
"Only one thing wrong with this pair," Yancy said.
"I can't see a thing wrong with them," Gene said. It was the first time the tall redhead had spoken.
There is, though. They're wearing too many clothes."
Yancy wasn't wasting any time, Sheri thought, and looked over at Tanya. Tanya looked back at her and winked. Sheri knew, with certainty then, that Tanya wasn't wearing panties either.
"You think we're wearing too many clothes, do you, Yancy?" she asked. The urge to tease was rising strong in her now. Coupled with the excitement of having all that healthy, horny young male meat in the same room with her. With her and Tanya. Share and share alike, she thought.
"I do," Yancy said.
"Let's see what the boys think," Sheri said, and crossed the room to sit on the couch beside Tanya. They sat side by side, facing the boys, their knees primly together but their legs, with their skirts up around their hips, spectacularly on display.
As if by some prearranged signal, the boys slid from their chairs to the floor, moving crabwise seating themselves on the carpet, looking toward the girls at an upward angle. They reminded Sheri at that moment of even younger teenagers, trying to see up under the girls' skirts in the upper grandstand at high-school football games. From the expression on their faces, she thought their mouths should have been open, but they were evidently a little too sophisticated for that.
Sheri looked over at Tanya and saw that Tanya was looking at her. As if they'd rehearsed the move, then, in precise synchronization, like a pair of incredibly sensuous, horny Rockettes, they let their knees come apart, and slowly, casually, opened their thighs and raised their knees and casually crossed their legs, their twin twats twinkling pinkly at the boys.
"Holy good Jesus Christ," Terry said. "I need another beer."
"Me, too," Billy said.
"Me, too," Ray said.
"I need some Scotch," Gene said.
"Me, too," Yancy said, "even though I can't see what's going on." From his chair off to one side, he couldn't see what the boys had seen. But Sheri knew he damn well knew what they saw.
"I'll get the drinks," Sheri said, uncrossing her legs in slow motion. As she stood up she let the front of her skirt linger at her lower belly, giving them a more leisurely look at her pinkly parting pussy.
As she moved toward the kitchen, letting her hips sway, the globes of her ass jiggle and bob,-Sheri heard Tanya suggesting that the boys get out of some of their clothes, it was such a warm night. Out of some of their clothes, and into the spirit of things. They were all too formal, Tanya told them.
When Sheri came back into the living room, carrying the opened cans of beer and the drinks on a tray, the boys were all sitting on the rug in their undershorts, poked out grotesquely at varying angles.
"You all look so much more comfortable now," Sheri said, "except for Yancy." Yancy was still fully clothed No sense worrying about him. He was old enough to take care of himself.
Sheri moved around, handing out drinks. She noticed that the boys made it necessary for her to bend a little when she handed them their beers, making it possible for the others to get an unobstructed view up under her miniskirt in back, of the fur-shadowed moist magnet of her cunt. The knowledge excited her and she deliberately bent a little farther than was necessary, held each pose a heartbeat longer.
But the only one to slide a hand up inside her thigh and put a finger between the damp outer lips of her twat was Terry. She stepped back as his finger started to slide in, and looked at him sternly, like a teacher with a bold student.
"Now, Terry," she said. "There's a lot of time for that a little later."
"I guess I'm just impetuous," Terry said.
Tanya diverted their attention then.
"You're missing a lot, Yancy," she said, "sitting over there."
"I'm what's known as an innocent bystander," Yancy said. "Or bysitter."
"Would you like me to show you what you're missing? Do a little informal modeling for you?"
"Love it."
What's the girl up to? Sheri wondered. She didn't have long to wonder.
Tanya swayed to the far end of the room, turned around in a model's swirl and lifted the hen: of her skirt, delicately, with the tips of a thumb and forefinger.
The boys stared. So did Yancy, fascinated, Sheri knew, by the bright red hair along the pink slash of Tanya's moist, tender twat, the lips swelling now, parting slightly in a dusky-pink, petulant pout. God, Sheri thought, Tanya's cunt looked so dewy-fresh, so tender and warm, so small, so young.
She saw Yancy's tongue come out without his being aware of it, and lick his lips. So did Tanya, and she did a tiny little bump, bringing her parting pussy into upthrust prominence.
"Like it, Yancy?" she asked with a small, teasing smile on her moist soft mouth. "Like the looks of my tight; hot little twat?"
"Love the looks of your hot little twat," Yancy said, licking his lips again.
Tight? Sheri thought, and repressed a laugh. Tight, my ass.
But she stared at Tanya's open cunt, fascinated almost as much as Yancy and the boys. The deep vibrant pinkness of her twat and the orange-red of the soft silken hair framing it were made brighter, more startling, by contrast to the startling whiteness of the skin of her soft, slender, rounded thighs, her long curving lower belly.
"Would you like to lick my cunt, Yancy?" Tanya asked. "Taste my pussy? Find out if it tastes as good to you as it looks?"
"It looks downright delicious," Yancy said.
Tanya started walking toward him, holding her skirt up, keeping her pussy on display. The walk, Sheri noticed, was perfect. A slow-motion rendition of a model's slinky strut arid Tanya was executing it one step at a time, beaming a bright lewd smile at the boys with each step.
Without taking his eyes from Tanya's twat Yancy started taking off his clothes, moving much more swiftly than the redheaded girl's advance toward him. He was down to his shorts when she got there, and stopped, her upthrust, open pink slit in its flaming muff only inches from his face.
"Kiss it hello," Tanya said.
Damnit, Sheri thought Her very own words, to Terry, just the other day.
She watched as Yancy leaned forward, like a man in a dream, extended his tongue and began to lick up and down between the open lips of Tanya's inviting dehcacy of a cunt. Tanya's hips began to undulate, pushing her tender flesh-feast eagerly against Yancy's cunt-hungry mouth.
"Hold that pose," Sheri said, suddenly cheered up, and trotted to the bedroom and snatched her camera, flashbulb attached, from the top of the dresser. No photography buff like her would pass up a picture like this, she thought For the family album.
She took the shot with professional skill, taking care to get an upward angle, catching Yancy's face in profile, his tongue extending into the vibrant pink glory of Tanya's open, glistening, lust-wet cunt Tanya's head was thrown back, her mouth open, her eyes closed. Sheri was careful to get that too, in the frame, as she snapped.
"Oh, God," Tanya said suddenly and stepped back "I don't want to come like this."
Yancy's tongue was left lapping air, but he retrieved it and sat back in his chair, looking like a cat that had been caught licking up cream. Sheri could almost hear him purring. But he didn't have a hard-on, she noticed, glancing at his under-shorts. Even Tanya's tender twat in his mouth hadn't done that for him.
"Why don't you play some music, Tanya?" Sheri asked "Calm you down for a minute."
"Good idea," Tanya said, letting the hem of her skirt drop. She walked across the room to the shelf of records next to the record player, every set of eyes following her. She leaned slightly forward to peruse the records on the upper shelf next to the turntable.
"Some Brahms, perhaps?" she asked without turning around.
"Brahms, your ass," Sheri said. "Play some traditional jazz. Two-beat jazz. It's got the land of beat you're looking for."
"Tanya was still leaning only slightly, investigating the top shelf.
"Bottom shelf," Sheri said, suppressing a smile. "That's where you'll find the jazz."
Tanya bent far over to read the record jackets on the lower shelf, and the hem of her short dress rode high in back. Her whole snow-white, perfectly formed little ass was exposed, facing directly toward the rest of them. Tanya had her feet apart, for balance, her legs spread, and her cunt winked pinkly, wetly, openly, at all of them. She was putting it on exhibit, Sheri knew, from a new angle.
Sheri thought she had never seen a cunt look so vulnerable as Tanya's looked in that position. The tender swollen outer lips of her moistly glistening pink slit seemed to gape open, displaying the little soft ridges and valleys of her inner lips and clitoris, all a bright blushing pink, wetted and welcoming. It was an open invitation, then, Sheri was sure.
Tanya found an album she knew, and straightened slightly to set it on the turntable and turn on the mechanism. Then she resumed her former stance, looking at the jacket albums one by one, studying them carefully.
"Holy good Jesus Christ," Terry said.
"Me too," Gene said.
All at once the joyful sound of Sweet Georgia Brown bounced about the room. Sheri recognized the record. Bobby Hackett and Vic Dickenson. One of her favorites. Set a joyful beat for the festivities about to start, any second now, she was sure.
But no one was starring them. Tanya was still bent over, her legs spread, her open cunt all but beckoning, and not one of the boys made a move. Shy, she knew. But Terry should be able to get over that and break the ice for die rest of them, she thought.
She looked directly at him and found that he was looking at her. Appealingly.
When he saw her smile and nod, he stood up, his shorts poked far out in front.
"Go ahead, Terry," she said. "You were the-eager one when I was handing out drinks."
Terry stripped his shorts to the floor and bounded across the room, his rigid cock jiggling stiffly in front of him, leading die way.
When he reached Tanya he raised his hands to hold her by the hips, and, without hesitation, lodged the head of his bursting-hard cock between the ready open lips of her ravishing wet cunt.
"Oooh," Sheri heard her say, but Tanya didn't straighten up or turn around. "Who's nice hard prick is that, sneaking into my pussy?"
"The loving prick of one of your admirers," Terry said, having trouble getting the words out.
"Which one?"
Terry."
"Ooh!" Tanya said. "Aah. Good." As if it mattered which one, Sheri thought. Her own pussy was tingling like crazy, now, but she was in complete control. Of herself, and the whole situation.
Tanya wriggled her ass slightly, as if acknowledging an introduction. The little wriggle served to lodge the head of Terry's prick more deeply between her twat lips.
Without any further formalities, then, Terry sank the entire length of his rigid, super-willing cock into the slender redheaded girl, in one deep, sure, plunging stroke. He's growing up fast, Sheri thought. The lower part of his abdomen made a small slapping sound against the resilient round white mounds of Tanya's buttocks.
She uttered one small scream, but it was a scream of sheer joy. She raised her hands and placed them on the edge of the record-player cabinet, for support, to brace herself for whatever was to come. Terry gripped her hipbones more firmly, and considerately moved her around slightly to give the rest of them a better view of the proceedings.
He began to fuck her with long, steady, machine-like strokes, sliding his stiff shaft out almost to the head, then slamming it back into her, his balls slapping against the upper insides of her slender thighs. Tanya grunted and groaned with every in-plunging stroke, wriggling her ass with every withdrawal as if to arrange a better fit Terry never slackened his swift tempo, withdrawing his wet glistening shaft and pounding it home again, deep into her hungry cunt with a rapid, sure, steady fuck-rhythm.
Sheri, sitting down now, watching them, began to cross and uncross her legs, squeezing her thighs together. Her cunt was on fire with frustration and excitement, and she felt her juices flowing without putting out any of the flame.
Gene Rafferty, the tall redheaded young man, seemed to notice her condition. He got to his feet slowly, watching her.
"May I?" he said shyly, as if asking a strange girl for a dance.
She smiled at him happily, lifted her dress off over her head, and lay back on the couch, her legs spread wide.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Gene crossed over to her slowly, then got to his knees in front of her. A man of the world, she thought. I knew he was older than the others. She swung around on the couch, keeping her legs spread wide, and rested her head against the back. Without saying another word, Gene leaned forward and began to gobble her cunt, licking, sucking, swallowing her juices.
He was very good at what he was doing, Sheri noticed right away. He withdrew his mouth for a moment, after his introductory sucking kiss, and reached his arms up around her thighs, on the outside, and with his fingers gently spread the outer lips of her tingling cunt, exposing the soft, moist, pink little ridges and hills and valleys of quivering, expectant, sensitive membrane. When he began to lick again he did it very gently, keeping his tongue soft. Then, gradually, as he stiffened his tongue, he increased the pressure, paying special attention to the stiff swollen bud of her clitoris.
The pleasure she felt was almost unbearable now, but she wanted it to go on forever. By force of will, she kept herself from building toward a climax. Her hips were thrusting, writhing, and her legs, in the air back of Gene's shining red head, never stopped waving. But she became more and more acutely aware of wanting something else, something deeper inside her.
She opened her eyes and looked across the room, over Gene's bobbing head. She focused on Billy Webb, Terry's look-alike, who was standing, totally naked now, looking bewildered as his gaze traveled from Terry, busily humping Tanya from the rear, to Gene, just as busily gobbling Sheri's streamingly grateful cunt His long white cock stood out from his body at an upward angle, looking strangely slender growing out from his solidly muscled body. Its slenderness gave Sheri an exciting idea. Like Saturday night if she could get the message across to him. She caught his eye and smiled at him.
"Gene," she said, putting her fingers tenderly against the tall redhead's forehead. "We can't be selfish. There are others at the party."
Gene took his mouth away from her cunt regretfully.
"What do you want to do?" he asked.
"You'll see," she said. She got to her feet and turned with her back toward Billy and bent over, her legs apart. In the process, she saw Yancy, sitting very still, sipping. Still without an erection, from the looks of his shorts. She forgot about him for the moment.
She looked at Billy, upside down, from between her knees.
"Billy, would you like to try something a little out of the ordinary?" she asked.
He was staring hard at Sheri's white, rounded globes, the pink, open, vulnerable cunt just below them, and, she hoped, at the tiny, puckered, neat, brown-pink orifice half-hidden in the crevice.
He caught on immediately.
"Fuck you up the ass?" he said, grinning idiotically. "Where'll I find the Vaseline?"
"It won't be necessary," Sheri said, beckoning to him. She didn't straighten up. Billy Webb came over and walked around her, his long, slim, up-tilted cock looking her right in the eye. She took the head and most of the rigid slender shaft deep into her mouth, soaking it with her saliva.
"There," she said. "Sink it in, Billy. Deep in my ass."
Awkwardly, hesitantly, Billy moved around behind her, as she stayed bent over, wiggling her glorious ass temptingly. She stopped wiggling as she felt him place the hickory-hard, glistening wet head of his prick tentatively at the tiny pursed entrance of her asshole. She spread her legs wider, opening the cheeks of her ass slightly as he grasped her hips with his hands, and pushed, firmly. All at once his hesitancy was gone. Eagerness had taken over. Eagerness, and the irresistible demands of his lust-swollen, too-long-teased cock.
Sheri groaned involuntarily as she felt his long, slender, saliva-soaked cock slide deep into her ass, right to the hilt with that one strong young stroke.
She reached around and put her hands behind his buttocks, holding him close, tight inside her.
"Beautiful, Billy. Your cock feels lovely, deep up inside me. But lets not be selfish, the way Gene and I were, just now. Let's share the fucking. Let's he down, on our sides. Slowly. Careful, now. Don't let it pull out. Keep your cock deep in there, all the way up my ever-lovin' ass."
Billy didn't have to be cautioned. He kept his prick firmly, lovingly imbedded as they sank together to the rug.
Gene, who had been watching the proceedings with intense interest and a swelling, impressive, angry-looking red hard-on, got the idea right away. He lowered himself and lay on his side, facing Sheri. She raised her top leg high in the air, opening her pink, quivering cunt to him, to his swollen, explosive-looking cock.
He inserted it without a trace of shyness, although they'd been strangers a half-hour before, and drove it deep into her waiting, willing twat with one long, firm stroke. Then he held it still, resting against Billy's taut rod through the thin slippery wall of membrane between Sheri's asshole and cunt channel.
Writhing and squirming inside, between her wantonly widespread legs, Sheri was filled with a churning excitement, in addition to two long, hard young cocks. But her busy mind had thought of more to add to her fuck-feast.
"Ray," she said to the chunky, muscular blond boy, Tiring your cock over here." Ray had been another naked woebegone spectator, sitting alone in a chair with his thick strong-looking dong pointing toward heaven. Praying, maybe, Sheri thought giddily. Well, she'd answer at least one of his prayers.
Without hesitation, Ray stood up from his chair and got down on the rug on his side, his legs partly between Gene's body and Sheri's, his stiff, thick, crimson-brown cock touching the tip of Sheri's nose. She reached up to hold the base of it with one hand, and took the crimson head and three inches of the stout pumping shaft into her mouth in one long, deep, soft suck.
She was filled with joyous sensation, filled with cock, front, back, and above. In her cunt, up her ass, in her mouth. Here, there and everywhere, cock and more cock. For a few excruciating seconds, it seemed more than a girl could stand.
She devoted her whole attention for a few moments to Ray's neglected prick, licking and sucking it with warm impersonal affection, just because it was a thick hard young cock, and with consummate skill, letting the lower locations of her flaming delight take care of themselves.
With the help of Gene and Billy, the lower seat of her enjoyment took care of itself. They were team-fucking her, in beautiful unison, like a crew of rowers in a racing shell. Gene, in her cunt, was rowing stroke, and Billy, his slender up-curving oar up her ass, matched Gene's powerful beat with precision as he put his back into it, ass-fucking her with noisy, buttock-slapping abandon. Thinking idiotically of her crew-rowing metaphor, she knew where the word "cockswain" came from.
She was getting giddy, delirious with pleasure, she knew, and she wanted to laugh out loud. But her mouth was full. And very busy.
Licking, sucking, gobbling the cock in her mouth ... feeling the plunging, probing, driving thrusts of the synchronized shafts in her cunt and up her splendidly reamed, ravaged asshole, ... hearing, in her ears and inside her head, the growing and receding waves of sound in the room ... the grunts, gasps and groans of delight....Sheri felt that her mind was melting. She was. one great, palpitating mass of feeling, of sensation that transcended more pleasure or fulfillment or even mortal ecstasy. If there was a heaven on earth, she was in it. She wanted to scream out her joy, but she couldn't.
She had no idea how long it lasted. Ray was the first to come, spurting gobs of warm sperm deep into her throat. She swallowed, swallowed again, and licked and sucked him dry, using her hand to milk out the last pearly drop. But by then the movement of her mouth was automatic. All sensation had shifted downward, to the plunging, driving strokes of the oars below.
Very soon after Ray's limp sated prick had slid lifelessly from her lips, she was at the quivering, screaming peak of orgasm. She could stand no more, she knew, without losing consciousness.
"Now," she gasped, "now, Gene, Billy. Now."
They raised the tempo of their fucking to a furious series of pounding plunges into the depths of her cunt, the tight channel of her interior asshole. Sheri exploded, and came, a series of silent thunderclaps inside her. She could hear her own gasps and groans and was powerless to stop them.
Then Gene and Billy, with one last, backbreaking stroke, crossed the finish line together; in Sheri's head, the thundering cheers of the crowd echoed and re-echoed.
At the end, for the first time, Gene and Billy broke their rhythm, and now their juices spurted raggedly, warmly, deep into her quivering insides.
While they were still spurting into her, she remembered Yancy, and the reason for this whole evening's activity.
She rolled her head contentedly, idly over to one side to get a look at Yancy. To see if her therapy was working.
It was working, all right. Jesus, was it working!
She drew her asshole and her cunt swiftly, rudely, free of the two limp, friendly residing cocks, and scrambled to her feet
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
She was too late.
Too late, that is, if she didn't want to be downright rude to her star guest. No matter what bizarre turns the party took, she was the hostess. And her mother had brought her up right, when it came to manners, especially manners having to do with hospitality.
Yancy had a hard-on now, and it was a thing of beauty. She'd almost forgotten what a huge, magnificent brute of a thing his cock was. Standing free, viewed from a distance of a few feet, it looked even more monstrous than the last two times she'd viewed it, from a distance of only inches, before engulfing it between her warm lips. Huge, erect, swelling, purpling hard, it seemed to dwarf the other cocks in the room, limp and diminished as they were.
Yancy lay flat on his back on the rug, a few feet from the chair he'd been sitting in, his shaft extending upward, perpendicular from his grizzled bush, seeming to grow from it, like some kind of awesome granite monument, marked and weathered by the century's storms, but still standing, sturdily, for the ages. Tanya stood astride it.
Slender, wide-eyed, dewy-mouthed, dewy-pussied, Tanya posed for a long moment with one bare foot planted beside each of his hips, looking at once ecstatically excited, defiant and challenging. There was something commanding about the open slash of her cunt, reigning redly not over Yancy but over the whole room. And there was something queenly and commanding in the young girl's manner.
"I don't want you to do a damn thing," Tanya was saying, looking down into Yancy's face. "Don't move a muscle, for now. I'll take care of all the fucking action. I'll take care of the fucking action for both of us."
Yancy folded his hands casually under the back of his head, as a pillow, and smiled up at her. Patronizingly, Sheri thought The bastard. Oh, the ungrateful bastard. Freshly fucked as she was, her cunt yearned for the feel of that great in-sliding shaft of oaken muscle.
Standing astride Yancy as she was, Tanya's bright pink, glistening wet cunt seemed to flame in the middle of the darker red jungle of her bush. Her openly pouring pussy, seeming small and tight and tender and young no longer, appeared to be suspended, supported precariously on those lusciously long, slender, dancer's legs, directly above the bursting purple head of Yancy's waiting prick. That monster, Sheri thought with a flush of possessive pride. This girl and her tight little pussy have met their match.
Slowly, deliberately, seeming to tease herself as well as Yancy, Tanya bent her knees and let herself down in one long, tantalizing but unhesitating descent until the wet open mouth of her ravenous cunt engulfed the swollen apple-hard head of Yancy's fearsome cock.
For just a fraction of a second, Sheri experienced vicariously the sensation of that great probing monster fitting itself into her own wet gulping twat.
She squirmed, and found that she was sitting down in an easy chair; that blond Ray's head was between her knees, his eyes on her face, questioningly.
"Go ahead," she said, smiling absently, looking back at Tanya and Yancy. "Eat my pussy, if that's what you've been thinking about."
Without preamble, he began to lick and suck her cunt in enthusiastic devotion. She raised her arms and laced her hands behind her head, abstractedly, to encourage his efforts. Her legs spread wider, giving him freer access to the pink delicate feast of her open pussy.
Sheri watched, fascinated now, as Tanya's warm, wet, gulping cunt made the long descent down Yancy's monument of a shaft.
Then, all at once, Tanya appeared to go berserk, as if a jolt of electric current had shot through her, as if Yancy's cock were a plug in a socket. Suddenly, wildly, through the socket outlet of her cunt Tanya was electrified.
Shuddering, the slender redhead closed her eyes, tight, squeezed shut, screamed, and gyrated her hips in a maddened, abandoned circular motion, as if to escape the impaling, up-thrusting, cramming-thick spear of Yancy's cock. At the same time, her cunt, with a mind and a crazed need of its own, demanded a deeper, and deeper, and deeper penetration, a greater, stretching fulfilling.
Sheri watched, quivering in her excitement, thrusting her hips upward to take full advantage of the lively, searching, probing tongue in her own streaming quiff, as her husband lay back, his hips arched up from the floor and the entire thrusting length of his enormous prick at the complete disposal of Tanya's ravenous, gulping twat Sheri could see that there was no possibility of his matching any kind of rhythm or stroke to Tanya's crazy, mindlessly grinding cunt. Sheri looked at the slender girl's normally lovely face. It was unrecognizable-the eyes squeezed shut as if in agony, the mouth twisted in a grotesque distortion of a grin, issuing groans and squeals that had no resemblance to any human sound.
Tanya kept raising her hips, without stopping her circular grinding motion, and, before Sheri's astonished eyes, her cunt lips would convulse around Yancy's thick slippery shaft clutching and squeezing the rock-hardness with a death grip around the swollen neck and throat. Tanya's throat writhed, too, the Adam's apple riding up and down in a series of insane gymnastics triggered by the messages of hysterical delight sent up from twat-control.
With her writhing, squirming, squealing, gyrating, grinding, pumping histrionics, the redheaded girl seemed to be in a state of perpetual orgasm, a pussy gone mad.
To Sheri, experiencing her own pumping delight with the eager busy mouth devouring her cunts tenderness, Yancy's solid oaken shaft of a cock seemed to be an interested participant, but not much else, in Tanya's frantic fucking. Sort of a supporting member of the cast. Or an umpire at a ball game, a referee at a fight. But Tanya's electric, all-engulfing, devouring cunt was the spotlight attraction.
And the other boys, the ones not busy between Sheri's legs, were arranged in a ragged semicircle, staring in tense fascination.
Thrusting her own cunt upward against Ray's mouth with an almost methodical rhythm, Sheri watched Tanya's paroxyms of frenzied delight around her own husband's now-staunch shaft, and thought, when God made this girl, he built a cunt. An ultimate cunt. A cunt to end all cunts. The rest of Tanya was just an afterthought. A beautifully wrought afterthought, but just an afterthought.
Yancy rolled his head, looked at Ray sucking his wife's pumping, cooperating cunt, and grinned. It was almost as if he were a spectator, too. Watching the bobbing blond head of the boy licking and gobbling Sheri's delicately pumping pussy, his grin broadened and he looked into her face.
"I bet she's never had anything like that inside her," Sheri said, but it was more a gasp as Ray's tongue seemed to find an exposed twat nerve. Yancy put a finger to his lips.
"Sssh," he said, "you're liable to wake the baby."
"Fat chance," Sheri said, her hips undulating, her legs squeezing the blond head lovingly. "He's in another world. Or in heaven, more likely."
Tanya was emitting a series of gasping shrieks now as she made regular pumping trips up and down Yancy's sliding shaft. His hips, Sheri noticed, were arched up off the bed now. Suddenly she wanted something in her own cunt, something more substantial than a tongue. She put a forefinger to the forehead between her thighs, and pushed gently. The wet mouth came up for air. The eyes were questioning, again.
"Fuck me," she said simply.
She stepped over to the vacant couch, lay back with her legs spread wide, her knees raised, and the blond boy mounted her instantly. His thick, swollen rod slid in easily, into the urgent welcome of her steaming twat. Her legs enclosed his hips, and she drove her cunt up tight against the base of his pelvis, grinding. She'd give this nice young fella the fucking of his lifetime, she thought. The fucking of his evening, anyway.
But it was over almost before it began. She began to come in a series of trip-hammer spasms, and felt her burning, twitching insides bathed with Ray's instantly answering, spurting balm.
More to come, she started to tell herself, even as the waves of sensation were washing over her inner delirium. More to come.
Tanya's thin screams rang out, quivering in her ears.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Sheri came back to her senses very quickly, watching Tanya reaching a crescendo of delirium as she approached what must have been her umpteenth orgasm, with Yancy still calmly pumping his staunch cock up into her. Sheri ran once more for her camera.
She took three good clear shots of the frenzied activity, from three different angles, and was putting the camera away, thinking, Yancy'll love these, when she heard Tanya's screams being joined by a series of hoarse grunts from deep somewhere in the throat of her ever-loving husband. When she got back to the living room, Tanya lay sprawled on the rug on her back, her legs apart, her open pussy oozing, looking more red now than pink.
Yancy lay on his back, too, his limp hose of a cock touching the rug between his legs. His eyes were closed, a look of saintly serenity on his face, a trace of an altar boy's smile on his lips.
"I'm glad you like my friends, Yancy," Sheri said, without any expression in her voice.
"Umm," Yancy said, still smiling.
He didn't even open his eyes.
She looked around the room slowly, at Terry, at Gene, at Ray, at Billy. She held each boy's eyes with her own for a few long seconds.
"I'm going to take a quick shower," she said. "Why don't you all get yourselves a fresh drink, then join me in the bedroom in a few minutes?"
Terry looked at Yancy and Tanya, on the floor, their eyes shut and their mouths open, then looked at Sheri, a question forming on his lips.
"Never mind them," Sheri said. "Let them rest They've earned it."
"But Yancy...." Terry said.
"Never mind Yancy," Sheri said. "It looks like that noble experiment we talked about is over for tonight So let's just enjoy ourselves, the rest of us. That is, if you boys feel like it...."
She let the rest of the question hang while she took her shower.
The boys felt like it all right. After her shower, undisturbed in the bedroom with the door closed, with Yancy and Tanya sleeping in the living room, or doing whatever they were doing, Sheri fucked the boys furiously, one after the other, sucked their cocks till they were erect again, and fucked them some more.
They were a tired group when she finally saw them to the door.
They took Tanya with them when they left
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Yancy wouldn't look at her, over the breakfast table. He wanted her to think he was pissed off about her gang-fucking the boys in the bedroom, she knew. She also knew that his being sore was supposed to make her forget what had happened earlier, with Tanya. Sheri wasn't buying any of it.
"I guess it's time we had a talk, Yancy," she said, making him raise his eyes from his coffee cup and look at her.
"About what, hon? About last night? I'm willing to forgive and forget."
"That's big of you. Not, not about just last night, and if there's an forgiving and forgetting to be done, I'm the one to do it."
"Why?" He was pretending he really didn't know. Damn him, anyway.
"You and Tanya."
"Me and Tanya? For Christ's sake, that's nothing compared to you and Tom, Dick and Harry."
"You could at least get their names straight But that has nothing to do with it. You started that whole scene. You like to see me fuck other men. It excites you."
"Yes," Yancy said, "it does."
"What's more important, it gives you a hard-on."
"Sure does," Yancy said cheerfully.
"Well, that was the whole point of the party last night. I planned it that. I wanted to give you a hard-on so you could fuck me, not Tanya. I have a theory, you idiot. I think once you get that big hard thing inside me again, you're going to be all right. You'll remember what it's like, or your cock will remember, and we can have a good fucking time again, like we used to."
"I see," Yancy said, subdued, and looked at his coffee cup again. "I think you may be right"
"I'm almost sure I'm right."
"You should have let me in on that plot last night."
"I didn't think I had to. I didn't think you'd lose your head over that redheaded cunt."
"She's a nice girl, that Tanya."
"Isn't she? A pretty far-out fuck, too."
"Well...." Yancy said. "What about your beaver patrol? They're pretty far out, too? Earn any merit badges with, you, in the bedroom?"
"Never mind that," she said, but she started to tingle in her twat, remembering. "I'm serious. Do you want to try "again, or shall we forget the whole thing?"
"I want to try again," he said, looking at her with his little-boy earnestness.
"You want me to invite the male guests this time, or will you?"
"I will."
"When?"
"Some night this week?"
"Sure. Only one thing."
"What's that?"
"Don't bring Dill Pickering."
"Why not? You seemed to like Dill Pickering just fine, last week. Liked everything about him."
"Don't bring him. Bring somebody eke."
"You want fresh blood?"
"If you want to put it that way, yes. If you want to know the truth, I think you'll find it more exciting, watching me being fucked by a man I've never fucked before. It'll be more ... effective."
"Maybe you're right. Okay, I'll bring somebody home Wednesday or Thursday night. I'll let you know in plenty of time."
She walked with him to the door, and he bent and gave her a husbandly kiss as he left.
"Have a good day, dear," he said, closing the door behind him.
Good day, she thought;. Jesus. The tingling that had started at the breakfast table was already getting to be unbearable.
By eleven-thirty the tingling had become an active itch, and it was unbearable. She never should have articulated the name 'Dill Pickering' at the breakfast table. She opened the Manhattan phone book and looked up the number of his advertising agency. On Madison Avenue, it was, she noticed. Only a block or so from where Skeets Willoughby worked. She shrugged off the thought, then let it come back. If Dill wasn't in....
Shame on you, girl, she thought, and dialled Dill's number. He was in.
"I can't tell you how glad I am to hear from you," he said, almost formally.
"You're not just hearing from me," Sheri said, trying to keep the eager excitement out of her voice.
"Oh?"
"Can you come up here for lunch? I want to see you." See him? Jesus.
"Damn right I can," Dill said, no longer formal. "I have a lunch date, but I'll break it. Break it, hell. I'll shatter it."
"You know where the apartment is."
"Sure do. I have the address engraved on my heart."
"On your what?"
"You know."
"I hope I know. Make it as soon as you can."
"No more than twenty minutes," Dill said, then hung up.
She went straight to the bathroom and stripped off her clothes, in nervous, unnecessary haste. Then she sat on the edge of the tub, to calm down, and looked around, then down.
The hardening, reddening, poked-out nipples crowning the heaving white bulbs of her firm, animated young breasts pouted pinkly up at her, as if in some kind of reproach.
"Stop looking at me like that," she said aloud, and had to laugh. But the tension was broken, her maddening eagerness once again under control.
The only garment in the bathroom besides the high-heeled pumps she stepped into was a short, transparent white robe, hanging from a hook on the door. She had to let Dill in, she told herself, and there might be someone passing in the hallway. She slipped the nothingness of a robe on, drawing it closed in front and tying the slim cord around her waist.
The diaphanous garment concealed nothing. Her luscious, curving young body seemed to gleam through it with extraordinary whiteness, her nipples suddenly a bright contrasting crimson. Her soft pink pussy lips, pursed now, peeped out from their dark frame of fur. She could almost see her moist wanting, thirsting cunt quivering through the wispy cloth.
Dill would see it, soon enough. She wondered if he'd want to suck it just for openers. Anything he wanted, she wanted. She'd suck his cock, gladly.
Well, she'd know how everything would be, soon enough.
The buzzer sounded just as she opened the bathroom door. Fastest twenty minutes on record, she thought. Dill must have been nudging the cab driver along with the hard tip of his cock.
She made herself walk slowly to the door, letting her legs come apart in long steps, her opening cunt beckoning to no one through the transparent cloth. To be kissed. To be licked. To be sucked. To be fucked.
She opened the door and stood back as Dill came through it and closed it behind him. Then she stood very still, expectantly, her hand perched on one cocked hip, the warm, living image of the more-than-willing wanton. But she was not amused by the knowledge of the picture she presented. She wanted Dill Pickering intensely, acutely, immediately. More than she'd wanted anything in her life, she thought, she wanted that still-clothed cock finding its way into the dark moist quivering warmth of her ravenous cunt.
He reached out and drew her gently toward him, not saying anything, and kissed her deeply, his tongue probing, searching, entwining with hers. Then, smiling down at her crookedly, he sat down in the straight-backed chair just inside the door, put his hands behind her hips and drew her toward him again, his hands sliding down to squeeze the ripe round globes of her buttocks under the short hem of the robe.
His face pressed closer and his nose found the parting of her robe. The wispy garment opened, blown open by the gusty breath of the god of lust, she thought giddily. Dill's tongue tickled its way upward on the soft curve of her lower belly, and the stiffened tip found its way into the shadowed dip of her navel.
When she' looked down, the contrast of his seamed, tanned forehead against the snowflake texture of her belly sent a shiver of ecstatic excitement through her.
"Dill," she said, and touched him softly on the cheek with her fingertips.
"What?" he said, looking upward at her, his tongue still busy exploring the tender inner ridges of her navel.
"Please get out of those clothes," she said. "I want to look at the rest of you. I've been busy for days trying to remember how you look naked. I want to see if I've been remembering right."
"All right," he said, using his tongue to talk with this time, and stood up, his hands busy with buttons and zippers.
She walked over and sat down on the couch and watched in loving admiration as his lean, sleekly muscled body came into view. His shoulders were wide and slightly sloping, his chest broad and flat and sparsely furred. The muscles in his arms and upper body were long and smooth, not bunched or knotty, but as he dropped his pants and undershorts he turned his back, teasing, she knew, smiling fleetingly over his shoulder as he stepped out of his lower garments and stood facing away from her for a moment, completely nude.
Her eyes traveled up from the floor, tasting the sight of his firm, swelling calves, his lean corded thighs, the sucked-in look of his taut concave buttocks. He turned toward her then, and she took a deep suck of air.
This was what she'd been waiting for, she knew, ever since Thursday night. His great rigid cock twitched upward, the swollen glistening purple head winking a challenge at her from its single Cyclops eye. Her mouth opened involuntarily, and she closed it with a conscious effort and smiled up at him.
"Wheel your cannon over here," she said. "Please." She smiled, but it was an effort She didn't feel like smiling. She felt like screaming out loud, from sheer joy.
He smiled too, but it looked like an effort on his part. She was glad to see that she wasn't alone in being uptight, in dead earnest about this thing between them. After he'd stepped toward her she sat still for a long moment, staring in delighted wonder, reacquainting herself with the great shaft aimed so accurately at her, at the core of her being.
Behind and below the tightly stretched, gleaming skin of his apple-hard prick head, the long, thick shaft seemed to diminish in the distance, like straight railroad tracks on a level plain. It was roughly the thickness of her wrist, and seemed somehow darker in daylight, the color of old oak.
Sheri touched it with her fingertips, reverently, then held it between her hands. Not only was it the color of old oak, it was just as hard. With the bark off. Thank God, with the bark off, this oaken trunk. She had an uncomfortable moment, thinking of the rough sides of a tree trunk rasping and tearing along the tender walls of her twat.
His voice derailed her train of thought.
"We're very flattered," he said, and for a moment she was confused by the 'we.' Then she knew it wasn't the editorial 'we.' He was referring to himself and his great hard dong. Partners, they were, in his mind at that moment. Part of a team effort.
"It looks even more magnificent the second time around," she said, giving the stout oaken limb an affectionately possessive squeeze between her palms. She could have thrown her arms around it, the way she felt "I can't take my eyes away from it"
"You're going to have to take your eyes off it if it's going to do anybody any good."
"You're so right," she said, and bent forward and kissed the proud poked-out shaft licking the underside with her tongue, then taking the soft folds of skin in the gathered wrinkled shawl below the shaft neck between her lips, moistening the unresisting sensitive mass with tiny, soft, sucking, moist warm kisses.
Enough," Dill said, his hands on her ears. She got to her knees before him and shrugged off the robe, then sat back on the couch. Her taut nipples peered pinkly up at him.
He dropped to his knees beside the couch and pushed her gently back. His open mouth found hers again, and his tongue plunged in and began a frantic tango with hers. His hands were all over her, sliding, squeezing, stroking, pinching at her inflamed nipples. She felt a finger sliding urgently into the slimy warm open cave of her cunt.
Sheri tore her mouth from his and lay back on the couch with an in-sucking gasp, opening her legs wide, spreading her soft, smooth tanned thighs in a wide, wanton welcome.
"Jo," he said, looking deep into her eyes. He seemed to be smiling faintly. My God, she thought What a time to make jokes.
"No, what?" She was squirming.
"No. Not here."
"Not here?" He was crazy. They were alone in the apartment, no chance of being interrupted. He was either crazy or cruel. A sadist, that's what he was. She was in an agony of waiting, totally abandoned torment
"Not here on the couch. In the bedroom. Where there's more room."
Thank God, she thought sliding swiftly off the couch and onto her feet. He wasn't crazy at all. Far from it There was more room on the big double bed.
They were in the bedroom, with Sheri on her back in the middle of the bed, in seconds. Dill arched over her, bracing himself on his elbows, and she flung her legs joyously around his lean hips, hooking her heels behind him. His craggy face, smiling gently, was directly over hers, his eyes looking steadily into her own. She reached down and swung the great boom of his hard heavy cock toward her, bringing the rocky clenched fist of the head against the hot swollen outer lips of her streaming, silently screaming cunt.
She felt him easing the stabbing shaft forward an inch, two inches, until part of the head was engulfed in her wet, willing, twat opening. Then he stopped, holding his hips immobile.
"Oh, please," she almost sobbed between her squeezed-shut teeth. "Please. Put it in."
"All of it?" He was smiling broadly now. Oh, my God, she thought. I'll never tease again.
"All of it. Every long, lovely, thick, hard, beautiful fucking inch of it." It was almost a prayer, the way she said it.
He began to slide the long, hard, velvety-feeling log into her then, slowly, an inch at a time. Sheri unhooked her heels from behind him and let her legs he wide apart, spreading the moist red carpet of her cunt for his royal entrance, but as the thick rigid plunger approached the end of its first trip into the depths of her gasping cunt cavern, her knees jerked up spasmodically and her legs began to flail around his back.
When the great shaft was fully imbedded to the hilt, his pelvis grinding hard against her sucking cunt-mouth, she hooked her heels behind him again and raised her hips, pushing herself tighter against him. His hands came up behind her, holding her shoulders as he drew the shaft slowly outward, then plunged it in again. It seemed to reach even deeper as the walls of her cunt opened wider to accommodate the length and width of his gigantic, surging prick.
That's it, Dill," she said. "Deep. Deeper. Fuck your cock up into my throat"
He began to fuck her deeply then, with long, slow, driving strokes, and her hips rose and fell, rose and fell in perfect time with his own slow rhythm, her cunt lips clutching and sucking and holding the slippery shaft as if reluctant to let go on every out-stroke, squeezing and embracing every deepening plunge to her inner depths.
Her eyes were squeezed shut and she could hear only the sound of his deep breathing mingled with her own panting moans. Then, slowly she became aware of the sound of her own hips and buttocks pounding into the mattress, and knew that the rhythm had increased. She heard a slapping, sucking sound, too, and knew it came from the wild pounding of his heavy balls in the sweaty crack between her pulsing buttocks.
Her own moans were louder now, becoming gasping little screams, and she knew her fingernails were raking the smooth skin of his back. But she couldn't help herself, couldn't stop, couldn't stop anything she was doing. The pounding of her hips sounded as frantic as the frenzied struggles of an impaled moth. Then her climax was on her, searing, pounding, choking her in a crescendo of sensation.
"Now," she screamed, "oh, God, now."
He drove his shuttling, slithering prick deep into her in a pounding fury of lightning strokes, and as she shuddered and jerked convulsively she felt his hot juices spurting into her, gushing deep, flooding her deep quivering cave of cock-loving joy. She put her arms and legs tight around him, and just hung on as he kept the hard core of her ecstasy buried deep inside her, letting the diminishing waves of her passion wash over it.
It was a long time before the spasms subsided enough for her to let go of him. She lay back limply on the bed, looking up at him as he drew his slackening tool out of the tender clutch of her sated cunt and got to his feet.
He stood tall by the bed and looked down at her, lying stretched out flat on her back, her legs still apart, her cunt oozing contentment.
"It's been an awful long time for me, since last Thursday," he said. "And then after I talked to you on the phone, I didn't even dare hope we'd ever get together again."
"I guess I knew we would," she said. "I couldn't fight it any longer, this morning."
"This is only the beginning, isn't it?" he asked, looking down at her very seriously.
She was quiet for a long moment She sat up and reached for a cigarette.
"I don't know," she said slowly. "It depends."
"Depends on what?"
It just depends," she said, "on what happens later this Week."
"What's going to happen later this week?"
"I can't tell you now," she said, looking at him almost sadly. "I can't tell you because I don't know."
"You sure leave a guy hanging," he said. "I know. But I'll promise you one thing."
"What's that?"
"I'll let you know, one way or the other."
"I guess TO have to settle for that."
"All right," she said, cheerful again. She climbed out of bed. "So for now, instead of building sand castles, why don't we build us a martini?"
"Now you're beginning to make sense," Dill said.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Yancy was in a bad state of nerves that Tuesday morning at the office. At one point he'd decided that it was time for him to take the big plunge, to go on the wagon, for a while at least; and shortly after corning to that conclusion, he realized that his nerves weren't caused by booze. He hadn't drunk much at all the day before, or the evening before, during the festivities, or after them. Tanya had taken the place of his usual liquid tranquilizer. Nature's own tranquilizer, that Tanya, he thought.
He smiled, remembering.
But if his nerves now weren't hangover nerves, what were they? No-hangover nerves, he decided. The condition was too big a shock to his system.
Relieved at his own diagnosis, he Went downstairs for a drink. It was practically lunch tune anyway.
With his second Scotch in front of him, Yancy felt much better, closer to human. With his return to humanity, he began to notice sounds and smells and faces around him.
Across from him at the circular bar, two young secretary-type girls were chattering over Bloody Mary's. Watching them, their fresh young animated features, their bubbling dewy mouths, the pert jiggling swell of their breasts as they moved, he thought of Sheri, and of Tanya, and a whole world full of Sheries and Tanyas, and lust rose slowly, heavily in him, like a rainbarrel filling in a steady rain.
Damnit, anyway. He wanted to fuck so badly, and he just couldn't anymore; couldn't get the miserable thing up when he needed it die most. Christ, there had to be a way, he thought, motioning for another Scotch. There had to be a way other than watching his young wife being fucked by other men.
Too bad there aren't any old-fashioned whorehouses any more, he thought wistfully. I could do some experimenting then, maybe find a way. Put the whole therapeutic treatment on Blue Cross. Blue Cross? An idea struck him with such force he almost spilled his drink.
Not long before, in a cab somewhere in the Forties, he'd spotted a massage parlor with the name The Blue Cross on its canopy, and the name had amused him at the time. Now the recollection did more than amuse him. It excited him. Here he was, regretting the demise of the old-fashioned whorehouse, but what were massage parlors? From what he'd heard, they were the Seventies' answer to Daddy's cathouse, with rubbing tables instead of beds, a receptionist instead of a piano player.
I need a massage something awful, he thought, paid his tab, and left for the bank. In his pocket was a delayed expense-account check that he'd forgotten about, but that the girl from accounting had brought him that morning. One hundred and fifty dollars, found money.
At the bank he cashed the check, getting five twenties and five tens, folded them into his pants pocket and pushed out through the revolving door to hail a cab.
"Forty-eighth and Third," he told the driver.
That was close enough, he thought, settling back. With his nose for pussy, he ought to be able to find the place, if he was within four blocks of being right.
He found it, all right, with the instinct of a homing pigeon. A horny homing pigeon.
The Blue Cross Studios, second floor," a sign inside the door read, with an arrow pointing toward the stairs. The arrow was shaped and angled exactly like a youthful, slender hard-on, Yancy noticed with a twinge.
On his way up the stairs, he felt the wad of bills in his pocket. All his life, in books, in movies, on the stage, he'd been reading and seeing depicted the all-American image of the kindly, generous, warmhearted whore. The image was as sacredly American as apple pie, motherhood, and the motorcycle. But the only whores he'd ever encountered, he remembered, had seemed downright mercenary.
The reports he'd heard had been correct so far, he thought, as he pushed open a heavy, dun-colored metal door. There was no piano player in the parlor-reception room, only a receptionist behind a desk and three girls in short gowns sitting side by side on a couch along one wall.
The girls looked very young to Yancy. Younger than Sheri. Younger even then Tanya. They watched him curiously as he stepped over to the desk.
The receptionist was not young. And she even looked mercenary.
"Half hour or an hour?" she asked him, forcing a smile that came out as a grimace.
"Half hour," he said. He didn't want to buy a girl, only rent one.
"Twenty dollars," the woman said.
Yancy reached into his pocket and peeled off a twenty from the slim wad without taking it from his pocket. When he handed the bill to the woman it disappeared, as if by evaporation.
"Any girl you choose," the woman said, answering his unasked question.
He turned to survey the young ladies. The blonde at one end and the brunette in the middle were lovely. Memories of the third one would have haunted his sleep for many a moon.
The blonde girl was tall, even sitting down, with a lithe, leggy, sensuous body and a moist warm mouth, smiling at him openly now, showing bright white even teeth. He moved his gaze to the little brunette beside her, but his eyes had lingered too long on the blonde. She got to her feet, swayed over to him and took his hand. What the hell. She was even younger-looking, even lovelier, up close.
This way," she said, tugging gently.
He followed her ten feet down a hall and through a half-open door. They were in a fair-size room with a freshly sheeted rubbing table in the middle and a low divan along one wall. The only other furniture in the room was a straight-backed chair. Feeling suddenly very awkward, he hung his coat over the back of the chair. The girl had closed the door behind them.
I'm Nancy," she said, smiling her dewy, moist-lipped smile.
"Ralph," he mumbled. It was as good a name as any. He didn't even know anyone named Ralph.
"I saw you looking at Denise."
"Denise?"
The little dark-haired girl sitting next to me."
"Oh, yes."
"Would you like to have her join us?"
"Why?"
"Well, you know," the blonde said, smiling vaguely. "You might find two girls give you twice as much pleasure as one."
He didn't even bother to think it over.
"Why not?" he said. What the hell. He peeled off another twenty and handed it to the girl.
"Will that do?" he asked.
That'll do just fine," the blonde said, starting out the door with the bill in her hand. "Well be right back. Why don't you get undressed?"
He had his shoes and socks off and was down to his undershorts when the door opened and Nancy came back in, followed closely by the little brunette.
"Ralph, Denise," the blonde said, closing the door behind them.
Up close, the dark-haired girl took his breath away. She couldn't have been more than nineteen; nor more than an inch over five feet tall. She was standing just inside the door, smiling at him.
In the dim light of the outer room, he hadn't seen clearly what she was wearing, but now, in the brightness of noonday streaming through the unshaded windows at the far end of the room, he saw very clearly. The innocent-looking, simple, short white gown she had on was all but transparent, and ceased to exist just below the ripe, graceful swell of her hips. It had a demure little ribbon bow at the throat, and the ribbon was the only thing he couldn't see through. The deep red nipples crowning her full, high, swelling breasts were already erect, in one particularly bright ray of sunlight from the windows, and the wisp of a garment seemed to be suspended from them.
His eyes slid downward slowly, tasting every inch of her. Her hips flared roundly from a tiny waist, and clearly visible beneath the transparency of the filmy gown, starting on the lower curve of her belly, was a truly magnificent pubic growth, jet-black, luxuriant, seeming to gleam vibrantly with a life and a presence all its own.
Involuntarily, he raised his hands to reach out for her, and she backed away, still smiling, and glanced over at Nancy.
"Does he-ah, Ralph-need any special land of massage?" she asked.
"We haven't talked about it," Nancy said, from behind him. In the dazzle of Denise, he'd lost sight of the blonde. He turned now to the sound of her voice.
She had seated herself on the wide divan and was leaning back against the pillows against the wall, smiling, her mouth open slightly, her lips moist, full, and warmly dark against the sparkling white of her teeth. She looked no older than Denise, with her eyes big, wide open, a clear, guileless gray over the tip-tilted innocent nose. One foot was up on the divan with her, the knee leaning, opening a long spectacular slant of soft curving inner thigh. She'd been wearing pants when they first came into the room, Yancy was sure, but somewhere along the way she'd taken them off. The bright pink lips of her petal-soft pussy peeked coyly at him from the dewy-blonde nest framed in the welcoming white velvety softness of her inner thighs.
"Well, Ralph?" she said.
"Well, what?" He'd forgotten completely anything that had been said.
"Is there any special kind of massage you'd like? Or anything special we can do for you?"
"Yes," he said, thinking. As long as he was here, he might as well put liimself in their hands, or whatever. God knows, they should be capable, young as they were. "I have a problem."
"Tell us about it," Nancy said, letting her knee sway slowly outward, opening further the tender pinkness of her pussy to his hungry gaze. Denise moved around him and sat down on the divan beside Nancy. Denise kept her knees primly together, but her pubic fur blossomed blackly at the hem of her gown, anyway.
"It's pretty simple, my problem," Yancy said, finding that he was able to talk to these girls without any trace of embarrassment. "I have trouble getting it up, is all."
"We should be able to do something for you," Denise said, "but it'll cost a little extra."
"How much extra?"
"Well it depends," Nancy said. "Is there anything special you'd like to do with us?"
"Well, for openers," Yancy said, eyeing the tender pink fur-framed delicacy between her legs, "I'd like to eat your pussy. And have Denise take my cock in her mouth."
"That'll be quite a bit extra," Nancy murmured. He turned and fished two twenties from the pocket of his trousers, draped over the chair, and placed the two bills on the edge of the high rubbing table. A tiny vertical crease appeared between both sets of eyebrows, the blonde and the dark. He turned to the trousers again and added two tens to the twenties on the table.
Both vertical creases disappeared. Smiles replaced them.
"Get out of your shorts, honey," Nancy said. "And he back on the table."
He did as he was told, his limber dong dangling but swelling as he stretched out on his back. "Wow," Denise said softly, staring at the stirring, rolling log of his semi-limp cock. He noticed that the aureoles of her breasts had contracted under the wispy transparent garment, and puckered, so that, the nipples stood out, cylindrical and flat-topped, like two short thick level-headed hard-ons.
She stood up, fumbled at her throat, and the diaphanous white wisp fluttered to the floor. She kicked it deftly aside, and Yancy got a glimpse of a small red orifice opening and closing in the thick rich clutch of black hair; she turned completely around, once, for him to see, to admire. Her small body was perfectly formed, the contrast between her tiny waist and the sudden flaring of her hips and her wonderfully pouting round ass, breathtaking.
She leaned over him then, resting her knees on a footstool he'd noticed at the foot of the rubbing table, and put her thumb under the base of his cock, rolling it around upwards so it lay on its back on his belly. The tip of her tongue appeared then, and she licked the entire underside of his cock, barely touching it with the tip of her tongue, from the base up to the wrinkled shawl of soft skin around the neck. There her mouth lingered, her tongue licking, her soft moist lips murmuring something he couldn't hear, forming tiny soft sucking kisses.
"Denise just loves to suck cocks, Ralph," he heard Nancy say. "Shell love to fuck you, too, after your cock comes up." He rolled his head to look over at her. She was still propped back against the pillows on the divan, facing him, both her feet up. Her long white legs, swinging lazily at the knees, put the dusky pink lips of her cunt in their moist blonde nest on open display.
Without willing it then, Yancy thought of Sheri sucking Dill's cock, fucking Dill, fucking Skeets, fucking Terry and the other boys, and all at once his cock was stirring, swelling, getting hard, harder. He felt Denise's mouth wetly engulf the swelling head. And then, miraculously, he had a pulsing, throbbing, rock-hard erection.
Denise's mouth left it, abruptly.
"Oh, God," she said, "it's beautiful."
And she was poised over him on the rubbing table, one knee beside each of his hips, her cunt hanging directly over the straining purple tip of his rigid thick cock.
"May I?" Denise said without smiling.
He reached up for her and with his hands kneaded the firm proud hills of her breasts, squeezed the firm jutting nipples, caressed the gentle yielding swell of her belly, stroked the delight of her hips, and cupped and squeezed the delicious white globes of her buttocks. His little finger, exploring from the back, touched the bottom of the tender lower opening of her cunt, and came away wet. Denise was ready. Had been ready since she'd first seen his limp but stirring cock, he thought. A challenge to the girl.
His middle finger found her clitoris-swollen, slippery, evasive as a tiny eel. Denise reached down then and held the bursting huge head of his cock to her eager wet open little entrance. She placed it squarely in the soft embrace of her swollen wet outer cunt lips, and eased herself down, very slowly, an inch at a time. But she never paused, kept on sliding slowly down until she had it all up inside her. Up to her throat, he thought. Smiling in a kind of delirious joy, she started riding up and down the great thick length of his now-slippery shaft, making little grinding circles against his bristly pubic mound after every descent.
"Oooh, ooh, oooh," she kept saying softly. "Beautiful big cock, fuck my cunt, fuck my cunt, fuck my cunt...."
"You've forgotten me," he heard a voice say. Nancy, standing beside the rubbing table, smiled down at him.
He wiggled his tongue at her, trying to smile at the same time.
She raised one long white leg and stepped easily up onto the table. Carefully, she let herself down to her knees, one on each side of his head. Yancy found himself looking up, straight up, into the moist dark valley between the pink swollen outer lips of Nancy's twat. She let it descend slowly, his tongue extended to meet it, and then his tongue, his mouth, his face, were buried in her sweet-tasting wet velvet cunt.
He sucked, he licked, he gobbled, while the blonde girl shuttled her hips and groaned. His own hips were pumping and thrusting in newfound joy to raise up and meet the squirming descents of Denise's tight, clutching pussy. Licking, sucking, fucking, fighting for his breath, he felt as if he were thrashing about in a great sea of quivering cunt, a swamp of cunt, an ocean of cunt, a great steaming jungle of wet cunt.
Nancy was gasping now, on the verge of coming, and he heard petite Denise screaming aloud as she went into a wild series of palpitating orgasms. He wanted to tell her to quiet down, what would the neighbors think? but his mouth was full.
And then he was coming himself, exploding like a youth of eighteen, like a giant rocket into the squirming, writhing cunt depths of the hysterical Denise.
He lay back, breathing softly, almost asleep. But happier than he'd been in a long time.
They actually gave him a long, tender, loving massage before he got dressed and left.
They made him promise that he'd come back. He asked if they'd honor his Diners' Club card.
They exchanged dubious glances about that
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
After only two more drinks and a healthy lunch, Yancy felt so good when he got back to the office that he decided to take another crack at Whitney Balaban. Normally Whitney Balaban was a name he avoided thinking about, a person whose presence he evaded, a broken field-runner of an advertising man that he habitually shied from tackling. All he'd even gotten from his encounters with the man were bruises, bruises of frustration.
Balaban was a senior account executive at Chapin & Locke, one of the top ten 4A agencies, and, most pertinently to Yancy, the agency that handled most of the advertising for Gotham Brands, a giant in the liquor industry, third in stature and scope only to Schenley and Seagram.
For years, the men's magazine that Yancy worked for as a space representative had wanted to carry what it considered its rightful share-the bulk-of Gotham's national advertising. Instead, all About Town got of Gotham's multimillion annual advertising budget was scraps, small-space ads for odd or experimental brands. The lion's share of Gotham's advertising, for all its major brands, went into a sports weekly, in full color, full-page ads and spreads.
The brass at About Town fumed and assigned Yancy to swing Gotham's advertising over to them when he first came to work for them. But in a year and a half he'd been able to accomplish exactly as much as his predecessors: nothing.
Under conventional circumstances, Yancy would not have tried to effect any changes in advertising schedule by trying to influence an agency account executive. From his own years of experience in ad agencies, he had evolved his own opinion of account executives. He'd defined them, once, as "liaison men who've lost contact at both ends."
But Whitney Balaban was much more than an account executive. He was a son-in-law. A son-in-law of Martin Fielding. Who owned Gotham Brands.
So for a full year Yancy wined and dined and wooed Whitney Balaban, trying to convince him that About Town was the one superior medium for Gotham Brands' advertising. Privately, Yancy was sure that Balaban was convinced. But he made no changes in his advertising schedule.
So Yancy knew, in his cynical huckster's heart, that the sports weekly that grew fatter every year carrying Gotham Brands' advertising had some kind of an edge-did something, probably very personal, to please Whitney Balaban.
ATI Yancy knew about the all-mighty son-in-law was that he liked to drink.
And then, just last week, inadvertently, he'd learned something else: Whitney Balaban liked girls, very much. Was a ring-tailed whoremaster, in fact, but had to be very discreet about it. As a son-in-law, he had to be super-discreet.
So now, feeling cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean and reverent after his noontime therapy at The Blue Cross, Yancy picked up the phone and dialled Balaban's office. Blonde Nancy and dark-haired Denise were uppermost on his mind. If he could transfer them from his mind into bed with Balaban....
His secretary put Yancy's call right through to the royal in-law himself.
"What's new, Yance?" He was a phrase-maker, that Balaban.
"I got some figures I want to show you," Yancy said, which was probably the most truthful thing he'd ever said in the line of duty.
"Ah, shit," Balaban said.
"You'll like these figures. They'll mean something to you, for a change." He was thinking about Nancy and Denise, but talking about something else.
"Where'd they come from, these goddamn figures?"
"From a new demographic study we just made."
"Ah, shit," Balaban said again. "No shit at all. This study shows that the readers of About Town drink six point seven more gallons of hard booze every year than the clean-living jock-strap readers you're wasting your money on." He'd almost said, "your father-in-law's money." Close.
"Oh, balls," Whitney Balaban said. "You guys are always coming up with phony figures."
"Nothing phony about these figures. I'd like you to see them."
"All right, but not this afternoon. I'm up to my ass."
"How about a drink after work?"
"Well. Sure." The cheap bastard couldn't bring himself to turn down free drinks. Ever. Even though he was swimming in free booze.
"Men's, Bar of The Biltmore. Around five-thirty?" Balaban was a commuter. To Westport.
"All right," Balaban said. "See you there. Bring your goddamn figures, if you have to."
Whitney Balaban came down the three steps from the Madison Avenue entrance to the bar only seconds after Yancy had gotten the nearest bartender's attention. Balaban was a solid, muscular six-footer in his middle thirties somewhere, who looked considerably younger because of his thatch of pale blond hair, his light, bleached-blond-looking eyebrows, and faded blue eyes in a complexion so fair he looked almost like an albino. Naturally, everybody called him "Whitey." Probably only his mother left the 'n' in his first name.
"Martini for you, too?" Yancy asked him.
"Sure. You know that. On the rocks, though." Yancy drank his straight up, and barefoot, without vegetables.
"What train are you aiming for?" Yancy asked him, when the drinks were in front of them.
"No special train. Family's not expecting me till late tonight."
Shit, Yancy thought. I'm stuck with him till he's ready to go home.
"Be right back," he said, sliding out between elbows from the bar. "I've got to make one quick call."
"I'm stuck, with a you-know," he said, when Sheri answered the phone.
"Potential advertiser," Sheri said. "I sure do know." She didn't sound mad at all. But then, for a change, he didn't sound drunk.
"I'll be home as soon as I can get there."
"I'll put a candle in the window."
"Never mind that candle business," he said. "I'm sensitive to that kind of talk right now."
"I didn't mean anything like that. Anyway, we're going to try to fix all that this week, remember?"
"How could I forget?" he asked.
"See you when you get here, love," she said, and hung up. Wonderful girl, he thought. And things would be looking up shortly, he was sure. Up, up, and away.
Whitney Balaban was watching him-as he made his way with slow, sure grace through the flowing, broken tide of drinkers along the bar.
"Call your wife?" Balaban asked.
"Yes," Yancy said, a little surprised at the show of humanity.
"How is she? Sheri, isn't it?"
"Yes. I don't remember when you met her."
"At that office brawl of yours, before last Christmas."
"Oh. Yes." Yancy did remember, now. He'd been pretty drunk.
"She's one hell of a lovely girl," Whitey Balaban said. "Not only beautiful, but bright. And funny. Love to see her again."
Something started ticking, faintly, in the back of Yancy's mind.
"Come to think of it, she said the same thing about you," Yancy bed with glib skill. The ticking was getting stronger by the second.
"Said I was beautiful?" Whitey Balaban asked, grinning sardonically.
"Said she'd like to see you again."
"Oh," Balaban said. "That's nice." The direction his thoughts were taking was so obvious that he didn't look Yancy in the eye again all through the first drink.
Yancy went through the motions of showing Balaban the figures he'd talked about on the phone, and Balaban looked at them politely enough, but was unimpressed.
After the third martini, the ticking idea in the back of Yancy's mind had gotten so strong that he couldn't hold it in any longer.
"You mentioned Sheri earlier," he said casually, motioning for another pair of martinis. "I have a couple of snapshots I took of her, back in June."
"With you?" Balaban asked, coming alive.
"Yes."
Yancy got out his wallet and took out the three snapshots he'd taken, in color, of Sheri in her newest nothing of a bikini. Just handing them over, they excited even him.
"Jesus," Balaban breathed, staring, shuffling the prints to the second, then the third, then back to the first again, still staring. "God, what a luscious body." Three martinis, Yancy thought, forgave him.
Whitney Balaban went through the pictures several times, spending minutes all but drooling over every one before he handed them back to Yancy.
"Never mind those demographic charts," he said. "That's the kind of figures I like to see. But I've never seen the equal of that one."
Yancy put the pictures away and leaned into his new drink.
"You said you'd like to see Sheri again," he said, and the ticking in his head reached a crescendo of sound, then stopped.
"Sure would."
"Why don't you have dinner with us some night? Like Thursday, this week?"
Whitney Balaban looked at him for a long moment, as if he couldn't believe his ears.
"Love to," he said, and took a deep gulp. "Thursday."
Yancy could read the almost desperate hope in the man's mind.
His own mind was an open book at that moment. An open book of cliches.
Mixing business with pleasure, he thought, grinning inwardly.
Two birds with one stone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Late Thursday afternoon, Sheri Bates found that she was getting nervous about the evening ahead. She did what she usually did when she felt herself getting uptight about anything: she built herself a drink.
Sitting alone in the living room, sipping, she wondered why she should be uptight about this particular evening, after humping her way coolly through so much abandoned fucking in the past week It was because so much depended on it, she decided at last. Whether or not she and Yancy were going to make it together again, mostly. The whole damn marriage, practically, hung on what happened or didn't happen this evening.
Another thing that bothered her: the guy Yancy was bringing home for drinks and dinner. All right. She could talk to herself plainer than that The man Yancy was bringing home to fuck her.
Whitney Balaban, his name was. He'd told Yancy he'd met her at an office party, but she didn't remember meeting any Whitney Balaban at any party. But then, she rarely remembered any of the people she met at Yancy's office parties. They weren't worth remembering, most of them. She's probably remember this Whitney cat when she saw him.
Young, Yancy said. Well, practically everybody was 'young' to Yancy. Be a little subtle with him, Yancy had said. Don't do anything crude, at first How the hell was she supposed to handle this thing, for Christ's sake? Let him know you want him to fuck you, but be delicate about it. Fuck him, but be a lady.
Shit she thought She made herself another drink.
Around five-thirty, just before Yancy was due home with his guest, Sheri decided to get out of her stretch pants and into what seemed to be every man's favorite, her short white summer dress. The dress gave her more options than anything else she could wear. She could be as lady-like, or as unlady-like, in the dress, as she wanted. Or as the occasion demanded.
Damn Yancy, anyway. Why couldn't he have brought two men home? It would seem a lot easier with two, for some reason.
She thought of Dill Pickering, then. God knows it had been easy enough, that first time, when the one man had been Dill Pickering. But then, Dill Pickering was something special. Something very special.
She was thinking about Dill Pickering, thinking very hard about Dill Pickering, when she heard Yancy's key turn in the door.
The evening had started.
* * *
Of course she remembered Whitney Balaban, the second she saw him. Who could forget that bleached thatch, that sensual, insinuating lower hp, those pale glass-blue eyes undressing you? She'd even liked that part of the meeting, she remembered. He was one healthy-looking hunk of man.
"You're even lovelier than I'd remembered, Sheri," he said, when he was halfway into his first martini.
"Well, thank you," she said, flouncing on the couch, tucking her feet under her but leaving her luscious tanned legs maddeningly on full display. "I don't hear compliments like that very often." Only from every horny son of a bitch she ever met, she thought.
The conversation seemed to lead nowhere, as far as Sheri could tell. They were talking about business, for God's sake. But she was making the martinis, so she had a little something to do. After she'd made the third one, out in the kitchen, she took her pants off and put them in the bread basket. In case the conversation took a turn for the better, she thought, she'd be ready. Maybe she could make it take a turn for the better.
When she strode back into the room, she felt suddenly freer, more relaxed. As she gave the men their drinks, she felt Whitney Balaban's eyes on her, like an X-ray machine, and she knew he sensed a difference in her. It was almost as if, with her pants off, her cunt became incandescent.
But when she sat down again, directly across from Yancy's younger friend, she kept her knees demurely together. Even that way, in that dress, she knew that she made as sexy a picture as a girl can make. The dress left nothing to Whitney's imagination, except possibly the color of the hair around her pussy.
"Yancy showed me snapshots of you in a bikini," Balaban said. Evidently he'd had enough of talking business, Sheri thought. Had he been watching her take off her pants in the kitchen.
"Did he?"
"Yes. He's very proud of you. I can't blame him. But you're even lovelier in a dress, if that's possible."
"There's only one way she's lovelier," Yancy said. "How's that?"
"Without a dress."
"You're both too land," she said, raising a knee and crossing her legs, not slowly, but not fast either. If Whitney was looking, she knew he'd gotten a substantial peek at her pussy. And he'd been looking. He sat up suddenly straighter in his chair. "But you're right, Whitney, about Yancy being proud of me, of my body, and I like it But there's something else you ought to know."
"What's that?"
She glanced over at Yancy, saw him smile, and went on, feeling calm now, in control again.
"It gives him pleasure to share me with other men," she said, watching Whitney's face. "He likes to watch."
There was no expression at all on Whitney Balaban's face. But his eyes were suddenly alive, drinking her in, thirstily. She uncrossed her legs, slowly this time, giving him a clear, unhurried look at her now-moistening pussy. He licked his lips.
"You can talk plainer than that, love," Yancy said.
She didn't look at him, now, only at Whitney, as she said:
"Would you like to fuck me, Whitney? Yancy wouldn't mind. He'd like it."
Whitney swallowed once, put his drink down, shakily, on the end table next to his chair.
"I'd love to fuck you," he said hoarsely. "But how about you?"
"I'd love to fuck you, too," she said, and draped one leg over the arm of the couch, "if you'll do one little preliminary politeness first."
"What's that?" Whitney said, staring hard at the pink moist gleaming tenderness between her opening, swelling cunt lips.
"Kiss it hello," she said. "Kiss my cunt and lick it, and suck if, for just a minute or so. While we get acquainted."
"Delighted," Whitney Balaban said, getting to his feet and making a courtly little bow.
He managed to get all his clothes off in the ten feet separating them, dropped to his knees and put his mouth to her twat like a parched man slaking a thirst.
He had a long hard alabaster cock, as pale and blond as the rest of him, and after she'd mounted him in mid-floor and started fucking him, she sensed at once that he was too excited, he'd never last long enough to bring her to her climax.
She speeded the pumping of her hips, grinding her cunt down and around on Whitney's bursting cock, giving him a good, solid fucking, but with her eyes on Yancy.
And she saw what she'd been hoping for, praying for, for so long. Yancy was undressed, and had to spend extra care maneuvering his shorts off. His cock was magnificently, hugely, rigidly erect.
She didn't waste a second, after Whitney Balaban exploded inside her. She rolled over and lay on her back on the carpet, reaching up to get a pillow from the couch and positioning it under her ass.
Yancy got to the floor between her spread thighs, and when he arched over her and leaned to kiss her, she closed her eyes and tried to pretend it was the first time, or at least the first time with Yancy, the way it used to be.
He must have been wanting to do the same: as her mouth opened hungrily and her tongue sprang up to meet his, his hands roamed the smooth tender surface of her back, feasted on warm yielding swell of her buttocks, teased and caressed the backs of her raised legs, her inner thighs. He untangled his tongue, unglued their mouths, tongued the insides of her ears, kissed the side of her neck, her throat, while his hands kept moving over the whole quivering, responding surface of her body, caressing, squeezing, stroking, pinching.
His mouth moved down to the poked-up, waiting globes of her breasts, and his lips caught first one hard standing plateau of nipple, then the other. He took one nut-hard bud between his teeth and bit gently.
Sheri reached down and put one hand around the base of his great swollen hard cock, as far as her fingers would reach. The tips of her fingers didn't touch the tip of her thumb, as she remembered.
She was filled with an eager, pulsing excitement. Yancy's middle finger was sliding back and forth across the swollen tender twig of her clitoris, and her legs spread wider, all by themselves, it seemed, as her hips began to revolve.
"Now?" Yancy asked.
"Now," she said. "Please."
She reached out and took the hard shiny red apple of his cockhead, the apple of her eye, and guided the great shaft toward the wet, waiting lips of her gaping, gasping, oozing cunt. With the head firmly lodged in the soft welcoming embrace of her outer cunt lips, she removed her guiding fingers and Yancy took over.
She groaned as the trunk-like shaft slid along inside her deep slippery warm channel of lust, her soft cave of sensation, widening the walls, it seemed. When his cock was imbedded halfway, Yancy stopped, teasing.
"More?" he asked, looked down into her straining face.
"Ah, shit, Yancy," she hissed. "I want ah of it Every long, hard, fucking inch."
Yancy's shaft continued its deepening journey. Sheri raised her legs and spread them wide with her hands. Yancy made one long, plunging, slow downward thrust, the pelvic bone at the base of his cock ground to a halt in her tangled wet bush, and the entire crowbar hardness of his telephone pole of a prick was inside her thriving, gulping, grateful cunt.
She embraced his hips hotly with her thighs, her feet hooked tightly behind him. Slowly, he slid the shaft out until only the head remained in the grasp of her spasmodically clutching inner twat lips, held it there for a long moment then sank it deep into her again in one long, sure probing stroke. Sheri gasped, choking, and her hips rose to push her cunt lips tight against the base of his shaft.
"Fuck me hard, Yancy," she said through clenched teeth. "Fuck me deep, ream out my cunt with that great big wonderful cock. Fuck me forever."
Yancy began to fuck her then with a slow, steady rhythm, driving the entire length of his mammoth cock deep into her with every stroke, and her hips joined in his timing, bringing her sucking, gluttonous cunt up to greet his every in-stroke, grasping and holding and clutching wetly at the stiff shaft with his out-strokes.
They fucked in perfect harmony for a long, long time-Sheri could not have guessed whether it was five minutes or five hours or five days-and she wanted it to go on forever, but she could not keep her surging excitement from mounting, inevitably, toward a frantic, frenzied climax.
Yancy picked up the stroke, sensing that the end was near for her, and whipped her into a mindless frenzy with long, pounding thrusts of his giant cock. He banged it into her, again and again, with a thump, a jolt, and soon she was surging into a crazed frenzy, crying out soundlessly as her inflamed cunt made wet sucking sounds around Yancy's slippery shaft.
Suddenly, Sheri was screaming, and her body went rigid, as she came once, twice, and again, as Yancy's hot juices spurted up inside her. Her eyes were closed but she saw skyrockets, first, then a great wall of red as the spasms hammered in diminishing waves at her insides.
Yancy waited until she was completely limp before he pulled out.
When he turned his head to speak to Whitney Balaban, Sheri remembered that they had a guest
"Pardon us," Yancy said.
She saw Whitney grin broadly.
"Don't mind me," he said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
She came out of the bathroom after her shower, soundless on bare feet, and moved toward the living room. Yancy and Whitney were talking. Curious, she stopped in the hallway, just out of their sight...." incredible girl," Whitney was saying. "Loveliest piece I've ever known. That's why I couldn't last longer. That's the only flaw in what should have been a real dream-fuck."
"Well," Yancy said. "Next time'll be better." Sheri froze.
"Now, as for putting my advertising schedule in your magazine next year...."
"Yes," Yancy said. "I think we should talk some more about that."
"No need to talk. It's yours."
"What!"
"The whole damn schedule. It's yours. Should have been there long ago. I'll sign all the space orders tomorrow."
"I'll be a son of a bitch," Yancy said.
"You are," Whitney said. "A very smart son of a bitch. With the greatest little piece of persuader for a wife a man ever had."
Sheri didn't wait to hear any more. In a cold fury, she went into the bedroom and closed the door behind her.
Her mind was racing, but making absolute sense. She knew with absolute, cool certainty what she was doing.
From under the bedside table, she got out the Manhattan phone book, and found 'Dilson Pickering' without a moment's fumbling. On East 81st Street, not ten blocks away.
From the top drawer of her dresser, she took a manila envelope and wrote Dilson's name and address on it, taking great care to make her handwriting more than just legible. With equal care, she unloaded her camera and placed the undeveloped film into the envelope and sealed it. In a terrycloth robe, still barefoot, she slipped out the bedroom door and out of the apartment, and dropped the brown envelope into the mail chute by the elevators. Then she went back into the bedroom, without being seen.
With the phone book open in front of her, she dialled Dill's number. He answered on the second ring.
"Sheri, here," she said softly. "Can you put me up for the night?"
"Tonight?" he said, and the sudden surprised joy in his voice made her throat fill. "I can put you up, honey, for a whole forever of tonights."
"I hoped you'd say that," she said. "I'll be right over."
She hung up, tossed a few things into an overnight bag, and started to dress.
She was just stepping into her shoes when Yancy came into the room.
"Whitney had to leave in a hurry to catch a train," he said. "He wanted...."
He stopped.
"Where are you going?" he asked, his face showing a sort of numbed shock. "Out," she said. "Where?"
"None of your business. It's never going to be any of your business anymore. Your business is with Whitney, and all your other Whitneys. Never with me, anymore."
It seemed to sink in, gradually.
"Oh, God," he said, finally. "You heard us talking?"
"I heard," she said.
"Christ," he said.
"It sounded like a good deal for you," she said. "You'll be getting a big bonus, of course. And a big raise."
"Who cares?" he mumbled miserably.
"I care. Because you're going to be able to pay some pretty good alimony." She said it with icy calm.
"Alimony? for Christ's sake!" Yancy said, getting over his misery. "You're leaving me?"
"And divorcing you, for the best reasons a court ever saw."
"What reasons?"
"Those pictures I took of you and Tanya came out beautifully."
"Oh, Jesus," he said, and thought for a second. "Let me see them."
"They're not here. Where they are, you'll never know."
"Oh, Christ," he said, and sat down suddenly on the edge of the bed.
"I hope you'll be very happy," she said, picking up her bag. "Old pimp."
He didn't say anything.
As she walked out of the room, she couldn't even make herself bend to kiss him goodbye.
