With the tip of a pencil, Laura Wilkinton poked at the underpants on her desk. Delicate floral lace edged the leg openings, and the label said they were made in France. Very pretty.
And they didn't belong here. Not where Laura had found them, not in her car, her husband's car.
The pencil clattered onto the desk top. Laura ran a freckled hand through her rust-colored hair and closed her eyes.
Tom couldn't be seeing another woman. He'd never even been with anyone else before he married Laura two years before, had never seemed interested in another girl.
Hadn't he?
He hadn't been terribly interested in sex recently, 5 either. Tom had been a regular bull after their wedding, only to taper off a year later. Laura never asked him about his lost energy; besides, she was busy with her poems and publishers and was grateful enough for any rest he allowed.
She opened her eyes to stare at the powder-blue satin. To think she had been sitting over it all the while Tom had taken the car to work.
He had seemed normal enough during the drive, hadn't ogled the girls who were showing themselves off on this gorgeous morning in May. As on every weekday morning he arrived safely at the Mount Pleasant District Office of the Ministry of Social Services and Housing and Laura prepared to take the car back home.
Tom reached into the back seat for his briefcase, then studied Laura's ruddy face.
He asked, "Do you feel okay enough to drive home?"
Laura smiled back. "I really tied one on last night, didn't I? But I'm fine now. I think your cure did the trick."
"It never fails. Buttermilk for the stomach, wildflower honey to replace the minerals, and a raw egg for strength. I learned it from my mother." Laura's nose wrinkled. "You had to tell me. You should have been a nurse."
"That's a nice idea, love, but I don't look good in white."
He would look good in anything, Laura thought. Even better in nothing. Tom was her great wooly bear of a man. He had thick shoulders and hair on his back, a compact square figure bulging with Neanderthal strength that hid a well of surprising kindness: a gentle, easygoing personality that made him an ideal social worker. Or a nurse.
"Maybe just a little cap," she said, and kissed him.
His wiry mustache tickled her lips and she was briefly enveloped in an aroma of cologne and scrubbed leather and male power.
He stepped out of the car. "I'll see you later," he said.
"Yes," she sighed. She could have him tonight. If he wasn't too tired.
She slid behind the wheel of their yacht-sized Chrysler, leaned over to the passenger's side to collect her purse, and that's when she saw it.
A puff of frilly blue peeked out from under the seat. It might as well have been a hissing cobra.
She froze. She could not remember how long she sat in that position, hand still reaching for her purse, eyes fixed on that scrap of lace, her mind ... a blank.
Somehow, Laura had got the car moving again. Somehow, she reached home, brought those ... that thing into her den and spread it out on her desk to uncover what secrets it might hold.
Wild ideas flickered through her head, searched for some logical, harmless reason for those panties being there. Maybe Tom had bought them for her, sort of an early birthday present, and hid them in the car. It wouldn't be the first' pair of fancy underwear he'd given her.
Hopeless. Laura was grabbing bubbles. She picked up her pencil again, spread the satin like a butterfly pinned to a sample case. The pants belonged to another woman, all right. The leg bands were twisted outward in places, some of the lace was frayed from previous washings. And in the center of the cotton gusset there was a narrow crust of yellow discharge.
The chair springs creaked as Laura leaned away to gaze over her desk with its load of forgotten work.
In one corner were the products of her ordered mind: poems of love and nature, epics she had written of beautiful men and women whose hearts were true and devotion everlasting, and who soared forever through an Elysian garden unspoiled by some filthy, home wrecking harlot who ran around half the time without any underwear.
Yet ... it hadn't been a harlot who seduced Tom. Laura leaned forward to study the pants again. They had not been in the car for long. Even from two feet away she could still detect a faint odor of hand soap and perfume and B.O.
Satin and French lace. Not many women could afford to wear it, let alone lose it.
She slumped back into the leather armchair, whispered, "Bonnie, how could you?"
Bonnie had been wearing a blue dress at the party last night. That, and the necklace of black argillite had highlighted her hair wonderfully. Laura remembered commenting on that. Naturally, Bonnie's intimate wear would also have been blue. Her husband was attending some Realtors' convention down in Seattle, so she had arrived alone. Of course Laura had hugged her and helped her with her coat; after all, weren't they best friends from way back? And it had been nice of Bonnie to come over and help Laura with the hostess work.
It had been a small party, little more than a gathering of Tom's coworkers: social and financial workers, placement officers, counselors, and other persons entrusted by the public to relieve human suffering.
Laura had spent the evening running around and dispensing the drinks that kept their tongues flowing. It was a strain to be the hostess, a strain to make sandwiches and fetch bottles and carry trays while wobbling on high heels and nearly strangling from the rank, stuffy tobacco smoke, but she stuck it out as best she could. Bonnie was a great help. So were the drinks. Laura kept helping herself to the trays' contents and that also got her through the evening.
On the other hand, maybe there had been too much helping.
Then there was that bit about Bonnie leaving her car at home. She lived up in the British Properties with all the other rich people, a good half hour's drive away, and she said she didn't want to get ticketed for impaired driving on the way back. Or worse. Laura remembered saying how she was glad to see Bonnie was no longer risking her life the way she did back in college, and Bonnie had said her wild days were firmly behind her now, and Laura drank to that.
And then it was past midnight and Laura was dead tired with a house to clean up, and Bonnie had generously offered to take care of it and Laura said Oh, thank you and almost fell into the sofa and was lulled into a drunken half-doze by the sound of washing dishes and murmured small talk.
Then she had been woken again by her husband standing before her and saying, "I'm going to drive Bonnie home. I'll be back in an hour," and Bonnie adding, "It's impossible to get a cab this time of night," and Laura had mumbled something about how really nice of Tom to do that, and to be careful, there are a lot of drunks out there. Then Tom and Bonnie had half-carried Laura to the bedroom and helped her out of her dress and Laura tried to say how truly thankful she was for their help and she wanted to kiss them both. Then she had collapsed onto the bed, still wearing her stockings and slip. The last thing she remembered was the snapping of the front door being locked and a V-8 engine purring to life.
How long had Tom been away? He had been snoring next to Laura when she awoke at six with a wrinkled slip and a fluttering hangover. By the time she had downed his miracle cure and dressed for the day, he was already up and around and frying some eggs. He did sound rather cheerful that morning.
"I just can't wait to see how many people show up at the office this morning, the rummies." He sprinkled some more pepper onto the sizzling frying pan. "How's your stomach? Can you take an egg now?"
Laura ate one.
Then, while Tom was chewing on his own eggs (over easy with a dash of tobacco), he said something odd. "That Bonnie is a strange woman. It's a good thing you and I met first. Otherwise I might have done something silly, like marry her."
It hadn't meant anything to Laura at the time, with her mind still fuddled by yesterday's booze. Now, two hours later, she understood. Oh, did she ever. Poor Tom.
She pushed her chair away from the desk. The 11 frilly blue underthings made an absurd contrast atop the sober teakwood. Laura sniffed. Some people will never grow up....
Back in college, Bonnie had always been willing to drop her panties for any boy that came along.
*But that was supposed to be behind her now. She had married Lars a month after Laura's own wedding. Bonnie was now a respectable housewife, bound by holy vows to showing her lingerie to only one man.
Except that man was out of town....
As he did nearly every other week....
There had to be a way of salvaging her future, of preserving both marriage and friendship.
And then the plan popped like a flashbulb into Laura's head.
Laura was a great one for making plans, whether picnic, party, or future. As with all her plans, this one appeared full-blown, down to the last detail. She couldn't help smiling. It was a good idea, and perfectly harmless. Yet it would make Bonnie feel what was going through Laura's head, and perhaps think twice before fooling around with someone else's husband.
She found some tissue paper, used it to swath the panties into an untidy package. Then she stood up to fetch wrapping paper and stamps. The rest of the plan, the best part, she would carry out tomorrow. She could hardly wait.
CHAPTER TWO
Laura slammed shut the car door and began walking down the narrow forest-shaded road. The thin rubber soles of her sandals scraped the pitted blacktop, while overhead a stellar jay screeched out its territory. A weak breeze from the mountains trickled through her sleeveless knitted sweater, brushed against her bare legs. Out of habit she held the hem of her thigh-length denim skirt against any chance gust, but there was really no need. Not up here.
For this was the British Properties, the wealthiest section of the wealthiest city in Canada, where the residents paid a fortune to live with neighbors who knew how to mind their own business. Bonnie and Lars were two of those people.
A moment later she rounded a curve and saw their house. Lars had bought the place from a former competitor who thought the real estate boom would never end. It was a two-story affair of plate glass and redwood surrounded by the roses Bonnie had planted. A wide picture window on the top floor was angled to give a spectacular view of the lower classes spread out in the valley below.
Laura walked a few more steps and stopped.
In the driveway was parked a silver-green Audi. It was Lars's car.
Well, that tore it. No one was supposed to be here at this time of day, but one never knew. That's why Laura had parked away from the house, so she could sneak up and check the area. Now that the coast wasn't clear, there was nothing to do but postpone the plan for another day. She was turning to go....
"Well, hello, Laura. How are you doing?"
Laura spun around. Lars was stepping around the house. He was dressed in frayed cutoffs and soiled running shoes. One gloved hand held a garden trowel that was plastered with fresh mud. His bare knees were stained a bright grass-green.
Laura stammered, "I was-" Passing by? Not likely. "Is Bonnie here?"
Lars shook his head. A wheat-colored lock of hair fell across his brow. "She's playing tennis today. She should be back soon."
Laura nodded. She knew very well that Bonnie worked out every Tuesday and Thursday morning down at Ambleside, just as she knew Lars was supposed to be at the office. Supposed to be.
She asked, "Why-how, how was Seattle?" Lars stepped closer, using a shining forearm to brush his hair from his face. "Really a waste of time. The usual joker trying to sell building lots under the Salton Sea, that sort of thing. I gave up and drove back before it was over." He grinned. He had even, polished teeth that were made for smiling and melting the hearts of college girls. "Bonnie thinks these conventions are just cocktail parties and dancing girls. I told her I wish they were, and that got her more mad." He half-turned toward the house. "Do you want to wait for her?"
"Might as well." Laura moved to follow him. Lars wasn't bad-looking, Laura had to admit. He had smooth, Scandinavian features that would go good on a travel poster, the sort that promises happy days in Norway. She could almost picture him among the fjords and fishing boats, smiling enticingly with one strong arm draped around the shoulders of some bikinied tramp.
Come to think of it, Bonnie could easily resemble that bikinied tramp.
She followed him up a flagstone path to emerge into a back yard that smelled of pine and fresh earth. A crow cawed at their arrival, then flapped away.
On the far side of the house a fringe of saplings and rock outcroppings marked the border between their property and the mountainous wilds of the rest of British Columbia. Bonnie had once said that if you pushed past those saplings and kept walking through the pines, straight north and ahead, then the next people you met would be speaking Russian. Laura could believe it. Bonnie often sunbathed in this yard, in the nude. Here one had privacy, the best that money could buy and nature provide.
"I wouldn't mind living here," Laura said. She had said it before and said it again, because she meant it.
"It's okay." Lars turned back to the house. Alongside the wall was a strip of freshly turned black soil. "Bonnie's going to start a new crop here. I thought I'd help out with the bed."
Laura glanced at the dirt. "That's nice of you." Then it was idea time again. She looked up at Lars. "In fact, I was thinking of planting a garden of my own." She felt better; she now had a Reason for Being Here. "I thought Bonnie could tell me something about it. She grows such beautiful roses."
That much, at least, was true. Bonnie was almost a celebrity with her flowers. Almost any afternoon could find her in a straw hat and designer work gloves, digging and chopping like a Steinbeck character, to produce every summer an organized chaos of color and scents that buried the house in a thorny mat. Laura sometimes thought that, since she had given up boys, her energy had to go somewhere else.
"She's the one to see, all right." Lars waved at the waiting bed. "I don't know the names, but I think she's going to try some of the new lavender shades over at the corner, and then some white and burgundy over here."
Laura hardly listened. While Lars stood beside her and talked of hybrids and soil content, she felt sorry for him. He was a good man; why, the way he had worked hard to give her a good home, had left his silly convention ahead of time so he could prepare the garden while she played tennis, that spoke for a lot.
And Bonnie was ready to throw it all away, just to satisfy a momentary lust.
Bonnie had said she would stick with Lars, and Laura was ready to believe it. All that playing around in the past had been comparison shopping.
She had made a good buy, too. As a star basketball player and business major preparing for his first million, Lars Eriksen had been considered a good catch at the University of British Columbia. Then Bonnie had stepped in and became the instant enemy of a dozen broken-hearted girls.
"Laura?"
Her mind whipped back to earth. Lars was looking at her.
"What? Oh, oh yes." What had he said?
"I asked what kind of flowers you were planning on.
She blinked, shook her head. "Sorry, I was thinking of something else." She licked her lips, looked back at him. "Uh, can I, may I have a glass of water?"
"One glass, coming right up." She watched him walk away.
When he was gone she unsnapped her purse and pulled out a pair of beige Jockey-For-Her briefs. The life had long gone out of the leg elastics and there was a tear along one seam. She had planned to use them for a washcloth before she got her idea.
She squatted down, scooped out a shallow trench in the soil, dropped in the wadded panties and pushed the dirt over them. There; now her underwear should remain safely buried until Bonnie began planting her prize roses. She wiped her hands on her skirt.
"Here you go."
Laura swiveled on her heels to stare up at Lars. "Just-checking the soil." She smiled, tried to look innocent, then realized, He can see right up my skirt!
She shot up, smoothed down her suddenly 18 much-too-short skirt, clutched her purse against her middle, and nearly glared at Lars.
"I brought your water." He held out a frosted tumbler.
"Thanks." Lars had taken off his gloves. Being careful not to touch his fingers, Laura accepted the glass, swallowed some water. The ice cubes chilled her teeth.
She glowered at the wall of the house. Did you get a good eyeful you pig? Do I stack up well against Bonnie?
It was time to go. There was no reason to hang around here any longer, especially with a man who might try to rape her.
But she stood there, gripping the glass and standing next to this man.
She couldn't leave, not yet. Lars might wonder why she didn't wait for Bonnie, why she had parked so far away from the house.
She stood next to him. The tension in the air was almost strong enough to hear.
She tried to break it. "I guess if Bonnie found us here, like this, do you think she might ... get suspicious?"
Lars smiled. "She won't get too mad. She'll only make me sleep on the porch for a week."
"Is she really that bad?"
"Almost. Whenever I look at another girl, she squeezes my arm and tells me how jealous she is.
She's only half kidding. Even at a bank she's always putting down the tellers. `Well, I can't say I care for that hairstyle. She must comb herself with an eggbeater.' "
"Meow, meow," Laura murmured.
"More like a lioness. She once gave me a key chain that said, `I'm T-liken!' Made me carry it, too. Then for this last convention, she suggested I ought to wear a chastity belt."
Laura laughed and nearly dropped her glass. Lars looked at her. "I didn't think it was funny." Laura clasped an arm around his neck. "Don't worry, I'm bigger than her. I'll protect you."
"Thanks," he said, and leaned over to kiss her. It was just a peck, but it hit Lama's cheek like a snowball that impacted in her head and sent little tingly, shivery ice crystals down her spine to melt and boil in her heated groin. She craned up her neck and leaned against his face ... And Lars had drawn away.
Laura dropped her reddening head against her chest, mumbled, "Maybe I'd better go."
Lars said nothing. His face looked confused while his eyes scanned her, searching.
Did he feel it too? she wondered. But she knew the answer. He wanted her, wanted her as much as any man could want a woman. The poor man. Bonnie has been ignoring him while she played with other husbands. The way Tom had been 20 ignoring Laura.
Laura lifted her head. Her lips parted.
Lars's mouth descended to hers. The water glass thudded to the flower bed. She flung her arms around his neck and ran her fingers through his fluffy blonde hair. His tongue speared through her open teeth and they savored each other's hungry mouths.
This is Bonnie's fault, Laura thought dimly. She had piled up plenty of Karma, and Laura was the agent of retribution. She felt almost divine.
Her hands slid down his naked back and she rubbed her palms into his sweat. Lars's teeth gently nibbled an earlobe, then his tongue probed the opening. Laura's brain roared while her breath erupted in short, strangled gasps.
"Oh, oh, o-o-ooooh ... Please...."
She jerked her head away before it could explode, fell to licking Lars's face. His skin tasted salty, with a trace of lean meat, a steak to a starving castaway. She kissed his jaw that was as rough as a cat's tongue against her tender lips.
His weight slowly forced her body down until the moist grass came up to meet her hair. She clamped her legs around his thighs and rubbed against countless little curly hairs that tickled her skin. She could feel Lars's hands, strong as vices and tender as madrigals, moving around her belly and over to her ribs. She dropped back her arms and let him tug her sweater out from under her skirt, then massage her directly underneath the wool. He spread his arms, stretched the thin sweater to its limits. One by one the fabric buttons popped free until the sweater fell around Laura's torso. She let it hang from her shoulders, pulled it straight to protect her back from the itchy blades of cut grass.
Lars paused. Laura looked up at him. He stood on his knees, between her spread thighs. His chest was heaving, his hair a tangled mane. His ice-bottle eyes glittered as they gazed down at Laura's chest, now bare except for a thin cotton soft-cup brassiere.
She closed her eyes, let her hands lie on the grass. She wanted to discover what this man could do.
The first thing she felt was a warm prickling on her scalp. Eight fingers gently stroked her hair, slowly moved down her forehead. Like two caterpillars the fingers crept across her eyebrows, tickled her lashed, rubbed across her eye shadow.
She could hear his breath rasp, could feel his body heat between her legs. Her face seemed to shrink into one ultrasensitive spot that tracked those hot, crawling fingertips while her groin was like a stewpot bubbling and ready to boil over.
Down the fingers went, around her neck and to the hollow of her throat, and she felt her stomach turn to water.
Down her right shoulder, gliding across the strap of her bra and laying a trail of shivery goose pimples.
One hand fondled the twin triangles of her bra cups and slid between her covered breasts. Slowly, painfully, a millimeter at a time, a fingernail trickled up her breast, stopped just at the edge of her milking gland, moved around it and played against her gooseflesh aureole.
Laura whipped her head around, snatched a forearm, kissed and crushed her face against perspiring flesh.
Two fingers came together over her throbbing nipple tent and pinched the fabric. Laura felt the elastic dig into her back as Lars lifted one bra cup over her breast. The bottom elastic tweaked over her lust-suffering nipple and Lars's hand descended over it. His cold, gold wedding band touched her flesh and a jolt surged straight to her heart.
She lunged forward and scrambled like a lunatic at his shorts.
The shorts were far too tight. Laura yanked at the stubborn, stupid denim that seemed to deny the agonized hungers of a body that screamed to be fed. Bonnie's chastity belt. Laura wanted to cry. She clawed at the button, broke a fingernail on the zipper....
Then his bloated organ sprang out to point 23 directly at Laura's face two inches away. She fell back on the grass.
She reached out a hand to touch the thing. It twitched.
She jerked her arm away. "What did you do?"
Lars raised his eyebrows. "Doesn't Tom's move for you?"
"N-no. I didn't know there were any muscles in there."
"I guess it's like wiggling your ears. Some can do it, some can't."
Laura reached out again to stroke it. It jumped, like a hand being shaken. "You're not about to-it won't-"
"You mean ejaculate? Not yet. But it wants to."
Lars squatted down on the grass. Laura's skirt was bunched up around her waist, and now he and the squabbling crows in the trees could get a good view of her panties. Laura wore a pair of snowy-white hip huggers made from tight flannelette that massaged her skin. The right front side featured an embroidered butterfly half as large as her hand. Pretty, but not sluttish. Lars stretched out two fingers for the waistband....
Laura stopped him. "Let me." She hooked her thumbs under the elastic, then hesitated.
Panties are a woman's last line of defense, a final fragile barrier between virtue and pain. Ultimately they are a useless defense, because once a man sees them, he becomes stronger and even more determined.
Laura closed her knees and pressed her feet against her rear. Then she arched her back and eased the taut cotton up her thighs. She let the pants sag around her ankles, but held them with her fingers. She could still pull them back up and run away....
She spread her knees and let Lars see what only one man had seen before.
The second man leaned forward and kissed her on the tip of the nose.
Her arms rose up to encircle his neck, while her tongue shot out to dab at his chin. She found his mouth and their faces twisted together in a sloppy tongue kissing. Lars settled forward and Laura jumped as an incredibly hard thing touched her softness.
"Please," she whispered, "let me ... play with it. I'm a little ... tight."
"Sure, okay."
Lars rested patiently on his hands while Laura reached between her thighs and found his rigid organ. Gripping it in both hands, she used it like a dildo, rubbed it between her vaginal lips, swished it around her protruding little clitoris until her gushing vulva opened like a flower.
Lars kissed her forehead, added his weight to the job. He gently pushed the tip of his swollen member through her spreading petals, got the head in partway, held it there. Laura cautiously drew her hands away. Lars shifted again and Laura's juices welled up to receive him as he probed deeper, a quarter inch, a half "Oh! Easy!"
-then another inch slid in, swifter, farther, getting easier all the time, and Laura thought her kidneys would burst, would he never stop. Lars settled his weight on Laura with his hips grinding against her thighs, penis slurping within her, his testicles pattering the bare patch of her perineum. "Careful. Ow, ooooohh!"
His dripping belly sucked at the hollow of her stomach, hairy chest scoured her half-covered bosom, while Laura clutched at his back, scraped her nails across the sweat-gleaming expanse and cut a crimson trail across his spine with her sapphire engagement ring.
Her coppery hair whipped about, caught Lars's frenzied kisses. Her buttocks churned a crater in the soil, her feet kicked out divots.
Laura tried to wrap her legs around Lars, but his shins blocked her panties that were still tangled about her ankles. She kicked up until Lars seemed to get the message. He briefly bent his knees, Laura's feet rose in the air and the white butterfly panties fluttered down her legs to settle against Lars's loins.
Laura clamped her legs around him, grabbed two fingerfuls of elastic. Now Lars was well and truly pinned inside her. He jittered like a marionette with the stretch cotton springing him back inside, holding him deep within Laura's bubbling cauldron, sliding, smacking, slurping, puffing like a pressure cooker.
"Yes, like that! Harder, har-der!"
She drove on this magnificent Viking who was all hers. Thor's hammer smashed her, Odin's thunder crashed in her bowels, barbarian wails mingled with Lars's huffing gasps, mixed with the sounds of chirping birds and soughing winds and the snarling of a sports car skidding into the driveway.
Lars froze in mid-thrust. "Holy Christ! Bonnie's home!"
He struggled to get up, but he was trapped by Laura's legs, trapped by her panties, held by arms that gripped him tighter.
"Let me go, damn it. She's here! " He was almost whimpering.
Laura tightened her legs. "Finish it, you bastard."
"But she'll see us!" His penis was shriveling inside her.
"I'll scream, and then she'll see us for sure. Finish it, asshole."
"Stupid...."
It didn't take too long for Lars to pump the blood back in his organ. Then he hurled himself with a mindless fury against Laura, shoved himself higher and deeper than before, while the entrapping underpants cut into Laura's thighs and twanged from tortured elastic.
"Careful...."
He wasn't listening. He was jumping and bashing and keeping one eye on a door that might suddenly open for some wrathful vengeance.
And Laura wanted Bonnie to appear, to see her best friend in flagrant delicto, to feel some of the hurt she had given Laura. A delicious thrill at the idea added to her own rising passion under Lars.
He was pumping her to a peak. The fluids collected throughout her body, to fill a water balloon between her legs that pressed her insides, bigger, hotter, until one final push ... and the balloon burst inside her, to send a whirlpool of seething brew coursing through her veins and gushing into her vagina that locked like pliers around Lars's pulsing rod which jetted like an insane fire hose, shooting wave upon wave of boiling glue against her cervix and Laura wanted to scream, to empty her lungs into the mountain air and have her cries echo down the hills and roll across the valley far below and rustle leaves in the United States, to let the whole fucking world know that here was one woman who could kick the shit out of all those oily-assed bitches, them and their potato head husbands.
But she didn't scream; a promise was a promise. Instead she buried her face in the hollow of Lars's shoulder and her shouts came out in tormented squeaks.
Then she fell back and sighed. She stroked this man's flaxen hair, whispered, "Oh, Lars, Lars."
Lars was having none of it. He strained against Laura's imprisoning panties, slipped his still-stiff penis out of her. Her vagina shut with a moist snap. She finally pulled down her pants to let him stand. She watched him haul up his shorts, watched him try to draw them around a bloated tool that glistened from her lubricant.
A souvenir he can give to Bonnie tonight, she thought.
Lars was waving at her. "Come on, get dressed. Please."
"I'll be all right." Laura didn't move. "Why don't you go inside and say hello to your wife?"
"She might have seen your car."
"No, she didn't." Laura smiled. "I parked it up the hill."
Lars gave her a funny look, then went inside.
Through an open window she could hear faint talking: " ... your day go
. nobody called go out back don't bother ... take a shower good idea."
Then the hissing of running water.
Laura lay back and let the breezes play against her flushed skin. Her body was slick with perspiration. A puddle of male and female sweat had collected in the pit of her navel. From between her legs rose the unmistakable sourdough aroma of recent sex. Something cold and sticky trickled between her ass-cheeks. Lars's sperm was dripping onto her skirt.
She pulled her underpants back up around her waist, shifted her hips. Her pussy warmed up behind the cotton. That last pounding from Lars had made her sore, but in a pleasant, soul-satisfying way, the way a person's stomach aches after a huge dinner.
Laura gently fingered the panty crotch. The cotton was already damp from the combined juices.
She rubbed it some more. It got wetter.
Her clitoris pressed against the fabric. Laura touched it and something stirred within her. She snagged a fingernail across the moistening crotch, pushed a bit of it inside her.
Then she grabbed a double handful of cotton and yanked it tight against her crack. Warm juices oozed out from either side of the gusset. She clutched the bottom half and began sawing the panties up and down her genitals.
The flannelette made a rasping, squishy noise as 30 she scraped it deeper between her swollen pussy lips. She plunged two fingers inside her and played with knuckles and roped cotton. The butterfly jerked within the spread wings of her slavering labia. Lars had opened her wide. Her vulva felt like Cream of Wheat, all mushy and steaming. Laura closed her eyes and moaned. She thought of Lars against her, of his wife who showered in total ignorance not fifteen feet away.
The orgasm was building within her, her lungs ready to burst from a suppressed howling that Lars and Bonnie couldn't help hearing....
With her other hand she snatched her bra and jammed a wad of sweat-scented cotton into her mouth. She bit hard and let go.
Her innards erupted into a superheated rush that blasted against her panties. Her vagina blew open, shuddered and munched her fingers while her face nearly exploded from her muffled shrieks. Teeth met teeth as she gnawed through her brassiere, jerked her head and tore holes in the flimsy garment.
After a while Laura remembered to breathe again. She spat out the bra and wearily sat up. The world was still here, the trees still bent from the breeze. Bonnie was still in the shower and Lars was up to something or other. She smoothed down her hair, caused a rain of crumpled grass from her head. Her sweater still dangled from her arms. She pulled her bra back down and straightened it. A gaping rent in one cup revealed half a nipple; it shouldn't be too difficult to repair.
She stood, a sharp pain crackled between her legs. Her panties were stretched high over her hipbones, while the crotch was all wadded inside her puckering pussy lips. Carefully, she peeled off the soaking knickers. Now that she was really sore, it was like tearing off a bandage. Maybe it was better to leave them off, she thought, let herself air out.
She examined the sopping pants. The waist elastic was torn into a limp string, while little threads hung from where the stitching had snapped free. Worse yet, they reeked of wet pussy. She could hardly carry them in her purse.
She glanced at the rose bed. Well, she had come this far....
She scooped another hole in the earth and laid her pants to rest.
She was buttoning her sweater when Lars reappeared.
"I think you'd best go," he said.
"Thanks. I was about to."
Lars glanced at the ground. A patch of grass was ironed flat, while their feet had gouged out dozens of earthen clots and scattered them over the lawn.
"Jesus, I'd better clean this up before Bonnie sees it."
Laura laughed. "Tell her you were playing golf." Lars rolled his eyes. "God spare me. Come on, I'll walk you to your car."
They were both silent as they walked up the hill. Laura found the Chrysler still intact. She unlocked the door, and when she turned to say good-bye, Lars moved.
He grabbed her shoulders, kissed her full on the mouth, mashed her fanny through her skirt. Then he let her go .
He seemed almost as surprised as Laura. "See you later," he mumbled.
"Yes," Laura said, and got into the car.
She did not look back as she drove away. Her mind percolated with conflicting emotions, of shame, passion, regret, and triumph. Her crotch chilled from Lars's dribbling semen that soaked through her skirt and into the car seat. She almost panicked, almost stopped to hunt for a rag, then decided better. If Tom ever noticed the stain, he'd probably think it was his. She closed her legs and her sore pudenda reveled in the cool, squishy bath.
As she negotiated the curves downhill, she passed a postal van heading the other way. Toward Bonnie's house.
If the mail was on time, then that van carried the other half of Laura's plan, a plan that had grown into something different and somewhat frightening.
It was a simple plan, really. The van carried a brown paper parcel addressed to Bonnie Eriksen from Laura Wilkinton. The package contained a pair of blue satin panties on which a note had been pinned. In Laura's handwriting the note read: Want to trade?
CHAPTER THREE
Laura tipped up the sherry decanter and splashed some more red liquid into her glass.
Things seemed different back home. After a shower and a change of clothes and a glass of sherry and an hour to think, she didn't feel so triumphant now.
Not at all.
She sagged in Tom's reclining chair, slippered feet resting on a reupholstered hassock, and stared at the blank television screen across the living room. In the kitchen the refrigerator started up and hummed without a care in the world.
What had she done? There with Lars in the dirt like some animal. Divine retribution, indeed. She had enjoyed it. Lust was a terrible force. It could flare up to smother common sense and destroy homes, then just as suddenly wink out and leave one empty and soiled. Perhaps it needed more exploring....
Laura sipped more sweet wine. It slid down her throat and settled pleasantly warm inside her.
Her marriage to Tom had been no lust-fueled whim. She was the one who had proposed to him-at the age of six. It happened during one of their picnics in a weed-grown lot near False Creek.
"Tom," she had asked through a mouthful of Ritz crackers, "are we going to get married?"
Tom reached for another marshmallow. "I guess so."
He did, too. They were engaged at sixteen. On the advice of friends and counselors she had steered him toward a degree in social work. You might not get rich working for the government, but it's secure. And social work was just the place for a kind, generous person like Tom; why, he was just born for helping others.
Two months after his twenty-third birthday Tom was hired as a probationary financial worker with the Ministry of Human Resources, as it was then called; a week later, a small publisher in Victoria produced a slim volume of Laura's poems. Then she wed Tom, and she was the happiest woman in the whole world.
That was one plan that turned out beautifully.
She wasn't about to let it be ruined without a fight. First she would take care of Bonnie; the rest she would have to figure carefully.
She placed the empty wine glass on a side table and picked up the telephone.
As the phone burred in her ear, she silently rehearsed what to say. A first line was already in her head.
"Hello?" It was Bonnie. Great.
"Bonnie, Bonnie, how does your garden grow?"
"Oh, hi Laura. You mean the roses? They're coming up like weeds. Did you want to see them some time?"
Laura pressed the handset harder against her ear. "You haven't been working on them today?" Bonnie had a pretty laugh. "Afraid not. I was going to, but I'd pulled a tendon last week and Lars wouldn't let me do a thing. He even took the day off to prepare the backyard bed in time. No, wait a minute."
Through the earphone Laura heard a small gasoline motor rattle to life.
Bonnie shouted, "Whup, no he's mowing the grass! Just a second!"
Laura heard a bakelite clunk, a door slamming. The lawnmower racket quieted. Bonnie picked up the phone and resumed her chatter.
"Honestly, he's been treating me like a basket case. You know what these Norwegians are like, they'll use any excuse they can to work."
"That's what they tell me," Laura said.
"Too right. Would you believe it, just before you called he decided to burn all the rubbish around the house. What a stink it made! We're lucky the smog inspectors never saw it."
Laura's heart sagged. One half of a lovely plan had literally gone up in smoke. Lars must have spotted the signs of her digging. And that bit of grab-ass by the car-surely he felt something missing. Laura had no doubt what he'd been burning....
"Laura? You still there?"
"I'm still here. Did you get my package?" Bonnie's titter wasn't quiet as pretty this time. "I got it. In fact, I was going to call you about it. What do you mean, `Want to trade?' "
"What do you think it means?"
"Laura, I know it's a joke, but I'm a little slow. If you want to give away your old underwear, you could at least wash out the skid marks."
"Don't those belong to you?"
"Are you kidding? Why, have you been going through my hamper?"
Laura closed her eyes, opened them again. "Bonnie? Could you come over here? Today?"
"Laura, dear, if you're swapping panties, you don't have to bother with me. I'm quite satisfied with the ones I've got. Honest."
"Please, Bonnie. It's very important. I have to see you in person."
Bonnie turned serious. "Sure, okay. I guess I'll just have to find out what this's all about."
Laura cradled the phone. Then she refilled her wineglass and awaited the fireworks.
Bonnie looked as fresh as ever. Her cheeks glowed from the outdoors while the beginnings of a tan crept across her forehead. Her robin's egg-blue eyes sparkled when she greeted Laura.
"Well, I got here as fast as I could." The two women embraced. "What's up?"
Laura closed the door. "Come into the kitchen." Bonnie's shoes clacked on the linoleum as she followed Laura to the breakfast table. She hung her shoulder bag on a tube-steel chair, settled into it and looked up at Laura, waiting.
She was a head shorter than Laura, but much more compact. She had a bosom like a `fifties sweater girl, which strained against the top of knitted pink minidress. Her high cheekbones seemed to draw her mouth into a perpetual half smile, and she was smiling now at Laura.
"Glad to see you survived the party," she said. Laura held up the half-empty sherry bottle. "Want some wine?"
Bonnie shook her head. "No thanks. I got to drive back. What'd you want to see me for?" From her purse she brought out a paper parcel and pulled aside the wrappings. "I suppose it has something to do with this." The last bit of tissue crinkled aside to reveal a fold of blue satin.
Laura pointed. "I found those in our car yesterday morning, after the party. What am I supposed to think?"
Bonnie gave Laura a good, hard look. Slowly she said:
"You figure Tom's been seeing another woman, and the first one you suspect is me. Thanks a lot."
"You were with him last night."
"Laura, you think I can't change? I've been with Lars for two years, and not once have I touched another man."
"Never?"
Bonnie lowered her head. After a pause she murmured, "I've come close." She raised her head again. "But I'll swear on a stack of Bibles this high-" She held a trembling arm straight out to show how high, "-that I never laid a hand on Tom! No, better yet, I can prove it. Lars was there!"
"He ... was? But I thought...."
He left the convention ahead of time, reached home while I was at your place. When Tom drove me up to the house, Lars came out to see who it was. So you see, even if I wanted to I couldn't-" Laura tasted more sherry, then dropped her head 40 in one hand. "Oh, Bonnie, I wish it had been you."
"What do you mean?"
"I was at your house this morning. You weren't there, but Lars was." Laura shut her eyes. "I ... we ... had sex."
She heard a purse thunk to the floor, heard Bonnie ask, "Pardon?"
Laura's words poured out. "I thought you'd seduced Tom that night, and that was your underwear in the car. I wanted to get back at you. I went to your house, to leave behind a pair of my own pants. I only wanted to scare you, that was all, and we could have talked it out later, but Lars was there, he should have been at work. We sat in the back and chatted, and it, it just happened. That's why he wouldn't let you in the yard today. He was getting rid of the evidence."
Bonnie's voice was faint. "I think I'd like some wine after all."
Laura found another glass, emptied the sherry bottle into it, watched Bonnie gulp it down.
"It's so ironic," she mumbled, "so God-damned ironic."
"What is?"
Bonnie talked to the glass. "That I-that you and I-that we both made a commitment. All four of us-you, me, Lars, Tom-and I'm the only one who stayed honest."
Laura laid a hand on the other woman's wrist.
"You should be proud of yourself."
"I feel like a fool." Bonnie let the hand remain. "Those years were agony, and they got worse. Every time I'd walk by a construction site and those good-looking guys would whistle at me, I wanted to whistle back." She held up her left hand. A two-carat diamond engagement ring sparkled under the kitchen light. The wedding band was soldered against it. Bonnie twiddled the rings on her finger. "This meant something," she told the rings. "I thought I could change, grow up. If you could do it, so could I. And now everybody...."
"Bonnie, you don't know how sorry I am." Bonnie's eyes flashed. "It's Lars's fault, not yours. If he'll fuck you at the drop of a hat, who knows how many others he's been doing it to? He goes off on those long conventions, never tells me about them...."
"What would you do? If you found out Lars was cheating on you?"
"You mean what am I going to do?" She folded her hands. "I think I'll go to a night club." She patted her skirt hem. "I believe I'm dressed for it." Laura stared at the packaged panties as if hypnotized. "Can I go with you?"
"Do you really want to?"
"Oh, I don't want to do anything. Not get picked up or anything like that." Laura's voice was slurring from the wine. "It's just that, I can't bear the thought of Tom leaving me alone." She looked up at Bonnie. "I mean fair's fair, isn't it? If he can be doing, fucking another woman, then I can at least dance with a man, right? There's nothing wrong with that, is there?" She was almost pleading for understanding.
Bonnie gave it to her. "Of course not. We used to go out together before, didn't we? I'm not going there to get picked up either. I probably won't, anyway. I'll just let things happen."
"That's good." Laura rose to her feet and grabbed the chair back for support. "God, I'm getting drunk already."
"Here, let me help." Bonnie held out an arm. Laura took it and lurched around the table. "Wait a minute."
She turned back and snatched the panties from the table. Holding them against her chest she giggled. "It wouldn't do for Tom to find those, would it?"
The two women moved unsteadily toward the bedroom.
"I wonder who that woman is," Laura said. "I hope she was pretty." She glanced down at the lacy satin. "Do you think she was a blonde?"
"I wouldn't be a bit surprised. You can never trust them."
"Why, what a terrible thing to say. Now, what should I wear?"
CHAPTER FOUR
The Vancouver Connection discotheque was doing a pretty good business for a Tuesday night. Laura and Bonnie had arrived early and picked a table near the back where they could talk in a civilized voice and study the people. Most were clumped together in threes and twos with the odd single, where they sat at high bar tables and sipped overpriced drinks while trading looks. Though many seemed bored, having not yet made a connection, they continued to wait patiently for crowds and music and alcohol to have their effect. Eight giant speakers belted out a fast Abba number, to which half a dozen couples were already dancing. Over the hardwood floor, an elaborate cluster of swirling lights splashed multi-44 colored patterns over sweeping backs and flying skirts.
Laura sipped her sparkling cider and glanced down at her green front-closing tube skirt. The top four buttons stuck out at angles as they strained to hold in her writer's hips.
"I should have worn a girdle. If I go out on the floor, this might pop open like a balloon."
"So you'll be like Wonder Woman."
Laura took another sip of medium dry cider and watched the dancers. Half-seen figures bumped and twirled through a blue-grey tobacco haze, an invisible disc jockey yammered, "We're all having a good time tonight, aren't we! Now let's crank it up and motor!" On their table an unused ashtray started vibrating. Laura reached out to still it.
"Hey, I just thought of something!" Bonnie said. "We're still wearing our wedding rings!" She slipped hers off and dropped it into her purse.
Laura glanced at her own engagement and wedding bands, but kept wearing them.
"Go for it, birthday boy!"
Laura looked around. The table next to hers was occupied by two youngish males. They shouted and waved at a third who stood and looked none-too-eagerly at Laura. He stood on the skinny side and wore a black suit with sleeves that failed to cover his wrists. A straggly mustache on his pale face twitched when he smiled weakly and took another step toward the women's table. Laura watched him brush back his hair and swallow.
"Go on, she doesn't bite!" the other boys shouted. But they stayed where they were.
When he was three feet from Laura, his lips flickered and he said, "Care to dance?"
Laura looked at Bonnie. Shrugging, Bonnie said, "I don't think he bites either."
"Watch my purse," Laura said. "I'll be right back."
She dropped off the chair, began walking toward the dance floor. The young man trotted after her.
The floor had become wall-to-wall people. Laura managed to push her way through and clear a path for the following boy. Once or twice she had to touch an anonymous shoulder to keep from toppling over on her high heels.
The music suddenly switched from raucous to smooth, and the D. J. announced, "Now we're all gonna slow down and get real close, that's it, nice and romantic, ye-e-ah."
Laura put her arms around the boy's shoulders, while his hands enfolded her waist. She dropped her head against his and asked, "Is it your birthday?"
She felt a nod. "I'm nineteen today," he said.
"First legal drink, eh?"
Another nod.
"Can't your girlfriend get in?"
"I don't have one."
She wondered if he'd ever had one. He was a good dancer, though. She let him lead her in ponderous circles around the floor, while other couples slowly orbited them. His body was lean yet surprisingly soft. His fingers drew little rings around her back, stroked across the ridge of her white pin-dot pantyhose. She felt something grow from him and press against her legs.
Goodness, he's getting an erection, she thought. She almost drew away, then settled against his bulge.
She recalled those times when she and Tom used to dance. Tom would always get big down there, and she would hunch against him with her groin aching from virginal hunger. But they had agreed to get married first, after Tom graduated, after he got a job, in another year or two....
Oh, it was a miracle how they survived those years, a genuine certified God-invoked miracle. They should have been canonized. Yet Laura knew one thing: they could never have done it again. Only one miracle to a customer.
From her full six years of maturity, Laura knew what this boy was going through. She almost felt maternal.
The idea hit her like a shaving cream pie. What if she were to let this boy take her home for a birthday present? His yahoo friends would shut up after that. And afterwards she would return to Tom, her love strengthened. Because she could tell him that, no matter what happened between them and other people, their love was strong enough to resist their distractions. It could even be shared.
A squishy warmth was spreading between her thighs. Her genitals felt like pudding cooking on the stove; it needed stirring. Laura spread her knees and nestled closer to this boy's unyielding lump while the music gushed around them....
There were four faint pops. Something clattered to the floor. Laura's hips suddenly breathed easier in their new-found freedom.
"Oh, damn!"
"What's wrong?"
"My dress!" Laura said. "The buttons came out." Damn Bonnie. She had told her the green dress wouldn't fit, warned her this would happen, and she didn't feel like Wonder Woman at all. Not one little bit.
"No, don't move away," Laura said. "People will see. Stand against me."
She clutched the edges of her skirt and tried to pull them across her legs. The boy was in the way, but she needed his cover. She yanked harder, heard something rip.
"Oh, hell. No, keep holding me!"
The boy kept his hands around Laura's hips while she tugged at two folds of her skirt. They 48 were inches apart. She knew if she tried to bring them any closer, the tear would go right up her back.
"What am I going to do?" She needed this boy to shield her from other eyes. She could just imagine them walking crab-like across the floor, cheek to cheek and belly to belly. The picture made her giggle.
"What is it?"
"Nothing, birthday boy," Laura said. "Just one of those things."
"Maybe I'd better go."
"Don't you dare!"
Her hands were next to his pants. Swiftly she tugged down his fly, groped for the broad elastic of his shorts. A hot, rubbery thing sprang out and smacked against Laura's legs.
"Hey!"
Laura smirked. "Now you can't leave me, birthday boy."
She drew his waist closer. His penis passed between the hanging folds of her dress and scraped the pantyhose that covered her parted thighs. Laura clamped her legs together to feel his throbbing flesh through her nylon that crackled faintly as she rode him like a banister.
"How do you like that, birthday boy?"
"It's-nice," he whispered. "My name's Craig."
"Glad to know you, Craig," she whispered 49 back.
She rocked on her heels over his shaft, slowly, in time with the music. A cool tingle slipped across her flesh as droplets of juice oozed from his spout and soaked into her thighs. Laura could feel her own parts getting ready. Her pussy was like Pavlov's dog, salivating in front of a beefsteak. It was open wide and trying to devour Craig's meat through two thin layers of nylon, positively wallowing in its own juices.
Laura rubbed her hands across Craig's back, clenched double handfuls of tweed. He was moving for himself, now, moving between her hams in swift, jerking lunges that slapped her stomach and twitched her skirt out from behind her, that shoved her back on her heels so that she had to grip his neck for dear life, while his fists crushed her ass cheeks, tugged down her skirt, pistoned his unrestrained organ in a furious, rustling, thud, thud, thud....
Laura thought he would burn two holes in her pantyhose. His shaft was like a cannon barrel shuddering from countless recoils, pointing straight behind her and ready to fire its famous burst through her skirt and give half the girls in the disco a little bundle of joy.
Laura grabbed his behind and held tight. "Stop!"
Craig's spasms slowed. "What? What?" His 50 look was dazed.
"Silly. Don't you want to put it inside me?"
"What? Here?"
"Oh, brother. Just a second. Don't move."
She hooked her thumbs under the waist elastics of her panties and hose, pushed them past Craig's blockading bazooka. With her nylon shield she bent the gun down, but it sprang up again to challenge her defenses directly.
Laura surrendered without a fight. "Enter me," she whispered.
His howitzer rose up and Laura sighed as she smothered it with her warm reception. The cock slid up her with a sound like gurgling molasses. She bent her knees, let her heels droop under her, until almost her entire one hundred and forty pounds was concentrated on her tiny, nail-hard clitoris. Her hips lunged forward. Her eyes swam and she felt Craig stiffen. His arms gripped her like chains, to imprison her and keep her in his aim. She jerked once more, almost drilled into his shaft.
"How does that feel, birthday boy?"
"Aaah. It-feels good. Warm."
"If you've got the candle, I've got the cake," she murmured.
She clenched her sphincter muscles around his muzzle and heard a strangled moan. She thought he might backfire; she pictured his balls exploding like a spermy hand grenade over her legs.
Laura straightened and began rubbing her spike along his tube. With her nerve-packed clit she could feel two veins throbbing along the fleshy firearm. She purred softly as she passed over the blood-stiffened ribs and felt her syrup seep from her.
The music had changed back again to a fast dance number from the S.O.S. Band. People now moved about in an elaborate choreography of overhead swings and spinning feet while Laura and Craig clung together in seeming indifference.
But not quite. Craig's hands slapped Laura's rear in quickening pulse beat rhythms of the dance tempo. Laura lurched around the slopping shaft, fast, frantic, hair flapping her partner's face, her moans keeping time to her hammering heart, his flesh enveloped by pink-flushed walls and flowing mucus, then half of it glistening under the coruscating lights, drowning once again in Laura's gushing juices, hot, thrusting, soaking, while oblivious couples twirled about them and the S.O.S. Band sang about doing it right.
Laura grabbed Craig's waist and spun him around on her heels. His organ nearly popped out of her, and she held his hips to keep him inside. With one deft motion she slipped up her sagging lingerie until the waist elastic fetched up tight behind his scrotum. The halves of her open skirt hid from any curious eyes the action of their loins.
Now Craig began his assault. Laura's fragile defenses had retreated, only to counterattack, to come from underneath and capture him. He was truly imprisoned within Laura, but he wasn't about to go down without a fight. His gun was still loaded.
He pounded against her breadbasket in short, manic bursts, while his fingers wrenched apart the half-moons of her ass, jabbed the cleft through her dress, squeezed her shut. Laura squeaked as fingernails poked at her tender skin while his casehardened rod beat against the fluid walls of her tunnel. She buried her head against his chest and moaned in 3/4 time.
Their feet shuffled in convulsing quarter-circles around the floor and through the gliding half-seen dancers. Invisible arms brushed them, other feet nearly tripped them, someone shouted, "Who taught you to dance like that?"
Wiry black pubic hair thumped against tawny coils, slurped from musky love oil that gushed out to slicken Craig's sidearm and ease it deeper into Laura's feminine fortress. A band of elastic from a pair of well-scuffed pin-dot pantyhose strained to hold Craig's ammo pouch that was also being pinched by Laura's pink nylon briefs.
They couldn't hold back the furious energy within, of millions of thrashing tadpole cells that waited to be launched straight into Laura's baby factory. The rubber snapped, the balls bashed into tender pussy, the cock thrust and the cunt quivered, stomachs clasped, the man moaned and the woman whimpered while the souped-up music pounded about them in a riot of thrumming strings and pulsing percussions.
Laura clenched her teeth. Colors jiggled behind her tightly-screwed eyes as she built herself up to let go....
An instants pause. A pile driver smash from Craig.
The cannon thundered inside Laura. Brilliant star shells exploded behind her eyes and in her tubes. The cannon recoiled, lay down another massed barrage of fiery grapeshot into Laura's shivering pillbox.
His aim was true. Laura shuddered with each burst, felt her bloated defense works collapse. Ovaries, fallopians, uterus, seemed to shatter into a white-frothing lava that roared past twitching vaginal muscles to swirl and settle around Craig's spent organ. She dropped like a white flag in his arms.
Craig's fingers caressed her back. She opened her eyes to see his blurring face.
"Now you have another birthday present," she said.
Craig mumbled. "When-can I see you again?"
Laura shook her head. "I'm sorry. I'm married."
Craig tried to pull back. "You are? Is your husband-?"
Laura held him. "He's not here. It's all right. Don't you have a girl for yourself?"
"No. Not really. I never ... You're the first one."
"I know. Now that you've had your first, you can go after your second."
"There's a girl I know, but ... I don't think she
"I think she does. Girls need it, too. Why don't you kiss her and see what happens?"
"Kiss her?"
"Sure. But first kiss me." Laura offered a cheek.
Craig touched it with his lips. His mustache tickled her.
"Just like that," she said.
"Maybe." He sounded doubtful.
Laura moved her hands down to his waist. "Now we'd better go."
Craig's penis had shrunk within her. She lowered her nylons and stepped away. She caught a flash of shining pink flesh that whipped back, and then Craig was drawing up his zipper and glancing around to see if anyone watched. Laura hitched up her underwear and smoothed as much of her wrinkled skirt as she could in front of her. She smiled at Craig.
"Good-bye," she said, and elbowed her way through the crowd.
She no longer worried about any dancers seeing her lingerie. They never noticed anything. Besides, she had more immediate problems.
She headed for the bathroom, her hands pressed against her sides. She needed to fix her mauled skirt away from the leering eyes of men. Not only that, but a cool trickle slowly spread from her burning groin. Birthday boy's present needed to be exchanged.
The ladies' room was at the far end of a corridor near the back of the disco. A few girls milled outside the door. One of them smirked at Laura with an expression that said, Fat chance of you getting in there. Laura ignored the look and pushed through the door.
A cloying reek of cigarettes and bubblegum disinfectant and piss and sweat and ten kinds of liquor and thirty kinds of perfume rose up to wreathe Laura's neck like a garrote. Water splashed, toilets flushed, and women gabbed.
"... get a ride home...."
. said he wants to wait first...."
"... probably gay, I'll bet you any money."
"What's she doing in there? I gotta go."
All four stalls were taken. A stocky woman with spiky hair and black eye shadow stood before the first one and slowly shifted from foot to foot. Her beefy red washerwoman's arms were folded tight across her ample chest. She glanced at Laura and her mouth compressed in a grim line.
Laura held her dress across her, clamped her knees together, and meekly took her place in the queue.
"I don't mind if he gets forward, it's when he starts knocking my religion...."
"Shit, the heel's broken off...."
"If she doesn't come out of there, I'm gonna go on the floor."
"Can you lend me a quarter? I gotta call...."
"Hi, Laura. I thought I saw you go in here." Laura spun around to see a friendly blonde head and a pink dress.
"Oh, hi, Bonnie. You didn't have to follow me...."
Bonnie held out a white leather handbag. "Here's your purse."
Laura took it. "Thanks. Did you give up our table? I didn't see you dancing."
Bonnie gave a wicked little grin. "I'll tell you later. Do you want to hang around here any longer?"
"I don't think so." Another squishy lump dropped from Laura and pressed against her sore lips. "Look, there's an emergency...."
Bonnie's eyes widened. "What happened to your dress?"
"It tore. I told you it was too small."
"I'll bet. It looks like you've been using it for a welcome mat."
"Well-" Laura beckoned Bonnie closer, whispered in her ear, "I got fucked on the dance floor."
"No. And they didn't throw you out?"
"We were standing up."
"Oh, Laura, and you thought / was-"
"Forget that. Right now his stuff is coming out of me, and if I don't clean it off soon I'll have one nasty rash."
"So stand on your head. All right, I'll see what I can do."
A toilet glugged. A few seconds later a door creaked open. The washerwoman rolled her eyes heavenward and sighed with promised relief.
Bonnie shoved past her. "Excuse me, we've both got diarrhea."
"Hey!"
Bonnie dragged Laura into the stall and shot the bolt home.
"You stupid bitches!"
Bonnie settled against the door. "Was it that kid you fucked?"
Laura unfastened the remaining buttons on her skirt. "That was the one." She folded the skirt over the toilet paper holder, lifted her blouse over her pantyhose. "Excuse me."
The door shook from heavy pounding. "You fucking dykes, I'm gonna break down this door!"
Bonnie leaned back. "Ignore her."
More plumbing sloshed and the hammering ceased.
Laura slid the pin-dot hose down her thighs, pulled her panties forward and peered at the gusset. "God, it's really coming out."
Bonnie stepped forward. "Let me see." With a forefinger she snagged the waist elastic for a better look.
A silvery white blob had collected on the panty crotch, while a thin strand led up to Laura's wrinkled, half-open vaginal lips. Bonnie used two hands to draw the pink nylon down Laura's hips and the liquid string snapped free. The blob shivered.
"What are you doing?" Laura asked.
Bonnie dabbed one finger on the panty crotch, scooped out a dollop of watery custard and brought it to her lips. She placed the finger in her mouth and closed her eyes.
"Bonnie!"
Bonnie smiled and licked the finger clean.
Laura said, "You're crazy."
"That's right. I'm crazy for the stuff." She reached out again.
Laura yanked her panties back up. "That's disgusting!"
"Please? Just one more?"
"Well-" She reluctantly lowered her pants and watched Bonnie fish for another serving. "What's it taste like?"
Bonnie sighed. "Heavenly. Ambrosia. Concentrated man. It's life itself." She held a dripping finger out to Laura. "Want some?"
Laura sniffed the finger, touched the gob with the tip of her tongue. Bonnie's tongue glided over the glistening finger. Her throat bulged when she swallowed.
"Even if there's pussy-juice in it, it's still delicious," she said dreamily. "Lars never lets me suck him off. The only time I could get a taste was after sex. I'd dig his sperm out of me and lick it off my hands. He caught me doing it once, and he thought that was sick. I think it had something to do with God. His parents told him it was in the Bible."
"Genesis, Chapter Thirty-eight," Laura said. Bonnie put out her hand again. "May I?"
Laura said, "I think it's sick, too, but all right." Bonnie scraped her finger over the cotton crotch. "It's almost all soaked in," she murmured. "If you gave me those panties, I'd suck them dry." She brought another glutinous fingerful of secondhand man-meringue.
"All right, maybe I'm also crazy," Laura said, "but can I try it again?"
"Why not? You've earned it."
Laura held Bonnie's hand in both of hers and lapped at the liquid love-gift.
This time it tasted different, like diluted corn syrup with an undertone of salty dry wine. Laura rolled the substance around her tongue, gulped and swallowed. It slid down her throat like raw egg white. The tip of her tongue tingled, then a gradual numbness spread around the inside of her mouth.
"It's weird," she said. "It feels almost like novocaine."
Bonnie giggled. "Doesn't it, though? Just be careful you don't get it in your eyes. It burns like hell." She peered at Laura's wrinkled panties. "I think that's the last of it. Pity. I can bathe in the stuff. I almost did, too."
Laura unrolled a length of toilet paper, stopped. "You almost what?"
"That's what I was going to tell you about. While you were on the floor, I was with a man, too."
Laura inserted a fold of tissue over the moist gusset, pulled her pants up and adjusted her hose. She reached for her skirt. "Where did it happen?" she asked.
Someone bashed on the door again. "You two live in there, or what!"
Laura finished buttoning her skirt. "I think we'd better go."
"Good idea. I can use some air again."
A bird-faced woman gave them a withering look 61 when they stepped out of the stall. Then out of the bathroom and into the din of the disco where conversation was impossible. They threaded their way between the packed people, collected their coats from a soporific check girl, and went outside.
"I met him right here at the front door," Bonnie said as they crossed the parking lot. "He was smoking a cigarette and trying to see the stars. I said it was a nice night and we chatted about the disco for a bit. He said he was running out of cigarettes and was trying to think of where to buy some more. I suggested the Seven-Eleven on Robson and asked if I could come along."
Bonnie unlocked the passenger door of her yellow TR-7, then circled around to get in her own side. The two women clambered in and settled themselves. Bonnie started the engine, backed out, and aimed the car for Water Street.
"He asked if I smoked too, and of course I said no. I had to think fast, so I told him I needed to buy some pantyhose."
"Pantyhose?"
Bonnie grinned at Laura. "I know, I never wear the damned things. I still think they're stupid-no offense, dear-" She patted Laura's pin-dotted knee. "-but he didn't know that. I had to think of something and they don't sell garter belts at 7-11." The car tires clattered over Water Street's uneven paving bricks as they headed out of Vancouver's 62 historically trendy Gastown.
Laura said, "I've only once worn stockings and a garter belt. Tom bought them for me. I thought they pinched too much."
"Whatever turns you off," Bonnie said. She speeded up to make a yellow light, merged onto Cordova Street, whipped between a downtown shopping mall and the old Grecian brick train station, slammed onto a short viaduct.
"Why'd you say pantyhose, of all things?" Bonnie took a fast left onto Howe and cruised between silent skyscrapers.
"Maybe I wanted to get a rise out of him," she said. She rubbed a bare leg. "I told him I was getting cold. He said okay and took me to his car. Then he drove along the way we're going now." Another right and she was pacing cars along Pender.
"I told him garters look nicer, and they're healthier. I said when I did get the pantyhose, I was going to cut out the crotch and wear my panties outside. Oh, I acted like a real airhead. And all the time I had my eyes literally glued to his pants." Laura said, "If you studied English instead of boys, you'd never use that expression."
"What?"
"`Literally' means-oh, never mind. What happened then?"
Bonnie swung onto the broader thoroughfare of Georgia Street. Presently she said, "You know, I never did find out this guy's name. All I know is he drives a white Chevy, has shaggy brown hair, and wears horn-rimmed glasses. And he smokes like a furnace. He's also slow on the uptake. I did most of the talking. He didn't ask a thing about myself, let alone invite me up to his place. So after a while I had enough of this coy stuff and I took the bull by the horns. I asked if I could suck his cock."
"Oh dear. What did he say?"
Bonnie slapped the steering wheel. "He said no! Said he wasn't `into it.' So, fool that I was, I asked this weirdo what he'd like to do. Within reason." Bonnie clicked the signal arm and slowed to take the exit onto Stanley Park Drive.
"Men. You think you've finally figured out where they're coming from, and they spring something new on you. You know what he wanted to do? You'll never guess."
"Screw you?"
"I said this guy was weird. No, he wanted to lick my shoes."
Laura glimpsed at Bonnie's halter sandals resting on the gas and clutch pedals. Was it her imagination, or did the white leather have a newly polished sheen?
"Good Lord. Did you let him?"
* "I was almost mad enough to make him," Bonnie said.
They rolled past the darkened zoo area, plunged into the park's looming forest.
"How did it feel?" Laura asked.
"Funny," Bonnie said. "About what you'd expect. He parked near Ferguson Point and then went down on the car floor on his hands and knees. He started tonguing the vamp of my left shoe. I couldn't see much, but I could feel his drool sliding down my skin. That, and his halitosis on my foot. It made my knees go shivery. He was holding my calves and massaging them a bit. I like it when a man rubs me there. Then his tongue moved up the strap. It was like a warm snail crawling up my foot. He stopped at the buckle and jiggled it with his teeth. I thought he would bite it off. Then he was licking the rear over my Achilles tendon. I'm pretty sensitive there; it's given me trouble before. He was really soothing. I just lay back and enjoyed it."
Laura asked, "You weren't afraid he'd get violent?"
Bonnie crested a hill, vaulted over the causeway that led to the Lion's Gate Bridge.
"This one looked docile enough," she said. "He just had a thing for leather. I said maybe I should have worn my boots, and he nearly creamed on the floor."
They passed a half-empty restaurant and curved downhill.
Bonnie straightened the wheel. "I think what 65 really got me off was this psychological feeling. I mean, men keep reminding us how they're the big masters of the universe, and we're supposed to serve them."
"And fear them," Laura said.
"I wasn't afraid tonight," Bonnie said. "Not of this guy slobbering over my shoes. It was nice to be reminded that men are such babies after all. You just have to find out what buttons to push."
"That can take a few lifetimes."
Bonnie sighed. "Too right. Anyway, he finally finished licking the tops of my shoes. I said they were nice and clean and asked if there wasn't a spot he'd missed. He said yes, now he'd like to taste the bottoms. If you please."
"Goodness. What next?"
"I told you he was weird. I figured, why not, so I changed around to something more comfortable for both of us. I lay sideways on the car seat with my head propped up against the window. He sat behind the wheel and took one leg in his hands. And he ran his tongue under my shoe.
"It was an insult, really. I mean, there I was, lying down with a leg in the air. This bozo had a clear view right up my skirt, he could see what all men live for, and he wasn't interested. I could see his tongue moving so slick and sensual, over a dirty rubber sole. He could have put that tongue into something really nice, and he'd rather use it to lick leather.
"I thought you enjoyed it."
Bonnie slumped over the wheel. "Maybe I did. It was kind of stimulating to see this guy going for something so dirty. I was excited. When I felt under my skirt, there was a little wet spot on my panties. I rubbed myself and he didn't even notice. He was busy giving my shoe heel a big wet blowjob. He was stuffing the heel past his lips and slopping over it with his eyes closed, and his cock was making a pup tent. I figured if that's what he wanted, he could have it. I dropped my other foot on his pants and fondled his fly."
Bonnie slowed to make another turn on the narrow road, continued to coast downhill. Through the trees Laura could make out a bit of the beach.
"He loved that, all right," Bonnie said. "He unzipped his fly and rubbed my foot all over his thing. Then he took my other leg and made a foot sandwich, with his meat in between. He used my soles to scrape his throbbing dong."
Laura asked, "Wouldn't that hurt?"
"He didn't think so. I thought he would shoot all over my sandals. It was so unfair, so I looked at my watch and said it was time we went back to the disco."
"How did he take that?"
Bonnie shrugged. "Pretty good, really. He 67 stopped and said sorry, he was getting carried away. Then he started up the car, turned around, and drove back."
"Glad it worked out," Laura said.
"I'll say. men can be dangerous if you don't let them finish. But he wasn't. He did have one request, though. He asked if he could play with one of my shoes while he drove. I thought, what the hell, it doesn't hurt me, so I unbuckled it and gave it to him.
"He lit a cigarette, had the window open, thank God. He didn't have a spare hand, so he asked if I could rub the shoe on his chest. I did. Opened his shirt and massaged his little nipples with the top of the shoe he'd slobbered over. The buckle kept catching on his hairs and he didn't mind a bit. I swirled it around like a washcloth, he sighed, and I kept a lookout for peeping Toms.
"That's how we got back to the Connection, and that's where I found you with a pussyful of sperm."
"That you wanted to eat."
"I told you, I can bathe in the stuff."
"And you said that guy was weird."
"I guess I am, too. I have my own fixations, but at least I keep them in my head."
Bonnie slowed the car, turned to point it toward the beach. Moonlight glowed off the pale sands below, while farther out the house lights on the North Shore sparkled in the night air. She ratcheted back the emergency brake, switched off the engine.
"This is where we parked," Bonnie said. She draped an arm across the seat back. "While he was gobbling my tootsies, my mind was a million miles away. There's a fantasy I sometimes have when I make love. Or masturbate. It goes back years. I told Lars about it, and he thought I was sick. Imagine, me sick! It's normal to have fantasies. Do you ever get any?"
"Oh sure," Laura said. "I like to think about winning the Governor General's Award, or living with Tom on a small island to ourselves-"
"I don't mean that. I mean sexual fantasies "
"No, I don't think so. Not really."
Bonnie murmured, "I have one. It comes in different variations. Sometimes I'm lying on a bed. Other times it's a bearskin rug. Or a pool table. I could be stark naked or wearing a frilly negligee. But the main thing is the men. Hundreds of them are standing around me, and more are parading by. And every one is masturbating. They're rubbing their big pricks and shooting all on top of me. They love seeing my body, it really makes them horny. I can feel every load hit me, the way it plops and trickles down my skin. Sometimes I catch a load on my tongue and squish it around and let it dribble down my face onto the pillow. There are so many men and they're pouring so much onto me, I can afford to waste it. I roll around and catch more on my back until I'm coated. If I'm wearing anything, it's glued to me by now. And more of it keeps coming."
Bonnie writhed in the bucket seat and groaned while her hands strayed over her body. Her skirt had ridden up over her waist to reveal her sunken navel and the curved white Y of her bikini briefs. A spreading odor made Laura think of sour armpits. She looked out the window.
Between rasping breaths Bonnie continued:
"All kinds of men. Loggers in dirty jeans and checked shirts. Lawyers holding their brief cases in one hand and their dongs in another. Sailors. Doctors. Lifeguards, all of them want me. And me, I'm, I'm sitting in an office. In a big leather swivel chair. I'm wearing a business suit, my blue wool one with the narrow lapels and the knee-length skirt. The first man shows up. He's got on a dinner jacket and a ruffled shirt with a bow tie. I unbutton my jacket and that's all he needs. He whips out his beautiful thing and fist-fucks himself right in front of me. I can hear his hand sliding over his meat, and then he shouts, and his jizz squirts out and hits me right on my blouse. It soaks through my camisole underneath and burns on my skin. He thanks me and walks away. There's another man, and another, and they're all spraying me. My blouse is dripping, my camisole is soaked until they can see through it. That makes the next ones even more horny. One man shoots a load right in my face. I've got my reading glasses on and they're smeared, I'm blinded for a minute. His semen dribbles down to my lips. It tastes heavenly"
The car rocked slightly. Bonnie was hunching forward and gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles. Her skirt, Laura noted thankfully, had fallen back over her thighs.. She returned to the window, watched the full moon twinkle over the wave tops of Burrard Inlet. Farther out to sea a number of cargo ships' lights glittered like Christmas trees. Laura counted at least eight freighters and what appeared to be a battleship. She idly wondered how many men were aboard, and if they would ever be enough to feed the hunger of the woman who squirmed next to her.
Bonnie rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand. "I wipe off my glasses, but they're too slimy," she rasped. "The men are just shapes and colors now. I can still feel them, hear them rubbing and spurting. I spread my legs and in a flash half a dozen loads hit my skirt. They look like little puddings. Some are white, some yellow. I sample each one with my finger. Like a wine taster. They all have different tastes, subtle bouquets, and they're all wonderful. I fill my mouth and suck my spermy hands. I'm feeding on the stuff and getting drunk with it.
"The guys have been so nice to me, I give the 71 next ones a treat. I start to unbutton my blouse. The buttons are slippery and my hands are getting hit all the time. I get it open at last so they can see my camisole. It's the silk one with the square lace neckline, and it really turns the men on. They splatter it. Then I peel it back sq they can hit me directly on my tummy. It's like being in a carwash. There's sperm running down me in rivers, my belly button is brimming with it, it's soaking through my garter belt and the skirt waist.
"They're shooting at my breasts, too. I've still got my bra on and there's a pool of sperm between my tits. I feel myself through my bra, it's a see-through bra now, there're strings of sperm hanging from it. My breasts are all sticky and I'm pressing this man-juice into my skin. I squeeze my breasts together and a foaming white lava gushes out."
Laura watched Bonnie's hands slide up her dress and mash her chest. She half-expected to see a shimmering geyser shoot up her neck, then shook her head to clear it.
Bonnie said, "I lift back my soaking skirt and they nearly shoot holes in my slip. They're so excited when I get up my half-slip, they can see my panties now, they know they're almost there. They spray my panties. I can't get them off. It's like driving against the tide. My hands are slipping over them, they're all wet and hard to get a hold of, but I tug at them and get them down. They catch on my garters, they're clinging to my legs, but I yank them to my knees and then they plop down around my ankles. Now the men can see me in all my glory and they go wild. They're fucking me from three feet away, their gooey missiles are hitting my pussy so hard I don't even need their cocks in me. My pussy is plastered, there's sperm soaking into my stockings. Black stockings, that really turns men on. I've got sperm in my hair, in my ears, covering my glasses. It's bubbling in my shoes, I'm sitting on sperm. My clothes are ruined, my hair's a mess, the chair is ruined, and I don't care. I reach down with my spermy hands, through the froth of sperm on my pubes...."
Bonnie reached down with her clean hands under her skirt. She breathed softly.
Laura touched her shoulder and shook it. "Bonnie, I'm getting tired. I want to go home." Bonnie's eyes flickered open. "What? Oh, there you are." She shook her head. "Well. Now you have my fantasy."
"I was afraid you might act it out."
"Not likely. Oh, it might be fun to try, if it was possible." She keyed the ignition and switched on the heater. "It might be disappointing, though. Most fantasies should be kept in your head. They're more fun that way."
"Safer, too," Laura said. She felt warm engine air gush over her legs.
Bonnie released the brake and brought the car back on the road. "There is one thing I'd like to try out," she said. "And that is to have a man eat me."
"Ick."
"Oh, people do it all the time. Trimble is, I'm not one of them. That's another thing Lars won't do. He thinks a vagina is ugly."
"I think so, too," Laura said.
"That's `cause you're not a man. Men are supposed to like them."
"Tom wanted to try it on me once," Laura admitted. "I didn't even want to think about it."
"Laura, you don't know what you're missing. The mouth is a perfect sex organ. It can reach around all the right places."
"Have you tried it before?"
Bonnie twisted the wheel for another curve. "Once," she said. "Tried is the word for it. I asked this boy to lick me, and he made the effort. He did more biting than licking. And he kept bitching and moaning that he couldn't breathe."
"So you don't know what it's like," Laura said. "Or you've got your facts wrong."
"I've had other girls tell me." Bonnie sniffed. "One of them was a lesbian. She said she'd do it to me. She was always chasing me around the university. Said if I wouldn't let her, she'd tell everyone I did. Bitch."
"Did you let her?"
"Why Laura, dear, you know better than to ask something like that."
They had left the park and were driving once again through the city when Bonnie spoke again.
"I'm thinking of going to the Cambridge Hotel tomorrow. You ever been there?"
"No. What's there?"
Bonnie steered through a cloverleaf to get onto the Cambie Bridge. "It has a strip joint," she said. "Lars told me about it. He sometimes takes clients there. Boys will be boys, I guess." She chucked Laura on the shoulder. "Want to come along? There'll be more men."
"I'll think about it."
"Oh, I for-got. You've already had two men today. You need your rest."
"You know what I mean."
A moment later Bonnie pulled up in front of her friend's house, stared at the darkened windows. "I wonder where your husband is tonight."
Laura also studied her house. "Maybe if I'd been there tonight, he'd have stayed, too."
"You believe that? Laura, promise me you won't fall for the male double standard."
Laura almost asked about the female double standard but decided better. Instead she kissed her friend and left the car. She dug her keys from her purse, reached the front door and waved back as the yellow Triumph snarled away.
When she entered her house, she heard a low, ursine rumble.
So Tom was home, innocently snoring away, perhaps calling out his wife's name in his dreams while she went gallivanting around the city.
Laura dashed into the bathroom and tore at her buttons, as if she could strip away her shame with her soiled clothes. Her eyes were stinging, cheeks flaming as she peeled off her stained pantyhose, wadded it into a tight ball to cram it in with the rest of the laundry.
She hoisted the lid of the hamper and at once her racing thoughts screeched to a halt.
Lying atop the rest of the dirty laundry was a pair of dank cotton underpants that had a pattern of little violets printed over them. Laura had a pair just like it; she might even have taken it for her own.
Except that, as far as she knew, she hadn't worn her prints in a month.
CHAPTER FIVE
The vacant-eyed girl in the vermilion body suit and purple leg warmers gripped a pair of chrome-plated parallel bars, swung her legs into the air. Her feet caught the bars, she slid her calves over, then let go with her hands to hang suspended and swaying in time to the rock music and the husky cheers of a hundred men.
"T-like 'em off!"
"Take it all off!"
"Whoooo!" The girl was on an island stage; men surrounded her and roared with beer-heightened approval. A front-row table was occupied by two well-dressed women who sipped draft beer while they studied the stripper's gymnastics. They did not cheer.
Laura leaned over to Bonnie's ear. "I feel kind of sorry for her."
"Don't," Bonnie said. "She's getting paid well enough. If she watches her pennies and stays off drugs, she'll be able to retire while she's still got her looks."
"She already has crow's feet."
"Then she'd better hurry."
Raucous dance music roared from torn speakers. The girl was straddling the bars again and swaying like a wind whipped tree. She wiped her hair away from her eyes, reached over to slide a strap down her shoulder. Feet stomped, glasses thudded. A set of strobe lights flickered red and blue over the girl's shining body. She jerked down the body suit to expose one pale lavender nipple and leaned back against the multitude of scratchy voices that assailed her.
Laura shook her head. "I wonder what makes someone do that."
"I think it'd be kind of fun," Bonnie said. "Showing off in front of a bunch of horny men. You're safe enough."
"Maybe. It'd have to be very safe to suit me."
"That's another one of my fantasies. Didn't you ever think about it, Laura? Being a dancer? Or a hooker?"
Laura took another sip of draft, put it down. "I suppose I've been curious about it. But I could never try it. I'd be too afraid of the kind of men who pay for it."
"How about showing off? I've thought about dressing up like a slut and going to some public place. See what kind of reaction I get."
Laura said, "Maybe I anticipated you there." She checked to make sure all eyes were on the show, then lifted her black flower-print skirt over her thigh. Bonnie grinned at the accordion-pleated garters holding up a pair of black silk stockings.
"Very nice," she said. "Did you get those special?"
Laura let the skirt fall back. "Tom did, years ago. I wore them only once before. I thought it might be fun to put them on again. Not that I want to give anyone the wrong idea."
Bonnie said, "I'll bet some men here think we're professionals."
"You're kidding!"
Laura looked at Bonnie. Her blonde friend was dressed in a pink turtleneck sweater, white leather vest with matching skirt unbuttoned to the knees, pink nylons and white pumps. Her hair was pinned back with a pair of ivory barrettes and just two spots of rouge adorned her cheeks.
"You don't look like one of those girls in the East End."
"Neither do you," Bonnie said. "Maybe we're high-class hookers and we're slumming."
Laura surveyed the sea of sweaty, stubbled faces that shrieked beer fumes at the indifferent dancer.
"We've come to the right place for it," she said. "I just hope we're out of luck."
"We don't need these apes," Bonnie said. "We've got class. Nothing but the best for us. We charge five thousand bucks a night, Minimum. For each of us."
Laura raised her eyebrows. "Would a man really pay that much?"
"He would for us. We're special, not like that baggage up there." She waved her head at the stage. "We don't even look at a man if he's not in Who's Who. We jet around the world and spend weeks on someone's yacht in the Mediterranean, ski in Switzerland, sleep in lavish penthouses...."
"You want us to be prostitutes, too?"
Bonnie raised a haughty hand. "Please, don't use that word. One piece of filth dared to call us that, and we were through with him. He said he was sorry, kept pressing hundred-dollar bills in out hands, and we flung them back in his face. Don't ever forget that we are ladies, and we cater to gentlemen."
"My goodness," Laura said. "What kind of gentlemen?"
Bonnie's reply was drowned out by a fresh Niagara of noise. A gibbering throng of drunken throats howled as the girl let her body suit drop to her waist. She jumped onto the bars and hung like a cannibals' captive to sweep the floor with her glossy-black hair. Another chorus of shouts followed when she whipped around and let her peanut-hard nipples skitter over the hardwood.
When the cacophony had settled a bit, Bonnie resumed.
"Only the best," she said. "We get politicians, businessmen, captains of industry, and they all treat us better than their wives. Sometimes we'll give a break to an artist or Nobel Prize winner. Let him enjoy our charms and broaden our horizons."
"I wouldn't mind having a famous writer," Laura said. "He'd fall madly in love with me and pour out his soul in a book that wins an award. He'll dedicate the book `To Laura,' and everyone will try to figure out who she is."
"Exactly! Men will fight each other to lay the world at our feet. But in all the world, there'll be only two men who can have us for free. They'd never know how fortunate they are."
Laura said, "You know, I talked with Tom this morning, and he said-"
Bonnie didn't hear. The music and the male hollers were a continual din, now that the dancer had kicked off her body suit. She squatted on the stage and let the men cheer at her shaven crotch and wrinkled gray labia.
Bonnie drained her glass. "I think," she said, "I will go and mingle." She stood up and was swallowed by the clamoring crowd.
All alone, Laura tasted her beer. The showgirl climbed back on the bar, straddled it with her legs, and faced the crowd with the steel pipe protruding between her buns.
She must be made of iron down there, Laura thought.
The girl gripped the bar and slid across, gently at first, then farther and faster with her weight on the steel that soon glistened under the lights with a flecked whitish trail.
Someone at the neighboring table shrieked, "Oh, baby, you can grease my pole any day!" and followed it with a piercing whistle that rattled Laura's skull.
Laura snapped her head around. "Hey, my ears!"
Two unshaven men sat at the next table. The nearest one had an almost spherical head stuck under an orange baseball cap that advertised CAT Diesel. He put two fingers in his mouth for another blast when Laura stopped him.
The whistler's partner, a slimmer man with windblown hair and grease-spots on his wool shirt, looked at Laura and moved his mouth. Whatever words he said were smothered by the noise.
Laura cupped an ear and leaned over. "Pardon?"
The thin man changed chairs to sit a bit closer to Laura. "I said," he shouted, "you'll have to excuse 82 my partner. He just came down from a logging camp and he hasn't seen a woman in three months."
Laura noticed that both men were dressed to the eights in oil-stained jeans and scuffed work boots. She asked, "Are you loggers?"
The thin man shook his head. "My buddy's a mechanic and I drive the trucks. We're here to okay some equipment being shipped up to the camp, then we're flying back to Prince Rupert tomorrow."
Laura said, "I hope you're enjoying your visit to the wicked city."
The girl had lowered her body over the oil-slicked bar and was inching forward. She skated her tongue over the shaft, used her dangling breasts to bat either side of the stainless steel.
The whistler shouted, "Hey honey, miners harder!" The girl made no reaction whatsoever. Lama said, "I think she's heard it before."
The whistler turned to Laura. "Well it is harder." Two shaggy black eyebrows twitched like rattlesnakes over his glittering blue eyes. "You could break a saw on it!"
The thin man made a face. "You should have seen him before he had his lobotomy."
The music speeded up. The girl hugged the slippery bar with perspiring hands while her body arched like a mammoth measuring worm. The shouting rose to a crescendo. The girl closed her eyes, gave one final lunge, her back reared toward the ceiling, she almost bent double with her muff nearly in her face....
She peaked ... then sagged back. The music stopped in mid-beat. The girl turned like a pig on a spit, then dropped her feet to the floor. She stood and bowed to the applauding men.
"Baby, grab a hold of what I got!" the whistler hooted. "You can do chin-ups on it!"
The girl gathered up her body suit and made her way off the stage to the back of the crowded room. One man who tried to touch her was casually slapped away.
The house lights came on. The whistler beamed at Laura. "What did you think of the show?"
"It was interesting," she said.
"But I'll bet you've seen better in a mirror."
"Maybe," Laura said. She turned to the thin man. "Is he always like this?"
"Oh, he's harmless enough."
"Sure, just keep me away from beer and women." The heavy man raised his beer glass to his face.
"I'll try to keep that in mind," Laura said.
The whistler lighted up. "Didn't you have a friend with you? Where'd she go?"
"She," Laura said, "Is mingling."
"Oh, ho-o."
"What do you mean, `Oh, ho?' "
The whistler grinned. "Nothing. Just `Oh-ho.' Merry Christmas."
"You'd better not mean anything else," Laura said. "My friend and I are ladies. We have class. Nothing but the best for us."
The men's faces began a long drop. Laura stuck out a hand and smiled. "My name's Laura."
The thin man clasped it. "I'm Ron." He gestured. "This here's the Captain."
Laura brought her purse over to the men's table and sat between them. She lifted her eyelashes at the whistler. "What are you a captain of?"
Ron said, "Nothing. We just call him that. Ever since he picked up a girl at a pub in P.R. and took her on his yacht."
"He has a yacht?"
"Only in my bathtub," the Captain said.
"Yeah, if you had a bathtub. He got drunk and started bragging to this girl, you know how it is."
"I think I do," Laura said. "Did she fall for it?"
"Every girl falls for a yacht," the Captain said. "Except this one was a hard case. She wanted to see the yacht first. So I took her down to the pier." Ron said, "The only thing tied up there was an old log float tug."
"No one was aboard," the Captain said.
"So this maniac started up the engines and took her for a cruise."
"It was a regular love boat."
"Except that our mechanical genius forgot to check the fuel gauges."
"I had more important things to watch." The Captain used his hands to draw a pair of sine curves in the air.
Ron said, "They ran out of fuel twenty miles out to sea and started drifting to Japan."
"We'd have made it, too," the Captain said, "if the Coast Guard hadn't come along and ruined it." Laura squinted at those guys. "Did this really happen?"
Ron straightened, "Honest. It was in the papers."
"My goodness. What did the girl think about it?"
"She loved it. After the Mounties let him out, she found him and asked him to do it again."
"She still believed he was a captain."
The Captain pulled his cap over his forehead and chewed on his cigarette. "Steady as she goes, helmsman. Hoist the Jolly Roger. Anchors aweigh and keelhaul the scurvy blighters. Warp speed, Mister Sulu."
"All right, you've convinced me. He even looks like an old sailor. I'll bet I could strike a match on his chin."
Ron opened a pack of Player's and held it out to Laura. She waved it away, said, "Thanks, I don't smoke." Ron replaced the pack on the table.
The Captain piped up. "Do you mind if I ask you a sensitive, personal question?"
Laura said, "What?"
"Are you a prostitute?"
"Jesus, Cap, you can see she's not-"
Laura held up a hand. "That's okay. I'll let it pass this time. I'd just like you to know that the last man who called me that is still apologizing. I'm a lady, and I cater to gentlemen."
Ron tipped his head to study Laura. "You don't look like-"
"I told you, I'm a lady. I'm just enjoying a night out with my girlfriend."
The Captain rocked forward and folded his hands on the table. "Ah, having a brief shore leave like us. Well, you heard my mate. We weigh anchor tomorrow with the first tide. We've got a stateroom topside and we want to bring in a bottle of grog and a winsome lass or two for some heavy cruising. What do you say?"
"Captain!"
"Yes or no?"
Laura examined these two guys, felt her face wrinkle into a slow smile. After a few seconds she said, "Well, why not?"
The Captain's hands banged on the table. "Well blow me down and shiver me timbers, how's that for a naval maneuver? Fair took the wind out of your sails."
Ron raised his eyebrows at Laura. "Are you sure?"
Laura shrugged. "I guess it'll be okay. It'd be quieter than down here, at least. If I can find my friend, we'll have a party." She gave them an ambiguous smile. "Just don't get your hopes up too high."
The Captain grinned. "We promise, we won't ask for anything you haven't got."
Laura asked, "You have a room upstairs?"
Ron nodded. "Yeah, number three-nineteen." Laura stood up. "I'll go look for my friend."
"Hoist the yellow flag!" the Captain roared. "All other vessels sheer off. These prizes have been taken. Splice the main brace and run out the cannons!"
Ron grimaced at Laura. "You know, when the boys started calling him `Captain,' we thought we were giving him a hard time. Now we take turns kicking each other."
"I think he's kind of cute," Laura said. "Even if he is three sheets to the wind."
"Oh my God, it's catching."
As Laura walked through the packed beer parlor, she decided Bonnie could have the Captain. He was more her type.
Laura scanned the heads. Plenty of them were blonde, but none resembled Bonnie's. She rummaged in her purse for a pen, scrawled on a serviette: "B. Room 319. L." She placed the folded note under a salt shaker on her table, returned to Ron and the Captain.
"I couldn't find her. Do you want to go up now, or shall we wait here for her?"
Ron sipped his beer. Two more full glasses sat on the table.
"You go ahead." Ron dug in his pocket and flipped her a room key. "We'll finish these and join you in a moment."
"Aye, me beauty," the Captain added. "You go topside to your cabin and pretty yourself and lower your sails."
"Well," Laura said, "whenever you're ready."
"We'll be there," Ron said.
The Captain took a deep breath and began to sing in a hideous key:
"Come cheer up, my lads, `tis to glory we steer, "To add something more to this wonderful-" Ron pretended to pitch a hand grenade at him. Laura climbed three flights of creaking stairs and wandered through a narrow maze of hallways with doors set close together. After a false turn she found room 319 and let herself inside.
The room was a confined cube with walls stained an uneven sepia from forty years of cigarettes. Two iron beds with itchy-wool army blankets had been arranged head-to-head in the corner and shared a common plastic-draped night table. There was a single window over one of the beds, and was half opened on a central pivot to allow the city breezes to blow aside a stained gauze curtain.
Laura nearly caught a heel on a protruding edge of linoleum as she walked across the room. In one corner was a paint-chipped desk with two mismatching chairs. Laura stepped over to the desk, riffled through a mess of papers. They appeared to be manifests of some sort, with names like Finning and Freightliner and assorted numbers that were all to her. Business, and none of it was hers.
Next to the manifests were two slick magazines adorned by several half-dressed hussies who coyly covered their private parts and simpered back at Laura from the covers. She thumbed through one of them, studied page after page of pink flesh and toothy grins. One spread featured a couple of blonde girls who wore fancy stockings and locked their arms together in simulated passion. Laura asked herself how much they'd been paid to do that.
Someone banged on the door. Laura dropped the magazines and went over to unlock it.
Ron greeted her. "Hi. You got the key and we couldn't get in."
He was followed by the Captain who brandished a heavy cardboard box labeled "O'Keefe's Extra Old Stock."
"Yo, ho, ho, and a case of High-Test," he said. Ron said, "I hope you weren't bored waiting."
"Not at all," Laura said. Her eyes moved to the desk. "I had plenty to read."
Ron followed her gaze, blushed and grinned. "Oh, that. Just some souvenirs to bring back."
"All we got up there is three old copies of Penthouse, the Captain said. "You have to pry apart the pages with a chisel, and even then you can't hardly see the tits through all those dried gobs of-"
Ron snapped, "Cut it out, Hornblower. You're not in camp anymore."
Laura gave a weak laugh. "That's all right, I've heard worse." She looked at the Captain, who had placed the case on the desk and was tearing back the cardboard tab. "Is that what men do in camp? Over pictures?"
"You bet," the Captain said. He lifted out three brown bottles and twisted off the caps. "One-handed reading." He handed Laura a beer and showed teeth.
Laura accepted her beer. "You poor men. You must suffer."
"You try not to dwell on it," Ron said. "It just makes the time go longer."^ He sat on a bed and waved his bottle at the Captain. "At least, I wouldn't think about it if Barnacle Bill there didn't keep reminding me."
Laura sat down beside Ron and swallowed some beer. The Captain dropped onto the bed next to her. She could feel the pressure of his body warming her.
To Ron she asked, "What do you do in camp, when you're not working?"
The Captain made little putt-putt sounds and Laura turned to see him chopping with a cupped hand over his lap.
"Besides that" she said.
Ron looked thoughtful. "Read a lot, I guess. Watch television, play cards. Sometimes you get tired of seeing the same faces and need to be alone."
"I'll bet!" the Captain said.
Ron ignored him. "Sometimes I'll leave the bunkhouse and keep walking, into the woods. It's another world under those trees. If you stop and listen, you begin to notice the sounds: a brook you never knew was there, a bird flapping overhead, or a chipmunk clawing up a trunk. You can still hear the camp's engines behind you, and then you move further into the forest and even they are gone. Then you're left with the sound of the forest. Things are growing all around you, but you have to strain your ears to hear it."
"See what happens?" the Captain said. "You go buggy out there, the trees start talking back at you."
Ron cradled his beer in his lap and stared at something far away. "It makes you feel humble. Those trees were centuries old long before we got here."
"Yeah, and we get paid twenty bucks an hour to cut `em down."
Lama said, "I'd like to see it some time."
"I'd like to take you there."
"So would I," the Captain said.
Laura felt a hand brush the back of her hand. The Captain was running callused fingers through her hair, down her back with astonishing delicacy. She let him continue and pondered Ron's hands. They had singed brown hairs and black lines of grease embedded in the knuckles. She reached out.
"May I?"
Ron let her take a hand and press it between hers. There were hardened ridges over the insides of the fingers, a leathery palm that flowed with muscular warmth. The Captain continued to rustle the back of her dress.
Ron spotted Laura's ring. "You're married, aren't you?" he asked.
"Yes," Laura whispered. "I'm afraid so."
She felt the Captain's hand freeze at her side, heard him groan, "Oh, Je-sus Christ. Now we find out."
"It's okay," Laura said, "it doesn't matter. Let's talk about something else." She noticed a faint impression on Ron's own ring finger. "Did you have a wife?"
Ron lowered his head. "Once. And you're right, we should talk about something else."
Laura looked at him. Her lips parted.
Ron bent over and touched Laura's lips with his. They had a taste that could only be felt. The blood thudded in Laura's ears while a soft tingle padded over her chest on quiet kitten's feet. He didn't push, didn't pressure her, just rested his face against her and allowed a growing stream of passion to swirl around her fluttering heart.
She drew back and gave Ron a long, liquid look. "Hey, don't I get a kiss too?"
Laura turned to the Captain. He held his beer out of the way and his lips puckered ready. She smiled and leaned over.
The Captain tasted of salt and beer with a subtle undertone in his saliva that only a lustful man can have. She let him put his tongue in her mouth and slither it inside her. His cap bumped her brow and his stubble scratched her chin.
She broke away and returned to Ron. He had placed his bottle on the floor. His hard, square hands held Laura's shoulders and he guided her face to him.
His tongue probed between her gaping lips, ran over teeth and taster and rinsed away the Captain's drool.
She fell back on the bed and let Ron's lips roam over her face and neck, let him lick the hollow of her tingling throat, kiss her shoulders through her rayon print dress. She plowed her fingers through his hair, drank in the rich aromas of tobacco and body oils and hard-working man.
The bedsprings squeaked and the mattress rose slightly when the Captain stood up. Laura swung her feet onto the blanket. Her skirt and underslip slid up her legs, and the air chilled her naked thighs over the stocking tops.
The Captain said, "Oooh, that's nice."
Laura looked up. The Captain had a leer that made her vagina shiver behind her black silk panties. Tom had bought the panties for her a year ago as part of the outfit. She seldom wore them since they needed to be hand-washed.
While Ron kissed her dress, Laura grinned back at the Captain.
She asked, "Like them?"
"Indeed I do."
He stuck a hand in his pocket. There was a sudden move, a snick! and a gleaming blade popped from his fist.
"Hey!"
The Captain yanked a handful of silk. The knife flashed, there was a harsh r-ri-ip-p!
"Now I like them better."
Ron shot from the bed. "You crazy bastard!
What the fuck are you trying to-"
Laura put a hand under her dress, gingerly touched warm flesh and ragged silk. She examined her fingers. They were clean, no blood.
The Captain was saying, "I was just trying to improve on the design. I'll buy her another fucking pair-"
At the same time Ron was shouting, "-you think you can get away with that kind of shit with anybody-" He stopped and turned to Laura.
"Are you okay?" he asked. "He didn't hurt you?"
Laura laughed with relief. "I'm all right. Captain Hook just wanted to give me my first pair of crotchless panties."
She sat up to peer between her legs. The Captain had made a clean, if inaccurate, cut up the glossy black silk. A rough diagonal slit extended from the lace fringe to about halfway down the cotton-lined crotch seam. She could see a mass of matted copper-wire hairs and the wrinkled ridge of damp brown labia. And a ruined pair of panties that must have set Tom back an hour's pay.
The Captain's eyebrows went through a dancing caterpillar routine. "Jesus, I'd almost forgotten how beautiful they look." He started to undo his belt. "I wonder if they feel the same way I-" Laura's knees slammed together. "Hold it, Captain Marvel." That knife had been a little too 96 close. She looked over at Ron. "You want it too, I suppose?"
"I'd be a liar if I said I didn't."
"All right," Laura said. "I've never done it with two men before." Damn, where was that Bonnie? Probably in someone's car again. "I guess this is as good a time as any to start."
The Captain patted his pockets. Changed jingled. "All right, we'll flip for first."
"No, you don't. I'll choose who goes first." Laura wanted to have Ron; he would be more gentle. "I want-" She thought fast. "-the one with the smallest penis!"
The Captain's face wilted. "The smallest...?" Ron barked with laughter.
"Sure," Laura said. "You men are always bragging about how big you are. Well, now it's the little guy's turn. Besides," she added, "it makes more sense. I need to be loosened up."
Ron was still laughing. "Serves you right, Cappy Dick. You and your talk about that fireplug you hide in your pants."
The Captain stared at his boots. "Aw, you know better than to believe everything I say."
Laura held out both hands. "Come on, let's see them."
Both men unzipped their flies, pulled aside the openings in their underpants, and for the first time in her life, Laura had a chance to see two male penises side by side.
She never realized how different they could be. Jutting between the Captain's zipper teeth was a fat pink length of flesh that gradually narrowed to a bulbous head, like a scoop of ice cream on the wrong end of the cone. Drooping at first, it swiftly straightened under Laura's, stare.
"It likes your attention," the Captain crooned. In contrast, Ron sported a limp tube hardly bigger than Laura's finger. It resembled a short dun-colored garden hose with a marshmallow jammed halfway up it. There was hardly any tip; it was almost surrounded by a soft cloak of folded skin.
Laura asked, "Why does it look that way? Is there anything wrong with it?"
The Captain said, "What's the matter, you've never seen an uncircumcised prick before?"
"I guess they're pretty rare," Laura said. "Aren't they supposed to do it on the eighth day after birth? There's something about it in the Bible."
Ron shrugged. "I guess it's one more thing my parents never got around to doing."
Laura touched the edge of skin. "You mean they cut all that off? Does it hurt?"
"I couldn't say. I never tried to find out."
The Captain said, "I objected like hell when they did it to me, but nobody paid attention." He glared 98 at Ron's wrinkled worm. "All right, pencil-dick, get it over with."
Laura stroked the underside of Ron's flesh with her fingernails. "Well, this one looks the smallest. I guess you're-"
The penis started to grow. And grow some more. A solid beige marble emerged from its fleshy hidey-hole, and when Laura thought it couldn't possibly get any bigger, it did, until she found herself holding a long mighty spear that pointed straight at her shocked face.
The Captain slapped his thigh. "Hah, the First Mate's got the highest yardarm after all!" He pushed past Ron. "Start your engines, baby, we've got some waves to ride."
Laura held up a palm. "Hold it, skipper. Yours is thicker."
"What are you talking about?"
It was true. The Captain's thing was short and fat; Ron's was lean and long.
"I've never thought to measure them with calipers before," Ron said.
"I didn't say shortest," Laura said. "I said I need to be loosened up. Ron has to be first. I'm sorry."
The Captain picked up his beer. "Oh, all right. It won't be the first wet deck this old seadog has climbed on."
Laura took Ron in her arms. He kissed her 99 cheek and settled his weight beside her. His hand ran down her arm.
Laura asked, "You haven't ... done it, in three months, have you?"
"Longer than that," Ron said.
"Maybe you'd better just, um, satisfy yourself first," she whispered. "We have all night."
"If you think so," Ron said. He gestured at her dress. "Aren't you going to ... take off...."
"Later," Laura said. "There's plenty of time. But, let's pretend there isn't. You're a, a soldier, going off to war to defend me." She had written a poem along similar lines years before. "This is your reward, one sweet memory to carry you through the horrors of battle."
The Captain sucked on a cigarette. "That's right, hurry it up."
Ron snapped, "Oh, go play with your own balls, Queeg."
Laura lifted her skirt and slip over her waist, smoothed the material beneath her body. Her knees parted in a V-for-Victory of silk-covered curves. The air cooled her exposed vagina which waited for Ron to warm up. Laura closed her eyes.
Rugged hands began caressing her tingling thighs through the sheer silk, moved over dress and breasts to grip her head. A hot face descended to kiss her, as Laura's soldier boy in pipe clayed pants and brass buttons leaned his musket against the 100 wall and lifted her petticoat....
A lance-like pain stabbed at Laura's tender vitals, shot through her body in an agonized bolt. Soldier boy was using his musket on her and had forgotten to remove his bayonet.
Laura jerked her eyes open. "Easy!" she cried.
Ron said, "I'm sorry."
"Maybe you'd better use your fingers first, to lubricate me."
"All right."
A dry toughness rolled over the hollows of Laura's pudenda, stroked through silk that tugged at her bum with each pass. Bony points pushed between her sprouting labia to relax and tantalize, poked up and twiddled her perking clitoris. Tiny currents charged through her, pricked and popped the tensions inside and fizzled around her simmering groin. Muscles slackened within Laura as the fingers probed deeper and sloshed through her filling pool.
She murmured, "You can put it in, now."
Ron leaned forward and gripped Laura behind her neck. His soggy fingers warmed under their combined body heat, crackled Laura's nerves and their sticky massaging.
Laura's fragile flesh was shoved by a heated prod and she opened up to receive him.
She clutched him by his work shirt, grunted as he slid inside her. He pulled back, plunged deeper.
Involuntary muscles stiffened within Laura, and she squealed under his fumbling force.
"Easy, yes, like that."
She fondled his buns through the rough denim, pulled more of him into her. Her vagina squished under the pounding pubis while hot spasms rippled through her entrails. Her legs rose up to rub Ron. Silk scraped canvas, painted fingernails clawed at grease-stained wool. His heavy work boots banged Laura's open-toed shoes. She caressed the scuffed leather with her silky toes, kissed his wiry sideburns, rolled her hips under his plunging drill. Ron lunged faster and Laura squeaked.
"I'm sorry," Ron said again.
"It's all right," Laura panted. "Don't think about me. I'm nothing, just a camp follower, a tramp."
"No you're not."
"Yes! Yes I am! I do it with all you soldiers, I love to stuff your magnificent manhood in my greasy hole." Another heave tore through her quivering passage. "Oh, ow! No, don't stop! You need it bad, you need a cunt, even an ugly worn-out one like mine, you can't care what I think, not a slut like me-"
The Captain was sitting on the other bed, a cigarette in one hand, a beer in the other. One of the men's magazines sat open on his lap. He said: "Yeah, I can be romantic, too."
Laura clamped her shoes over Ron's shins, 102 gripped his body tight against her. Her hips jerked up to polish his plunging shaft with her dribbling rim. Bedsprings screeched, the rustling dress chafed Laura's salt-sticky flesh, Ron lurched while her spastic feet pattered against his sliding calves.
"Shoot it in me, you're ready, I know you are! Shoot it, I want it, my cunt wants it, do it n-o-o-ow...!"
Ron stopped. For an instant he was balanced, perched on a tightrope and ready to drop into Laura's enfolding net. Then Laura felt his club jump inside her. His jeans pounded her mound, his mace flailed in her shuddering tunnel and a white-molten eruption blew into her yawning passion pit. Her womb shrank from the impact of the gushing lava that burbled back to whirlpool around slick flesh. Ron dropped with a lingering sigh beside Laura's fevered head.
She was patting his back and cooing, "Thank you, soldier boy, thank you, you're so good to me, my little pussy loves your present, she wants to thank you too-"
Laura squeezed her sphincter muscles over Ron's shrinking penis, tried to wring every last drop into her. His thing bobbed like a tired snake, spat a few more drops of watered-down venom.
Ron sighed once more, said, "It's you who should be-"
She pressed a finger to his lips. "No, no, don't 103 thank me. I'm just a painted tart. I don't deserve you." She pushed his shoulders away from her. "Now you have to leave me, to serve your Queen and Country."
Ron's limp shaft slid out of Laura with a watery thump! He stood and wiped his forehead.
"Don't worry," he said. "I'll brave cannons and shellfire to come back to you. I'll even re-enlist." The Captain flung the magazine to the floor and pitched his cigarette out the window. "Now it's the Navy's turn, and about time!"
He had already unlaced his boots. Now he unbuckled his belt, shrugged out of his trousers, and kicked them across the floor.
Ron started to chuckle. "Good Lord, who'd've thought the Captain could be so pretty!"
The Captain's cheeks reddened when he looked down. Hanging almost to his thighs was a pair of shimmery-white boxer shorts decorated by hundreds of glossy, blobby hearts.
He snorted. "These were given to me. Some broad with a crazy sense of humor. I forgot I had them on." He started to pull them down.
Laura also giggled. "Leave them on! I think they're cute."
"That's what the last girl said, too." The Captain leered at Ron and flicked his eyebrows. "Then again, maybe I got something here."
He climbed onto the bed, told Laura, "Okay 104 baby, now it's time for some real loving!"
His tapered penis jutted from an opening in his shorts as he kneeled to impale Laura. Through the ragged rent in her wrinkled panties her own labia ruffled up to receive his blessing.
"You're going to give me some, aren't you?" she asked him. "You're going to shoot millions of tiny spermies into my womb?"
"You can bet the house on that! It'll come out of your ears."
The Captain's hairy paunch settled over Laura's crumpled slip, and an instant later a hot shaft pushed aside slick walls of raw flesh that cringed before his rigid staff.
Laura rolled her eyes to look at Ron. He was standing by the window, puffing a cigarette and watching the traffic below.
"Look at me!" she shouted. "See, lama slut, a cheap whore, a mattress for men to jump on!" Ron blew a lungful of smoke out the window. "No, you're really a nice girl with a sick mother to support. Someday you'll meet the right man who'll take you away from all this."
"I like you the way you are now," the Captain said as he forced himself into Laura's innards.
His thing was a carbonized piston working Laura's spongy cylinder to pump an oily river of frothing passions through her shuddering body. Ethics, guilt, fantasies, and shame blew from her 105 head with each stroke of the Captain's engine. Other, more immediate images of lust and building release poured up from her welcoming vagina, built her toward the rock-shattering orgasm that she knew would hit her any minute.
Wrapping two nicotine-stained hands around Laura's sweltering shoulders, the Captain braced himself for each renewed, grunting thrust.
"Hnnn-ng, oh man, oh baby, I love your quim, hnnnn-n-ng...."
Boring, thrusting, pumping ever deeper, the Captain's carborundum ice-cream cone shoved at creaming membranes and tugged labia and twitched at crackling clitoris, stretched Laura's singing muscles to snapping point.
A second later her body did snap, jerked and shuddered with spike-heeled feet jack-hammering bare legs, an entire body that hurtled up to slam against the Captain's fleshy mass.
"Omigod, o god, oh my God, I'm com-ming, o-o-o-oh-d-d-d-d...!"
"That's it, baby, that's what I like to hear, make music for these horny ears!"
Then the Captain was shooting his bolt, and now two epileptic bodies quaked in different times to popping springs and slapping flesh and tearing fabric. The Captain shouted names at Laura and slammed her trembling walls with seething bursts that splattered against her gorged uterus and roiled 106 in a rich puree of stringy mucus and Ron's bubbling semen.
Laura sagged back on the damp blanket and stroked the Captain's head. She was faintly pleased to notice a slight bald spot.
"You did it," she sighed. "You promised you would and you did, I can hear my ears ringing...." The Captain's huffing chest pressed against her. After a while he found his voice.
"I always say," another puff, "never let a woman down, and she'll never let you down." Someone knocked on the door.
The Captain jumped up. His shriveling penis tore at Laura's sore lips.
"Sweet Jesus, now what!"
Ron dropped his cigarette into an empty beer bottle. "Probably the neighbors downstairs complaining about the noise." He strolled toward the door. "Shall I let them in?"
"Fuck no/" The Captain vaulted from the bed and skidded across the floor, his penis flopping like a soggy lariat. "Where'd I put my pants, for Chrissake!"
Laura sat up. "It's all right, I know who it is." She smoothed down her skirt, adjusted a fallen bra strap, wobbled on her spike heels to the door and opened it.
The Captain was still trying to jam both feet into one pant leg and making shooing motions when Bonnie entered the room. She turned to Laura and her teeth were shining.
"So that's what happened," she said. "I wondered about that racket coming down the hall. Where'd you pick them up?"
"They were sitting at the next table."
Bonnie grinned at Ron. "That's my Laura. She works fast, especially when there're two sexy hunks around." To the Captain, still fighting his trousers: "Leave `em off, handsome. You look better that way."
Laura said, "You think I'm fast, you should see her operate."
"Hah, some operation. While my friend's having an orgy up here, I'm downstairs trying to compete with another girl on stage. I can't believe it, men would rather look at it than have it."
The Captain said, "I like to do both." He uncapped another beer and offered it to Bonnie. "By the way, I'm the Captain and my silent partner's name is Ron."
Bonnie took the beer. "Thanks. Why do they call you `Captain?' ".
"It's a long story," Laura said. "You're better off not knowing. What was the other show like?"
"Oh, that." Bonnie sniffed. "More of the same.
I could do better."
The Captain lit up. "Really? We might just take you up on that."
"Is that so, sailor? You think you can stand one more dancing girl?"
The Captain looked at Ron. "Can we stand it?" To Bonnie he said, "Baby, we've been stuck for three months in a logging camp with fifty-two guys and no women to speak of. Can we stand it, indeed."
"I love it, I love it, take me up there." Bonnie placed her beer on the desk. "All right boys, brace yourselves." She lowered her eyelids and began to sway. "Drum roll, please."
"Wait a minute," the Captain said.
He went to the beds and dragged at the mattresses. They thumped to the floor in a spurt of dust and ancient chicken feathers. He slid them together and arranged blankets to create a wide square gym mat.
"Now we can have a floor show."
Ron sat on the edge, beer in lap, and Laura took her place next to him. The Captain dropped down at Laura's other side and goggled at Bonnie. "Okay honey, we're ready."
"Just one second," Bonnie said. "You're not going to have it all your way. The woman should have something to look at, too." She pointed with a wagging hand at the men's pants. "Come on, open 109 your flies. I want to see some cock!"
The Captain looked at Ron. Ron looked at the Captain. Laura tittered.
"She's going to see them sooner or later," she said.
Ron shrugged and unzipped his fly. The Captain pulled open his valentine shorts.
When the men hauled out their limp red rags, Bonnie shook her head with a bemused expression.
"Laura, how could you," she said. "You didn't even save one for me?"
The Captain snorted. "Don't you worry your pretty little head about us, my lassie. You go through your motions and you'll see a wonder sure enough." He gave a Popeye squint, added, "You're better than spinach."
"I should hope so." Bonnie took a swallow of Hi-Test. "All right, hold onto yourselves, and no kissing in the audience."
Bonnie stood with legs apart and began to sway. At first a little jerky, she soon relaxed into a gentle, sinuous rhythm. The light sparkled from her rings as her hands glided through the air. Her hips rolled in quickening circles and shot forward. Her skirt flapped over her thighs to give Laura and the men a few glimpses of hose top and pink suspenders.
Bonnie sipped more beer. She lowered her arms and shrugged. Her open vest slipped from her shoulders, hung in the crooks of her elbows. She 110 pulled out one arm and made a swift half-spin on one heel. Her arm whipped out, centrifugal force carried the flapping vest high over the heads of the audience. Another spin made Bonnie's skirt fly over her hips. The Captain whistled at the flash of beribboned garters and cross-laced briefs.
"Mind my ears," Laura warned. The Captain grinned at her, returned to the show.
An all-too-familiar clammy stream was spreading under Laura's bottom. She cursed silently, glared at the blankets on which she was sitting! Those army-type hairy things were worse than poison ivy; it would be deadly to sit on them with a wet rear end. She stood up slightly, pulled her skirt from under her, settled back and let the double load of semen puddle onto her slip. At least she wouldn't ruin her dress.
Bonnie had her back to the audience and was now can-can flipping her skirt. The eye feast of pink buttocks jiggling behind sheer lace earned a short round of clapping from the men. The Captain bellowed, "Yeah! More!" Bonnie whirled around, undulated her way to a languid, corkscrewing squat until the men and woman could see right up her supple funnel of flesh and white leather. Laura noted a few golden hairs curling around the narrow pink strip of panty gusset.
"You can tell she's an amateur," Laura told anyone who cared to hear. "Professionals are 111 supposed to shave themselves down there."
Ron wasn't listening. He was probably deafened by his heavy susurration. Laura glanced down and, sure enough, he was getting bigger.
Bonnie noticed, too. She raised her body, her hips coiling over her legs. She gripped the belt of her dress, pinched the gleaming buckle between two fingernails, rolled her head while the Captain shouted:
"T-like it off, or I'll take it off for you!"
"Don't let him," Lama advised.
A swift tug and the ends of her belt dangled from the skirt. She clutched the top of the skirt, wrenched it apart. Buttons popped free, the skirt blossomed open to reveal successive layers of pink and orange:
First the hem of her crocheted pink sweater coming down to the frilled edge of a garter belt; another button went pfp! to show smooth orange skin; pfp, pfp! a lacy triangle of pink string bikini briefs bulging over her mound; pfp! pt-t, two firm curves of her thighs and the gauzy pink bands of her stocking tops; pfup, pfup, end of the line. She teasingly held onto her skirt, used it to shield her pink prizes.
Something slapped wetly on Laura's right. She looked to see the Captain batting his rigid organ.
"The sooner you get that off, the sooner you get this, baby!"
Bonnie simpered and swayed. The freed skirt dropped in a rumpled white wad around her shoes. She kicked it toward Ron, who caught it one-handed. He folded it and carefully put it aside.
Bonnie wasn't quite ready to show everything. She had placed her beer atop one of the girlie magazines on the desk and undulated with one hand clutching her sweater over her groin. The wool stretched over the swell of her breasts as she rocked in time to a private tune she was humming.
The Captain joined in. "Da-da-da-da-dadada-daaa-ah." He stomped his feet, yelled "Yeah!" again.
Laura peeked at Ron. His face glistened with a faint sheen of sweat. He gulped more beer and wiped the back of a hairy hand across his mouth. Keeping his eyes fastened on Bonnie, he fumbled for his cigarettes. Of course, his thing reared up like a broomstick.
A sour feeling crept through Laura's stomach, one she had often enough whenever Tom had talked just a little too long with one of the girls in class, and more recently when she found the panties.
Good Lord, she thought, I'm feeling jealous! She shook her head and sipped her Old Stock.
Bonnie was still using her sweater hem to cover most of her panties. Now she rolled her head to stare down her left shoulder, slid her hand over the 113 sweater strap, pushed it down. The Captain hooted at the slice of bare shoulder marred only by a slim ribbon of bra strap. She switched hands, freed the other side of the sweater, worked it down her arm.
A fringe of lace protruded from the sweater's neckline. It grew wider as Bonnie tugged the hem down her rolling hips. The tight pullover caught around her breasts, almost tore off her bra. Another yank, the wool snapped, then her bosom joggled free and the sweater dropped around her waist. Bonnie rubbed her palms over her face, past the neck to either side of her bra. She mashed the cups together, fingered her nipples through the rayon lace. Her fingernails caressed the protruding tips of two rigid buds sprouting behind cotton and spandex and aiming their sightless gaze at the audience.
Through the corner of her eye, Laura saw the Captain looking at his watch, then the door.
"You don't have to catch that plane yet, do you?" she asked.
"What?" The Captain waved his head. "No, it's not that, it's ... nothing." Quieter, almost to himself, he said, "It's way past eight o'clock. I guess it doesn't matter now."
Laura shrugged and returned to the show.
A gold bracelet sparkled on Bonnie's forearm as her hands traveled down her waist to clench her hanging pullover. She strained to push the tight 114 sweater neck hole around her hips and past her garters, stumbled when it tangled around her shins. She raised one foot, staggered a bit from the folds of wool catching her shoe heel, finally lifted the sweater up one stockinged leg.
Standing on one unsteady foot, she raised the other. The sweater dangled from it like a pink safety flag. A few sort kicks and the flag sailed through the room to join her discarded skirt.
Bonnie was always a good dresser, almost sensual. Laura noted that even her underwear was coordinated. Her garter belt was a narrow filigreed band around her waist with two pink triangles on either side where the suspenders stretched down to hold up her Dior stockings. Below the triangles was a third, larger one of her string bikini panties. Bra, belt, and scanties had the same cross-hatched lace pattern, and each featured a darling pair of pink bows that shook and shimmered with Bonnie's fluid pendulation.
Laura checked the men who flanked her. Yes, Bonnie was sexy, all right. This wasn't just another dancer facing the men; they knew what awaited them at the end. Their organs were ticking like metronomes.
Laura was almost cooking from the men's heat. She murmured, "Excuse me," and lifted her dress over her head. She dropped it behind her and sat back in her black slip. That was much better, much 115 cooler.
She sat with her knees against her chest, arms folded atop them as she watched Bonnie. Bonnie turned toward the flashing men, and Laura spread her feet slightly to give the other woman a new voyeuristic treat.
Want to see a little cunt, you cunt? she thought.
Bonnie's eyes widened at the view, and then Laura realized that her shredded panties must be painted from the men's earlier servicing.
Laura held up four fingers, joined thumb and forefinger on her other hand to form a zero. Bonnie wrinkled her nose at the scorekeeping, tossed her head and continued the dance. The men gave no sign of noticing the exchange; they were too busy concentrating on Bonnie's body, the louts.
Bonnie retrieved her beer from the desk, raised it to her lips. She touched the glass edge with her mouth, brought it back. Glistening strings of saliva thrummed between glass and tongue as she licked the rim and kissed it, pushed her tongue inside and slithered it out.
Both hands clutching the bottle, she rubbed it down her body. She reached her bra and breathed through her mouth while she pumped the brown cylinder between the pink cups. Down the bottle went, to gird belly button and press flesh. It snapped against the garter belt, left a pink trail along her skin, rolled over the ridge of her panties.
Bonnie closed her eyes as she squeezed the sloshing glass against lace and mound, rubbed it between her rippling thighs.
A few amber drops gurgled from the bottle, ran down her hands and spattered her shoes. She pulled back the waist elastic of her drawers, shoved the tall-boy bottle inside, snapped the elastic back over the label. The bottle jutted up like a surrogate penis straining against the sheer lace. With the pantied net firmly holding the bottle, Bonnie was free to lick her fingers clean, to stroke her face with beer and saliva-sparkled hands.
The Captain held out his own bottle. "Hey honey, how'd you like to swap?"
"That's my line," Laura almost said.
The brown bottle dropped forward against the tiny panties. More droplets dribbled down her stockings to the floor. Bonnie caught the bottle before it could fall out, lifted it to her face again. Her tongue darted out to kiss the warmed underside and the Captain just said, "Wow." She raised the beer to take a good, long pull. Her throat bobbled when she swallowed. Beer overflowed, ran over her mouth, trickled down her skin in bubbling zigzags to settle around her bra.
She was nearly pouring beer onto her face, pouring an alcoholic river down her chest, drenching her brassiere in a hissing white froth. The brew bubbled over and twinkled down her heaving torso 117 in crooked rivulets that collected into an effervescent ring around the elastic barrier of her dampening garter belt.
When the bottle was empty, she tossed it to the Captain who neatly caught it one-handed and slurped the rim for the last few drops. He gave a throaty sigh, said, "Best grog I ever tasted." Bonnie twirled again to show her pantied moons that rocked in time to the Captain's catcalls. Reaching up her back, she unhooked her bra and whirled around again. The back strap hung limp at her sides, and she pushed the loose cups over her breasts. The breasts flopped down as the last of the drenched harness passed over them, her soaked nipples stiffening in the cool air. Still clutching the rumpled bra, her hands moved up her shining neck, over her face. Her mouth snapped open to snag the fabric, and then she was brandishing the brassiere high over her head. She crushed the cups together, there was a squelching hiss, and a stream of pale suds dribbled down her throat.
Her breasts sagged over her hands as she fondled them and hoisted them to her face. They were huge; she could bend forward, snake out her tongue, and lap on a few amber flecks from her nipples.
"That'd be the perfect woman," the Captain said. "One that gives beer from her tits."
Bonnie leered and tossed her bra at the Captain.
The Captain whooped, shoveled his unshaven face into Bonnie's still-warm intimate garment, chomped lace and slurped the sodden lining.
"I was wrong," he burbled, "that last beer was the second best."
Laura shook her own beer bottle. It was empty. She half-turned to stand up, straightened cramped muscles, and walked with stiff legs over to the desk beside Bonnie.
There were still half a dozen bottles in the case. Laura took one and twisted off the cap.
Bonnie was writhing with the oily grace of a charmed eel. Her unrestrained breasts joggled to their own music. Laura reached out a finger to one beer-speckled globe and Bonnie playfully slapped her away.
"No touching," she laughed. "Not unless you're man enough to handle it."
Laura leaned over to kiss a talcumed cheek. Then she draped an arm over Bonnie's sweat-shimmering shoulders, and the two women kicked out like a pair of Moulin Rouge showgirls while Laura sang a few bars from the final movement of Offenbach's Orpheus in the Underworld.
The men loved it. The Captain hollered "Higher!" while Ron clapped a ragged time.
The women jumped, their bodies collided, shoes clacked, Bonnie's tits banged together, and Laura held on to keep from toppling in her heels.
Da-ah, dada da-da dah-dah da-da dah-dah-dah....
Bonnie giggled and shoved Laura away. She tumbled back to the mats, whooped as her legs flew in the air and her beer sloshed on her slip. She sat up and placed the bottle on the floor.
Ron asked, "Are you okay?"
"Never better," Laura said.
She lifted her slip. Spilled beer collected into a shallow lake on the slick material. Laura lowered her face and lapped up the malty liquid from its nylon basin before it could soak through to her skin.
She looked at Ron. His face was intent but his tool was pouting. Laura touched it with a finger, watched it spring up again. Ron skimmed his hand across her back. Laura settled against his arm, cuddled her head against his sideburns.
Bonnie had removed her shoes by then. She slid one white pump up her body, prodded her panties with the toe, tweaked leather over rubbery nipples. Her back arched as she raised the shoe over her face, its square heel pointing at her teeth. Her tongue oozed out to tickle the heel, to leave a shimmering saliva track over the crepe sole.
I hope she knows where she's been walking, Laura thought.
Bonnie's act speeded up. She unclipped her stockings, swirled the diaphanous pink veils 120 around her figure, ran them between her legs and around her neck, wrapped them like a noose around her dangling breasts.
She let the stockings drift to the floor, nearly tore off her flapping garter belt and flung it at the Captain.
The Captain said, "All right!" and fell to swilling the dregs of soaked beer from the rayon.
The woman paused, nude except for her jewelry and the frail pink triangle of her beribboned string bikini.
Slowly-Laura could almost hear the drum roll-Bonnie lowered herself to a corkscrewing squat, and her knees parted to guide three pairs of eyes to a mound that swelled behind its thin pink screen. Laura noticed a few moist spots darkening on the gusset.
"Yeah! Take it off!"
The Captain didn't have to tell her. Bonnie hooked her thumbs in the thin elastic, pushed her panties toward the men's faces.
"Let's see your buried treasure!"
Not yet. Bonnie pivoted on her feet, straightened her legs and bent toward the wall. Her drawers hung halfway down her buttocks. Bonnie slid them farther down her shining skin to expose the rounded cleft of her rear end, the shadowed hollow where her legs met, and a soft, reddish-brown lump of her pudenda with its downy coat of fine 121 blonde hairs. The panties stretched between her spread thighs, the gusset dangling like a discarded dishrag.
As she forced the panties down her parted legs, Laura got a look at the white cotton crotch lining. Yep, she's wet, all right.
Still with her back to the people, Bonnie raised one foot, then the other to free her panties. She lifted them before her, then spun back around with her crotch hidden by her bunched-up undies.
The Captain checked his watch, checked the door again, shrugged, and concentrated on the show.
Bonnie reached a hand behind her back, snagged an end of her underwear, pulled it between her legs. With both hands she flossed her panties under her vulva, gradually speeded up as her vagina relaxed under the stimulus of sliding rayon. She closed her eyes, her throat hummed, and she rotated her hips while the lace slithered between honey-filmed labia. One of the bows tweaked over her perking clitoris; her body twitched from the knot hitting her nerves.
She gave the panties a swift yank, then stood up and bowed to her audience. Her panties dangled between her legs, clutched tightly between her pussy-lips.
Ron clapped, the Captain roared, even Laura slapped her hands together. Bonnie tugged the 122 panties out of her, raised her arms in the sky, kissed her hands, kissed the panties, twirled them over her head.
"All right! Whooo!"
Bonnie hooked one thumb over the string elastic, stretched back the other end, aimed her panties like a slingshot at the small crowd.
"Over here!" the Captain shouted.
"Shoot `em at Ron," Laura called. "He hasn't had any yet!"
Bonnie winked an eye to take careful aim, let go of the elastic. The flapping briefs flew straight and true, smacked Laura on the nose.
"Ow!"
The damp wad flopped onto Laura's lap. She picked them up, gave a wan grin, put heir hand under her slip and used Bonnie's underpants to mop at her flowing sewer.
The Captain growled, "Have you ever been to sea, Billie?"
Laura passed him the sodden mess.
The Captain swung the crumpled bikini before his mustache, said, "Ooh, it smells of Highliner," and dropped it around his rearing mainmast.
Laura leaned against Ron, asked, "How did you like it?"
"Very nice," Ron said. "She moves well."
"I can take off my clothes, too. Maybe not as elaborate as that."
"You don't have to. I like you any way you want."
Laura snuggled against his neck, said, "Hm-nunm," while Ron stroked her shoulder.
Bonnie was squatting before the Captain and watching him set sail with her briefs.
"So you like women's underwear?" she said. "You bet I do," the Captain said. "I like even more what it covers!"
"How would you like a taste of this?"
She stood and waggled her hips. Her pubic hair waved half an inch before the Captain's nose.
The Captain's eyes wheeled up at her. "Baby, you're singing my song! I specialize in scarfing fur burgers. I'm a regular connoisseur"
"Hey, my beauty, don't ask me twice. Just sit on my bridge all night and I'll lick a bellyful from your sweet honey box."
"I love it," Bonnie said as she pushed the Captain back on the mattress. She swung a leg over his face, lowered her head toward his panty-wreathed penis. "Let% make a deal. You swallow mine and I'll swallow yours."
Through Bonnie's engulfing muff the Captain bubbled, "Honey, that's the best bargain I-" Bonnie^ tongue darted out to touch the Captain's crimson knob There was a knock on the door.
Someone pounded on the door. Someone shouted, "Let us in, God damn it! We haven't got all night."
The Captain said, "Oh, shit."
Ron asked, "What is it?"
Someone shouted, "Come on, open up, we can hear you in there!"
The Captain struggled from underneath Bonnie, flipped her panties into the corner. "Hide over there, I'll take care of this. Toss me my pants, will you?"
The door rattled. The Captain hitched up his trousers, shouted, "I'm coming, keep your shirts on! If you can."
Laura looked at Ron. He shrugged, looked just as surprised, and zipped up his fly. Bonnie remained on the mattress and still wore her birthday suit.
Laura said, "Shouldn't you get dressed?" Bonnie glared at the door. "I want to see their faces when they walk in."
Laura smoothed down her streaked slip and watched the Captain unlock the door.
The first woman towered over the Captain with her four-inch stiletto shoes. She wore a crinkled brown pseudo-Afro and enough bracelets to make 125 a pawnbroker drool. Behind her was a pale, stringy-blonde creature with a tangerine heart tattooed on one bare shoulder. Her shrunken breasts hung loose behind a sheer lavender halter top. Her pink jelly shoes flashed as she stepped into the room, circled around to keep her eyes on her taller friend.
The Captain said, "You were supposed to be here two hours ago. I thought you'd stood us up."
"We," the dark woman said, "were busy."
Ron asked, "Who are these people?"
Bonnie laughed, a brittle sound. "You mean you've never heard of these types before?"
The Captain shrugged with his palms up. "I was going to tell you, but it slipped my mind. Too many other things happening. I went out this morning and found these girls. We made an appointment for them to come up here at eight. I didn't know we'd score."
"Well, that's all right," the Afroed woman said, and nodded at Bonnie. "I can see you've made other arrangements. So, we'll be on our way-" She turned to the Captain; "-as soon as you pay us each fifty dollars."
"A hundred bucks? For what?"
The woman hardened. "Listen, mister, we set aside a whole evening for you. This is your cancellation fee. We're letting you off light."
Ron said, "It's only fair, Captain. If you missed 126 a doctor's appointment, you'd still have to pay." The Captain whirled. "These aren't doctors! I ain't shelling out a brownie for a handful of nothing!"
"Do you want us, or don't you?"
The Captain's eyebrows twitched at his friend. "Four women? What do you say, Ron old boy, think we can handle it?"
"Oh, God," Bonnie said.
"That's right, you told us there was only you two." She eyed the nude Bonnie and the half-dressed Laura and her lip curled. "You'll have to pay us extra for anything lezzie."
"Lezzie/" Bonnie shot up. "Look who's talking, everyone knows you hookers are queer!" She stood before the Captain. Her hands trembled. "Get rid of them! Don't pay them, let `em whistle for their money!"
"I wouldn't advise that, girlie."
Bonnie spun on the tall woman. "You don't deserve any money! You're probably crawling with diseases-"
"I'm clean, I check myself all the time. Unlike you, I'll bet."
"Why, you bitch! I oughtta-"
The Afroed woman drew herself to her full height. "You ought to what?"
"I oughtta do this!"
Bonnie's fist blurred. The next thing Laura saw 127 was the tall woman bending over and clutching her twisted stomach while her mouth gulped for air.
Then Bonnie was kicking and clawing at fuchsia blouse, grabbing hair and trying to fight off Ron who gripped her middle and desperately tried to haul her away from the heaving woman.
The shorter girl disappeared. Only the echo of a slamming door indicated she had been there at all.
Then the Captain was hanging for dear life onto the other woman and shouting, "Quit it, you'll get us thrown out!"
The prostitute lashed back at the Captain with elbows and heels, dragged him toward Bonnie while swinging a weighted shoulder bag and screeching blue murder.
"I'll make you pay, you bitch, you tore my blouse, let go of me, asshole-"
Ron was stronger, but still had trouble grappling his squirming charge. Bonnie was slick with sweat, kept slipping from Ron's arms as she lunged forward and screamed, "Stink-finger! Fish face! Herpes Hotel!" while her wind milling arms tore at chunks of hair.
Ron shouted at Laura: "Get her things, for Chrissake!"
As if in a trance, Laura stood and slipped her dress over her head. She found Bonnie's purse, 128 gathered up her friends discarded underwear and stuffed it in. She picked up a pink sweater and approached the struggling pair.
"Get it on! Hurry!"
Laura managed to catch Bonnie's whipping head in the pullover, then lose it again. Ron pinned her arms and Laura tried once more to dress the squirming body. It was like trying to handcuff an octopus. Bonnie, now blinded, shrieked through the wool, tried to shake it off. A shod foot caught Laura on the back of her thigh. She said, "Ow!" and guessed it belonged to the streetwalker. Bonnie battled under her pink straitjacket, kicked wildly at friend and foe, butted her head against Laura's nose.
There was a knock at the door.
There was a bang, a pounding, a strident hammering, and someone yelling, "What the hell's going on in there? Open up!"
A girl's voice chimed in. "You all right, Rosie?" Rosie relaxed in the Captain's arms. She smirked like a cat that found the key to the aviary, said, "Now you're in for it."
The door opened. Bonnie's head poked through her sweater just as two men strode in, trailed by a willowy blonde girl. Bonnie's eyes blazed, and she jerked down her sweater to hide her bush.
A hulking man with teeth like a backhoe stood beside Rosie. "These guys giving you trouble?"
The Captain let her go. Rosie said, "Fucking right they are." She leveled a bony hand. "Especially that bitch! Remember her face."
Bonnie was stepping into her skirt and noticed the man studying her. She snarled, "What are you gaping at, asshole?"
The second man had a million keys jangling from his belt and wore a blotched undershirt with a hole across the gut. He huffed into the middle of the room and pointed everywhere and shouted at everyone: "You been fighting in here? What're those blankets doing on the floor? This is a quiet hotel, I'll have the cops up here...!"
At the same time the Captain was wailing, "It's okay, I can explain it, I'll pay for everything...." but nobody was listening to him.
The little girl stroked her partner's shoulder and stared up at her with moist eyes. "Are you all right? Did they hurt you?"
Rosie curled an arm around the other's waist. "Just a torn blouse. Nothing I can't handle, darling."
Bonnie sneered, "Lesbian."
The big woman shot forward. Her boyfriend held up a hand. "Cool it, Rosie. She ain't worth it."
Laura took Bonnie's arm. "Let's go."
No one tried to stop them. Bonnie marched past the other woman and returned her furious glare.
At the door, she unsnapped her bag and pawed through the contents. She turned around.
"Hey Admiral, here's a fucking keepsake!" She hurled her panties to the floor and stalked down the hall.
Lama almost ran to keep up. Side doors popped open, assorted heads appeared, while behind them the commotion rose again.
"What're you doing bringing visitors into this hotel...."
"I'll pay for it all...."
"You bet your ass you're gonna pay...."
They reached the parking lot unmolested and Laura unlocked her Chrysler. Bonnie flopped into the seat, said, "Women!"
Laura started up the engine. "What about them?"
"There're too God-damned many of them, that's what! I'd like to take a machine gun and slaughter half of them."
"That's not a nice thing to say."
Bonnie snapped, "Hah! Stupid cows, all they're good for is giving birth to men."
"You're a woman, too."
"That's beside the point!"
Laura drove two blocks before Bonnie spoke again.
"That fucking Captain. If he hadn't been so horny, he could have had me. We were almost-"
"He just bit off more than he could chew." Bonnie glowered at Laura. "Is that supposed to be funny?"
"No, I don't think so."
"Well, it isn't."
They cruised half a mile down Georgia Street in silence. At last Laura said:
"I had a talk with Tom this morning."
"Yeah?"
"I wanted to tell you about it. I asked him what he would think if I saw another man. Hypothetical, of course. You know what he said?"
Laura peeked at Bonnie. Bonnie continued to sulk.
"He said he wished I would! Isn't that amazing? He said I was a little too good, not experienced enough. He envied you and Lars, he said, precisely because you've both been around. You told each other, `Honey, I've tried them all, and you're the best!' "
Bonnie said nothing. Laura played the wheel. The power steering easily took the S-curve onto the causeway, and then they were gliding over the concrete river that swept through a verdant canyon deep within Stanley Park's primeval forest.
Laura resumed. "The only thing that worried him was that I might find someone better and leave him. I asked him if he might run off with anyone else. He said, `It depends on the woman.' "
Laura's voice lowered to a whisper. "If I can't find a man who'll take me away, can he find a woman who'll do it? Does it work that way?" Laura turned, said, "Bonnie?"
They were crossing the Lion's Gate bridge and soaring over the dark waters of Burrard Inlet. Bonnie stared out the window at the dazzling city they were leaving behind.
Laura repeated, "Bonnie?"
Bonnie watched the world outside. She asked, "Do you think there's anything wrong with me?"
"Not at all."
"Maybe God is playing games with me". Everyone else has a great time, and what do I get? A Goddamned foot freak!"
"Maybe it'll work out."
"Yeah, maybe. Maybe I'm supposed to learn something from all this. I only wish I could figure out what."
They dropped from the bridge, found the road leading to the mountains. Within minutes they were pulling up to Bonnie's house high in the forest.
Bonnie surveyed the driveway. "Lars is still out. More of his damned business, he says. He's using my car to do it, too, the bastard." She turned to Laura. "You coming in?"
Laura switched off the engine. "If you don't mind. I'd like to use your shower."
"My bathroom is yours." Bonnie rummaged through her bulging purse, muttered, "Damned keys, always sink to the bottom. Here they are, under all this crap." She snapped open the door. "Let's go."
"Just a minute, you left something." Laura held up a limp brassiere.
Bonnie took it, held the lacy, sexy garment before her face. "Fat lot of good you did for me, tonight," she told it, and jammed it into her vest pocket.
Inside the house, Bonnie pointed toward the bathroom. "There are towels in the bottom cupboard. Leave your clothes here, if you want. I'm sure I have something you can wear."
In the bedroom Bonnie pulled open a dresser drawer, brought out a slim cardboard box. "You might need these. I saw your pants tonight. What happened?"
Laura giggled. "Oh, that. The Captain was a bit hasty with his knife."
"Really? Some day you'll have to tell me your secret. Here."
Laura took the box. It had a photograph of a woman's posterior covered in black hip huggers.
"It's okay," Bonnie said. "They're brand new, I haven't worn them. You can keep `em."
Laura said thanks, added, "Now we have traded."
Bonnie gave her a long look. "Yes, I guess we have."
Laura unzipped her dress, stripped off her sticking slip, and headed for the bathroom.
Bonnie followed Laura inside, watched her peel off her stockings. She lifted her sweater over her head and shook her hair. "Mind if I join you? It's a Norwegian shower. There's plenty of room inside."
"All right."
When they had dropped the last of their clothes in the hamper, the two women stepped into a cavernous stall walled with frosted glass. Bonnie twisted a brass handle, flicked a gleaming switch. Instantly the room filled with hundreds of spraying needles that drummed against the glass. Wisps of steam rose from the floor. Laura let the hot spray soak through her hair and cascade down her back, to carry smoke and beer and Ron and the Captain into the whirl pooling drain.
Behind her Bonnie said, "I told you there was plenty of room. Just like in gym, remember?" She plucked a washcloth and a bottle of soap from a sandalwood rack. "Here, let me scrub your back."
A chilly blob of liquid soap squirted onto Laura's shoulder blades, a cloth began spiraling around her skin. Laura held up her hair while Bonnie's careful hand swished away the grime of sex.
Laura relaxed, said, "I've been thinking. About Tom and Lars and us."
"Yes?"
"I mean, I did it with Lars. I thought you'd had Tom and it was all right. But you never did. I owe you one."
"Owe me what?"
Laura craned her neck to see Bonnie behind her. "I mean, you're entitled to have him. To make love, if you want."
Bonnie stopped scrubbing. "Are you serious?"
"Bonnie, if he was to be with anyone, I'd rather it was you."
"Oh, Laura!" Bonnie dropped the cloth. Her arms flew around Laura's neck. The steaming rain poured over the two nude women who embraced with shoulders crushed together, hips held carefully apart, nipples barely touching.
"Laura, you are a friend, the best I ever had." She kissed her, let her go, looked up. "I have to tell you something. That night, at the party, I wanted him. I thought, tonight's the night, but Lars was there. And now it's going to happen!"
Bonnie stepped around the shower. She clenched her fists before her chest, shook them and smiled with unknown dreams. "I'm going to wrap myself around that big beautiful cock. He's so hairy, so strong, and he's going to be mine. " She skipped back to Laura, hugged her tight. "Laura, I love you!"
Laura stroked a streaming shoulder. "There's just one thing I want."
"Name it!"
"I want to be there."
CHAPTER SIX
Laura pushed aside a mass of hanging dresses until she could breathe easier. It was hot in the closet, and dark, and her clothes tried to smother her, but it was the best she could manage. While Tom thought she was somewhere else, she would be listening to everything that went on in her bedroom.
She slid open the door a crack, until she had some air and could hear the voices getting steadily closer...." She's gone out to some poetry club, so you'll have to look for yourself."
"That's fine, I know what I want. It's the counterfeit pearl string, with the bigger one in the middle. I bought this gorgeous black gown, and 138 then I realized I didn't have a thing to go with it. Laura said she might help out. Too bad she isn't here."
"How did the game go?"
"Oh, I won, but my feet are killing me. I wish we could put the party off until tomorrow, but-"
They reached the bedroom. Laura heard Bonnie say, "Here it is," followed a second later by a tinny chiming when she flipped open the musical jewelry box.
Plastic clacked glass as Bonnie pawed through the box. "Now, where'd she hide it? Jeez, she's got a lot of stuff here."
There was a thump, a muted clatter, an "Oh, darn." The star winked out in mid-twinkle.
"I'm sorry, Tom, it just slipped. I hope I didn't break it. Some of the stuff's fallen under the bed. Can you help me get it? You can reach further than me."
Laura almost panicked. What did Bonnie think she was doing? It was enough she'd been given permission to have Tom, now she had to go and destroy property.
Carefully, gripping the swaying dresses in one hand, the closet door in another, Laura eased open the door another inch.
Her luck held; Tom's back was to her. So was Bonnie^. Laura sucked in air.
Bonnie was an operator, all right. When she had 139 met Laura for their little conspiracy that evening, she had been wearing her tennis dress: the one with the single-pleat flared skirt that barely covered her rear. It didn't cover her at all as she bent forward with hands on knees on the carpet and hunted under the bed. The peach-colored globe of her rear end was barely restrained by panties that were little more than a white mesh. An elastic crisscross of X-shaped flowers stretched to their limit to keep her swaying fanny in check, while between her shapely bare legs there was only a snowy triangle of cotton gusset to mask her most intimate parts. Mask, hell: it pointed to her like an arrow.
A twin aroma of musk and rosewater rose up to assail Laura's nostrils. If Bonnie really had been playing tennis dressed like that, it would have been a close race between getting thrown off the court or gang-raped.
Bonnie's voice was muffled from under the bed. "Can you help me, Tom? Oh, never mind, I think I found everything." She stood up, dropped the last earring into the velvet-lined box, and flicked something.
"There, it wasn't broken after all," she said, almost for Laura's benefit. She replaced the box on the dresser. "Mind if I lie down?"
Without waiting for permission, she flopped onto the king-sized mattress and lifted one knee.
Tom stood with his broad back to Laura. His 140 hands remained at his sides. Laura wished she could see his face. She could see plenty of Bonnie, could see straight up her skirt and her little pants wrapped tight against her genitals. Bonnie was squeezing one calf as she studied Tom through lowered eyelids.
"It feels so good to lie down," she purled. "I've been on my feet all day. I wish I had someone to rub them; Lars never does it for me. Do you ever massage Laura's feet, Tom?"
Tom was rooted to the spot, his hands frozen. Finally he said, "I hate to kick you out, but I have a staff report to write."
Bonnie sat up. "Really? How interesting. I'd like to watch you."
"I'm afraid it's confidential."
Bonnie inched forward. Her skirt rode up her supple flanks. "Oh, I won't tell a soul. I've always been fascinated by your work, Tom. You help so many people, it must be exciting."
Tom tried a casual laugh. "It has its moments. But I'm afraid I need my privacy tonight."
"It can wait, can't it?" Bonnie patted the bedspread. "Why don't you sit down, and you can talk about your work."
"Maybe some other time."
Bonnie got up from the bed, stood before Tom. Her knee brushed his. "What's wrong with now?" Tom's hands were shaking. "Bonnie, I think-"
Bonnie reached out to touch his broad chest. Her fingers walked up his shirt, crawled around to encircle his neck and haul him toward her. In a throaty whisper she said, "You don't have to think. Just feel." Her hips rolled toward him....
Tom's powerful hands clasped Bonnie's wrists, gently pulled them away.
"Please, Bonnie. Please go."
"Tom, you're a good man, a kind man. Can't you be good to me?"
"It wouldn't be right."
"You're thinking of Laura, aren't you?"
Laura saw Tom's shaggy head bob forward. "Tom, it's all right. There's nothing wrong with being good to someone, Laura would understand. Why, if she was here right now, she'd say-" Laura repressed a sneeze. The closet was stifling. "It's more than that," Tom said. "Bonnie, please go home. You'll feel better if you do."
Bonnie suddenly shouted, "How do you know how I feel?" Her lips were white. "Do you know how a woman feels when she needs a man? Her guts burn, she can't think, she can die if she doesn't have him! Do you want to kill me, you pig!"
"Bonnie, I-"
"If you don't sleep with me, so help me I'll tell Laura you did!"
"I don't think you would."
"I would, you bastard! I'll tell her you fucked 142 me right on her bed, and I hope she divorces you!" Just as quickly she changed channels, dropped against Tom's chest, her fingers scrabbling at his thick arms.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean that, it's just that I'm going out of my mind...." She was almost weeping.
Tom gently moved her away. "Come on, I'll see you to the door."
Once more Bonnie flared up. "Bastard! You shit! I'm not good enough for you, motherfucker!"
There were tears on her mascara as she whirled around and fled from the bedroom. Laura watched Tom watch her run out, heard a door slam that rattled the walls. A car engine howled, gears clashed, tires screamed.
In another moment Tom also left the room, and then Laura heard a shower hiss. She got out of the house without meeting her husband.
When Laura had pretended to go out that evening, she had parked her Chrysler at a small shopping plaza down the hill and doubled back in Bonnie's TR-7. Once again the yellow sports car was waiting at the plaza, its engine running. Laura walked around to the driver^ side, looked in. Bonnie stared unblinking through the windshield, fingers twitching over the steering wheel.
When she noticed Laura she opened the door 143 and stepped out. "You'd better drive. The way I feel, I might pile up on the nearest lamp post."
"I think I'd rather go home."
"Get in, its too early to go back. Tom'd get suspicious. Besides, I need someone to sound off to."
Laura got behind the wheel, heard Bonnie settle in. Laura hadn't driven a standard-shift car since Tom taught her in his old Austin. There was a screech of protesting gears when she shifted and the car bucked. Then the old motions returned to her body and they were soon rolling along Kind Edward Boulevard with little trouble.
Bonnie ignored Laura's attempt to driver's self ed. She was breathing hard. Presently she said, "Damn!"
"Not what we expected, was it?"
"Too bloody right. What the hell is wrong with me?" She looked at Laura. "You don't think he knew you were there, did he?"
Laura shook her head. "Not a chance. He was suffering with you. He could have opened the door and exposed us, but he never did."
"Suffering is the word. He wanted me, I could tell. Did you see his pants?"
"He had his back to me all the time."
"Too bad you missed it. He nearly grew a third leg under there. There was more. When a man wants a woman, he puts out a smell. It's a primitive 144 signal that he's ready to go. Your subconscious picks it up. You ever hear about it?"
"I've read The Naked Ape."
"Yeah, well that ape was spraying me with it. It got me going, too."
Laura touched the brake to slow for a red at Oak Street. The engine coughed before she remembered the clutch.
"The way he talked, you'd think he had never been unfaithful to me," she said. "If it hadn't been for those panties...."
Bonnie said, "Maybe he never was cheating. Maybe-" She hesitated, said, "I think I should tell you-"
The light turned green and the TR-7 lurched forward. Laura slammed the clutch. Another jerk threw them back in their seats. A car horn blasted behind them.
Bonnie said, "You forgot to take her out of third."
Laura downshifted, shot forward. The honking car roared past.
"Turn here," Bonnie said.
Laura wrenched the upholstered wheel. The little car responded easily, carried them into a tunnel of linden trees lining Osier Street.
Bonnie's fists were clenched. "God, I wasn't kidding, I needed him. I can still see that thing behind his pants. I can smell him" Her breath 145 whistled between her teeth. "I wanted him to rip off my panties and fuck me blind! And fuck me again, fuck me until the bed broke, fuck me through the floor!" Bonnie's fists dived under her skirt. "Excuse me, but I just have to-"
Then Bonnie's feet were braced against the dash, hands scrabbling under her tennis dress. A dry rasp of fingernails on fabric changed to a moist sopping, like laundry being wrung out.
"Bonnie?"
"Keep driving! I'm sorry, Laura, but I'll die if I don't get off now." A few short gasps popped from her throat.
Laura kept her eyes on the road. They were in a quiet, upper-crust residential area with few lamps and fewer cars. The houses were hidden behind wrought-iron fences and tangled hedges. At least they would not be seen.
The seat rocked beside Laura. She heard shoes scuffing padded dash, flesh squelching against leather, liquid spitting.
"Yes, that's it honey, like that," Bonnie moaned. Her head thudded against the seat rest. Her legs jackknifed, crushed padding. "Yes, give it to me, oooh, more!"
A sharp cry, more leathery thumps.
Pretending to adjust the rear-view mirror to her height, Laura angled it downward instead. Bonnie didn't notice; her eyes were clamped shut, head 146 jerking, lost in her fantasies.
Lights from occasional streetlamps intermittently bathed Bonnie's squirming figure, and Laura caught flashes of fingers digging into panties, heaving breast, perspiring face. Slimed thumbs shoved aside frilled labia, shoveled into her with mindless fury. Painted nails, rings, and flowered lace disappeared into the woman's glistening cavity, and still she plunged. A thumb scoured her panty crotch around the clitoral bulge, fingers pistoned, feet kicked, juices spurted, and the car smelled of warm pussy.
"More, honey! Don't make me wait, give me your lovely cock, now!"
Bonnie stopped. For a second Laura was relieved to think she had finished. Then Bonnie was half-standing, twisting around in her seat.
"Where is that thing, where did I put it?"
Bonnie ducked between the seats, arms flailing, feet kicking the windshield. A hip touched Laura's elbow.
"Damn, it's fallen to the bottom!"
Bonnie bent forward. Laura got an eyeful of peach-fuzz thighs, of pale panties, their crotch swallowed by Bonnie's dripping crack, caught a heady whiff of feminine sweetness.
"Here it is!"
Bonnie flopped back in her seat and held high a tennis racket.
She raised the handle to her mouth and moistened it with her tongue.
"Bonnie! You're not going to-"
She did. She jerked aside her panties and rammed the racket into her waiting maw.
She squeaked at the shock. Then she swiftly churned the handle inside her, twisted it while her brimming gash-grease spurted around the taped wood, thrust it harder into her frothing cream pot.
"Give it to me, baby, I love your cock, it's so hard, I love it...!"
The car rocked on abused springs. Bonnie's racket whipped forward in furious power serves and smashed through her tattered net while she yowled in a twenty-love ecstasy. She skittered the wooden handle over her throbbing clitoris, jammed it back into her, jerked her hips and husked out her passion.
She drove on her synthetic lover, while her wet fingers slipped over the juice-coated handle, dug into her bowels, and pumped more oil from her bottomless well. The plastic netting thudded her breasts, her shoes flailed against the windshield. Laura worried that she might crack the glass.
A piercing howl tore from Bonnie's lungs. Her knees clamped against the racket netting while she rode the crest of the tsunami that burst from her, 148 flooded the car and crashed back to drench her in a turbid release.
Then someone cut her strings and she dropped. Arms flopped to her sides, her knees slumped apart. The racket still jutted from her. It drooped, bent forward like a slow-motion semaphore. Then it plopped free to thunk onto the floor with its slick handle pointing up between Bonnie's sweaty thighs.
Laura asked, "Are you quite finished?"
"For now," Bonnie panted. She picked up the racket, examined the pasted handle. "Mixed doubles will never be the same again," she sighed. She found a Kleenex in the glove box and wiped off the syrupy muck.
Laura cranked down the window. "Can you open your side, too?"
"Good idea," Bonnie said.
Fresh air blew in and wafted Bonnie's lust-stench out among Shaugnessy's mansions.
Bonnie said, "Hope I didn't damage myself." She hunched forward, peered under her pants. "Oh well, it's my car, I can ruin the seats if I want." She lay aback and propped her feet on the dash. "I'll just let it air out."
They rolled past the bright lights on King Edward with Bonnie's skirt bunched around her waist. Nobody seemed to notice.
When they returned to the plaza, Laura got out, Bonnie slid over. She looked up at Laura.
"Your offer with Tom," she said. "Does it still stand?"
"I don't know," Laura said. "Do you still want him?"
"Honey, the way I feel now, I couldn't have him if he begged me. But if your offer's still good, maybe you should also give him permission."
"I'll think about it," Laura promised.
She returned to find her house quiet. And dark.
Almost. A thin sliver of light crossed the far hall, while a radio softly played in the bedroom.
Laura hung up her coat and purse, slipped out of her shoes, padded in stockinged feet along the deep-piled carpet. Earlier that day she had emptied nearly half a can of Three-In-One on the door hinges so she could move to the bedroom closet without Tom hearing.
The bedroom door opened without a squeak.
"Hello, Tom," she said, and froze.
Tom was lying mother-naked on the bed. The blankets had been kicked away from his hirsute body. Laura could see all of him-almost all.
His face had been hidden behind some gaudy girlie magazine, which he slowly lowered at the sound of Laura's greeting. Halfway down his body, that famous organ was also concealed. It stuck up like a flagpole behind his thick paw and ... something else.
The pole had a flag: a black one of thin nylon and elastic trim. Laura recognized the panties Bonnie had given her. She couldn't help wondering if his planned ejaculation would blow a third hole in the material.
Tom's face tried to work into a sheepish grin. "I guess I couldn't wait for you." His pole began to lower to half-mast.
Laura's thought whirled like confetti in a hurricane, instantly stopped and settled into place. Into a plan.
Without a word she reached up to her chest, began unbuttoning her blouse.
Tom stared back, the girlie book forgotten. His thing grew again, lifted high the panties as Laura shrugged her blouse to the floor.
The radio tinkled out a timeless love tune while Laura unzipped her slacks. She pushed her slacks down her hips, kept her eyes on her husband's face, on penis and panties. She bent to strip off her nylon knee-highs and asked:
"Could you move down some more? Lie across the bed."
Tom shifted around ninety degrees until his head dangled over the edge of the mattress and he could look straight up at his wife.
Laura bent her arms across her back to unhook her brassiere. Freed spandex snapped back, slipped 151 from her shoulders and added to the trail of clothes leading to the bedroom door.
Tom's eyes rolled to watch Laura's hands sliding her cotton briefs down her flabbed thighs. The pants floated to the floor with the faintest of fabric whispers.
Hands held before her, Laura's body slanted forward to the bed. Her legs parted to surround her husband's head. She jumped when his nose touched her raw flesh, then settled forward with her breasts on the rug of his stomach.
Before her face, her black undies hung like a filmy cloak over Tom's blood-throbbing member. She had a choice between a man's penis or a woman's underpants; she wondered which tasted worse. Her tongue snaked out to feel a fold of triacetate, glided up to a taste of sticky salt patch that seeped through the body-warmed material. The synthetic crackled under her mouth, snagged on her gums when she bent forward to devour her husband's shrouded knob. It was like trying to eat a hot dog through the wrapper. When Laura had her fill of sanitized nylon, she plucked aside the panty crotch and let her husband's shaft protrude through the frilled leg opening. She licked his bare flesh.
Warm wax seemed to spread between her gaping thighs. A slimy muscle trickled around her vaginal rim. It drew back, shot into her hole, flicked over 152 tingling muscles.
Laura purred, then bent the cock to her mouth. She took the glans and nibbled. Her tongue tried to poke into the tiny spout and slipped through the welling juice crack. He tasted like a soggy pretzel stick. His man-sweat dissolved and dripped away under Laura's flowing saliva until there was only raw meat for her to enjoy.
Tom's own mouth steadily worked through her smothering muff. His face bobbed, nose twanged frail membranes and jolted Laura. He whipped his head around to open Laura wider. His teeth nipped her pouting labia, bristles scoured her triangle. Laura's muscles stiffened when his lips slurped around her tensed clitoris, kissed and sucked with cold teeth.
She stopped playing with him for a moment while she reveled under his labors. Her husband's tongue burbled between her legs, sputtered through running juices while her muscles sagged, then jerked with each new thrust. Her ragged breath rasped through her panty-stifled nose. She needed more air, but her mouth was filled with Tom's swollen organ. With vague, automatic strokes she fingered his wrinkled testes through her pilfered pants, dipped her head over his thing, tried to return what she was getting.
Her hips rocked over her husband's head and lathered his hairy face with her sluicing lubricant.
She mouthed cock, flung head and trembled under the growing pressure.
Dark storm clouds collided within her body, dazzling nerve-bolts sparked between, grew and sought the ground, the shortest distance....
Then she snapped. Her strength thundered through her shuddering vulva, drenched her husband in a downpour of perspiration and spattering juices, engulfed his face in her yammering beaver. Muscles shimmied inside her, her shuddering head rained strawberry face powder on his brush and her underwear while she howled over his choking beef stick.
A hand reached up to stroke Laura's deflated body and a face slid from under her sore quim. Tom said:
"You ought to watch your teeth, darling. I don't have a spare, you know."
Laura said nothing. She could only nod her head faintly and run a finger up his come-ready fountain.
Tom had yet to get his own. Weakly at first, she resumed her licking. The huge thing skimmed over her tongue, pushed back her juddering uvula while his panty-wreathed testicles whiffed against her nose. A string of drool trickled past her lipstick and plopped softly on her husband's heaving stomach. She gripped the base of his shaft and fell to polishing it with her palm.
"Not so hard," Tom whispered. Laura loosened her grip. "Yes, just hold it. Now rub it."
Laura rubbed it, tasted his sperm hole. A few sticky drops oozed out, slimed across her throat and dribbled into her stomach.
"Do it just like that," Tom murmured. "Stroke the bottom and keep sucking."
Laura was getting the hang of it. She settled into a steady rhythm, not too hard, while her tongue scrubbed the skin, her lungs pulled for his milk.
Tom's tongue was rippling under her again, but slower, gender. He kept his mouth open and breathed a soothing wash over her aching walls, paused just long enough to grunt: "A little faster, please."
Laura went a little faster. Her hand heated under the friction and she greased his tool with more spittle. Tom wriggled under her. Tips of hair scoured her hardened nipples and his loins jumped to shove his manhood against her throat. Her wrist ached from the steady rubbing and she thought her throat might cramp. She was about to stop for a breather when Tom jerked, said, "I'm going to-" An aerosol can of whipping cream exploded in her mouth, shot its rich load inside her cheeks, spattered out past her lips. She gagged, tried to spit and swallow at once, lurched up to couch. She choked down some of the seething sludge, paused to savor the rest that roiled in her mouth. Once 155 again a peculiar numbness spread inside her cheeks and crept down her throat when she swallowed again.
She propped herself over her moaning husband. More of his goo leaked from his still-standing shaft and coated the brown skin with glossy white rivulets. Laura leaned forward, delicately lapped up the slick drops. The taste was a subtly shifting blend of watery gelatin and sea salt, hollandaise sauce and toothpaste. There was also an indescribable something that speeded up her heart and stirred unguessable feelings within her that called for more. Bonnie would call it liquefied lust.
Tom's mouth was working again. Laura had enough strength to brush her triangle over his face. She dropped her head and sighed into the water-flecked cloth that blanketed her husband's moist forest. His tongue sloshed through her bubbling love-lotion, reached for nerves that awoke and responded. Laura twitched, murmured, "I love you, I love you, I love...." She kissed his thighs, nuzzled her spotted knickers, licked his drained balls, repeated her love.
Her second orgasm was softer and infinitely sweeter. Hundreds of tiny tributaries drained into a muddy, ponderous river that flowed under her skin to empty through the floodgates her wonderful husband had opened. She could only mumble without words, drape him with her wrung-out 156 body.
Time passed, while Laura lay atop her sweat-drenched husband and inhaled his fumes, her mind a scatter of thoughts that fizzled and popped like champagne bubbles.
Tom rolled and Laura let herself fall onto the bed, her legs hanging over the edge. The box spring squeaked until husband and wife faced each other with heads lying in the middle of the mattress.
Laura bent to her husband's face that was smeared with her vaginal mucus, carefully kissed his cheek. The taste wasn't ... too bad.
She asked, "Now wasn't that better than an old pair of pants?"
"There's no comparison," Tom husked.
"That's what you've been doing all this time?" She found the discarded men's magazine, flipped pages. "Pictures and panties, instead of me? I saw some of my underwear in the dirty clothes. I know I didn't wear it. You masturbated in my panties, washed out the stuff, when you had a real live wife all this time?"
"I'm sorry. Does it bother you?"
"Not any more." She stroked his matted shoulder. "Maybe a week ago I would have been disgusted, but I've learned a lot. I've been bad, too." Then she told him about Lars and the lumberjacks and the birthday boy. She finished by saying, "Now you can hate me."
"I love you even more. You came back to me."
"I still saved myself for you, too. You're the first man I ever let eat me, the first I ever went down on. You'll always be first."
She kissed his mouth, slipped her tongue inside. An acid tang still lingered among his saliva. It wasn't that awful; she might even learn to like it.
She released him and said, "I thought you were seeing another woman. The way you were ignoring me. You just wanted different things, didn't you?" She fingered his chest, strayed her hand downward. "Well, I can be different, now. I can dress up in sexy underwear, try all kinds of new stuff. We can even let Bonnie help out."
"We won't need to. Not if you're going to be a Sybil of sex."
Laura's hand settled near her husband's waist. "Oh, what have we here?" She had a fistful of something soft and squirming, something that straightened and thickened under her fingers.
For a second time that night Tom grinned at his wife. "I don't know. What do you think it is?"
"It's moving. It wants to go somewhere. Do you have any idea where?"
Tom raised himself on his elbows, rolled nearer to Laura. "Maybe we can find out."
They found out, as they always had before. And always would.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Laura had finished drying the breakfast dishes and was catching the tail end of Canada A.M. when the doorbell chimed. She opened it to a well-known blonde head and a dimpled face.
"Well hi, stranger," Laura said. "Where've you been?" She waved Bonnie inside.
"Busy," Bonnie said. "My poor roses, I'd been neglecting them all week."
Bonnie looked as if she had just left her garden. She was wearing one of Lars's old shirts which she had knotted across her breasts. It bagged around her shoulders and exposed a width of sun-reddened skin and a worn bra strap. There was a smudge of soil on the side of her stomach, more dirt caked on the knees of her blue jeans.
She followed Laura into the living room, dropped onto the couch, looked at the television. "Anything happening with the world?"
"Nothing but a few wars." Laura switched it off. "How about important news? What's Tom up to these days?"
"He's at work. Then he'll come home to me. As he's always done."
"You mean you don't think he's running around with someone else?"
Laura rested her slippered feet on the coffee table. "Only in his head. I wasn't giving him enough weird things, so he masturbated. He doesn't have to anymore. The other night we tried-what's it called-soixante-neuf?"
"Sixty-nine. This is Canada. What was it like?" Laura canted her head. "Pretty nice. I'd like to do it again."
Bonnie softly punched Laura's arm. "Lucky dog. Lars still won't try anything different with me." She hesitated, asked, "What about those panties you found in the car? Did he have anything to say about that?"
"I never asked." Laura glanced at the window to make sure the curtains were drawn, then untied the belt of her housecoat. "Look."
Bonnie's eyes widened into zeroes. "My goodness, talk about forgiving."
Laura let the housecoat fall open around her 160 waist, fingered French lace and drew a line across blue satin. "There's nothing to forgive. It was all part of Tom's fetishism. Maybe he found these in a laundromat or somewhere. I don't care. As far as I'm concerned, it was me he had in the car. I didn't even wash these. Why should I? They're mine."
"Well, all I can say is, you're a lot braver than I thought."
Laura gazed at the lacy blue pentagon that shielded her groin. "Do you still think Lars has been cheating on you?"
"I wanted to tell you about that." Bonnie sighed. "I'd cut him off, the old headache bit. I thought it would drive him back to the other woman. Instead it drove me out of my mind. I called off the strike last night."
"What happened?"
"He shot a pint as soon as he put it in me, that's what happened. He hadn't been wasting it on anyone else. It was only my insecurities acting up, I guess."
Laura shifted her feet on the glass-topped table. The flowing satin pants were a cool massage over her warm thighs. She asked, "Did you tell him about what we did? All those other men?"
"You mean what I tried to do? Yeah, I did." Bonnie's sunburned nose wrinkled. "He couldn't stop laughing. He said God had been watching over me." Bonnie slapped her legs. "I wish he had 161 been fooling around. Then I'd have an excuse to get some variety. Now I'm stuck with good old missionary-style Lars." She clenched her fists, quivered them before her chest. "God, all my life I've been dreaming about a mouth on my pretty little muff. I want some handsome man to swill in my cesspool and suck me dry. Then when he finishes, I want to see him lick my slime from his beard and say it was the best thing he's ever eaten! " Laura still stared at her hand-me-down knickers. "If I were a man, I'd do it to you."
"Yeah, thanks a lot. Besides, I told the priest I won't have any other men."
Even quieter, her voice a bare husk, Laura said, "What about other women?"
"What?"
The sofa cushions stirred and Laura looked up at Bonnie's gaping face. She touched a sun-dappled shoulder, quietly said:
"Bonnie, I'm not a lesbian. But I do love you. Very much."
Bonnie flung her head against the sofa back. "Terrific! I haven't lost my touch. I can seduce a straight girl!" She sat up, smiled tenderly and said, "Laura, I love you, too. That's why I'd never ask you to do such a thing."
Without a word Laura leaned forward and kissed Bonnie on the lips.
She let her tongue dabble waxy lip gloss, twined 162 her hands behind Bonnie's neck and rustled her shining hair. She twisted her face until nose met nose, gently pulled quivering lips into her mouth.
Bonnie shoved herself away. She wiped her mouth, stared at the carmine smear on the back of her hand.
"I knew a queer once." Her voice was ragged. "Sometimes I'd fantasize about doing it with her. They say it's common to think that way. Maybe I'm common. I'd let her-go down on me-tell me how I stacked up against the others she'd had...."
Laura ran her gaze down Bonnie's figure, tried to see her in a different light. Her breasts curved out to shadow a smooth belly covered by a fine pelt of golden hairs that glittered with every move. Laura looked down, to stare between her friend's parted legs. A shining trouser fly snaked over the swell of her denim-covered mound, pressed tight enough to split it in half. Laura could see Bonnie's crack outlined under the jeans, a pair of soft lumps stretching apart under the pinching slacks. She studied the outline of the labia majora, tried to picture herself actually touching that spongy organ, putting her mouth to it....
Swollen breasts, bald skin, vacant crotch, sour animal aromas: Laura tried to take in the sex signals this woman broadcast for others, tried to interpret them and imagine the stirring of a nonexistent portion of her body....
Bonnie's voice was a delicate, honey-sweet contralto honed by millions of years of natural selection to attract men and only men. It spoke. "Do you-really want to-do that lezzy stuff?
To me?"
Laura said, "If you can't have a willing man, I'll have to help you myself, won't I?"
Bonnie laughed without humor. "I guess a tongue is a tongue, a finger is a finger. It'll be a new experience, won't it?"
"You are pretty."
Bonnie lay back and draped an arm against the vinyl sofa rest. "That's right, I'm pretty," she said dreamily. "Even women go crazy for me, plead for my love. They wish they were men. They deepen their voices, wear false beards and stop shaving their legs, and it does `em no good. They're disgusting, all of them."
Laura opened her mouth, planted her lips on Bonnie's cheek. It felt smooth, clammy, tasted bitterly of alcohol-based perfume.
"Except one woman," Bonnie said near Laura's ear. "She is the only one who is good enough for me, the only one who is pretty enough."
"Am I?" Laura murmured.
"More than that. You're special. Everyone is jealous of you, they don't know your secret." Bonnie slid a hand down Laura's housecoat and squeezed her love handles. "The only woman I ever 164 let get this close to me," she breathed.
Laura nuzzled an ear, nibbled at a tiny gold stud. She darted out her tongue to tickle delicate tactile hairs and taste ear wax. Bonnie clutched Laura's waist, said, "Haa-a-a-a-a-a...." She wrenched her head away.
"I thought you were going to suck my brains out," she panted.
Laura watched Bonnie's chest heaving under her disheveled blouse. The two ends were held together by a single knot. A man would go straight for the tits, she decided. With trembling fingers she dug into the bunched polyester, tugged until the shirt halves sagged around Bonnie's waist. Now she could see the full plumpness of her breasts behind her medium-support brassiere, with two smaller peaks poking against the thin cotton. She cupped a hand under one breast and lifted. Bonnie was top-heavy, all right: at least a 38C. Her fingernails traced the outline of a perked nipple, felt it stiffen against the fabric.
Bonnie touched the crown of Laura's head. "Aren't you going to suck it?"
Laura lowered her face to the bra, pressed her lips to the fleshy peak. The lace trimming tickled her nose when she wrapped her lips around the clothed nipple. She drank in the scent of warm body and laundered cotton, of Bonnie's soap and sweat. The stretch cotton scraped against the 165 underside of her lips and air soughed through the fabric with each infant pull. She shoved her nose against the soft mass, wriggled her tongue over the rubbery gland, suckled and tasted the dryness.
Bonnie's hand mussed through Laura's hair and she crooned, "What a silly baby. You won't get any milk that way."
When Laura finally backed off, Bonnie stared down at her nursed bra cup. A damp patch covered the nipple peak, which was also ringed by ragged spots of smeared lipstick.
"Better not let Lars see that," she said.
Silently, Laura sat up and kissed Bonnie on the mouth.
This time Bonnie let her girlfriend put her tongue inside. Two pliant ossiers sparred with each other, shot through and muscled back, at last surrendered in a mutual swimming embrace. Laura was faintly surprised at how another woman could taste, how ... sweet.
While they kissed, Laura felt a pair of hands stray down the front of her housecoat and wriggle over the belt. Then soft palms were slipping across her skin, behind her, dragging her closer. Laura gripped her friend's warmth, crushed her breasts against the bra. Her robe drifted down her shoulders and her skin tingled in the air. The two women squirmed skin to bra, nipples tweaking together and swelling under the muffled massaging.
Laura dropped away. "Give me a foot. Any foot."
"Why? Do you want to lick it?"
Bonnie lifted her right leg, rested her foot on the sofa. Laura grabbed at shoelaces, popped off the running shoe, peeled away a sweaty sock.
"Next one."
Bonnie complied, kissing Laura's hair while she removed her other shoe and dropped it on the coffee table.
Bonnie did have nice-looking feet. Even Laura had to admit that. The toenails glinted a bright scarlet, and a delicate map of veins emphasized the smooth pink flesh. Laura bent down and kissed the toes. They tasted like feet.
"Do you like it?"
"I've had better." Laura turned, found and unzipped Bonnie's fly.
Bonnie stood up while Laura sank to her knees and wriggled the jeans down her legs. Ii was like stripping a sausage, they were so tight. She closed her eyes, kissed warm skin, kissed cotton, skated her tongue down hairless flesh.
Laura opened her eyes to gaze on her girlfriend's hips barely covered by a pair of green and white candy-striped bikini briefs. She brushed her lips against the waistband of the panties, inhaled a pungent genital aroma that seeped past the cotton.
Laura stood and pondered the near-nude girl. Her hands fluttered to her sides, shrugged off her robe, helped Bonnie with her blouse.
Raggedly, Laura said, "Let's go. To the bedroom."
"Damn good idea."
Hand in hand, dressed only in underwear, the women made it to the bedroom. Without a word they agreed to leave the lights burning. They wanted to discover everything about each other, to see it all.
They dropped to the king-sized bed. Their arms coiled around each other and they kissed, slowly at first, swiftly built up to a fevered tongue-lashing. Hands scuffled skin and snapped at bra straps, hair flew in faces, jerking feet kicked away the blankets. They rolled together in a desperate, exploring embrace, their lips never leaving each other, while the bedsprings sang under their juddering weight.
They fell apart, lay together and regained their breath. Laura smiled as she regarded Bonnie's tussled hair, her smeared lipstick.
"You're wild," she said at last.
"You never knew about me, did you?" Bonnie said. "All these years I've kept it a secret, even denied it to myself." She ran a knuckle down Laura's heated skin, homed in on her panties. "But you brought it out of me, because you're so pretty 168 and willing."
"Right," Laura said. "We're both queer as thirty-dollar bills. A lot of men are going to be crying tonight."
Bonnie's painted fingernail glided over Laura's satin, found her sprouting clitoris, began to spiral around it. "Of course, we can still be nice to the men. Even if they don't have a cute little pussy like yours."
A trickle charge seemed to fizzle from Bonnie's prodding fingers into Laura's groin. It transformed into jellied needles that jabbed her shivering flesh from the inside. Her vagina trembled, began to slobber into the cotton crotch of her secondhand panties and melt the mystery woman's crusted juices.
"Yours isn't so bad either," Laura gurgled. She fumbled for Bonnie's panties, began to feel her from the outside.
Bonnie paused. "Why don't you take them off?"
"Not yet." Laura didn't feel quite ready to touch another girl down there.
Her nails snagged across fabric, coasted over the hillocks of another's pudenda. She slid down Bonnie's valley, found a tiny bump, swooshed over a cool patch of spreading dampness.
Elastic cut into Laura's flesh when her pants were jerked aside and she nearly jumped when cold 169 fingernails skittered under her shelf. It was like pouring gasoline on her internal fire. Her flames began to rage within, to lick at the stoking fingers and heat her to melting point.
Laura rammed her hand under her best friend's briefs and savagely fought back. She wiggled her fingers inside walls that felt like hot mud, palmed her little spike and shoved. Her hand pumped with heated frenzy as she tried to ignite her friend, to make her come, to make her stop, because Oh Jesus God, Bonnie's fingers were driving Laura crazy the way they worked inside her and scorched her nerves into sizzling black strings that shrank back into chaotic, spitting short circuits. Bonnie wore a couple of oversized diamond rings that caught on Laura's shuddering walls and scored her mucus flesh with each drive.
The women's arms lay across each other's heaving bellies with their panties stretched tight against their groping hands. They were racing to light backfires inside each other, to fight the searing furnaces that consumed their own bodies.
"AAAAAHH! AAAAHH! AAaaaaa ... a ... a...!"
Bonnie's legs reared up, gripped Laura's arm like pliers. Muscles rippled around her drenched fingers, while her head thudded into Laura without feeling.
Within seconds, Laura's own orgasm slammed 170 her. She slapped a hand over her panties to keep Bonnie inside. Storm clouds burst inside her to drown the forest fire, thundered through her body and roared against the incendiary fingers. Her body was soaked, drowned in the consummation of love. The room filled with a warm, pleasantly-sour scent of sweating flesh and yeasty female broth.
Laura slipped her hand from under the panties, drew a sticky thread across Bonnie's skin.
Bonnie plucked her own hand from Laura's drooling hole and sniffed her fingers.
"Phew! No wonder Lars doesn't want to taste it."
"We're lesbians, remember?" Laura said. "We're supposed to like it."
"You had to remind me. Okay, you dyke-" Bonnie pointed between her legs. "-go to it."
Laura raised herself on spaghettied knees and crawled around to stare up at Bonnie. Her friend's breasts, still rearing up from the bra's support, framed a dreaming face that shimmered with each languid breath. Bonnie spread her legs, let the candy-striped panties press into her thick thighs. A dark stain almost glued the twisted weave to her still-twitching genitals.
Laura gingerly drew aside the legband and took her first look at a human vagina.
A tuft of straw-colored hairs covered a rust-171 brown mass of doughy flesh speckled with hundreds of goose pimples that made Laura think of plucked chicken. Bonnie's wrinkled brown labia minora yawned out from the forest and glistened with a congealing dew. Laura touched the sticky ridges, parted them like a fresh wound. Raw flesh was glazed with running mucus and streaks of some whitish substance that resembled yogurt. She opened wider until she could see the uneven edges of her friend's long-punctured hymen. Over it all there hung a stench like the hold of an unwashed trawler.
"How does it look?"
Laura whispered, "It's-beautiful."
"You mean that? You're not just saying it?"
The acrid reek almost brought tears to Laura's eyes. "It looks good enough to eat."
She touched her tongue to the frilled lips.
Laura was pleasantly surprised, and a bit disappointed. The female sex organ was almost tasteless; she might as well have licked the back of her own hand. The tepid juices were a bit tangy, but mostly about as flavorful as cooking oil.
Laura hitched aside the panties and nosed Bonnie's flowing Mazola. She nudged a rigid little berry and a hand clamped over her skull. With growing confidence Laura licked her way across Bonnie's quivering canyon, gulped at the trickling river. Her tongue wiped her drain, carried the 172 affluence past her shuddering tap while Bonnie clutched red hair and holler guidance.
"Back up! Over! Up! Yes, almost! Now mix it around right there, oh honey, you're reading me loud and clear!"
Bonnie's juices, so rich and pure, sluiced down Laura's chin when she smeared her face in the frothing honeypot and sucked the dangling lips. She reached up to grip Bonnie's hips, and the released panties snapped across her face. Laura tasted cotton, gripped the panties to pull them down.
"Don't leave me, Laura, not if you love me, not for a second!"
Laura tugged at elastic, tried to lick Bonnie's demanding vulva through the wringing panty-gusset.
"Rip them off! My God, hurry!"
Bonnie clawed at the candy-striped pants and savagely yanked outward. Her legs jumped, threads snapped. Laura pinched the fabric. With a velvety rasp the leg elastic tore from the crotch. Another pull from four hands, more rips, and a stringy rent festooned Bonnie's sweating mound.
Laura burrowed her face in the squishing pie, chewed flesh and fabric. Bonnie hauled Laura's head into the tattered panties, mashed her face against her brimming quim and twisted her head like a steering wheel. Cunt-scent swirled in Laura's nostrils.
Bonnie had stopped thrusting, was now forcing Laura into her like some manic birth reversal while she howled her lungs out.
Laura waited, unmoving, while Bonnie's screams pounded off the bedroom walls. As fast as she could suck in air, she whooped it out like an air raid siren, while her vaginal lips shuddered and sprayed Laura's face with a cloying, sickly-sweet brew.
Slowly, her grip relaxed. Her screams died to low, racking squeaks.
She dropped back and Laura came up for air. Limp hands rose up to cup Laura's chin and carry her up to a glazed dimpled face that smiled with exhausted satisfaction.
"Very nice," she sighed. "A real professional." She kissed Laura's smeared lips, slipped her tongue inside, and swished saliva. She drew back her head and looked thoughtful. "I think I taste rather good. Or was that you?"
"A bit of both," Laura said.
"I like it." Bonnie ran her tongue across Laura's mascara, ringed her lips, kissed her again. "As soon as I get my energy back, it'll be your turn."
Her palms slid down Laura's back and fondled her buns through the sweat-soaked satin knickers.
She hooked her thumbs under the lace waistband. Laura helped Bonnie pull down the panties, felt the sopping gusset leave a cool track over her thighs.
Laura held the panties before her face. "I almost hate to take these off," she said. "They've been so good to me."
Bonnie propped her elbows under tier and sat up. "That's right. They gave you a new lease on love."
Laura let the panties sink to the floor and hugged her lover.
They deep-kissed again, buffed together salted skin, inhaled each others perfume. Laura reached behind Bonnie's back to unhook her bra clasp, felt the limp undergarment flop onto her lap. The women mashed their soft mounds against each other and twiddled hardening nipples.
"What else do lesbians do?" Laura asked. Bonnie's voice was a warm zephyr in Laura's ear. "I never gave it much thought. I heard they use rubber doodads tied to the waist. That makes one of them into a man."
"We ought to try that sometime."
"Sorry, I left mine in my other purse."
"We'll get one later. But first I want you to lick my pussy. Then kiss me."
"With pleasure, honey."
Bonnie was much more careful this time. Her tongue lapped against Laura's aching lips, soothed them like a balm until she could ready herself for her second climax. She stroked her friend's shining hair, gazed into half-hidden china-blue eyes. Bonnie leaned forward and her fanny rose in the air. The stringy shreds of her panties draped two pink peaks like a garland and flapped loosely when she hunkered forward to lick deeper.
Laura lolled back and let Bonnie's tongue wash over her aching nubbin and flicker feathery jolts through her womb. Laura's eyes swam as she looked at the ceiling. Her last dim thought was that they should install a mirror up there. Then the orgasm rolled over her.
Her vagina pumped weakly from the flogging. The climax was a soft one this time, a mere 3.5, a puddling of lukewarm lava from an expiring furmarole that drew soft moans from her tired throat.
Bonnie climbed over Laura's drained body and French-kissed her; Laura savored the sweetness of saliva blending with her sour pussy-slop.
"Darling, sweetheart," Laura mumbled between kisses. "I love you, I'll never leave you." She kissed again, tasted them both.
"We're going to have good times together, aren't we?" Bonnie said, and licked an earlobe.
Laura ran her hands down her lover's smooth back. "Yes, oh yes. We'll try all sorts of things. We can get a book about lesbians, find out what they do."
"We don't need a book. We can learn by ourselves." Bonnie kissed a forehead, kissed a nipple, kissed her mouth again.
Laura touched hair, smoothed it down. "Maybe. We can invite our men too, and have an orgy. There'll be other men for us, and I don't care if Tom sees someone else. You don't care if Lars has another woman, do you honey?"
"Not if he lets me have her, too."
"And if there aren't any men around, we'll still have each other."
Laura relaxed under her girlfriend's tender kisses, murmured, "So many things." She shut her eyes while Bonnie kissed her spent body and ran soothing hands over clammy flesh. The last thing she felt were cool sheets being drawn over her before she drifted into peaceful dreams for the future.
Bonnie tucked her friend under the blankets and rose from the bed. She smiled down at the blissful form, gently brushed hair away from Laura's softly breathing face. Yes, there were so many things to do, so much to explore. Bonnie could hardly wait to hear Laura's plans.
She stretched her arms and yawned. She would have liked to stick around, but she had to get back to Lars. She left the bedroom, collected her clothes, returned to the quietly snoring Laura.
Bonnie looked down to her waist. Her panties hung in dank shreds, and her raw pussy felt a bit too sore for rubbing against tight denim.
She found Laura's lingerie drawer, picked out a pair of fresh cotton print hip huggers. Laura shouldn't mind; after all, hadn't she offered to trade? With a tug of her thumbs, the last elastic twanged free and the remains of her candy-striped drawers dropped to her feet. She kicked them over to the bed, wondered what Tom would think if he got home while Laura still slept. She also wondered how many pairs of panties she had used up in the last week: three or four? No doubt about it, sex could be an expensive hobby.
She found her bra on the bed, quickly dressed. While she was tying her shoes, she noticed the lacy satin panties lying on the carpet. Yes, they had been good to Laura, to both of them.
Bonnie picked them up. She kissed the lace, breathed in a face full of Laura's sweetness. The panties still carried the aroma of the other woman, one with whom Bonnie was intimately familiar.
She dropped the pants on a pillow next to Laura's head. In a day or two, Laura would learn just how much she had thanked that other woman. When Bonnie told her.
As she switched off the light and headed for the door, Bonnie reflected on how much her whim had achieved. She had wanted Tom at that party, had even removed her underpants to be ready for him.
But Lars had returned early. While he had been chatting with the unsuspecting Tom, she had taken her pants from her purse and kicked them under the seat of the car.
No reason. Just a whim. Bonnie was no planner, not like Laura. It was just as well, since she could never have foreseen the outcome.
She started her car and drove back to the North Shore where her dearest Lars patiently waited to feed a bit more of her hunger.
