Bored wife
"The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation." So wrote American poet and essayist Henry David Thoreau in the Nineteenth Century. This statement appears to be just as true today as it was then. Perhaps it is even more valid today, considering the pressures and frequent monotony of modem society.
The majority of today's men and women live in an overcrowded, competitive, noisy world. Most are put into slots and walk on a treadmill -- going to boring jobs, living in carbon-copy houses, socializing with the same people. Their desperation is reflected in the rising rate of divorce, alcoholism, drug addiction, and at times is frighteningly released through violent and seemingly unmotivated crime.
The young wife in this book is one of these desperate people. Bored, frustrated, unhappy, she seizes at the first opportunity for release. In her need, she casts aside morals and scruples, determined to live only for the moment, to grab at pleasure before it is taken away.
BORED WIFE is a story about the "quiet desperation" in many of us and the extremes to which it may drive us.
The Publisher
CHAPTER ONE
Betsy knew it would not work. She knew the minute Jim dropped his undershorts and climbed onto the bed with his long cock so stiff that it curved upward.
She drew her nightie back to her waist and finger-tested her pussy slit. Soft and drooling, but this would not work, she would not cum no matter how hard Jim fucked her. Her nerves would burn and knot up agonizingly. Long after Jim slept she would pace the house. Even worse, she would go at the gin bottle.
Jim said, "You have a ready cunt if I ever saw one!"
"You better believe it," Betsy said, forcing a show of eagerness. "I'm wet to the knees!"
"Raise your legs, baby," he said.
She obliged, yanking them back, wide apart, exposing her hairy twat and watching him scrabble to her, bend his cock down and slipping the knob into her hole. Grinning, he wrenched it around to coat it with cuntal dew, then put on pressure and she felt the fat knob squirm into her.
Quite easily it wedged up her cunt, filling her with steamy, hard cock.
So far so good. No wife could ask for a husband with a hornier prong than her Jim had. Nor could Jim expect to come home to a cunt more slippery, and without artificial lubricant. As to her appearance, Betsy knew she was a very good-looking girl of twenty-three, with a cute ass, and breasts that made men gasp. She was blonde, with wide brown eyes, a velvety complexion and a pleasant smile. She was even a good cook. But...
"How does it feel, baby?" Jim asked.
"Glorious. You're an absolute horse, Jim."
Nor did she lie. Jim was more than well hung; he did indeed have a cock like a horse and the muscle to power it. A large, strong, hairy body. But...
She crossed her legs on his back and linked her ankles, thinking, I'll just lie back and close my eyes, loaf while he fucks me, forget everything, and maybe I'll just all of a sudden find my cunt exploding. But it won't.
She would try. She willed herself to go loose except for the ankles linked on his back. She would become a whore, just a broad whose mission in life was to lie on her back and let her husband pump in and out of her cunt.
It doesn't matter that he fucks his secretary, she told herself. So what? I'm the wife, half-owner of this pleasant ranch house, and half of his options for company stock are in my name. I have my own car. I have the bucks, more than Jim thinks I have. All June Haley has is a mediocre job as secretary to Jim, a third-string executive, and she has to flop on the couch with her legs apart to keep the job. She's pretty, but I'm not jealous. Hell, I'm Mrs. Jim Walters, and Jim's boss is a severe type. If I whisper in his ear that Jim fucks June on company time, darling hubby's ass is in a sling.
So June doesn't matter, really.
Then why am I uptight? Why can't I cum? Am I bored with Jim?
Her heels rested on his buttocks, which were in humping action, and his cock was sliding hard up her cunt, which did not mind it -- no, her cunt did not resent the intrusion. She disliked more what he was doing now, pulling the ribbon that held the bodice of her nightie together and scooping out her titties, massaging them in his rough hands. Why did his hands feel callused when the hardest work he did was lifting a pencil and undressing his secretary?
She bit her lip, wishing he would quit it.
How she used to love having her breasts fondled, and sucked!
Her pussy, too. But Jim would, never go down on her. He thought it unmanly.
Oh, the lack of oral sex was a small price to pay for the good things she had; money, the house, her snappy little car. Maybe she had it too easy. No children to care for. Jim's life plan delayed that. Stock options came first. She knew that only because of a tax advantage were some options in her name; Jim thought women did not know how to handle money. Okay, so I'm Mrs. Lazy Ass on Easy Street but I wish I had a job. But Jim would blow a fuse at the notion of his wife working.
Sex used to be fun. That time in high school, Joey fucking her in the back seat of Bill's car, Bill and Irene in front, one of Irene's legs on the dashboard, the other hung over the seat, and Bill tangled up in the steering wheel. They had screamed with laughter.
Marriage sure was different.
"Baby, you getting your gun?" Jim panted.
"Oh, yes!" Betsy cried, busying herself with humping her husband. He was about to shoot his load, she realized. The easy part of the fuck was ending. Because the big cock sludging in her wet cunt with increasing vigor and hardness now brought waves of excitement rolling in her belly, sizzling toward a peak of orgasm she would not achieve. No way to make it. No way. Just hotter and hotter. She no longer had to pretend that she was going to cum. Her hips pitched through the motions of their own accord and her heels dug at his back, and her pulling brought cunt sucks stripping his cock.
He howled. She felt the spurt of jism flying up her hole and her writhing cunt began to knot up and burn.
God, is there something wrong with me? a voice within her screamed.
His balls were slapping in her ass cleft. She concentrated her thoughts on that.
He fired three times, then collapsed on her.
"Baby, did you get a good cum?" he panted.
"Terrific," she lied, trying to hide her tears.
And now, Jim asleep, she paced the house occasionally rubbing her pussy, otherwise knotting her fists and fighting the burning knots that filled her belly. For a while she resisted gin, then in the kitchen poured a shot with a shaking hand and gulped down the harsh stuff. Eyes watering, she stared through the side window at the house next door lighted up. The new neighbors, Tom and Laura Graham, were party types. Jim had muttered, "They laugh like jackasses."
Betsy had met Laura only briefly. She seemed forever on the fly. She had a part-time job selling real estate but that was only part of her rushing about; she had to hurry to meet Tom somewhere for cocktails, or had to have her fucking hair done. What she called her "fucking hair" was glossy, very dark and short, which should require minimal care, but Laura had the manner of having to snatch the time to even rake a comb through the shiny black stuff, and often forgot to put on a bra. Being a big-breasted girl, she had titties flopping all over the place, which amused Betsy.
And now, gazing out the kitchen window at their lighted house, Betsy rubbed her own breasts, a pair as large as Laura's, and smiled at the thought of herself dashing about town without a bra. But her smile faded. Her breasts hurt, sharing the cuntal knots that how made her go pour another shot of gin.
I envy you, Laura! she thought.
Maybe tomorrow I'll go over -- make friends with her -- learn how she gets so much out of life. Yes! I'll do that.
She left the shot of gin sitting there, went off to bed and curled up as far from the snoring Jim as possible.
Jim had called the couple next door a pair of butterflies. "They'll never get anywhere in life," he'd said.
Betsy fell into a troubled sleep.
In the morning, hot June sunshine made Betsy's back yard a blaze of color. Gazing out the window at it while Jim ate breakfast she looked forward to working among her flowers, maybe driving to the roadside market to buy dwarf marigolds to set out.
"Tonight I have that meeting," Jim said. "Officials from the home office."
Betsy wondered if tonight he would need the help of his secretary, June. Not that she cared, let him work off his lust on the little bitch -- I am Mrs. Jim Walters, who owns half of everything. Why be jealous? Just the same, she instantly dropped her gardening plans. She saw Laura Graham passing her kitchen window. She would go over -- maybe take Laura shopping?
Jim, wearing a sober gray suit and matching necktie, carrying his gray briefcase, not a hair out of place on the man, went out to his car and drove off at a sedate pace.
A few minutes later Tom Graham departed for work, his car careening out to the street on screeching tires, obviously late. A butterfly, Jim had called him.
Betsy chucked the dishes into the sink and put on yesterday's house dress and went out, crossing the yard toward Laura's kitchen door. In the bright sunshine she saw a smudge on the right breast of her dress, dirt from transplanting flowers yesterday afternoon. Damn it! But heck, Laura was not, the type to raise an eyebrow at a mere smudge.
At the screen door she called in, "It's Betsy."
"Darling!" Laura called loudly. "Come on in, I just know you've come to help, and I'm drowning in filth! Christ, I have to make this pigsty look presentable. Bring your friends with rakes and shovels!"
Smiling, Betsy entered and in the kitchen found her neighbor stuffing clothes into the washer. The dishwasher was gurgling away but the sink was still filled with dirty dishes and the drain board was a clutter of drinking glasses.
"My asshole husband brought people home last night," Laura said, "and tonight more are coming, and if they don't bring liquor I'll kick their asses out! My God you should see our liquor bill!"
She punched clothing down into the washer, then turned, knuckles on hips, and surveyed Betsy, dark eyes twinkling. Lustrous dark eyes, faintly slanted. She wore a stained t-shirt and shorts, had on a bra hitched wrong, one tit slightly higher than the other. She had long limbs, brown and sleek. She looked gorgeous but somewhat smudged and tousled and sweaty.
Betsy said, "I came to see if you'd like to go shopping, but I guess you have your hands full."
"It was going to be worse. I started dressing to go try to sell a house with a leaky roof and a flooded basement but the sucker phoned he couldn't make it till tomorrow for that. How I hate cleaning house! I let it pile up."
"I'll help," Betsy said.
Laura tuned a cigarette and matches from her shorts pocket and lit up, all the while eyeing Betsy. At last she said, "Betsy, you look fresh as dew, peaches and cream. I could just eat you! Like your husband fucked you for breakfast and you're still cumming!"
Betsy giggled. "Matter of fact, I've been kind of depressed."
"You mean he can't get it up?" Laura laughed. She reached for the knobs to turn on the washer, then noticed her t-shirt. "I'm filthy," she said, her lip curling. "Wash everything!" She tore off her t-shirt and stuffed it in the washer, then climbed out of her shorts. She glanced at Betsy and said, "You got a smudge on one tit of your dress. Throw the fucker in with this stuff."
Betsy, giggling, was so captivated by her neighbor that she obeyed, unzipping the dress and peeling it off over her head.
"Besides," Laura said, "this hot weather, we'll sweat our clothes to rags. How about if you start vacuuming? Then you won't have to bring booze to the party tonight. You're coming, aren't you?"
"I'd love to," Betsy said. "But Jim has a meeting."
"Then you come alone, that's settled. Now let's work our asses off for an hour and maybe we'll have this shit done and can start living. The vacuum's in the broom closet, darling."
Betsy tossed her dress into the washer and they began to work.
Betsy felt exhilarated. Never had she imagined that house cleaning could be fun! As she vacuumed the living room carpeting Laura dashed madly about, collecting overflowing ash frays and cocktail glasses, dusted, brought a hand vacuum to the sofa cushions, keeping up a steady barrage of bawdy talk. Funniest of all was their cleaning house wearing only bras and panties. At first Betsy giggled at the notion of two young women bustling about so dressed, but shortly she was used to it. It seemed quite natural.
However, she was becoming intensely aware of Laura's breasts and crotch, casting sidelong glances at them; high breasts with huge, dark caps, and her cunt hair, a sprawling fan of it showing through her panties. This reminded her of Alice, her high school girl friend, with whom she had not only shared fuck dates but who had initiated her into the mysteries of girlie sex. Like Laura, Alice had been a bawdy-mouthed spit-in-your-eye kind of girl, a bit bossy, but all warmth and heart.
Laura emerged from the bedroom hall with her arms fun of sheets, muttering, "Wet-cunted broods stain all the fucking bed linens!"
Betsy gasped. Did Laura and Tom have these kind of parties?
From the kitchen Laura called, "Help me with this glassware?"
Betsy left the vacuum. The dishwasher cycle was complete. They hauled racks of dishes and glasses to the cupboard, replaced them with dirty stuff and started the machine again, then dumped laundered clothes into the dryer. Laura filled the washer with bedsheets, then said, "Might as well throw in our underwear, it's all sweaty."
Betsy watched, gaping, as her friend tore off her bra and then peeled down her panties and threw them in on the sheets.
"Clean house naked?" Betsy gasped.
"Then shower, and we're clean from scratch, huh?"
Laura busied herself with twiddling washer dials and spilling soap powder in on the load. Betsy watched the girl's titties bob and toss, gazed at her high-sprung behind, thinking, what a luscious, plump ass! And, because Laura's suggestion had the force of a command, she curled an arm behind herself and unsnapped her bra hooks. As she untangled herself from the garment she found the cups practically glued to her boobies by sweat, and her panties too, as she toweled them down, though the dampness in the crotch band was slippery. Cuntal dew!
"What a luscious twat you are!" Laura said, as Betsy dropped her undies into the washer.
Laura clapped the lid down and started the machine, then, smiling broadly, threw an arm about Betsy and hugged her.
"I have the cutest neighbor!" Laura cried, and then kissed Betsy full on the mouth.
CHAPTER TWO
Surprise left Betsy limp. She and Laura were in contact from mouth to thigh, soft flesh all the way, plump breasts merged into a double cushion, ten belly softness and a tickle of pubic hair. For a split second astonishment held her. Then full realization came and she felt the prickle of hardening nipples, and a slick thigh squeezing her pussy. But above all the kiss, the creamy lips wobbling on her own, the impish bit of tonguetip playing tag with hers.
Then she had to face the truth, that she was not resisting, that the embrace provided a sweet and tender intimacy such as she had not known for years, and that she was returning the kiss, hesitantly perhaps, but yes, mouthing Laura's lips and slipping her tongue in, pursing the other girl's!
At last Laura sighed, and said, "Oh, darling, I'm so glad you dig girls! But first we do have to finish mucking out this pig pen. Get your ass moving!"
With that she gave Betsy's bare behind a slap, pushed away and grabbed up the dishwater powder.
Blushing but smiling broadly, Betsy returned to vacuuming.
Giggling! Yes, chortling inside as she worked the howling machine back and forth over the carpeting. She drove it up to a mirror and gazed at her winning self, at the glistening rivulet of sweat worming down between her breasts, and such plump tits they were, less round than Laura's, more conical, with big caps inclined to puff out as though showing off the a-nipples that tipped them. Pink in repose, the nipples now had more of a blush and were quite erect. She gazed at the tawny fluff of her pussy hair, not as broad a spread as Laura's, but, she thought, I'm really quite hairily twatted. And Laura says I'm luscious, and I'm so glad she thinks that. But more important, all of a sudden I like myself! And I like running a vacuum bare-ass naked! What would Jim say? Of course that's the clue, I'm spiting Jim, whose shirts must be ironed just so, his suits without a wrinkle, who makes me shower before bed so I don't smell like a woman. But I am one, a broad-hipped cunt whose sweaty and smelly and having the time of her life.
"Making beds -- help me?" Laura called.
"Coming!" Betsy abandoned the vacuum and hustled to the bedroom hall, giggling at the way her titties bobbed and lurched. She found Laura bent over a bed, stretching the clean sheet into place. She eyed the girl's behind, big white checks, like hams they were, and down the cleft a dark tuft of hair protruding. Overcome by an outburst of affection -- mixed with odd impulses she could not quite fathom -- she rushed up behind Laura, threw her arms about the girl, and hugged that plump ass to her pussy.
Laura bunt into laughter, cried, "You frivolous cunt, we're not done work yet!"
"I just wanted to tell you -- my husband is such a stuffed asshole -- you've liberated me, Laura."
And it did feel good, squeezing her belly and crotch to these firm, sleek asscheeks.
"Well, go liberate the other side of the bed," Laura said.
Betsy scampered over to it. Their hands flew, making quick work of it and then the twin beds in the guest room. Everything seemed hilarious to Betsy, the way their tits hung out when they bent over a bed, looking quite similar now except for Laura's darker points.
The beds made, Betsy returned to her vacuum, finished the living room and took on the dining area. There the machine sucked a blob of white nylon from under a highboy. She switched off and picked up a pair of panties monogrammed PB on the right hip. She showed them to Laura, who was in the kitchen again.
"Looks like Patty Burke. Goodness, that was weeks ago. I've really neglected cleaning, huh?"
"How did they get there?"
"God knows, I don't. Tom calls our house Horny Haven. So anything's possible."
Horny Haven, panties under the highboy! Goodness, Betsy thought. Then she giggled.
Time had flown. When she finally put the vacuum back in the broom closet they had been working two hours. But Betsy knew the job would have taken her days, days of dawdling because what was the hurry? Yes, she stretched out housework to fill the time. And now the clean dishes and gasses were put away, the second load of laundry in the dryer. Her de-smudged dress hung over a chair. She could put it on but had no intention of doing that.
Laura was shaking cigarettes from a pack. They lit up, Betsy leaning against the washer, Laura facing her at the sink, saying, "I guess it's done except for a few odds and ends. We could shower off the stink."
But to Betsy the stink was part of it now. She could smell her own sweat, and her own pussy, and she liked it. Laura's throat glistened with perspiration, and so did the cleavage between her breasts. She was gazing thoughtfully about the place, brushing back her hair, drawing on her cigarette, looking everywhere but at Betsy. And abruptly Betsy felt herself change, standing taller, her loins throbbing lustfully. She crossed the kitchen to Laura, who looked up at her, surprised. Betsy found herself the taller, and more assured. Laura was, believe it or not, blushing!
Betsy tossed her cigarette into the sink and slipped her arms about the girl, brought her close, breasts touching, hot, seeming to flow together. She nuzzled Laura's cheek, and the odor of her femaleness made Betsy's nostrils flare. She liked it!
"Darling, we must shower," Laura murmured.
"No! I want you like this, the way we've been, naked and smelly."
They kissed, mouths open. When she licked Laura's tongue the thrill went racing through her body, into the cushiony breasts between them, to their sweaty bellies, and into the hairy cunt she was pressing to Laura's thigh.
At last the girt sighed, "And I thought you were so stiff -- cold..."
"I was," Betsy murmured, kissing her throat, bringing her hands up to squeeze their titties together. "I didn't used to be. I'm blaming it all on Jim."
"Are you sure it's his fault?"
"No, I'm just blaming him for keeping me from being myself." She took Laura's face in her hands, kissed her again. Her heart was pounding and her hands trembled as she explored, felt over the girl's shoulders, down her sleek back to her waist, out the curves of her ass, digging her fingers in and tugging, crushing the girl's pubic mound to her own.
"You horny darling!" Laura gasped.
On fire now, Betsy nibbled her throat and whispered, "I'm going to take you to bed."
"All sweaty?"
"And smelling of cunt. Like me. Honey, I haven't smelled so good, exciting, wonderful -- in years!"
Laura laughed. Then Betsy moved her and they went, arms about each other, toward the bedroom ball, Betsy watching their breasts wobble, and the sway of their bare bellies, and the switching of their pubic muffs. Betsy turned them into the room with the double bed.
"We'll mess up the sheets," Laura sighed, dropping down on the bed.
"There's clean ones in the dryer." Betsy bent over her, completely the aggressor now, grasped a big breast in both hands, and mouthed the nipple. It grew to a great dark peg between her lips. She licked the rubbery areola, and heard Laura whimper with pleasure. The circle swelled; she sucked at it, sucked her mouth full of breast.
Betsy gazed down the Laura's deep-dimpled belly to the dark sprawling bush of her cunt. She sent her hand slowly stroking down it, fingers plowing into the bush. Silky, curly hair, long and thick. She tangled her fingers in it and tugged.
"Oh, God!" Laura choked. "If you touch -- my clit -- I'll cum!"
Betsy did not. She forked her fingers and slid them down the plump mound. Laura yanked her legs apart and Betsy's fingertips went butter soft down her outer lips, closed on them, drawing together, gently massaging and feeling drool ooze out. In seven years she had not touched another girl's cunt! But now...
"Such a tease!" aura whimpered. "Honey, I need a cum or I'll get all tied up."
Betsy knew what she meant. How well she knew it! And now, still kneading a breast, she kissed down the girl's soft belly, tongued into her navel. It tasted salty. Sweat. Delicious sweat! But as she progressed the other liquid overpowered it, the sweet tanginess of cunt juice, and her nostrils flared, sucking it in eagerly. She rubbed her face in silky mound hair, the odor stronger and making her pulse pound. She gazed over the fluffy bush, down at the broad, hairy valley between milky thighs.
She saw outer lips spread, forming an oval about crimson flesh shimmering with sex liquids. The clit stood right out of its red notch, a fiery nubbin.
And the crinkled inner labia, swollen shiny now, and there, the slot, dark within, the narrow opening to Laura's fuckhole.
Laura's legs raised, and Betsy, between them, gazed down at her drooling cunt.
"Lap me, honey!" Laura cried. "I want to get off..."
And Betsy plunged down between the columns of her thighs into the swirling, odor of hot cunt, down open-mouthed and tonguing, gobbling hairy lips and squishy split, tonguing the erect clit, sucking, wallowing in it, rubbing her face in jelly-soft flesh.
Her head was spinning. She was drunk on it, licking with the flat of her tongue, down to the girl's slot, forcing her lips inside and blowing as tough to inflate her cunt, then sucking the drool.
Laura shrieked, "My cum! Ah-hh, Betsy, you're sucking me into a cum, oh-hh, my cunt is going inside out!"
Betsy backed to the clit, a truly horny nubbin now, tongue-lashed it and then squeezed her puckered lips to the slippery protrusion and sucked, drawing the tidbit and the surrounding flesh right into her mouth.
Laura's whole body was whipping now and she cried, "Honey, do you like my cunt?"
"I love it!" Betsy cried.
"Oh-hh, I'm bunting into cum, oh suck it a little more and then I'll -- oh-hh, sweetie!"
She shuddered, went into a stiff quivering. Her thighs crunched in on Betsy's head as she strained, jerking hard.
"Ah-hh!" she shrieked. "I'm cumming so hard, Betsy, oh please suck my clit more, swallow my clit!"
And then she collapsed.
Like a tree falling. Slam. Her legs spread wide, and Betsy found herself panting as though she herself had cum, lying exhausted with her cheek on her lover's streaming cunt.
CHAPTER THREE
Betsy felt Laura's hand washing slowly over her ass, an idle caress, affectionate, lazy. Fingertips tailed into her cleft, down to the button of her anus, where they paused, pressed about it, moving it slowly. Then a gentle pressure directly on her asshole made the ring seem to expand, and a fingertip slipped inside.
Betsy squirmed voluptuously. "I like!" she said, "Did you ever have a cock up it?"
"No!"
"Tom digs that action. You ought to try it."
Betsy frowned. Here, nuzzling Laura's crotch, she seemed to be hearing the offer of the woman's husband. She pictured him, tall and dark, a huge grin, flashing eyes. Attractive and sexy. Very sexy.
Laura said, "He's hot for you, Betsy. He says, 'That cute ass next door, I'd like to sink my teeth into it!'"
"But Laura -- would you -- let Tom -- your husband -- and me..."
The other laughed. "Honey, this is Horny Haven."
Betsy recalled the panties under the highboy, and Laura's mention of wet-cunted broads juicing the bedsheets. Goodness, did they have -- orgies?
And the party tonight, what would it be like?
Laura withdrew her finger, then dipped it into Betsy's cunt, which fluttered wildly at the touch, and returned it to the previous aperture. Moistened by cunt juice it now slipped in easily, excitingly! Betsy squirmed back at it, impaling herself, taking an inch up her asshole.
The finger wiggled, and suddenly Betsy felt hot all over. She rubbed her mouth on Laura's clit, then licked the slippery little nipple-like protrusion. But the exciting finger up her ass diverted her attention. She raised up, elbowed Laura's legs back to see her anus, a dark pucker in a swirl of fine black hair. Wetting her finger in cunt juice, she pressed it at the star shape. It seemed to contract, wobble about, then it expanded and her fingertip slipped inside.
"Ugh-hh!" Laura grunted. "Oh, honey, I'm so sensitive there. When Tom buggers me I go absolutely wild." Then she said, "Betsy, raise up so I can get under your pussy. We'll sixty-nine, huh? You want?"
Did she! Betsy levered up, lifting a leg over Laura's body and lowered, guided by the other's hands on her behind, and the finger still piercing her ass.
She felt hot breathing on her cunt.
Just that, and her cum started.
So hot, gasping, trembling with urgency, she sank her finger deeper into the other's asshole, and when the first tongue stab shot up her hole she shrieked.
"Laura! I'm so fucking hot. I'm going to cum! Laura, do you hear me?"
A soft mouth closed in Betsy's clitoris and she went wild.
"The biggest clit I've ever seen!" Laura murmured, licking and sucking it, and Betsy remembered her humiliation when Alice first said that. As though she were deformed! Alice had said it was because she had masturbated too much, that made it grow, and maybe it was true because in those days Betsy had not been able to take a pee without succumbing to the urge to twiddle her clit. She had kept a hidden candle to stick up her cunt, but that had not seemed to enlarge it much. She had been a pretty tight fit on any cock.
Flames were boiling around in her belly.
She cried, "Laura, I'm going to cum!"
"We'll make it together, honey. Lap my cunt, huh?"
Betsy got down to it, panting, breathing in that thrilling hot-cunt scent as she laved the quivering split with her tongue, sent it wagging up the other's hole and suckered her mouth fast on the opening, drinking of it while licking.
"Agh-ghhh!" Laura grunted, hunching now, jerking her pussy at Betsy's face just as she gave Betsy's clit the first really hard suck.
Betsy went wild. Crying out, thrashing about, she lost her finger grip in Laura's asshole. She clung to the girl's cheeks as they went together rolling over the bed, barely managing to each keep her head in between the other's legs. Betsy's cum -- oh, she knew it was no false buildup like last night with Jim -- was an opening and closing of her cunt, like a bellows, with waves of heat rippling up and down it at great speed.
"I'm cumming! My cunt is bumping, Laura, lick my clit, oh suck it darling."
Laura sucked so loudly that the noise was what seemed to trigger Betsy. Her cunt was flowing, a warm river spilling out. She heard herself laughing. Oh, the blessed relief of getting off!
I've cum, she thought. At last, I've cum.
The cum faded. She seemed to have vaporized, felt like a fluffy cloud drifting across a blue sky.
That afternoon at home, Betsy drowsed in the bathtub, wondering how many cums she had gotten today. More than in the last two years! She awoke in cold water, went wrapped in a towel to the bedroom and flopped down on the bed, feeling as though every knot inside her had been dissolved and turned to cunt juice. Finally she awoke, found she had been sleeping with her hand between her legs, and it was swimming in cuntal drool.
Time to prepare Jim's supper. In the bathroom she swabbed her thighs with a washcloth, then squatted on the toilet to pee. Testing her cunt, she found it gaping, and drooling anew, to say nothing of her clit being half erect. She tweaked it, felt a tingle of pleasure. God, am I turned on! she thought. Like a bitch in heat. She pressed the flat of her hand on the length of her cunt and it went squish. And her clit was growing. Well, you little fucker, she thought, I'll jerk you off! So she twiddled and tweaked the hot nubbin, pulled it until she was grunting and levering her hips there on the toilet seat, wrenching her clit to a hot cum that left her panting, groaning, and pleased, smiling broadly as she bent down, contorting herself to see the red length of her clit between her fingers, still being pulled, still horny-hard.
Supper.
Supper, God, I'm so used to cooking I could do it in my sleep, she thought. I could run this house in about two hours a day. I should get a job!
But when Jim came home she said nothing of that. She presented herself as he expected, prettily dressed and wearing makeup, with an extra dab of perfume to hide the cunt odor.
Dutifully she kissed his cheek.
"Darn night meetings," he said, heading for the bathroom to shower and shave -- two of each daily, three showers if he intended sexual assault.
"It's part of your job," Betsy said, wondering if it were, or would it be a brief meeting followed by bar-hopping, ending at June Haley's apartment? She wondered if he would shower there again before fucking the secretary.
"I hate leaving you here all evening."
"Oh, I'll watch TV," Betsy replied, finding it easy to lie. Very easy. "Will you be late?"
"Could be one, two o'clock. These visiting firemen, you know, the home office types, they like to do the town a little. And entertaining is part of my job."
"You poor dear," Betsy murmured.
"Have to make a good impression. Think of the future. These are big shots."
"I won't wait up, darling. You stay out as late as you think you need to."
She frowned at her own conniving.
At that moment she heard a car roll into the next drive. She went to the kitchen window and saw Tom Graham get out, shout in the kitchen door to Laura that he was home.
He moved like a panther. Athletic, lean, full of piss and vinegar.
She felt a throbbing begin in her cunt.
Jim had left, dressed in a fresh suit and shirt, hair brushed to shining, shoes gleaming like mirrors.
Betsy did the dishes and tidied up. It was almost eight, time for the party at Horny Haven.
She had asked Laura what she should wear. "Anything, darling. But no bra, huh? Those gorgeous tits of yours should be left free to jump around so everybody can enjoy them."
Jim would blow a fuse if she suggested going out loose-titted. She zipped down her dress and I moved her bra, gave her nipples a squeeze, and zipped back up. Then she shook herself, and giggled as she saw her titties dance about.
Mindful of her neighbors booze problem, she took a bottle of gin by the neck, snatched up a pack of cigarettes -- and went -- feeling her pussy lips squish together as she walked across the back lawn to the Graham kitchen door.
She found Laura inside, looking impossibly gorgeous in a lemon-colored party dress cut down almost to the nipples. No bra, of course.
Betsy hugged her and gave a kiss -- just tongues, to save their lipstick.
Tom stood in the dining room doorway, watching, grinning at them. He wore a red knit shirt and gray pants so tight that his crotch bulge stood out like a fist.
"Such a terrific-looking pair of cunts!" he said. "And bath mine. At least until the other guests arrive." He came and hugged both of them. "Betsy, have a drinkie? Gin and tonic?"
She nodded, and as Tom began mixing, she asked, "Who's coming?"
"Two couples we met at Bingo's Boite, a joint where we booze. Named Colby and Thatcher."
"Seven, then, and I'm the odd female?"
He grinned. "Nothing odd about you, Betsy. Looks like you've got everything hanging out where it ought to be," he said, leering at her breasts.
She had to laugh. He had the same cheerful bawdiness as Laura, and his frank recognition of her big tits was a relief after so many men just casting sidelong glances and then talking about something else. With Laura and Tom she seemed to be lifting out of the smothering stuffiness she had so long endured.
Laura had gone to the kitchen table to fix up her snack tray. Betsy went to help her, walking with a roll of her hips to show off her buttocks to Tom, remembering Laura's saying that he called her "that cute ass next door" and that he'd like to take a bite. Gee, she taught, am I really Mrs. Jim Walters rocking my behind as bait for my girl friend's -- and lover's -- husband? No, I'm just Betsy!
She helped open boxes of crackers and arranged them in the compartment tray around the dip.
Tom said, "Okay, there's the drinks made. Now, I have to put in a business phone call. Betsy, come to the den and keep me company?"
"Go on, darling," Laura said. "I'll have this done in a jiff."
Betsy hesitated, her heart suddenly thumping. But Tom handed her a drink and beckoned, and she followed him out.
In the dining room he said, "Laura told me you two cleaned the house like a hurricane. Great. Two can do three times as much as one. Sometimes I help her and the dirt just seems to disappear."
She wondered if Laura had told him they did the job naked, and ended up in bed. He must at least suspect, after seeing their tongue kiss when she arrived.
In the den he pointed at the couch. She sat. He took the chair at his desk and began dialing the phone. When he had an answer he said, "Mr. Mayhew, please." After listening he said, "Okay," and hung up. "He'll call back when he gets off the other phone," Tom said, tilting his chair back and taking a sip of his drink.
"What business are you in, Tom?" Betsy asked.
"Real-estate appraisal."
"Oh, that's how Laura got into selling houses?"
"Sort of. An outfit I knew wanted a gal to sell, and she's good at it."
"You're sort of Women's Lib, huh? I mean, Jim would flip his lid if I got a job."
He shrugged. "I think cunts are people, and people should do what they want, what they're good at. Like, Laura fixes the plumbing. Somehow she understands it. I just bring tools for her, usually the wrong ones."
The phone rang. He answered it, opened a notebook and began jotting things down as Betsy thought, So cunts are just people! Yes, Tom, I do love you for that. I wasn't born knowing how to cook, I just thought I had to. Yet all the famous chefs are men. Could I become a famous chef?
Tom put down his pencil, reached to his crotch and scratched his genitals.
Betsy smothered a giggle. He had done that so matter-of-factly.
He took more notes, finally clapped the book shut and hung up. He looked thoughtful as he sipped his drink. Then he set the glass down and turned to her.
"Done! Now for the party. Especially you. Betsy, we've called hello and goodbye across the lawn but I scarcely know you."
She was smiling over her drink at him. He had gray eyes, darker flecks in them, warm, easy-going, though there was a determined set to his chin and an aura of confidence. He knew his worth.
He said, "So let's get acquainted!"
He pushed back his chair and came to the couch, dropped down beside her, sliding an arm over the cushions behind her.
"Like we start with a kiss," he said.
And Betsy, not Mrs. Jim Walters, thought that a delightful way to begin. She set her drink on the table beside the couch and turned to him, finding herself a soft and cuddly thing sort of oozing into his arms, her mouth moist and trembling with eagerness as his lips closed firmly on hers, and his strong, meaty tongue plunged to her throat.
She vined her arms about his neck, caressing rather than clinging, for she was firmly held. She had Laura's permission to sex it up with him, which left her free to shamelessly suck his tongue, to caress, to squirm to him and rub her titties on his chest.
When their mouths at last parted he said, "Hello, Betsy. Glad to have made your acquaintance."
"The pleasure was mine," she giggled, and felt a hand on her breast, looked down and saw his lean, strong fingers gently kneading the right one, his thumb rubbing the nipple.
Yes, her neighbor was toying with her tittie, and she loved it.
Tom murmured, "I hope our guests are a little late..."
Betsy, squirming now, feeling hot and damp between the legs, hoped so too.
She asked, "What are they like? The Colbys and I forget the name of the other couple."
"The way we figure it -- I mean Laura does -- Colby swings but his wife, Doris, like she crossed her legs once and forgot how to untangle them. The others, George is shy, even blushes. But Vera, she's a redhead with the fire you might expect."
As he spoke he plucked at Betsy's other nipple. They stuck out now like fingers making tents in the dress material.
He murmured, "Like Laura said, your nips are for sucking! Anyhow, what we have to do is separate the husbands and wives, see? And keep the guys from talking baseball together."
Betsy judged this simply good party management but she had a hunch that at Horny Haven the objectives were different. But before she could calculate further Tom's hand slipped under her skirt and began stroking her inner thigh.
"Smooth," he said, caressing all the way up, right to her crotch. At the feel of that she gasped. And Tom said, "Hey, you're not wearing panties? Not at our party."
Betsy gave a laugh and said, "Then I'll take them off!"
And she did, raised flipping up her skirt, grabbing the waist of her panties and peeling them down, slipping them off and kicking them under the couch.
Tom's hand was already under her skirt again, his fingers closing on her hairy cunt lips.
CHAPTER FOUR
His touch surprised her, and Betsy's thighs closed automatically. In that moment she was Mrs. Jim Walters again.
"Hey, you're crunching my knuckles!" Tom said.
She took a deep breath. She spread her legs to let Tom squeeze and tug her cuntal lips, which instantly set ablaze the heat lurking in her belly. But passivity was not enough for the new Betsy. She grasped her skirt hem and turned it back, rolled it to her waist exposing the tawny fluff of her cunt hair, and Tom's hand was between her legs, which were not together now but not exactly spread, either. She grasped a knee and yanked her leg up, feeling the couch cushions. She could feel a breeze from the window ooze over her exposed cunt, a delightful airiness contrasting with the heat induced by Tom's massage of her cuntlips. Even more important was the near completeness of her exposure, Betsy displaying her twat to a man she had the hots for. She grabbed the other knee and brought it up, sat heeling the couch, white thighs winged out wide from the hairiness of her cunt.
"What a luscious cunt!" Tom gasped. "That's eatin' stuff, Betsy. Hey, your clit: Laura says she never saw such a big clitoris."
He fingered it, and Betsy gasped as the nubbin swelled, growing rapidly and pulsing with heat.
She reached under her thighs and fingered into her outer lips, digging at the damp hairiness, pressing, forcing them to gape. This spreading helped reveal her clit, protruding redly into view beyond a veil of cunt hair.
Under Tom's strokings it grew to a glistening little prong.
He said, "The little fucker must be an inch long! Lady, you are one special cunt, you know?"
"I was ashamed of it," she told him, as she had Laura. "And of my big nipples."
"Guilt," he said. "Fucking puritanical guilt, the shit kids have to grow out of!" Then, abruptly, he asked, "Does your husband suck it?"
A harsh question. None of his business. That is, Jim had a right to privacy. But she, didn't Betsy have rights? And this oversized clitoris that used to make her cringe with shame, it was her clit!
"No, he doesn't," she said.
"Dumb shithead," Tom muttered.
"Yes. He's an asshole." And me, she thought, watching how her glossy red clit stood out, how when he nudged it aside it sprang hornily back into position, I want my big clit sucked and I bet my fuckhole is winking at Tom, the way it feels all curly, and maybe I've been a dumb asshole, but not any more. "Tom, do you like it? My clit?"
"Betsy, I've dreamed of a gadget like this. Some clits, hell, a guy can't even find them!"
And Betsy threw back her head and laughed.
That was when she glimpsed the mirror on the facing wall.
The mirror was a square with a silver frame. It had been dark, but now the breeze that had laved her gaping pussy was rising, tossing the curtains and letting light in to show her perched on the couch, legs winged out, hands underneath pressing her lips open from her glistening cuntal trough. And Tom's fingers gently toying with her clit.
Jim would die if he saw this blatant baring of her female organs to their neighbor, worse than seeing her fuck, for then he might assume feminine weakness. But this was so positive, so determined a display of her cunt, like saying. "Tom, there's my clit and my fuckhole, play with them, suck one or fuck the other. And there's my asshole. You can figure something to do with it, too."
The mirror image faded or brightened according to the tossing of the curtains, but the woman there spraddle-legged remained Betsy, and Betsy gazed into her mirror eyes, and at the hair about her wet coral inner cunt, and at the long clit Tom was tweaking, and thought. There, you're me and I like myself and fuck everybody with different ideas.
She heard the curtains snap, and out in the kitchen Laura rattling glassware while her girl lover and her husband became acquainted! She heard her own breathing, harsh because her horny clit was shooting warm currents throughout her belly, making her cunt quiver and pull. She licked dry lips. The cuntal pulsing speeded. She was not very far from a cum.
Then the doorbell rang.
"Oh, shit!" Tom growled. "There they are."
He started to move away. Betsy snatched at his hand, yanked it back to her cunt, whimpering, "Make me cum, Tom, I'm almost there!"
"There's no time. And I'm so horny I couldn't stop fucking you..."
"Just twiddle me! Jerk off my clit. Oh God, Tom, I'll cum, I'm right on the edge..."
"Tom!" Laura cried from the kitchen. "Front door!"
"You go!" he cried, grasping the slippery nubbin as Betsy, moaning now, hipped at him, tugging her cuntal sphincter in, then bloating it out.
"Tom!" she moaned. "Once more, I'll cum, ah-hhh, ah-mm!"
She heard her cunt suck loudly. If only it had a cock inside. Then she was off, trembling over the peak, raised on heels and elbows, hips jerking through fuck motions, her oversized clit poking the gap between his thumb and forefinger. He gave a strong pull and she saw stars.
She had fallen back, limp, the storm in her cunt separating out into individual scorching waves that she expelled.
Still sizzling, but sliding downward from the peak.
That was when Tom bent and kissed her clit. Then he stood up and she saw him shove his erect cock downward to find a more comfortable position in his pants.
"I'll go now," he said, turning to the door. Betsy fingered her clit and rubbed slowly, bringing herself down out of the turmoil of orgasm.
In the living room voices babbled. Betsy heard Laura's chortling laugh, Tom greeting the newcomers in response to feminine chirps and male voices.
She palmed her cunt. So wet! She retrieved her panties from under the couch and swabbed her thighs and pussy, then returned the nylon whip to its hiding place.
She rose and went to the minor and studied herself. Eyelids heavy, giving her a sultry look. Her smile, smug. Satisfied. Nipples protruding in her dress, which was thin enough to show the shadow of her pussy hair. And she smelled of cunt juice but that fit her mood. She tidied her hair, lipsticked, then sauntered out to the hall, aware that her hips were rolling, her ass wagging, and with each step her pussy lips moved slipping past each other, deliciously soft and oily.
Everybody was gathered between the facing couches. Betsy picked out the redhead first: Vera, green eyes, a green dress cut low in front, pouty breasts threatening to rise right out of it, a perky behind. A swinger, Tom had said, and those flashing green eyes hinted that he was right. The other girl, Doris Colby, was a tiny thing, very young, a milky complexion and dark hair drawn back in a pony tail, and huge dark eyes.
Betsy had only glimpses of the men before Tom saw her enter, and drew her into the group, tossing names about. The shorter man, George, husband of the vivacious redhead, did not meet her gaze and his face looked like it was burning. The shy one. The other -- But Tom had handed her a fresh drink and someone forced crackers on her, and Vera grasped her arm, saying, "Husband's away so kitty plays?" Much confusion. Jabbering all about. Tom laughing, clapping one of the men on the back. Vera had drawn Betsy aside and now whispered, "Lucky you, husband out of the way. If only I..."
And Tom cried, "I fell off the barstool? Hey, one leg of it was busted..."
Vera again, giggling now: "No bra. Imagine! George would go ape."
And Laura said, "Tom, you were as drunk as a pig..."
"You look so beautiful I feel dowdy," Vera said.
And Betsy thought: If you'd just had her clit twiddled by Tom, you'd look beautiful too. Not twiddled, jerked off like guys do their pricks. I like the sound of that better because my clit is so big and I'm proud of it! Gee, imagine, proud of it, and glad my nipples stick out in my dress like salt and pepper shakers.
And she told Vera, "Yes, kitty plays while hubby's away."
"Bitchily?"
"No, no, but hornily, very hot in the panties I haven't got on."
"No panties either?"
They were laughing together, instant friends, she and this gabby cunt with the green eyes twinkling so close to hers, eyes more than interested, and Betsy wondered if Vera swung like herself and Laura. Not many girls went both ways, at least if you believed what they said. Since Betsy did not believe in coincidence she guessed Vera had been invited because Laura knew how to pick them.
"One more drink." Vera said, "and I'll take off my bra. We stopped on the way for a quickie at Bingo's Boite. I need another." She finished her glass in a gulp. "Does your husband know you're here -- no bra..."
"He's an uptight fart," Betsy said.
"Oh. And he bought you a chastity belt for your birthday?"
"Screws his secretary."
"Well, they do, don't they, the kind who act so stuffy, always have a piece on the side."
Tom was cuddling up to little Doris, who smiled wanly at him, looking frightened. But he'll charm her out into the open, Betsy thought. He and a couple of stiff drinks.
Doris' husband, Colby, was laughing boisterously with Laura; a party guy. So that left only Vera's husband, George, still blushing and gazing down at his shoes, and Doris, to turn on.
Betsy whispered, "Vera, what does your husband dig? I mean, how to get him into the party?"
"He digs you, all right. Took one look at your tits and turned beet red. George is a mathematician."
"God, and I can't even balance my checkbook."
"He likes poetry, too."
Betsy groaned. "The only poem I know is the limerick about the old man from Nantucket."
"Whose cock was so long he could suck it?"
"Dirty tongue you've got," Betsy giggled.
She studied George, wondering how to get to him. Not tall, stocky, hard body like a wrestler. Then Laura descended upon him, dragging with her the loud Colby, and George's face did come alive. "So let Laura do it..."
"Let's get me another drink," Vera said.
CHAPTER FIVE
Thus the party began, not quite a cold start because of the foursome's stop at Bingo's; some expert manipulation by Tom and Laura, and then the ice was pretty well broken.
Betsy talked to George about poetry, or at least she started him off, but he was not yet loose, kept blushing and looking away and stammering. With Doris she exchanged girlie small talk. And wherever she moved, Vera seemed to be at her elbow.
Then Tom whispered to her, "Need ice -- drinks -- want to help?"
She nodded and took a tray of empties to the kitchen. There, filling the ice bowl, Tom said, "The redhead's got a twitch for you, Betsy. Give her a come-hither look, you know, let her fly a little. The ice might break."
"My God, I thought the ice was busted all to hell!"
"Hey, we haven't even started." He turned from her then, pointed at the screen door. "Rain."
It was falling in huge, scattered drops. "There might be hail," Tom said, left his ice bowl and went to the screen door, staring out across the lawns.
And Betsy sauntered after him, swaying, and at the door hung a hand on his shoulder and rubbed a breast on his arm. She said, low-voiced, "Well, you busted my ice, anyhow."
Gazing down his body she saw the ridge of his erecting cock. Being the new Betsy she did exactly as she wished, reached across his thigh and laid the flat of her hand on it, and rubbed.
She felt his hand come up behind her, tracing the curves of her buttocks, settling between, squeezing her.
He whispered, "Those bastards interrupted us -- I've never been so horny in my life."
She nodded against his shoulder. "Me too. I wanted you to fuck me." His cock was rising, a long bony thing with an enormous bulge of head that seemed to fill her cupped hand.
Tom groaned, and dug a finger into her rear cleavage. "Honey, sometime tonight I'll get into your cunt. But we have all those people to turn on. We have to quit this..."
"Well, at least let me feel it." She grabbed his zipper tab, her fingers trembling so she had difficulty holding on. Finally she got his fly open and slipped her hand in. She felt a tangle of pubic hair, at last the hot horniness of his cock shank. Her fingers coiled about it and she gripped as though to tear it off. It gave a throb and she felt that fly right into her, through her body, a responding spasm, a spitting heat like a tiny cum in her cunt. Suddenly on the point of tears, she whimpered, "Tom, let's run through the rain to my house and you can fuck me right now..."
"No, honey. We're hosts, like you are too..."
She found the head, a great, swollen, apple-sized thing, and as she clutched it Tom groaned.
"Honey, no. Don't! You're driving me crazy." Biting her lip, she gasped, "You promise to fuck me tonight, Tom? Cross your heart?"
"Betsy, I'll fuck you until one of us is sore!"
She clung feverishly to him until he wrenched her hand off his prick, zipped up and left her there bawling, getting wet from rain slashing against the screen door.
She recovered, alone in the kitchen, with the help of ice water patted on her swollen eyes and cheeks, and then a husky shot of gin.
Returning to the living room with drinks she saw Vera eyeing her hotly, talking to Colby, mouth moving, words spilling out but looking only at Betsy.
When the drinks were distributed she found Vera at her side, offering cigarettes.
Vera lit her up, then asked, "Where's the john? I have to pee."
Betsy pointed to the hall.
"Come help me?" Vera said.
Betsy glanced at Tom, bent over tiny Doris, and felt a twitch of cuntal urgency, then a stab of jealousy when he caressed the girl's arm. She could not endure this.
She let Vera, now holding her hand, lead her off to the bathroom. The rain had ended, and the humidity was greater than before, sweat between their linked hands. Once out of sight of Tom she could gaze sideways at Vera, at the pouty white breasts -- she glimpsed nipples of a salmon color -- at the glowing red hair and alabaster complexion and long, dark lashes shadowing her eyes.
In the bathroom Vera handed her drink to Betsy, hung the cigarette from the corner of her mouth, and scooped up her skirt to squat on the john.
Betsy saw the girl's panties slip down her legs, then milky thighs spreading, and her broad, auburn pussy bush. Vera held her skirt up higher than necessary. Displaying it.
Betsy stood against the sink sipping the drink she held as pee squirted into the bowl.
"My bra," Vera said. "I'm going to take it off. Fuck George! Aren't husbands shits?"
Betsy smiled. "Maybe it's marriage itself that's shitty. I mean, here I am the seventh person at this party, the spare woman. I feel a little lost -- all this freedom -- but it's like I'm two inches taller. And without a bra, you have no idea. It's like my bra was my husband, and now my titties just hang how they want, and spill around, and dip and bob, and if my nips get horny they show through my dress. And I'm glad!"
"George would just kill me."
She needed help, Betsy saw. She swigged down the drink -- she was feeling a little high now -- and set the glass in the sink. She moved to the girl squatting on the john, bent over her back, pushing aside the mass of silky, coppery hair, sensuous stuff that clung to her fingers, and opened her dress zipper.
"Betsy, I don't know -- I mean -- George..."
"Fuck George," Betsy murmured, wrenching the bra hooks free.
Then she gazed down the girl's front at her sagging dress, at bra cups loose on milky, tip-tilted breasts. She could not resist, slipped her hands down Vera's chest into her bra and cuddled the soft warmth of her titties.
Vera stiffened, gasping, "Oh-hh, Betsy, now you've done it! Now you've done it!"
Tears ran down her cheeks.
Betsy bent to her, kissing the tears, saying, "Honey, what is the matter? I know you're turned on to me..."
"Oh yes, from the first minute, the first glance! But George will call me a lesbian. He'll sneer, like tasting something dirty, sour."
The girl's cheek was as smooth as satin. Betsy rubbed hers against it, murmuring, "What matters is, you and I swing for each other." The breasts in her hands were so white, the salmon-colored tips so delectable that she wanted to simply gobble them into her mouth. But Vera was trembling, hands on her bare thighs forming claws digging fingernails into her flesh. This must be done with caution and delicacy.
Vera sobbed, "He says I always want to go to Bingo's because it's a lesbian hangout. Oh, maybe it is. I can glance at a girl, meet her eyes, and I know. We met the Colbys there, and the moment I saw Doris..."
"Doris? She swings too?"
Vera sighed. "She's more uptight than I am. Oh, I come on like gabby and full of fun, but Betsy, right now I'm so scared! And Doris is a hundred times worse. One night -- Colby was off on business and we'd had about ten drinks, and she was just adorable, all over me, lapping -- what cums I got! Then for a week she avoided me, just cut me dead on the phone -- such guilt..."
Like I was, Betsy thought, nuzzling Vera's cheek and gazing at the luscious, snowy-white titties in her hands, at the pale-salmon nipples growing under her caresses to sharp spikes.
She said, "But about George. Do you dig sex with him?"
"Sometimes I go wild like an animal, for days on end can't keep my hands off him, especially his cock. It's hard like a bullet. Not big but simply iron. One weekend he kept count. He fucked me fourteen times and on Monday morning he was late for work because I had to have another cuntful before we got up. But then for weeks -- I hate him! Especially if I have a girl." She paused, looking down at her breasts, now solely in Betsy's hands because dress and bra had fallen away. "Betsy, I'm so hot for you!"
Her chin jerked up and Betsy found her mouth yawning. She pressed her lips in, felt them sucked hungrily, slid her tongue into the voracious suction and oh, the thrill of that wet kiss, bubbling throughout her body to her swelling nipples and then seething in her cunt!
But Vera's reaction paled hers; a violent trembling, moans, writhing about as though on the point of a cum. Her tongue lashed like a ribbon of fire, coiling about Betsy's, flailing at her lips, plunging through to her throat, giving every sign of emotions too long bottled up.
"So hot!" she choked. "How my pussy feels -- pumping in and out..."
Betsy fingered down Vera's belly, under her skirt and grasped the girl's hairy snatch. Lushly haired, and like this squatting on the john with her thighs wide apart her slobbery split seemed as wide a Betsy's palm. She squeezed the hairy outer lips, rubbed, found her clit -- a tiny thing -- and tweaked it until Vera was moaning.
"Betsy! I'll cum! You'll make me cum! Oh -- shit, your hand on my cunt -- I'll flip right out of my mind!"
Then she seized Betsy's tits, pulled at them while writhing through hip jerks.
Betsy curled an arm behind herself and unzipped, felt Vera's hands tear down the front of her dress and fist on the swollen tit caps.
"I want to suck them, those big -- oh, what beautiful nipples, Betsy, let me fill my mouth..."
"Yes!" Betsy cried. "Suck my tits, darling, gulp at them!"
Her breasts were hung out over Vera's face. The girl stuffed the left one into her mouth, took the entire enflamed cap, a mouthful in itself, then white tit flesh, sucking hard.
Betsy heard music, dance music in the living room. And rain beating on the roof. So there was an outside world; but here in the gleaming, tile bathroom, bent over this girl sitting on the toilet, sating her pent-up hunger for tit-sucking, she had world enough, complete. The pulling on her breast brought such heat to her belly that she reached up under her skirt and grasped her pussy. It was as wet as that of her new lover, gaping, and two fingers up her fuckhole felt like mere straws. Open like a bucket!
Moaning, Vera switched to the other breast, nibbling the tip as she paused for breath, then wolfing it in, her lips a circle squeezed tight on white tit flesh.
The sucking pull made Betsy's stretched boobs seem to swell to watermelon size, and the other too, which Vera kneaded voluptuously. So hot! But each was being treated separately, one in the wet suction, the other caressed by feather-light fingers, each glorious but apart.
She panted, "Vera, honey, can you suck them both at once?"
Vera's reply, a moan choked by her mouthful of breast, came out like she had just been seized by orgasm.
"Both! Oh, I'll -- cum! Let me..."
She drew almost off, one nipple still in her mouth as she squeezed the melon tits together and forced both breast caps into her mouth.
To Betsy it was like a short circuit, flaming electric charges meeting and making her shriek and almost fail on trembling legs. And seeing the redhead mouthing both thumb-like nips, stretching them, nibbling, slobbering on them, the sight of it started Betsy's cum.
"Vera!" she cried. "Vera, my cunt is pulling, make me cum darling, oh yes, suck me!"
The image of Tom's long, big-headed cock flashed through her mind as the cum started.
Oh, Tom, I want my taint full of it right now! That long, stiff prick up my fuckhole, Tom!
But she knew now what Tom was aiming for, not just fucking, but a turned-on party, an orgy, every cock in every cunt, every organ sucked.
Yes, that's what he wanted, and she was doing her part, but despite the short-circuit thrill of both tit ends being sucked together her cum hung fire. She had to have it, now!
She cried, "Vera, lap me! Darling, please suck my cunt, please?"
She threw up her skirt and raised, tugging her breasts from the other's grasp, and shoving her hairy twat at Vera's face.
CHAPTER SIX
Vera stared wide-eyed at her. The change had been too abrupt. The tears welled in her eyes. Her face paling, she looked confused.
Then she dropped a hand to her red-haired crotch and squeezed herself, biting her lip.
"Betsy. I've never. Oh, Betsy. Except -- drunk. But I'm hot!" She rubbed hard at her pussy. "My cunt's so -- wet -- oh, Betsy!"
With that she plunged in, throwing an arm around Betsy's ass and crushing in.
Betsy felt her entire vulva sucked into the girl's wet mouth, which seemed full of flailing tongues.
Her cum had started, a cuntal slithering that began to shiver, as though heat waves were racing out of her too rapidly for each to be identified. That trembling extended to her bowed-out leg, wee to her naked tits and they quivered like jelly, those swollen melons with caps puffed out to cones too large for even a male hand to cover. Straining, head back, her belly arched in to the mouth of the girl sitting on the john, she let the violent shivering carry her into orgasm.
She choked out, "Vera -- lap me..."
The other's voice, muffled by cuntal flesh, seemed agonized yet hysterical with joy.
"I'm eating your cunt! Oh, Betsy, I'm -- there -- I sucked your clit, such a big clit! Oh, I love cunt-lapping, I'm drinking it! Betsy, I love you, love you!"
Panting, feeling her breasts wobble crazily about as she jerked to the very peak of orgasm, losing all control, afraid of falling over backward, Betsy could only hip into the licking and sucking, using it to balance her teetering body. She seized her breasts to still their wild rotation, pulled at handfuls of rubbery flesh, drawing the cum right up into her tits, through them to her burning throat and cheeks, cumming to the eyeballs.
Vera's tongue slid up her hole, into a convulsing space large enough to contain a thousand like it.
I need cock, Betsy moaned inside. I need a cuntful of stiff meat, Tom's long shaft with the head like -- an apple!
Yes, even while surging through a cum, tongue was not enough.
She had to be fucked, just had to be!
Then she heard Vera's cry: "I'm cumming too!"
Betsy was falling. It was all spilling out of her, all the hot waves melted to mill-pond quiet. Below she saw Vera frantically finger-fucking herself. She was sliding down, knees touching Vera's, passing them. Limber now, loose all over, falling to knee the bath mat.
Before her were the girl's spread white thighs, straining, and between them her racing hand, jamming fingers up her hole.
"I'll lap you," Betsy said.
Crying out, not ceasing in the frantic cuntal massage, Vera squirmed to the front of the john seat.
The mat of red pubic hair. The yawning lips, dribbling streamers of vaginal juice, inner lips quivering, and the little clit a fiery protrusion.
Betsy pressed into it, mouthed the jellied flesh, and sucked.
She heard Vera's cry, like the howl of a wounded animal.
Hands seized Betsy's head and held her in tight as she sucked and lapped the girl into the most violent raptures of orgasm.
Then Vera folded down over her, sobbing, "Honey darling, oh Betsy, I want to go to bed with you and lap your cunt all night long!"
But Betsy, despite her cum, could feel her cunt still sucking in on its empty self.
It wanted cock.
They had washed their faces and tidied their hair, and left the bathroom with arms tightly about each other, Vera's bra and panties remaining behind.
At an open bedroom door Vera stopped, begged, "Please, sweetheart? To bed?"
"We can't, darling. We'd ruin the party. And we can't just sneak away to make love. We have to settle it with George. He has to accept you as a person with rights of your own."
"I can't face him."
"We'll face him together."
But they did not have to. In the living room people were dancing to the slow, quiet music Betsy had heard before. George with Laura, Tom and little Doris.
Colby, who was draining a glass, saw them, and after swallowing hard, called, "How long does it take to pee?"
It sounded like "bee". Amused, Betsy decided he was drunk. A silly ass, this Colby, grinning like a jack-o-lantern.
And Laura cried, "The john's free at last. Me having to piss a gallon!"
She broke from George and ran off to the bedroom hall.
The music had ended. Doris scuttled from Tom and scrunched into a corner of one of the couches, primly tugging her s
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