Robert Taylor

Bored wife

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 skirt down over her knees, reminding Betsy of a girl who had nerved herself up to a duty dance, and now breathed a sigh of relief that it was over.

Tom caught Betsy's eye, his look inquiring. Winking toward Vera, she nodded. He grinned, apparently pleased.

She saw the knob of his cock pushing out at his pants, forming a tent. From dancing with Doris! And once again she felt a stab of jealousy.

She slipped from Vera over to Tom and whispered hoarsely, "Tom, I've got to. I need it inside me."

He put an arm about her and turned her from the group, saying, low-voiced, "Look, we're breaking ice. Warming them up. Laura was riding George's leg and he loved it. The bastard's cock is sticking out like a hammer handle."

Betsy shot her hand over to Tom's prick and gripped the horny shank, whispering, "I've had all the lapping I can take. I need meat up my hole!"

"Honey, I'm the ringmaster of this circus. I can't leave them."

"You said George, is horny. I'll take him to the kitchen, I'll seduce him."

As she spoke her hand roved on that hard cock and fat head that she wanted so desperately.

"Do that."

Her gaze shot up at him, hurt. "But Tom, it's you I want!"

"The party won't be a success until everybody is horny for everybody. I haven't got the only cock in Horny Haven."

But the one she held, throbbing now under her caresses, obsessed her.

She straightened. "All right, Tom. It is your party." She turned from him and looked about for George.

George had clutched his wife's arm and was whispering in her ear while she, Vera, bit her lip and looked terribly unhappy.

Betsy moved toward them, moved all over, hips rolling and titties wobbling heavily before her, lashes low, gazing with feline lewdness at George, looking up his hard torso and at the erection still lifting his pants.

She slipped in between them, slithering, separating husband and wife, saying, "Vera, George is going to help me make drinks."

She used muscle in starting him toward the kitchen. She was of equal height with George, not as heavy, but as she measured their respective weights she had no feeling of being a frail reed.

She vined her hands about his arm – solid with muscle – and chinned his shoulder, saying, "You can teach me mathematics, George. I never got beyond six times seven because it kept coming out forty-one."

"I thought it was forty-three," he grinned. "But – um – Bets…"

"Betsy."

"Well Betsy, about Vera. Girls. I mean her and girls – you know what I mean? Sometimes I can't touch her for weeks and weeks."

"Maybe she needs those weeks to be herself," Betsy said.

"But a guy in bed with his wife every night…"

"That's the trouble. That's wrong."

He stopped her in the kitchen doorway. "You're saying marriage is wrong?"

"I'm beginning to think it's a lot of shit." She strode from him to the sink shelf where the drink makings were laid out. She did not neglect to roll her ass heavily as she walked, and at the sink stood with a hip cocked out.

"I'm very confused," George said.

Betsy spilled ice cubes into gasses. "I'm not. I'm fed up with my husband and I'm alone in a kitchen with a nice mathematician and poetry lover and I intend to make the most of it."

She turned on him, saw George blushing and looking away.

She said, "If you alternated weeks, sleeping with Vera one week, me the next, you'd have all the hot pussy you could handle."

He scowled. "Betsy, you're just trying to shock…"

"Shock you, yes, shock you out of stupid habits, out of a rut people have been in too long."

She switched back to the counter and poured whiskey on the ice cubes. Speaking sharply to George seemed to have cleared her mind. She meant to seduce him, but in her way. With pride!

He was behind her now. She turned, handing him a drink, took one herself and sipped it, gazing steadily at him over the din of her glass.

He smiled crookedly, said, "I like rational argument. Don't often get it from a woman. So tell me about marriage."

"No, I'll tell you about me. Something happened to me this morning and I woke up like shot out of a gun. I'm going to be me, Betsy, not Mrs. Pampered Housewife whose husband is so overbearing that I lose my nerve and can't even balance my checking account. So we'll start with what I am."

She set her drink on the counter and yanked her skirt up to her waist.

"See, George, I'm a cunt. Down under all that pubic hair there's just a split, and in it three important things. A clit like a miniature prick. A pee hole. And a fuckhole."

He flicked a glance down at her pubes, then away. Smiling wryly, he said, "This is a very strange rational argument."

Still holding her skirt up she said, "Whereas you, George, have a cock that can erect and point straight ahead like a gun. Maybe men like guns because they are superior cocks. Anyhow, men follow their pointing pricks. This is called masculine drive. Supposedly women lack drive because they lack cocks. But that's only an argument to keep men in power. Because brains run the world and my brains are not in my cunt. Go on, hunt brains in my cunt, George! Feel me up! Go ahead!"

George giggled. "I grant you the argument."

"I haven't proven it yet. I will. Go ahead, put your hand on my pussy."

Blushing, he reached between her legs and pressed his palm to Betsy's cunt.

And she grabbed his cock, feeling his hand curl closed on her pussy lips.

She said, low-voiced, "There, George. We're both people, one cocked and one cunted. Marvelously, we need each other, cock in cunt. Plug in hole. But I'm not waiting for you to ask or insist. I'm the aggressor."

"You're saying you want me to fuck you?"

"Na, I want us to share a fuck."

He smiled. "The word fuck comes from Anglo-Saxon. It meant, to plow. So it's male, a plowing of the female."

"And that I'm changing. Betsy doesn't get fucked, she fucks with men."

George laughed abruptly. "Betsy, I like you!"

And she, squeezing his stony prick, measuring it with fingertips running out its length, wondered why her bathroom lover had said her husband's cock was small.

She at last released it and pushed his hand from between her legs, saying, "Let's knock back our drink."

Together they leaned on the counter, his arm about her now, she cuddled to his side, and sipped their drinks.

He said thoughtfully, "You think I should let Vera have her girl friends?"

Betsy nodded. "Let her invite them home. You sleep in the spare room – on a couch – George, this marriage stuff smothers us." Then, warming as she rubbed against him, Betsy whispered, "George, you could put your hand under my skirt."

She felt him lift it, then his square, hard hand caressing her bare buttocks.

"You've opened my eyes," he said.

Sipping her drink, she slid a hand down between him and the counter and lightly grasped his cock. She moved her finger, gently, an easy jerk-off action.

He said, "You talk like you're leaving your husband."

"If he can't adjust to Betsy, yes. George, it has taken all my nerve to speak out, to act out my desires. Like, I wanted to fondle your cock, well, I'm doing it. And the argument I gave you, I was inventing as I went along – discovering! Yes, finding what I am. I think I'll get a job, George, prove I can do it, just as tonight I'm proving I can make love with a man on the same level, something mutual instead of rape."

George's fingers were invading her ass crack. She spread her legs to give him room.

And she grasped the tab of his zipper, saying, "I'm going to take it out, if you don't mind."

"Be my guest," George chuckled.

She opened it and dug out his hot and horny prong. Thick, very thick, though shorter than Tom's, filling her hand. She could scarcely wrap her fingers about it.

"Vera says its small," George said.

"Bah, that's because she has a big cunt."

"Do you know that?"

She laughed. "Cunts stretch to hold a biggie, shrink to hold a small one. Oh yes, I've been at Vera's pussy, which is none of your business, what she and I do, unless you're tolerant enough to let us be ourselves. But of course she had to let us fuck."

He was pressing her anal button. Betsy squirmed back against the pressure, it felt so good, and she squeezed his hot cockstem.

Like that, sipping her drink, hearing dance music in the living room, and rain beating on the roof, Betsy felt lifted on a wave of euphoria. She could achieve anything. And George seemed content, as tough caught up in her mood. Despite his rigid prick he seemed in no hurry to fuck.

They had finished their drinks. Betsy poured two more. Laughter in the other room, voices becoming raucous. Boozy now.

Time to find a bedroom. But she did not want to leave the kitchen. Like the john now belonged to Vera and herself, she wanted to leave her mark on the kitchen, with George. She glanced about. The linoleum looked awfully hard. She saw a counter stool. She giggled.

She pointed to it, said, "George, I think I'd like to fuck on that tall stool."

"You lady!" He was laughing.

"Come on. Naked, huh?" Gulping at her drink she slipped from him, curled an arm behind her to get at the dress zipper, thinking this might be the last undressing of the night. Yes! From now on, nude.

She tugged the dress off over her head, and tossed it onto the kitchen table, then went – wagging her rump – to the counter stool and brought it back to the drinks.

George, grinning hugely, was peeling his shirt off, revealing a hairy chest that looked three feet wide. Then he dropped his pants, Betsy watching closely. Lots of cock hair, stumpy prick protruding hammer-handle stiff from it, and a nice big pair of balls weighting his scrotum. His biceps bulged. Strong!

She said admiringly, "You didn't get that physique doing math or reading poetry."

"I'm a stone mason, Betsy. Or I was, that's how I worked through college. I build walls, fireplaces, in my spare time."

And Betsy, standing there naked, sipping her drink and feeling no embarrassment whatsoever, found she liked his body.

She said, "I love stonework. You should build a house!"

"We intend to. Vera and I…"

He paused, frowned, and she knew he was thinking in old terms, himself and his wife.

She said, "Maybe a house for three, since I like stone."

"You do upset my calculations, Betsy."

"And you mine. I was never interested in short men, being a tall girl, but I like looking straight at you." She stepped to him, her belly pressing his cock, turned her head and briefly kissed his lips. "How nice! The same height!"

"You make me feel like I'm growing."

Smiling, she gave his cock a slap. "That's the only growing thing on you, that horny cock. Hey, George, suppose somebody came hunting drinks and found us naked…"

"I've been thinking of that."

"But I mean, not fucking. Just talking." And now, flying on her wave of elation she added, "I'd rather they find us fucking, though. I want everybody to know we fuck!"

"We don't, not yet."

So Betsy backed to the counter stool, climbed the rungs and sat on it with her legs spread wide. She gave her cunt a rub – it itched-and said, "We'll have to test for height."

George broke up, bent over laughing. "Shit, Betsy, I've never had such a strange – love affair – in my life."

"Because you've never fucked a cunt who has just emerged from bondage and discovered she's alive! And well! And Betsy."

Wiping tears of laughter from his eyes, George came to her, halted with his stiffly protruding cock precisely at the level of the stool seat, his knob butting her pubic bush.

"This stool was made to order," he said.

And George, Betsy thought, was made to her order, this stony-muscled smallish man with the wide chest and the hard cock.

She braced her heels on the stool rungs and squirmed to him while thumbing his prick down below her bush into the steaminess of her split.

CHAPTER SEVEN

George had grasped her hips, pulled, helping her impale herself on his rigid meat. The head slipped right into her yawning hole, for a second plugging the entrance, as fat a knob as had ever gone up her cunt. Only a second, then wedging up the curve of her vagina. She seized George's hard buttocks and tugged and oh, there, the fat cock had filled her, snug, stretching her channel just a bit.

"Ugh!" George grunted. "Feels like you're scalding my tool."

She giggled and threw her arms about his shoulders and kissed him wetly, openly, tongued into his mouth as deeply as his prick had penetrated her cunt.

George's hands slipped up her flanks, between them to fist her tits.

His hands had a hardness that compressed her boobies. She could feel every callus; she shivered with delight. And his rocky shoulders thrilled her, and the thrusting tongue now forcing into her mouth, and the cock rooting in her hole. He made her feel soft and cuntish, rather helpless but not put down, for their fuck was a sharing of opposites, and she could still be proud of being Betsy.

The kiss ended. He gazed at her, eyes twinkling. She kissed his chin, then smiled. She squirmed about, wriggling herself on the rigid cock that so filled her hole, and he, the darling, did not start reaming her but remained still, letting his prick be kneaded and cunt-sucked.

He said, "But gosh, if Vera came through that doorway…"

Betsy put her hand over his eyes as he partly turned to look at the kitchen exit.

She said, "If she does we'll invite her to join us. To share your cock."

"You think she would?"

"She'd better. It's time to open up to each other. I mean, George, Vera isn't the only cunt you've fucked since you've been married. Is she?"

"Well, I've strayed a couple of times."

"And she's gotten into pussy more than once. Let's clear up the smokescreens, George, come out of hiding. Let her catch us fucking and you'll both feel better."

George lost track of the argument then as his cock gave a powerful twitch that set Betsy's cunt to fluttering.

"Oo-oo!" she cried. "Oo-oo, George!"

Grunting, he rooted inside her, rotating his hips so his horny rod stirred her bubbling, drooling hole to a frothy, jellied viscosity. For the moment her cunt had no form. It was pure heat. Only the stone-mason's hands squeezing her breasts to hard little oranges kept her from falling, for although his cock stood high in her belly and she seemed to hang on it like a piece of clothing on a wall hook, she felt liquid enough to slip right off.

"Ee-ee!" she hissed, head flopping to his shoulder, arms down his back, hanging limply on him as he reamed her cunt. There was a cum growing like a bubble shaped to his cock.

"You getting it off?" George cried, still fucking her.

Panting, she could not speak.

"Umm-rnm, urn-mm!" she croaked, then felt his loins squeeze her clit, and that she could define, apart from the palpitating bubble roiling about his prick, her clit a sudden wet explosion removing a layer of heat from her body, somehow permitting her to speak, to say, "Fuck – more – hard…"

His hips yanked back and he drove the steaming shaft up like a flash of lightning that scorched her from heels digging at the stool rungs to hands flopping loosely on his back.

"My cum," she bleated. Then, "Ugh-hh, George, ughhh, there…" And her hips were moving, thrusting her at him, slow, straining surges that set an uncontrollable rhythm. He quickly fell in with it, his cock leaving her on each backstroke, slashing up her gushy fuckhole as she shoved to him.

"You got it now?" he cried.

"It's got me, George! Ugh-hh! Oh, ugh-hh, I'm grunting like a pig!"

"You're a beautiful pig, Betsy."

"But – ugh-hh!" The grunts came, long and drawn out, each time she hipped in to meet the cock squishing up her hole. "But – ugh-hh – pig wallowing in fuck – ugh-hh!"

His hands slid away from her breasts, letting them drop, slid down her back and grabbed her asscheeks, yanking her in so close that her clit crushed to his loins.

"Ugh-hh, George! Like that, fuck this piggish cunt! I'm cumming George! Oh my God how I'm cumming!"

The orgasm was a roaring in her belly, her cunt at last taking definite form, a tube squeezing his cock in slithering embrace, racing on it. Clinging to his shoulders now she yanked her legs up, wrapped them around him, dug her heels into rocky buttocks as she levered, banging her wide-open split at him as though to do harm.

"Ugh-hh!" she cried again. "So piggish I'm a sow, a cunt pig fucking oh how I'm fucking…"

As she roared into her cum her cuntal passage firmed even more, became like a tough jelly fluttering on each gliding entry of his cock, tightening all the way until it almost held his meat imprisoned when he struck bottom. It clung all the way as he retreated, then came apart, dissolved to a yawn waiting for his plunging return.

George cried in a whimpering, strained voice, "Betsy, you're the best fuck I've ever had!"

And she, almost hysterical now, cried out, laughing, "I'm not a fuck I'm a cunt!" She was peaking, pitching wildly on the thrusting cock, and she heard herself crying, "I'm a cunt aunt cunt! I'm so full of cock cock cock!"

George, too, was laughing. "Cum, girl!"

"I'm cumming!" she shrieked, going rigid, seeming to climb up his body as she drove her heels into his buttocks and levered upward on the cuntal blast, the delicious releasing scalding surge as her hole blew out drool, wetting his scrotum and her ass.

For some moments she hung up there, then slid downhill, sobbing and laughing, a laughing cum! Wet, sweating all over, cunt gushing, she collapsed and had to summon a fierce outburst of strength to keep from falling, tumbling off the stool to the kitchen floor.

Her mind was a broken swirling of emotion, a vacuous blob as she clung to him and George gave her slow fuck shoves to bring her back into his world.

When she could at last think coherently she choked, "George, did you cum?"

"Couldn't you tell?"

"Nor too wild, all too piggish cuntish selfish – fucking myself right out of my mind. Did you?"

He grinned. "No. I was enjoying too much seeing you go off the edge. And feeling it. Christ, your cunt was sucking my tool like a calf on a cow's teat."

She kissed his ear. "Gosh, calf and pig, such an animal I am. I should be ashamed. Do you want me to feel shamed?"

"Fuck, no!"

She laughed, and hugged him. "Well, when you shoot up my hole I'll probably go crazy again. Don't let me fall off the stool, huh?"

"Your cunt's drooled so much the stool seat is died, so we'll have to be careful."

He was teasing but her ass did indeed feel slippery.

Her legs were tired from clinging to his back. She dropped them, heeled the rungs again while grasping his hips to keep his cock in place during her shift in position. Looking down she saw it slip put only a couple of inches. She reached between them and fingered the broad, dark stem, glistening with her juices. Then she finger-combed the hair of his groin, a giant dark nest of it. And there, her wetted-flat cunt hair no longer concealed her red clit, which pronged out homily.

She slipped her hand down underneath and clutched his scrotum, then giggled with delight as she felt the weight of his swollen balls.

She was trying to stuff them into her cunt along with the length of cock still within her when George gave a despairing groan.

He was looking toward the doorway.

And there stood his wife, Vera, staring bug-eyed at them.

CHAPTER EIGHT

"You!" she cried at Betsy. "It had to be you!"

Tears glistened on her cheeks.

And Betsy, still holding George's scrotum to the juiced flesh under her cunt mouth, aware of the glorious hardness of the half of his cock remaining pronged up her hole, possessively clutched her handful, and gasped his shoulder, pulling him to her.

"You slut!" Vera cried. "Treating me this way after I – after we – you and I – I thought you wed – about me…"

Her voice faded, broke as she sobbed.

George, caught by his wife with his cock in another woman, turned beet red, sputtered, and avoided both their gazes.

This shattering of Betsy's lovemaking, the most exciting fuck and the wildest cum of her entire life, a cum from which she had not, quite recovered, left her speechless. Yet she was the one who had to straighten it out, and she guessed only a far-out approach would do.

She said, "It's because of how I love you, Vera."

The girl swallowed hard, then choked. "Love? So that's love? You slut, you're what I heard you shrieking, you're a pig, a sow, a pig cunt!"

"And I was, because your husband fucked me out of my mind, better than he ever did you because he wasn't sure you wanted it. Sure, you love his cock but you don't turn on, you're held back by guilt over loving girls but I'm not, I loved sexing with you and I'm not ashamed of it, and if you'd come here and let us hug you, we'll get you so hot you'll sizzle."

Vera stared open-mouthed, perhaps confused by the flood of talk, which Betsy guessed was part nonsense but at least it had shut Vera up.

She said, "Vera, he's a beautiful man and you and I will share him, and he and I will share you."

The girl looked at her husband. "George, it's crazy…"

"No!" George growled. "It's great. Honey, you come here and take Betsy's place, and I'll shove into you with her juice still on my prick!"

"You're insane!"

George, his jaw set, eased out of Betsy's cunt and strode toward his wife. Betsy clutched her emptied hole, achingly deprived, but George was right, and his move followed what she had told him. He seized Vera's arm, wide-eyed, sobbing again.

George said, "I'm sick of us lying to each other. When you get a lech for a girl, tell me, and if Betsy and I want to fuck we'll do it at our house, all three together if you want."

Vera gazed wet-eyed at Betsy. "Can it – what George says – work?"

For answer Betsy climbed off the stool and gathered the girl into her arms, hugged her, kissed her cheek, whispering, "Kiss me, Vera. Let George see it. Show him."

Vera was too broken up. Betsy had to do it, mouthing the girl's lips and tonguing in. And she got a response, a sweet suction, a tongue curling about hers. But that was not enough. Betsy pulled up Vera's skirt and grasped that red-furred pussy, stroked it until Vera's legs bowed and she was pushing her wet cunt at Betsy's hand.

The girl was helpless then. She let Betsy unzip her dress and push it tumbling to the floor. That milky body, the salmon-colored nips, the red pubic bush! Betsy could just kiss her all over, but instead moved her to the counter stool.

Trembling, wide-eyed, the girl let herself be seated on it, legs spread wide.

Betsy gasped George's cock and brought him to his wife, nipped the head into her split. George shoved and the bulky cock, oiled by Betsy's juices, slid right up his wife's hole.

The girl whimpered, as though about to cry again. But she must have felt the cock inside her stir, for she scrunched to her husband, clung, squirmed, and gazed over his shoulder at Betsy.

George's asscheeks narrowed and hardened as he rooted in, stirring about in her cunt as he had in Betsy's, and Vera moaned, her eyes narrowing to murky, sex-hot slits.

Betsy thought: They need time to adjust. She found cigarettes on the counter, lit one, then took a fresh drink and turned from them.

"Betsy," Vera said huskily, almost moaning. "Do you really think – you and George…"

"I'll leave you for a while to talk it out." She smiled. "Or fuck it out."

Betsy went to the door. There she glanced back and saw Vera's legs lift from the stool, encircle her husband's waist, and clamp in firmly.

Her eyes closed as he began arching into her, fucking long and slow.

Alone in the dining room, Betsy took stock.

She could hear the counter stool squeaking on the floor as George and Vera went at it. In the living room, soft dance music. On the root drumming spats of rain. She gazed out the window at her own house, a single light in the living room. Through silvery rain it looked miles distant, but that was still too close. And Jim? I'm a disloyal, cheating cunt, she thought. But maybe he was fucking June, his secretary. Hope so. Anything to keep him from coming here and disrupting my – what shall I call it – my voyage, my expedition of discovery, my search for the real Betsy who once was pleased to be called Mrs. Jim Walters. Now – Betsy Cunt? Yes. I'm Betsy Cunt.

A breeze from the open window chilled the wetness on her inner thighs. Must clean up a bit. She cast about, saw a box of tissues. She scrubbed some on her thighs and pussy lips, caught sight of a mirror and went to it. Color high, eyelids heavy, lips swollen from kissing; a rather voluptuous pair of tits. Christ, the erection of the nipples appeared permanent, and as she raised her anus to push tousled hair into some sort of order her breasts jostled heavily, and looked swollen straight out from her chest. My boobies, she thought, I could knock a lamp over if I turned fast!

She could not see in the mirror if her clit protruded into view but a fingertip discovered it well out of the notch. So I guess I look well fucked, she thought, though I only came once on George's cock, but I will again tonight, darling George, yes, next time I'll take your load spraying up my hole.

She stood there a moment longer, sipping her drink and smoking the cigarette. Then she threw the butt out the window and sauntered toward the living room feeling simply marvelous, her walk fluid, bare ass swaying, titties wobbling heavily, her gaze as sultry as that of an alley cat on the prowl.

The four were dancing, Laura belly-rubbing Colby, Doris looking tiny in the arms of the tall Tom.

Tom saw her. He stopped, gaping. Doris followed his glance. She gave a little shriek. Laura's face jerked to Betsy, raven bangs swinging, dark eyes wide until she broke up, pealing laughter, Colby joining in.

Having made her entry, pausing for dramatic effect and giggling at them, Betsy said, "My clothes went away. Anybody seen them?"

Laura dropped to the couch, screeching with laughter. Yes, this was a private joke; only this morning Laura had begun removing layers of prudishness from her next-door neighbor. Now Laura was outdone. And, being herself, while laughing she curled an arm behind her back and unzipped her dress, staggered to her feet, peeling it off over her head, came rushing to Betsy naked and throwing the dress away.

She flung into Betsy's arms, again those two pairs of big tits squishing together, and each belly was tickled by the other's pubic hair.

Little Doris' face was mottled, somehow gone pale and blushing wildly at the same time. Her husband, Colby, was laughing nervously.

Only Tom acted. He turned to the record player, pushed buttons, and slapped on a new disc.

The speakers roared, blasting rock music.

The pound of it Betsy felt like the drive of George's cock reaming her hole. Just the thing! She threw her arms up and began cranking them to the beat. Laura whooped and spun around, tits flying, and the two hurtled into the rhythm of dozens of amplified guitars, kicked with the drum crashes and yelled more shrilly than a shrieking clarinet.

Tom rushed to them tearing off his red knit shirt, took a hand of each and whirled them, spun between, lost their hands and collided with a couch. Back again, the dance a whirling triangle. Laura snatched at his pants, got his zipper down. Blue and yellow shorts stabbed out the opening, stretched by his erection.

Tom whooped, kicking his shoes off, cranking one arm while fumbling at his pants waist clasp with the other. He backpedaled to let Colby come pounding in, Colby stripping off his shirt.

"Doris!" Laura cried.

Doris was scrunched up in a corner of the couch, saucer eyes fixed on the dancing quartet, naked and half naked. She saw Tom's cock burst out of his shorts fly as stiff and long as a ball bat, and she shut her eyes.

"Doris too!" Betsy called, took Tom and Colby's hands and danced the whirling, kicking foursome to the space between the couches, descending upon the frightened girl.

They seized her up, the four of them, yanking her into the whirl of flapping tits and Tom's wagging cock, Colby's too now that he tore his pants open. A beauty, Betsy thought, fiery red and so hard it hooked upward bearing a cunt-buster knob, but oh Tom darling, that prong of yours must be a foot long with that big, flaring head – Tom and Colby each held one of Doris' arms and they whirled so rapidly, the tempo of the music now an insane rattling crescendo, that the girl was spun right out of herself. And she began to laugh hysterically, was suddenly cranking her arms and kicking with the rest of them.

As Laura kicked, high, Betsy glimpsed the wet red split between thickly haired cunt lips that she had lapped so eagerly this morning. And me, I'm showing off my gash, kick higher, higher, titties hopping and lurching, even Doris laughing at our craziness. Colby's pants are at his knees, hobbling him, and what a long scrotum he has, the way his nuts swat about his thighs! He trips on his pants, spills to the floor, his laughing a moment and then Laura stoops and grabs his pants cuffs and yanks them oft stripping away his shoes too. Colby is up wearing only yellow socks; his cock wagging as stiffly as though rooted into his spine but his nuts flying everywhere!

Tom holds his pants up with one hand, afraid of tripping like Colby and reluctant to break the nutty kicking, arm-flinging, hip-jerking – yes, the rhythm is strictly fuck-dance beat. He loses his grip on Doris, throwing her off balance, stumbling to Betsy and here she comes, that little girl wearing a dress and doubtless bra and panties.

She slams into Betsy's anus.

At that moment the record ends, the music stopping as abruptly as though the record player had fallen through the floor to the cellar.

Betsy held in her arms a Doris who was screaming with laughter.

And hugging her, squeezing tight to her tits and belly.

Then she buried her face in Betsy's throat.

The girl was squirming, rubbing their bodies together.

CHAPTER NINE

"Such fun!" Doris gasped.

Laura had collapsed on a couch. Colby stood over her, grinning, still wearing his yellow socks, his reddish cock twitching.

Tom was changing the record.

Doris gasped in Betsy's ear, "Oh, if I could do what you did – walk into a room naked, looking like a queen! Betsy, you were so beautiful. But I'm little."

"You're adorable," Betsy said, kissing her forehead.

"But you and Laura, so voluptuous, such big breasts. Oh, Betsy, what should I do?"

"Start with this," Betsy said, pinching the dress zipper wider Doris' dark pony tail and zipping down to the bra hooks.

"Oh, I couldn't!" Doris cried. "Not – nude…"

But Betsy had snapped her bra hooks free, now dipped her hands into the girl's dress front, into her loose bra and cupped lowly pear shapes with dark, sharp little nipples.

Doris crushed to her; glanced wildly about to see if anybody was looking. They were not. A new blast of hard rock shattered the amplifiers. Colby yanked Laura to her feet, and with Tom they flung about kicking and stamping and cranking arms, celebrating their liberation from all restraints, too elated for serious sex. Doris choked, "I want to – dance – like them, and about – but I'm scared…"

The disarray of her dress and bra exposed her breasts, which she pushed into Betsy's and clung to her, trying to hide herself.

Betsy grasped her skirt and pulled it up despite Doris' protest, got under it and slipped a hand into her panties, down her soft, smooth belly to a silky pubic tuft, then between her legs to almost hairless lips.

Doris groaned, "You're so – horny – sexy…" She shoved at Betsy, pressing her pussy into the hand caressing it. "But Betsy, I can't look at people – if only I had a false face, a mask."

Betsy called to Laura, "Do you have anything like a mask, darling?"

Laura was dancing in place, wiggling her hips in hula fashion while Colby, bowing his legs, made comical cock jabs at her pussy.

The request did not seem to surprise her. Without missing a beat of her hula-fuck tip grinding and thrusting, she called, "Chest in our bedroom has all kinds of junk."

Doris sighed, "I wonder if I could do it…"

Betsy slipped a finger into the girl's soft and juicy slit, saying, "Of course you can. I'll help!"

"I'll try, Betsy!" Clutching her bare breasts, Doris flung away to the bedroom hall, Betsy following, feeling quite horny for the girl despite the sight of the men's cocks jabbing at the laughing Laura's hairy cunt. I've become a butterfly, Betsy thought, flapping from one to another, from cock to cunt. In the bedroom, arming her twisted bra to her titties, Doris flipped up the lid of a large cedar chest under the window, revealing a God-awful clutter, patches of bright clothing, a girl's sneaker, a tennis racket with frayed strings, a pipe wrench. Her hand darted in, snatched out a devil-red domino mask and let the chest lid fall with a crash.

"Try it on," Betsy said.

Doris turned away, frowning, covering her titties with both arms. "No, you go out – I'll do it – maybe – yes, I will! Out in the hall?"

"If you want." Betsy picked up a big white comb from the dresser and went to the hall raking her tanged hair and patting it into same semblance of tidiness, thinking: What a strange little cunt!

Doris proved even stranger than she thought.

Shortly Betsy heard a whisper of bare feet, turned and saw Doris stark naked in the doorway; except for the flame-red domino mask covering her brows and cheekbones and the bridge of her nose. It had large eye holes, and her gaze was luminous, those huge eyes shaped slanty by the mask.

But her body. Slim as an eel, tiny hips, but her boobies would grace a far larger girl, black-tipped jugs that jiggled as she moved. Her pubic patch was a tiny, black fluff trailing down between her legs, mere downy fringes on the most surprising thing about her, huge pussy lips that seemed to protrude, so plump that they crowded the meeting of her milky thighs.

"Do you like me, Betsy?" she asked breathlessly.

"Come here and ask again," Betsy said, beckoning, and watched Doris come with a wiggle, a most sensual swaying of hips, breasts wobbling together to the right; over to the left; one pussy half before the other; then retreating, and oh, the gleam of the dewiness between them… Doris swarmed all over her, in her arms and melting fast, arms about Betsy's neck as they kissed. The little wanton's tongue snaked into her mouth while her entire body wriggled, soft titties squishing about Betsy's, hot pussy crushed to her thigh.

Betsy seized the girl's firm little buttocks and half lifted her to mesh their pubes.

Doris, nuzzling her cheek, then kissing her neck, whispered, "I'm such a hot slut. In the dark. The mask is almost like being in the dark, you understand?"

"Yes, but I've decided to let it all hang out."

"Oh, dear Betsy, you do! How you walked into the living room naked! And do you know, I could see your clit? What a horny thing! Could I – touch it?"

"That's what it's there for!" Betsy laughed. She eased them apart and felt a tiny, soft hand slither down her belly, fingertips running as lightly as mouse feet, exploring the expanse of her mound muff, then into her split, and yes, the horny little clit was out, throbbing as Doris tweaked it. She chortled with delight, then fingered down the swampiness of Betsy's cunt to her hole.

The girl shivered. "It's so open. You've been fucked, huh?"

"Yes. George. His cock is like a bullet!"

"Oh? Well, he looks strong. But he's small." She curled down to Betsy's breast and flailed her tongue at a nipple. "Oo-oo, it's made for sucking!" Closing her lips on the growing peg, she panted, "Because you're big, such big melons, and your behind, cheeks like a horse's, drives me crazy. And your cunt is so hairy…"

The girl suckered off of Betsy's nipple and gazed down at her twat, at the robust pink clit she was fingering into view. The creamy softness of her caresses made Betsy squirm with delight. She seemed to be on a plateau of orgasm, in a state where each fleshy contact thrilled, as did every glimpse of curve or dimple, rubbery nipple or hair-shadowed cunt. And each breath she drew filled her with the odor of hot female, the scent of her cunt merged with that of Doris'.

The fingertip bending her clit about paused. Doris raised her hand, to her mouth and delicately licked the juice from it. Betsy mimicked the gesture by slipping her hand between the girl's legs and finding the puffy, down-covered lips, swiping at the jelly softness of her cunt, then placing the finger in her own mouth and tonguing the sweet juices.

Thus they stood in the hall exploring each other, utterly content with feathery caresses. Betsy stroked a dark nipple, testing its stiffness, then shook it, watching the roll of the white breast. She trailed her fingers down belly smoothness, grouped the small pubic beard to a pyramid, nudged the soft plump lips of her pussy and rubbed at the silky down on those amazingly big cushions crowding out at her thighs.

Perhaps the lack of hair made them seem larger; the down was a mere haze, a purplish tinge on the white rolls of flesh, yet they seemed to bulge out, filling her hand.

Betsy's delight in every contour of the girl's body made her wonder at the burgeoning lesbian side of her sexuality. Here in the hallway – hearing the music and laughter in the living room as unimportant – lesbian caresses sufficed, and a tongue up her cunt would be all the cock-shape she needed. And Doris, eyes glowing through the slant holes in her red domino mask – were her sexual urges entirely shaped to female form?

Betsy asked, "When you go to Bingo's Boite – looking for girls there – is it like escaping from – marriage – from Colby?"

Doris, at this moment using Betsy's swollen nipples as handles with which to roll her breasts this way and that, pursed her lips and said, "Sometimes. But he likes seeing girls make passes at me. I mean, I'm too shy to reach out. Except like this, behind a mask. If a girl feels me up he gets wildly horny. One night last week I was sitting on a barstool and this big blonde had a hand under my skirt, and he got so randy he made me rub his cock, right there at the bar."

"But do you like cock?"

"Only if a girl hots me up first."

Betsy puzzled over that. Finally she just had to test it – and herself. She slipped an arm about the girl and clasped a smooth little buttock, saying, "We'll go to the living room and see."

Doris did not protest, cuddled to her as they moved out of the hall.

The gang was still dancing, George and Vera had joined them, his limp, shrunken cock flying comically about as he danced. Vera had not cleaned up after their fucking. Spatters of white jism marked her thighs.

Tom broke from the group and came dancing toward the two girls emerging from the hall. His cock still protruded stiffly, the knob grotesquely swollen. Nor did it appear cunt-juiced.

He flung his arms about Betsy and Doris, hugged tern together as Betsy gazed at his cock, at Doris' puffy pussy lips, wondering. His big hand gripped her behind, a finger in the cleft. After Doris it did feel big and strong but in no way strange, as though the shift to another sex had become effortless on her part. She grasped his cockstem and felt a different but equal pleasure to that of fondling Doris' cunt, an aggressive rigidity on which her fingers seemed to soften and vine slowly about.

Tom gazed down at his prick and sighed. "The fucker has been hard so long I don't know if he can even shoot off, like the hole in it is cramped tight."

"We can try," Betsy smiled.

She saw Doris' hand rise under it and gingerly touch the hairy scrotum. She gave a shiver. Tom hugged the two girls closer, titties to his chest, hands and cock and pubic mounds meeting in a rather confusing crush of flesh.

He said, "I've had an awful lot to drink. I hope it doesn't wilt me. No fun pushing cock like a rope."

Then Doris raised on tiptoes and whispered into Betsy's ear, "If you'd stick it into me…"

Surprised, Betsy asked, "Would that turn you on?"

"Yesss!" the girl hissed.

Betsy took charge. She moved the girl to the couch, sat her on the edge with her legs spread wide apart, and made Tom – grinning, amused at the novel procedure – kneel on the floor. Then Betsy seized his cock and steered the bulging head at the lightly downed pussy lips, saying, "Honey, legs up, feet on the cushions."

Doris did this, and her puffy cunt lips opened to an oval about a glossy coral split, and a fuckhole slot that looked proportioned for a much larger woman. Betsy rubbed his knob in this gap, reshaping it to a crinkle-edged, circle, then tugged, and Tom gave a shove.

The head popped right into Doris.

Doris gave a muted shriek. Her hand shot out and seized Betsy's tit. Like that Betsy steered the shank, and when Tom had pushed halfway in she left his cock to its own devices, reached behind him through his legs to fondle his heavily loaded scrotum.

"Such a cock!" Doris cried.

And Tom said, "Hey, you feel like all cunt clear up to your tits!" He jogged, then pushed hard and the entire length of his prick vanished inside Doris' down-ringed fuckhole.

Betsy, caressing his jiggly balls, said, "Your cunt must be bigger than mine, Doris. That cock of Tom's scares me!"

The big cock now slipped out into view, thoroughly wet and dripping cunt juice.

"Ought to try yours, Betsy," Tom said, panting as he thrust it up Doris' hole, making the girl choke, squirm, feet bracing on the cushions as she raised up to deepen the penetration.

"Oh-hh," Doris moaned. "I love it! But Betsy wants – give Betsy – oh no don't! Fuck me, Tom, fuck the shit out of me!"

Tom reamed her good, a dozen long, hard strokes that made the girl writhe and hump, levering up on each thrust to hurl her gushing sheath at the meat thrusting into it. Then Tom, panting now, said, "Betsy! Up beside Doris. Your turn!"

Shaking with excitement, Betsy raised to the couch and sat on the edge like Doris, heeling the cushions. But as Tom withdrew she lifted a leg over the girl's and butted her heel into the steamy gap of her cuntal split.

On his knees Tom scrabbled over to face her.

At last!

Afraid of the swollen head, Betsy fingered her pussy lips back. She need not have bothered. She was so wet, even the hair swampy, that the knob choked the mouth of her cunt for only a second. Too much but already past, wedging up her hole. He lunged and oh, Christ, she was full to the heart, and it looked as though her belly button were being pushed inside out by the cock inside her!

Out in the hall she had been on a plateau of orgasm, a sort of steady, gentle cum. But now her cunt convulsed on the hardness piercing it. It squeezed in, tugged, drawing every jellied tissue as tight as paint on it. Sealed. Locked in.

Groaning, she raised her ass off the cushion and rocked, balanced on her feet, securely impaled on Tom's foot of cock, back and forth, grunting loudly, that same sound George had forced out of her. "Agh-hh!" As though in pain. "Ahhhhhhhhh! Oh-hh, cock what cock, up my hole oh fuck fuck fuck…"

Doris was kissing her and pawing her tits as they swung about, and her heel felt buried in the girl's yawning cunt, and Tom's nuts thumped loudly on her ass, and Betsy went off like a shotgun.

"Oh-hh!" she screamed. "Oh-hh, Tom, give me cock, give me all the cock you've got…"

Tom was laughing. "Cum, baby, get it off…"

"My cunt is inside out!"

Doris was kissing down her arm, stuffed a breast into her mouth and suckered fast, then shook her head, making it jiggle insanely.

With that, Betsy went right out of her mind. Maybe, like Doris, she needed female caresses to start her off. And then hard cock to wrench her cunt on. She had it all together, and it was too much.

She was whipping about, on fire, and suddenly was not there any more.

She was floating around the room, a bubble of honey whose only form was a pair of giant tit bulges and down between them two hairy lips as big as rugs, between them a gaping space the size of a man's head. This was convulsing, rolling about, spurting sprays of cunt juice. Then her clit, swollen to the size of a horse's cock, exploded.

CHAPTER TEN

Betsy found herself sprawled on the couch, legs wide apart, a hand clutching her palpitating crotch. Her breasts felt like great lead weights crushing her chest and making her breathe with painful shallowness.

Beside her, rhythmic sounds of cock entering cunt marked Tom again fucking Doris.

On the facing couch Vera knelt doggie style. Behind her, Colby stood ramming his cock into her red-haired cunt.

Beside Vera sat her husband, George. Laura crouched down to his loins, mouthing his limp cock.

Gazing at them brought a new boiling to Betsy's groin. She began tweaking her clit. She retained much of the illusion she had experienced in the violence of her cum, being transformed into a great floating bubble in which her sex organs were dream proportions. Her clit still felt cock-sized. So for some time she lay there woozily jerking it off.

But the sight of Colby's reddish cock sliding in and out of Vera's fuckhole caught her attention. Not as long as Tom's, perhaps, but that hook-like up curve indicated a crazy hardness.

She was spilling off the couch.

On her knees, crawling toward the man driving it up Vera's channel, swatting her plump ass flat on each thrust. She reached him and grasped his leg, raised herself. As his cock backed she seized it, the shank almost too slippery to hold, but she managed to bend it from the girl's hole toward herself. Seeing her, Colby turned and the bony organ slapped Betsy's mouth.

Jim had for so long denied her oral gratification that she poked the swollen knob right into her mouth. There, Jim, Goddam you, I'll suck Colby's cock and I don't even know Colby, but fuck you, Jim, I have a mouthful of steamy cock all slippery with cunt juice, and I'll suck it dry!

She heard Vera protesting, and she choked, "Fuck you too, Vera," while licking and mouthing the luscious cockhead.

"You stopped fucking me!" Vera cried.

Betsy heard Doris shrieking, "I'm cumming! Tom, shove it up my hole, oh fuck me…"

"You slutting cocksucker!" Vera shrilled at Betsy.

And Colby was groaning with pleasure, especially as Betsy put both hands to work, jerking off the slippery tool and juggling his balls. She plunged back and forth, taking the knob right into her throat. With every gulp the almost-forgotten thrills of giving head grew in her, and she remembered high school days of toying with a boy's cock, in the darkness of a parked car, until the hot meatiness in her hand was too horny to resist, and she would plunge down and lick the head until the boy was jerking and panting, then fuck it into her mouth.

"What a blow job!" Colby cried.

Vera still whimpered her complaints. She remained in doggie position, her twat a gaping red slickness, drool running down her thighs. Betsy saw the girl's hand rise between her legs and two fingers jabbing into her cunt. Deprived, substituting fingers for cock. But Betsy's greed knew no pity.

She clung to her prize cock and heavy balls, kneading and caressing them, doing her best to bring him to a cum.

She wanted to feel his jism spurt into her throat!

He tried to push her away now, saying, "I got to fuck Vera, she's got fingers in her hole…"

"No!" Betsy gasped, clinging fiercely to his dong, burying the head in her throat. It was throbbing violently. Going to cum!

"Colby," Vera cried. "Please fuck me!"

His strong hands pried Betsy away, pushed her from his cock. He turned and with a shove drove the fiercely red, upcurved prick into Vera's hole.

Betsy collapsed. She fell on the rug, writhing, rubbing her hot mound at the coarse wool, scrubbing her tits on it.

Suddenly everything was wrong. Before her Colby dog-fucked Vera, and beside them Laura and George were laughing as she tried to suck his limber prick hard. On the other couch Tom swished his cock in and out of Doris' big, wet hole.

Betsy was the odd woman, husbandless, the seventh guest.

Oh, she had sexed with every one of them, flying high as a cloud, elated with her new freedom, thrilling in rediscovering old pleasures. Thus her fall was all the harder.

All she needed now was for Jim to walk in and find her naked on the floor, weeping because each of the three cocks had a cunt.

I'm a selfish twat, spoiled rotten by today's thrills, she thought. I was a mere sexual object to be fucked or lapped.

But I'm more than that.

She levered upright. Nobody looked at her. All of them were wrapped up in the sex partner of the moment. She stood, found that her bladder was about to burst and that her mouth was parched.

Have to piss. But thirsty. She headed for the kitchen.

Her breasts hurt a little from too much kneading, nipple-pulling and sucking. They wobbled, leaned heavily, lurched, and as she walked her cunt squished and dribbled juices. In the kitchen she saw a six pack of beer on the drain board. Still dewy with cold. Just what she needed. She took out a bottle and screwed off the cap, drank from the neck as she continued on to the bathroom.

There she squatted on the toilet, drinking beer as her swollen bladder fairly burst, hosing piss into the bowl like a waterfall. She gazed down between her tits and saw the yellow urine spurting in a stream as thick as a pencil. And saw her clit looking fiery, fingering out into view. She pinched it between thumb and forefinger and slowly jerked it off without pausing in pressuring pee out, or gulping down delicious beer.

Impressions whirled through her mind. The bullet hardness of George's cock, fucking her on the counter stool. She smiled. And her new pride in this huge clit she used to be ashamed of Doris naked except for the mask. The taste of Colby's cock, the luscious fatness of the head!

And yet it was all party, escape from reality.

I must somehow come to terms with Jim.

No, one night's escape is not enough to make Betsy into the independent, self-ruling cunt that she must be, which will be purely Betsy.

Still, look here, the bathroom door stands open and I'm shamelessly jerking off my clit – yes, jerking it off, not twiddling it – not caring who comes along. If they do I'll just invite them to join the fun. And now, the beer bottle empty, put it on the floor and fist a tit crown, tug it voluptuously. I could cum right here but I won't.

Abruptly she rose, at the sink turned on warm water and with a washcloth scrubbed her face, then her twat and thighs.

After drying herself on a towel she headed, determined, for the living room.

She arrived just as Colby drove his load into Vera's cunt, the pair of them howling and shrieking. The girl's hole overflowed and white sobs of cock cream hung on his wet shank.

Laura was still sucking George off. His bullet-prick stood stiff and thick in her fist, and she smiled as she bobbed the head in and out of her mouth.

Doris lay spraddled, Tom's cock half in her, she panting, flushed, rubbing sweat from her face below the mask.

"I came so hard!" she told Betsy. "I think I passed out!"

"But me!" Tom complained. "Still hard. Can't get my nuts off!"

Betsy laughed. "So that's something to complain about? Come on, Tom, fuck me. I bet we can do it…"

Standing over him, she fingered her crotch with both hands, spreading her cunt lips to show her red gash.

Grinning, Tom said, "One jab into that ought to make me shoot a pint. How do you want it, Betsy?"

"On the floor, so I can't fall anywhere if you drive me wild, which you will."

She dropped down, sat, and as Tom pulled out, Betsy fell on her back, legs spread wide. Again she fingered her pussy lips, the hair so slippery with drool that she could barely get fraction enough to squeeze them out, exposing her fuckhole.

Tom moved from Doris. Gazing at Betsy's cunt he took a cushion from the couch and plopped it down under her legs.

"Going to raise you up," he said, kneeling and lifting her ass, then poking the cushion under her.

Tilted upward, she let him raise her legs to his shoulders as he, still kneeling, scrunched up to the cushion and slipped his cockhead into her hole.

Yes, it slipped in, no choking up, that enormous flaring head nipping right into her!

The others were all watching, Colby still forcing his softening, spent cock into Vera's cunt, Laura's attention on them although she still licked George's prick, and Betsy sprawled on the couch clutching her vulva.

Tom was leaning toward her, his stony cock sludging deeper and deeper.

"Good?" he asked.

"So fucking good!"

When the head at last butted the depths of her hole, Betsy groaned, pulled her cuntal sphincter muscle on the root of the bony shank, and oh, there, a quivering little spasm of a cum!

Tom began jogging, short cock stabs. Betsy gazed up her tilted body and saw his stem jerk in and out of her, and her legs against him. He pressed to her, folding her legs back, and on the next thrust his massive tool stretched her cunt. Hot, she was panting and her tits jiggled heavily as he drove jarringly in.

She clutched them to restrain the wobble. The crowns had grown to burning cones that her caresses irritated.

Turning to Doris she cried, "Honey, suck my titties? They're on fire…"

Tom had slowed the pace, was sweeping all the way out, letting his cockhead nudge the mouth of her cunt for a moment before swishing in. She caught the rhythm and, bracing her legs against him, slowly squeezed on entry, gripping hard when the long fuck tool had plumbed her depths, then stripping it as Tom drew out.

And Doris came sliding off the couch, down on hands and knees, seizing up an outward-sloping tit and stuffing her mouth full.

The cool, wet suction seemed to draw out the fire. Grunting with pleasure, Betsy stroked the girl's sleek head. And then Laura came, leaving George's cock, knelt on the other side and suckered onto Betsy's left breast cap.

Their suck pulls were not timed together. A suck on the left tit, almost immediately one on the right, then a pause as both pushed into cushiony breast, nuzzling, licking. Now the left was quivering as Laura's tongue encircled it, just as Doris sucked the right one to her very throat. This unevenness was driving Betsy wild, but Tom's thrusts right up her middle provided a core to her being. She concentrated on screwing herself onto the plunging fuck tool, stripping it, squeezing until her cunt took over and began racing smoothly into orgasm.

She had become that enormous bubble again, all tits and cunt. She slipped her hands under the girls sucking her breasts and found Laura's big boobies spilling about as she rocked back and forth, seemingly riding an orgiastic wave of her own. Betsy snared both nipples in her fingers and clung to them. But her other hand found only one of Doris' breasts. Too disoriented now to calculate the position of the other, she simply clung to it.

Then Tom howled, "Now-www! My fucking nuts are roaring!"

Betsy felt his cock grow longer, and, if possible, harder, and heard the loud slapping of his scrotum on her ass.

"Shoot it – into me!" she cried, writhing and squeezing on the ramming cock, shrieking as her cum blew, scalding, thrashing around despite the mouths holding her breasts fast, tossing so wildly that her tits seemed to stretch like rubber.

Tom reared up and roared, "There!" and like a fountain within her jism splashed the walls of her cunt, splashed again. He held firm now, rooting about as he spurted, then again shouted and resumed his banging thrusts, his face turning red with the effort of spilling out his overload of cock spew.

Three times, four, five he spurted into the flow of her ebbing cum.

With the last he gave a groan, and slumped, exhausted.

But Betsy, squeezing her sphincter on the weakening prick, felt a new storm arising.

"Again!" she panted. "Tom, fuck me more, I'm getting another cum, like oh, God, my cunt is starting to turn over…"

"I'm pooped," Tom moaned. "It's shriveling up…"

"Then let George fuck me! George, George!" George came with a rush, seized Tom's shoulders and wrenched him away, his cock flipping out and sending white blobs of jism spraying all about.

And George thrust into the breech, spreading Betsy's legs as they fell and plunging his thick cock into the gaping red funnel shape of the gushing cunt she offered him.

Feeling the new hardness inside, she had only to squeeze in, hump at him once, and the new cum was triggered.

"I'm cumming!" Betsy shrieked. "Oh George your cock is so hard and wonderful I'll cum a dozen times…"

Her voice rang out in silence. No talk. No movement. George had paused, his prick buried deep inside her. The tit-sucking girls drew off and gazed upward.

A newcomer stood over them, a man in a gray suit. His face was white as chalk and grooved with rage.

Betsy was looking up at Jim, her husband.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The next horrible moments were a blur. Roaring trough orgasm, her world crumbled as though she had been thrown into an ice bath.

Naked bodies jerked away from her like frightened quail spooked from cover. A voice was bellowing, a wounded animal screaming out its venom. Iron clamps snarled into her hair and lifted her by it. Yes, iron cables and chains snarled together lifted by a steel derrick, raising her into the air and shaking her like a puppet.

Then the toe of a shoe smashed into her backside and she was running, crashing into a wall, careening away, flopping onto the dining room table. The cables and chains hooked into her hair again and flung her off to the kitchen.

There shoe leather ripped at her asscheek and she piled up against the screen door. It gave way and she was outside, running naked in the rain.

She skidded on wet grass and spilled, sliding on her tits and belly through a puddle.

The cables and chains snared her arm, yanked her up and she ran again.

"You whore!" Jim shrieked. "You filthy slut of a fucking whore!"

The blur faded as she slammed down on their bed. Aware now, she saw Jim wrap adhesive tape tightly about her right wrist and then tape it to a bedpost. Then the other wrist, stretching her arms painfully.

"Filthy slut, I work my ass off so you can live like a lady and I find you in an orgy, one stud shoots into you and you scream for another, one fucking isn't enough, you nympho!"

She saw the belt in his hand.

Then he uncoiled and the leather belt struck her backside like a ribbon of flame, fire burning inches deep.

Screaming in pain, she thrust from him.

"Tie your fucking legs too!" he snarled.

He rushed off to the kitchen, returned with the clothesline she used in summer when she wanted to sun-dry bed linens. He whipped it about an ankle, knotted it fast.

Shortly she was spread eagled, wrists taped to the bedposts, ankles bound to the foot by clothesline.

And he began to beat her.

The belt snapped like a gunshot on her buttocks, and as she shrieked in pain it landed again, on her thighs now, then on the small of her back.

"Please!" she screamed. "Don't…" Again the stripe of fire crossed her asscheeks. Writhing in pain she shrieked, "But you fuck your secretary!"

"Liar!" he howled. "You nympho lying cocksucker of a cunt! I'll beat you until you piss!"

She fought, tried to flinch from the next blow, only succeeded in catching it on her hip instead of her buttocks.

And then she saw his pants.

His cock stood out, rigid, making a tent in the material.

"You sadist!" she howled. "You're getting an erection from beating me!"

"Shut your filthy cocksucking mouth!" he roared.

"Your prick is up hard! You want to beat me and then fuck me!"

"I'll stick it up your dirty ass!"

"Go ahead, that's your style. You could pretend it's a man's asshole, you buggerer, you creepy sadist!"

"You aren't worth it," he snarled.

He had stopped, stood panting, his face now a congested purplish red. "I should make you suck my prick."

"I'll suck it. I like sucking cocks!" she cried.

And she knew that somehow she had defeated him. Defiance, though she was helplessly spread eagled on the bed, that and the shock of his discovering her being fucked in the house next door, that and the truth, the fact that he had gotten a hard-on from beating her!

"I'm going to divorce you," he choked.

Despite the burning welts on her back, she laughed. "I have witnesses, people who know you fuck your secretary, June Haley. You had no idea I knew, did you?"

"That's a lie. I've never touched another woman."

"Witnesses, you sadist. Look at you, your cock stiff from beating me. You aren't a man unless you can beat a woman down to less than you are!"

"What witnesses?"

"You'll hear that in court." She had no witnesses, just whispers from the wives of other men in his company; he had kept her that far from his affairs. She did not even know the girl, had no idea what she looked like.

"I suppose all three of those studs next door fucked you?"

"All three, and I sucked their cocks and lapped their wives cunts. So how do you like that?"

He lost control, raised on his toes and now the belt struck like a club mashing her ass. And again, as he cried, "I'm going to strap you until you piss the bed!"

"You asshole!" she cried.

The belt sang like a whip, and cracked on her thighs so hard she rose off the bed, screaming.

And pissing.

She felt it squirting all over her inner thighs, spraying here and there. With a last convulsive effort she twisted over on her side trying to piss on him, but only succeeded in squirting it down to the foot of the bed.

"Filthy whore!" he snarled, and went stamping out of the room.

"Go jerk off your hard-on," she sobbed after him.

Perhaps an hour later, when she had wept until her eyes felt sandy dry, she heard the light snap off.

Darkness then, rain slashing at the windows, on her belly in the pee-wet bed, suffering the burning ribbons from her waist to her knees, she gnawed the pillow and vowed vengeance on him.

Oh, she understood his rage. Coming cold turkey into the house next door and finding his wife on the floor, a man shooting his load up her cunt – then she crying out for a hard cock to take his place – she who had been an entirely faithful wife – yes, he had been shocked. Even if he had fucked June Haley, he had done it discreetly. The surface calm of their lives had remained intact.

She could excuse her orgy of sexual gratification; for too long Jim had crushed her spirit, and when she found release in Horny Haven she had simply blown her top, becoming a leader of the rampage. Thus she felt little guilt.

But Jim's getting a hard-on from beating her – that she could not forgive, mid it bore out the twisted sexuality she had always suspected in him.

She slept, a nightmare in which even George and Tom took a hand at whipping her behind, and someone was reaming an iron cock up her asshole.

She awoke screaming into a soft hand cupped over her mouth.

The only light was the glow from the house next door seeping through the rain in her window. But she made out two raincoated figures.

Doris and Laura.

With a scissors they snipped the tape from her wrists, and untied the clothesline holding her ankles. They drew her to a sitting position and kneaded the numbness out of her wrists and feet.

Laura whispered, "He's asleep in the other bedroom. Has an empty bottle in his arms like a Teddy bear."

At last Betsy could walk. They wrapped her in a dressing gown and headed out, through the kitchen, where they had left an umbrella. Beneath it they crossed the lawns to Laura's kitchen where she said, in a normal voice now, "The men said we shouldn't interfere. The pricks! I guess us cunts just have to stick together."

In tears, Betsy hugged them both.

Laura was making drinks. She said, "I've locked the door. He can't come bursting in again." Taking a drink she added, "I must get back to that horny George."

She hurried off through the house, leaving the two girls sipping their drinks.

"Did he hurt you?" Doris asked.

Betsy rubbed her backside. It still stung but the worst pain was gone. She murmured, "Beating me gave him a hard-on!"

"The pig! Betsy – I have things to tell you – let's go to the den, the only empty place." She took off her raincoat and threw it over a chair, then removed Betsy's housecoat. Naked again, carrying their drinks, they headed into the dining room, trough to the den where they found Tom asleep on a couch, snoring to beat the band.

In the den Betsy found that sheets and pillows had been put on the couch, which had been folded out to a roomy enough bed that virtually filled the room. There on the bed Doris cuddled to her.

"No more red mask?" Betsy asked, smiling.

"I decided to be like you. Proud of being naked." She kissed Betsy's throat, then whispered, "I've seen your husband before. At Bingo's Boite, with a girl I know."

Startled, Betsy cried, "June Haley?"

"Yes! You knew, huh?"

"Just cattish talk among company wives. I overheard it one night, then demanded if it was true. At Bingo's, you say?"

"Yes. June is a Bingo type. Likes girls."

"What?"

"Funny, isn't it? You and June both – I wonder why – it should make sonic sense. Anyhow, I saw them together once or twice. But June is a regular."

"What is she like?"

"Darling. I'm crazy about her. A redhead but not like Vera, more brown. Terribly shy. Worse than me. All we've ever done is hold hands. And talk. She turns on with more forceful girls, that's what I've heard. Anyhow, she's told me she goes to bed with her boss to hold her job. Doesn't really like sex with men."

"Good grief?" Betsy settled down, two pillows under her back, Doris' head on her bosom. Sipping her drink she said, "I'd like to meet her."

Doris fingered a nipple, bent it to her mouth and licked it, then murmured, "Maybe I shouldn't have told you." She mouthed the stiffening peg. "I'd be jealous, she's too much like me…"

Betsy petted her smooth little head, whispered, "Honey, it was you and Laura who came to my house and cut the tapes off my wrists, and I won't forget it. I love you both."

"Laura more than me?"

"It's you I'm in bed with. Because I want to be." And indeed, she did. The feel of Doris' soft flesh made her forget the stings on her back and buttocks. She caressed the girl's back down to the dimples where her asscheeks began, then followed the curve of her hip, fingertips brushing about the form of her plump little cheeks, satiny to the touch, and down the deep cleft between.

Doris raised from her breast and nuzzled her throat, whispering, "You're what I can't be, big and strong. And bold. I want to be your femme, Betsy. That's what we say, femme-it means your girl."

Betsy smiled, amused by the idea. She stroked between Doris' buttocks to the nubbin of her anus. She wiggled it with her fingertip.

Doris' breath caught. She sucked at Betsy's throat, gasped, "Oh-hh! If you'd just squeeze my pussy at the same lime…"

She struggled upward to make it easier. Still pressuring her anus, Betsy slipped a hand down over her little twist of a pubic beard to the downy-haired lips and pressed them together.

"Oh-hh, Betsy!" She gave a shudder. "Oh, I want you to – fuck me!"

"Silly!" Smiling, pulling and pushing at the girl's slobbery cunt lips, she said, "My clit may be big but it's no cock, sweetheart."

"I'm not being silly. In Laura's junk chest I found this."

She squirmed over Betsy, reached to the floor and from under the couch drew a strange object, a curve two feet long with elastics dangling from it. She pressed it into Betsy's hands.

It was limber, rubbery, and as she felt the ends she realized it was a double dildo, cocks mounted root to root, the heads convincingly shaped, down to splits in the end and pronounced rims. It was rather heavy. She shook it and fluid seemed to move inside.

"Water in it," Doris said. Then she hugged Betsy and said, "Please, fuck me with it?"

Giggling, Betsy sorted out the elastic loops. Three of them, one for the waist, one for each thigh. She sat up and poked her feet through the waist elastic, then each through a leg one, and drew the harness up in place.

"Let me stick your end up your cunt," Doris said.

She pressed the head down Betsy's split, found her hole and inserted its God knows she was wet enough, and still open from fucking. It snuggled up her easily enough, a phallic shape that filled her quite as nicely as had Tom's big cock.

Then she gazed down at the horny-looking object protruding from her pussy lips. It did indeed look like a natural, erect cock.

"Now fuck me!" Doris cried.

"Wait. I want a look at it." Betsy climbed off the bed and stood. She could not restrain a laugh as she gazed down on the foot-long curve rising out of her pussy. The elastics were flesh-colored and hardly noticeable.

Knuckles on hips, she swaggered about the little den, mimicking a male.

"On your back, woman," she growled, making her voice baritone. "Spread your legs."

"Yes, sir," Doris giggled, obeying. "But you're not going to stick that big thing into me, are you?"

"I'm going to fuck the shit out of you, baby," Betsy replied, fisting her fearsome cock. "Put some spit in your cunt to make it slide easy. I don't want my foreskin rubbed raw."

"But sir, I'm a virgin!"

"I'll bust your fucking cherry," Betsy growled, lowering from baritone to a threatening bass.

Shivering in anticipation, and giggling, Doris spat on her fingertips, and rubbed the spittle into her cunt.

"But you'll have to marry me, sir," she said. "After you've deflowered me, taking my precious maidenhead."

Betsy circled the fake cock shank, turning the one inside her about. It felt quite good! And maybe she understood why men acted so all powerful and sure of themselves, having a weapon like this pointed out from their crotches.

"You'll be gentle, won't you, sir?" Doris pleaded.

"Gentle! You cunts like to be hurt a little."

She knelt on the edge of the couch, gazing at Doris' crotch, so deeply split, the lips bulging, and she almost wished herself a man, with a cock that when maneuvered in between Doris' lips would feel the steaminess of her inner body.

She climbed over the girl's leg, and crouched down, preparing to mount her.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Doris had grasped her knees and drawn them back, lay in frog position with the undersides of her thighs and her buttocks glowing, a sheen like milky satin. Her ovaled cuntal lips appeared darker and hazed by that purplish down. But Betsy's gaze settled on the long, teardrop shape between, glazed by cunt dew.

The dark gap at the bottom of the teardrop was oozing, and she rubbed the head of the dildo cock in the ooze to lubricate it.

Each movement of the protruding fuck tool caused a corresponding nudge of the warm shaft inside her. Exciting! Thus as she roved one end about the girl's vaginal mouth she felt a gentle circular stirring in the very depths of her own cunt. She continued teasing them both in this fashion until Doris, breathing hard now, protested.

"Honey, my cunt inside is all shivery and pulling on itself. Please fuck me!"

Betsy seated the head in that glistening dark aperture, squeezing it down until Doris' cuntmouth spread to the shape of the flaring head. She screwed it around, two full circles, fingering it deeper until the head was inside and a ring of flesh surrounded the shank.

Then she removed her hand, wanting to complete the insertion as a man would, hipping in, shoving her cock-filled cunt at the girl's crotch. She gasped as the thing wiggled about inside her, causing a cuntal flutter, a series of hot little spasms. The cock protruding from her hole shortened, and now her lover's cunt began twitching, sending ripples up the water-filled staff into Betsy's own belly.

"What a two-way fuck!" Betsy gasped.

Doris, panting, licked dry lips, and reached out, imploring Betsy to come down on her.

But not yet. She had to savor such thrill of entry. Thus she hipped in slowly, feeling each quiver and suck of Doris' cunt echoed within her own. A quirk of the other's vaginal sphincter squeezed the rubbery shank, forcing water to bulge the head lodged in Betsy's cuntal packet.

"Agh-hh!" she grunted. "Darling, do it again!"

"What?"

"This." Betsy squeezed, drawing her asscheeks in, the same straining of muscles that controlled the flow of pee.

"Ooo-oo, Betsy! The head got all big."

"You do it now."

Doris' legs jerked with the effort, and oh-hh! Bloating, forcing outward at her cuntal walls, the enlarged head started a swirling spasm like a cum, making Betsy cry out and thrust forward.

She drove the false cock to the end of Doris' cunt, squishing her gaping vulva into the facing one, flattening their lips and spreading them outward so that from clit to cuntal mouth only steamy gash touched.

Sizzling!

And Doris seized the breasts that hung over her, pulled at them while Betsy, quaking all over, jiggled on the impaling rubber cock, halfway to orgasm.

Doris tugged her down, and abruptly Betsy was on her elbows, tonguing into her sweetheart's mouth, their swollen tits a massive trembling cushion between them.

And she was fucking.

Slowly lifting her ass, bringing false cock out of her lover's palpitating cunt, then ramming it in.

Heels dug at her back, found her buttocks and finned.

That pressure delighted Betsy. Between a woman's legs like a man, her hips pushing at satiny thighs, driving a cock for all the world like a real one, her position proven by the heels resting on her asscheeks. Yet she had more than any man, the additional sensuality of yawning wet cunts pressed together, and between their chests the enormous tit cushion.

"Baby darling!" she cried. "It's so glorious…"

Doris' fingernails dug her shoulders. She was squirming, and now panted, "Honey, fuck me. Oh-hh, I'm so close to – a cum, give it to me hard, ream my cunt darling…"

Betsy, almost equally excited, began humping, sliding her tool in and out. What she had not bargained for was the shifting of water within the gadget, a bulge here or there as it was squeezed somewhere else.

"It grows like a-a-melon!" she cried.

"Ooo-ooh, ah-hh!" Doris cried. "My cunt is bursting, oh-hh, don't stop fucking…"

Betsy rooted in, squirmed her spread-open gash at the other's, and with that they both went wild.

"I'm cuming!" Betsy shrieked, screwing around on the dildo that impaled them both, causing God knows what movements inside the other. She squeezed her ass in and grunted, "Ugh-hh!" to expel the overload of juice. And as the fever of orgasm burned her to the fingertips the dildo cock became real, a bony projection from her loins shooting globs of jism up this woman's hole.

Yes, she was cocked, armed with a prong longer than Tom's. She lived her dream, and for the moment felt the savage male thrill of fucking a woman through orgasm.

She heard a voice in the doorway.

Tom, saying, "I can show you a trick with that gadget."

She looked back and saw him standing naked, his cock fully erect, the long stem angled upward bearing that red knob looking as big as a fist. The sight of it diminished the mock prick protruding from her cunt. She sighed, thankful for the illusion the dildo had provided, but so terribly glad that she was a woman and could have that monster cock shoved up her cunt.

Tom came to the couch. They were still in fucking position. He climbed onto the couch, behind Betsy, saying, "Spread your legs a little."

When she had done that he reached through and between their cunts and grasped the dildo.

He fisted it hard.

They both cried out as water forced to the heads bulged them and stretched their cunts.

The unbelievable pressure had the effect of renewing Betsy's ebbing cum. Squirming on the immensity in her cunt, she thrashed into a rapid series of fuck jerks.

She pawed at Doris' titties. She heard the girl's cry, almost delirious, with pleasure as Tom squeezed the dildo rhythmically. His free hand roved Betsy's asscheeks, a reassuring touch, firm male hands.

Then he fingered up her asshole.

At first she did not realize it was happening. The volcanic eruptions of her orgasm on the giant rubber cockhead seemed the entire world, and between moans and flashes of heat she felt only Doris' soft flesh. Thus her slow awareness of a slipperiness moving in her other hole seemed a part of what she was doing. On recognizing it her first thought was that orgasm had loosened her all over, so that her asshole gaped just as her cunt did.

The piercing finger became a part of her cum, and when the last explosion had flung her down, sprawled limply on Doris, she made no protest over the digit impaling her. "Feel good?" Tom asked.

As a matter of fact, it did. She drew tight on it and felt a strange little thrill.

"Yes-s," she said hesitantly.

"Lanolin jelly. Slickest stuff there is."

He withdrew his finger. Betsy twisted to look back at him. Tom held a small tube in his hand. He squeezed a white loop out of it and smeared it over his cockhead.

"Oh – no!" Betsy cried. "Not that big – huge…"

"Honey, you'll love it." He put the tube to her anus and squeezed cool stuff in. Then he fingered it about the rim of her anal pucker, gradually enlarging it. At last he capped the tube and said: "Doris, toss me the pillows. I want to raise you both up."

When he had the pillows he tucked them under Doris' ass, and Betsy found that, still dildoed into Doris' cunt, her behind was cocked up.

A hand grasped her hip. Then a bulkiness pressed her anus.

"Tom, I don't know!" she cried. "I mean – you'll hurt me…"

"I'll hurt you good, honey," he said, grunting now, and Betsy felt her asshole stretched, the spongy head lodged in it. Just a little hurt. Suddenly the head popped inside!

The feel of it was indescribable, something she had never imagined. A burning hardness, a throbbing in her vitals.

And it seemed to transfer to the false prick in her cunt to the point that it too came alive.

"I'll wait until you ask for more," Tom said.

And Betsy found herself squirming back onto the rigid tool!

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

As she squirmed Betsy felt his hands grip her hips, holding firmly, and she knew the cock was deep enough in her asshole that it did not need guiding.

Despite the lanolin lubricating their joining, there was a burn to which she tried to adjust by screwing her ass around. As she did this Tom jogged, one-inch strokes that seemed to loosen her considerably. Deeper now, oh God, deeper, that hot and throbbing cock was going right up her rectum!

And his jogging echoed in her cunt. She too was hipping, pushing in and out or a the dildo, firing Doris again, who moaned, "Yes, fuck me, darling, oh Betsy, ram it up my hole…"

But she could not ram, could do only those short jerks out of fear of hurting herself behind. She reached around her buttocks and found his cock. She fingered around it, touching at her anal ring as though to convince herself that the burly dong was really buried in her ass.

Then she fisted it. There was just enough room between his loins and her ass to wedge her hand in.

"Got all you can take?" Tom asked.

"I don't – know – I'm awfully stretched…"

"Listen, if you want to give me a thrill, grab my nuts, huh?"

She felt down his hairy thigh, at last located the soft scrotum. She fingered it upward, inch by inch until his nuts rested in her palm.

She juggled them carefully about.

"Ah-hh!" Tom groaned. "Shit but I'm close! I fucked Vera until her cunt was sore – didn't quite get my load off – but now…"

His jogging became more insistent.

Feeling the prong of a cock move in mid out of her ass, and her cunt throbbing on the dildo, toying with his testicles while Doris massaged her breasts, Betsy for a moment kept the sensations apart. But his cock was too near the dildo, almost as though they were rubbing, friction causing her to burn in the tenderest places.

"Now," Tom grunted.

So soon? She had barely gotten used to being ass-fucked.

But his lengthening thrusts, demanding as his cock stiffened with the first flush of orgasm, sent the heat up her body in waves, swelling her breasts and bringing out sweat on her face. And she was rocking, backing to the thrust, which simultaneously pulled the dildo from Doris' cunt, returning it as he rammed in.

The loudest shrieks were her own, she knew that. Distant sounds because she was once again caught up in the raging turmoil of cum.

Exploding. Writhing, tossing, whacking her asshole back on the big cock within it.

Then Tom fired off.

She had lost his scrotum. And there was no space between his loins and her anal ring for her hand. She clung to her own asscheek, pulling it aside to help deepen his thrusts.

"Going off!" he howled. "Got my gun!"

She felt the spurls of jism fly like buckshot up her ass.

She took off. Left them. Flying a mile high, tumbling on the twin bars of cock in ass and in cunt. Up there in the limbo of pure sensation she met George with an erection that she popped into her mouth and sucked until he shot down her throat.

I'm being fucked out of my mind! she thought.

Then no more thoughts. Just the boiling explosion of cum after cum, sailing through the sky on endless waves of orgasm.

Daylight.

Betsy awoke lying on her own living room couch, a hand between her legs.

The sun was high.

Vaguely she remembered leaving Doris in the den, walking bowlegged with exhaustion from repeated orgasms. Out through the rain, home, passing up her peed-on bed, and flopping here on the couch.

She sat up. Her asscheeks hurt from the belting Jim had given her, and her asshole was sore. She rose and headed unsteadily far the kitchen. Her breasts felt like lead weights and the nipples burned. She fingered her crotch. Freshly slobbered. God, the cuntal juices still flowed!

In the kitchen she avoided looking into the mirror over the sink as she made instant coffee. She took it to the table and slumped down in a chair.

On the table was a note from Jim: "Home at seven."

She gazed blearily at the wall clock. Noon!

Why seven? Jim normally left the office at five.

Jim. The shit!

She was coming awake now. She got a cigarette and lit it, sat scowling. Her pussy itched. She scratched it.

She guessed she had never in her life slept until noon. Nor had she sat naked in her kitchen on a warm, bright summer day, scratching her pussy. But I will if I want to! she thought savagely.

I really busted loose last night. Really. I should feel ashamed. I don't. Just angry. And determined. Spiteful. He made me piss the bed!

She flicked a glance at the mirror, saw her hair tanged like a bird's nest. What a mess. And the smell, she smelled of cunt all over. Shower. Get with it.

She hung the cigarette in a corner of her mouth, picked up the coffee cup and headed for the bathroom, thinking, June Haley. Doris said she hangs out at Bingo's Boite. Likes girls. But so shy she and Doris just sit holding hands.

I'm not that fucking shy! Well, not any more.

In the bathroom Betsy squatted on the john, sipping her coffee as she peed, wishing she had Jim's face down there in the bowl taking the yellow hosing of urine.

Still, it had been a terrible shock to him, walking into Horny Haven and seeing her being fucked.

Teach him a lesson? Straighten him out?

Done pissing, she remained sitting there, in no hurry to clean up, perhaps afraid the shower would wash away her vindictive mood. Promiscuous sexing had shredded the conventions, the proprieties she had lived by – a doormat for the dominant male! As though lewdness were the weapon of her revolution, orgasm her struggle for freedom.

Thus she reached down to her pussy and fondled it, slipped a finger in between the sticky-haired lips and nudged her tilt, poked the soft nubbin until it swelled up and poked into view, a slippery, horny length. Yes, I'm glad I have a queen-sized clit that other girls haven't!

As she massaged the hot growth she tried to picture June, a redhead, Doris had said, but not red like Vera. Brownish. A darling girl… At last Betsy rose, still twiddling her clit, and went out to the phone in the hall. She dropped into the phone chair and sat spraddle-legged, masturbating as she planned.

Decided, she dialed Jim's office.

A soft, breathless voice answered. "Mr. Walters' office. Miss Haley speaking."

Betsy had spoken to the girl a few times, asking for Jim. She had always called herself Mrs. Walters, but June might know her first name. Second name, then. Ann. Betsy Ann.

She said, "Miss Haley – June – I'm a friend of Doris Colby's. My name is Ann – Dunne." She used her maiden name, thinking this the easiest identity to remember.

"Doris?" The girl hesitated. Then her voice lowered to a whisper. "I'm not supposed to use the phone for personal…"

"Dads said you and I must meet, June. We have so much in common, if you get what I mean. Tonight after work? At Bingo's?"

Silence. Then a whispered, "I must hang up, Ann…"

"Five, five thirty?"

"Yes, yes!"

Betsy hung up, smiling with satisfaction.

She had work to do but toying with her clit had brought her close to a cum, so she remained sprawled in the phone chair, massaging her clit and pulling her titties, at last panting when the steamy cuntal bubbles began bursting within her, an easy orgasm that left her feeling happily loosened, like warm jelly settling deeper into the chair.

Once she had dragged the wet mattress out to the back yard, scrubbed it with disinfectant, and left it for the hot sun to dry, she proceeded languidly, in keeping with the weather and the sensuality of her mood, bathing, washing her hair, tidying up tag ends of house work.

For the encounter at Bingo's she chose a clinging white dress but low on the bosom. Without a bra it looked shameful, lascivious! Was it too blatant a sexual come-on for the shy June? Well, it fitted the new Betsy.

She looked up the address of Bingo's in the phone book, drove there arriving just before five.

She found it on a side street, a place with a pink stucco facade, a pink door, a modest sign and no windows.

She went in.

The pink outside reflected the interior, pink tablecloths and seats in the booths, pink-cushioned barstools. Subdued lighting and a mere murmur of juke box music. A dozen or so people, mostly women alone or in pairs. Betsy chose a solitary barstool.

As she climbed onto it a woman bartender came smiling to her. Handsome, dark hair cut very short, wearing a pink shirt, a dark-blue vest buttoned tightly on a huge bosom.

"I'm Bingo," she said. "Welcome to our little den of iniquity."

"My name is Ann," Betsy said.

The woman was eyeing her breasts. "You're new…"

"Yes. What a charming place! I'm here to meet a friend of a friend – June Haley."

The other nodded. "I'll tell her something luscious looms in her future. Drink, Ann?"

"A dry martini, please."

While Bingo prepared the drink, Ann gazed about, saw two women in a booth with their heads together, hands under the concealing tablecloth.

Feeling each other up, she thought. Another woman, alone at the bar, was casting smiling glances at Betsy. Come hit her stuff!

She was amused and a little thrilled to be the object of a chase while herself on a mission of seduction.

She lit a cigarette, feeling quite satisfied with herself. She had left the house spick and span, had brought the mattress in and found it none the worse for its experience, had gone over to Laura's thinking of asking her about her work; selling houses sounded like fun and the hours appeared flexible. But Laura had been out. Well, tomorrow.

She was sipping her drink when a hand touched her arm.

It was the woman who had been eyeing her, a pretty brunette with a lushly sensual lower lip.

She said, "Bingo told me you have a date coming. But I thought – until then."

"Join me! I'm Ann."

"Marcia." She brought a barstool over touching Betsy's and climbed onto it, saying, "This place will be a madhouse after the offices let out. I like it better this afternoon way, sort of peaceful and friendly."

She smiled broadly. Dimples. And that lush, wide lower lip flattened in the sexiest fashion.

"You don't work, Marcia?" Betsy asked.

"My husband says he earns enough. And he does."

"The same as mine! But – dammit, I want my own money. Buy my own things."

"Me too. But so many jobs you have to sleep with the boss – my husband says. I just don't know if I could…"

"It would depend on the boss," Betsy smiled. "Goodness, we do think alike." She smiled quickly. Then Betsy felt, the other's hand caressing her knee.

"You prefer girls?" she asked.

Marcia blushed and glanced away. "Well – there's a cocktail lounge called Tina's – you've been there?"

"No."

"It's all women. Somehow I don't fed comfortable there, everybody pawing you, all hot eyed. See, I like men, I really do…"

Her hand had slipped under Betsy's skirt was stroking her thigh.

Betsy said, "But here you can sort of swing…"

"I'm terribly mixed up," Marcia said. And Betsy, sipping her drink, thought Marcia a match for what she had been yesterday, before Laura began turning her on. She observed that the woman sat slumped, biting her lip, frowning, while she herself was straight backed. Determined!

She said, "But Marcia, you seem to have a tendency to stroke girls' thighs."

The other withdrew her hand as though Betsy's flesh had burned her. A tear grew in her eye.

"Please excuse me. If you don't want…"

"Oh, I liked it. Did you?"

Both eyes misted over. She sobbed, "I'll ruin my makeup." She sniffled. "I didn't even realize I was doing it. Just being friendly."

"You mean you didn't let yourself know you were feeling my leg?"

"I'll look awful. Lily husband's coming here soon…"

"Pat your eyes with wet paper towels in the rest room."

Nodding, Marcia turned away and slid off the stool, then whispered, "Would you help me – cum?"

Curious now, Betsy climbed down and followed her toward the back of the lounge, noting the voluptuous roll of Marcia's ass. Bait? Am I being seduced?

The place was still quiet, the office crowd not yet arrived. There was time… She felt rippling little quirks in her cunt as they entered the rest room.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The place was nicely appointed, vanity tables and benches facing excellent mirrors, sinks in pink porcelain, pink doors on the john stalls. Betsy wetted wads of paper toweling in cold water as Marcia, still sniffling, sat on a vanity bench.

Patting the wads on the woman's closed eyes, Betsy said, "Of course, you could tell your husband why you've been crying."

"He wouldn't understand."

Nor would Jim, Betsy thought, straddling the bench, holding the cooling wet wads in place. Marcia took over that task, and Betsy lit a cigarette. Really, how could she get through Jim's armor to explain that cunts were also people with urges, leches, and the overwhelming need to control their own destinies?

She asked, "Marcia, were you making a pass at me, or not?"

"I wanted to – touch you – in a friendly…"

"Let's see," Betsy said, taking the woman's hand and placing it between her thighs. Fingers trembled on her flesh, tried to press firmly, retreated. Betsy hunkered down the bench, closer to her, the hand almost to her panty crotch.

"Ann, I have nightmares. Kissing girls." Betsy figured that Tina's place did not fit Marcia's taste because there the lesbianism was apparently all feel and grab, whereas here she could tease herself while playing the virgin.

Sighing, Betsy pushed the hand out from under her skirt, and rose.

"Ann! Don't you – like me?"

Betsy gazed down at eyes now cleared of tears. She wondered if June Haley were like this, coyly skirting the edges of her lusts. That certainly would upset her plans.

She thrust away, out of the room, abruptly aware that she had been terribly cruel. But she had had enough of women who lacked the courage to do their thing; a woman such as she had been.

She saw Bingo talking to a girl who stood at the bar. Both looked at Betsy.

It had to be June. Tall – Betsy had imagined her smaller – with a long, fine waist, pouty breasts, a perky behind. Soft brown hair with reddish tint. But most striking were her eyes, hooded by heavy lids, and shadowed by the longest and thickest of black lashes.

Approaching them, Betsy said, "You must be June…"

A nod. A quirky, shy smile. Pearly teeth.

Bingo moved off. For a second they measured each other, June's eyes widening as she gazed at Betsy's breasts.

Betsy slipped her hand into the girls, said, "Let's sit in a booth?"

"All right." A sweet smile. The hand nestled warmly to Betsy's, fingers vining together. Her walk was a slow, swaying, long-legged saunter to the booth where they sat, pushing aside heaps of tablecloth.

"And how's Doris?"

"Like always," Betsy said, quickly dismissing her lover of last night, mentally apologizing to darling Doris, who must not be allowed to get between herself and this girl, Jim's office fuck.

A waitress brought Betsy's drink from the bar, and she ordered for June, then said, "You must have a good boss, letting you go this early."

June shrugged. "He had to see some visiting big shots off on the six-thirty plane."

So that explained why Jim would be home at seven, Betsy thought.

"But sometimes I work all hours," June said. "And the partying. Men! I get so sick of it when he introduces me as his wife. And winks. And the men snicker. So having a girl on the side makes him a big shot, understand."

"A big shit."

"Shit is right." She eyed Betsy slantwise. "You know, when you phoned today I thought you were his wife. Your voice sounded the same. But I see now I was wrong. His wife sounded like a mouse."

Betsy cringed inside. She had sounded like a mouse!

"But Ann, you're obviously strong and independent."

"You like strong women?"

The long, black lashes fluttered, and June whispered, "Well, I like you…"

Betsy stroked the girl's soft hand. Fingers twined sensuously into hers, and June squirmed closer. A warm little piece, Betsy thought. Yet she had to suppress a desire to bunt into laughter, and tell June that she, Ann, was the mousy Betsy whose husband introduced his secretary-mistress as his wife. She asked, "And are you wifely to him? I mean – in bed…"

June frowned. "I'd rather not talk of that."

"But June, I want to know all about you!"

"Let's talk about fun things. You – what you do…"

"No!" Stroking the girl's arm she said, "Let's hear the wont and get it out of the way." June sighed. "Yes, you'd be like that – determined – but Ann, you know that to hold her job a girl has to…"

"On the office couch?"

"Oh, no! Never. At the office he's very prim and businesslike. In my apartment."

"Does he pay the rent?"

June smiled. "You don't know my Mr. Walters. He doesn't pay for what he can get free. Still, it wasn't so bad – I mean, men don't often ring my bells – but last night was horrid. He made me submit to one of the visiting big shots."

"The lousy shit!"

June sighed. "But now I can forget it." She gazed smilingly at Betsy, then plucked a loose thread from the neckline of her dress. Her fingers lingered, almost touching bare flesh. "Your breasts are gorgeous! And no bra. That's so daring…"

Under the tablecloth, Betsy patted the girl's thigh, felt her squirm an inch closer. She saw the long, black lashes slant away.

June whispered, "Ann, you'll get me all excited!"

Betsy fingered under her skirt and stroked the soft sleekness of June's inner thigh. The girl shivered.

When her drink was brought she gazed at Betsy over the glass and murmured, "I'm so attracted to you, Ann. You're so forthright…"

Betsy's hand moved higher, brushing the sleek flesh. For a moment the girl's thighs jerked shut, frightened. But then she eased, curled over, pressing her shoulder to Betsy's.

"Ann, you shouldn't. Your hand. Not here."

"Darling, I can't resist." Indeed, stroking that luscious inner thigh flesh made Betsy's pulse pound. As she neared the girl's panties she pressed closer and whispered, "I want to kiss you, darling, but in public – well, the tablecloth hides – let me…"

"Ann, I'll get too excited!"

"But June, I'm so horny hot for you."

June sipped her drink, her hand trembling. "Wait," she whispered. "Let me gulp this down."

She drained the glass, then reached under the table to Betsy's hand and pushed it in between her spread thighs to her panty crotch, forced it in while straining, jaw clenched, as though to contain her emotions.

Then she groaned, and slumped down, her hand trailing away.

Sitting like that she let Betsy squeeze the damp crotch of her lace panties to the form of her pussy.

She choked, "Ann, nobody has ever turned me on so, so quickly that I can't breathe…"

"Hold still." Betsy slipped her fingers into a leg hole. The panties were rather loose, and soon she was raking her fingers through the girl's pubic muff, then down to the soft dampness of bushy haired lips.

"Listen," June said. "This isn't fair, it's like raping me. I mean Doris is so gentle; respects my inhibitions – sex isn't easy for me, Ann."

"Come now, your pussy has juiced up faster than mine. You're a hot cunt, June."

"But I can't just sit here squirming!" Betsy fingered into the girl's juicy slit, whispering, "Then we'll go to my house."

"My apartment – it's only a few blocks away."

"My house," Betsy said firmly.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

June proved indecisive, as Marcia had been, put off complete sexual confrontation by asking for another dry martini. Betsy gave in, and when they finally left Bingo's she felt lightheaded, walking on air, prone to burst into giggles.

In the car, seeing no one about the parking lot, June shed her inhibitions and thrust into Betsy's arms, kissing her open-mouthed, tongue thrusting, hands cupped on her titties.

"Oh, your breasts, Ann, such jugs, I want to suck them!"

"Not here, darling. People will be passing by."

But June stretched her dress down, exposing the swelling nipples and rubbing her palms on them, gasping with excitement. Then she plunged a hand down between Betsy's logs, under her skirt, wrenching her panties down to grasp her pussy.

And this was the girl Doris had called as shy she herself!

Betsy had to wrestle her away in order to start the car.

She glanced at her watch. Six o'clock. Jim would be home in an hour. Maybe less. If the plane he was seeing off left promptly at six-thirty he could be home a bit before seven.

"You're not fair," June complained. "After hitting me up you push me away."

"My God, it's broad daylight," Betsy said, turning out onto an avenue where homebound cars hurtled by.

"And you don't want to be seen close to a girl. Because you're married. You took off your rings but I can see the marks."

It happened that Betsy had removed her rings before last night's party at Horny Haven. She shrugged, not caring if June was offended by this. The girl was a hot little firecracker who could be turned on with a touch.

"What's your husband like?" the girl asked.

"Like your boss. Thinks women are just something soft to stick his cock into."

June had moved across the seat, sat biting her nails and gazing longingly at Betsy.

She asked, "Can't I even sit by you? And touch your boobies?"

"No," Betsy said sharply.

She turned off the boulevard to her own street and as she slowed on approaching the house she saw, with horror, their name, "The Walters", painted on the mailbox. To distract June's attention she reached over and stroked her cheek. The girl was so grateful for the caress that she clutched Betsy's hand to her mouth and kissed it, thus took no notice of the house until the car was in the drive at the kitchen door.

But what other evidence of "Ann's" identity might be lying about? Clothes of Jim's that June would recognize. In the kitchen Betsy hugged the girl, kissed her, caressed her prettily high-sprung asscheeks, in short reduced her to panting horniness. But to make sure, Betsy made a couple of strong dry martinis that they sipped standing at the sink while Betsy glanced about searching for some object that might prove her Mrs. Jim Walters.

"It's a nice house," June said.

"And you have a cute behind," Betsy giggled, stroking the firm ass humps. When she fingered into her cleft the girl groaned and forced to her, squeezing her pubic mound to Betsy's, rubbing, writhing now, mouth suckered to her throat, licking it, kissing down toward her titties.

Betsy lifted the other's skirt and dug into her panties, found her pussy now purely swampy.

June was frantically pulling the dress front down below Betsy's breasts.

Betsy said, "It's bedtime, darling," and began moving her, though June was pawing frantically at her big tits, frying to sucker her mouth onto one, while Betsy glanced apprehensively about for objects that the girl would recognize as Jim's. For once she was grateful far his obsessive neatness; even the oldest clothing had its place in a closet. She remembered the monogrammed towels in the bathroom. Keep her out of there.

In the bedroom she sat June on the edge of the bed and let her feast on tit, bending over so they hung out. Moaning and gasping, the girl sucked one while massaging the nipple of the other, then put her face between them and squeezed them to her cheeks.

In a smothered voice she cried, "Ann, I love your boobies! I could suck and suck all night long!"

Again she stuffed her mouth full of swollen tit. As she did this Betsy biked up her skirt and rolled her panties down. When they had fallen and were kicked away Betsy pushed the girl from her titties. Holding up her skirt she brought June's face into the hairiness of her pussy.

She protested, "But I don't – I don't know if I want to…"

"Lap my cunt, honey," Betsy commanded, bowing her legs and yanking the girl's head in between them.

A yawning wet suction fastened onto her pussy lips and simply absorbed them, drew them slithering into a tongue-lashing, gulping mouth. Tongue slid up Betsy's hole, flagged wildly about, stirring such a storm that for the moment she forgot her purpose in bringing June here. Holding her skin up she gazed down at the girl so eagerly sucking her cunt, nose buried in pubic hair and nostrils flaring with excitement, head bobbing rhythmically as she drove her tongue in, then sucked. Fingernails dug the cheeks of Betsy's ass as the girl tugged her in closer.

"You give wild head," Betsy gasped. She tore her dress off while arching in, humping her pussy at June's face. The tongue wagging up her hole made her belly quiver and begin to spasm toward orgasm. Before that happened she must get June naked; Jim should arrive home soon.

She pushed aside June's map of red-brown hair, found her dress zipper and tore it down, exposing her bra hooks. Swiftly she snapped the clasps free, then yanked the dress up, pulling hard, for the girl sat on part of the skirt. At last it was free and she peeled the garment up to June's armpits.

"Stop a minute so I can undress you, darling," she said.

But June would not relinquish her mouthful of pussy. "No, I want to lap your cunt, please let me eat you!"

Betsy shoved her away, stripping the dress off over her arms and head. She got her first look at June's titties, luscious pear shapes with pointy pink nipples. And her panties, transparent, a broad, dark hair mat showing through. Spilling her back on the bed, Betsy stripped off the whisp of nylon, exposing a pussy as hairy as her own. A jungle glistening with cunt dew.

"Let's sixty-nine," Betsy said, climbing onto the bed.

June needed no urging, dove for Betsy's pussy, squirming about to let Betsy in between her spraddled legs. Betsy glimpsed the dresser clock. Ten of seven. Time! She wrapped her arms about June's hips and struggled to her.

The girl's hair jungle reeked of hot cunt. Betsy parted the hair with her fingers and found her cuntal trough a luscious wet crimson into which she plunged, pressed puckered lips in, and sucking hard followed the juiciness up to a pronounced, swollen red clit.

She drew it into her lips and tuned.

June let out a shriek. "Yes, eat me, honey, suck my cunt…"

Despite the girl's outcry, Betsy heard a foreign sound.

The scrape of shoe leather.

Looking over the girl's bearded cunt, between sleek ivory thighs, she saw Jim, her husband, standing in the bedroom doorway.

Jim was not really standing. He was leaning against the doorjamb, clutching it to keep from falling. His face was ashen, gouged by black lines of terrible strain.

He looked on the point of fainting, Betsy thought as he stared with bulging eyes at the spectacle of his wife eating the pussy of his secretary, who did not see him, her face being buried in Betsy's cunt.

Laughter welled up in Betsy. Explosive laughter. But she held it down. She had planned this moment and was prepared.

"Welcome home, darling," she said. "I'd give you a kiss but I smell so strongly of your secretary's cunt that you might not like it."

His jaw, sagged. His mouth worked, hunting words. He could not even gasp.

But June could, and she screamed shrilly. "Mr. Walters!"

Grinning at him from between the girl's legs, Betsy said, "June is a great cunt-lapper. But is she a good fuck, Jim? Tell me! And the visiting big shot last night, did he enjoy screwing her? That was nice of you, turning your whore over to him. Maybe you'll get a promotion, to whore master vice-president, in charge of procuring cunt for the executive suite!"

Jim at last made noises. "Betsy, I – don't believe – my eyes…"

Betsy disentangled herself from the girl, who had burst into tears, crying, "Your name isn't Ann! You've cheated me!"

Jim said, "So you arranged this?"

Betsy sat on the edge of the bed, nodding agreement. "Just to show you two can play the game. How strange that you picked two of us with lesbian tendencies! It tells something about you, Jim. However, I'm willing to forgive you all. On condition."

"You'll forgive me?"

"Yes. The condition is, you get down on your knees and lap my cunt."

"Me? Lap?"

"I know you're too prudish. And it would demean you, going down on a woman, but I'll suck your prick, which you've never allowed me to. Which I've wanted. What I'm saying, Jim, either you turn on to me and start sharing – I want a job, by the way – or you can take your office cunt here and get the fuck out."

He moved, backed unsteadily, bulging eyes fixed on Betsy. Then he hurried toward the kitchen.

Shortly she heard the clicking of glass on glass. June cried, "You cruel thing, you'll get me fired!"

Betsy smiled coldly at her. "A pretty girl who's willing to fuck can always get a job, honey."

Jim returned with a glass in his hand, half full of dark liquid, straight whiskey. He took a gulp before he spoke. Color was returning to his face, though his hand shook.

He said, "June – all that with June – was because I knew you weren't happy with our sex life – I began to doubt myself…"

Betsy gazed down at her breasts. She plucked at a swollen nipple as though concerned only with her body, knowing this would bother him.

She said, "Jim, your cock was always hard. No complaint. No reason to doubt your manhood. But you used me for a mattress, and June too. Now, if you want me – but not as I was. As a free cunt standing on my own feet – if you love me at all, get down to my pussy."

As she spoke Betsy spread her legs, exposing the drooling split between her hairy lips.

June, she saw, was now snapping her gaze from one to the other. She held a hand across her titties, shielding them, and clutched her jungle-haired twat, defensive and alone in this struggle between husband and wife. Yet Betsy felt she understood, and had to be on the female side.

Betsy added, malicious now, "Of course, you could divorce me and marry June."

He looked startled. That, clearly, was farthest from his mind. He said, "Betsy, I admit – I shouldn't have – with June…"

"Lap me," Betsy said.

He gulped down the whiskey. Eyes watering, swallowing hard, he said, "Scandal would ruin me with the company…"

Betsy resumed icily pulling her nipples, eyeing him. Then she saw it happen. A bulge in his pan leg. A lifting, a ridge in the material. An erection at last.

He stared at her pussy. He took a deep breath and suddenly came at a run, diving, clapping down on his knees and plunging his face into her cunt.

His mouth enclosed her crotch from mound to asshole, and sucked.

He seemed to suck the heart right out of her. Betsy gave a shriek of joy and seized his head, dragged him in just as his tongue slid up her hole, and oh, it felt as big as a cock!

With that June slid off the bed and scrambled about gathering up her clothes and ran from the room.

Shortly Betsy heard the girl's heels clatter out the kitchen, then the screen door swatting shut. Gone.

Betsy caressed her husband's dark, smooth hair as she humped into orgasm, heels on his back now, pulling a cum off the tongue flailing so thrillingly at the walls of her cunt.

She fell back on the bed, smiling blissfully as she panted through her cum.

[Missing text] enjoy cock. What she must have suffered with Jim, and what she had missed!

The throbbing of Jim's prick had ceased. She had sucked it dry. But Betsy kept the meaty thing in her mouth, nibbling and licking it. She would continue until it was hard again and they could fuck.

"You sure have got a big clit," he said.

She sighed. So at last he had noticed it! Well, at least that was a start.

There, that was it, a beginning. As though they had just been married.

Pleased with the thought, she rested her head on her husband's hairy thigh, and slowly, voluptuously, sucked away at his cock.

Content

Robert Taylor
Bored wife

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN