Teacher's naughty wife



It seems very much a truism that people are basically creatures of habit, that they cling stubbornly to ingrained patterns and beliefs rather than explore unfamiliar pound. Very often a cataclysmic event is the only means of prying a person loose from a cherished behavior pattern or belief.

Witness that long-time opponent of socialized medicine who, upon the discovery that his daughter is critically ill with cancer, suddenly reverses his position. Or the cynic who shunned his fellow man who suddenly finds himself giving aid and succor to beleaguered fellow survivors of an air crash.

Joanne Hickman is a woman of definite beliefs, a woman who clings to traditional patterns and standards. It is only when she discovers relatively shocking incident in her home that she is willing to change her frigid ways and attempt to extract the most from her life.

TEACHER'S NAUGHTY WIFE -- the story of a woman suddenly placed in trying and unusual circumstances. And how would someone else react? A timely question -- one we would do well to heed.



CHAPTER ONE

Joanne threw back the cover but she didn't get up. She lay on the bed, stretching, purring from the middle of her throat, and her tits moved softly under the clinging bodice of her nightgown. She brushed hair back from her sleepy eyes, and looked up at her husband Tom, who was just coming out of the bathroom. All he had on were his shorts, and they were snug, tight-fitting shorts that really played up the bulge of his cock and balls. Joanne kept on purring and slinked one aim toward him, her finger crooked in invitation. "Come here, big stuff," she said in her most sultry voice. "Come here and give me what I didn't get last night."

"Oh, Christ, Joanie," Tom said. "Is that all you ever think about? I mean, is that the only thing on your mind?"

Joanne raised herself on one elbow. The shoulder strap of her nightgown slipped and her left tit came oozing out, free, the nipple stiff and red. She looked down at the aroused nip, and she cooed, touching herself with thumb and index finger. Tom was watching. She could feel his eyes upon her, almost as strongly as she could feel the fluidy back and forth roll of her fingers on her nip. She squeezed until a moan oozed from her lips, and she looked up at him.

"Interested?" she said.

But he was putting on his pants. "I don't have time," he said, and Joanne wondered why those words sounded so familiar. Because, perchance, he was always telling her he didn't have time? That is, when he wasn't telling her he was tired or not in the mood or had a headache. The things that wives were supposed to tell their husbands, not the other way around, she thought in distaste. She left off playing with her tit, pulled the shoulder strap back into place and covered herself, and lay on her side scowling as he got into his pants and shirt.

"Is something wrong with you?" she asked. "I mean, is there something physically wrong, Tom?"

He jerked involuntarily, stared at her. "What do you mean?"

"Are you -- do you feel that you're -- impotent?"

"Of course not!"

"Well?" She lay on her side waiting. He didn't answer. "Tom," she said, "there is something wrong. Do you at least grant me that?"

"The only thing that's wrong," Tom Hickman said, knotting his tie in front of the mirror, "is the fact that you seem to be acting like a nymphomaniac lately. I can't get a second's rest, Joanie, you're always after me, trying to pull me into bed. And I have other things on my mind right now. I'm up for tenure at the end of the term, and if I don't get tenure, then we are back on the job market, and you know how hard it is to find a job teaching English literature on the college level. So if I'm not as sexy as you are, well, I'm sorry but those are the breaks."

"You didn't answer my question," Joanne called as he went out the door. "Is something wrong with your cock? Why won't it get hard? Why?" She came out of the bed, jumping, hauling the nightgown over her head as she ran toward the door. She tossed it over her shoulder and went out the door, standing at the edge of the living room, bare and naked, long hair swirling down her shoulders, a few stray curls wisping onto the curve of her tits. "Look at me," she said. "Will you for Christ's sake look at me?"

He turned, his hand on the front doorknob. "Put your clothes on," he said. That was all he said. He opened the door, went out, closed it behind him, and a few moments later she heard the sound of the car engine starting in the driveway.

Joanne slunk back, against the wall, her arms crossed on her tummy. I will riot cry, she told herself I will not have a hysterical fit. I will take this calmly. "Goddamn you!" she yelled in a high, fluting voice. "Have you turned faggot or something?" But he couldn't hear. He was already in the car, already on the street, on his way to work again. Numb, angry, she turned, stomped into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

She went through the bedroom, snarling, and into the bathroom. The shower glass was still misty from Tom's morning bath and she could smell the cologne he'd dabbed on his face. He never used to use cologne, said it was a cheap gambit by the cosmetics companies to get business from men as well as from gullible women. Said a clean body didn't need any perfumed scents to mask its natural tangy aromas. Said that what he liked best about Joanne, when they first met, was that she was so fresh and natural, her face unmarred with cover up makeup and cheaters. He used to enjoy kissing and touching her face, not to mention the rest of her. What had happened?

Joanne wiped sweat from the steamy mirror, then stood for a long moment looking at herself in the glass. Is it me? she wondered. Have I changed? Aren't I attractive any longer?

She eyed herself from head to toe and she couldn't find anything that looked like a flaw. Thirty-one years old, and she could have passed for eighteen. Almost. There were laugh lines around her mouth and eyes not uncharming in their own way, but she'd had them for years and Tom had never mentioned any discontent. Her hair was long and silky, a chestnut brown with highlights of red here and there. Once upon a time her husband had enjoyed running his fingers through her hair, gently massaging the scalp underneath while his lips brushed time and again across her full, naturally pink lips, while their tongues played back and forth, in and out of one another's mouths in sweet loving foreplay that anticipated the even sweeter in and out motion that would take place when he slipped his fat hard cock into her wet and twitchy twat.

Her tits were good. Small tits, sure, but round and firm and high set, and capped with large brown nipples that covered almost the whole of her cuppable mounds. She cupped and squeezed her tits. Someone had to feel her tits when they ached the way they ached right now.

She had a trim, narrow waist, and slender hips, almost boyish but with the telltale curves that announced she was a woman after all. Five-four, built in good proportion to her height, with long smooth thighs that really should have been on TV doing those Gentlemen-Prefer-Hanes pantyhose commercials, and maybe they would have been if she hadn't abandoned her dreams of a career and married Tom. But when she was twenty-one and full of love for him, how could she let her own idle dreams stand in the way? He had his B.A. then, and he had to get his M.A. and Ph.D., and it was a job for two people. She'd abandoned her dreams to go to New York and try her luck as an actress, and she'd gone to work in a boutique instead, selling funky clothes and drawing a salary that helped keep her husband in graduate school.

Those had been good years, both of them in their poverty-stricken twenties, good years indeed. When dinner was macaroni and cheese washed down with Gallo Chianti or, at best, a night on the town -- the free movie town every Wednesday night on campus followed by a group safari with Tom's friends to the local pizza parlor. Pitcher of beer and hold the anchovies. And then home, both of them slightly tipsy and clutching one another for support, and into bed where neither of them needed the slightest bit of support. His cock, hard and strong, punching its way into her supple, hungry twat, filling her with hot stroke after stroke, fucking her until she moaned for mercy and clutched him with her hands and legs, making sure he wouldn't let up, wouldn't give her the slightest bit of relief from his hard, fast fucking.

"So?" Joanne asked the mirror. "So?" Was she changed that much? Had she turned into a scag while she wasn't looking? Not a fucking chance! She caught up the falls of her hair, let it swirl back onto tier shoulders, around her face. After ten years of marriage she could still pass for twenty-one. Nearly. Nearly enough. And inside -- God, the way she felt inside!

She hadn't been a virgin when she married. Of course not. Neither had Tom. She'd been a drama student at the university, and she'd been around. Not too many times, but enough to know the score. Enough to be a hot fuck once she decided that Tom Hickman was a man worth fucking. She'd opened her legs willingly, taken him into her hot pulsating cunt, and he'd fucked her for what seemed like hours at the time but wasn't nearly long enough to drench the fires that burned inside her. Clasping him with her legs, milking him of his juicy cum with her twitchy pussy muscles, she had known, from their first fuck, that here was a man she could learn to love, a man she could willingly spend the rest of her life with.

So what had happened?

"Tell me," Joanne asked the woman in the mirror, but neither of them knew the answer.

She turned away, reaching into the tower, adjusting the water to the proper degree of warmth. She turned the nozzle, too, allowing the spray to fall like tiny tingling needles of wet stimulation. Joanne liked that. And it was one thing that she both enjoyed and could get. Unlike her husband's love.

She stepped into the hot spray, and her lips puckered in a surge of delight. She turned round and round, letting the water play across her skin, and it was lovely. She cupped her tits, lifting them so they, too, could feel the stinging spray of the water, and her nipples puckered in joyous arousal. Joanne purred, a bubbly gurgling sound, and her fingers flitted back and forth across her brown paps, tickling them until they stiffened and thrust in the glory of full erection. She closed her fists over the ends of her boobs and squeezed hard, moaning as she began to feel better and better and better.

"Do it, baby, oh, really do it," Joanne moaned from deep in her throat. She got her hands sudsy on a bar of soap, and then she came back in full force, massaging the suds into her body. She was massaging long after her body was frothy with soap. Massaging until her heart swelled inside her and her head began to throb.

"There," she told herself as her fingers once more seized her nips and wrenched them almost viciously, but lovingly. It was the dichotomy that she liked most, the way it could feel so good one moment and hurt so much the next, and then feel good all over again. God, it was what she needed, what she really needed!

They'd been here for three pears, Tom a lowly instructor at the college, teaching grammar and lit surveys and, once in a while, his specialty, 19th Century poetry. Most of the three years had been good, even better than good. He wasn't making a fortune at the college, but he made enough to keep them comfortable, and if he got tenure at the end of the term, they were going to buy a house. They had a few friends, other faculty members and their husbands and wives, but they didn't socialize much and Joanne hadn't really minded. It had been really good and, even after ten years of marriage, they had still been discovering new, delightful things about one another, things that made each day a bright, happy adventure.

Until it all changed.

She supposed it had something to do with the pressures of his job. The 1960's had produced a glut of liberal arts graduates, overeducated people who found that the market for jobs narrowed almost daily. He'd been lucky to find this job, teaching college English, and if he lost it, it might be a long time before he found another. He spoke sometimes of classmates from grad schools, Ph.D.s who were digging ditches and running jack hammers. Maybe tenure was an important thing preying on his mind. But did he have to make her suffer?

It had been months since the last sweet time they'd enjoyed a good fuck. Her pussy ached with the memory of his cock, rampant, fierce, thrusting hard, hard, hard! His juices exploding deep inside her, her own pussy milk flowing to mingle with his cum and bathe her twat in a flood of sweet ecstasy. Her toes twitching and curling as the fires of orgasm sped through her entire body, exploding from head to toe, transforming her into a living fuck-circuit.

Now when he fucked her, it was just that. He crawled on top, complaining and bitching, rammed his cock into her, and two minutes later it was over. He'd squirt a dribble of semen up her tubes and she'd lay beneath him, biting her lips, unsatisfied as any half-fucked woman could ever be. Was the pressure making him impotent? Was that it? And was her own pressure on him only making it worse? She didn't know. But he wouldn't discuss it, right or wrong. He'd only make excuses and go out the door without a backward glance while she watched, wondering where the happiness had all gone. She could bring herself to a kind of release, but one that was so inadequate compared to what she used to share with her husband, humping deliriously on a creaking bed, their bodies full of love and excitement, his cock stiff and sweet and ferocious inside her gulping cunt...

Her cunt. It ached now, really ached. It needed to be loved and fucked. The old way. The sweet way. The best way. Needed it more than ever. Yes, Joanne decided, sliding a hand down her belly, it really was true. Women didn't get older. They got better.

She soaped her bush and her pussy, working the suds into her cuntal gap, her finger rubbing in and out, back and forth, until it brushed the risen nub of her clitoris. She was in a constant state of horniness, made all the worse by the inadequate love she got from her man. "Whew!" She gasped in a breathless voice, fingering her love button. "Do it again!" And she did, gleefully, swaying on her feet as she stroked and fondled herself.

She was comparing herself now, at age thirty-one, to the Joanne who had accepted her first fuck at sixteen, in the backseat of a car. Where else? Wasn't that the traditional American defloration spot? She hadn't even guessed how typical it all was as she allowed her formal to be lifted, her panties, to be dropped by her date, the foxiest guy in the whole school. She'd never forget how it felt then, holding his cock in her trembling hands. Not the first cock she'd ever gotten a feel of, but the first time she had ever made up her mind that this would be it, that this cock would be the first one to plunge its way into her molten cherry center and break the seal of her virginity. Excited? God, yes! Turned-on? Wow! She was sure, at the time, that she'd climaxed almost at the moment that pecker rammed up her pussy.

But what did she know about coming then? Only what she'd learned from her finger, or a date's finger, playing with her pussy. No. Nooo! She had only been starting to become a woman, and something told Joanne that it wasn't finished, not even now. She still had so much to learn.

Something new every day. Or so it used to be. Before Tom cooled off.

She couldn't put her finger on just when it had started. She could, however, put one finger on her left nipple and another finger on her clitoris, and she could nib them in unison while the spraying water cascaded over her body in refreshing tingly needles, and that's what Joanne was doing. Sometime around the first of the term now in session. After New Year's, certainly. New Year's had been great. They'd gone to a party hosted by one of Tom's colleagues in the English department, but they'd sneaked away, into one of the bedrooms, and had a crazy passionate fuck under a pile of coats, excitedly conscious that at any moment someone might walk into the room and discover them. God, how she'd come that evening, full of his driving dick!

The change had been subtle, so subtle she didn't know it was happening until it was almost an established fact. As the semester drew on and signs of spring began to appear over the mountains, she found that her husband was growing colder almost with each breath that left his mouth. He was busy when she wanted to make love. He didn't have time for the little fondness she liked to bestow on him. He seemed to have less and less time for small talk, for just being with her. He didn't even eat breakfast with her any more, and it couldn't be merely because of his 8 a.m. class in English grammar. Half the time he didn't get home until dinner was cold. Something was happening and Joanne couldn't understand it. And she didn't want to understand it. She wanted life to be the way it had always been, her and Tom, happy together, making love at the drop of a hat. Being happy. That was what she missed.

"It can't be me," she said, as she said to herself almost every day. She was cupping one of her tits, squeezing it hard, squeezing it till her lips puckered and she made a whistling sound through them. Her other hand continued to rub insistently up and down the crack of her pussy, her finger slipping inside now and then, making little passes over the erected tip of her hungry clitoris. She let her finger drop down, working it quickly in and out the mouth of her cunt, and she could feel the sticky wetness -- not the plain wetness of the water that bathed her body, but the juicy, hot secretions from deep inside. "Mmm, God, yes, yes!" she purred, stiffening her finger. Joanne held her breath for a second, stabbing her finger wickedly, sinfully, into her snatch, and she lifted up, standing on her tiptoes a long time as she penetrated her twat.

"Ooohhhh!" she hummed, settling down onto her soles again, her finger still wedged in her box. She wiggled from side to side, shifting her weight back and forth, so that her pussy did a kind of tango around her embedded finger. She felt the smooth texture of her cuntal walls, the continual flow of sticky juice bathing her finger, dripping into the hollow of her hand as it tensed against the sweet hairy puff of her pussy. Her hand tightened on her tit and pinched off the stiff brown bud of a nipple. A needle of pain shot through the end of her tit, but it was a delicious kind of pain and she dug it. Really dug it. She leaned forward, pushing her titty upward, and her tongue wiggled in the air, stretching but not quite reaching the erect brown teat that crowned her boob. She could lick the curve of her tit, and she was happy to do that, tasting soap and arousal on her flesh.

She put her arm under both tits, scooping the small round mounds upward, and she licked the upper edges of both breasts, her finger still buried in her slick wet pussy. If only, she thought, if only I could suck myself, I might not feel so bad about my husband's losing his cock.

But he hadn't lost it. His cock was still there, a sweet fat hunk of meat between his legs. She'd seen it not twenty minutes ago, seen the mouth watering bulge in his snug-fitting shorts. Last night she'd tasted him, too, gone down or her husband as they lay in bed and he pretended to be asleep. She'd taken his pecker in her hands, stroked it and caressed it with her fingers and her lips and her tongue, and then sucked him for a long time in her mouth, sucked him in that special, tender way site had of eating his cock, using every trick she knew to remind him who she was, what she meant to him and what he meant to her.

It hadn't worked. His cock had stayed soft despite Joanne's feverish effort. She sucked until her throat was full of drool and spit and his prick was frothy with the stuff, but when she took her lips away, Tom's dick was as limp as it had been when she started and he was snoring softly, asleep for real this time, leaving her alone, more alone than she had ever been in her life. He hadn't lost his cock. He'd only taken it away from his wife.

"He may as well have lost it," she mumbled, leaning forward in the shower stall. Water poured over the back of her head, but her eyes were closed and she was breathing in husky gulps. Her lips continued to nuzzle the area of tit she could reach, and her finger had started working in her cunt again. Joanne's hips and belly jerked each time she plunged home, and she plunged home repeatedly, stabbing the finger up into the musky depths of her snatch. She could smell the heated arousal of her body, and she felt stinging bitter tears forming behind her tightly-shut eyelids, tears of shame that she had to be doing this for herself, that she'd been finding her own consolation this way for so long, so many weeks. Her finger in her pie, her fingers on her nips, squeezing, tweaking, she brought her body to the satisfaction her husband was no longer interested in giving her.

Masturbation. It was lovely when you were young and inexperienced, preparing yourself for the day when you would take your place in society's sexual framework as an essential member. But it was ugly, so Goddamned ugly, when you were a married woman of thirty-one and masturbating fingers were the only lovers you had to your name!

"Love me," she moaned, and some of the warm water dribbled into her mouth. She blew bubbles on her lips and she kept on diddling herself, rocking about, twisting this way and that as it got better and better. Joanne sank to her knees, legs parted, her hand still ramming its way up and into her snatch, through the sucking network of pussy muscles and mucous-coated tissue. She reached up to shut off the water -- here, on her knees, there was too much of it, she'd drown in her ecstasy -- the water stopped and she leaned her fingers against the shower wall for a moment, bracing herself as she kept on plunging fingers up her hot aching twat.

The wall was wet, though, and her hand slipped and slid, and she felt her fingers brush something long and slender and plastic. The handle of the bath brush. Something she never used, though Tom occasionally did. Once upon a time he hadn't needed a bath brush. They saved water, showered together, two hot naked bodies jammed into a narrow stall, and she washed his back and all his other hard-to-reach places, and he did the same for Joanne, and sometimes they even waited until they dried off before he threw her onto the floor and gave her a bathroom quickie. Not any more.

Joanne's fingers closed on the bath brush handle, and she clenched them tighter, moaning between clenched teeth. It felt so phallic, that object! Like a young slender cock, strong and hard and long. She raised her head, opened her eyes, stared at the white plastic object where it hung from a little clamp fixed to the wall. Her eyes misted over and then they sparkled knowingly and she wiggled the brush free, brought it to her face.

She stroked herself with the bristles, which were soft and not at all bristly. Like the beard Tom had sported during his second year of grad school. She'd loved his beard, loved to feel it with her hands and her body, but it caused a rash on her upper thighs and he'd finally shaved it off. Bristled bath brushes didn't give you a rash, though, did they? She thought not. Stroking her face and tits with the brush, especially stroking her stiff, aching nipples. "Do it, baby," she giggled, giggled as she hadn't since passing the upper limits of puberty. She worked her finger out of her pussy, used it to cup her tits while she stroked them with the brush, stroked them till her tits burned and yearned.

She turned the bath brush around in her hand, and she pressed the long, tapering handle against her lips. It had a cold, plastic taste, but it was stiff and phallic and she could pretend, couldn't she? What else did she have? And it was Tom's. Maybe she could taste the imprint of his hands on the plastic? She licked friskily at the handle, tasting nothing but plastic. It was the first hard thing she'd been able to lick in a couple of weeks, though, and could she fault it so awfully much for being plastic?

No. "Come to mama," Joanne simpered, opening her mouth. The slightly pointed tip of the brush eased between her lips, onto the end of her wet red tongue. She closed her lips, and began to suck with loud, slurping noises, the kind of noises she had made as a teenager sucking cock for the first time. High school boys had enjoyed hearing her sounds of passion, mistaking the smacks and slobbers for skill. She'd learned better, but the man who had helped her learn didn't seem to be interested anymore, and he wasn't here to bitch about the quality of the head she gave his bath brush. She kept on sucking, until her mouth was overflowing with drool and she had to clear her throat and swallow hard.

Joanne's eased the brush handle out of her mouth and she looked at it, turning it this way and that, her eyes examining it for the first time, the first serious time. It was about eight inches long, a fraction shorter than Tom's prick, and not nearly as thick as that sweet tool of his. She could wrap her thumb and finger around it twice -- or could have, if she'd been triple-jointed. It was, perhaps, as thick as two of Joanne's slender fingers. She noted the size, made the mental comparison, and ten her eyebrows lifted. Her lips curled up into a wry smile. "Why not?" she said. "At least it doesn't tire out and curl up, the way my fingers do just when I need them most."

And with that she rocked back, bracing her ass and shoulders against the back wall of the tower. One of her legs slipped out to rest on the white fur rug outside the stall, and she lifted her other foot high, resting it beside the tray where the soap was kept. She was spread widely, and she wriggled around until she was comfortable, in the process opening her snatch a little more. She looked down into her wet, matted triangle of pussy hair, saw the red lips of her cunt showing among the curls of fur. Red lips, puckered and pouting, their tips coated with the moisture and glistening juice her fingers had coaxed from deep in her tubes. Holding the brush firmly, the handle aimed at her body, Joanne reached down and spread her labes a little wider, pushing them open the smooth, practiced way a "Hustler" model opens herself for the camera. And all she had was a plastic substitute for fat throbbing cock. Well, she thought, you played the hand you were dealt.

And the hand she was playing now was a desperate, starved one, something that made her blush with a kind of shame even as she brought the tip of the handle to her open snatch and started to wiggle it inside her. God, if someone saw me! she thought. I'd die. But I need something!

"Oh, Jesus!" she blurted as she worked the thing into her pussy. It was slick and stiff, entering her easily, and she stretched and strained, working herself around so she could best accommodate the unbending erection of the plastic tool. Was this what women did with those cock-shaped vibrators? she wondered. Maybe it would be better with a vibrator. You'd have that thing buzzing as it went inside, the tingle shooting through your pussy walls as you took it up you. They were a little thicker too, those vibrators, more like three stiff fingers worked into a tight wet hole -- where did you find them, for God's sake? Did you go to the drugstore and tell the clerk, "I want a vibrator. About nine inches long. Black if you have it in that color. Or red?" How in the world did you go about getting one?

I am desperate, she told herself, stricken with a sudden feeling of revulsion. What am I doing to myself? I am -- I am... "Oh, God, Jesus!" she yipped suddenly, and the thing was in her, maybe four inches of stiff plastic rammed up her twat, and she couldn't get arty more of it inside her because of the angle at which she sat, but maybe, oh, Christ, maybe she didn't need any more of it!

The thing felt incredibly big, stuffed into her pussy, and knew it was only her twat contracting to accommodate the size, to give her body the sweetest, tightest fit possible. It was the way a cunt reacted when you put something inside it. After living in her body for thirty-one years, Joanne Hickman knew that. And her cunt was like a well-tuned machine, something that always responded in the nicest way possible for the woman who owned it, who took care of it. She grasped the exposed end of the brush, squashing down the bristles, and site started to turn it inside herself.

"Whooo!" she swooned as it began to revolve. Her eyes were rolling in their sockets and she couldn't see much of anything. Her foot was jammed tight against the tower wall and she pushed hard, harder, hardest, lifting her ass slightly as she turned and writhed. Another half inch of handle stole into her twat, touching a deeper part of Joanne's cuntal well, and she gasped, wrenching hard on the bath brush, pushing it impatiently, swishing it in her box like a swizzle stick in a martini.

"Tom, Tom, Tom," she panted, fucking herself. She'd gotten the rhythm now, and the action, and she could feel the thing digging into her, the pointed tip a light irritant, not quite a pain, deep in her pussy, and she was moving it in and out of her, as best she could capture it, with same kind of rhythm she wanted, needed, demanded, when she was being fucked by a real cock. By Tom's cock. But it wasn't his cock in her, it was his bath brush, and even though she felt her passion bubbling in her veins, racing through her bloodstream to her brain, she knew it wasn't the same, that it could never be the same.

"But it's all I have," she gasped, fucking herself with a brutality born of Tom's inexplicable coldness. "It's -- all -- I -- have!"

No! She had more! And she could feel it starting to happen, the come-fever boiling in her belly, bubbles getting bigger and bigger and bigger, swelling and rolling down the tube of her twat, breaking upon her fingers as they wiggled the bath brush deeper and deeper into her rippling pussy mouth. She pushed harder with her foot on the shower wall, her other foot curled the fur rug around itself. Her tits ached, her nipples big and hard, but she was using both hands to manipulate the brush in and out of her twat and she couldn't even spare a finger to toy with her stiffened tits, couldn't possibly take her hands away, couldn't possibly.

When she came it was an explosion, and it should have blown her body to pieces, but it didn't. Somehow she survived the initial impact of orgasm, and then she went rocking up, moaning, keening her blues to the echoing walls of the shower compartment and the bathroom outside, and she couldn't bear to work the thing inside her any longer. She jerked it out of her pussy, replaced it with a stiff, straining finger, and she humped the sweetest, hottest, wettest part of her come onto her finger as it plunged deep inside her, soothing away the sweet fuck-pain she'd brought herself to. At last she lay huddled in a ball on the shower stall floor, knees pulled up to her chin, finger wedged but no longer moving in her pussy, and she could only moan and sob as she came down from the humiliating but [missing text].

CHAPTER TWO

Afterwards, drained, she took another shower, this time only to bathe.

It wasn't the first morning Joanne had inaugurated by a vigorous bout of masturbation. It had begun as an occasional thing. God, what else could she do, when she spent the night tossing and turning next to a husband who thought bed was merely someplace to sleep? And the few times she'd been able to coax a fuck or a suck out of him, he'd gone about it as if he really were asleep. Pump -- pump -- pump -- squirt his cum up her twat, roll off, and go back to sleep. For Christ's sake! She was a mature, passionate woman, maybe no more passionate than the average, but that was plenty enough. She knew what she wanted, what she needed, and she wasn't getting it from her husband.

SQ she had to get it from herself. But, oh, it left her feeling so nasty when it was over! Masturbation was perfectly okay, it wouldn't rot her teeth or make hair grow in her palms or do any of the other awful things her mother had suggested when Joanne had turned twelve, grown tits, and begun to bleed. But who could live on finger jobs alone? she wanted to know. Who would even want to?

God, something was gonna have to change around here! No matter how uptight Tom was about getting his tenure, no matter how much he worried about his job and its future, he was gonna have to remember that he had a wife and that this turn-off of his was absofuckinglutely killing his wife!

She spent the morning at her housework. It promised to be such a nice day! It was a warm April day, and she stood at the back door, just breathing in the scent of fresh grass and the flowers across the fence in the neighbors yard. The morning sky was pastel blue, a few white clouds drifting across it, and it was too sweet a day to waste alone at home, feeling sorry for herself.

Standing at the sink, the idea came to Joanne. She splashed her hands in the dishwater, coated her arms in bubbles, blew them away, smiling happily. "Yes," she said aloud. "I'll do it," she added. "I'll put on that sexy yellow dress, the one cut way down to here and slit up the sides, and maybe I'll wear those black mesh stockings and the garter belt, too, I'll bet he's forgotten all about the garter belt. Mmmmmmm! I'll just pirouette into his office -- let's see, his last morning class is out at twelve, so I should get there a little after -- and I'll demand that he escort me to lunch like any other husband with two hours to kill. We'll go to that Chinese place, eat a nice light lunch, maybe some dim sun and tea, nothing heavy. And while we're eating, I'll grab him under the table. He won't be able to get away. And if I can't get a rise out of his cock, I'll send it back to the factory for repair, by God! Oh, yes! Maybe he'll even miss his two o'clock class? That motel on the edge of town. Do they really have closed-circuit porno movies on the TV sets? One way to find out. Oh, God, it's after eleven! I won't have time to make up! I'll look like a dishrag!" She dried her soapy hands and ran to the bedroom. Time was wasting.

It was three minutes after twelve when Joanne entered the outer reception room, the antechamber to the cubbyhole offices provided for non-tenured instructors and assistant professors. The girl who manned the reception desk was out to lunch, apparently, and Joanne marched past, peering down the corridor. The only office that was lit appeared to be her husband's. Probably copy-editing a lecture on the short stories of Ernest Hemingway. All he ever thought about was his job, his work. He spent late evening at the library researching topics he wanted to mention in class, rushing off first thing in the morning to be on tune for his students. Well, she thought, you deserve a break today, Thomas L. Hickman, and you are going to get it.

She considered the options. She could march to his office, rap on the door, and gain admittance. Or -- Joanne turned, saw the intercom on the reception desk. She smiled. No, she thought. I'll let him come to me. She went to the desk, leaned her hip against the side, and she pushed the button marked 7, the number of her husband's office.

The only thing she could assume was that he'd forgotten to shut off his squawk box the last time he'd been buzzed from the reception desk. She pushed the button which flicked the box into life and she didn't even have time to lean down and purr a sultry message for her husband's ears. The box chattered into life and Joanne's heart nearly stopped beating.

"Tom, baby, please, oohhh, you're squeezing too hard, you're hurting my tithes! Don't be so rough, baby. You know you can have them any time you want. Let me straddle your lap. Oooohh, Jesus! Have you got a flashlight in your pants or are you just glad to see me, honey bunny?"

Joanne leaned on the desk, shocked. The strange voice continued.

"Bite me! Bite my little nipple. Feel how it gets fat and hard when you bite it? Now lick it. Use your tongue on me, you old cocker! My old cocker, sweet cocker, hard cocker, big cocker... suck me! Do you know that if you suck a woman long enough, she'll make milk in her titties, even if she's never had a baby? I wonder how long that has to be? Seems like I ought to have tits full of milk, the way you eat them up, you dirty old man. Sweet dirty old man. Let me squash down on your big itchy dick. Don't you just ache inside, ache for wanting to put your prick up me? Maybe I won't let you do it today. What do you think of that? Damn you, biting my nipple isn't any kind of answer! Take your mouth off and talk to me, Tommy baby!"

Tommy baby? There was a churning in Joanne's stomach and a sour taste at the back of her mouth, and she felt as if she were going to vomit all over the carpeted floor.

"If you won't let me put my cock in you," Tom replied, "if you won't let me, maybe I'll just bend you over and slide those tight pants down your sweet ripe ass and shove it up you anyway. What do you think of that, Miss Honeybun?"

Honeybun? Miss Honeybun? And Tommy baby? Joanne knew she was going to be sick. She raised her fist to her lips, pressed it down hard, anything to stifle the scream she felt rising in her throat.

"Why do you wear such tight jeans?" Tom was saying. "I don't like it, you strutting around with your ass on display."

"Mmmm, yeah," the female voice answered, "but just think of it this way -- all those people looking at my ass and none of them can have it, none of them except my own sweet big cock professor. Mmm, honey, do I get an A for that?"

"An A for ass, the sweetest, juiciest ass ever! Let me unbutton you. Stand up. I want to pull your pants down. I want to smell your cunt and get ray finger in it and suck your juices off. You're not wearing panties, you slut! Let me get a fistful of that fresh hairy pie. God, you're dripping! Your pussy feels like a hot river, flowing onto my hands."

"Is that how Hemingway would have described it?" the girl asked, her voice taking on a tinny, almost adolescent innocent quality. But the laugh at the end of her question spoiled the effect, unless the laugh was the effect she aimed for.

"Fuck Hemingway!" Tom said hoarsely.

"Fuck Hemingway?" the girl replied. "I thought you wanted me to fuck you!" And again that adolescent voice broke into a knowing giggle. A giggle that turned into a long, succulent moan. "Oh, Lord, crook your finger again! I think I'm gonna come!"

"You'll come when I'm ready to let you come," Tom answered, "and that will be when dump a gallon of sticky cum up your tubes, baby, not before. Yeah, wiggle out of those pants. Kick them out of the way. When I get tenure, I'll have a bigger office, we won't have to put up with cramps. Mmmm, your snatch is so tight and wet and juicy, I want to eat it all up! Maybe when I get tenure we'll be together, you and me. All the time. Not just when we sneak around. Do you like that idea? Crimp your pussy if you like it. Ouch! You can stop crimping! I think you're trying to break my finger! I'll bet you could crack walnuts in that hole of yours, couldn't you?"

"Put your walnuts in me and find out," the girl giggled. "But why do I have to take my pants off and you get to keep yours on, hmmm?"

Joanne heard the clicking of a belt, and she knew what was happening. The voices on the intercom didn't have to give it to her in vivid detail, detail that would make the whole thing as clear as if she were in that cramped little office with them, with her husband this -- this girl, this -- whoever, whatever she was. Joanne felt her legs weakening and she eased against the edge of the desk, unsure whether she'd ever be able to stand up again.

She could have turned off the buzz-box. Sure. She could have gone tome and pretended that she hadn't heard anything. Yeah. She could shit purple and walk around the world on her hands with her legs kicking in the air, too. Her face was going pale, then beet-red, and sweat bubbled on her forehead, leaking out from under her tousled hair. She could feel perspiration forming in her armpits, too, and in the cleavage between her tits. It was fear-sweat, and she was sure she could sniff its rank, tense aroma despite her deodorant and talcum and cologne.

She heard more clinking and clacking, and she could close her eyes and see it all as clearly as if she were watching it. Tom spreading his legs, the giggling girl pulling down his pants. And his cock springing up, a big red lance of erected gristle, capped by a sweet fat knob of purple flesh.

"Suck me!" Tom moaned, and there was an intensity in his voice that chilled Joanne, left her numb and shaking. She'd heard him say that before, many times, but not lately. And -- my God, she thought -- can this be the reason? Is it his job that's taken away his sex drive, or -- God -- is it this other woman?

Did she even have to ask? Wasn't the answer so obvious?

"Suck my cock! Bite it! I want to fuck you in the heart, I want to shove my dick down your throat until I touch bottom, I want you to swallow me, all of me, Jesusssssss!"

"Love it," the girl mumbled, and it was difficult to understand what else she was saying. Joanne blanched when the reason for that occurred to her. The girl had a mouthful of dick. Joanne's stomach twitched again. She knew she was going to be sick, knew it, knew it, knew it. If she could only lean over, pull that wastebasket close... she couldn't.

Her head was swimming and she blinked, rapidly, trying to clear away the blurs that wiggled across her field of vision.

"Love you," Tom said, huskily, throatily. "Really love you. Look up at me. Smile. I like to see you smile around my cock while you're sucking it. Know what I like even better? To see you smile when I ram it up your pussy and start to fuck you silly. Get up. I can't wait. If I don't get it in your cunt, I'm gonna blow my nuts down your throat, and I need to fuck you, baby, really need to fuck you!"

"Not half as much as I need to get fucked!" the girl purred, her throat not clogged now, her words coming out loud and clear.

Joanne wanted to scream, to curse and rage, but it occurred to her that if she could hear them, they would probably hear her. And she didn't know if it would be a good thing to bring this out into the open right now. She had to think first, she had to get it all straight in her mind, came up with some snappy repartee, something to tell Tom, to break his balls with words, to let him know that she knew what he was doing and that she was pissed off!

"OOOOHHHHHHH!" the girl squealed, and Joanne felt sick knowing that she was listening to her husband fucking another woman. Not even a woman, she corrected herself angrily. A girl. A student, beyond doubt. One of the impressionable young minds he had been given to mold in his capacity as a teacher. God, the hypocrisy of it! Was this how a teacher interacted with his students nowadays? Was this what she'd worked for, saved for so he could attend graduate school? So he could sit in his office and fuck his girl students during the lunch break? Goddamn him to hell! Goddamn his lousy fucking soul! If anyone needed proof that. God was a man and not a woman, this was it. A female. God would have sent a blast of lightning down to fry that son of a bitch in his tracks. God, the male, was probably sitting up there in heaven laughing his ass at the pathetic tawdriness of it all. She knew she was going to be sick.

"Fuck me hard, but don't fuck a baby into me," the girl panted, and Joanne recognized the tone of voice of a woman heated with the passion of sex. "I forgot to take my pill this morning."

"Your tough luck!" Tom said with a laugh. "I'm going to fill you with jism, baby; gonna shoot till it's running out of your nose and mouth and ears! Rub your tits against me. Let me kiss them again. Your nipples get so stiff, I can't believe it. Such little things, and they get so big! Mmmmm!"

"Ooohhh, you're biting again! But don't stop! And don't stop fucking me, either! Ram it up me, Tommy baby, let me feel every inch of what you've got down there. Oh, God, it's so big and hard, I think it's gonna bust me, think it's gonna split my pussy, tear me to little ribbons of twat and hair. But I don't care. I want it, Jesus, I want it, I need it, I gotta have it! Screw meeeeeee!"

And if Joanne had never heard a woman in the pitch of orgasm before, she knew that she was hearing one now. She turned away, unwilling even to face the little communications box that had allowed her to eavesdrop on Tom at his daily grind. Grind! What a great word for it! He was probably grinding for all he was worth, ramming that -- that bitch, that cunt -- with the cock he couldn't give his own wife. She tried to picture the girl, but she couldn't pin a face the voice she'd been listening to. She could see Tom, clear as day, but he had a blob of shapeless flesh mounted on him, a hole that he was using his cock on. She strove to piece together elements, to deduce physical characteristics from voice, but she couldn't. Whoever, whatever she was, Tom was fucking her and telling her that he loved her, and Joanne was sick with the knowledge of it all.

The girl's moans continued, and they scraped on Joanne's nerves like fingernails scraping on a blackboard. She heard Tom grunt, a deep, throaty grunt, and she knew what that meant, too. He was about to come, about to squirt his jism into the adulterous pussy that obviously meant more to him than the pussy of his own wife. Joanne felt the tears budding in her eyes, and she knew she could not bear to listen any longer. Just before the first sob oozed from her lips she found the strength to reach down and push the 7 button off. The sounds stopped immediately, and then Joanne gave a husking, spirit crushed sob.

Then she sat up. "No!" she said. "I will not! I will not let him hurt me any more than I'm already hurt. I won't cry. I won't!" Courage foamed in her blood and she knew that the worst was over. She had learned the truth about her husband, learned it in the most degrading way possible, but she could live with that. She could even live with the prison sentence the judge would almost certainly give her (unless the judge happened to be a woman) when she blew Tom in half with a twelve-gauge shotgun this evening.

She stood up straight, tossing back her hair. She wiped her eyes, blew her nose into her tissue, then threw it into the waste can. "I'm okay," she told herself. "He's the one who'd better watch his fucking ass. Because he has overplayed his hand, but good!"

The door opened and the receptionist came in, a bubbly little brunette accompanied by a tall skinny girlfriend. They were talking about something as they entered the room but they stopped when they saw Joanne standing there. "Hi, Mrs. Hickman," said the receptionist.

"Hello, Sandy," Joanne said. She wondered if Tom had fucked the little brown-haired girl, too. She'd never considered it, but why not? Sandy was cute and outgoing, with gum bubble boobs hanging loose and braless under her clingy sweater. Her pants fit tight around her hips and tough she was a bit short in the legs, Joanne saw no reason why those short legs couldn't wrap around a man's body. She wanted to ask but decided not to. No sense making a case for premeditation, supplying a witness who might damage her in court. She was counting on a plea of temporary insanity.

"I, uh, I think Professor Hickman's in his office," Sandy said, moving behind the desk. She didn't touch the intercom. "He was working on something, I think, or maybe he was having a consultation with one of his students. I don't remember, but he didn't want to be disturbed. At least that's what he said, you know?" The skinny girl turned away and her shoulders twitched. She was trying not to laugh out loud. The bitch.

"That's all right," Joanne replied. "I really don't have time to wait. I don't even remember why I stopped by." She knew it sounded stupid but it was the only thing she could come up with. She went out the door, closed it not quite far enough for the door to latch, and she stood in the hallway a moment.

"Oh, fuck," the skinny girl said, "I think they're finished. And I wanted to listen in, too. Hey, maybe I can get my roommate's cassette recorder rid we can get them on tape. Be fun to play at parties? Is that really his wife? And she doesn't know about it? At all? My God, I don't believe it."

"Maybe she does know," Sandy said lazily. "Maybe she's frigid and lets him get his kicks when and where he can, y'know? Betcha a pair of pantyhose she was listening. Getting her jollies, huh? I've heard there are ladies who get off that way."

"Christ, don't ever let me be one of them!" the other girl laughed. "I do feel kinda sorry for her, though. I mean, if she doesn't know what's going on."

"To each her own," Sandy replied casually. "Have you got a cigarette? I'm all out." Joanne pushed the door completely shut, as quietly as she could. She went down the hallway, stumbling, angrily willing herself not to burst into tears, and she went out the door into the open air. The wind carried the scent of fresh flowers. It had started out to [missing text].

CHAPTER THREE

Joanne rarely drank, and when she did it was most often a chilled glass of some kind of lovely mild wine. Never in her life had Joanne felt the burning, urgent need to sit down and pour alcohol into her system, never until today. She could have used a cigarette but she didn't smoke.

The Blue Ball Tavern was very close to the college. All the better. She didn't have far to walk. She couldn't have walked very far, let alone get into her car and drive anywhere.

It was noontime and the tavern was pretty crowded. She pushed through the clusters of students sipping beer and munching pizza during their break from classes, and she got to the bar. A boy with bespectacled, pimple-spotted face, trying to grow a luxurious mustache, was just getting up to go to the john as she reached the bar, and Joanne slipped onto his stool. "Give me a scotch and water," she told the bartender. "On second thought, forget the water. And make it a double."

She was into her fourth or fifth drink, she couldn't remember and she didn't care, and it was one o'clock or maybe a little later. There was a clock on the wall but she couldn't see that far, not with any clarity of vision. The noontime crowd had thinned out drastically and she was alone at the bar. A few students, mostly couples, were occupying the booths along the wall, and the jukebox gave forth a disco-type soul song every now and then. Music didn't help, and neither did alcohol. She stirred her drink and listened to the ice clinking on the sides of the glass.

What in the hell was happening to her life? Her husband was fucking some other woman -- not even a woman, a girl, a young girl, one of his students. How long had it been going on? Christ, even the little bitch who worked at the reception desk knew all about it, not to mention her bird-legged friend! Was the whole fucking world aware of Tom's extracurricular activities? God! And she hadn't even guessed!

"Bud," she heard someone say, and the voice came from her left hand side. She turned her head slightly and saw that a boy -- well, he might have been eighteen or nineteen, probably a freshman or sophomore -- had taken the empty stool beside her. The bartender set a mug of foamy beer down, took his fifty cents, and turned away. Joanne lifted her eyes slightly, saw that the boy was looking at her over the top of his mug as he sipped.

"Hi," he said, lowering the glass, a foamy mustache ringing his mouth. He licked at it, delicately, and she watched his tongue play along his lips. It was a small thing, that gesture, but it had a certain grace, a kind of attraction. The tip of his tongue was flat and very red, very moist. He had brown eyes and a mop of shaggy dark hair. And he looked at Joanne with a certain expectancy glittering in his eyes, as if he were waiting far her to return his greeting -- and as if he were waiting for a lot more than a hello.

"Hi," she said, nodding, and her eyes lowered. His books were on the bar, and the top volume was an anthology of 1950's beat poetry. "Are you in Professor Hickman's poetry class?" she asked, speaking carefully. The back of her tongue was starting to get numb from scotch.

"Yeah," he said. "You're not, are you? I mean, I don't remember seeing you. And I'd remember you." He stared into her eyes for a long second, and then his gaze drifted downward, into the v-cut neck of her yellow dress. Joanne knew that he was eyeing her cleavage, the saucy exposure of the inner curves of her small, perfect tits, and she took a deep breath, knowing that it made her boobs lift, the bodice of her dress push outward slightly, the nipples of her braless tits put against the smooth cling of the fabric. Why did I do that? she asked herself, watching him take in the impression of her taut nipples. When he looked up he was smiling a little more broadly and for some reason, so was she. Joanne didn't understand that either, but it was the first time she'd smiled since the moment she'd turned on that Goddamned intercom back at the English building, and smiling felt so good.

"Oh, I know Professor Hickman," she said. "At least, I thought I did."

"Can't miss him," the boy replied. "Small guy, wavy hair, can't decide whether he wants to be Al Pacino or Rudolf Nureyev when he grows up." And he grinned.

Was he talking about Tom? She'd never looked at her husband in that light before, but after a moment's thought she could see the boy's point. Tom was tort, about five eight, and his hair was dark and wavy. He was in great physical condition, a tight, trim body, and he moved like a dancer. Or a street angel, maybe? It took a little time for it all to sink into Joanne's head, but when she had it straight, she laughed, and, God, it felt great to be laughing! Not long ago she had thought she might never laugh again.

"I sort of know him," she said. "I used to fuck him, if you want to know the grubby details."

"Oh," the boy told her, nodding, making a delightful mouth at Joanne. "Pre-Alice Custer, right?"

God Christ! Even this boy, this child, knew about it! Joanne sat up straight and she almost frowned and told him to go fuck himself, but what he'd said, sank in. Alice Custer. Was that the name of the girl she'd listened to? The one Tom had only just finished fucking in his office, the one who called him Tommy baby and was Miss Honeybun in return, the one he'd said he loved?

"Yes," Joanne said, raising her voice a little, "that's the cunt who edged me out. I don't know what she has, but that motherfucker..."

"Cool it," the bartender said, coming down the counter to where Joanne was sitting. "This is a nice place and I don't like people using that kind of language. It sounds like shit, especially coming from a drunk broad."

"Fuck you!" Joanne said, whirling. She picked up her half-full glass of scotch and threw it at the bartender. The liquor drenched his shirt and neck and the glass fell to the floor, breaking.

"Okay," he said, "get your ass out the door bitch! And don't bother coming back, right?"

"Blow it out your ass," Joanne muttered, sliding off her stool. Her feet touched the floor but she couldn't feel anything. Everyone in the tavern was staring at her and she didn't want to fall down and make a fool out of herself, not in front of so many people. Oh, God, she thought, trying to hold herself upright, I am so drunk!

"You need some help," the boy said, grabbing her around the waist. "Hey," he said, walking her out the door, his arm supporting Joanne, "I don't think you're in any shape to drive yourself home, I mean, if you're on wheels or anything, you know?"

"I don't have a home to go to," Joanne mumbled, her head coming to rest against his shoulder. He smelled good. Like a man. She'd almost forgotten what a man smelled like. She leaned closer as they went out onto the street, and one of her tits was pressed close against his side. She felt her nipple getting harder and harder behind the yellow front of her dress, and she knew that her teat was boring into his ribs. He felt so smooth and hard under his shirt, and he smelled nice, and she didn't want to go home and be alone, she didn't want to be alone, no, not now. "Take me to your home," she said, looking up. His face turned red and his eyes got big. "Yes," she went on, leaning up, the tip of her tongue appearing between her lips. She leaned close, touched his neck with her mouth and tongue, and he shivered against her. She put her hand on his shoulder. They were almost at the street corner, and there were people all around them, students mostly, but no one even looked twice at a couple kissing on the sidewalk, and she was kissing him. She was rubbing her mouth all over his neck, his jaw, moving up to bite his ear, and their legs were tangled and she was purring into his ear, "If you want me you can have me. I saw how you were looking at me back in the Blue Ball, how you kept staring clown at my tits, and I knew what you were thinking. So let's do it. Let's do it. Let's doooo itttttt!" She moaned the words as if anguish held her in an icy grip, awl she was rubbing her hand all over the front of his t-shirt. She could feel his nipples under her fingers, she could feel them standing up, erect. She tweaked them till he roared in a low undertone, and by then they had crossed the street. They were walking down West Court, and there was her car, whew she'd left it. There was a red parking ticket under the wiper, for she'd overstayed her metered time, but parking tickets didn't matter, nothing mattered. Her world had fallen to pieces and now anything was possible. She could even throw herself at some stranger, some teenaged child she had just met in a dim-lit tavern, and she could be stroking his body with her tits and her hands, purring into his ear the soft, hungry, horny words that were all she had left now.

"If you don't take me someplace and fuck me," she announced, growling like a cat, "I will throw you down on the sidewalk and rape you. And if you think I'm kidding, tell me no and see what happens."

He was backed up against the side of her car and she was on him from the front. She had her hands on his waist, and her crotch rubbed insistently, demandingly, at the front of his pants. Her lips were fastened to the point of his chin and her tits pressed like hard little balls against his chest. "Holy cow!" the boy said. "I thought this kind of stuff only happened in dirty movies!"

She bit his chin, just to prove it was real and happening to him, and she felt his cock stiffen suddenly in his pants, a hard lancing column of flesh straining at the tightness of the bluejeans he wore. Joanne groaned and she writhed against him, and she didn't care if anyone saw her.

"You're making an offer I can't refuse," the boy said, and his eyes were big as silver dollars. "But if you want money, I don't have any."

"I don't want money," Joanne announced, standing back. She pointed at the bulge in his pants. Her eyes got big. "All I want is that!" And she touched him with the tip of her finger, touched the steely stiff erection in his pants.

"That's disgraceful," she heard someone say, and she turned. A fat middle-aged woman was standing a few feet away, puffing as she stared at the couple.

"It may be disgraceful," Joanne said, slurring her words, "but I'm going to get fucked, and it's a disgrace how much I need a fuck." She opened her purse, found the car keys, tossed them to the boy. "You drive," she said. "You shift the gears and I'll play with your stick." With a wink at the fat woman, she climbed into the car. Her hand was in his lap before she got the door shut.

It wasn't the afternoon she'd planned. Ronnie -- that was his name, Ronnie -- in the car, while she was fondling his swollen bulge and he was trying to keep the car on the road. I'm smashed, Joanne kept telling herself. I wouldn't be doing this if I were sober. Of course not. The liquor has taken hold of me, and I've taken hold of Ronnie. Fair exchange?

He lived in a trailer near the south edge of town, about twenty blocks down Tiffin Street from the campus. He had two room mates, but they were in class. So he explained to Joanne while they were negotiating the distance between her car and the front door of his trailer. It wasn't an easy journey. She had him unzipped now, and her hand was inside his pants, inside his shorts, her fist full of his stiff dick, and she couldn't stand up without assistance, so she was all over him in more ways than one. Once again she was making a public spectacle of herself, if any of his neighbors in the other trailers happened to be watching, but it seemed very unimportant. Her mind was already inside the trailer bouncing on a bed.

If Tom can find himself some young stuff, she thought, why the bloody fuck can't I do it, too? More important, she had done it. Never before in her almost ten years of marriage had she even considered the idea of committing adultery. That's what it was, she realized, and she wasn't so drunk that she didn't understand the reality. She was about to give herself, body and cunt, to a person she had only just met, and why? Because she wanted to, that's why! Wanted it more, Joanne was certain, tan she had ever wanted anything as long as she had lived. More!

It wasn't a big trailer, and the interior was a Godawful mess. But Joanne remembered her own college days, and the messy apartments and dorm rooms she'd lived in, and she just smiled, Ronnie helping her through the clutter that was strewn across the living room floor. An empty, stray beer can rolled under her foot and she went staggering, jerking on his cock as she did. "Oh, Jesus!" she heard him moan, and for a moment it seemed that he was going to come in her fist. She clenched her hand on him, squeezed hard, and his staggering shudders dwindled, then ceased.

"Almost lost it," he muttered, and by then they were standing in the doorway of a tiny bedroom. Joanne leaned against the shut door while Ronnie drew the curtains, and then he stood, facing her from about three feet away, staring at her, tilting his head this way and that, his lips curled in an unspoken question.

"I've seen you somewhere," he announced finally. Joanne shifted her shoulders as she rested against the door. "Aren't you one of the varsity cheerleaders?"

"No!" she laughed. "Of course not!"

"You're not in my American history survey class?" She shook her head again, and it occurred to her that he certainly thought she was a student at the college, just like he was. Well! she told herself. I guess I haven't gone to pieces, even if I am over thirty!

She had nothing to be ashamed of. She knew it. And she knew that she could easily pass for a college girl, though the idea of doing so had never entered her mind. At thirty-one she was still firm and slender, weighing the same 110 pounds she'd weighed as a college senior and soon-to-be-bride. And she was nicely dressed today, in that yellow springtime dress Tom had liked so much when she'd bought it last year. Smooth yellow, almost as smooth as satin, cut deep in front between the firm round mounds of her tits, and trimmed rather closely on the sides, too, the top secured with a tie around her neck. The dress was long, as was fashionable today, but slashed up the sides to allow revealing glimpses of long-thighed legs. Well! she thought. I put this dress on, expecting to take it off in a motel room while my husband drooled from the bed. I don't think my plans worked out. But I'm still going to take my dress off, and I certainly expect to see some drool forming on that lovely boy's lips. She reached up, brushing her hair out of the way, and she undid the bow behind her neck. The top of her dress fell down, baring her smooth, hard-nippled tits. Ronnie coughed and she was pretty sure she saw froth at his mouth.

Joanne held the fallen dress in place, and she breathed, and her nipples were poked out in stiff brown erections. She raised her hand, stroked her fingers across each nipple in turn, and she murmured softly between puckered lips. Ronnie made a sound, too, light and airy, and he was standing by the bed clenching and unclenching his fists. The look his face bore was remarkable -- as if, she thought, he hadn't believed it was going to happen, until now. Joanne looked up, ran her tongue across her lips, and pointed at him with her free hand. "Your turn to take something off," she suggested kittenishly. "Why not your pants, love? They look as if they're about to split, you know?"

Ronnie grabbed for his belt buckle, undid it, and skinned the mug jeans down to his knees, taking his legs as they fell the rest of the way. He ware a pair of tight white torts underneath, and it was incredible how those shorts had managed to restrain his cock as long as they had. He was sporting an erection that looked really big, pushing out the tight white cloth. Joanne taught, it can't be too big. Not the way she kit, not the way she needed it. Drunk or not, she had to have him, and she didn't understand how she'd been able to go as long as she had without a man, a real man. She remembered the plastic substitute she'd used on herself this morning. God, she thought, did I really do that? Me? She shivered in a moment of self-disgust, but her eyes drifted again toward the bay's crotch and she felt only her need, the burning, wanting lust that simmered inside her. It had simmered inside her for so long it had scared her, but she wasn't scared any longer, not at all.

Ronnie put his thumbs in the waistband of his tons, jerked until the tip of his stiff rod tapered out, and she moved toward him, letting her dress fall as she moved. She stepped out of the fallen heap of yellow, moved her feet twice more, and she was standing in front of him.

All she wore under her dress was the special outfit she'd put together with the intention of seducing her husband back to love today: a lilac garter belt, trimmed in crinkly lace, and a pair of black mesh stockings. The garter straps framed her chestnut-fuzzed twat and she worked her thighs together until she felt the sure, telltale moisture beading between her labes, starting to leak out and dampen the curly hairs of her bush.

Ronnie had frozen in position, the fat ruby head of his cock sticking out above his partly lowered shorts. Joanne came closer, leaned her face toward his. She kissed his mouth, kissed him hungrily, her tongue working into his mouth, and at the same time one of her hands shot toward his crotch and she trapped his prick between thumb and forefinger. She gave it a pinching squeeze of affection as she thrust her tongue into his mouth, and he put his arms around her, tight, grasping, ready. The two of them leaned sideways and fell onto the bed, still kissing, still touching.

"I don't believe this is happening to me," Ronnie said breathlessly, fighting free of Joanne's mouth. She worked her hand down into his shorts, rubbed her hand along the full length of his stiff cock. His cock was shorter than Tom's, maybe six inches long at total erection, but his rod was thick and bulky and her fingers slid around it as she felt his burning arousal and the equipment he possessed to satiate that arousal.

He put his hand on her chin, turned her face back a little, and brought his mouth down onto hers. It was a fierce male kiss, and she relished every second of it, drinking his saliva, sucking his tongue. She hadn't been kissed by someone who meant it in a long time. Too damned long! Her fist tightened on his cock and she got her other hand into play, working the shorts down his butt, freeing his rigid prick totally for the delight of her fingers.

"Leggo!" Joanne panted, breaking free. His eyes clouded, but they warmed fast when she pulled up his t-shirt and began to lick and kiss his smooth, almost hairless chest. Nice skin, she thought, tasting it with her tongue. Tom didn't have a lot of body hair either, and she'd never cared too much for the stuff on men. Tom. Her brain boiled a second as she thought of Tom and wondered if he was still in his office, maybe getting seconds or thirds from that girl, Alice Custer. But her lips closed on one of Ronnie's nipples and she forgot her rage in the sweet joy of feeling his little pap hard and stiff against the tip of her tongue. She tasted his flesh and his anxious, horny sweat, and she bit him ever so lightly, the way Tom always liked her to bite. Used to like. "Godddddd!" Ronnie moaned.

He was trusting in her fist now, groaning, his fingers working in her hair. A boy, she thought, all hot and horny. Not a lot of subtlety about him, but she didn't need subtlety. What she did need she was pretty sure he could give her. A fucking, fast and hard, a rocking ride that would turn her marrow to jelly, her pussy to hot simmering juice that oozed in puddles from her raw red crack. A fuck that would melt her ovaries and send her screaming into a fiery, frenetic come. A fuck. A real fuck. She stroked him more vigorously, licking her way down his belly.

She had to twist herself about to get at him most easily, anti the bed was really too narrow for athletic screwing. But somehow she managed to turn, and her long, mesh-covered legs thrust up the bed, past Ronnie's head, as she worked her face into his crotch toward the stiff red cock that was held upright by her trembling fingers. Lord God, it had been so long since she'd had her hands on a prick that throbbed like his, a prick that leaked little bubbles of pre-cum out its slitted tip as her hands squeezed and teased up and down his thick length, a prick that wanted to be loved, not just a prick that was risen to do some sort of husbandly obligation. And she could feel the difference.

"I'm going to suck you," she announced. "I'm going to suck you and I may not know when to stop. Are you in any danger of coming soon?"

"Christ!" Ronnie moaned, sliding his hand up and down her thigh, "you know it! I feel like I'm ready to bust!"

"You dear sweet boy," Joanne whispered. She leaned closer, touched his large, swollen cum-tube with her tongue.

"Wow!" he yelped, jerking. His cock thrust up into the open air, and she held her breath, afraid he'd spill the goodies now, not even give her a taste. And she wanted it in her mouth, his hot meaty prick, his salty flowing cum, if it so happened that, he couldn't keep his balls restrained. She didn't want it to flow, wasted, before she could get a bite.

But he was under strain, she understood, and she could sympathize. She'd come onto him in the bar, come onto him in the street, and she'd had her hand in his crotch all the way from downtown to his trailer park lodgings. He'd almost come in her hand walking from the car to the trailer. He was a boy, only nineteen, and she doubted if he had a lot of experience under his belt. Boys his age tended to be on short fuses all the time. But, if she remembered her own teenage years, they also tended to be capable of almost nonstop fucking. Get hard, shoot the jizz, get hard again.

His hand touched her bare, fuzzy crotch, and one of his fingers nudged impatiently at the tight mouth of her twat. She moaned, and she felt the sweet wetness begin to flow around his prodding finger. She realized that he wasn't the only one on a short fuse. "Oh, do it!" she whispered, and he screwed energetically at her cunt. His knuckle kept bumping the base of her stiff, risen clit, and she moaned each time he tapped her there. She moaned and watched her vision blur delightfully. She was only inches from the cock she held in her trembling fist but she couldn't immediately find the strength and concentration to approach him with the lust simmering inside her skull.

"Like this?" he asked, charmingly boyish, his finger popping into her hole. She whined in glee as it began to corkscrew inside her snug sucking pussy, turning round and round, plunging deep and spiraling its way back again. Juice was leaking from the walls of her twat, juice that oozed from the splayed mouth of her sex, and she could smell it as it flowed into her surrounding fur. His finger jiggled inside her again and again, coaxing forth greater and greater washes of lubrication, and he used the stuff to grease his persistent passage in and out.

Joanne squeezed his prick and saw one large bubble of cum beginning to form in his deep cock-gash. "Ooohhh!" she moaned, and her fingers locked on his rod, scooted up his thick shaft, and wiped that drop of jizz away. Still holding him with her other hand, she brought her cum-stained fingers to her mouth and licked them avidly, loving every droplet of the fuck juice she was tasting with her lips and tongue. It was sweet cum, young cum, and she looked up from sucking her fingers, looked at the cock that had provided her with that delicious sample. Lips smacking, she moved toward him, bending his rod in the direction of her mouth. She thrust her head down upon Ronnie's cock and began to suck him, suck him with the long-denied passion that simmered inside her bones.

As his cock thrust into her mouth he plunged his finger up her twat, the rest of his hand shivering against the bun of her pussy. He made his finger wiggle deep inside and she moaned as she sucked. Her tongue sloshed round and round his thick hard prick and she could taste more cum, oozing so lazily, so slowly, from the tip, cum that frothed on her tongue and tasted warm all the way down her throat. She tightened her mouth, worked it round and round on him, and she was squeezing his nuts all the while, his nuts and the root of his dick, squeezing, teasing, supplicating. He didn't let up for a second with his finger in her snatch and she wiggled her hips in invitation, a come building in her guts.

And such a different kind of come, too! She was so used to the ones that came from masturbation, hot comes that nonetheless left her cheated, unsatisfied where it really counted. Not this time! She worked her hips, squashed her pussy down upon his impaling finger, and he began to rub her throbbing clit with the ball of his thumb. It wasn't a refined kind of stimulation, not the kind she got from her husband, but on the other hand, what did she get from her husband nowadays? And it was a lot better than doing it herself. By now she knew everything that her fingers were capable of doing to her pussy. She didn't know what Ronnie would do to her next, whether he'd squiggle his finger in her clutching twat or rub her labes with his thumb or strum her clit like a guitar string. He was amateurish and unrefined at best, but he was young -- young enough that he probably wasn't very experienced. And he was doing all tight all the same. Joanne sucked harder, and she started working her fingers like a movable ring around the base of his dick while her mouth was adoring the upper half of him.

He fired his juice into her mouth and she drank it greedily. Her excitement was so strong, so advanced, that she began to hootchie-kootch her ass and hips down, sucking up his finger, leaking her early juices all over his hand. He got the message, started to give her clit hell with his thumb while working his finger in her pussy, and she felt the stirrings of orgasm in her belly. Yes! she thought as her mouth savored the final drops of his squirting seed. Yes! She ground down hard, and then she was coming, too, her pussy bumping out its shivering excitement against his pressing hand.

"Mmmmmmmm," she moaned around the cock in her mouth. She sucked it a few moments longer, using her teeth to make sure it stayed hard, and she heard him groan in a feeble but not too sincere protest. When she raised her head, Ronnie's tool was still erect. A little river of cum oozed from one corner of her mouth, down across her small pointed chin. She smiled, and showed him her mouthful of jism-smeared teeth. "I hope you're ready to fuck me now," she said. "I really hope you are."

CHAPTER FOUR

He worked his finger out of her twat and she sat up, squatting on the bed beside him. She leaned over and her small, hard-nippled tits kissed his face. He grabbed them, squeezed them together, started using his lips on her nipples, rushing back and forth from one brawn pinnacle of excitement to the other, sucking, biting, slobbering all over the ends of her tits. She leaned closer, squashing her boobs into his face, and she cuddled him like a baby. "Suck me," she murmured. "Suck me the way I sucked you. I like to be nicked. Mmmm, got a better idea!"

She leaned back, her tits sliding from his grasping caresses. She lifted her pussy so that he could see the red lips among the dark curls of hair, and she reached in with one hand, opening herself, spreading the joys of her snatch so he could see the hole he'd only just been loving with his hand. "Take a good look," she said breathlessly, "and now..." She threw one leg across his body, raising her cunt even higher. "Now I want to be eaten, too. Suck me dry. But not too dry, if you know what I mean?" And she laughed, pressing her match down on his face.

He grabbed her ass, thrust his mouth into her damp hole, and his tongue skirted through the hairs, licking the rim of her labes, pushing them open, going inside. "That's it," Joanne giggled, settling down a little more. Her snatch was tight and warm against his mouth now and he was pinching her smooth firm hips as he licked her inside and out.

Not a great licking, but the crude, untaught rush of his energy was delightful in its own way, and Joanne felt a sweeter bliss than if she had been receiving head from an expert. Tom ate a pretty good cunt, she remembered, but Tom was saving his tongue for that girl, that Alice. Did her pussy taste like strawberries? That's what he always used to tell Joanne while she pulled his ears and smeared twat goo all over his mouth. He hadn't told her that in a long time. He hadn't gone down on her in along time. She didn't miss it quite so much, not now. Ronnie's tongue flicked again and again over the budded tip of her clitoris and she mowed exultingly, rocking herself from side to side atop him. "Suck me!" she panted. "Really really suck me!"

He did. He opened his lips and planted them atop Joanne's dripping hole and began to suck like a vacuum cleaner. Again, not as good as she was used to, but a hell of a lot better than anything she was getting at home. She put her hands on his head, smeared him with more and more of her pussy leakings, and his tongue began to play inside her again. "My God," she told him, "Oh, my God, do it do it do ittttt!"

She reached back, found his cock. It was still wet from her mouth, sticky from the cum he'd puddled into her sucking maw, and, best of all, still rock-hard! She clasped him in her fingers, began to work up and down, stroking, fingering, toying with his sweet little toy of a prick, until he was steely stiff in her hand and she couldn't bear the thought of waiting for another moment. She had to have him in her now, now, now!

"Oh, God!" Joanne said, trying herself loose from his hungry tongue. He had been getting better and better with each lick, she realized as her twat and his mouth parted company. She envied the woman who would get the next licking from Ronnie's maturing tongue. With any luck, she thought, it just might be me. She wasn't nearly finished with the afternoon's sport.

"I still don't believe this is happening to me," Ronnie grinned, sitting up. Joanne was crouching on one leg alongside his lower body and she was working his cock in her hand, making sure it stayed hard. Her other leg stretched across the bed, past Ronnie. He caught her foot, lifted it, brought it to his face. Joanne tipped over across his legs, but she didn't let go of his prick. He pressed the heel of her foot against his mouth, breathed on it, and then he started licking, slurping with his tongue, through the mesh of her stockings. "You taste good everywhere," he mid, looking around the side of her foot. Joanne just milled. He began to suck her toes. She turned, stretched her long shapely leg. He stroked it with his other hand while continuing his toe job, and she closed her eyes. The darling boy! Had he read her mind? How did he know that she loved to have her toes mouthed and sucked and licked? No one knew that except Tom. Tom.

Goddamn it, she thought, it always comes around to Tom. Tom this, Tom that, and Tom and his student-body slut! Well, it's time for me to get a few of my jollies, too, and the fucking hell with Tom! "Enough, stud," she panted, pulling her foot loose. "I came here to get fucked, and get fucked I will!"

"Anything you say, Joanne," the boy shrugged, and he offered her his hand. She let go of his dick, took him by the hands, and moved into position astraddle his prone body. It was a good position, and he could thrust deeply into her. She needed it deep, and she needed it hard, and she needed it fucky, but most of all, she needed it now! Something to wash from her mind the memory of what she'd heard today on the intercom. She wanted to fuck.

Joanne settled down upon him, just touching his genitals with her own for a moment. His stiff cock was standing up, rubbing the bun of her dark-furred, pussy. She reached down, cuddled him against her moist hungry flesh, and it felt good, really good. She could feel the throbbing in his dick, felt it hammering against her responsive, sensitive pussy bulge, and she closed her eyes, relishing the sensations. Tom wasn't the only one who could go out and fl find himself some sex, she thought proudly. She'd done it today, done it for the first time, and she hadn't done badly at all. The taste of Ronnie's sperm was still fresh and lingering in her mouth, and she pursed her lips, remembering the sweetness of that river of sticky juice spurting from his cock into her hungry gullet. As she did, she teased with her fingers the fat spongy bulge of knob at the crown of Ronnie's tool, and she felt little drops of wetness beginning to ooze from his slit. Not semen this time, only the pre-cum that, men secreted in their cocks when it might be necessary to juice a partner's snatch for some sweet fucking. She didn't need any juicing. Her pussy was sticky-wet inside, and sticky-wet around the crack, too, where the stuff had leaked from her. She didn't need any additional help. She would swallow him to the balls and hump down on him, her pussy gulping his prick in horny contractions. She hoped that his nuts were full of cum, because she would drain him dry before he got off this bed again.

"I'm ready," Joanne murmured. "You don't know how ready I am." He reached down, ready to assist her, but she brushed his hand away. "Let me put it in," she said. "That's something I've really missed lately."

She lifted up, high enough to clear the tip of his prick, and she wiggled the stiff tool around until its point was just brushing the parted lips of her cunt. "Mmmmm-hmmmm," she purred, and then she pushed down.

He yelped excitedly as he plunged into her, and he grabbed her by a thigh and a buttock, hanging on for dear life as Joanne plummeted down. His prick entered her, thrust up until his entire length was buried in her pussy and she was riding down hard on his balls, grinding away as if she meant to fuck his balls inside her as well. "God, let's do it!" Ronnie touted, writhing under the dark-haired woman.

Joanne swept her hair back, for a few tresses had fallen across her face and into her open, gasping mouth, and she aid, "Now that's the kind of talk I like to hear in the bedroom. Fuck me, and I'll fuck you. Fair enough?" He nodded happily, and she started to swivel her ass around and around atop him. His cock moved with her gyrations, and he gripped her flesh tighter and tighter. Joanne moaned as it began to feel so good, so Goddamned good, and she couldn't remember the last time a fuck had affected her so quickly, so magically. Her head was swimming and she felt as if she were dropping over the edge into a come that would last forever. And he'd only just put it inside her. There was more, so much more, on the way.

She leaned forward, kissin, his chest with her hard firm tits, kissing his face with her hot excited mouth. She held the sides of his face and stroked her fingers up and down, and he kept his grip on her ass, both hands clutching her now, and they began to move in the age-old timeless rhythm of the fuck, she moving from side to side and up and down in slight twitchy motions while he kept pushing up and down with his stiff, buried prick, moving himself in and out along the slick wet sheath of her pussy. "That's it, baby," she told him between kisses. "You keep that up a little while longer and I'll give you a big surprise."

"What kind of surprise?" he asked coyly, licking her nose and lips.

"I'll crack your nuts and make you squirt more cum than you knew you had in you," she purred, meaning every word of it. "I'll make your dick swell so big you'll think it's going to explode, and when you come -- when we come -- it'll be like going, to the moon without a rocket. Trust me, darling, trust me -- and fuck me. Oh, yes, fuck me, don't stop fucking me till I tell you to stop, and I may never, never, never tell you to stop! It feels so good already, I'd forgotten it ever felt this good! Just dolt, do it, do it, and don't stop doing ittttt!"

She got her legs around his, locked them together tightly, forcing a little more of his dick up her slot. Jesus, she had forgotten that fucking could fill you up so beautifully! He was thick, a bit thicker than Tom though he couldn't plumb her quite so deeply, and her cuntal walls expanded to make room for the wedge of his pecker. She kept on kissing him, and occasionally she reached down behind herself, into the space where their bodies joined. She cupped his balls in her hot, shaking hand, and squeezed them. He moaned into her mouth and rammed his cock upward, hard, spearing himself into the sucking maw of her oozing twat.

As she fucked, Joanne rocked from side to side, so that he gave it to her from constantly varying angles of entry. She liked that. In fact, she liked everything about, it. She liked the secure, comfortable feel of his rod inside her, giving her snatch the reaming for which it had yearned for such a long time. Did Alice Custer get it any better from Tom this noon in that little cubbyhole office of his? She doubted it very much. Alice had been getting it for quite a while, if she was making the right assumption from evidence. And, Joanne told herself, it was best of all when you really, really needed it. The way I need it, she thought, still fucking, still moaning, trading tongues back and forth with Ronnie. The way I need it!

He worked her ass in his hands, squeezing the firm but pliant cheeks of her butt, letting his fingers slide across her flesh. He made her lift high, so that she came down with a passion upon his rampant pecker, and when that happened, when they merged in such a rush of raging need, his strokes felt deepest, sweetest of all. She worked her tongue into his mouth, felt his teeth gnash it softly. Their bodies were hot and sweating profusely, and above it all she could smell the fragrant aroma of sex, the room thick with that heavenly smell, her nostrils full of it, her throat and lungs full of it, God, her body full of it, full of sex, full of joy, and after so long!

"Let me on top!" he panted. "I can't control myself on the bottom!"

"You should be a woman," Joanne teased. "You'd learn to be on top of things no matter which end you were on. But if you want to, let's switch over. Only -- don't let your cock go out of me. Not even for a second. Keep stroking!"

In a tangle of bodies they managed it, and he didn't let his cock leave her sucking hole, though he did have to give up his penetrating stabs for a moment or two while they shifted positions. When the maneuver was completed, Joanne lay on her back, legs spread widely, and Ronnie was on his hands and knees above her, his dick still buried in her twat. He grunted as he got the hang of this new angle, and his strokes seemed to go deeper, harder, faster. As he fucked, he reached to feel her tits, to run his hand down her belly into the tangle of pussy hairs. He pinched her clit at the moment his cock went particularly deep into her clit, and she screamed in delight, whipped her legs upward, locked them around his body and pulled him down heavily atop her. He fell with a gasp and a pant, and she wrapped him with her arms, too, holding him tightly. They melted and merged again and again, and it seemed that this sweet juicy fuck would never end. She wasn't sure if she ever wanted it to end.

There was a sudden sound outside, someone banging open the trailer door, banging it shut again, and Ronnie froze in mid-fuck atop Joanne. "Oh, fuck," he said, and his cock started to go soft inside her.

"What is it?" she asked, swiveling under him, using her pussy muscles in an effort to keep his dick hard. It wasn't working. She could feel his rod getting limper almost with each breath that left his mouth. The bed had stopped moving as their fuck-rhythm stopped, and, for the first time Joanne realized how much noise the bed made when it was being used as beds were supposed to be used. Creaking springs, rattles, the whole shooting match.

There was a sharp rapping at the door of the bedroom they occupied. "Hey," someone called from the other side of the door, "what's going on in here?"

"It's my roommates," Ronnie said, beet-red. "Oh, hell, I forgot about them coming in. God, is it three o'clock already? That's when their class lets out."

"Have you got a woman in there?" came another voice, accompanied by more rap-a-taps on the door. "Open up, Spencer! This is the house detective!"

"They think they're funny," Ronnie told Joanne. "I better go tell them to fuck off."

"No, forget them," Joanne pleaded, catching at him with her hands, but it was too late. He was already climbing off her, and his dick hung limp and useless between his legs, a pathetic reminder of the proud, hard stabbing tool it had been only a moment ago. He stepped down to the floor, found his shorts, slipped into them. Joanne watched glumly as he pulled the shorts up and his t-shirt down and started for the door.

"Will you guys fuckin' knock it off?" he said, slipping out the door hastily. Joanne lay naked on the bed, watching, and she caught a quick glimpse of one red-hair-trimmed face peeking round the edge of the door before Ronnie slammed it shut. She sighed, reached down to stroke her wet gash, sniffed at the fuck-scented fingers, and then she got up from the bed, went to the door, and stood listening.

"He does have a chick in there," one of the strange voices was saying. "Not bad either. How'd you swing it, Spencer? You usually wind up with dogs, y'know?"

"Will you guys fuckin' get lost?" Ronnie said angrily. "I got big doings, and you're screwing it up."

Joanne touched the doorknob. Same devil -- perhaps the sine one that had brought her here in the first place -- was inside her. She toyed with the knob a moment, feeling the cold metal grow warm under her fingers, and then she pushed the door open and stepped into the doorway naked, her long chestnut hair tossed back. She addressed Ronnie. "Are you coming back to bed, love? I'm getting very lonesome without you."

"Holy fucking shit!" exclaimed one of the boys.

Ronnie's roommates were twins, apparently, both of them medium sized, rather chunky around the shoulders, with red, carroty hair and lots of freckles dotting their ultra-pink faces. And both of them were staring at her goggle-eyed as she stood laity in the doorway, her body on full, enticing display. Ronnie spun around and his face was scarlet red. "Go back in there," he mid weakly, but there was a gleam of pride in his eyes. She could see it, and she knew that pert of him was fluffed up with young-male macho as his friends took in the sight of the woman he had been fucking. Woman. Not girl. Woman.

She stepped into the cluttered living room of the trailer and stood proud and unashamed, hands on her hips, hair swinging with a soft static rustle as she looked from face to face.

"You're fucking that, Spencer?" one of the redheads whispered, his eyes wide, seeming to protrude several inches from his freckled face.

"You think you can do better?" Joanne taunted. She stepped up to Ronnie, put one of her hands on his shoulder, stood there supported by his shaking body, and eyed the redheaded twins with a sparkle and a questioning look that was no less penetrating for being silent.

"Will you go back in there?" Ronnie asked in a whisper.

He turned to Joanne, tried to cover her with his body. She stepped around him, walked up to one of the redheads. "How about you?" she asked, putting her hand on the side of his face. She took a deep breath, so that her bare tits and stiff nipples lifted, and his eyes fluttered down, staring at her nips, then up to her face, then down again. She looked down, too, saw that the front of his pants was beginning to push out from the weight of a stiffening cock inside. Laughing silkily, Joanne reached down, squeezed his bulge for a fleeting second, then took her hand away. He stiffened at once and groaned. His face felt hot and feverish under the pressure of her fingers. She leaned in closer, rubbed his chest with her stiff nipples, then danced away from him, toward the other boy. "And you?" she asked.

She didn't have to touch him. His cock was jutting in his trousers, fully erect, and he was making chirpy little bird noises. His teeth chattered slightly. Neither of the redheads could be more than eighteen or nineteen, she thought.

She looked back at Ronnie. He was white-faced now, his eyes full of doubt and uncertainty. "Why not?" she said to him with a toss of hair and shoulders. "If they won't leave, we may as well invite them to party with us. I promise you, baby, there is more than enough of me to go around."

But he stood back as she began to kiss and cuddle the twins, whose names were Ted and Fred. She, couldn't remember which was which. She didn't really give a shit.

She oozed up to one -- call him Ted -- rubbed him with her bare body, slipped her arms around his waist, and began to nibble his chin. "Joanne," she heard Ronnie say, but she wasn't listening to Ronnie. If he didn't want to play under the new rules, he could go do something else. Anyway, she'd never made it with more than one guy at the same time, and certainly never with twins. It might be an educational experience.

She unzipped Ted's pants, reached inside, and started to play with his prick. He got the message, put his hands on her titties, and squeezed her stiff nipples. She pulled his cock out of his pants, dropped to her knees, fed him into her mouth. She sucked him greedily, noisily, drooling saliva down her chin. Once upon a time she'd wanted to be an actress, and certainly there was a strain of exhibitionism in her character. No one goes on stage without that strain of tow-off bubbling inside her. But this was a new kind of exhibitionism for Joanne. She wasn't on a stage pretending to be Lady Macbeth or Eliza Doolittle. She was on her knees in a cluttered trailer eating a stranger's cock while two other strangers stared at her in amazement. As if they'd never watched a blowjob before. Maybe they hadn't. She'd never given one in public before, but it wasn't stopping her. She only wished that her husband and his paramour Alice could have been here, too, that Tom could have gotten his Goddamned bloody eyes full of the sight of his wife eating the cock of some teenaged stranger. And as she wolfed down the swollen pecker, caressed it with her lips and tongue, bathed it in her drool, she found herself imagining that Tom really was there, that he stood watching with his eyes bulged out, and she loved the sensation.

As she sucked Ted she unhooked his pants and worked them down to his ankles, over his feet. "Take it all off," she aid, turning away from him. "I won't come back till you're naked." And with that she crawled on her knees toward his brother, Fred, who was rubbing his bulged-out crotch and panting in anticipation. She touched his thighs and made a smacking noise with her lips. "Take it out," she said. "I want you to do some of the work, too."

He unzipped himself with trembling fingers, hauled his prick out, and Joanne took over. She held him upright with her fingers, began to lip and mouth him from base to tip, licking up from time to time in a catlike caress of his glans. Like his brother, he was uncircumcised, and she spent a long time toying with his foreskin, sliding it back and forth, alternately covering and revealing his grape-like bobbin. Neither of the twins was exceptionally well hung -- about the length of Ronnie and not quite as thick. She didn't care. They had cocks, and their cocks were hard. Nothing else counted. Nothing!

Finally she took him into her mouth, but her sucking was only a buildup. He was groaning and gasping and grabbing at her head, but she worked loose and left his cock hanging like a flagpole from a building wall, a dribble of her spit dripping from the end.

"You get naked, too," she announced, standing up. Something grabbed at her from behind. She looked down, saw freckled hands clutching her tits. It was Ted. He pushed up against her, rubbing her bare ass with his equally bare crotch and stiff prick. She smiled, reached back, and stroked the flank of his lip. And as she stood there, being felt up by one twin, she watched the other one strip off his clothes.

They were built similarly. Broad shoulders, well-muscled arms, narrow waists and hips. Weight-lifters, maybe. A little overdeveloped for her taste. She liked men who were slim and slender, trim men with feline bodies. Men who didn't know whether they wanted to grow up to be Al Pacino or Rudolph Nureyev? She dismissed the thought and reached out instead for Fred's cock as he came panting toward her, his dick still rigid and jutting from the crinkle of red hair at his groin.

"That's it!" she said. "Make me the meat in the sandwich!" They had her pinned between them, Ted nuzzling her from behind, Fred from the front. Each of them was stiff and she could feel their stiff cocks gliding across her naked body. I'm going to do it, she thought. I really am going to do it. Is this me, Joanne Hickman, or is it someone else who's taken possession of my body for the day? She didn't know and she wasn't sure she cared. Not when Fred began to rub her wet pussy with the end of his rod. He had his foreskin peeled back and he was scooping up the juices that still coated her labes, glazing his knob with them. She was ticklish, and Joanne giggled. At the nine time she reached behind, caught Ted's pecker and began to fondle it happily. "There's room for more," she called, looking over her shoulder at Ronnie.

He was standing where she'd left him, and his face looked sour. Obviously he didn't enjoy having his private party intruded upon. The hell with him! Besides, she told herself, he probably couldn't have done the job anyway. He'd have fagged out in the homestretch, left me high and dry. But she nibbled her lip, wishing that Ronnie could view it with the same enthusiasm she did.

"Throw that shit off the couch," Ted told his brother, and Fred jumped to the task. Joanne missed the feel of his prick tickling her pussy, but Ted's hand had fallen to her snatch now, and he was giving her some hearty explorations, his middle finger playing in and out of her bush, and she relaxed against him, purring with contentment.

Fred cleaned off the messy couch, tossing schoolbooks, magazines, discarded shirts and jackets, and a couple of bags of potato chips onto the floor, and Ted began walking Joanne toward it, his stiff cock prodding her between the buttocks. She giggled each time he bumped her crack. She went onto the couch head and knees first, her legs parted, her pussy winking open and shut between her upper thighs. She rested her elbows on the back of the couch and said, "Come and get it!"

Ted came up behind her and rammed his cock into her pussy in one fast hard stroke. She moaned as he went deep and hard, and then he had her by the ass, working her hips up and down as he kept on feeding her the meat. He was a bit more experienced than Ronnie, she decided, but perhaps not so charming. At any rate, he was fucking her with pretty good action, and his cock had dipped itself in other pussies before today, she was certain. "Do it just like that," she encouraged, wiggling her tail. And he did.

Fred went around the couch, stepping gingerly over the junk littering the floor, and grabbed Joanne's hands, pulling her down. Her tits hit the back of the couch, and she was breathless for a moment. When she opened her eyes Fred's cock was pushing up toward her mouth and he was dragging her head down to meet his thrust. She shrugged, opened her mouth wide and took him home.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she heard Ronnie ask, and he was closer now, staring at her with an accusatory look in his eyes. What the hell does it matter to you? she thought, and then went on sucking. "Would you guys knock it off and get the fuck outa here?" Ronnie told his roommates.

"If you'd been fucking her the right way, she wouldn't have asked us to join the party," Fred replied, pulling on Joanne's hair. Tears sprang into her eyes. He was rough and more than a little crude. Not crude in the sweet, good-hearted way Ronnie had been. She began to have second thoughts.

But there wasn't too much she could do. Her mouth was full of cock and so was her twat. They were double teaming her as if they'd been doing it all their lives, and she was nothing but a pair of holes being buffeted back and forth between them, a mouth and a curd to be filled with cock. That devil inside Joanne didn't seem so awfully devilish hot now and she wondered if she had made a mistake.

"Let her up," Ronnie said. "This has gone far enough."

"The hell it has!" one of them answered. She couldn't tell which. But a cock slammed into her pussy, and the other one rammed into her mouth, pushing almost to her throat. She felt his pubic hairs tickle her nose and she made a gagging sound of protest. He tightened his grip on the top of her head and he kept feeding his prick into her, stabbing it faster and faster. Joanne was still choked up from that one wickedly deep thrust and she was trying to get her breath, but with her mouth constantly full of prick it was hard as hell to catch up.

Ted gave her a few more jabs up the pussy and then his cock eased from her. She groaned around the one in her mouth, relaxed a second, then felt him punching the tip of his stiff prick against the tight opening of her asshole. "Nnnnnn," she whined, but there was no way she could speak coherently, and maybe that's why he didn't stop, but kept screwing himself at her, trying to worm the tip of his tool into her snug constricted hole.

She'd been fucked up the ass, but only a few times. She didn't like it very much, and fortunately Tom hadn't been too enthusiastic about that brand of sex either, so they'd relegated it to the discard pile long ago. She certainly wasn't prepared to be cornholed now, not after years of blessed abstinence.

"Don't do that," Ronnie said.

"Listen, Spencer," Ted replied, "she threw herself at us, she asked for it, and she's going to get it. Where'd you find this bimbo anyway?"

"Just cool it!"

"Cool your ass!" Ted said, and he pushed hard.

Joanne screamed. Her mouth was wide open and Fred's cock pushed in and out, wildly, flailed about by her tongue. "AAAAGGGGHHHH!" she shouted, but by the time she'd finished her cry, she was penetrated by four inches of cock, splitting her asshole, fucking her up the shit chute.

"Oh my Goddddd!" she moaned. "Stoppppppp!"

But there was no stopping. Ted had her by the ass, and he had his cock in her, driving deeper with each beat of her frantic heart. She arched back, drawing far away from Fred's prick and she was almost upright on her knees. Ted yelped, and she knew that there must be a hell of a pressure on his rod, but he didn't stop pushing, didn't take it out of her, didn't show her the slightest mercy. He squatted slightly and got his hands around her body, squeezing her tits, pinching off the nipples with cruel gouging fingers. "Get her now," he told his brother. "Give her the old two-in-one!"

And with that, Fred came over the back of the couch. His cock was still rigid, and he stroked it affectionately as he got into position.

He sat on the couch, his legs spread wide, one of Joanne's knees planted on the cushion between his thighs.

She was moaning and whining and her face was pale with pain. Fred grabbed her leg, jerked it, slipped it across his outer thigh, and then he started to pull her down upon him.

"For Chrissake!" she moaned in despair as she settled down onto Fred and his cock began to puncture the quivering labes of her snatch. He slipped in, and then she was sitting on him, full of his cock in this hole, full of his brother's cock at her shitter. They had her in a trap, a real sandwich, she thought, one piece of tender meat trapped between two strong slices of bread.

She collapsed upon Fred as he began to fuck her pussy, and Ted was leaning over her from the rear, still working his prick as best he could, in and out of her asshole. She couldn't believe the stuffiness she felt. One cock was plunging into her, the other pulling out for a fresh stroke, constantly, without cease or letup. She could feel both dicks working in her --- it felt as if they were touching, as if they'd ripped apart whatever fleshy wall separated her asshole from her cunt, as if they were giving her one giant split through the crotch, ruining her, ripping her to pieces.

"Please," she moaned, "don't do this to me, I can't take it! I'm dying, you've torn we apart, I must be bleeding, don't, no, please!"

"Stop it, you guys!" Ronnie shouted, beating on the back of the couch. "Will you for Christ's sake fuckin' stop it?"

And then Joanne jerked bolt upright and her eyes seemed to roll over and over in their sockets. No, she thought, it isn't happening to me. It can't be. It couldn't!

But it was. Something inside her had given way, and she knew that before either of those cocks had had time to ram one mote stroke apiece into her ravished holes, she would be screaming with the force of a tremendous orgasm. She couldn't explain it, and she wasn't sure if she wanted to explain it. It was much like that session with the bath brush early this morning. She hadn't wanted to do that, even while she was doing it, and she hadn't known it would make her come so excitedly.

The way she was going to come again. Now. Now. Nowwwww!

"OHMYGODDDDD!" she screamed, and she was hugging Fred tightly while he kept his cock busy in her snatch, and Ted was biting her shoulder and his cock thrust hard into her asshole and it was over. All over. She couldn't even scream. The last barrier of her decency had broken and she was a total come, a piece of moaning, creaming orgasmic tissue, her component parts breaking down and re-forming, second by second, like some kind of chemical reaction. She felt her identity shattering, her mind melting, and she knew that she was no more than a toy to them, a plaything to work off their slightly warped desires and lusts. But her own desires had been fulfilled as well and the proof of it was streaming between her legs, hot cuntal juices leaking from her slice, drenching the base of Fred's pecker, flowing like piss from her pussy. And she could only shake and tremble and twitch like a marionette with a broken string, a puppet out of control.

She was hardly aware when the two of them fired, almost at the same second. She felt the jerking stabs up her pussy and ass, but they could have been a million miles away for all Joanne knew. She was floating high above it all, soaring with the magnificent come that rocked and rolled through her stunned body.

Rape or not, she thought, this may have been just what I needed. They pulled their cocks from her wet, sticky holes, and they piled her onto the couch and she lay there moaning, trembling, reaching down to finger herself again and again. She had no shame, no self-consciousness. And, she told herself, I will never be afraid again. I've taken it all and I've made it mine. Tom Hickman, you had better watch your ass, because you are next!

CHAPTER FIVE

Ronnie Spencer was standing near the couch when she opened her eyes. There was no sign of the twins, Ted and Fred. Maybe it was just as well. "That was cute," Ronnie mid. "Really cute, Marie."

"Joanne, not Marie," Like said. "Unless you want to be Donny instead of Ronnie." She sat up, stretching, yawning. Her pussy and asshole felt as if they'd been reamed out with fire, but there was the strangest, weirdest sense of satisfaction bubbling inside Joanne. I was frightened, she thought, frightened of what I found out when I went to see my husband. But I'm not frightened any more. I can handle anything, the way I handled those two cocks.

"I mean it," he said. "What the fuck got into you?" He colored. "I mean, what were you thinking about, damnit? Do you know what you looked like? You looked like some kind of a slut. It made me sick."

"Did you stop watching?" Joanne yawned. She stood up, caught him by the chin. "Don't frown. It makes your facial muscles weak. Smile. Unless you want to have a permanent scowl, that is." She stood up on tiptoes, kissed him lightly on the lips. His mouth was cold, unresponsive. He caught her hand as she started to go past him.

"I mean it," he said, "I mean, I thought maybe you and I -- you know, could get somewhere. I never had a girl quite like you before, one that was so cool and sharp and knew her way around. But..."

"Don't even say it," she told him, turning. "Listen, Ronnie, I am a lot older than you are, for one thing, and I have commitments. If I still have them, that is. When we got together, it was just something I wanted to do at that particular moment. And when your friends came along, well, that was something I wanted to do, too. I'm sorry you didn't join us. I think I could have handled all three of you, but now I guess I'll never know, will I?"

He made a face. She shook her head. "Listen," he said, "I could swear I've seen you before. Did you ever..."

"No questions asked, none answered." She shrugged.

"Maybe I'll see you again sometime. And maybe we can pick up where we left off. But right now I have to be on my way. Like I said, I have commitments. Sort of. I still have them, it's just that the person I have them to..."

She didn't feel like saying anything else. It was late in the afternoon and she had to get home. She still had to figure out what she was going to say to Tom when they had their big discussion. For Chrissake, she couldn't let it go on, could she, this double life of his? But how to talk about it, how to keep herself from taking him apart with the carving knife? She limped into Ronnie's bedroom, feeling the most delicious soreness and stiffness between her legs with every step, and she began to dress. Her mind was doing sixty but getting nowhere.

In the end, of course, she held her tongue. Tom came in about six, and though he mentioned the library, she knew damned well where he'd really been. She could smell it on him, now that she knew what to smell for, and there it was, strong as shit, the fragrance of another woman's arms. She watched him shovel away his supper. Would the college be interested in giving him tenure if they knew that he was fucking one of his students? She supposed it was only one, but of course she couldn't be sure. She couldn't even be sure that this Alice bitch was the only one. Oh, damn, she thought, picking languidly at her food, I still don't have enough information!

After supper he disappeared into his den to work on some essays his students had turned in that day. Hmmmm, she thought, I seduced poor Ronnie out of class and he missed an assignment. Maybe I should put in a good word, tell Tom that his student was doing a good deed for an old lady. Or did she care at all? She wasn't sure, especially when she happened to pass the door and stopped a moment to listen, the walls were pretty thick, but it sounded as if Tom were talking to someone. There was a private line telephone in the den. Was he calling his little twinkle? She couldn't tell for sure and she didn't want to make a scene at the wrong time. Best to save her cards for the big hind.

When he came up to bed that night, she was wearing her naughtiest nightie, a frilly pink nothing that was scooped out low al the tits and rode high at the thighs. It had a matching panty, but she didn't feel the need to wear it tonight. She lay on the bed, sheet tossed down to her feet, and the nightie's hem was pulled up. When Tom closed the bedroom door behind him, she was busy stroking herself with a shiny pink vibrator, shaped rather like a stiff pink cock. She'd bought it that afternoon on her way home from Ronnie's, at a drugstore. Surprising, really, how easy they were to get. A whole display case of them at the back of the store. She had only to make her choice and pay the druggist.

"What the hell are you doing?" Tom asked, taking off his shirt. His body was smooth and firm, and she felt the gnaw of regret as she watched him undress. Wait a fucking minute! Was that a scratch on his shoulder? Goddamned right it was! And she knew she hadn't put it there. Angrily, she flipped the vibrator back on and began to slide it up and down the bun of her pussy.

"What does it look like?" she asked. "I'm masturbating." He stood by the bed in his shorts. Was there a tiny telltale stain on the crotch? A pecker track? She thought so. Joanne set her lips firmly and kept tickling her pussy. It really felt good, once she got the hang of it. A constant stimulating buzz along the crack and down into the anal cleavage. Oohhhh! Jesus Christ! She was still very tender there, and it might be days before she was even comfortable taking a slit. Damn, she hadn't really wanted to be cornholed today, but she'd been dry so long that anything was an improvement.

"That's obscene," he told her. "For Chrissake, Joanne, do you have to do that while I'm watching?"

"I'm sorry if it offends you," she said evenly. "But you're under such tremendous strain that you haven't had time to ball for -- well, God, how long has it been now? OOOOOHHHHH! Kinda got me that time, you know? It takes time getting used to one of these." She slid it up and down her cracked opening, buzzing the puffy labes of her pussy while he watched. She let the pink tip of the vibrator ease gently into her slightly splayed slit, just enough to give him the message, but not enough to irritate the tenderness of her twat. After all, the poor little rosebud had gotten a hell of a working over today. She'd tested it with her finger, moaned in a mixture of agony and sweet sweet joy.

"Are you some kind of sex maniac? Is that it? Christ, Joanne, all you ever think about is fucking. It seems to me that it's unhealthy to have it on your mind all the time."

"I don't have it on my mind all the time," she answered, pushing the button to the higher speed. "I just have it on my mind when I can't get it. Which is all the time. But don't be concerned. This is just to tide me over until you get your own, problems resolved and we're a happy couple again, the way we used to be. I know that as soon as you find out about your tenure everything will be comfy-cozy for us, and in the meantime -- oh, Jesusssss!"

She had it in herself now, the tip -- maybe an inch of it in all -- shoved boldly into her pussy, and her toes were twitching where they stretched down the bed, at the end of her long naked legs. She could smell the hat arousal of her twat now, and she knew that what had begun as a calculated effort to piss off her husband would have to be carried all the way through. She was worked up again, and she needed it. If he didn't want to watch, he could sleep on the couch this evening. She worked it free of her clinging labes, moaned, began to stroke herself again, sliding deeper and deeper into the crack of her ass no matter how much it ached and tingled when she touched herself there.

"See?" she panted, turning to face him. "It's the housewife's friend, and the husband's helper too. When in need, put in some batteries and just go to town -- wow! You don't have to worry about me running around with other guys, either. Not as long as I have this. And when you have time for me again, well, I'll just throw it in the trashcan and replace it with the real thing. What could be more convenient. Oh, God, this thing feels incredible! Would you like me to tickle your dick with it? I bet it would put some lead in your pistol, tenure or no tenure, darling. Oh, roll over, let me stroke you. You'll love it!"

He resisted strongly as she tried to flip him over and get the buzzing vibrator into his shorts. Probably wouldn't help, she told herself. "You know," she said, abandoning the attempt and returning the vibrator to where it could do the most good, "this thing makes me feel like Alice in Wonderland. It's just like magic on my little honeybun."

Tom sat up. "What did you say?"

She could hardly keep from laughing. Determinedly, she worked the vibrator harder and harder across her pussy bulge. It slipped into her crack again, just the tip of it, but because he was watching, she flipped her wrist and drove another inch or two of buzzing pink plastic up her fucked-out hole. It whirred through the reaches of her twat that had been most heavily exercised this afternoon, and she moaned and groaned and kicked out wildly on the bed. She wasn't faking, not all of it. The vibrator couldn't begin to compete with a real, flesh-and-blood dick, a cock that could fuck her hard and fast and fill her aching pussy with the healing milk of cum, but it was okay when you didn't have anything else, and she was a little sorry that she'd never gotten around to buying one of the clever devices a long time ago. Still, though, if she'd had one to fall back on, she might have never discovered her husband's sordid secret life. This is for Honeybun and Professor Big Cock, she thought, humping it home as he watched with slack-jawed disbelief, and then she was thumping up to meet the invader and her pussy was full of juice. If it had been an electric vibrator she'd have short-circuited herself, but it worked on battery power and she could hump it till the cows came home. Not that she had to. The thrill of fucking herself with a piece of plastic, right in front of the cheating eyes of her husband, was too much.

"God, fuck meeeee!" she wailed, wrapping her legs around the buzzing tool that protruded from her wet snatch, and she grabbed at Tom, hugging him tightly as she rode through her come.

When it was over she sank back, reached down, flipped off the buzzing mechanism, and slowly extracted the vibrator from her snatch. "Thanks love," she murmured, and she kissed the thing where it was wet with her pussy juices. There was a sweet, piquant taste to the plastic, coated as it was with her own leakings, and she let her tongue glide up and down. "Oh, wow," she said finally, and she leaned over, put the vibrator back into its box, tucked it under her pillow. Tom was still propped on one arm, staring at her as if he'd never seen her before. "G'night, now," she said, blowing him a kiss, and she turned out the light. She stayed awake in the dark long enough to be sure that he was having a hard time getting to deep.

Oh, too bad, she thought, maybe Miss Honeybun won't like Professor Big Cock with bags under his eyes in the morning. And with a grin of satisfaction, she closed her eyes and went to sleep. It had been one hell of a good day.

The next morning was delicious! Tom didn't have any classes till ten o'clock and he even decided to eat breakfast with Joanne before he left for school. All through the meal he stared at her across the table, and she knew he was seeing her as he'd seen her last night, stroking her curt with the buzzing vibrator while he'd looked on, unbelieving. Think about it! she had signaled to him. "Will you be home for supper?" she asked. "I was planning to cook."

"No," he replied, "I, uh, don't think so. Some work I need to take care of."

She knew what kind of work he had meant. There was a guilty look in his eyes, and she could see it so damned clearly now. Had it been there all along? Had she only overlooked it in the past? No matter. As soon as he was out the door and into his car, she was on the telephone. The school records office gave her an address and phone number for student body member Alice Custer and, inventing freely, playing her pan like the actress she'd always wanted to be, she called the number and -- Lord God! -- actually spoke to Alice herself.

She recognized the voice immediately. It came across the telephone wires slightly distorted, the way it had sounded on the intercom box the day before. There was no longer the slightest doubt that this Alice bitch was the same person she'd eavesdropped on. And now it was time to see the girl, face to face, and confront her with what she knew.

Mmmm, Joanne thought, yesterday I couldn't have handled it, but today I am on top of the world. I've been to the mountain and I've looked down the other, side. Representing herself as a survey researcher for a women's study group based in Cleveland, she made an appointment to visit Alice at her off-campus apartment promptly at noon that day. Alice didn't have any afternoon classes and was free to be interviewed as long as necessary. And Tom was safely in the English building, with a full schedule of classes from ten till four. Possibly, Joanne thought, I'm interrupting a nooner for them, but it doesn't really bother me.

She had been expecting some sort of femme fatale, some stacked, bleached blonde with great legs and a penchant for feathered boas. So far she'd only heard Alice Custer's voice, never actually seen the girl in the flesh, and on her drive across town she amused herself by conjuring up mental pictures of her rival.

As it turned out, all her guesses were a mile off the mark. She knocked on the door and it opened a moment later.

She stepped into the apartment, not quite believing her first sight of Alice.

The girl was about twenty or twenty-one, a little taller than Joanne's five-four, and built on the same slender frame. Her hair was rusty blonde, frizzy-curled, cropped close to her head. She had a small sharp-featured face with large eyes and a neat pointed chin. Her mouth was wide and narrow-lipped, her nose slightly snubbed, and she wore oversized glasses with tinted frames. It would be difficult to call her pretty, let alone beautiful, and Joanne took two or three sharp breaths before sitting down on the small easy chair.

Alice was wearing a snug cotton t-shirt, nothing under it, and the shape of her tits was very obvious. They were fuller than Joanne's, with small taut nipples that stretched the cotton covering them. She also wore a loose tie-around skirt that looked like a piece of tablecloth. It was tied in the front and, when Alice sat down on the floor in a modified lotus position, the skirt opened and Joanne could see the younger woman's crotch and panties. The panties were tight and skimpy, white with a red heart printed across the crotch. There was a shadow at the edges of the crotchstrip, evidently tangled curls of hair peeking out.

Joanne cleared her throat, opened the satchel she'd brought along, and took out a couple of sheets of paper -- some junk mail she'd received a few days ago and never gotten round to throwing away. It looked enough like a questionnaire. "The first thing we'd like to know, Ms. Custer," she said in what sounded very much like an interviewers voice, "is..."

Alice leaned over, put her hand on Joanne's knee. "My name is Alice," she said, drawing back her lips, towing the smooth even tips of her white teeth. She had a nice smile.

"Alice, then," Joanne replied. "My name is, uh..."

"Joanne, you said on the phone."

She didn't recall mentioning her name on the telephone but she let it pass. "Yes, Joanne," she said, turning over the first sheet. "Now -- our study group is very interested in the status of women on college campuses today, in 1978. As you know, there are a number of new federal laws, not to mention the state ERA, but we want to find out if these are being followed scrupulously at the school level. Do you feel that you're discriminated against because of your sex?"

"Not on your life," Alice said. "If anything, quite the opposite. But maybe I have a different outlook from your group's. I enjoy being treated like a woman, not like one of the guys, you know?" Her hand was still resting on Joanne's knee. Joanne looked down, frowning. The pressure was light, but it was more than a little disconcerting. She wished she'd worn a pantsuit instead of jacket, blouse, and skirt.

Alice began to drum lightly on Joanne's knee, her fingers making a soft persistent tap on the skin, just below the hem of the skirt. She made a funny face, then slid a little closer. Her hand didn't fall away.

"Do you mind?" Joanne asked, pointing to the hand.

"Oh," Alice laughed. "I thought you'd be more comfortable that way, you being a feminist and all. I mean, we're both women, aren't we? And women shouldn't be uptight with one another. Not when we have so many other things to worry about. Right?"

Joanne nodded but she didn't say anything. She didn't know what to say. An old fleeting memory slipped into her mind, something from years ago, something she'd almost forgotten, pushed to the back of her memory. It hadn't meant anything, really. Just one of the silly things you do once in a while, when you're young and growing up and full of a newfound sexuality that you don't know what to do with... her first winter at college, and she was in rehearsal for her first play. Nothing big, just one of the dancers in "Carousel". But it was a start, and she was part of the whole glamorous, special world of college dramatics, and wasn't that why she'd come to college, to learn to be an actress? Of course it was. And there were no small parts, just small actors. Everyone knew that she had a lot of fun.

Rehearsals ran late, especially for the bigger production numbers, which were often hacked out when the principals had already gone home. Lots of coffee, half-smoked cigarettes, blocking. Some of the steps were beyond her ability, but she was game and eager, and one of the older girls in the dance chorus, a tall, lean-bodied brunette named Lisa, had offered to give her a hand, in the wee small hours when the rest of the crew had packed up and gone home.

They had a record of the tow's score and while it played, Lisa guided her through the steps, showing her how to move, when to jette, when to pile. She was the nicest, most helpful person a nervous freshman dancer could ever hope to run into.

"You're still too tight," Lisa had told her. "See? When you should be loose, your stomach is taut and tense, and your shoulders are set too high, and your legs too stiff. You can't get into it if you're not loose, darling, do you know what I mean?"

"I think so," Joanne had said, trembling in her leotard. It was very late and she was very tired. The janitor had already been in twice to find out if they intended to finish up soon so he could turn out the lights. "I just don't think I can do it."

"Sure you can," Lisa encouraged, slipping, her arm around Joanne's shoulders. She hugged affectionately, and the tips of her fingers slid around, came to rest on the edge of Joanne's left tit, snug under the leotard top -- but not so snugly that she didn't know when it was being touched. "You know," Lisa went on a moment later, turning Joanne around to face her, "I think you have a fantastic body and it would be so graceful in motion, if only you were more confident in yourself. You're sexy, but it's the raw, untaught kind of sexiness. Do you know what I mean? Have you ever -- you know? Have you?"

"A few times," Joanne confessed, "but I didn't really like it."

Lisa bent in, kissed the younger girl at the top of her forehead, just below the part in Joanne's chestnut hair, which she wore long and straight at the time. It was tied back in a taut bun this evening, because that's how, the other dancers wore their hair. Lisa touched the smooth, taut hair, and then she was busy unclasping it, shaking the hair loose so that it fell down Joanne's shoulders.

"That's better," Lisa purred, smoothing Joanne's hair with her fingers. She held up a lock, made it rub back and forth across Joanne's lip until the younger girl giggled nervously. What was Lisa up to, for God's sake?

"Come here," said Lisa, and she put her arms around Joanne, pulled her tight and warm, into an embrace. Joanne's tits rubbed Lisa just below her own, which were higher set, for she was several inches taller, and the sweaty tang of Lisa's boobs drifted up into Joanne's nostrils, made her twitch a little. "I want to do everything for you," Lisa said in that silky smooth voice of hers. "And first I want to show you how to get loose, really loose." She took Joanne's hand, and the younger girl was about to point out that they couldn't practice that way. But by then they were in the makeup room and Lisa had let go of Joanne, had let go and begun to unbutton the front of her leotard suit, slipping it off her shoulders.

Even while it was happening, Joanne could hardly believe that it was happening to her. She didn't know how to protest and, once things got started, she wasn't sure she wanted to protest. Lisa, naked, slender, almost breastless, skinned Joanne out of her leotards, settled her on the edge of a makeup chair, knelt between her legs, and reached into the younger girl's dark-furred crotch with both hands. "My God!" Joanne chirped as the fingers made first, sweet contact with her clit.

She'd never been touched that way before. Her boyfriends, the ones she had allowed to have sexual use of her body, had been so crude and direct. All they wanted to do was get their cocks into her, in her cunt, in her mouth, someplace they could fuck until they squirted their hot sticky goo. When she was a lot younger she'd sometimes experimented with her girlfriends, but it had all been innocent curiosity. None of them had really known what they were doing, and furtive games at pajama parties just seemed part of growing up.

And now -- now she was stretching her legs, grasping wildly at the head that moved into her opened crotch, moaning as a frisky snakelike tongue began to wiggle across her slit, into her pussy, making clever love to her erected clit. "Oh. God, Lisa -- pleeeeease!"

Please what? Please stop? Please don't stop? She didn't know. One of her thighs lifted, and she got her leg around Lisa's naked body, and she was leaning back, further back, in her chair, the edge of the makeup table stiff against her spine. It hurt a little, but what Lisa was doing felt so much better!

She reached down with one hand, eager to lend a finger's assistance. She found her clit, stroked it while Lisa was sucking sweet honey from her pussy hole, and then she was getting her finger licked by Lisa's frisky tongue, and she was coming, God, she was really coming, and she hadn't done it to herself, she'd actually done it with somebody else helping, the first time it had ever happened to Joanne in all her eighteen years. She slumped back, drained for the moment, really drained, worn out, exhausted, unable to do anything but lie there moaning and twitching and shivering.

Until Lisa stood up, tall and proud, her face beaming, her lips bent into a triumphant smile. "New you do me," she invited, offering her tiny tits with their long hard brown nipples, offering her scantily-haired pussy with its crinkly lips protruding. She sat down on Joanne's lap, brought the younger girl's mouth to her nipples, steered Joanne's hand into her crotch, and as the nipples wet in saliva and throbbed against Joanne's tongue, the young girl felt her middle finger willingly poke its way into Lisa's pussy, plunging deep into a tight wet hole whose walls were smooth as satin, whose walls snapped shut around her. Lisa's cunt began to milk at her finger the way Joanne's mouth was milking passionately at Lisa's dry lips. Before the evening was finished, Joanne had knelt on the floor and lapped nervously into Lisa's cunt, tasting the juices of another woman's snatch, and she had teased Lisa to a quivering orgasm that ended in body rubbing body and mouth sucking mouth, tongues dueling crazily back and forth.

She'd never done it again. The next morning she woke up frightened, feverish, certain that God had cursed her during the night with some frightful plague. It was only mono, but she'd managed to pass on the germs to Lisa last night and both of them had to drop out of the play on account of sickness. And when they met again, at another drama tryout, Joanne was still obsessed with the fear that had come to her after it was all over, and she avoided the girl and all her attempts to renew the acquaintance they'd begun in the makeup room. By that time she was dating a boy, and she was fucking him like a mink, proving to herself that she was a normal girl, that she wasn't one of those weird dykes she'd heard about in idle gossip, no matter if she had acted like one once, only once.

But, God, she used to think, it was so exciting, the way she made me come, the first other person who ever made me came, and her tongue on my clit, her nipples in my mouth, the way her pussy felt when my finger slipped inside and began to stir her juices round and round. Could it feel so good and still be so awful?

Thirteen years later she still didn't know, but the pressure of Alice's hand on her knee -- Tom's slut's hand! -- was making her feel very butterflyish in the stomach and she was having trouble getting her words out. She couldn't even remember the scenario she had planned to improvise around and she wondered if she really had the stuff to carry this off after all.

"I said," Alice repeated, looking up, "that you seem awfully tight for a member of the movement. Like, when I touch you here. Isn't that the right thing for women to do, to get loose with each other? Aren't we all sisters, after all?"

"I don't want to talk about it any more," Joanne said. "I really think I should be going, if it's all right with you. The group will probably be in touch with you again, if we continue this study, that is, I, uh..."

She got up, and Alice rose from the floor. Joanne stuffed the papers into her satchel case, thrust it under her arm, starting to turn. "Wait a second, would you?" Alice said, catching Joanne's other sand. Joanne turned slowly, and saw that Alice had taken off her glasses and fluffed her hair a little.

"What is it?" she said, and then Alice leaned in and kissed her all over the mouth and chin.

CHAPTER SIX

Sputtering, Joanne tried to break free of that crazy, unexpected assault, but it was like trying to take a leech off her flesh while wearing gloves. Alice reached in, grabbed for Joanne's tits, found them, tugged, pulling and kneading until the nipples were stiff and agitated against the fabric of Joanne's blouse. Alice panted heavily into Joanne's mouth, thrust her tongue inside and began to wiggle it, and then she started undoing the blouse.

She did it in a hurry, ripping buttons off, tearing the thing open all the way down to the waist. Her hand shot into the blouse and she was holding Joanne's tit, still kissing her, and she started pinching off the nipple which crowned the firm round tit in her tight grip. Joanne squirmed and fought, and her foot slipped on a throw tug. She felt herself falling, but Alice fell with her, and Joanne wound up on the bottom, still as pinned as she had been when she was standing up. "Stop it!" she moaned, slapping and kicking impotently. One of her shoes fell off, hitting the floor with a thump, and as she kept kicking, so did the other shoe. Her skirt was pulled up to her waist, and she could feel the floor through the thinness of her white panties. "Will you for God's sake let me up?" she stormed, but the younger girl was surprisingly strong and towed no intention of releasing her prey.

Alice started kissing the older woman's face and neck. She slurped her way into the undone top of her blouse, pushing it aside with her hands, and she got her lips firmly affixed to the straining tip of Joanne's left nipple.

"Aaaaaiieeeeeee!" Joanne screeched, pounding the floor with her fist. "Stop it stop it stop itttttttt!"

But Alice kept sucking, and she had one of her hands lower now, sliding it on the smooth firm upper curves of Joanne's thighs. Her fingers had a disconcerting way of slipping back and forth over the well-filled crotch of Joanne's tight panties, and it seemed they knew what they were doing. They began to trace the outline of Joanne's slit in the clinging nylon, pushing into the gash. Alice's hair smelled like jasmine and there was a sweet floral scent arising from her, but it was almost overwhelmed by the raw perspiration forming in all the hollows of Joanne's body. What in the name of God was happening to her? What kind of woman had her husband taken up with, for the love of slit?

Alice pushed aside the crotchstrip of Joanne's panties, got her finger in. The pubic hairs crackled as she stroked them, twined her way amid their clustering curls, and then she was fingering Joanne's slit itself, teasing the plump moist labes, getting at the smaller, more tender lips just inside, the tissue ringing the mouth of Joanne's hole itself. "Oh, no!" Joanne moaned as that finger wiggled and jiggled and popped within, stroking its way up and down her ticklish vulva, massaging her pussy's antechamber from clitoris to tunnel opening. Joanne began to sob and shake and plead for mercy, but she could not seem to break Alice's oral fix on her nipple.

Not even when Alice lifted her face, smiled up at Joanne in the sweetest, most innocent manner Joanne had ever seen, then dropped her head and began to suck the other nipple, this time using teeth and tongue as well as lips. She drooled her spit all over the end of Joanne's tit, she chewed the tender but pliable erection of the nipple, bit into the soft smooth flesh around the areola, and she bathed it all in her spittle, using her tongue to work the frothy drool around and into Joanne's skin. "Mmmmm," she puffed as she sucked, and there was a curiously intriguing vibration around and around Joanne's nipple. It was something like the action of the vibrator she'd exhibited for Tom last evening, but there was a subtle, significant difference. This vibrating had nothing to do with batteries. It was human, it came from a human mouth, and it fluctuated in patterns she couldn't predict in advance, so that the pressure let up without warning and then came back, strengthened anew, buzzing like a bee around her nipple's stubby peak.

Joanne's hand stopped thumping on the floor and she lay almost motionless. "Oh!" she moaned as that invading finger began to wiggle in and out of her pussy, punching her with short but effective strokes. She rolled over onto her side, Alice moving with her, still sucking, still finger-fucking, and she began to breathe heavily, her tit lifting and falling against Alice's mouth. She felt a thin flow of wetness start in her cunt as well, and she knew that her juices were bathing Alice's finger, making things that much easier for the wicked digit as it continued to probe Joanne's cunt.

"I don't know what you're doing," Joanne whimpered, "but I wish you'd stop! Please! Don't do that any more! Take your finger out of me! Let me up! You're biting -- softer, oh, do it softer -- yes, like that, just like that! No, wait, come back, I think -- no -- I don't know what I think..."

Eyes fluttering like those of a frightened bird, she sat up, puffing her blouse shut over her bare, moist tits, trying to slide her skirt back down to a decent position. Alice was squatting on the floor beside her, knees apart, and once again she could see the girl's crotch where the skirt wasn't long enough to cover it in front. And now -- now she was positive she could also see a thin line of moisture dampening Alice's panties. Alice smiled, gave a little shrug. She was obviously quite pleased with herself. "What the bloody hell do you think you were doing?" Joanne demanded, holding her torn blouse shut. Her knuckles were white and her head felt very giddy.

"Turning you on, I think," Alice replied. "Maybe turning both of us on?" She lifted her eyebrows, tilted her head to one side, and gave Joanne a quizzical look. "So?" she added. "Wasn't that better than some yucky vibrator? God, those things are obscene! Fingers are a lot nicer, if you can't find anything else, and somebody else's fingers -- mine for example -- can be better than best, if you know what I mean."

"How did you know -- I mean..."

"I was talking to Tom this morning, before his first class. Wow, you know you really scoped him out with that! He said it was almost like watching you with another man, and I said, 'Well, isn't that what you're trying to drive her to?' And he just looked at me, all weird-eyed and everything -- oh, of course I know who you are! I knew it as soon as you came in the door. Tom has your picture in his office. I used to see it every day while we were balling, till he finally started feeling guilty and put it in a drawer. I used to look at you and think, Wow, Mrs. Hickman, you oughta be here seeing what your old man's doing to me. Like, the reason you came over here is because you found out, isn't it? I'm not telling you something you didn't already know, am I? But just for the sake of formality, I'm Alice Custer and you're Joanne Hickman. Don't you think we have enough in common that we ought to be friends, really?"

Joanne sat back. She let her hand drop, and the blouse fell open again but she didn't notice. She was too busy staring at Alice and the frank, open expression on the young girl's face, and she was asking herself what in the hell is going on here? Really? What????

"You liked it, didn't you?" Alice went on, reaching for Joanne's hand. She took it in her own, squeezed it softly. Her eyes met Joanne's and she smiled with her eyes as well as her lips. "I used to feel really sorry for you, you know? Tom was making such a big deal over me and I knew he was selling you short at home, but there wasn't much I could do about it, I mean, you know how it is, but when he told me about what you did last night, I thought, wow, that lady is desperate! And then when you came over here and did that corny act as a lady interviewer, I thought, why not do something really nice for her? As a way of saying I'm sorry, I mean. Not that I'm really all that sorry, or anything, because, well, you already know that your old man is pretty hot stuff, but..."

"Why don't you shut the bloody hell up far a minute?" Joanne said, and she leaned across the foot or so of distance between them. She put her hand on Alice's shoulder and she leaned into the girl and kissed her fully on the lips. And as she did, she squeezed Alice's hand where it was clasped in her own, and she brought her other hand down the front of Alice's t-shirt until she'd found one of the girl's pear-shaped tits. She pressed her palm down upon the tit and its rigid little nipple and she pushed Alice back onto the floor, herself atop, and she hesitated only a second or two. "It's my turn now, I think," she breathed into Alice's sweet-scented, wet mouth, and she pulled up the girl's t-shirt and fisted the fleshy tit that seemed to jump at her hand, eager to get inside and be caressed.

"Oh, okay," Alice grinned, and she began to lick at Joanne's face.

The two women groveled together on the floor, and before she knew it, Joanne had Alice sitting up while she pulled the t-shirt off over her head. She leaned back, took a good look at her competition. Alice's tits were larger than Joanne's, but not too much larger. They had more hang to them, however, and the nipples were tiny-little pinpoint erections. The girl's nips were as pink as candy, and they stuck out for almost an inch, thin and hard spears of erectile tissue. Joanne sighed, covered the tits with her hands, felt the spear-like nipples burning her flesh. She squeezed more boldly, and Alice covered Joanne's hands with her own, purring, her eyes shut, her lips fluttering. "Oooh, that feels nice, really nice," she said. "You know what I really like about making it with another woman? She doesn't bruise you. She knows how to touch something delicate. Guys -- well, most guys, not counting your old man -- think that tits are made out of rubber. They want to stretch them out of shape and bounce them off the ceiling or something, really tacky, you know, and..."

"Shut up," Joanne said. "I don't even know why I'm doing this, but I know why I feel like stuffing a rag in your mouth. Do you always talk this much?"

"Only when I'm excited," Alice said. "And I'm really excited right now. I mean, I used to look at your picture while Tom was putting the blocks to me. Sometimes I'd stare at you while I was leaned over the desk and he was giving it to me doggy-style, and I'd wonder, why does it have to be this way? Like, why do we all have to sneak around and do things on the sly? You looked like a really nice person, you know, and there was the sexiest little glimmer in your eyes in that picture, and I'd think, wow, she's cool. I know she's cool. What if..."

Joanne stifled the girl's mouth with her hand. Alice grabbed at the fingers, worked them apart, got them into her mouth two at a time. She began to suck them and lick her way up and down, into the webbing where the fingers spread from the hand, back up to the nails. From time to time she looked up at Joanne, and her eyes were sparkling with delight. How, Joanne wondered, could I have thought this silly young girl was any threat to my marriage?

Because she was! Joanne could see behind the facade, we the youthful immaturity that was at the core of Alice Custer, but Tom couldn't. And she'd heard enough eavesdropping on the intercom to know that Tom had some dangerous ideas about Alice. After all, he'd said something about the possibility of them being together all the time, hadn't he? She'd talk him to death, Joanne decided. But she hadn't yet, had she? No, there was much more possibility that Tom would simply close his ears and let Alice fuck him to death first.

Was she really that good in the sack? Joanne took a deep breath. I think I'm going to find out, she told herself: "We can't stay here," she told Alice. "Is there someplace else?"

"Sure, there's the bedroom," Alice grinned, standing up with Joanne. She had her t-shirt in one hand she was playing with her nipples as she led Joanne across the small but neat living room, into the bedroom. Her au wiggled as she walked, and the longer back part of the skirt twittered round her ankles.

"Here we are," Alice said, opening the door. It was about as big as the living room, the walls painted in a fresh-looking coat of pink. A teddybear sat on the top of a chest of drawers and there were pictures everywhere -- photographs in and out of frames, and a couple of bold but amateurish watercolors. One was of a nude male. Joanne leaned closer, took a good look at it. The model had been her husband. He was posed on a couch, probably the one in Alice's living room, and he was naked. His cock was erect, and it looked gigantic in the picture. "Oh," Alice said, leaning over Joanne's shoulder. As she did, she reached around and cupped Joanne's tit where it hung from her undone blouse. "Do you like that? I really think he's a beautiful guy, you know? Not macho -- but something like, oh, I don't know, like Al Pacino, maybe. You know, it's weird, but I started balling him because I wanted to get a good grade in his class. Whole classic brownnose syndrome, I guess. But the more we did it, oh, wow! The wilder it made me feel, and I think I just got hooked on him. Oh, what am I telling you for? You know what he's like! Zowweee, huh?"

"He was," Joanne agreed, watching Alice undo her skirt, watching the skirt slide down Alice's legs. She had good legs, a little fuller-thighed than Joanne thought really attractive, but the curves were all there, and they did curve, didn't they? Alice put her hands on her hips and posed, and she was really quite a nice looking girl, much more so than Joanne had thought at first sight. Of course, Joanne hadn't been kissed and masturbated and sucked on when she made her first evaluation of Alice, either. "He was," Joanne said, "until he lost interest in me."

"Oh, I'm really sorry," Alice said, so sincere it could bring tears to your eyes, "I told you, I didn't think it would get as deep as it has. Let me make it up to you, hmmm?" And she came to Joanne, helped her out of blouse and skirt, knelt at Joanne's feet and pulled down the older woman's panties as well. "Nice," Alice said, looking up. "I mean, it's really cute, you know? Not a lot of cunts are good to look at, if you see what I mean. Some of them are kinda ugly, with the labes hanging out and stretching halfway to the lady's knees, and I guess it's just nature's way, but I always get kinda queasy when I see something like that, and I don't know if I want to lick them or not, you know..."

She was like a fucking magpie! Joanne put her hands on Alice's head and said, "Eat it, would you?" and she pulled Alice's face into her crotch. Alice reached up, grabbed Joanne's ass, and it was a good thing she did, because the girl knew how to eat a pussy. "Oh, Christ!" Joanne moaned as the tongue began to play wickedly across her labes, between them and out again, brushing with clockwork precision across the tip of Joanne's stiffened clit. Ronnie had eaten her yesterday, or tried to, but he was so inexperienced. There was nothing amateurish about Alice Custer. When she licked a pussy, she licked a pussy.

"Let me sit down," Joanne panted, staggering back toward the edge of the queen-size bed. She planted her ass on the bed and Alice came with her, not stopping for a moment in her gay eating of Joanne's snatch. She kept purring and slurping as she mouthed, and she had her fingers on Joanne's labes, pulling them open, baring the red button of Joanne's clit so she could lick it and kiss it and work it with her playful tongue. "Sweet Jesus!" Joanne groaned, reaching up to caress her itching tits. "Sweet, sweet Jesus!"

Sweet Jesus indeed! She'd come here only to get a look at the girl her husband was screwing on the side. She had not expected that she would wind up on the girl's bed, with her legs spread, being eaten by the randy tongue of Tom's student mistress. Where did I lose control? she asked herself. When I thought about Lisa? When she put her hand on my leg? Or when she fought me onto the floor and started to play with my cunt. God, this can't be happening!

But it was, and she knew that for certain as soon as Alice's tongue began to thrust like a wet dick into the convulsing mouth of her pussy. She reached for Alice's head, stroked the frizzy red-blonde hair, pushed the younger girl deeper and ever deeper into her twat, at the same time raising her thighs to trap Alice's face and push her cunt up at Alice, to smear the leakage of juices all over the girl's questing mouth. God, she thought, what is with the younger generation? What is with me, letting her do this to me?

She knew what was with herself. She dug the fuck out of it! She enjoyed being eaten, loved it almost as much as being fucked, and it had been so long since her cunt had been eaten properly. So long! Joanne fell back onto the bed, and her snatch region was even higher now. Alice had risen with it and was perched over Joanne's pussy like Dracula poised above a sleeping virgin, and old Drac couldn't have gotten the jollies from blood that Alice Custer was apparently getting from Joanne Hickman's cuntal juices. For they were flowing! God, how they flowed! Joanne felt as wet as if she'd pissed, but she knew she hadn't, knew that it was only her twat responding the way it always responded to a mouth that knew how to worship and devour a aunt. Maybe more, because it had been so long since her pussy was last eaten so royally. But she was making up for that long dry spell now, making up in a big way. She could hear Alice's mouth squishing as it continued to eat her pussy, which was as juicy as a ripe orange.

"Suck me!" she moaned. "Really suck me, you know? Eat me, slurp your tongue in and out of me -- yes -- lick my clit, too! God, that's the way! Oh, I love it love it love it love it love itttttt! Don't stop -- don't ever stop. Eat me till hell freezes over and my pussy goes dry! Oh, God, yes, lick my thigh too! It tickles but I like it!" She was out of control now, totally out of control, giggling and moaning and kicking her legs high into the air. She clawed at the bedspread on which she lay, and she found herself thinking, well, both members of the Hickman family have been ravished on this particular bed, haven't they? Could Tom have enjoyed it a tenth as much as she was, row? She didn't think so.

She started to come, and she got her thighs snugly around Alice's face, pulling the young girl's mouth into her sweet musky damp. "Eat me, darling, eat me!" she yipped, and she used her hands, too, making sure that Alice could not give way to any second thoughts, that she would carry this through to the very completion. No turning back now, she thought. No turning back until I spray her face with my cum!

If anyone had told Joanne Hickman yesterday that this day she would be coming like a banshee into the mouth of her husband's young paramour, she'd have thought them crazy. And if they'd told her that almost with the last spasm of her wrenching come she would be dragging Alice onto the bed, laying the girl out like a turkey for the Thanksgiving oven, bending into Alice's panty-covered crotch, sniffing the juices that leaked from the younger girl's pussy, that she would even lick the trail of wet that showed on the printed heart symbol, her fingers scratching impulsively at the pussy hairs that protruded from the edges of the tight panties -- well, she wouldn't have believed a word of it. But she was doing it, and she damned sure believed it when she pressed her mouth against Alice's panties and sucked in the smell and taste of that twenty-year-old cunt, moaning, "Let me have it, let me have it, oh, please let me have it!"

Somehow they got Alice's panties off, the two of them working together, and Alice wasn't talking much now. Her nipples quivered with excitement and her face was flushed in anticipation, and she thrust her finger down onto her pie as soon as the panties slid free, baring it. "There," she groaned, "there, that's where I want it -- right there!" and she was jabbing her finger in and out of her young twat, withdrawing it when it was coated with the frothy juices of her hole.

Joanne grabbed Alice's hand, brought the wet finger to her mouth, sucked it clean and dry. "Mmmm," she purred as tier lips and tongue did their job, and she was as excited as she had been that night thirteen years ago when Lisa seduced her in the makeup room at the university theater. But, she told herself, I'm not going to feel a Goddamned bit guilty when this is over. Not a Goddamned fucking bit!

She wiggled Alice out of the panties, threw them off the bed, then knelt a long moment staring at the sweet target between the younger girl's twitching thighs.

Alice's snatch was lovely, a fat bun of flesh with the tiniest, cutest crack imaginable. She had a fluff of dark golden hair on her cunt, not a lot of fur, but it curled and swirled across her puffy mons and one or two of the stray wisps were lying across Alice's gash, calling the eye irresistibly toward that promising little ravine. Shivering with excitement, Joanne threw herself onto Alice. She put her hands on the girl's twat, cracked it open, and she began to eat it, hungrily, greedily, her tongue ramming in and out of Alice when she wasn't busy licking the girl's clit.

A great clit! Large, eminently suckable. Joanne sucked it and she started to fuck in and out of Alice's hole with two stiff fingers. God, it was tight! She remembered overhearing them yesterday, remembered Tom saying something about Alice's pussy being tight enough to crack nuts. And when the girl clenched her well-tuned muscles, made her pussy walls contract rapidly around Joanne's fingers, Joanne was almost sorry she didn't have a cock and couldn't fuck the little slut as pussies like Alice's were meant to be fucked. The way Tom fucked it. Hot and hard, with eight inches of driving meat. Joanne frowned. No matter what happened in the next couple of minutes, she still had that to contend with. Her husband had been unfaithful to her and, except for an accident, she might never have found out.

And here she was now, sucking the clit other husband's lover, ramming fingers in and out of the hole that had (how many times?) been sticky with the goo of Tom's cum. Damn it, what was she going to do about all this? Oh forget it for the moment! Just enjoy!

Enjoy was precisely what she did. She grabbed Alice's clit in her clenched lips, worried it like a dog playing with a bone, and the younger woman went stone-bone crazy, screaming and kicking and pulling. Joanne's hair in a frenzy of emotional release. "Oh, Christ, yes!" Joanne heard Alice wail, her young voice cracking under the strain. Yes, Joanne thought, and she angled her mouth tighter and closer into the pussy that was opened before her like an oyster on the half shell.

She kept fucking with her fingers, and her lips teased the clit until mouth and button alike were raw and tingly with stimulation and lust. And then, at the precise moment when she'd have wanted a change of attack, if she had been in the receiving end of the field, Joanne jerked her fingers out of Alice and lowered her lips to the hole she'd been digitally penetrating. Her mouth closed over the entry to Alice's depths, anti she started sucking.

Honey liquid bubbled forth into her sucking mouth, and she felt the tingly, tangy flavor of Alice on the end of her tongue. Mmmmm! she thought. It is fucking delicious! And she thrust her tongue in, scooping up more and more of the sweet flow. Sweeter than wine it was. Joanne nuzzled in the flow of nectar and she kept licking her way in and out of Alice, stabbing up the quivery passageway with her tongue, penetrating the girl where she fucking lived. She could feel the younger woman's body growing hot where it touched her own, and she knew that she was getting pretty damned hot, too. A little trickle of goo was starting to run from her own pussy, down the insides of her thighs. Sighing, Joanne worked her thighs together, squeezed the itchy lips of her pussy, and she used her tongue with more and more frenzy in Alice, frenzy that matched the gurgling intense moans that seeped from Alice's trembling lips.

Alice grabbed for Joanne's ankle and locked her fingers around it. "Let me do you, too!" she pleaded. "I really want to eat you, now, while you're eating me. Let's do it together, baby, oh, together!"

Why not? Joanne thought, and she let herself be dragged around, until she was in position above Alice, the 6 mounting the 9. Not once in that switch of angle had she let go of her oral command of Alice's pussy, and she didn't know if she ever wanted to let it go. My God, she thought, it's incredible -- my husband takes himself a mistress, one of his students no less, and here I am, gobbling her goobers and squashing mine down upon her face. Yesterday I heard her sucking and fucking my husband in his office, and today it's us doing it, my mouth on her snatch, her tongue punching into me like a wiggly little peter. I think I'm going crazy. But it's the only way to go.

She'd already climaxed once, while Alice was on the floor eating her cunt, and she knew that it was only a matter of minutes -- perhaps seconds -- until she came again. She could feel it in her guts, that churny, butterfly sensation, almost as if she'd been drinking on an empty stomach. And her head was floating around and around, too, and it was all she could do to keep her mind on her work, keep her mouth glued to Alice's twat, keep her tongue scooping in and out to feed herself on the fragrant honeysuckle that flowed out to wash her face in fuck. She knew that Alice was getting a mouthful, too, that her juices were oozing from her pussy walls with the same abundant excitement, and she could feel the tongue entering her again and again and again. Maybe it was the best head she'd ever gotten. She wasn't sure, it was so long since she'd gotten any good head at all, but if it wasn't the best, it was a million times better than the servicing she'd been forced to give herself with her fingers, with her pink plastic vibrator even, and she really hated him, hated him, hated him!

She hated him for causing all of this, for it if hadn't been for his infidelities, she wouldn't have gone all these months longing for love and satisfaction, she wouldn't have come to visit Alice Custer, she wouldn't have allowed herself to be seduced into lesbianism for the second time in her life. But she didn't feel the guilt that had begun to overtake her even during the act itself that other time. And she knew that even tomorrow, when her head had cleared, she wouldn't feel that guilt. She'd think back and remember that it was good, that it fulfilled her to make oral love with Alice. And, she told herself, I'll probably want to do it again!

God, she wasn't finished with this round and already she wanted to do it again! She wanted to spend the rest of the day on this bed, in this position, neither of them bothering to disconnect. Just catch a breath after the mad rush of orgasm, then do it again!

But wouldn't it be a good idea to hit that orgasmic peak first? she couldn't help asking herself. Yes, it really would, her semi-conscious mind replied, and she pried a little harder with her fingers, getting Alice more open, and her tongue began too rove up and down the small pink antechamber of Alice's cunt.

Alice was sucking Joanne now, just sucking her, sucking the whole expanse of the pussy, and Joanne lifted her face a moment, howling her delight toward the ceiling. "Now, yes, nowwwwwww!" The echo made her think of coyotes on the wild western desert, and that was kind of a giggle, really, but she couldn't waste time laughing about it, not when her cunt was about to explode and the smell of the pussy waiting for her to eat came wafting up into her nostrils, the sweet smell of Alice's wet little ruby fruit jungle. Moaning, beginning to hump out her orgasm, Joanne slammed her face down upon Alice's twat, and she ate until she felt the matching convulsions begin to ripple their way through Alice's cuntal tube. Yes, feed me, she thought, sucking up the hot juices that oozed and bubbled from the hole, feed me, feed me, feed me!

"I don't see where there's any problem," Alice Custer said, puffing lazily on a fat joint of sweet-burning grass. She washed it down her throat with a swallow of cool red wine, and handed the joint to Joanne, who took a demure inhalation. Joanne didn't smoke but it seemed impolite to refuse. The smoke hovered around her head, and if she weren't already stoned from the sex they had shared, she could have gotten high merely from breathing.

"I mean," Alice went on between tokes, "it seems to me that, with everything out in the open, it's cool all around you know? Like, Tom is coming over to see me after finishes his last class. I guess it'll be the usual thing -- we'll have dinner and get a little fucked up, then hit the sack and ball for a couple of hours. So why not, when he comes in the door, why can't the first thing he sees be you? And you can tell him you're in on the secret and we can all sit down and talk it over, and three to one we'll come to a settlement that satisfies everybody. Doesn't that sound civilized and really modern?"

"Yes, it does," Joanne said, "but you're forgetting something. You're forgetting the agony I've gone through for the last few months. My husband turned off completely in the bedroom, me not knowing the reason, whether it was just him, or whether I'd done something wrong, and if that wasn't bad enough, the way I had to find out! Like, I mean, everybody, in the English department knows about you and Tom, and here I am, hearing it on the intercom. It was really, you know -- my God, I'm starting to sound just like you! Anyway, I feel that I'm entitled to something more than the chance to tell Tom, it's okay, we can all be cool about this. What I want, specifically, are his balls. I'll give them back, of course, but I want them. Listen, what time is it? Going on two? Good God! It seems like I only just came in the front door with my satchel and fake questionnaire. I really wasn't that corny, was I? If you hadn't known who I was, you'd have bought it, right? I mean, I'm -- I was -- an actress, and a pretty good one, I like to think. Oh, damn it, I don't want to be here when Tom arrives. I'm not ready to face him and be all sweetness and light. Not just yet. I need some time to think. Maybe I'll go home and mull it over."

"Whatever you want," Alice said, crushing the joint in an ashtray, "but I still think I had a good idea. Listen, there's no use holding grudges. It won't give you back one drop of the cum he squirted into me. Why don't you just..."

Joanne was already on her feet, reaching for her panties. "Not yet," she repeated. "First I have to think. And then -- well, I don't know what will happen then. First I have to think."

CHAPTER SEVEN

It was astonishing how good she felt, walking from the car to the house. Her step was light and airy, and she was whistling and humming a Broadway show tune. She couldn't remember what it was but it sounded good and it was really a gorgeous day, too, springtime in all its glory. If she could only figure out how to pay Tom back, perhaps it would be the nicest day of her whole life.

She was in the kitchen looking for a snack about five minutes later when she heard the doorbell ring. A traveling salesman? Probably. Shit! She closed the refrigerator door and went out to get the door, mentally rehearsing her stock of snappy putdowns that would get rid of whoever was come to bother her this busy afternoon. She opened the door and couldn't think of anything to say. Except maybe, "Ronnie?"

It was. Ronnie Spencer, the boy from yesterday. Joanne blushed scarlet as she stared at him, and she reached up to fiddle with her hair. She was at a loss for words, and she kept seeing flashes of that cruddy trailer and herself going from one to another of those three boys, not stopping until she'd fucked or sucked them all.

"Can I come in?" he asked. Joanne nodded. Maybe she should have slammed the door in his face? God, she thought as he stepped past her into the house, how in the bloody hell had he figured out where to find her? She had not been that drunk the day before. She hadn't told him her last name or anything about her identity.

"How..."

"Did I find you? Well, I told you that I knew I had seen you somewhere, right? And, in case you forgot, I cut your husband's class yesterday. There was a writing assignment in class, and I went in this morning to see about making it up, and as soon as I knocked on his door I remembered. Your picture. It was on his bookcase. Funny, I didn't see it today, but I remembered it as clear as day. And I didn't forget what you'd said about him, either, about how you used to fuck him. Remember? That's what you were talking about when they threw us out of the Blue Ball? So I put two and three together and came up with five. Your number's in the phone book, and your address, and I just walked over from campus. I-I wanted to see you again, and tell you I was sorry..."

"Sorry for what? Maybe I should apologize to you. I must have been a real spectacle yesterday, Ronnie. And I did leave you in the lurch. But I was drunk, and I was pissed off, really, and, well, I just wanted to do things I'd never done before, all kinds of things. I thought maybe it would make me feel better."

"I guess I blew it, huh, when I told you about your husband and Alice Custer?"

"No, of course not, oh, sit down, will you? I can't talk standing up. It's not civilized. Better." They were both on the couch, perhaps a foot apart, and he kept looking down at the floor, a little sheepishly. Poor thing, Joanne thought. He's really rather shy, isn't he? She reached over, took his hand. He looked up. "I'd really found put," she said. "All you told me was her name. And, thinking clearly, I should be a little grateful." She smiled, then, impulsively, she leaned over and kissed him on the mouth.

His lips were warm against hers, warm and slightly moist, and she thought they tasted rather sweet. The slightest tang of beer on his breath, and he'd eaten something with anion, too. She put her hand on his shoulder and her tits touched his body. She was wearing a pullover she'd borrowed from Alice to replace her torn blouse, but her boobs were bare underneath and, as she pressed against his chest, she felt her nipples engorging. "Ohhhh," she hummed into Ronnie's mouth, and she felt his tongue flick against her lips.

His hand came up, and he was touching her stomach. Why not? Joanne sighed, and she reached down, guided his hand up to her breast. He cupped her, gently at first, and then he began to squeeze, feeling her taut hard nipple. She could feel it, too. Her tongue stabbed into Ronnie's mouth and he began to suck it vigorously. Oh, hell, why not? she thought then, and her hand dropped into his lap.

Didn't she really owe him one? He hadn't gotten the chance to do her yesterday, not all the way. They'd been rocking and rolling in mid-fuck when his roommates barged in, and after that -- well, she didn't want to think too long about after that. It was all in the past. Yesterday she was a woman scorned, a woman out to get sexual revenge. A little dank, too, and beyond the paint of caring. Now, she was kissing Ronnie, feeling him and being felt in return, knowing that her body was responding to him, that she was responding to him as well.

What could it hurt? After all, wouldn't Tom Hickman be pumping his dick into Alice Custer's sweet tasty crack in another two or three hours? God, she thought, amused, he gotten more fucking in the last twenty-four hours than I have in the last three months! And she was on the verge of getting some more, if that bulge in Ronnie's pants meant what it seemed to mean.

"Well," she said, "what would you say to picking up where we left off yesterday? Before your friends came along?"

"They're not my friends," he said stoutly. "We had a fight. I moved out of the trailer this morning. Later this afternoon I'm supposed to see a couple of people who have places for rent."

"Did you fight about me?" Joanne asked, squeezing his pecker bulge. He shifted about, looked uncomfortable, then nodded. "Oh, that's sweet! Do you know that nobody's fought over me since I was in the third grade? And you didn't come out of it too badly. No scars. Makes it all the nicer to kiss and touch you. Oh, don't be so skittish! Are you tight because I happen to be your teacher's wife? Well, I'm not sure if your teacher would care all that much, even if he knew you were here and that I was unzipping your pants and taking out your pretty cock and bending right down, just like this, and..." She had the tip of him in her mouth, and she knew as she sucked that he wouldn't get soft until he finished the job he'd started yesterday at the trailer -- until he shot a thick hot load of his cum up her twitching twat. And that was fine with Joanne. Super.

When she was naked, standing by the couch, he put his hands on her ass and kissed her belly. His tongue flitted in and out of her navel, then licked gently downwards into the curls of her dark bush. She felt him touch her labes, but it wasn't the knowing, sure kind of licks she'd gotten from Alice today. Maybe it was true. Maybe only another woman could make oral love to a pussy in that perfect way. But as she clutched Ronnie's head, pulled him into her moist crotch, she knew that with a little experience the boy could do a damned good job all the same. And she was pretty sure where he could get the experience he needed. Why not? If her husband was entitled to a playmate, wasn't she? "Don't bite, darling," she whispered, stroking his head. "Just make love to me."

Actually, she was still excruciatingly tender-twatted from the lovemaking she'd gotten at Alice Custer's apartment. The slightest touch of his tongue on her labia reminded Joanne of the frantic eating she had both received and dished out a little earlier in the day, and she closed her eyes, seeing it clearly, the two of them rolling on the bed, mouth to cunt and cunt to mouth, sucking and biting and licking until the flames of orgasm fired up in each of their bellies and they smeared their wet juices all over one another's mouths. Afterwards they'd kissed the sticky goo off each other's lips, tasting their own cuntal secretions, and it had been so sweet, so lovely, she knew she'd have to do it again, and soon, and she didn't care if Tom found out. He'd lucked onto a good thing, but he couldn't hog it for himself. No, she would have to have her share of Alice, too. But that was for later. Now was for Ronnie.

He caressed her ass while he licked her twat, and she groaned. "What's this?" he asked, leaning around and staring at the scratches on her hips. They were reddish streaks, the claw marks Alice had made when she was deep into the act of receiving Joanne's cum. There were similar scratch marks on Alice's thighs and ass. Each of the women had kissed those, too.

"Nothing that you should worry about," she said, and she pulled Ronnie to his feet. His stiff cock was sticking out of his unzipped pants, and she stared down at it, lusting, drooling. She didn't know if she'd rather suck him dry or fuck the cum out of his rod. Ah, sweet temptation! She grabbed his pecker, squeezed it up and down while he stood shaking with his need, and then both of them were undressing him, pulling off his shirt and pants and shorts, getting him down to the bare essentials as quickly as possible.

"I think I want you to fuck me," she said. "You can even throw in a little rape, if that idea gets you off, mnmmmm? In fact -- if you want me, you'll have to catch me first!" She pushed him and he fell back onto the couch, his cock sticking up. Joanne turned and ran, her bare ass wiggling, and she heard his patting footsteps coming after her in hot pursuit.

She went to the kitchen door, considered running into the backyard. But the neighbors would see and probably call the police. No, it would have to be inside. Damn it. If she ever got a house of her own, it would have a high hedge, protecting her from the peering eyes of busybody neighbors. And if she wanted to fuck her ass off in the grass, she could do it. God! She was just turning to take another course when Ronnie came up behind her. He grabbed her sore buns and spun her around, and they melted into an embrace, his bare cock hard and stiff between their pressing bodies, and she swallowed his tongue until she couldn't stand another moment of waiting. She broke loose from his lips, dropped to her knees, fed his cock into her mouth and began to suck him with the voraciousness of a hungry tiger.

"Oh, yeah!" he panted in delight, holding her by the skull while she worked her lips up and down on his prick.

She took him deeply, almost to the balls, and her mouth hungered for still more. She worked his cock with her fingers while she suckled his knob, and she was rewarded with the sweetest drop of early cum. It oozed from. Ronnie's dick onto the tip of her tongue, and she savored it like an oenophile with a glass of 1864 Lafite-Rothschild.

"Mmmmmm," she purred, swirling her tongue around nun, randy and ready, almost hoping he'd disgorge his sweet load of jism and fill her mouth with the delicacy of his semen.

But he didn't. His cock throbbed, and as it pulsated against her lips and tongue, she knew that she wouldn't be content until she'd fucked him, fucked him to a blistering orgasm that mingled both their juices. Both their juices!

She moved her thighs together, squeezed off her pussy, felt the abundant flow of viscosity from her gash. She was ready! God, she was more than ready! Joanne stood up, offered him her lips to kiss, and she said, "Let's do it right here. You've caught me. I'm all yours." She moved past him, to the dishwasher. "Here?" she said. "Can you reach me with your prick? Climb up here and open my legs and pooch out my little cunt for you?"

"If I can't, I'll get a stepladder," Ronnie said in a low, growly voice. He came toward her, his cock wiggling and red-knobbed. She spread her legs and he seemed to melt right into her. Neither of them touched his dick. They didn't have to. It must have smelled the arousal of her dripping twat. He leaned close and his cock jumped right into her open, wet hole. She put her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist and she pulled him into her sex, and he began to fuck her, precisely the way she needed to be fucked at that moment. Hard and fast, his prick stabbing into her again and again and again, till her well-used cunt screamed for mercy but her body wouldn't give that mercy, because her body needed to be used, again, now!

"That's it," she said, "that's really it! Oh, Lord, Ronnie, were you doing this well yesterday when we had to stop?"

"Fuck yesterday!" he said. "Let's fuck for now!"

"Sounds -- great -- if you can -- oooohhhh -- deliver..."

"Try this on for size, Mrs. Professor Hickman," and he started working into her from three or four different approaches, banging Joanne all over the top of the dishwasher. She'd have fallen off but for the grip of her legs around his waist and thighs, for she let go with her arms and waved them above her head...

"Ofuckinle!" she yelled. "Hey, toro!"

His cock was a raging bull in her cunt. Not a big cock, but Jesus, it felt big enough to do the job and what else really counted? He did the corrido into her, out of her into her again, and he kept lifting her legs higher and higher, slipping down to let them past Joanne rocked back against the wall and her legs were slung over his shoulders and he had her lifted as high as she would lift and still allow his cock any penetration of her pussy. And when he penetrated! Sweet God! She wasn't sure she'd ever been touched in some of the places Ronnie Spencer was pumping his pecker, and she wanted, needed, to be touched there again. "Fuck me, Ronnie!" she whimpered. "Oh, really fuck me! Shove that cock into my belly! God, I can feel it coming up into my throat!"

She grabbed one of her tits -- Ronnie was hanging onto the other one -- and between them they managed to squeeze the hell out of her nipples. Her tits ached from the heavy sucking Alice had given them, and they felt so fantastic when they were tweaked now, a mixture of pain and delight that she found absolutely intoxicating.

Her other hand she dropped into her lap. She touched his cock, ringing it with her thumb and finger as it stroked relentlessly in and out of her twat, and sometimes she let her knuckles brush the nubby tip of her clitoris, making series of throbs and quivers shoot through her entire body.

"Yes," she told him, "this is what it's all about -- what everything's all about -- give it to me, do it to me, fuck me fuck me fuckkkkkkk!"

And like magic the quivering began inside her belly, no more than an inch or two front the depth his prick was reaching with its speeding plunges, and she knew that she had only to let go of her emotions, that she was almost there. Do it, she thought, do it! Come for him, Joanne!

And she came. In sobs and moans and gushes of hot juice around the barrel of his cock. She twisted and arched her back and writhed all over the flat top of the dishwasher, and he kept pounding his cock into her cunt, driving it deeper and deeper and faster and faster, and she caught a fleeting glimpse of his face, saw the agonized intensity written all over his countenance. She thought, Yes, he's almost there too, and he's going to spill his fuck juice up me, right where I want it, where I need it, to drown the blazing fires in my belly.

But it won't drawn them, she reminded herself. It will only intensify the things I already feel, and that's best of all, really.

"Do it!" she told him. "Come with me, oh, please come with me!" His face was twitching into the grimace men always got just before they blow their nuts. She'd seen it so often on Tom. His monster mask, she used to call it, and they'd laughed about that, back in the days when they still laughed, when he had time to be with her, to love her, to fuck her. Was all that finished? She wasn't sure.

And then she couldn't think about it at all because Ronnie was moaning and his lips were drawn back to show his clenched teeth and he was going "Uhhhhhhh..." and his cock lunged up her pussy tube and it began to shake inside her, and she could feel each blast of his ejaculation as it poured out of her belly. The cum, the sweet cum, the nectar of life, blasting into her womb, her pussy clenched tight around his cock as he fired and fired and fired, and she lost count of how many separate jolts he hammered into her, but there were a lot of them, and she felt his cum all thick and cloggy in her tube long before he went soft and slipped out of her. The jism, too, began to leak from her snatch, thick, white as milk where the big drops of semen clung to her dark-colored pussy hairs.

Ronnie slouched, stepped back, panting like a runner, and his cock hung limp and sticky, smeared in white, and she was limp and sticky and her pussy smeared with white, too, the white that ran from her slice in a little stream of cream. She looked down at his dick, at her hole, and she saw the fluids running out of her, wasting. She couldn't stand that. Impulsively, Joanne reached into her crotch, used a finger to scoop up the leaking semen. She brought her white finger to her mouth, licked it pink, stabbed it downward again and brought more of the sweet cum to her hungry lips. Ronnie watched, his eyes big, his face flushed with pride and masculinity.

It was an occasion for champagne, but the closest Joanne could come to it was a bottle of Rhineskeller Moselle that was cooling in the refrigerator. She poured big glasses for herself and Ronnie, and they went naked and satiated, for the moment, into the living room, sprawling on the couch. It was a little after three o'clock.

"It was good," Ronnie said. "I don't think it's ever been that good for me. I really didn't think I was much of a fuck, but now it seems to me that maybe I just hadn't met the right woman, you know?"

"Sssshhh," Joanne teased, rubbing her finger across his lips. "Don't get in too deep. Remember, I'm a married woman."

He frowned. "It's not fair," he said. "I mean, your husband doesn't want you. He's found another woman, and you know what they say, in the dark they're all alike? He doesn't want you and I do. If he's happy in the dark, I'd like to be with you. In the light. Do you know what I mean? I'm not even sure if I do."

"I think I do," Joanne said, and her eyes were sparkling. Wheels were turning behind those eyes, and she shivered.

"Wait a fucking minute!" she said, putting down her wineglass and turning to the telephone. "I think I have it! I really think I know how to straighten everything out! And preserve some of my own dignity in the bargain." She began to dial the phone. Ronnie was stroking her ass, and she turned to him. "Please," she said, "I'm liable to forget this brainstorm if you distract me. And if things work the way I'm sure they will, you'll have plenty more chances to touch my ass. Or anything else of mine you feel like touching. Know what I mean, hmmmm?" She smiled, and he had a lost, forlorn look about him, as if she'd just told him to put on his pants and get his feet moving down the street. Oh, if she got bleeding-hearted now, she'd miss her chance, and she couldn't afford to do that.

"Hello, Alice?" she said. "Its me, Joanne. Listen close. He isn't there yet, is he? Don't expect him till a little after four? Okay. One of your classmates just gave me an inspiration. Not to mention one hell of a fucking. But right now the inspiration is what matters. Tell me if this sounds ridiculous, but do you think that maybe you and I could arrange to [missing text]."

CHAPTER EIGHT

It was about half past four when Tom Hickman knocked on Alice Custer's door. She went to let him in, slipping her glasses up onto her forehead as he came through the door and swept her up into his arms for a lingering kiss. She was wearing a t-shirt and clean blue panties and, as he held her, he let one hand slide down to her ass. He started pinching and caressing the smooth firmness of her buttocks and, in a moment, his hand was inside her panties, stroking her crack. "Nice," Alice giggled, biting his neck. She was on tiptoes, her ripe ass wiggling from side to side, and her tits, braless under the thin t-shirt, were making nipple pecks onto his chest. "I take ft you're glad to see me," she added, stepping down.

"When am I not?" Tom wanted to know. She walked past him and he patted her fanny. His finger worked into her crack, giving Alice a friendly welcoming goose, and she squealed in delight. Goddamn, she thought, maybe I shouldn't be doing this after all.

"Let's go to bed right now," she said. "I can call out for food later. Mmmm, I don't want to eat food, I want to eat your dick!"

And as she spoke, she hooked a thumb in her panties and jerked down, suddenly baring part of her golden beaver. It was only a moment's exposure, but Tom began to grin and his eyes sparkled with anticipation. He made for Alice, his hands spread, ready to grasp her. "Let's not even bother with bed," he suggested.

"No!" Alice giggled, skipping out of his reach into her bedroom. "You wait outside a minute. I want to put on something cute and just a little kinky. This time, I'm going to be your sweet obedient slave."

"Okay, but hurry," he said, and he fondled his crotch meaningfully. It was already starting to bulge with excitement.

Alice closed the door, hurried to her, bed. The outfit was already laid out, and she stripped quickly, got into the costume. Black lace bra and panties, with the crotch of the panties cut out so that her pubic hair protruded. Black garter belt, black-tinted stockings. I feel like the Dragon Lady or something, she thought. Last of all, a little choker went around her neck and looked very much like a dog's collar. She found that really kinky, but it was kind of fun to have it on, since it was just for pretend. Into the bathroom, where she sprayed herself with Midnight in Paris.

"Does he really go for this kind of stuff?" she asked Joanne, who was sitting on the edge of the bathtub identically dressed. Joanne was also fragrant with Midnight in Paris, and she was wearing a frizzy wig that almost made a twin for Alice's natural hairdo.

"Sometimes," Joanne said. "I guess you haven't really explored that much of him yet." Somehow the thought made her feel a lot better, and she felt even more confident that it was going to work. In the dark cats are gray. A very old saying, pretty much a cliche, but she'd forgotten it completely until darling sweet Ronnie had said something that got her cogwheels turning. And now? Well, she'd find out very soon.

"Okay," Alice said, fluffing her hair and taking off her glasses. "Wish me luck. Or maybe I should be wishing you...?" Joanne stood up, kissed Alice warmly on the mouth. She hugged the girl until her own nipples were stiff and excited inside the black lace cups of her brassiere. Of course, she'd needed to insert a pair of foam rubber falsies, to give her the same tit proportions as Alice, but it should work. Everything was riding on that. It had to work.

Alice went out through the bedroom, into the living room where Tom stood waiting. He had unzipped himself and reached inside his pants to work on his dick, and it stuck out boldly when Alice returned to him. She made happy eyes in his direction, then took his hand and led him into the bedroom. "It's dark in here," he said. "What did you do, nail boards over the windows?"

"Just the curtains," Alice said, coming to him. She stood posing, grinning as he began to take in her appearance. His eyes expressed their strongest approval and so did his hands, when he got them onto her body. "No," she said as he tried to undo her bra. "Can't do."

"But I want to lick your pretty titties," he protested.

"No can do," Alice said firmly. "I am your slave and my only duty is to give you pleasure. First I get to make love to every part of you. Then it can be my turn, if you want, master. Do you like my getup? Oh, I thought you might. Lots of guys go for this kind of costume, or so I hear. No, nobody really told me -- just guys and girl talk, you know? Okay. Now I'm going to turn off the light. And then I'm going to sneak up on you in the dark. That way you'll be able to concentrate entirely on the pleasure. Nothing to distract you from the magical things I'm going to do to your cock, mmmmmm, baby?" She turned off the light, and the room plunged into an almost total darkness.

Alice went to him, and she began to strip him down to his underwear. God, what a hod he had! Smooth and firm and compact. Well, not all of it was compact. Not that cock of his. It was big no matter how you looked, at it, and the thing looked gigantic on a man of his short stature and wiry frame. As she kissed him and undid his shirt, she could feel that cock, swollen stiff and ready inside his pants, and she almost wished that she were going to get the first ride on it. Mmm, maybe she could still do it! Spill the beans? Cop out on her share of the game Joanne had come up with? No, that wouldn't be fair to anybody. Besides, if everything turned out right, the way Joanne wanted, it would be better. For all three of them. But it was such a funny way to get even with a cheating husband, wasn't it? No matter. She threw his shirt onto the floor and let her hands drop, ready to give his pants the same treatment.

She knelt before him in the dark, and she found it kind of exciting for her. She had to feel her way up and down his body, for her eyes were of no assistance. The curtains were tightly drawn and only the thinnest arrow of light slipped under the door leading into the living room. If anything, she thought, it was the purest kind of erotic stimulation. Neither of them could appreciate the other's physical appearance, only the feet of flesh against hands in the dark, the subtle contact of body to body. Alice felt dizzy, unable to see, but she recovered rapidly, as soon as her hands stripped away the last of his clothing and she cupped her palms around the stiff standing beacon of his cock. She could smell, she could feel, she could even taste his manhood, but with the room shrouded in darkness she couldn't see it, and, suddenly, jt wasn't like making sex with Tom at all. It was like meeting someone new, someone she'd taken to her bedroom for the first time. In the dark his cock even tasted a little different, now that she couldn't feast her eyes on the gorgeous length and thickness of him, and she sucked greedily, using her mouth and lips to welcome this sweet stranger in her power.

"You're eating me up," she heard him moan as he grasped her hair, and she had to admit, yes, that's exactly what she was doing. Wasn't it fantastic? She used her teeth, the way she'd never have used tern on the real Tom, and she felt him grow and blossom in her mouth, his cock throbbing each time she clenched down on him. But even while she was sucking, she remembered what she had promised Joanne. "Don't stop," Tom pleaded, pawing her shoulders, but she rose all the same.

"I'll be back in a sec," she promised. "Forgot something in the bathroom." And she was gone.

Joanne slipped out the door a moment after Alice had come into the toilet. She took a deep breath and walked through the darkness, feeling her way carefully. "Oh," she whispered, as she bumped into Tom where he stood naked and hard by the bed. He put his hands on her shoulders, bent her back and smeared across her face a kiss that may not have been equaled since the death of Rudolf Valentino. She giggled into his mouth and her hand tot down, seizing his stiff horny pecker. Well! she thought. Fucking Alice may not have been good for him, but it didn't appear to have done his cock any damage. He felt enormous in her hand, and she realized with a sigh just how long it really had been. And now? Was she doing the right thing, throwing herself upon him like this? Would it have been better simply to confront Tom and tell him that she knew the truth?

And she thought, no, damn it, no! Something was at stake. Her pride. If it had been her decision to sleep around on him; well, she could have justified it to herself. She wouldn't have expected him to understand. But on the other hand, she wouldn't have considered going on the prowl, not before yesterday. Not in a million years. And he had. He'd done it. And he wasn't going to get out of this easily. Oh, she'd have his balls, all right! If he could feel only a millionth of the shock she'd received yesterday when she accidentally overheard him at his teaching activities, if he could feel only a billionth of the shock, she'd consider the account settled. But first...

She couldn't mimic Alice's voice, which had a light, fluty quality to it. Her own vocal tone was rather deeper, softer. So she had to remember to whisper to mask as much of the difference as possible. Until it was time. "Lie down on the bed, master," she purred, "if you can find your way. Let me help you. Oh, God, I can feel your cock, all swelled up! Professor Big Dick, I think I need some of what you have. If I'm a good girl, a real good girl, do you think you might be willing to give me a little?"

"My God, Alice baby," he panted as she helped him onto the bed, "I want to give it all to you. Oh, shit, let me get you naked. I like it when you're naked, when I can feel those sweet tits of yours tickling my chest, when I can get my hands all over your smooth little ass."

"No, no," she whispered, "later! First I have to worship you. Don't forget that I'm your faithful slave and my only command is to give you all the pleasure I can. Ooohhh, it's your turn, baby, and all you have to do is lie back and enjoy it."

Yes, she thought. Enjoy it. Remember how good it used to be for us? It didn't have to stop. But you wanted something else, and you got it, and now you're about to get something else, too. I hope you dig every second of it, baby, 'cause this is how it's gonna be!

He stretched out on the bed, holding his cock erect with the fingers of his left hand. Joanne moved onto the bed with him, and she seized his pecker as she settled down onto her knees beside Tom. "I can't get over how big and hard it swells up," she purred. "Like the barrel of a cannon. Big, round, stiff as steel. And all mine. It is all mine, isn't it?"

"Damn right it is, Miss Honeybun. Belongs to you and that sweet little honeybun of yours. Come here. Let me touch you. God, where did you get those panties? Your twat sticks out and I don't even have to take your pants off to get at you. I like that, baby, really like it."

He began to paw her bare pussy, and she squirmed about, giving him total access to her twat. He squeezed her hairy bush, and there was a momentary hesitation, as if he were trying to remember whether Alice's beaver had always been quite as thick as it felt now. But his hand flexed again, and sappy juices emerged from the crease of her slit, and they touched his palm and he seemed to forget about questions. Joanne pushed her cunt at him, into the clutch of his hand, and she groaned when he worked his finger into her hole. She wasn't quite as small-twatted as Alice. Maybe he'd notice that, too? She could tell the difference in a minute.

If Tom noticed, he gave no sign. His middle finger stabbed into Joanne, and she gave three hearty pulls at his pecker. She heard him moan, deep and low, and she eased onto her side. One of her legs hung over the edge of the bed, the other stretched toward the head of the bed, past Tom's face. He had his hands in her cunt, using both of them to spread and finger-fuck her, and she turned toward the beckoning scent of his aroused cock.

In the dark she had only her nose and her instincts to rely on, but there wasn't even a brief hesitation in her movement. She worked her face toward his dick and her tongue thrust out, ready to lick as soon as she made contact with his heated flesh.

She touched, licked the salty, meaty taste of him, and her tongue didn't let go. Her fingers wrapped tight around Tom's cock and she lifted her head slightly, still licking, lifted high enough to poise her mouth above the tip of his rod. And, tongue still at work, she lowered her head and he slipped into her wet orality, thrusting deeply up Joanne's mouth, toward the back of her throat.

He tensed, flexed, stabbed into her, and it wasn't only his rod that was doing the job. His fingers stiffened, and he had two or three of them in her pussy now, punching his way into Joanne's wet hole.

Which was getting wetter and wetter. She hadn't believed that fucking her husband in the dark without his knowledge, could be half so exciting. Wasn't there a play of Shakespeare's that used a similar plot device? she asked herself as she gobbled and twitched and she tried to think but it wouldn't come to her. Well, she'd never been much for Shakespeare. Great theater, but it wasn't the kind of acting she could handle.

Joanne giggled while she sucked. She was doing this in the dark, too. And wasn't she really playing some kind of role, even in this, her revenge? Wasn't she trying to be the outraged and faithful wife, getting even with a husband who had used her callously and brutally? But did she really, honestly feel that way? She wasn't sure... She wasn't even sure she wanted to know. For ten years she'd put her acting ambitions on the back burner. Right how she was probably playing the greatest role of her life, building up to the kind of curtain that any working actress would give her left tit to accomplish. And she would do it to a fucking T!

She was giving his cock hell now, using her mouth and teeth and lips and tongue in wild harmonies and counterpoints. She didn't know that Alice had also been affected by the dark, that Alice had bitten the hand that would soon feed her. It just seemed the thing to do. Sex in total darkness was something primitive and primeval and wickedly, oh, God, so wickedly exciting! She tightened her lips, worked her head up and down faster and faster. She knew his tempo, though it had been so long, Lord, so long, and she was remembering more and more as she kept on eating Tom's cock. She drew her lips back, bared her teeth, ground them into the rigid resilience of his tool. She heard him groan, felt his fingers stab agonizingly deep and hard into her pussy, and a tiny, mini-come shot through her pussy. It hadn't even been this good when they were a typical loving married couple, thought Joanne. There was an undercurrent of conspiracy and excitement that she had literally never felt in her marriage. But it was here now, throbbing in her veins, and she could even taste it rolling across her tongue, stronger even than the salty ripeness of his pecker. She humped her pussy against his stabbing fingers and she did her Goddamnedest to swallow all eight inches of Tom.

It was good, damn it, and that was the worst. The wide schism between them made it even better than it should have been. He thought she was someone else, and he was feeding her the cock that Alice Custer would normally have been sucking, but she wasn't Alice even if she was acting that role. She was Joanne, his wife, and she was getting her revenge, just as sweet, just as juicy, as she had hoped it would be.

His cock swelled suddenly, and he gushed into her mouth. Joanne groaned in dismay, for she hadn't wanted it to happen. But how could she have prevented it, with the hard, demanding blow job she had given him? She sucked the cum down her throat as it squirted, and she kept her mouth tight around him, sucking to make sure his dick didn't go soft now, when it was about to do her even more service.

His finger-fucking in her pussy dropped almost to a standstill as he pulsed into his orgasm, and his cock throbbed three or four times in her mouth, each throb sending a fresh sticky spurt of jizz into Joanne. Goddamn it, he tasted as good as ever! And she hated the months she had been forced to live without this kind of pleasure, the feel of his semen coursing down her throat in a sweet white river! Oh, when he found out! When he found out!

"I need a minute to catch my breath," he said, petting her cunt through the opening in the crotch of the black panties. His other hand was on her thigh, tracing the outline of her stocking top, playing with her lacy garter. "I think you really sucked it out of me that time, baby. Not just the scooze -- everything!"

"There's more," Joanne whispered, petting his pecker. "There's always more with you. I think you could probably manage to stud thee or four women, all the time, and none of them would feel she was having to do without."

"Fat chance, Honeybun," he laughed, rubbing her thigh. "Why don't we smoke some of that wseed of yours and see what comes up? I know I can't swing it again right now."

When did he start smoking marijuana, for Chrissake? In the years she'd known him, Joanne had never seen her husband use any kind of dope other than aspirin. Seemed as if he had an entire life on the side, not just a piece of pussy.

"I can't wait," she simpered, and she pinched the base of his dangling balls.

"Yeoowwwww!" he yelped in a sharp voice, but it had the effect she was looking for. His cock stiffened in her hand and she knew that it would certainly stay hard long enough for her to take a delicious pony ride. Gently, she extracted herself from the caress of his hands and moved astride his supine body.

"Now it's my turn," she said. "I gave you your pleasure in my mouth, and you have to give me mine. Right here..." stroking the tip of his dick through her pubic hair as she poised above him "...is where I need it. And I think I'm going to get it!"

She straightened his rod, mashed her labes with its tip, and she came down slowly onto the sticky length of his cum-smeared tool. "Oh, shit," Tom growled, grabbing her by the legs. His hands fumbled in the darkness but he made a hold and he didn't let go. "Oh, shit, I think I'm gonna give it to you! Alice, baby, what's with you today? I mean..." he paused to give her a few fast upstrokes, lunges that went deeply up Joanne's pussy and made her quiver with joy. Just like old times, she thought, really like old times! "...you're so hung up on crazy kinks today. That outfit, doing it in the dark, the hungry way you ate me. It's not quite like you."

"Next thing I'm going to do is stick a vibrator up your ass and erode your prostate," Joanne whispered, leaning down so she could kiss him and he could breathe the full aroma of the Midnight in Paris she'd sprayed onto her tits and hair. "Would you like that?"

He laughed. "Oh, Jesus, baby, I wish you could have seen her! It was the wildest thing I ever saw. I mean, there I was, lying on the bed next to her, and she was using that thing on herself, sticking it right in, moaning when it got deep and started to hit the spot. I'd never seen her do anything like that before, not in front of me. Damn it, Alice, I wish this semester was over and done! When I get my tenure, I'm going to move out. We'll get ourselves a place, you and me, a nice place, with a swimming pool and a big fence, maybe, and we'll be together all the time. It's not fair to you, let alone to Joanne, this double life of mine, and I hate to do it to her. But it won't be long. The review board will pass on my tenure in three more weeks, and I'll know if I have a job or not..."

"What if they know about us?" she whispered slyly. "I mean, it's not exactly a secret. I know we tried to keep it that way, but this is a small school and word gets around. Even that girl in the reception office, that Sandy -- she knows about it. And at least half the kids in the poetry class, and..."

He gripped her ass, pulled her tight against him. "Holy shit," he said in a tense, very nervous voice that Joanne was delighted to hear.

"Shhhh," she teased, stroking his nose and lips. "Don't worry. The review board doesn't know anything, I'll bet. Just like your wife? They'll all be the last to know. Now just fuck me, baby. Oohhhhh, really fuck me! Am I good? Am I the best? Isn't this the greatest it's ever been? Shouldn't we do this a lot more often, don't you think?"

"Yes, yes, yes, yes, yesssss!" he panted, holding her ass and punching his way up into her dominant pussy. "You get better every time, Alice honey, so much better. And I think I'm going deeper in you than I ever did before. Do you feel that too? Isn't Professor Big Cock giving his honeybuns a fuck she'll remember for a long time to come?"

And speaking of come, Joanne realized that it wasn't impossible for her to reach orgasm again, soon. She'd already come once, while she was sucking his prick and he was driving his fingers in and out of her snatch. Again? The big one? Why not? A little hard fucking, some wiggles and jiggles of response -- that should do it. And it would be to her own advantage if she got the most out of this sneaky fuck.

His hands were all over her ass, spreading her cheeks, making her pussy pout that much tighter around his big stabbing pecker, and she could feel his pubic hairs, bristles and wires, tickling her clitoris every time she wiggled down upon him. Damn! They really were a good team in the bedroom. They used to be a good pair everywhere. Could they really get back to the way their life had used to be? No. That was impossible. But maybe they could come to terms and make this portion of their lives nearly as good. She knew that as surely as she knew that his dick was ramming up into her twat, and she knew it as surely as she knew that orgasm was rapidly stealing upon her.

"I'm going to come," she panted, whispering the words muskily into his mouth. She wished she could see his face, wished she could see the strain and pressure showing in his countenance as he poured the meat up her slick twat. "Come with me," she coaxed. "Shoot me with your gun. Blast me. Let me feel it, going off deep inside me. I really need that, darling, I really need your big cock exploding in my pussy. Will you do it? Hurry -- I'm almost there almost..."

"I'm trying, I'm trying," he moaned, squeezing her ass. She closed her eyes, and it was just as dark as when they were opened. Her legs clutched at his and her pussy started to undulate around the lance of his pecker. It was now, it was really now! Not a big come, but a come he couldn't help feel, all along the shaft of his tool. She planted herself down upon him and let the urges take over.

"Now!" she said. "I'm corning now, I really am!"

"I can tell!" he replied, and he started rabbit-fucking his way up into Joanne, squeezing her buttocks. His cock force-fed her snatch six or seven times, fast and hard, and then she felt him lunge savagely, ramming himself as deeply as he could go, and she held him tight, her lips placing kisses all over his face in the darkness. "I'm coming too!" Tom hollered, and he was pulling her buttocks, almost splitting her at the crack of her ass. She didn't care. She dung to him and they rocked and rolled together, and her come intensified, and what she'd thought would be no more than a minor riffle of her pussy swamp turned into a sparkling, delightful orgasm, one she could ride like Wagner's Valkyries riding the clouds of the raging storm.

"Yes!" she groaned. "Yes, yes, hold me, don't let go, always hold me!"

They lay afterwards, still in the dark, warm and close in the bed. His cock had slipped out of her pussy and she could feel the pleasant leakage of jism from her slice, and sometimes she reached down to touch herself there. A couple of times she even tasted her wet fingers and decided that his cum tasted delicious when she drank it from his cock, but it picked up a certain tangy piquance when it was mixed with the fruits of her own snatch.

"Take off that damned bra, would you?" he asked, squeezing her spongy boobs. "I want to suck your tits. Do they want me to suck them?"

"Mmmmm-hmmm," Joanne whispered. He was already kissing her neck and collar. It was time, she decided. She slipped down one bra cup, and pushed his head toward it. His tongue was out, slashing over her flesh, but he stopped short when he licked the foam falsie she'd stuffed into her brassiere to give herself the appearance and feel of being fuller-titted.

"What's this?" he said. "You taste like rubber. Hey, that is rubber! Alice..."

"Turn on the light," Joanne said, using her natural voice.

She felt him stiffen against her at the sound, and he was starting to move back, fast, when the light came on.

Tom sat up in the bed, staring at Alice, who stood by the light switch, and at Joanne who was sprawled on the bed, one falsie just popping out of her bra. Both women were smiling like cats and he said, "What the fuck?"

CHAPTER NINE

"Surprise!" Joanne said. "And all this time you thought you really didn't want to fuck me any more, hmmm, stud? Well, you just did, and I don't think I heard any complaints. Did you hear any complaints, Alice -- or may I call you Honeybuns, too?"

"Call me anything, as long as you don't call me late for supper," Alice giggled, slipping out of her black lace bra as she walked toward the bed. She halted a moment, leaning on the bedpost while he pulled off her panties and stockings. Naked, finally, she slipped onto the bed. She started to fickle the soles of Tom's feet. "I didn't hear any complaints of any kind," he added. "From either of you."

"See?" Joanne shrugged. "We're both content. Are you, Thomas?"

"Content? Goddamn it, I don't even know what the shit is happening! Joanne, how did you -- I mean, when did you -- whose idea -- Christ! I don't even know what I'm saying!"

"Then don't talk," Joanne invited. Alice was holding Tom's bare foot to her mouth, and she was suckling his toes. Her hand moved up and down the inside of his leg and she was getting closer and closer to his cum-smeared cock.

"Let's just say, Tom, that your secret isn't a secret any longer. And I think it's better that way. But the real point is this -- it seems you and I aren't quite as finished as you may have led yourself to believe. Does that sound fair? Accurate? Or were you just telling me what a hot lay I was so I'd feel better? In the dark, that is. You know what they say: 'In the dark, they're all alike.'"

"Anyway," she went on, "Alice and I have discovered that we have certain rather interesting mutual hobbies. Alice -- would you come here and help me show Professor Big Cock what I'm talking about?"

Alice giggled and let go of Tom's foot. She crawled up the bed on hands and knees to meet Joanne, who had risen from her prone position. They put their arms around one another's necks and melted into a blistering kiss. Joanne let her hand fall onto Alice's tit, and she began to fondle the stiffened nipple, rolling her fingers around and around the thin, sturdy erection. Alice groaned into Joanne's mouth, put one of her hands in the older woman's lap. She went straight for the cum-lined slick of Joanne's twat, entered it with her driving finger, caused a moan to leak, from Joanne's mouth.

Joanne eased back. She stroked Alice's cheek, then nodded in the direction of her cunt. Alice grinned, fell onto her tits and belly, and nuzzled into Joanne's dark-furred beaver. "Oh, God, your tongue!" Joanne whined, writhing as the head got better and better.

She looked over at her husband. "See what I mean?" she said hoarsely. The look on Tom's face told her that she did indeed have his balls -- Christ, she could put his pecker in her pocket if she wanted!

Alice came up for air, and then she let her head rest on Joanne's tummy, both women staring at Tom with placid, contented faces. "I don't know if I want any part of this," Tom said.

"Oh, that's not nice," Joanne protested. "After all, we're both somewhat devoted to a man who looks as if he doesn't know whether he wants to grow up to be Al Pacino or Rudolph Nureyev. I think we could come to a civilized arrangement about this, don't you, Alice?"

"Mmm-hmmm," Alice agreed.

"What did you say about me?" Tom asked, bristling a little.

Joanne reached up, stroked his wavy dark hair. "I think you should settle for Al Pacino," she mused. "Oh. One of your students told me that, yesterday. I thought it was a very apt description. Of course, it doesn't quite do you justice -- my God, I almost forgot!"

She worked free of Alice, crawled off the bed. "Where are you going?" Tom asked.

"Just going to tell someone the coast is clear," she replied. "Alice is your little surprise for me, darling, and I have a surprise for you."

She went into the living room, flicked the light switch three times, then listened at the window. She heard the sound of a car engine on the street two stories below and she smiled. Poor Ronnie. He'd been waiting with the car how long now? An hour? It was five-thirty at least. Mote than an hour. Well, she could find a way to make it up to him.

A few minutes later she heard a knock at the door. Wearing only her crotchless panties and silk stockings (the bra was somewhere between the bedroom door and the beanbag chair), she flung the door open. She knew it would be Ronnie, but if it had been anyone else she wouldn't have been embarrassed. Not any more. She had done things she didn't believe possible for herself. Nothing frightened her now. Nothing. "Hello, darling," she said, and he came in.

She took his hand and led him toward the bedroom. Tom was just coming out the door, carrying his shorts. He stopped short when he saw Joanne and Ronnie, and he blushed the color of a whorehouse lantern.

"You know Ronnie Spencer, I think," Joanne said.

"Hi, Professor," Ronnie said, grinning. He was losing some of the shyness she'd noticed in him earlier. Joanne wasn't sure whether she liked that or not. Well, shyness wasn't a quality that would be needed in the future. Not if this relationship went the way she intended it to go.

Tom tried to cover himself with his shorts but it was too late. Alice came out of the bedroom right behind him. She was stark naked, but it didn't seem to faze her, "Hi, Ronnie," she said. He nodded and smiled.

"This is one of my surprises," Joanne said. "It seemed to me that as long as my husband was balling one of his students, there shouldn't be any harm in me doing the same thing. Ronnie's going to be living with us, Tom. He had to move out of his old place today and, well, I felt sort of responsible, so I told him he could stay with us. That way I won't be so lonely those nights you're working late, you know?"

Tom was beyond words. "Sounds really cool to me," Alice contributed, walking past Tom. She stood in the middle of the small room, hands on her hips. "It looks like we're turning into an army," she said. "Do you have any more surprises coming up, Joanne?"

"Only this one," Joanne replied. She put her hand on Ronnie's crotch, squeezed hard, then dropped to her knees. Deftly, she unzipped his pants and extracted his limp tool. While Tom and Alice watched, she put his cock in her mouth and began to suck, drawing hard with cheeks and lips until he had stiffened to perfection. Only then did she release him, and she remained on her knees, working her fist up and down the shaft of his dick. "Care for a taste, Alice?" she invited. "We're sharing my husband. We might as well share my lover, too."

"Joanne..." That was Tom, his voice weak and drained. He'd dropped his shorts and his cock was sticking straight out. Joanne noticed, and she smiled. Think about it, she thought. Is it any less good for me to have some strange, than it is for you?

Alice shrugged. "Why not?" she giggled, and she went to Ronnie. First she lifted up on tiptoes and bit his chin gently. He was handling her tits while she did, and his eyes were getting big. The feel of her thin, taut nipples seemed to turn him on. His pecker twitched in Joanne's grip.

Alice knelt beside Joanne and she took hold of Ronnie's prick. First she breathed across the tip, where Joanne's juices were still frothy, and then she started licking him up and down. Her tongue going faster and faster, and she made a slurping noise and took him into her mouth for some deep sucking. She could take a cock almost completely into her gullet, Joanne noticed. Mmmm. Maybe she could get a few lessons on that technique from Alice. Ronnie certainly seemed to be going for it. Smiling, Joanne stood up, went to her husband.

"This is crazy," Tom said in a low yoke. His eyes were fixed on his mistress, where she knelt, eating the dick of another man. The dick he'd just seen his own wife gobbling, as if dicks were going out of style tomorrow morning. He was a little shaken, and his face, which had been so red, was now tinged with an ashy shade of pale-green. Poor baby, Joanne thought. But he's the one who started it. I'm only reacting to what he did.

No, I'm doing more than reacting. But it's my way. I'm not a doormat, rm a woman. And I won't be pushed around, forced to do what somebody else wants me to do. I'll do what I want to do.

She looked down at her husband's stiff cock and she knew what she wanted to do. Right now, at least. She kissed him on the cheek, reached for his rod, slithered close against his body, nuzzling him and playing with his tool. "If you weren't so hard," she purred, "I'd almost think you were jealous."

"Christ, Joanne -- how can I show my face at school again? How can I look out at a class and see his face and know that he's fucked -- he has fucked you, hasn't he?"

"Same way you could conduct your class with Alice present," Joanne suggested. "Oh, Tom, in case you're not aware, almost everyone on campus knows that you're balling the girl! The receptionist, Sandy with the big tits, gets her jollies listening to you on the intercom! So why get worried now, I'd like to know? We're fast on the way to becoming an extended family. Did you think of that? You fuck Alice and you fuck me when the notion strikes. I've fucked Alice, I've fucked Ronnie, and, from the looks of things, he'll have that cute tool of his in Alice before much longer. Short of moving into faggotry, we've got about as well-knit a group, sexually, as you could ever want to find. So why hold back? I don't mind sharing you with Alice, but you'll have to give your approval to Alice and me, and Ronnie and me, and Alice and Ronnie. There are four of us. The potential seems unlimited. What do you think?"

"I don't know what you're doing to me," he said, "but it sounds Goddamned attractive when you talk about it."

"That's the Tom I was wanting to hear from," Joanne said. "If you'd like to go over to the couch, we can watch it from a much better, angle. Or maybe you won't even feel like watching after I get started on you."

She led him across the room by the cock, set him down on the sofa, planted her bare ass beside him. She offered him her nipples to suck, and it was good to feel his old familiar mouth suckling at her paps. She crooned in delight and stroked his head and shoulders and said, "Where did we ever drift apart?" He didn't answer, but his mouth on her tits was answer enough. They'd drifted back together.

Alice was still busy with Ronnie, and he was sitting on the floor, shucking off his pants while she kept gobbling his cock. Everyone needs some strange, Joanne thought. It must be a natural human urge. Tom has a bigger dick than Ronnie, and his cum is so much tastier, but there she lies on the floor, sweet Alice, wolfing at his tool so greedily you might think she'd never had the chance to eat one before and she wanted to make up for lost time. And Ronnie, moaning and groaning, and I know she can't give that much better a blowjob than I do, but it's a new, strange mouth on his cock, and that's what really counts, I guess.

Now Ronnie's pants were off, and Alice had him by the nuts and root, feeding his cock into her suckling mouth. He was reaching down to stroke her tits, and he really seemed to dig those skinny nipples of hers. They were long enough to get a real grip on, and he kept squeezing and pinching them, making Alice moan responsively around his cock. She wiggled closer to him, and he slid his hand down into her furry pie. His fingers found the small, tight slash of her pussy and he stroked into her. Alice's legs stiffened, the toes curling and wiggling, and then she drew herself up into a tight little ball, trapping his hand between her thighs.

Ronnie looked up at Joanne. "This is crazy wild," he said. "I'm not only fucking my teacher's wife, I'm also getting blown by his girlfriend."

"Mmmm-hmmm," Joanne grinned, "but I suspect this is only the start." She stretched her leg across the floor toward Ronnie. He leaned to meet it, put his hand on her foot, lifting it. "Suck my toes," she said. "I like the way you do that."

"Sure thing," Ronnie replied, and he began to lick between her toes, lick wet and warm, his tongue sloshing through so ticklish and snakelike it made her flesh crawl in delight. She pushed her foot at him, and he began to lick at the sole of her foot, too, and talk about ticklish!

"We're almost a daisy chain," she told Tom, catching him by the ears and lifting his head from her tits. "Look."

"Well," Tom said, "then let's pick a few more flowers and see what happens. Try this." He reared up, slid his body across Joanne's left leg, and brought the head of his pecker to her pussy gash.

There was a tingle in her luscious labes, a tingle that was almost, but not quite, pain. Sweet God, she'd gotten such a workout the last two days! More than she'd had in months! And it had all started when she frigged herself with Tom's bath brush. Mmm. She'd have to tell him about that sometime. But she didn't need it any more. And the vibrator? Well, unless Alice could come up with some kind of group activity that included a vibrator, she would probably give the thing to the Goodwill. Maybe there was some sexually deprived woman in town who could use a good vibrator. Plus batteries. She would never have to seek satisfaction from a plastic machine again. Not when she had these real flesh-and-blood machines to give her pleasure. Tom and Ronnie and Alice. A different kind of sex with each of them.

With Tom she could be totally loose and open, her pussy could expect to be satiated time and again, and they had the advantage of knowing one another so intimately. No secrets, no hidden desires that hadn't been fulfilled. Not now. Ronnie. Young, a lot to learn and a promising student. Joanne would be his real teacher, though he was in Tom's English class. And she'd teach it all to him, make him a stud who was a perfect match for her own desires. And Alice. Mmmm, maybe Alice was the nicest discovery of all! With men it was a matter of fucking, but the interplay between women was something altogether different, something men could never appreciate no matter how they tried. And she'd always been afraid of it. Well, she wasn't afraid now. In fact, she was rather envious of the finger Ronnie still had, buried in Alice's tangy twat. She wished to Christ it was her own tongue, delving into that juicy swamp of flesh and hair. Well, soon it would be her tongue between Alice's thighs, and she would be tasting those sweet honey juices that had excited her so much this afternoon. God, what a happy ending this story was turning out to have! And to think that murder had been on her mind only yesterday afternoon!

Tom thrust into Joanne and she groaned in ecstasy as his long thick tool rammed its way up her slick tunnel. She was still greasy from their fuck in the bedroom, and the activities she had initiated here in the living room certainly hadn't done anything to dry up her twat. She felt him squish into her depths and she sighed. Her free leg sidled around his body and he slid atop her, pushing his rod even deeper, harder. Jesus, he was so stiff! The idea was taking toot in him now. He would certainly go along with it all. Did he have any choice?

"Honey," he said, looking down at her, "I think I've been unfair as hell to you, and I'm sorry."

"Thank you," she replied. "I was hoping you'd get around to telling me that. But I really feel a lot more like fucking than talking, if you know what I mean?"

"That's one thing I do know," he said. "And, you know, hon, I really think it is best with you."

"Too late now, Thomas! Like it or not, we have moved into the realm of the open marriage. And I don't feel like drawing in my horns. Can you live with that?"

"I suppose I'll have to. Not that it seems to be hard to do."

He found his rhythm, and he began to fuck her in passionate stabs that went deep and visited all her cuntal erogenous areas in the process. Joanne writhed and twisted under him, and her foot jerked loose from Ronnie's mouth. She peeked over Tom's shoulder, saw that Ronnie was beyond caring. He was holding Alice by the head now, running his fingers through her frizzy blonde hair, and he was stabbing her mouth again and again with his cock. In fact, even as Joanne stole a peek, she saw the boy's face contort and she saw Alice's body jerk and she knew that the girl was getting her first taste of Ronnie's fresh young cum. It was Beaujolais, compared to the Bordeaux-like stuff Tom could squirt. Getting it must be a change for Alice.

Yes, she thought, everyone likes a piece of strange now and then. It's good for the body and the spirit.

It had been so long since she and Tom had been this close, this intimate, this Goddamned horny, that she felt as if she, too, were getting some strange. She rubbed her leg up and down his back and she said, "Ooohhh, darling, fuck me, fuck me the way you used to! The lights are on now and you know it's me, so give it to me for Joanne's sake!"

Alice had cum running from her mouth. Ronnie must have given her one hell of a load. She was licking her chin, trying to scoop it up, using her fingers, too. Drops of jism leaked onto her tits and she fingered them, brought them to her mouth, sucked them up. She looked at Joanne and she grinned broadly. "You know," she said, "it seems to me that if you're letting Ronnie move in with you, the least you could do is turn a spare room over to me. Like, I don't see any sense in keeping up separate establishments. Do you?"

"Talk to the man of the house," Joanne grinned back. "He's in charge of luring young females into our den of sin. If you think you can stand the 24-hour orgies, though, it's jake by me."

Alice finished wiping her mouth and sucking her fingers, and then she winked at Joanne. Crawling on her hands and knees, she deposited herself behind Tom and started to lick his buttocks while he fucked Joanne.

Joanne could feel the change in her husband's tempo. "Kinda like that, do you?" she told Tom, and he just smiled. Alice was licking his nuts, too, and the root of his cock where it entered Joanne and rammed deep, and her tongue drifted onto Joanne's pussy every now and then.

Behind Alice, Ronnie was pulling his meat, shaking the stiffness back into his drained dong. It took him a couple of minutes to get hard, but when he did, he was quick and to the point. He crawled behind Alice where she was kneeling behind Tom, and he squatted down, rubbing his cock up and down her buttocks. She looked over her shoulder and said, "If you're waiting for permission, you don't have to wait any longer!" A moment later she threw her head back and said, "AAAAGGHHH!" Her face went white and she groaned, "Not my asshole! Jesus, it's too tight! Oh, Goddamn you!!" she said after two quick raspy breaths. "If you take it out now, I'll fucking kill you!"

Joanne saw Ronnie's face, and he was beaming in triumph. She gave him a conspiratorial wink and he returned it. "You bought the luckiest beer of your life yesterday, kid," she told him. "I only hope you appreciate the 'menage a quatre' you're getting into."

"I'll appreciate it a hell of a lot more when it's your ass I'm splitting," Ronnie said. Yes, he had certainly lost a lot of his shyness!

"Dream on, baby boy," she purred. "Right now I'm getting it from the champion. But your turn will come. And so, I hope, will you."

He pushed into Alice, made her cry out in panic-tinted ecstasy. "Don't worry about me," he said. "I have a spare cock I'm saving for your pussy, Joanne. And I plan on using it within the next ten minutes."

Joanne only smiled. What the hell was the name of that Shakespearean play in which a rejected wife got even by crawling into the other woman's bed and giving the faithless husband a sweet fuck under cover of darkness? Of course! It was "All's Well That Ends Well!"

She'd acted her part to perfection, and the Bard himself had given the perfect curtain line. All's well indeed, she thought. All's very well. And she had no doubt at all that tomorrow would also be a very nice day.

THE END

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