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Table of Contents
"Mmmm," she crooned, sleepily, not bothering to blush as the corners of her lips turned up into sharp angles of remembered satisfaction-Walt had fucked her last night better than he had in many a moon.
She moaned again kittenishly and hugged the yielding pillow a bit closer against the hollow curves of her pelvis. She loved the way the grainy texture of the pillow case pushed against the mossy, damp shag of her pussy. She knew, without even looking, that the lips of her cunt would be thick this morning. They would be thick and a little sore, but beautifully sore like two tongues that have rubbed together all night long in erotic rapture.
She stirred and opened her eyes. At the same time she reached hungrily crossways toward the other side of the bed, to the spot where only a few hours ago Walt had been lying. He had been aroused as a healthy young tiger, with that husky, big prick of his standing up between his legs like a bar of hard candy. But he wasn't there now.
She felt a small twitch of disappointment that he wasn't still in bed. She had wanted to find him still there, and still temptingly naked. She had even thought about bringing him right back to life by playing around. She knew exactly how to do it-how to lightly tease his penis with just the tips of her fingers, or even the edges of her lips, until it was as stiff as the devil's horn. And then...
But there was no point in driving herself half-wild with an itch to get screwed this morning. She knew Walt too well. Once he was up and out of bed, he was through fucking for the night or the day. And sure enough, she could hear him puttering around in the kitchen making himself a couple of those poached eggs that he thought only he could do justice to.
"I might as well give up, damn it," she breathed to herself. "He won't come back in here to give me one last little romp. Lord, he wouldn't come back in here to screw a eighteen-year-old virgin full of Spanish fly-not my disciplined and hard-working Walt!"
She lay in bed for a few more minutes, helplessly feeling her itchy pussy grow from a little teasing crackle of need to a big roaring bonfire of itchiness. And that wasn't all. Her tits were having a few problems of their own. Mary recalled now that sometime during the night-sometime during one of those two or three fucking sessions when Walt was riding her hard-he had elected to suck on her nipples. And nobody could give Walt lessons in how to lick and tongue a willing tit. She knew it and he knew it! The only problem was that once her nipples had been worked up like that, once they had been sucked until they were twice their size, they simply didn't want to go down again.
She edged back the sheet and looked at her plump breasts. She was proud of them and always had been. Even when she was a girl the boys had stared at her boobs, and later in high school they had done more than stare. Mary couldn't even remember the number of times boys begged her until their voices were hoarse, just to see her tits.
And now here she was, alone in bed and damn near wishing she had one of those eighteen-year-old horny studs in bed with her. She would let him do more than look. I'd make him wear his sonofabitchin' tongue off on 'em, Mary thought.
The obscene idea made her really blush. She was just glad that Walt couldn't read her mind from the kitchen. Lordy, he'd come in and tan my fanny with a fly swatter for being such a greedy slut, Mary laughed.
It was Walt, yelling at her from the kitchen, and she knew why.
"The scraper is in the cabinet!" she yelled back. "And don't get your hand burned again!"
That took care of him for a bit, and she knew that if she waited long enough he would come back into the bedroom to kiss her good-bye... and maybe, just maybe.
To keep her fine edge of horny interest aglow, Mary substituted her hand for the pillow and began to gently rub the pouting lips of her pussy. She did it under the sheet, so that if he came suddenly back in he wouldn't notice anything. She certainly had no interest in letting her husband see her playing with herself, knowing how oddly strait-laced he could be at times.
In fact, when Mary thought about it too much she sometimes wondered if maybe she hadn't really married the wrong guy. Maybe she should have married Walt's brother, Willy, after all. She didn't really mean that, she always told herself, but the fact remained that Willy had dated her first, had fucked her first, and had asked her to live with him first. Not that Willy had asked her to marry him, that wasn't his style. But sometimes in her horny moods-such as now-she wondered if life with that big-pricked bastard might not have been a whole barrel of fun, marriage certificate or not. But she hadn't married Willy, she had married his big brother who had a head on his strong shoulders and the promise of a future in the construction business. All Willy had was his sexy face and a nine-inch cock that would have turned a saint into a whore overnight.
Mary was still thinking about the cheapest moment of her life-about how Willy had actually fucked her behind Walt's back three hours before the wedding-when Walt came strolling into the bedroom, still munching his poached eggs.
"Hey, how's my baby," he said, grinning at her.
He was dressed for work: laced boots, khaki pants, white shirt with cuffs rolled halfway up his arms, and clipboard and hardhat in his hands.
"Morning, construction boss," she purred, making the greeting sound exactly like "want to bang me, mister?"
Walt sat down on the edge of the bed and reached over to pat her hip with the strong paw of his hand.
"You have fun last night, honey?" he asked, casually.
"Can't you tell," she joked, teasingly. "You did it so good I can't walk."
He chuckled and patted her hip again, making little lusty ripples spill over between her legs and pull at the edges of her cunt. Mary just wished she could be slutty enough to beg her own husband to fuck her one more time!
"Well, doll," he shrugged, "I gotta go to work. Baby needs dancing shoes, like the man says."
That's not all baby needs, Mary thought, almost having to close her legs to keep her pussy from barking to be fed. She leaned up on her elbows, purposely allowing the sheet to fall down and hang just on her nipples. "You be home for lunch?" she asked, hopefully.
He was halfway across the room when she asked the question. He turned and smiled at her burlesque-queen tits. "Hey," he whispered, "maybe I better come home for lunch 'cause I already know what I want to eat." But he was only joking.
"Won't make it home today, hon. You ought to do that shopping for a new dress you've been wanting to do. I'll see you about six this evening, okay?"
"Yes, darling, okay."
After Walt was gone she lay in bed for a longer time than was healthy. Because despite her long avoidance of masturbating, Mary had the wildest urge to do just that. To do what she hadn't done since she was in junior high. To get a hairbrush and slide the handle in and out of her hungry slit until that damned itch was gone.
Mary Bates, she breathed to herself, throwing back the sheet with a disgusted fling of her wrist, you get such thoughts right out of your home. You've got a man in the house to soothe that need now!
Once up, she dressed in shorts and matching halter and tied her hair up so that she could shower later without a lot of bother. She had already decided that going dress hunting was just the medicine she needed to get her mind off screwing. Besides, tonight was another night. She fully intended to make Walt do an encore between her legs if she had to tickle his balls with a feather to do it.
Mary made herself breakfast. Then she poured a second steaming cup of coffee and perched for a moment in her favorite place in the whole apartment, on a stool by the kitchen window.
And it was there that she saw something that made her best intentions about forgetting the urge to masturbate go flying out of her head like crazed bats. My God, Mary gawked, the couple in the apartment across the way are fucking like maniacs-with the curtains wide open!
She almost burned her tongue on the coffee as she froze in a fascinated trance. She blinked, put down her coffee cup, and looked again. Sure enough, they were fucking, all right, really fucking. And both of them seemed like Olympic champions at the business.
With her heart thumping like a rabbit's foot, Mary ran wildly out of the kitchen and into the bedroom. She dug into the clutter of junk above Walt's clothes and found his hunting binoculars.
She ran back to the kitchen window so fast she almost slipped twice. But she made it, and homed in on the erotic exhibition with all the greedy interest of a big winner watching a horse race.
"Goddamn," she whispered. The high-powered glasses suddenly brought a male asshole so sharply into view that Mary gulped. She adjusted the view-finder to perfection, then sucked in the sight with gluttonous pleasure.
She knew the gal getting fucked, and she also knew that the little tramp wasn't married. She was a secretary of some kind, and the guy on top of her was either her boss or probably some traveling salesman.
"He's traveling, okay," Mary whispered, moving the tip of her tongue nervously over the edge of her lips. She watched the horny male pumping his prick in and out of the splayed thighs of the naked little bitch.
Mary felt her cheeks filling with color as she gobbled up the sight across the way. The powerful glasses were giving her the kind of view that only a good camera might give. She could see every pore and pimple on the bare ass of the fucking man. She could see the deep, hairy crease of his rectum, the whiskered fullness of his large balls, the underside of his fully extended prick. She could see exactly the way the secretary's juicy pussy rolled back its wet lips to take that jumbo rod right to the nuts on each thrust.
She couldn't see the guy's face-for one hellish moment she wondered if it was Walt.
"I must be crazy," she hissed at herself. "My Walt wouldn't dream of doing anything like that with another woman!"
And after a second or two of ragged, frenzied fucking, the man turned his flushed profile toward her and she saw that it wasn't Walt, or anybody else she knew. The face was a mighty good-looking one though, the kind of lusty, grinning male face that can drive a gal crazy if her pussy is itching.
Mary could see the secretary's face perfectly. Little snakes of jealousy began to crawl up Mary's thighs as she read the brazen, drunken pleasure on the cute young female's face. Obviously, the secretary had done this before-probably with an assortment of willing males. Her cheeks were flaming with a glow of need, and her mouth was parted below her flared nostrils. But it was her eyes that told the final erotic depths of her ecstasy. They kept rolling in her head like big marbles, going out of focus over and over as the plowing cock rode up between her legs with savage greed.
"The little bitch," Mary breathed. "She ought to be ashamed of herself!"
The young female was anything but ashamed of the pleasure she was giving and receiving. She proved that over and over by the way she kept crawling her legs up around the pumping hips of her lover. She kept digging her red fingernails into his biceps and biting his ears and neck. The fucking kept going, and Mary kept looking!
Now and then she would let the glasses wander over the room briefly. She saw the guy's clothes piled on a chair and what was probably his briefcase on the floor. She saw the panties and bra and hose of the little tart draped over another chair. But she didn't linger long on those trappings before she swung the binoculars back to the main attraction. It was the lewd sight of two amorous people banging out the bedslats that was making Mary hot herself. Hot wasn't the word for it.
All that determined work she had gone through promising herself not to masturbate or to think naughty thoughts were gone with the wind. She was heating like a tea-kettle, and the lips of her pussy were pulling back into the hairs of her cunt like the opening petals of a swamp blossom.
"God, I wish I was getting that!" she moaned, feeling the nipples of her tits hardening into prongs against the thin halter of her sun suit. "Where is that damned Walt when I need him?"
Mary's attention picked up even more when the couple stopped their screwing for a few seconds and concentrated on playing around in different ways. Apparently, the girl needed to have her titties sucked on. The guy was now doing just that, bending his head this way and that so that he could chew and lick on the elongated, pink nipples that were sticking up toward his mouth like thumbs.
Mary watched without breathing as the male mouth suctioned powerfully away on the lucky boobs. He sucked at her coned flesh so hard that his cheeks indented and the soft mounds of her tits crinkled and puckered-as if he were trying to milk them with his tongue.
Meanwhile, the gal was giving him a good time with her toes. Like some little acrobat she was hooking her legs up around his naked buttocks so that she could toy and rub his balls with just the tips of her toes. Apparently it was something that the guy liked because even as far away as she was, Mary could see his testicles literally swell and throb as the toe-teasing progressed.
It was just about all the damned exhibitionism Mary could take without doing something about her own problem. With a ragged little gasp of zealous need, she ran back to the bedroom. It took her a few feverish moments of rummaging through drawers to find the hairbrush-and a few more to locate the big jar of Vaseline. In seconds Mary was back at the kitchen window with her shorts down to her ankles.
She put globs of gooey Vaseline on the long, thick handle of the walnut brush. Then she inched it quickly up between the yearning folds of her throbbing cunt. She pushed it all the way in, until only the bristle part of the brush was visible. It sure as hell wasn't a prick, but her pussy seemed to think it was.
With one hand she began to slowly, pleasurably move the brush back and forth in her clutching, twitching slit. With her other hand she took up the binoculars again. They were still at it, only with a bold new difference. Now the secretary was on top, fucking him.
It was hard for Mary to believe it. The sight of the firm-assed young female astride the muscular hairy legs of the man was even more excitingly erotic than the regular way had been.
She watched, grinning slackly, as the love-swollen lips of the secretary's pussy rode up and down on the huge column of hard meat standing up between the guy's thighs.
By zeroing in on the man's balls, Mary got a deliriously stimulating picture of just how much fun the girl was having. His nuts were glistening with her pussy juice. Being on top the way she was, and pumping as madly as she was, her cunt was free to drip and run with all the ravenous abandon possible.
With a deep moan of her own, Mary worked the stiff handle of the big brush deeper and deeper into the tunnel of her pussy. She pushed it so deep that she could feel the blunt end of it rubbing sensuously against the mouth of her womb.
Mary was close to cumming, and she knew it. With a hungry gasp of lust she let the glasses clatter to the window sill. She yanked her bra off to free her swollen tits. Keeping one hand at work pumping the brush handle in and out of her soft, hot slot, Mary used her other hand to tweak and squeeze the exploding nipples of her tits. It was the kind of self-abuse they write textbooks about, but it was maddeningly sweet fun.
Throwing her head back, Mary opened her legs wider and wider. She churned the brush handle madly until the hairs on her pussy were mingling with the stiffer quills of the brush itself. She closed her eyes and let her tongue waggle whorishly out of the side of her mouth. Droplets of saliva rolled down her chin as she brought herself closer and closer to a vaginal-deep orgasm.
"Cumming!" she hissed, rolling her tits against the palms of her hand like sponges. "Cum! Ah, Cum! Aargh... "
Her pussy clutched at the base of the brush handle as every muscle of her cunt contracted like a fist to bring her spasming joy to a peak. Her juices flooded in a hot torrent of pleasure, running over her fingertips and down the insides of her naked thighs.
Mary almost fainted from the raw pleasure between her legs. And to make her delight even sharper, the brush handle didn't soften like a satisfied prick. It stayed boldly stiff and long inside her pulsing pussy.
She kept the odd dildo plunged deeply up her cunt for a few long seconds. She luxuriated in the way the grainy, sappy walls of her vagina seemed molded to its contours. She was almost tempted to do it all over again, to simply wallow in the pleasure of, fucking her hairbrush until hell wouldn't have her.
But she didn't. She pulled the greasy, dripping handle gently out of her slit and wiped it off with a towel. It made her wonder if she wouldn't get horny now every time she combed her hair.
She slipped back into her shorts and halter and took up the binoculars again. But too late. The dumb shits had finally pulled the curtains on her. She grinned, and wondered if maybe they had seen her-if maybe they had used a pair of hunting glasses to watch her do her own thing. Not that she really cared. After all, she and Walt were practically strangers in the city. They had moved into this apartment only two weeks ago, and they would be moving out again in about a month. So there wasn't a soul in the wide world who knew that she even existed here. Not one, single, solitary...
The phone rang in the hall. With her pussy still pleasurably tingling from being so delightfully plowed, Mary made her way to the phone and snapped up the receiver. She expected to hear Walt telling her that he had changed his mind about not coming home for lunch.
Instead, it was a female voice-singing to her.
"Bang 'em, gang!
Ball 'em, gang!
Hump and pump and crawl 'em, gang!
We like 'em big, and we like 'em long!
We'd walk a mile for a cowboy's dong!
For a few stunned seconds Mary was too shocked to move, and then she found her voice with a shrill and happy whoop.
"Sara Broomley," she boomed, "is that you?"
Indeed it was Sara Broomley, speaking to her like a voice out of the past. It had been she and Sara and two other high school buddies who had formed the club they called The Wranglers, an exclusive little female club devoted to the pursuit of males.
"My God, Sara," Mary gasped, "where on earth and how on earth and when on earth did you-"
"Hey, slow down," Sara chuckled from the other end of the line, "one question at a time, honey."
"All right, how did you find me? And do you live here in the city?"
"That's two questions. But I can answer both of 'em real easy. I read in the paper something about a Walter Bates moving to town to be a construction boss on some damn building or other. I just had a hunch that it might be the same Walt Bates you were so gaggy over the year after we got outta high school. And the answer to the second question is yes, I do live here-and so do Joan and Priss."
The news almost floored Mary.
"Joan Wonger and Priss Sanford both live here?"
"Right. I ran into Joan about a year ago, and Priss and her husband moved to town last Christmas. Small world, eh?"
"That's hot the word for it! Lordy, you mean The Wranglers can have a reunion!?"
Sara chuckled again in that same old sultry, deep-throated way she had done back in high school. "You bet your booties, honey. Priss and Joan are as anxious to see you as I am. Say, speaking of booties, you don't have any little feet trampling around, do you?"
"You mean a baby? God, no. Not yet, anyway."
"Wow, I'm glad to hear that. Neither do any of the rest of us. So it makes for more fun time over cards and swimming pools and drinks and stuff. And speaking of that, what the hell are you doing for lunch?"
"Why... why, nothing."
"Hubby isn't coming home?"
"Great. How about meeting the rest of us at the Golden Drake cafe and bar. Know where it is?"
"Yes, but that's no cafe, is it? I mean, Walt and I passed it the other day and it looked like they serve you out of gold plates."