She came to on the floor, sprawled out like a rag doll.
When the art room had spun into focus she found Nick fingering her clit, and finally licking it. She gazed down her body at the bearded man facing her in reversed position, apparently engrossed in his study of her jutting organ.
Surprisingly, it had not wilted. It stuck out sharply, a pinkness against the red of his tongue.
Before her loomed his massive dark cock, shiny with her juices.
She gazed at it while Nick lipped her clitoris and began a slow sucking.
She was clearly worn out, had fucked to exhaustion. Why did his sucks feel so good?
His cock gave a hearty twitch.
She remembered sucking it, thinking she wanted to drink his load. There it was, waiting. And his sucking felt just lovely, maybe a tapering off from the violence of orgasm, certainly not the beginning of a new one, of course not! A woman had only so much strength.
She reached to the fat prick and fingered it. Slick. Dripping. Gee, Nick had said hers was the wettest cunt he had ever fucked, and Brian had found her dry, so the answer was plain. Well! The shaft seemed too slippery to hold. She inched nearer, deciding she must at least taste it.
She circled the rim of the head with her tongue.
The thing twitched. It leaped away from her, right out of her fingers.
She could not hold it still until she reduced the amount of cunt juice, so she squirmed to it, mouth yawning, and forced it in, stretching her jaw, got the rim past her teeth, and gave a good, hard suck.
Down in her pussy, Nick let out a cry.
She caught up his slippery scrotum, and by curling her other hand about the shank and pressing the two together, got fair control of the twitching, throbbing prick.
She had it now. She sucked slowly, sweetly. Nick's thigh jacked up toward her. She rested her head on it while licking and mouthing his meat.
The suction on her clit changed, became more even, and she realized that Nick was using the gadget on her while his mouth explored the slobbered jelly-flesh of her cunt. The swabbing of his tongue was a steady caressing that calmed rather than excited her. She raised a leg, cocked it up to give him easy access to her cunt, and smiled contentedly while lazily licking his cock and giving it little fish-mouth sucks.
She could smell his male musk strongly but the odor of pussy dominated, making her think of lapping dear Rita's cunt. Probably she would be more excited right now if Nick had been fucking Rita than sniffing her own pussy flow, but she smiled with pleasure as she looked down the dark cock protruding from her mouth, sniffed her own crotch odor, fingered juices up the stem and painted them on her lips.
Quite apart from her, way down there between her legs, Nick was busy with his own things, right now curling his tongue around the mouth of her vagina.
If Brian could see this sixty-nine coupling, his wife's lips forming a smile around the artist's cockstem!
She slipped off it, then with her teeth gently nibbled the tip.
"Hey!" Nick gasped. "You'll drive me crazy!"
Grinning, she nibbled some more. She began rolling his testicles about and with her left fist kneading and pulling his stem, abruptly filled her mouth and sucked hard at the slippery knob.
And Nick gasped, "Hey, now that's cock-sucking!"
His cunt-lapping, she thought, was delightful, beginning to heat her, but more important was her new-found ability to tease and excite Nick, a profound satisfaction that made her want to prolong her oral sex play. But then it changed. The iron-cored plushy blob in her mouth twitched violently, throbbed, shoved to her throat.
He groaned, "My load is coming, baby, take it!"
She knew a moment's fear. But she wanted it, and sucked harder, bobbing on the skewering prick. It seemed to swell and a fever swept her body, starting not from her cunt, though spasms rippled into her in response to his tonguing, but from her mouth and lashing tongue.
"Shooting off!" he gasped.
And it came fountaining, heavy blobs spattering her throat, hot and thick. She gulped it down, took a fresh blast, could not swallow it all but clung grimly, determined to get every drop. Her mouth filled and it dribbled down her lips. She fingered it back in, swallowed.
She had taken all but a few dribbles and suckered off panting for breath when her own cum peaked and she squished her cunt against his bearded face.
"Ah-hh!" she cried, "my cum is so hot!"
He was mouthing her clit, pulling it out to an enormous burning length.
Then it all spilled out of her, a torrent of fire, her vision a roll of flame.
Moaning, panting, she had to wait through the wrenching release until she could again mouth his twitching cock and suck out the last drops of jism.
When Brian returned from work that evening, Susie had supper in the oven and was wearing a fresh summer dress and carefully applied makeup. She sipped a cocktail and gazed narrowly at him. She felt composed, even triumphant. Nick had just phoned and said he had sold the baseball-wall-paper design and the buyer wanted more. Tomorrow they would do a football design. That had thrilled her almost as much as the passion in Nick's voice, his choking, straining lust for her.
Brian entered tearing off his shirt, swearing, "This fucking heat, traffic jam on the highway. Sweating like a pig!"
He stormed through the kitchen toward the bathroom, dropping his shirt on the floor.
In the hall he said, "Got to see Clayton about the new billing system."
Susie sipped her drink. Then she moved to the shirt and stepped on it. She carefully wiped the soles of her sandals on it, then sauntered after him. She felt as cool as a cucumber, powdered and sweet smelling. Chin high, she walked with a sensual roll of her hips and felt her pussy lips squish together, not hot but wet and open. She wore no panties and guessed that in strong light her pussy hair could be seen through the dress; she would welcome that. She felt all woman, strong, autonomous, ready to spit in the eye of anybody who crossed her.
In the bathroom Brian had turned on the shower and was kicking out of his undershorts. Susie stood in the doorway eyeing him, that splendid football player's body, the long, fat cock and loaded scrotum. A shame, she thought. I'd like such a body mounting me, such a cock slipping up my hole. If Brian were Nick, or Howard or Phil.
He ducked into the shower, said, "After supper we'll go to Clayton's, get this billing system cleared up before the ball game starts on TV."
His pants hung over the toilet, his undershirt was beneath the sink, and his shorts were on the shower ledge, getting spattered.
Susie sipped her drink.
Brian paused in soaping his crotch. "Hey, you going to leave my clothes there? Looks like a pigpen."
Susie said, slowly and evenly, "Pick up your own fucking clothes!"
She turned away, and with a saucy wag of her ass strode toward the kitchen to freshen her drink.
Brian had cleaned up the mess he had left without remarking on the incident but during supper he gave her some puzzled looks.
At least he's noticed I'm alive, Susie thought.
She had a very strong urge to take the gravy boat and break it over his head.
But her thoughts kept drifting to tomorrow's football design, wondering what sort of pattern Nick would dream up, and her reverie was interrupted by vaginal twitches or maybe gurgles, anticipating a certain fuck before they started work.
They rode in silence to Clayton's house, a pleasant, modern ranch that Susie guessed had cost about the same as their own. But Clayton had a surprise in the back yard – a great yawning oval in the lawn and pyramids of fresh earth. He was putting in a pool "big enough for a real swim!"
Brian's teeth ground in envy. Oh, he did not show it. He was all smiles and congratulations, but Susie saw the angrily-working muscles in his jaw.
The men went in to work on the billing system, leaving Susie with Carla Clayton, who looked awfully luscious tonight in a yellow dress cut low on her plump breasts. Her chestnut hair gleamed. But she was scowling.
"Those two!" she said. Then, "Oh, I shouldn't complain. I'll have a pool, won't I? You can come afternoons and swim with me. Like two rich bitches!"
True, Susie thought. The pool would be no dinky cheap thing, and yes, they would feel spoiled. However, she felt sure Clayton's pool was not to please Carla but to spite Brian.
Susie murmured, "And when the TV ball game starts, we're supposed to watch it and enjoy it."
"I hate baseball!" Carla gritted.
"Don't you have another TV down in the rec room?"
Carla, clearly in a rebellious mood, grinned and seized Susie's hand, rushed her to the kitchen to make drinks, then to the cellar rec room where they curled up on an old couch facing the TV.
Carla turned on the set but Susie scarcely saw it. She was studying the girl, her milky complexion, her pouting, rosy lower lip, the thrust of her breasts. Carla's skirt had hiked up, revealing sleek, full thighs, and Susie began to feel warm stirrings in her belly.
Abruptly Carla said, "I wonder if they both hump Brian's secretary! Some of the hints from office people – I mean, gang bang! One watches, waiting…"
"Your sex life isn't too great?"
"When Clayton is done with work, the ball game over, and he's finished his latest mystery novel, then I get laid."
Musing on it, Susie realized that the house next door to hers had indeed relieved her of anger, of spite, of resentment. She patted Carla's hand, comfortingly. It felt pleasantly soft and warm. Their fingers twined together.
She said, "The pricks think they're so necessary to us that we'll put up with anything. But I'll tell you, Carla, I can make my own living and loving, too."
Carla sighed.
"But all the men I meet are from their office, and they stick together – I couldn't even be unfaithful…"
"Women."
Carla laughed. "Susie, you're kidding!"
Susie moved closer, whispered, "I've learned the truth. What counts is affection and need."
"You mean you could – with a woman…"
"I have. And loved it." She could not explain about Kashmir Karma tea and swinging with the jiji inside, did not want to, for that belonged to her. But she whispered, "A woman knows just where to touch, and how, until you're panting and squirming and just love it!"
Carla was blushing.
Susie said, "Like this." She raised a hand to Carla's breasts, and with a fingertip drew a slow, feather-light circle around one crown. Carla was gazing wide-eyed at her. She made the next circle smaller, and even through bra and dress felt a hardening of the girl's nipple. Slowly, teasingly, she circled until it pegged out, a visible protrusion in Carla's dress.
Carla's jaw fell as she stared at the growing knob, then at Susie. Her eyes went round and Susie saw a reflection of herself when Rita first turned her on, except that Carla's eyes were brown; lovely they were, the lashes thick and dark.
Susie's fingertips left the nipple, trailed upward to the bare white slope of her breast, up to her throat, knowing well that a woman liked a caress to depart, leaving behind prickling flesh, rather than to insist, to worry a nipple until it was irritated, as men did.
"Susie, I can't believe – that you…"
Susie did not answer. Belief did not matter. Sensation did.
And Carla was feeling the tease all about her throat, up her cheeks, over sensitive ear lobes, around the nape of her neck, then ever so slowly down the mound of the other breast, over her dress front to a nipple that rose in anticipation and was partly firmed when Susie's palm lightly rubbed it, back and forth, circled, left it and stroked the near one.
Carla swallowed hard. "I feel all tickly."
Leaning closer, Susie whispered, "Close your eyes. Let it happen to you."
"I'm afraid, Susie!"
"Afraid of what? I'm not a man. I can't rape you. I'm not bigger or stronger. You can stop me with a word."
Carla did close her eyes to avoid Susie's gaze, though she remained tense.
Susie resumed the stroking, starting now on Carla wrists, into the palms of her hands, out her fingers, up her softly rounded arms. The feel of the girl's flesh inflamed her and she was full of missionary zeal. Susie urgently needed to teach what she had learned these past two days. How Carla's nipples were growing! Thick, protruding until the dress material about them tented. Her breasts were moving jerkily as her breathing grew shallow.
Susie bent to them and brushed her lips over a white mound.
Carla choked, "But – Susie – it's perverted!"
Kissing the hollow of the girl's throat, Susie murmured, "Men say that to keep us from finding out how good it is."
Her lips moved up to Carla's chin, which she kissed tenderly, then to Carla's velvety cheeks, the most teasing of brushing lip movements.
Carla stiffened, fighting it.
Susie drew back cautiously, for a moment did not touch her.
Carla licked her lips. She was still breathing hard.
Then she whispered, "Susie, it feels like you – care – about me. Not like a person who's horny who just wants to get into my panties."
Susie raised the girl's hand to her mouth and kissed the palm, judging that sufficient answer.
As she kissed the hand it rose, fingers touching tentatively at her cheeks, then the palm caressing, moving to her hair and stroking it.
Carla murmured, "Your cheek is so soft, your hair silky. I like touching it."
Slim fingers furrowed Susie's hair to the nape of her neck, where they clung as Susie leaned to her and brushed her lips over Carla's closed eyes.
Susie whispered, "Would you like me to kiss you?"
Carla gave a shiver. After a long pause she murmured, "I think so."