Chapter 7
"let's face facts, Ginger. You were always good at that. We've had it. Why kid each other?"
She stared at her husband, unable to believe she was hearing correctly. She had convinced herself that he would change his mind and return to her. Instead, he was attempting to make their separation final.
"Mark, please ... this is all a stupid misunderstanding."
"No. Our marriage was a misunderstanding. It's pointless to continue the farce."
If she could only get her hands on Jackie, she was thinking. She could make that slut tell him a different story and straighten everything out.
"Let's think it over," she begged, stalling for time. "We're both too upset to make a rational decision now."
"I'm not upset any longer," he said. "I've adjusted my own thinking. You'll have to adjust yours."
Her eyes flashed, and she exploded, "Goddamn you! Do you think you can wash everything out like this? A few frigging words, and that's it, baby? You're out of your mind!"
He shut his eyes briefly and held himself under control. "I'm going to pack the rest of my things and make an appointment with an attorney. I want you to go with me, and well work out all the details. I'll be generous."
Furiously angry, she swung her hand at his face, catching him across the cheek with a stinging blow: His rage blossomed. He wanted to strike back. But he remembered the other night when he'd spanked her and how erotically excited that had made him. He didn't want to get worked up with her that way again.
No. It was better to swallow his pride for the moment and do what he had to do.
"I'm sorry you're taking it this way, Ginger. I suppose there's nothing more to be said. When you're ready to be sensible, I'll make that appointment with the lawyer."
He turned and strode toward the bedroom to do his packing.
Ginger followed him but, after she'd stood and watched him for a while as he emptied his closet and bureau drawers into suitcases, she realized how futile it was to try and change his mind now. This made her all the more angry, and she kept screaming at him.
He tuned her out.
She kept yelling obscenities as he carried his loaded bags from the house and back out to his car.
"Prick!" she yelled at him in the driveway.
He climbed into the car.
"Sonofabitch!" she shrieked.
He started the engine.
"Motherfucker!" was her final verbal salvo.
He backed the car out, turned it and headed down the street.
Her conduct today had simply reinforced his judgement that he was doing the right thing.
In the house next door, the Pattersons took all this in. Since it was a Saturday, Paul was at home.
"Oh, did you hear what she called him?" Candy asked, shocked that Ginger would be so obscene in public. But Candy was secretly pleased by the entire thing.
Paul stood beside her, behind the kitchen curtains. "The whole cockeyed neighborhood must have heard it," he said.
"Prick and motherfucker," Candy repeated. "Oh, my!"
"About the only thing she didn't call him was a cocksucker," Paul observed.
"Well, she couldn't very well call him that," Candy said sharply. "He isn't queer."
"Are you sure?" Paul grinned. "He's always seemed too damned pretty to me. Anyway, cocksucker's only a figure of speech. It doesn't mean anything literal."
"Well, I guess he and Ginger have really broken up."
"Sure sounds like it. That hangs us up for a swap."
"You talk as if you're addicted to swapping," Candy-accused.
"Well, I enjoy it. Don't you?"
"I can take it or leave it," she said. (She had something better going for her now.)
"To tell the truth, I was getting a little tired of Ginger," Paul said thoughtfully, as he chewed on a snack cracker. "I wonder what would be the chances of promoting a swap with another couple in the neighborhood."
"Paul!" Candy whirled on him. "I won't hear of it. The Hatchers were something special, and right next door. Most people aren't so broadminded. If you so much as suggest a swap to somebody else, it will ruin us in this neighborhood."
"Oh, I don't know," he said, chomping. "It depends on the people and how you approach them. Lots of people put up a false front, the way we do. Underneath they'd like to swing, if they had the chance. Or maybe they're already swinging. For instance, you take that cute brunette down the street-the one with the big tits-I'll bet she's a swinger. Her husband seems like a pretty sharp guy, too."
"Yeah? Well, keep your hands off her tits, and quit ogling her. I'm certainly not interested in her husband."
Paul regarded his young wife inquisitively. "You've kinda changed your tune, haven't you?"
"How?"
"Oh, I don't know. I always had the idea you enjoyed swapping. You tried to pretend it was a little beneath you, but you took to it quickly enough whenever we and the Hatchers got together. Hey ... it couldn't be that you have some kind of thing for Mark, could it?"
She turned away. "For goodness sake, Paul, don't be silly!"
But he continued to watch her and wonder.
She walked into the living room, her cute ass wiggling in skin-tight capris. Desire blossomed in his loins, and he thought about jumping her. But something kept him from it. Perhaps it was his desire to scare up another swap.
He opened the door and stepped out onto the driveway. He thought he might get a glimpse of the hot brunette down the street, who sometimes weeded her front lawn in a skimpy playsuit.
He strolled down his driveway and looked around.
What he saw caused him to freeze for a moment There was a moving van in front of the Munsons' house. Goddamn! Somebody was moving in. It couldn't be those frigging blacks he'd seen looking at the house the other day, could it?
He found an excuse to remain out front for a while, checking his rose bushes. He kept glancing down the street. There was a car parked next to the moving van. He didn't remember what kind of car the Negroes had been driving the other day, so he couldn't say whether this was theirs. But maybe if he watched for a few minutes, somebody would show.
It took only seconds. The door of the Munson house opened and a black youngster came running out followed by the white moving men, walking to the van for another load.
Skit!
A big black man now appeared in the doorway.
Paul turned abruptly and headed back into his house. "Candy?" The door slammed behind him. "Jesus Christ! Those blacks have taken over the Munson place. They're moving in right now."
Candy laughed.
"What's so goddamned funny?" he demanded. "You! You wanted to work out a swap with some neighbors. Well, there you are-the perfect prospects." She laughed again.
"Oh, you're cute! Real cute! I guess you know what this'll do to the frigging neighborhood."
But Candy couldn't get upset about it. She was too happy over the realization that Mark and Ginger apparently had made a final break. Now she had a clear field with him.
She might not even be living in the neighborhood much longer.
"Girl, there's only one way to break in a new house," big Joe said to his wife as soon as the moving men had left. Their two children were outdoors playing.
"If you mean what I think you mean, I'm amazed you even have a horny thought in your head, after all the screwing you did last night."
"Shoot, baby, that was last night! I didn't wanta bug you on a moving day morning, but I woke up with a raging hard-on today."
"You didn't!"
"Sure, I did," he said, as he took her in his arms and grinned down at her.
"Why, you horny stud!" She was investigating his pants front.
"Just play with it for a minute, baby, and you'll see what's gonna happen," he promised.
At first, she played with him through his pants. But she quickly got caught up in the excitement of the game, and pulled his zipper down. She lifted out his long black, cock, which had fattened and was almost ready to stand up.
She gazed at the mauve, bare head, then coddled it in her palm. She tickled it with her fingertips. Before her very eyes, and his, it enlarged and thrust forward as the shaft stiffened and poked out. In seconds, his erection was complete, and it was a beauty!
Jean had become nearly as excited as he was.
"Come on, you hound dog," she said happily. "Let's put this big pecker to work!"
She trotted ahead of him, toward the master bedroom. Her butt switched in the thin, snug pants she wore.
He closed the door as soon as they were in the bedroom, and began to pull at his clothes. She did the same. Her shirt came off and she showed him her full, high-riding titties in a snug, white bra. She pushed her slacks down to reveal snow-white briefs.
He was kicking his pants away by this time, and he quickly yanked off his shorts. His cock stood high and handsome, its huge head full of blood.
Jean pulled her panties away, stepped out of them, and fell back onto the bare mattress. She spread her legs wide, showing him her enticing cunt.
"Man, put that big cock into mc!" she demanded. "Screw me till I shout!"
Joe was happy to comply, and happy also to be giving his cute wife her first screwing in their new home. This represented the realization of a long-cherished dream for the Comptons. At last they were located in the kind of neighborhood they liked and could afford. No more shabby, dim-lit streets; sirens in the night; ill-kept apartments owned by white absentee landlords. They had their own place now, and it was first-class in every respect.
Jean deserved a first-class screwing to celebrate the event.
He didn't want to do anything fancy with her. Not today. He just wanted to slip his big prick into her warm, little cunt and move it until she fell happily out of her tree. Only then would he go off. The place would be christened by their mutual come.
He got down onto the bed between her thighs, and took ' a few moments to play with her titties-rolling them around, pushing them up and down, patting them gently and plucking at their fat, dark nipples.
But she was more than ready. Just feeling and looking at his handsome, prick had given her all the buildup she needed.
Now she grasped the husky tool and pointed it at her softly puckered opening. He pushed, and they merged, his cock sinking almost its entire length into her snug, slippery cunt.
"Baby, that feels good!" he growled.
"You feel good to me, big stud!" she exclaimed heatedly, as she raised her legs over his back. "Now, hump me. Hump me like hell!"
He humped her.
The bed rocked beneath them and bounced.
His thick, hard pecker stroked steadily in and out, in and out, in and out of her slick, warm membranes. Each time he slammed it in, it sank deep into her belly. She lifted for his strokes, able to handle all the meat he had. His big balls bounced against her asshole.
"Oh, screw me, daddy! Screw me!" she cried.
"Shit, baby, I'm givin' you all I've got!"
"And you've got a lot. Oh, what a prick! I love it!"
"Is it better than Ernie's?"
"Better than anybody's! Those other fuckers arc just a buildup for you."
"And your cunt's better than any white chick's," he growled, as he used that cunt well and thoroughly. "Man, but you move it good!"
They quit talking now and settled down to steady, hard screwing. The only sounds to be heard were the sighing of the mattress, an occasional squeak in the springs, the liquid merging of cock and pussy, and the slap of their bellies each time he socked it to her hard.
After a while, though, she began to moan harshly, and he started to grunt. He moved harder and faster. She was right with him, grinding and pushing back against his thrusts.
She let out a string of gasps. He growled savagely and really bore down. They raced. She squealed. Her cunt milked at his plunging pecker. He dug it deep and let loose his spurts, emptying his balls in the pit of her pussy.
Gradually her legs slid down off his back, and she sighed in bliss.
He chuckled, twisted his head, and kissed her on the mouth.
"Baby, we're home," he said.
"Man, would you believe it!" she replied.