Chapter 4

FOR A WHOLE WEEK FOLLOWING THAT night of truth at Don and Irene Hatcher's home, there was no communication whatsoever between the two couples. And where one might have thought that there would be almost immediate contact, an analytical purging of the soul, so to speak, there was no jingle on either telephone. And though both Carl and Millicent were dying to talk to them, to discuss in-depth the pagan breakdown that had occurred between them, they were both reticent, fell back on flimsy protocol. After all, it was the host and hostess who were responsible if there were amends to be made, fences to be mended.

Granted, the Randoms didn't let the week go to waste. Discussing those chaotic happenings almost nonstop during their private moments, otherwise thinking of them every minute of their working day, they found themselves in bed more than out of it; they fed upon those remembrances and discussions like a dog gnawing a bone long after all the taste is gone; they longed after replenishment of that erotic spice.

As they were to discover later (Irene finally breaking down, contritely and guiltily calling Millicent) , the Hatchers had been similarly engrossed in rediscovery of themselves, and though they wanted to get in touch with equal urgency, there was distraction enough to keep that yearning temporarily at bay. But then, they, like the Randoms, tired of rehashing, desired the actual thing anew.

Almost to the last detail the Hatchers' reactions in aftermath of the wife-swap incident were similar to those of the Randoms. Dismay, shame and despair had been their first response the morning after. Exploratory conversations had followed. Self-discovery, realization that their marriage wasn't as secure as they'd imagined, came close on the heels of that. Until, finally, belly to belly, cock to cunt, they had gone into the fine print, had achieved as blistering an orgasm as any husband and wife could ever hope to achieve. Throughout the week they'd continued to manufacture glories beyond belief, to delve into animalistic surrenderings of their bodies and souls.

And in the end, the inevitable conclusion:

They must continue with the Randoms. They would die if they were deprived of that safe, stunningly-logical variety and outlet now.

All this-awkward and prudish at first, graphic and outspoken as they'd warmed to the topic Irene and Millie had discussed on the phone. (The replay of the phone conversation had been good for another series of hump-for-happy sessions until the couples could get together again.)

All this had also been discussed face-to-face perhaps an hour ago in the murky privacy of the Random living room. Where, strong drinks in hand this Wednesday night (Brad conveniently sleeping overnight at a boyfriend's house), the coven had once more convened. Until now, bravado gradually investing them, they were edging the conversation toward the exigencies involved in nailing down still another trade-off.

"I don't know about you," Irene snickered self-consciously, "but I'm getting that way again." Boldly she rose from where she sat on the davenport with Don, went to cuddle gingerly beside Carl in the upholstered chair he occupied. "You don't mind, do you?" Glancing at Millicent where she sat across, she signaled toward Don. "Be my guest."

At first the couples were clumsy and embarrassed about kissing, hugging and caressing each other in full view of each other, but gradually, as the drink, the physical closeness, the very act of disporting themselves so shamelessly enhanced the erotic mood, and reticence faded. Again, (as he had during those first descriptions of the sexual didos Millicent had performed with Don) Carl was somewhat dazed by the lack of reaction he felt as he watched Don kiss Millie, fondle her breasts, flirt with her knees, slither his hands beneath her skirt. It was as he'd reassured Millicent on Sunday morning: If each member had reciprocal grazing rights, who could complain?

He responded by taking equal liberties with Irene, plucking her nipples through the sexy gown, the specially-chosen lingerie she'd worn just for him tonight. Very quickly she was breathing hard, trembling, her muffled sighs unmistakable evidence of her insane need.

First there were other arrangements to be seen to:

"What do you think, Don?" Carl called across the room. "Once a week be enough? Say we keep our Friday and Saturday nights open, plan around that?"

"Sounds good to me. What about it, honey?"

"You sure once a week's enough," Irene said sultrily, sliding her fingers along the crevice of Carl's thighs, teasing the swimming head of his prick through his trousers. "I think I could use it more often than that."

"For Christ's sake, Irene, be reasonable. We push this too far, we're going to get caught. There are the kids to think of. How'd you like Mary and Phyllis walking in on your sometime when you and

Carl are banging away at it? How you gonna get around that?"

"Just get rid of the little monsters," Irene slurred. "like Carl and Millie did tonight."

"Yeah? How many times we gonna get away with that? Somebody's gonna get wise. And then our asses'll be in the stew. Cool ... we play it cool."

Eventually everyone agreed. Friday or Saturday nights, with each couple entertaining on alternate weeks. They would set a one-thirty deadline for leaving so there'd be no room for nosy neighbors to talk. Future assignations might even take place at out-of-town motels, such runaway expeditions taking on aspects of illicit holiday, spicing up their liaison that much more. They could take vacations together, screw their way halfway across the nation. The possibilities were endless.

"One thing we have to agree to from the outset," Don said. "No rough stuff, no far out games. Unless both partners agree to it. No secrets. Share and share alike."

"Sounds okay," Millicent agreed. "More important than that," Carl intervened, "there'll be no sneak stuff, no in-betweeners between me and Irene for instance. We ball together, with everything on the up-and-up, or we don't ball at all. That's how trouble starts. All agreed."

"Agreed," the others chorused. "Now that that's settled," Irene said eagerly, "what do you say we split? I ... feel a little funny about ... doing this ... in front of Don. Maybe later, as we get to know each other better, we can do it in the same room." She giggled. "That sounds like fun, too. But for now..."

"Yeah," Millie joined in. "I'll buy that. Gives me a funny feeling too." She kissed Don hungrily. "Let's go someplace, lover man. I'm dying to see if it's as good as I remember."

"Oh, God," Irene enthused, "was it that way with you too? Don and I would remember, talk about it, then pile onto each other like we hadn't had any in months. I think we screwed for two hours straight that one night."

"Those tricks you taught us," Don added. "Man, talk about bonus points! Why we never tried them before, I'll never know."

"I wanted to, if you'll recall," Irene chided impishly. "But you were always the big he-man. 'Only whores act like that,' remember? It was perverted, you said. So, dutiful wife that I am, I folded my tent and stole into the night. I did it your way." Her eyes glowed with feral glitter, and closing her hand on Carl's prick in full view of the others: "I'll always be grateful to you for breaking me in, baby. Come on. Where's the bedroom? I'll show you how much I've learned since I saw you last. Practice! That Don just wouldn't say die."

Millicent took reciprocal pass at Don's trousers. "Is that so? Better and better. You've got me all curious."

A moment later, Carl replenishing martinis all around, the foursome drifted toward the stairs leading to the bedrooms.

Carl took Irene toward his own room, while Millicent guided Don down the dark hallway toward the guest room, at opposite poles of the house. Momentarily Irene was hesitant about making it in his own bed, but a few passionate kisses as he spread her flat out on the fresh sheets, a few bold clenchings and fingerings beneath her skirt, and all such prissy doubts were forgotten.

Not turning on the lights, letting the glow from the street lamp on the corner suffice, Carl made a prolonged, lust-inciting ceremony of undressing Irene, stopping often to admire the lace-frosted, sexily-cut lingerie ensemble she'd worn for his benefit. She thought it especially exquisite when he knelt before her on the floor, chewed and sucked her crotch through the already-moistened panties, made great show of smackingly sucking her juices, threading his talented tongue around the edge of her panties, snaking it into her grotto as far as possible in the bargain.

Shortly he had her bursting-at-the-seams brassiere off, and affixing greedy lips to her lemon-drop tits, he sucked her until she moaned and writhed with desire. Now the panties came off, leaving her dressed in just her smoked-toned hosiery, the witchy elastic and lace of her garter belt. Again his mouth devoured her breasts, while his fingers played a spine-melting pizzicato upon her clitoris.

Irene moved to undo the garter belt, remove her stockings while Carl undressed himself beside the bed, but he forestalled her. "I like to have my gals in their stockings sometimes. Indulge a kinky old man, will you?"

For a long time Carl knelt beside the bed again, sipped at her squirming cunt, the sensation of Irene's silky feet and ankles fluttering about his head as her delight became acute incendiary indeed. He spent an eternity, seemingly, pistoning his tongue in and out of her hole, his fingers, in the meanwhile, dialing her nipples to sharp tips, plucking and pulling, sending unbearable barbs of heat into her twat itself. When he next positioned her hands, directed her to pull back on her pubis, the better to expose her clitoris, she was too far gone to protest the indignity. Then, her knees steepled, her toes curled over the edge of the mattress, she squeakingly, quakingly allowed him to flog her clit with his tongue, to drive her out of her mind with sensations of the most unhinging sort.

Thus it was that she knew no shame, no hesitation whatsoever when he finally rose, fell onto the bed, rolled immediately onto his back, his massive spar standing up like a monolith at Stonehenge, its drooling tip glistening irresistibly in the gloom. "Show me, baby," he husked. "AH those lessons Don's been giving you."

"You devil..." she husked. Without a moment's delay she fell upon him, hovered over the stalwart rod, ran trembling fingers over its knob, worked his oil lovingly down its length, the expertness of her touch curling Carl's spine, actually making him whimper. Then, as her tongue skillfully lapped the underside of his glans, tortured that most-sensitive eye, he truly stiffened and groaned.

"You have been practicing," he praised. "Poor Don. If he had to stand much of that."

"Poor Don is right. I just wouldn't leave him alone." She sighed sadly. "When I think of all the years I've wasted. When I thought that this was perverted. Oh, God, if some women just knew the dividends it pays!" She adjusted herself on the bed. "You, baby. Do something to me! Pinch my tits. Put your finger in my hole."

"You know better than that. In your what?"

"You depraved monster! Sorry. In my cunt."

He immediately complied, administered a gentle pinch to her clitoris that almost dropped Irene on his stalk then and there. She recovered immediately, and applying her lips to the corona of his cock, she formed a tight ring, commenced working her mouth an inch up, and inch down, the sensation the milking muscle created inside his bloated balls incredible. "Talent," he gloated, "real talent." Next she expanded her field of operations, sliding her mouth down on him that extra inch, crowning the downstroke with a curling, rasping swipe of her tongue.

"You sweet bitch," he choked. "You'll have him exploded in there before you're through."

"That wouldn't be so bad," she snickered. I've had that too. Would you like me to take it that way?"

"Some other time. Right now I want to plug your giggie, shoot up your sweet tunnel."

"Up my what?" she taunted.

He laughed. "Up your cunt. C'mon now, baby. I'm getting there."

She paused briefly, licked him very gently now, a butterfly tickling almost. "Has it been good for you?" she asked softly. "This past week? As good as it's been for me?"

"God, you'd better know it."

"Me too. I thought I'd die on Sunday morning when I remembered the things I'd done with you. But then, later, when we finally got up nerve enough to talk about them, it wasn't that bad. Don's always been somewhat of a prude. I realized I've always been ripe, only he was holding me back. I've been bitchy as all hell lately, dreaming the craziest sort of things. I swear, I almost pushed it in a magazine salesman's face a month or so back."

"I know the feeling. I've got a secretary like that."

"The funniest thing, though. The more Don and I talked about it, the more natural it seemed. And we both wondered why we hadn't thought of it before. Although I don't know how either of us would have made the approaches. We're just lucky I guess ... that things happened the way they did. And the more we talked, the hotter we got. He made me tell him everything I did; I made him do the same. Every last detail. And by then I was so hot I was floating in it. I made Don screw me then and there. Before we were done I'd popped six times in a row, the most I've ever made. I've never in my life experienced such a deep, complete orgasm. I mean with the exception of you, last week. It was like that almost every time we screwed." Again her lips closed on his cock, sucked away the new flow of liqueur her frank lingo had inspired. "So big," she crooned, "so hard and long. Have you got another of those for me?"

"Another what?"

"Another one of those super-duper orgasms? I've been dreaming about it all week. The way you flash that baby into me. Even with all the nagging I've been doing, Don hasn't quite got it yet. He tried, though. He tries."

It was this last bit of praise that finally did Carl m. Now, drawing the lovely blonde nymph up from her salacious station, kissing her passionately on the lips, the intermixed ambrosia of cunt and cock rich on their palates he prepared to mount her. But there were improvisations.

He lifted her silky legs almost to the perpendicular, let her nyloned calves fall over his shoulders. Whereupon, hobbling forward, he eased his slimy dick into her cavern with slow, belly-brushing lunges. Lunges which served as springboard to raise her ass off the mattress, bend her knees back until they were almost in her face. Then, Irene totally vulnerable, totally filled with every last inch of his digging drummer, he commenced his slow, domineering ride. Savoring the hot slide of her hole, the suffocating tightness he plowed her with deliberate, murderous cadence; he reveled in her moans of partial pain, partial ecstasy when he banged the bottom of her chamber.

A further adjustment of his hips saw to ultimate contact between prick and clitoris. Which connection, along with the liver-nudging depth of his penetration, swiftly drove Irene to orgasm number one. Another fifty strokes, supplemented by the insertion of a greasy finger up her ass-hole, and she spasmed a second time. A brutal, cursing to-and-fro followed this one, a deeper penetration of her anus, and she popped once more. Lowering her finally, wrapping her stockinged legs around his waist, locking her ankles there, he rode higher on her, sawed her clitoris unmercifully. Again his finger drubbed her anal port. And with it this time, the inflaming promise that: "One of these times I'll put my prick in there, teach you the joys of sodomy. It isn't as difficult as you might imagine."

Irene nearly ruptured her throat with the ecstatic screams she expelled on this orgasm.

"How do you do it?" she exulted. "How do you last so long? I keep coming and coming. And yet you..."

"Practice does make perfect," he chuckled arrogantly. "Can you stand a few more? Here goes. Number...? "

". . . five," she announced proudly.

She announced six, seven, eight, nine, before the experienced whore master allowed his seed to splash her guts.

While, at that moment, in the distant bedroom at the hallway's other end:

"Are you sure, Millie? I don't want to hurt you."

"I'm sure, darling. You're softer now. It'll be just fine. Don't be afraid. Carl and I do this quite often; I'm used to it."

"Is Carl bigger or smaller than me?"

She was very diplomatic. "He's just the same as you. Yes, like that. With your juice. Get some out of my cunt if you like."

And while Millie crouched on all fours, her buttocks high in the air, awaiting this appalling innovation (to Don), she pleasurably remembered the quickness with which Don had paid the price of admission to enter her slit. A latent oralist of the first water (otherwise why had he crippled Irene with his adamant refusals of same?), he'd quickly fallen to his knees before her once she'd let him pull off her panties. Where he'd given her the suck off of the century, instantly adaptable as she tutored him in the art's finer points. A quick, entrail-charring hump had followed that, with both of them talking each other through, employing the most deliciously-obscene language imaginable.

Until now, after sucking the proud man back to life once more-

"Go ahead," she urged, in wheezing, pinched tones. "It's all right. It's bound to hurt a little at first. But once you get inside, once you get to moving. Oh, yes, yes..."

She mewled with minor pain as his dick scoured the innermost reaches of her rectal cavity. "No, it's all right. Go ahead; I can take it. Oooh, wonderful. In, darling, in!"

She guided his one hand to her breasts, where she indicated that he must pull her nipples alternately. His other hand she drew between her legs, placed his strumming finger on the button of her clitoris. "Every time you ram me," she instructed, "give it a nick. Yes, like that."

And not too much later, in conglomerate commotion-

His finger up her cunt, his others pinching her nipples. His fat dong up her ass. His grunting, pained squeals. The hot throb of his prick inside her, the searing runniness of his discharge.

Heavenly, she thought as multiple orgasms seemingly slashed her. Simply heavenly!

And the best part of all-

The fact that they still had at least another hour in which to play, to experiment to their heart's content!