Chapter 3

Maida's body, once it was completely nude, was unbelievably magnificent. Her breasts, for all their size, were firm and springy to his hands, their nipples immediately responsive to even the slightest attention. A narrow strip of clear, translucent white, delicately filigree with the pale blue of veins, contrasted with the healthy apricot-tan above and below them and showed that a bikini bra must have revealed more than it covered.

Brad could feel these smooth mounds touching his belly as they swung with the playful movements of Maida's blonde head. Their smoothness had been sweet to his sucking lips and the slightly salty taste of her sweat added a fiercely tender surge to his desire. And that was even before she was completely undressed, before he had gotten his fingers into the generously lubricated, incredibly smooth lips of her cunt and certainly before she had moved her lovely body so that her hot-leaking pussy was directly over his face, his craving mouth.

There was a profusion of silky hairs almost tickling his nose and lips and chin-a dry, springy mat on her pubis, defining the vee where her lovely thighs joined her sculptured torso. Down the thick cuntlips, which now were peeling open from natural desire, the hairs also grew thickly, but they were slightly darker, somewhat matted together, undoubtedly from an accumulation of that indescribable nectar which oozes naturally from a warm, healthy vagina. Brad imagined the pleasure it would be to gather these darker, stiffer hairs between his teeth and in gentle torture, to rake off the microscopic film of dried cunt-juice.

The gorgeous spread of her ass, always emphasized from this angle when a girl is on hands and knees, was smooth and taut, warm and resilient. He placed the palms of his hands on their round fullness, his thumbs on the inside of her thighs. Her tightly puckered asshole, pink as a rosebud, was surrounded by a little clump of shorter blonde hairs, which entranced him. It was, to him, violently sexy that a young girl should have so much hair up the cleft of her ass.

Without the stretch of his thumbs, the hole at the bottom of her slit showed dark and faintly pulsating and clear drops of good-time goo oozed slowly out, their viscosity causing them to drift down the inside of her thighs.

In a moment, he would use his hands to force this pink slash of flesh-folds, this sweetly flowing cavern of love down to his mouth, to suck long and hard, his lips glued around the vaginal portal, so that she would feel the puckering vacuum all the way to the end of her sheath and so that he could flood his mouth with the rich slickness that filled it.

The wonderful girl-scent from her slobbering and palpitating crotch was almost overpowering, a smorgasbord perfume that smacked of ripely delicate cheese, a whiff of dried cod, woman-sweat and the maddening, acrid, earthy tang of piss faintly present. A perfect pussy for eating.

He moved his hands to the warm, delicately grained hollows under her arms, wishing that women had never learned to shave themselves there. When he had first begun to fuck Donna, the hair was just beginning to sprout on her pussy and under her arms: the outward proof of her womanhood. It was as exciting as his first exploration of her young body.

Now there was another reminder of Donna-what Maida was doing in such superlative skill to his cock. She was going wild on it, her head swinging back and forth as she mouthed it, the cock lashing its head against the roof of her mouth, her cheeks. And when she went all the way down, taking the entire shaft deep into her throat, her throat muscles had the same spasmodic clutch that gave such pleasure to the taut, spongy glands.

He was so hard, so ready to come.

The rattlesnake whir of his telephone jerked him painfully from his fantasy and he smiled sheepishly at Maida, who looked at him curiously as she hung up the instrument.

"You looked like you were having... " she giggled "... a very pleasant dream." She was sitting firmly on the buttocks he had just been stroking in his fantasy, pressing her body's weight down on the cuntlips which would be, he knew, demurely folded over the wet, warm inner labia of his waking dream. "And I'm not going to offer a penny for your thoughts, either," she finished. "Since you came back from upstairs, you've been looking at me like I didn't have a stitch on!"

Brad had to laugh, but shakily. His hard-on remained, long and hot against his thigh. If he stood up, he felt, it might snap off.

From nowhere, he remembered the thought he had had when he had first thought about Alison and her delightful body.

"Come over here, Miss Vail," he said. "Something has come up that I want you to take down for me."

Her smile was twisted conically. "Shall I bring my book?" she asked, "or will this be in Braille?"

They both began to laugh and Brad, made bold by the certainties in Bill's discussion of the weekend party, said, "Lock the door, baby and we'll take it down and get it up again and take it down again-three or four ways!"

"No way, Mister Street," she declared. "Not in the office. Maybe you'd better go home and ball your wife!"

Brad was not discouraged. "Why not?" he inquired. "You're coming to the party at Bill's, aren't you? And I'll have prior rights there, for sure. How about a little rehearsal?"

"I'll probably be there, Brad," Maida admitted. "And I'll have some prior rights, too." She grinned. "But it'll be my choice, you know. Didn't Bill say so?"

Brad shrugged. His hard-on had dwindled, but the excited nerves in his cock, still held tightly by the pressure of his slacks, continued to deliver messages of pleasure.

"You'd better choose right, or be ready to wrestle," he said in mock threat.

"And if I choose you, friend, you'd better save this load that's on your mind," she challenged. "You'll need all you've got if I play party games with you!"

Brad laughed and let out a shuddering sigh. Bill hadn't been kidding. He'd have a crack at Maida Saturday night. But he had to have the last word.

"Big talk," he said. "You're probably one of those cool-assed chicks who eat an apple and read a book while you're letting a guy get his nuts off, solo!"

Maida flushed and a look of little-girl determination gathered on her face. She got up and calmly walked across the carpet to stand beside him. Brad sat still, wondering, hoping.

"Just so you'll know," she said in a low voice, "feel me!"

As his hand crept up between her thighs, as smooth as his waking dream had envisioned them, his hand waited, tense, an inch below her pussy. He looked at her and her smile was inviting. She moved one foot to spread herself wider, more open to his hand. He could swear that he felt warmth and humidity on the skin of his fingers. He was conscious of one or two fine hairs that straggled down her thigh from the hot nest above.

Slowly but surely, holding his breath, he pushed his probing fingers up and found them gloriously warmed and soaked by the softly drooling lips that parted under his touch. She was like a thermal pudding, her cunt gently closing on his two fingers while a perfect flow of heated juice rolled down his hand.

He held her tightly and his right hand went down to his zipper, opening it swiftly, fumbling for the rigid cock that strained against his slacks.

But Maida wrenched free, laughing and twirled away to stand in safety by the door.

"I told you, not in the office," she said, but her smile was tender.

Brad rose from behind the desk, his bare cock thrusting forward like a rifle at the ready. His face was tense. "You goddamned little cock-teaser!" he growled.

Maid still smiled, but she turned the knob and opened the door just a crack. "Hold it, Brad," she ordered. "My dad used to say that rape was very difficult, because a girl can run faster with her skirts up than a man can with his pants down. And I'm not a teaser. Remember, you challenged me!"

Brad managed a grin and stowed his cock away. "Okay, okay," he grumbled. "But how can you stand it, as hot as you are?"

"I manage," Maida offered. "It's a little easier for a chick than for a guy. And I'm sorry you got so worked up. But you were that way before... before... " and she dropped her eyes.

"Before you hung that hot twat of yours over my fingers," Brad said. "How did you grow up that way? And how in hell did you keep from getting married?"

They were quiet now and the workday was closing. Maida told him how she "grew up that way," simply and touchingly, without guile, without holding back.

How she entered beauty contests and won, since she was fourteen. And how she was pushed by an ambitious mother and finally, her own competitive spirit.

"So I got chased plenty," she said reminiscently. "But I got taken advantage of, too many times. I got a little bit disenchanted with your sex, Brad. They know how badly a girl wants to win those damned contests. You know what I mean? It's a crazy thing, what a girl will do to win."

"But didn't you ever fall in love?" Brad demanded.

Maida snorted. "I was too busy trying to be Miss Carnation and Miss Sonrisa Beach and Miss Everything. And fucking some lousy, horny old bastard who said he'd fix it." She laughed, but without mirth. "Try to keep from getting your pretty, long, ruffled white dress ruined while some fat-assed Chamber of Commerce secretary fucks you standing up behind a Poinsettia Parade float! And rings in a friend who's standing by full of bourbon and garlic-Ugh!"

"Did you win that one?" Brad asked.

Maida had to laugh. "No, damn you!" she cried. "He fucked me in more ways than one. That's when I quit the stupid business and came to work at good old Bon-twat, where you fuck if you want to. Mostly," she added. "It depends."

"You mean it's not really a matter of free choice?" Brad had to know.

"I said it depends," Maida answered shortly. "The pay's damned good here and the fringe benefits can be big and when you get right down to it, Bon-twat's not the only place where a girl's pussy is her survival kit!"

Brad burned up the freeway getting home to Island Villas. Maida had let him kiss her before he left and not only opened her legs and let him feel her up again, but also took his cock out, jerked it a few times, then sent him away. So, he came home with a hard-on.

He muttered a curse when he heard voices in the kitchen. There was a strange new car at the curb, too. Probably the Avon lady, damn it! And he wanted to ball. He had his chance, too, but it backfired.

"Brad!" three voices shouted at once and a pair of tits bigger and softer than Donnas' pressed against him.

And, "Brad!" Donna repeated. "It's Kelly and Grant!"

Kelly and Grant Graham-two of their oldest friends, the couple who had initiated them into swinging, the luscious girl whom Brad had most enjoyed! And Grant, handsome, virile, laughing, the first man other than Brad who had ever pushed his hard cock into Donnas' yearning, squirming body! The two of them, plus Donna, with smiles of anticipation and lust. Grant, already showing a partial hard-on pushing at the soft fabric of his slacks and Kelly, hanging on Brad's neck, thrusting her warm crotch against his, gently humping against him, while her tits, like soft projectiles, bore into his chest.

It was the toughest executive decision that Brad had ever made. And he made it with brutal directness.

"Nice of you to stop by," he said, with a chilly smile and a sour note of rejection in his voice. He pulled away from Kelly's arms, none too gently and turned to Donna, his smile gone. "Let's fix our old friends a drink," he said, "and go sit in the living room."

"Brad!" Donna cried out again, but this time without love and excitement in her voice, only reproach. "What's the matter with you?" She was close to tears.

Grant and Kelly looked on, wondering. It was Kelly, the woman scorned, who reacted first, sensing that Brad's coldness was real. "Hold it, Graham," she said with a chill that matched Brad's, as Grant opened his mouth. She turned to Donna and pushed the smaller girl's outstretched hand aside. "I think we've made a mistake in the address. We thought that some old friends lived here!" She pulled a protesting husband after her, eying Brad with contempt. "What was that movie? 'Will Success Spoil Rock Hunter?' I don't know about Mister Hunter, but it sure made a chickenshit out of Brad Street! Come on, honey," she said to Grant and it was obvious that she was close to furious tears. "I don't want to puke on their expensive carpet!"

Brad stood alone, more alone, he felt, than ever in his life, as Donna ran after the retreating pair. He heard her say, "Please, please, Kelly! It's not the way you think! He's not that way, really-come on back in!"

But Brad could see Grant, stony-faced and angry, slam the new car into gear and burn rubber getting away. He poured himself a big belt of straight bourbon and was sipping it when Donna stormed in.

He set the drink down and tried to take her in her arms, knowing how their physical contacts always seemed to smooth down her ruffled feathers, but she gave him a hard push that caught him off-balance and sent him staggering awkwardly back into a chair.

"Brad, what's the matter with you!" she cried. "They came to see us-to show us their new car, to have some laughs! To have a lovely party! And you've ruined it all! Oh, damn you," and she began to sob, her face in her hands.

Brad let her cry, then began his explanation, slowly, patiently, telling her how Bill had known all about their swapping and that it hadn't mattered at all and how it had made him think all the more of them.

"Oh, how big of him!" Donna said in angry irony. "The fucking snoop! And of course, he complimented us on our recent purity! I knew it!" she shouted, as Brad's surprised look gave him away. "What does he do-bug our bedroom? Or do you file a daily report?"

She began to cry again.

Brad waited a moment and went on.

"I don't remember exactly how he said it, Donna," Brad answered her. "Maybe he just assumed it. There's no microphone anywhere-Bill's not that kind of guy. You're right. He did say that it was smart of us to cut it out. Come to think of it, that's all he said-or almost all."

He told her then of the coming party and how, as Bill had put it, such relationships made indiscriminate swinging unnecessary. It made Donna even angrier. But it was cold anger.

"How perfectly lovely and pure!" she exclaimed. "It's all right for you to swap me to your boss for a lousy raise, but not just for fun with old friends!"

He remained patient, logical. "People like Bill don't have to swap," he said, quoting Alison. "And whatever benefit that comes of it-if any-comes to you as well as to me. And you say I'm changed. What about you? You were always willing to fuck anybody in our circle in Citrus City. What's so different about doing it here, with Bill, or someone else?"

Donna got closer to him, putting her hand on his head.

"Brad, can't you see?" and her voice was tired. "It's because they were in our circle. Our own kind of people. And it was always just for fun and nothing else. Oh, Brad," she said with a catch in her voice, "this way, it's just like doing it for money. Making me into a whore!"

Brad shook off the element of truth in Donnas' accusation, but it shaped his answer. "That's a damned lie, Donna," he said, "and you know it. But even if there were some truth in it, I don't see where fun is a nobler motivation than an honest desire to get ahead. It's not as if you, or either of us, had never done any swapping around. Either way, for fun or for doing ourselves some good, we lose nothing."

Donna stroked his head and he didn't look up to see that her smile was sad. "You're all wrong, Brad," she answered quietly. "Can't you see it? We'll be like trained animals- Bill's animals. When he says, 'roll over and fuck,' I roll over and fuck. And when he says, 'Brad, you play some tricks with Alison, or Maida, or Whatshername,' you do as he says. We both do the little tricks he wants us to. And he rewards us with some little goodies like raises or promotions." She shook her head. "We aren't human beings any longer, when we go that route. We're sellouts!"

Sensing her tiredness, Brad gathered a little confidence. He'd made too many sales to people who had indignantly refused his first approach to be discouraged easily.

He put his arm around her hips, giving her firm little ass a playful squeeze. "I don't blame any man for wanting some of this," he said, smiling, "Bill included. You're the best there is!" His slight guilt as he remembered pulling Maida to him in a similar gesture only a couple of hours before, was offset by the memory of that deliciously wet pussy.

"Let's say there's just a mite of logic in what you say, baby," he replied soothingly, going back to her statement. "Suppose we do what Bill wants, but not-and I do mean not-to get a promotion. Only to go along with a guy who's been damned good to us, both of us. And suppose, not as a result of your fucking Bill, or anyone else, but because I'm pretty good at my job, that I do get a promotion."

As the seeming truth of this grabbed him, Brad's voice grew more persuasive. "Is it so hard to believe that my own talents and work might have more to do with it than you, with your talents, giving Bill a time to remember? Look at it this way, Donna: just about everything that every human does is for the same reason-self-interest."

He felt so strongly that he had made an unanswerable point that some of his tension was eased and he laughed. "And anyhow, Donna-baby," he said teasingly, "how do you know that this won't be fun, too!"

Lying far over on her own side of the big bed, totally unwilling to have Brad touch her, Donna let her mind dwell on that final question from Brad. Although she shut her eyes tightly and tried to shut her mind with equal firmness, she saw Bill Derwin, the way he had looked at her on that day a few weeks before when they knew this was to be their home.

She saw his hazel eyes with their yellow flecks and the way they had stroked over her breasts, her belly, her thighs. She saw his taut, compact, athletic body and knew that it would be as muscular, as youthful as Brad's or any of their friends'.

Remembering the electric shock of animal heat that had swept through her when she had so impulsively hugged Derwin on that occasion, she shuddered and not with revulsion.

She tried to remember if Brad had ever had such an effect on her. No, she decided, not even when they'd first fucked. Brad was strong, sweet, fiercely tender. He had thrilled her more than she had dreamed was possible. Just the thought of him made a glow of warmth in her belly, brought a mild squirming to the muscles inside her cunt. And stubbornly, still angry at his treatment of their friends, she resisted the impulse to turn herself to him, to hold his warm, fat cock in her hands, to push between his thighs and kiss the soft, hairy sac which held his balls.

"How do you know that this won't be fun, too?" Brad had asked, "this", of course, meaning her opening herself to Bill.

That was her hangup, her deep fear, the motive behind her automatic rejection of the idea, from the start.

Fun, indeed! Donna loved sex even before she ever felt Brad's prick in her mouth; before it had stretched her girlish, tender cunt, ravaging her maidenhead in a triumphant burst of pain and joy. She loved it more now than she had then.

Knowing that and recalling the wildness of heat that had flowed between her and Bill, she feared that the actuality of his body on hers, his cock turning and ramming and pounding inside her, might throw her completely and forever out of control. She had said that this business would make them Bill's trained animals. Actually, she was proud of the animal lust in her nature. What she feared-if fear was the right word-was that the animal might take her over entirely.

Resolutely, as she felt a flow of girl-juice pushing at the lips of her pussy and the beginning of an itch in her clitoris, Donna pushed the images of Bill Derwin out of her mind, pushed back the fear that contact with him might be entirely too much "fun", to use her husband's weak word for what she might feel and sought sleep.

On his side of the bed, having long since lost the hard-on he had brought home with him, Brad sleepily thought of the delights of freely exploring the warm, soft, perfumed bodies of Maida, Alison and other girls from the office. He felt in his heart that common sense and self-interest would bring Donna to see the light-and to cooperate.

There was only one thing that made him feel slightly less of a man than he would've liked.

At one point, during dinner, when he had continued to raise the subject of the party and Donna had continued to evade the issue, he had said, "Bill told me that no one does anything at the parties except by free choice. So go to the party and if you don't like what's happening, you can always cop out. Remember that-it's a matter of free choice!"

Donna had always had confidence in anything Brad told her. Until now.

By her look, she knew he was lying. Worse, it was plain that she knew that he knew he was lying.

Well, he thought, this is a case of the end justifying the means. Donna will understand that, once it's over.