Chapter 4
Laura Drake sprawled back on the king-sized bed, thrilling to the feel of the silk sheets under her aroused body. She watched the well-built blonde haired man across the room as he undressed, her arousal mounting. She wondered for a moment if he was of Scandinavian descent and decided she would ask him-later.
Right now she was too interested in the powerful chest which was exposed as he stripped off his shirt. There was a thick, fleecy patch of blond hair running from his throat to his slacks top and Laura felt her nipples tingling with lust as she anticipated the feel of her breasts against his manly body. She was nude but for a pair of lacy, pink baby doll panties. Her clittie was stiff with excitement and the friction of the sheer nylong on the little nub was excrutiatingly pleasurable. It was all she could do to resist reaching down and diddling herself as she watched this golden stud undress.
He was undoing his slacks now and Laura sucked in her breath as he stepped out of them The protrusion in his blue silk boxer shorts was enormous!
Then, in an instant, the shorts were on the floor and he was striding towards her. Laura writhed voluptuously in the silk and nylon which enfolded her inflamed body, keening and whimpering, her eyes rooted disbelievingly on the huge red bolt of cockflesh which jutted from his gold fleeced loins. Oh shit, he was beautiful!
He knelt on the bed and gently parted Laura's thighs with his powerful hands as shiver after shiver passed through her. Gently, ever so gently, he nosed the red, flaring tip of his big, beautiful organ against the little jut of her clit and rubbed through the sheer, silky panty crotch. She almost passed out from the pleasure of it.
"Rrrrrrrring!"
The shrilling of the phone, seemingly in her ear, jarred Laura from her waking dream. Groping blindly, she turned in the blankets and reached for the bedside phone, realizing, as she did so, that her hand was wet with pussy juice. She somehow found her voice.
"H-hello."
"Hi-Laura?" came a familiar female voice, touched with a slight French accent. "It's me, Jean. I'm on my way to the city this morning and I thought I'd drop by to visit."
"Why... sure Jean," Laura answered, trying to cover her heavy breathing.
"Fine-see you in about an hour."
Laura held the phone for a few moments after the click of the receiver, until her breathing finally calmed. Her hand was trembling as she placed the receiver back on the phone. She sank back into her pillow, feeling a curious mixture of shame, frustration and excitement.
It was at least the third time that week she had awoken to such a dream, and the third time she had found her hands in her panties, her clittie hard and tingling. Just yesterday, half awake, she had continued diddling until she had brought herself to a sobbing climax.
She had thought then, after her self-reproach, that it would be the end of it, that she had simply needed to masturbate. She had put the dream out of her mind for the rest of the day.
But this morning was the same, frighteningly so. Just as intense, just as powerful. Laura could still, almost feel that blonde stud's huge prod beating at her... what was happening to her? Was she losing control over herself, as she had once before in her youth? Would it all happen again?
Her breasts were heaving in her thin nightie and Laura rolled over in the sheets, trying to get a grip on her anxieties, to gather her thoughs.
She told herself that being upset was foolishness-that she was a mature, refined woman, married to a wonderful man and involved in her own artistic career. Things like this could be analyzed, understood and dealt with dispassionately.
But something inside just wasn't listening. Something inside her, something treacherous, was alive and burning, eager to break loose. As if some part of her was straining for freedom-yet she dared not think what it was, she could only dread it.
It had been this way ever since Dale's transfer to Pompeyo. A certain element of weariness, or flatness, had always been on the edge of their relationship and now it threatened to engulf them completely. She had seen it first in her husband's sudden lack of interest in his painting, and she had developed a similar apathy to her own work.
Then there was their sexual life. There had always been the tension, the frustration, but then there had also been those nights and moments that made the conflict all worthwhile. Lately, there hadn't been any of those nights-no ardor, no real pleasure, and no fulfillment.
How many nights in the past few months had she needed Dale's body only to find him weary, his prick limp. And how many nights had she felt his own arousal when she herself was incapable of response.
And she had thought Pompeyo, California, the legendary West Coast, would have had just the opposite effect on their staid, Eastern souls. But the vibrant, hang-up free, youthful spirit they had encountered here had only made them feel more deeply the lifelessness of their own relationship, had seemed to paralyze them all the more.
No, no! Laura sat up, casting off the blankets, feeling herself on the verge of tears. It couldn't come to this, she wouldn't let it! Something radically different had to enter their lives, some spark, some vitality had to be somhow introduced.
She stood and walked to the closet mirror, cooly, almost detatchedly, examining her face and body in the full-length reflection. Her soft white skin normally had an ivory tone to it, but now the luster had turned to a kind of pallor and her coal dark eyes seeming hauntingly deeper, framed in the silken tumble of her black hair.
Her face showed few signs of middle age, and her body was in its full ripeness. Her firm, pouter pigwon breasts, her slim waist and flaring, seductive hips and her long lithe thighs and calves all belied a deep sensuality-a sensuality which she now felt as buried, perhaps lost. She turned away from the reflection, apalled at the contrast between the state of her body and spirit. She again fought the urge to sob, to let out the sadness, the emptiness which had invaded her life.
Wearily, she thought of Jean's impending visit. She decided on a bath, a lazy, luxurious half hour of hot, sudsy water and, as she began running the tap, her mind inevitably settled on Jean, comparing, contrasting.
Wife of the handsome, dynamic Andre Cruchon, a sculptor and one of Dale's fellow teachers at Pompeyo, Jean was not an artist herself, as was Laura, but she Ivied her life with a zest, a freedom, a passion that was an art itself. Laura envied her deeply-she was always animated, always on the move, always involved.
Laura doffed her nightie and stepped into the bath, gradually sinking into the soothing, enveloping heat. There was that rumor about the Cruchons which Laura had heard at a rather tipsy meeting of faculty wives. At first it had struck her as a vicious, horrible tale to be spreading. Then she had noticed the reaction of several other women to it-all were secretly, if not openly fascinated, and envious.
The story had it that the Cruchons were involved in an AC-DC triangle with another woman, possibly Susan Warwick, the sexy department secretary. Supposely, Andre serviced both Susan and his wife and then left them to lesbian love play.
Laura had been shocked at first, refusing to believe it. But then as her mind turned it over more and more, she began to grow fascinated herself, wondering just what it would be like... she had never mentioned it to Dale, for a reason she didn't quite understand. Could it be that in telling him, she would secretly be testing his own reaction?
She began soaping her body, enjoying the slick sudsiness on her soft skin. Her hands lifted to her breasts, gently tracing, kneading the smooth flesh. Her nippels tingled as she began to lather in a slow, rotating motion and her body slowly came to aroused life.
Laura's thoughts, now dreamy, now sensual, drifted back to a long repressed forbidden memory of her youth. To those days of awakening animal pasion, when the fever of her young adolescent body had, for a short, fantastic period burned away the restrictions and rears which had been ingrained in her staid, proper up bringing. As she recalled that first night of her sin, her awakening, her hand slowly moved down her tingling body to the immersed, dark thatch of her loins.
She had been sweet sixteen at the time and well developed for her age. Though her parents had laid down a strict moral code for her, Laura's curiosity in sexual matters was far stronger than her sense of guilt and she often experimented with her own body. On dates though, her experience had been limited to heavy petting and, ocassionally she would coax her date's cock out of his pants and favor him with a "hand job"-always deeply excited by what she saw and felt but always afraid to "go all the way."
That summer her parents had taken off with some friends for an upstate vacation and had left her with her aunt and uncle. Her cousin Ron was a tall, good looking youth, for whom Laura had always felt a secret crush.
One evening, when her aunt and uncle were out, Laura had passed by his room and, noticng the door was open a crack, had peeked in, perhaps hoping to catch a glimpse of him in the nude. What she saw proved far better than her expectations. He was sprawled out on his bed, completely naked, slowly masturbating his prick-a big, red giant of a thing. She could hardly believe the size of it and she knew immediately that she wanted it hard and thrusting in her virgin pussy.
She had been feeling particularly horny during her stay with her relatives partly because of the sultry summer weather, partly the presence of her handsome cousin and partly the awakening heat in her young loins. As she had watched the act of her cousin's masturbation, the fever had grown white hot, finally exploding. Unable to contain herself, she had burst into the room.
Ron had sat up instantly, flushed with embarassment and outrage. He couldn't seem to find any words. Laura did.
"Looks like fun," she said, trying her best to sound sexy.
"You little snoop... " he had sputtered.
"I'm more than a snoop," she had replied, daringly.
"Then just what did you come in here for?" he sneered, returning the dare.
Without a word, Laura had reached behind and unfastened her skirt, letting it fell in a heap at her ankles. She undid her blouse and let it fall too. She stood, then, silent, waitng, her alluring young body nude, save for a bra and a pair of blue lace baby-doll panties.
Her cousin groaned from his place on the bed, then stood up and slowly approached her, his penis swinging before him. She had stood trembling in her panties, unable to speak, yet feeling as if she wanted to scream, completely in the power of the animal desire which wracked her body.
"I want you," Ron had said, hoarsely.
"Do you know what to do?" Laura asked, voice quavering.
"Of course."
He had taken her in his arms then and Laura had melted, shuddering against his hard body. She nearly swooned as she felt the hard shaft of his manhood against her panties loins.
He had led her to the bed then, gently stripping off her underwear, gently mounting her, gently introducing his rock hard prick to the mouth of her puss. Gnelty, ever so gently, he had penetrated as Laura reeled with the searing pleasure-pain of defloration.
After that they had carried on whenever possible in the remaining weeks of her stay. Her cousin proved to be an adept and knowledgable lover and had introduced her to countless forms of delight.
When Laura returned to school that fall, her classmates seemed years behind her. She began to hand around with older boys-boys with cars and jobs, boys who drank and raced, boys who fucked.
For a while it had been wild and exciting and Laura had been on top of it all. Then one night she had been brutally raped in the rear seat of an old Chevy by three drunken toughs. They had left her lying, ravaged and bleeding by a fence, broken in spirit as well as body.
Out of a deep sense of shame and guilt, Laura had quietly returned to her role as a model student, returning to artwork. She grew shy and introverted, afraid of sex, afraid of men, afraid of herself.
She had gone on to college, only .then gradually re-awakening, re-opening herself. Her marriage to Dale had been,, at first, a glorious liberation from her past, from her home and from her fears and she had floated on a blissful cloud for the first few years. Only recently was the again thrown back on herself. Only recently had her body begun to demand of her, to urge and torture her as it had in those days of budding femininity.
Laura groaned, sliding to her neck in the warm, steamy water, as her finger worked over her clit in a rapid motion. Forgetting her thoughs, she gave herself over to the drowsy feeling of sensuality flowing through her body. Her head lapsed back on the edge of the tub, her mouth slack as her finger rotated faster and faster. The image of the blonde dream satyr returned, his beautiful body, his massive cock-her loins tensed, trembling on the verge...
"Laura?... Laurrrra!"
It was Jean-had an hour passed already? Laura swore softly and sat up in the tub-frustrated again. It seemed she couldn't even diddle herself to contentment any more.
"I'm in the tub, Jean-I'll be out in a minute."
She dried herself quickly, stepped into a fresh pair of panties and donned a housecoat. Jean was waiting in the kitchen.
"Well," beamed Laoura, "You're the early bird today."
"Not really, sleepy head," replied Jean, returning her smile, "Guess I just don't lead as active a night Me as the Drakes."
Laura winced inwardly-she knew how far that remark was from the truth. "Like some coffee?" she managed.
"Sure."
Jean was alluringly dressed in her typical combination of good taste and fashion. She wore a velvetine midi-skirt which enhanced rather than hid the svelte curves of her hips and legs. She was a beautiful, olive-skinned brunette with clear, green eyes. Her hair, normally shoulder length, was piled attractively on her head, revealing a slender, pretty neck. For a moment, a picture of this beauty entangled in a lesbian embrace with Susan Warwick entered Laura's mind. The picture gave her a deep, intriguing thrill and she quickly shut it out.
"Today's my day for errands," she was saying, "Just thought I'd drop by to see how the other half lives."
Her remark was teasing but Laura couldn't help but see a little truth in it Compared to the Cruchons, the Drakes really were in the "other half" of the Pompeyo scene.
"Doing much painting lately?" Jean asked.
"No... no, both Dale and I are sort of in an-uh, artistic rut at the moment," Laura said, making a feeble attempt at a smile.
"I wouldn't worry-Andre goes through that all the time. Usually with him, it's involved with some other part of his life that needs a change, like-" Jean cut herself, short, realizing just what the course of her conversation was implying for Laura. Both women were silent for a moment.
"Laura," Jean spoke up suddenly, "I'm sorry-I get the feeling that I'm putting my foot in my mouth every time I open it."
"No, Jean-it-it's me, I really am kind of dead this morning," she sighed, realizing how obvious her embarassment was.
"What is it dear," Jean asked, "Is it something with Dale. Please, I want you to feel you can confide in me-I think we know each other well enough."
Though Laura envied Jean, too often feeling the disparity in their lives, too often wondering about Jean's involvement in the alleged "triangle," she also liked her very much. Perhaps in this relaxed, refined, yet sensual woman, Laura saw a part of the self she wanted to be.
"Yes, I feel that way too, Jean," she said slowly.
' Well then tell me-if you can."
"Well... ever since we moved here, things between Dale and myself have been going downhill. It's like we've both sort of reached an impasse-like you say, it's time for some kind of change."
"What kind of change," asked Jean, hesitantly.
"Oh, nothing drastic certainly. We still love each other very much... it-it's just that lately we've both been so restless... we just aren't helping each other at all."
There was a long silence. Jean slowly sipped her coffee and then spoke up in a sympathetic yet firm voice.
"Laura, I think it's about time you swapped."
Stunned, not quite even sure she'd heard right, Laura stammered momentarily.
"Maybe you've heard," Jean went on, "But Andre and I have friends. Some couples in Pompeyo and some in Monterey. We're all swingers, we all enjoy it and nobody's hung up or ashamed about it. It's really as simple as that."
"H-how long have you... done it?"
"We've been swappers for less than a year, though some couples have been swinging for several. We don't do it that often-maybe once a month."
"I-I just don't know," said Laura, "It sounds so, so... "
"I know just how it sounds and believe me, my reaction was the same as yours. It's not an easy idea to accept. For Andre and I it came at a time when our relationship needed a jolt, a lift... In a way, you have to be desparate for that lift and at the same time love your husband very much. It takes a lot of faith. All I can say is that it worked for me-we've never been so happy together and we enjoy swapping more every time we try it."
\ I-I just don't know what to say, Jean."
Laura's mind was spinning, trying to grasp, to digest all she had heard. Jean suddenly stood up.
"I guess that's quite a dose of advice," she laughed, "Really, I'm not trying to sell you on anything."
She put her hand on Laura's shoulder and Laura looked into her clear, beautiful ¦ eyes. They were sympathetic, sincere.
"I hadn't planned to tell you all that Laura, it just strikes me that you're in the same place I once was. You should give it a thought anyway."
She picked up her coat and bag. "But-must you leave already?" Laura asked, her head full of questions.
"Yes, I really must," Jean replied, heading for the door. She paused there and again turned to Laura.
"I'll give you a call sometime later this week-maybe we can talk about it more than. Just think it over and don't worry so much."
Jean smiled and a moment later was gone. Laura sat for a long time, her coffee untouched as she began to realized that she would have no rest until, until... oh, but it seemed so hard. It was only when she began to consider Andre Cruchon as a lover for the first time, that she could begin to be honest with herself. They had met only moments earlier and after the long months their reunion was charged with emotion. Rick had been amazed at the deeping and maturing of Ginnie's beauty. The California sun had transformed a sex girl into an incredibly sexy girl, from her tanned skin to the lengthy flow of her blonde hair.
For Ginnie, the embrace of Rick's strong arms, the press of his lean body and the tender, knowing feel of his lips on hers had awakened and evoked all the memories that were theirs alone. Though each had tasted a wide selection of partners in the time since they had parted, each now realized that there was only one person who possessed that special feeling.
Now, as they ran down the corridor to Ginnie's dormitory room, almost tripping in their excitement, their bodies were afire with the hunger that first kiss had awakened. They couldn't wait to hop into bed.
Slamming the door behind them and hardly thinking; to lock it, they tumbled onto Ginnie's bed, their bodies welding in a tight embrace, their mouth's locking greedily.
'Ooooooh, Rick... " Ginnie gasped as his mouth trailed hot kisses around her ear, along her throat.
His mouth came down onto hers again and her hps parted to let his tongue enter. It thrashed and probed wildly and her own tongue wound to meet it.
"Oh baby," Rick moaned, "It's been so long.
Ginnie thrilled at the feel of his hard prick through her mini and panties. She arched her back, mashing her burning titties against his chest. Rick's hand moved to cup a braless breast and his fingers crept lovingly around the full pliancy of it.
Ginnie shuddered and worked her own hand down between the tight mold of their bodies to grasp the hard rise of Rick's prick in his jeans. She thrilled to the iron hard, manly feel of him through the rough denims and ached for the feel of his nude body against hers.
Rick's hand moved from the full, wobbly rise of her tits and slid down her flat tummy. He gripped the hem of her mini and pulled it up... past the tops of the nylon stockings Ginnie had worn for extra sexiness, past the lacy leg bands of her pretty pink panties until he bunched it at her waist.
Rick drank in the female beauty revealed to him as Ginnie lay back to let him do as he pleased with her. Her bare creamy thighs gleamed at him from between the tightly drawn tops of her supp-hose and the white lace that lined the leg elastics of her panties which nipped gently into the soft flesh of her legs and tummy. His cock pulsed and his throat grew a little drier as he eyed the bare-beige sheen of her short welted stockings, the fine nylong tricot of her cute panties, clinging to the ripe curve of her cunt, letting the merest shadow of her female bush show through.
"Baby," he breathed, reverently, "If it's possible-you're more beautiful than ever."
With a sigh of pleasure, he bent his head and nuzzled his face against her panty clad tummy. He slid his palms up the backs of her thighs and gripped the rounded gourds of her bottom through her panties. He inhaled her perfume and glorious woman scent as he kissed her through the clinging, thin, sleek nylon. He worked his mouth down to her pussy and gently bit at it through the fabric.
He ran his tongue againstthe indentation of her pussy gash in the panties and gently teased the little prick of her clit through the nylon. Ginnie sang out with delight and lifted her hips from the bed, writhing her panty-clad loins in his face.
"Oh baby, take my panties off," she cooed in that sexy little voice Dale loved.
He obligingly slid his hands to her waist, gripped the thin elastic and slowly pulled the panties down. They peeled away from her tummy, then her mound, exposing the wispy, golden thatch of her fuzzy cunt hair. He pulled them farther and the soft, smooth nylon gave up its embrace of her cunt lips. It dragged along her thighs, over her stocking tops, down past her knees, along her calves, turning their pinkness inside out before they finally slipped past her toes.
Dale let the panties drop in a pink puddle on the floor and helped Ginnie, weak with passion, to move her quivering, nylon encased thighs apart.
"Oh, Rick... oh, do it!"
He propped up her knees a little and gazed at her luscious split which showed thin lines of pretty pinkness between the beige, puffy outer lips that bubbled with buttery curls.
He drove his face down between her thighs then, moulding his mouth to her cunt. Ginnie gave out a little strangled cry of pleasure as his eager tongue slid into her warm wealth of soft pussy flesh. His hands roamed along the sleek surfaces of her nyloned thighs and Ginnie sighed and closed her eyes. She spread her legs slightly farther and gave a small roll to her pelvis, rubbing her throbbing flesh firmer against Dale's demanding mouth.
She raised her buttocks as Dale reached under to grasp the shimmering globes with his shaking hands. Rick elevated her lower body as he bent his head to the delightfully succulent feast which Ginnie's pulsating slit offered to his mouth.
Ginnie had completely abandoned herself to Rick's torrid mouthing.
"Oh Rick, that's it... oh, darling... oh, baby... oh, eat me up... eat me up!"
Rick twisted his head in response, his tongue stabbing her moist, tasty cunt iips. Up and down, in and out, around and around he went. Finally he squarely fastened his mouth right in the center of her throbbing love nest, then shot his rasping tongue deep into her tunnel.
He gloried in the rich, warm juices which ran down out of Ginnie's vagina. His tongue reached as deeply into her as it could go, twisting, searching, probing, reaming her with his serpentine expertise. He withdrew his tongue and fastened his lips around her erect clitoris.
Ginnie squirmed and howled as Rick deftly played on her tense little bud with his tongue.
"Oh yessss!" she hissed, gripping his head with both hands and holding him there.
Rick pulled and sucked the trembling bud inside his oral cavity. Her body jumped as he pursed his hps and sucked it in and out, letting his tongue lave it with each stroke, twirling it about.
Ginnie groaned, arching her back, gripping Rick's head even tighter. She tossed her head back and cried out with shrieks of ecstasy as the quivering lightning white flashes signaled her orgasm and pulsated through her trembling body.
Rick stayed glued to her vagina as she bucked and heaved through her climax, then he lifted his head slowly away, licking her sweet honey from his lips as the come-down tremors shook through Ginnie's frame.
"Oh, darling... that was heavenly," she sighed.
Rick, meanwhile, was busy with the buttons of her blouse, swiftly undoing them. He helped Ginnie out of her blouse, thrilling at the sight of her lovely pink coned titties. He reached up and fondled; the naked breast flesh, feeling the nipples hot. and turgid in his palm.
He unfastened her skirt and stripped it off her legs but decided to leave her nylons on because of their slinky, sex-charged feel. Then he stripped off his own shirt and pants, hearing Ginnie's explosive sigh as he skinned off his shorts and his whopping joy-stick bobbed free.
He knelt between her thighs as Ginnie lifted a trembling hand to his hot stiffness. Her fingers wrapped around him timidly at first, exploring up and down, then eagerly squeezing, pumping, rejoicing in the feel of his rigid manhood. She gripped the swollen head, tenderly massaging it with her palm.
Rick shuddered at her manual ministrations and decided he couldn't wait any long to prick into her. He lowered his body to her and she lovingly rolled her smooth softness agaist him, breasts, belly, mound and thighs gripping him in a velvety groove.
"Oh Ginnie," he groaned.
"Oh... so long," Ginnie purred in his ear, "Please get that big thing into me... Hurry baby, I'm dying for it!"
Her fingers guided his eager prick and drew it to her slick, warm cove. It sank inch by inch into her frothy vagina as Ginnie gasped at the size and hardness of it. He quivered with delight at the feel of her snug, hot socket and looked down lovingly at her beautiful face as he began to stroke his prick in and out... driving, jumping, fucking in a grooving, steady tempo.
"Ooooooh, shit!" Ginnie exclaimed, "Oh, shit! Oh dooo it-dooooo it!"
Her cunt spasmed around his prick, caressing the hard length of it with blissful little contractions. Ginnie began to come again. Suddenly and violently, gripping Rick's buttocks, driving him deeper into her, she quivered about his huge pistoning prick in a long sucking orgasm.
"Oh, oh, oh... ohhhhhhh!"
Rick kept right on driving it into her as Ginnie hissed and spasmed through her goodie-burst. He slowed momentarily to a series of little movements, sinking his prick to the hilt and moving tne head around in a sort of teasing tickle until Ginnie began to move again. Her nyloned legs slid up against his thighs and she wrapped them around his buttocks, caressing him with the slinky, sheer fabric and firing his efforts. His buttocks began to rock in a slow rolling movement as his plunges gathered force.
He began to glide it into her with long, steady strokes, tilting her buttocks in his palms to give it to her from all angles... Ginnie hurled her pussy at him, slamming her belly against him as he bore in deeper, grinding and pumping. Her stockinged legs slid all over his back finally locking themselves at his buttocks.
Suddenly they were both there, coming ecstatically, twitching, moaning, gasping as he flooded her depths with his hot load. Ginnie shook with her third delerium, clawing his back, her legs threshing the air until, merged and spent, they sank limp against each other, contented, glad to be home again.