Chapter 6
Connie had cleverly steered Jean into her own bedroom. Before Jean could utter a word, Connie said, "Take off your clothes, Jean!"
Jean knew a thing or two and had sensed while they were talking what Connie was leading up to. But Connie's practically shoving her into her own bedroom and the direct request to undress still came as a shock.
"Come on, Jean dear," Connie urged. "You're a big girl now. Do I have to draw you a diagram? I like to frig with men or with women and right now, I've sort of taken a fancy to you, Jean."
Connie's eyes glittered with desire as they took in Jean's lush body again.
"You're very attractive, Jean. You really send me! Have you ever frigged or done anything with a girl before?"
"No, never."
"Not even in your teens?" Connie asked.
Jean shrugged. "I had crushes, yes. But never ... never anything like this."
"Does this idea disgust you?"
"It confuses me," Jean said.
"You don't have to, if you don't want to. And Jack doesn't have to be a Vice-President, either."
Jean's expression hardened. "Is it as blunt as that Connie? If I give in to you Jack gets a Vice-Presidency, and if I don't, he doesn't?"
Connie shrugged eloquently. "That's being too black-and-white about it, dear. If you cooperate with me, I'll do everything in my power to see to it that Jack gets the preferment he wants. If you'd rather not ... well, I'll just let Bob pick his own Vice-President. I wouldn't be so crude as to stand in Jack's way, but I wouldn't work terribly hard to recommend him, either. Do you see?"
"Yes," Jean said thinly. "I see."
She eyed the other woman. Swirling doubts engulfed her. This was like some kind of nightmare, she thought. The President's wife had come, dangling the Vice-Presidency for Jack, but there was a price.
A stiff price.
Would it be so bad, though, Jean wondered? To take another woman into her arms, to fuck around in bed with her? Was that much worse than screwing a nineteen-year-old boy as her lover? She had been desperately bored, she wanted some diversion. So she had fastened like a whore on Jerry Trent's big cock.
But she got nothing out of her fucking with Jerry except cunt-pleasure. If she succumbed to Connie's perverted wishes, there'd be a much more permanent benefit. And the possibility of physical pleasure besides.
Jean debated. She wanted that Vice-Presidency for Jack almost as much as he wanted it. She was tired of being a Sales Supervisor's wife. There was much more prestige in being the wife of a Vice-President.
Connie offered position, pride, prestige. All in exchange for a little fun in bed.
It would be a novelty to let a woman make her come.
It might even be a highly enjoyable novelty.
"Well?" Connie asked.
For answer, Jean began to remove her clothes.
Connie's eyes gleamed. "I'm glad," she said. "You have such a beautiful body Jean. I want you so very much."
Jean's fingers trembled. "Do you believe me when I say I've never done this before?"
"Of course I believe you, darling. Of course."
Jean peeled away her bra, baring her breasts to Connie's fascinated gaze. She began to roll down her panties, to unhook her garters.
Connie, too, was undressing quickly. Jean eyed the other, older woman's body with interest. Connie was shorter than Jean but her tits were as full. Her body was strong-looking and supple.
Do I want this? Jean wondered.
Yes, she thought. Yes!
Naked, they faced one another, breasts, rising and falling. For a long moment neither of them said anything. Then Jean said, "Can-I-can I touch you, Connie?"
"Of course."
Jean came forward, extended her trembling hands. Her fingers came to rest on the other woman's jutting, soft tits. She held them lightly, fearfully, barely grazing the nipples. It was a strange and oddly pleasurable sensation to feel another woman's full, ripe breasts in her hands.
Jean felt the excitement mounting in her from one moment to the next. She tightened her grasp, drew the willing Connie toward her, enfolded her in a tense hug.
Breast-tips touched. Jean's hand roved down Connie's back coming to the taut flesh of her asscheeks buttocks.
Connie put her lips to Jean's ear. Her breath was warm and loud. Jean shivered and tingled as she felt the moist tongue of the boss' wife encircling the pink shell of her ear, then dipping within, exploring roving. It was exquisite, a maddening sensation. She moved her body from side to side against Connie's as they embraced, feeling the smooth, cool flesh of Connie's bare middle against her own.
"You're shivering," Connie said. "Just a little."
"Don't be afraid. This is going to be wonderful, darling. For both of us."
"I'm not afraid," Jean murmured. "I'm shivering from excitement."
They moved closer to the bed, and stood by it. Again Jean took Connie into her arms, and they kissed for the first time. Not the sisterly kiss of two women, but a passionate kiss, deep and lingering, with hot vibrant tongues meeting. Jean drew her lips away, after a moment, and then found herself gasping for breath as Connie touched her breasts.
Connie was handling Jean's big tits the way a man might. She was forthright and even a little rough, her strong fingers aggressively cupping the tender globes of flesh. They stood close together, the tall woman and the shorter one, the jet-black brunette and the redhead, the novice and the experienced Lesbian. An onlooker would have been stunned by the sight of four breasts in contact, of two strikingly beautiful women caressing each other in a most intimate way, embracing, lips pressed to lips, breasts to breasts.
Connie said, "This is how we give each other pleasure.
Let me show you."
She led Jean to the bed, sat her down gently but firmly.
Her lips were like fire at Jean's cunt.
"How is that?" Connie asked. "Do you like that tongue on your cuntlips?"
"Yes, yes," Jean cried. "God, that's wonderful! The most wonderful feeling in the world!"
Connie pressed her to a recumbent position. Her head came forward again.
"And there's this," Connie said, letting her tongue go to Jean's clitoris.
Jean gasped in pleasure. She lay back, accepting the delight passively for a few moments. Fire raged in her veins. She had never realized that such exquisite pleasure was possible to attain. Jean tingled. Connie's caresses of her erecting clitoris and cunt-hole were so skillful, so precise. She knew exactly how to provide the maximum stimulation, the maximum pleasure to another woman's cunt.
"Let me do it to you now," Jean whispered.
In a hesitant, fumbling way, Jean did with her tongue on Connie's cunt what Connie had done for Jean. At first Jean was unsure of herself. But then she heard Connie's indrawn gasp of delight, and knew that she was doing the right things to Connie's twat.
Soon both women were in a frenzy. They embraced passionately on the bed. Over and over they rolled in a tumultuous tangle of limbs.
Body against body, mouths working on each other's writhing cunts.
Jean felt like a hopeless amateur, unsure of the way. But Connie took the lead, like a bridegroom instructing his virgin bride in the arts of fucking on their nuptial night.
Connie moved her hands artfully over Jean's lush ass, did incredible things with her frigging caress.
Their bodies pressed together. Jean reveled at the sleek warmth of the other woman's cunt. And she was willing to give, willing to surrender herself, holding nothing back, nothing at all. She no longer considered that she was doing this as part of a bargain, to secure a promotion for her husband. She was doing this for sheer joy, for the utter delight of being frigged by an expert in the ways of unnatural love.
Time went spinning into oblivion.
Passion was the only reality.
Jean cupped Connie's breasts, kissing the rigid, puckered nipples, enjoying the firm feel of them, burying her face against them. Then it was her turn, and she lay back while Connie caressed her.
Then the excitement mounted another degree.
Body twisted against body, and the only sound in the bedroom was the harshness of their breathing as their mouths clung to each other's cunts and they clawed at one another in the transports of their ecstasy. Had fucking ever been like this with a man, Jean wondered? With Jack, or with Jerry Trent, or with the half-forgotten humpers of her sinful teens? Had she ever known this all-consuming blaze of ecstatic passion?
Connie was a magnificent fucker, whether screwing with a man or woman. She was all fire and passion, and she knew exactly what to do to jazz up a woman, knew far better than any man could ever know, even Jack who had fucked with her for so many years.
Jean gasped and arched her body, drawing every muscle tense.
"Oh it's too much!" she cried. "I can't take this any more, Connie! I'm on fire!"
"Hold me tight!" Connie ordered.
Her arms seized Jean's limp, throbbing body. The two women joined in a feverish embrace. Jean could see Connie's body against hers, crushing, working furiously. Excitement roared through Jean's veins, pounded in her ears.
This was fantastic, she thought.
This was a better medicine for boredom than even the high-powered prick of young Jerry Trent.
Overpowering waves of vaginal fulfillment surged over her as come cunt-juice flooded from her cunt. She cried out, a high wordless sound, an undulating howl of delight, as the spasmodic orgasm swept relentlessly over her. And then Connie was panting and howling, too, as both of them raced together toward the battering oblivion of their comes. Time and all the universe was theirs, theirs alone, as they soared higher and higher, joined with their desires, vaulting toward the stratosphere in a dizzy upward plunge through realms unknown.
Bill Fogarty had made up his mind.
He had spent a couple of days considering the problem of how best to exploit the evidence Joey Davis had dumped into his hands. As a moderately consciencious, hard-working reporter, Fogarty had some gualms of conscience about stooping to sex black-mail. On the other hand he was scandalously under-paid, had a family on the increase, had bills to pay, money worries of a dozen different kinds. There came a time when you had to let your conscience go by the boards in the name of sheer survival.
Besides, he wasn't at all sure he wanted to turn the story in to his editor. A reporter had to draw the line somewhere. There were certain things better off not exposed. Okay, so the paper would sell 20,000 less copies, but the private lives of certain important people would remain their own.
So it was to be blackmail, Fogarty thought.
He looked at the photos he had taken. The photos of Jerry Trent going into the Pierce house didn't prove much, really it might very well have been a legitimate delivery of merchandise. But there was one photo that couldn't be explained away so easily. It was the photo of a stark naked Jerry Trent fucking a stark naked Jean Pierce.
The reporter had snapped the shutter hurriedly, at the fastest interval he could manage. He hadn't had time for niceties of focus. Still, the picture had come out well enough. Jerry Trent's face was slightly blurred, but Jean had been facing the camera head on, eyes closed in passion, and there was no mistaking her features. The photo was a lulu. It showed Jean's naked body in profile, one of her breasts visible as a flattered globe against the big boy's chest. Yes, no doubt about it the picture plainly and bluntly showed an unmistakable Jean Pierce, unmistakably enjoying the cock of a young man who was obviously not her husband.
So blackmail was in order.
The next decision Fogarty had to make was which one to blackmail? Husband or wife?
Jean was the obvious one to approach. Certainly she wouldn't want her husband to know she was fucking for delivery boys. But Bill Fogarty had covered enough crime stories and had read enough accounts of the working of extortionists to know that it was bad business to blackmail a woman. They panicked too easily. They were unpredictable and irrational. The whole deal could blow up in your face.
Besides, women didn't always have money of their own that they could fork over without their husbands finding out.
It was safer to go to Jack Pierce with the photos. True, that meant exposing Jean's little hump secret to her husband, but Fogarty couldn't give a damn about that. If Jean wanted to keep her husband happy, she ought to have been more careful about choosing a prick-pusher for her horny cunt. The important thing was the Jack Pierce would want to preserve his reputation. If the story got out that his wife had been fucking around, he would pretty much have to divorce her to save his own face, but by divorcing her he'd be messing up his business career at I. E. C.
Jack it would be.
Fogarty made an appointment to see him. Not everybody could get in to see Jack Pierce on a moment's notice, but Bill Fogarty had made his name well known in town over the last eighteen months, with his series of crusading exposes. A smart business man did not turn Bill Fogarty away from his office door, not any more, because he could be a dangerous enemy. That afternoon, Fogarty was on his way over to Pierce's office.
The executive put on an affable face as he shook the reporter's hand. "Good to see you again, Bill. Who are you exposing this week?"
"Well, I'm not sure," Fogarty said. "It may even be you, Mr. Pierce."
"Me?" Pierce scratched a plump cheek. "What have you caught me doing, Bill? Taking books from the public library? Stealing newspapers from a blind man."
"Oh, it only involves you indirectly," Fogarty said, trying hard to keep his voice calm. "So far as I know, you've got a clean record, nothing I could make a story out of. This concerns your wife."
"Jean? What in God's name are you talking about, Fogarty?"
The reporter took a deep breath. "I've got a photo here I'd like you to see."
He put a glossy five-by-nine blowup of the Jean-Jerry Trent hump-shot in front of Jack Pierce, and watched Pierce's face crumple in disbelief.
Pierce picked up the print and studied it with bug-eyed intentness, as though if he only looked at the picture hard enough, he would somehow succeed in changing the woman fucking with the boy into someone different, someone who was not his wife.
His hands shook as he put the picture down. He turned it face side down, in a pathetic gesture of hiding his wife's naked prick-filled cunt from the reporter.
"Who took this?" he said in a strangled voice.
"I did, Mr. Pierce."
"You? What were you doing snooping around my house?"
"I had a tip that your wife was screwing with a local boy," Fogarty said in a flat, level voice. "I went to see for myself. They were fucking away all right, as you can see, and I took the picture. You don't deny that it's your wife, do you?"
"No. It's Jean, all right. Who in God's name is this with her?"
"Kid named Jerry Trent," Fogarty said. "He's a delivery boy for a department store. Apparently he's the kind who likes to brag about the woman he fucks. He's been humping like mad with your wife for the last couple of weeks, or so it seems."
Pierce nodded. He appeared to have aged ten years in the last ten minutes. He fingered the edges of the photo for a moment, scowled, turned tortured eyes on the reporter.
"Well?" he demanded. "Why did you bring this here and show it to me?"
"To find out what you'd like done with the picture."
"What are you planning to do with it?" Pierce asked. "Run it on the front page of your newspaper?"
"No, sir." Fogarty smiled. "It's obviously an unprintable picture. But the story isn't unprintable. What would the people of Harrison City think of a prominent business leader whose wife fucks promiscuously with delivery boys?"
"If you run that story, Fogarty, there'll be hell to pay!"
"For you or for me, sir?"
"For both of us," Pierce said grimly. "It'll ruin me business-wise, but I'll see that you get broken anyhow."
"There's no need to threaten me, Mr. Pierce," Fogarty said easily. "I'm willing to turn over the negative and all the prints to you, and to give you my word that I'll keep the story a secret. You can then deal with your wife in private, as you wish."
"You'll do that, will you?"
"Of course I will."
"For a price, I suppose?"
"Of course."
Pierce's shoulders slumped. He turned the picture over and stared mournfully at the evidence of his wife's infidelity.
"How much?" he asked bitterly.
The reporter smiled. "Ten thousand bucks."
Pierce looked startled. "You must think I'm one hell of a swindler if you think I've got that kind of cash to throw around. It's impossible, Fogarty. You might as well as for half a million, while you're at it."
Jack Pierce saw his chances for the Vice-Presidency of I. E. C. evaporating by the second as Fogarty was talking to him. The humiliation of Jean's cradle-snatching fucking around being found out would result in his being laughed out of Harrison City. And here he was a big wheel in a company whose official policy was to project the I. E. C. image as highly moral and strait-laced. Why, President Satterlee would probably ask for his resignation in twenty-four hours.
He forced himself to concentrate on what this tramp reporter Fogarty was offering him. Right now he'd have to agree to anything. He needed time to think his way out of this one.
"I'll find a way to raise what you want, Fogarty," he said grimly. "Give me a couple of days."
"Okay, but don't keep me waiting too long," Bill Fogarty answered as he eased himself out of the plush office.