Chapter 4
Just how long she slept, Molly couldn't be sure. And she had precious little time to consider the answer, or reflect on the altogether thrilling, cataclysmic intensity of a climax fierce enough to make her pass out, for when she awoke, approximately fifteen minutes after being decked by a knock-out punch of an orgasm, her attention was immediately focused on the two men, one of whom was Eric, standing and talking at the hotel room door. Instinctively, she pulled the bedcover around her.
Eric, she noted, was wrapped in a large white towel, around his middle. He was standing with his back to the bed, blocking her view of the other man. The two were not exactly arguing, although Eric was heated up over something.
"And so I'm supposed to drop everything," Eric was saying, "and get my tail over to Scotland Yard. Boy, that's one helluva note, Pete. You could have at least given me some advance warning."
"Sorry, old man. But I had to work quickly. Parkington is a very busy fellow. When he phoned me and said he could see you tonight, I took it upon myself to set up the interview."
"Before even checking to see if I'd arrived."
"Well, I knew what time your plane was due to land, Eric."
"But suppose the flight had been delayed or something?"
The man smiled and shrugged. "Had that happened, I simply would have phoned Inspector Parkington and told him you were unavailable. And that, old man, would have been a sorry piece of business. You might have had to wait another week, or even two, to discuss this book of yours."
"Yeah, I know. He's a busy, busy man." Eric thought for a moment, and then sighed. "All right. I guess I don't have much choice in the matter. What time is it?"
The man checked his wristwatch. "A little past ten."
Eric shook his head. "Some time to hold an interview."
"Sorry if you're upset old man. I only did what I thought you'd want me to do. When you wrote, you said you were very anxious to talk to a higher-up in the Yard. I took that to mean, the sooner the better."
"You're right, Pete. I'm sorry, I guess you caught me off balance."
It was at this point that Molly sneezed, and quite by accident, too. She had hoped to remain under the bedcover, unnoticed by Eric's friend and forgotten by Eric himself. The loud sneeze of course, dashed that hope in a hurry. Both Eric and his friend looked in her direction which caused her to blush.
"I do believe someone is catching cold over there," grinned Eric's visitor.
"Come on, Pete," smiled Eric. "I want you to meet a very good friend of mine."
"I hope she's a friend, seeing as how she's sharing your bed."
Arriving at the bed, Eric said, "Molly, this is one of my oldest and closest friends, Peter Cornwall. He's one of the best insurance investigators in London. And as you can tell from his accent, he's as English as the queen."
"It'serr-nice to meet you," said a flustered Molly.
She was very conscious of the fact that under the bedcover, she was bare-assed naked. "I was just, er, well-"
"Sleeping?" said Peter with a smile, trying to help out.
"Something like that," lied Molly.
"I met Molly on the flight over here," explained Eric.
"How fortunate for you, old man. The only people I meet on airplanes are talkative salesmen and ugly old spinsters."
Molly smiled, embarrassed though she was at being discovered in a man's bed. She realized that she liked Eric's friend. She liked his dry wit, his charming manner, and last, but not least, she liked his looks. Peter Cornwall, she noted, was about Eric's age, maybe a couple of years older. He was tall, approximately six feet one, and slender, appearing to weigh not much more than one hundred and sixty-five pounds. His eyes were grey, and his hair, which was not quite as long as Eric's, was an attractive shade of brown flecked with grey.
He had a nice face too. It was angular, with well-defined features, and in harmony with one another. A neatly-trimmed mustache the length of his upper hp lent a certain roguish charm to his countenance.
About the only thing she didn't like, Molly decided, was Peter Cornwall's taste in clothes. He was dressed conservatively, in a dark brown suit, crisp white shirt, nondescript tie, dark vest, and polished black shoes. Something about him, however, suggested that he wasn't the oh-so-proper Englishman his clothes made him out to be.
"I've got to go out for awhile, Molly," Eric started to explain.
"Yes, I overheard your conversation," Molly broke in. "You're going to talk over your next book with a Mr. So and So from Scotland Yard."
"And I'm going to have to wear the clothes I wore on the flight over," Eric informed his friend. "I made arrangements to have my bags delivered, but-"
"Not to worry, old man," smiled Peter. "The Inspector may be a whiz at tracking down criminals, but he doesn't know beans about fashion. I do suggest, however, that you don't show up at his office in that bath towel."
"What will he do," grinned Eric, "arrest me for indecent exposure?"
"In all likelihood, yes," answered Peter.
Chuckling, Eric turned and went to fetch his clothes. Peter and Molly smiled at each other, neither one knowing exactly what to say.
Molly realized that she was nowhere near as embarrassed now as she had been just a few minutes ago. This could be attributed, she thought, to Peter's sophisticated handling of an awkward situation. Yes, Molly thought, not only was Eric nice, he had nice friends.
When fully dressed, Eric returned to the bed. A thought had occurred to him, as he was dressing. He saw no harm in mentioning it to Peter and Molly, however lewd it seemed. They were, after all, mature adults.
"Well, of course, that would depend entirely on Molly," said Peter, clearing his throat when Eric mentioned his lewd idea.
Eric chuckled, "always the gentleman, aren't you, old buddy?" Then, smiling down at the black-haired beauty, who lay in the bed, under the bedcover, he said, "Well, Molly, do you see anything wrong with Peter keeping you company until I return?"
Molly hesitated. She wasn't stupid and knew full well what would happen if Eric took off, leaving her alone with his attractive English friend. She would get fucked, that's what, she told herself. Now, did she like Peter Cornwall enough to let him in her cunt, and just as important, was she up to getting screwed again after the mind-blowing session she had just enjoyed with Eric?
Molly was surprised at how quickly she was able to answer the first question. Even though she had just met Peter Cornwall, she was willing to let him lay her. She had already decided that she liked him, and he was, as Eric had said, a gentleman. A lady needing sex could do much, much worse.
Molly was amazed at the speed with which she arrived at the answer to the second question, too. The fact remained, however, that she was in the mood to get fucked again. Eric had banged her to the stars and back, his tooling of her twat so terrific, that she had passed out cold. But her pussy was beginning to ask for more prick.
"I think the lady's silence speaks for itself," said Peter, not without disappointment.
"Oh, no," said Molly. "I was just thinking. I would like you to stay with me, Peter. May I call you Peter?"
"Only if I have permission to call you Molly."
"Permission granted," said Molly, smiling at him.
"Well, so that's settled," smiled Eric, pleased that both Peter and Molly liked his idea. "I'm sure you two will get along famously. Now, if you'll excuse me-"
"Say hello to the Inspector for me, will you?" said Peter, watching his friend start for the door.
"Will do," Eric said, turning and winking at Molly. "Behave yourself, now, hear?"
"I'll try," smiled Molly.
"Good luck, old man."
"See you later," said Eric.
A moment later, the door closed behind the writer, and Peter and Molly found themselves alone. Again they found conversation difficult. Peter, a confirmed bachelor, liked girls as much as the next man, and he had made many a bird chirp with his bloated pecker. But there were times, and this was one of them, when he just didn't know how to get the ball rolling.
"So here we are," said Molly finally breaking the awkward silence.
"Yes, here we are," agreed Peter. He thought for a moment, then said, "I don't suppose Eric brought a bottle with him. A drink right about now would do very nicely."
"No, we came here straight from the airport. Sorry."
"No need to apologize, Molly. I can understand Eric's haste. Had I found a woman as beautiful as you on an airplane, I would not have wasted a minute getting her alone somewhere."
"Thank you Peter. That's very nice of you."
"And also the truth. You are a very desirable woman."
The runaway housewife was quiet for a moment as she studied the attractive Englishman. Then, with her pussy still purring under the bedcover, she said, "Would you like to see the rest of me, Peter?"
"The rest of you?" queried Peter, whose thoughts had been on the stirring of his pecker under his trousers.
"Yes. All you've seen of me is my face."
The Englishman smiled. "Would you by any chance be naked?"
"As the day I was born. Care to see me?"
"If you show me yours, I'll show you mine."
"Fair enough, Mr. Cornwall."
With that, Molly started pushing down the satiny yellow bedcover. She pushed it down slowly, teasingly, baring a little of her body at a time. The bedcover slipped over her beautifully rounded breasts, and then slid across the smooth, flat plane of her tummy, and finally, traveled over the triangular patch of dark pubic curls that was her recently fucked pussy. Molly left the bedcover draped over her thighs, several inches below her warming crotch, and smiled up at Peter.
"Beautiful," the Englishman said softly. "Just beautiful."
"Do you mean that, Peter?"
"I've never meant anything more."
"How old do you think I am?"
"I make it a point never to guess a lady's age. It's too dangerous."
"Guess mine."
"Oh, I don't think-"
"Please, Peter. Be a sport and guess my age."
"Well, in that case," said the Englishman, running his eyes slowly over the naked female in the bed. "Oh, I guess twenty-nine. Thirty, tops."
Molly smiled broadly. Now she knew she liked this man, she told herself. "Am I off the mark?"
"I'm thirty-five," she confessed. She went no further than that, although she was tempted to tell Peter that she was also the mother of two teen-agers. That, she figured, would really have floored him. But to mention her family would have raised a few questions in his mind, and all she wanted to do now was raise his pecker.
"That really is amazing," said Peter. "You're not putting me on, are you?"
"I'm thirty-five, Peter. That's the truth."
"Well, you certainly have taken very good care of yourself. You're to be congratulated."
"Now show me yours," grinned Molly. "You promised, Peter."
The Englishman smiled. "So. I did. And a promise is a promise."
"Correct."
Peter went to work denuding himself. One article of clothing and then another was unceremoniously dropped onto the hotel room floor, which somewhat surprised Molly since she had taken it for granted that Peter was a scrupulously neat person who much preffered organization to disarrangement. She was pleased to note that her suspicions were proving correct; that he wasn't your typical stiff, ultra-proper Britisher, determined to maintain decorum at all costs.
"Well, here I am," smiled Peter, when he was standing bare-assed naked at the side of the bed. "In the flesh."
"I like what I see," said Molly, who had started to play with herself, one hand gently massaging her breasts while the other stroked her once again salivating snatch.
"We're not as muscular as Eric, I'm afraid."
"Muscles aren't everything. Besides, I'm only interested in one of yours."
"This one?" asked Peter, his right hand moving to his semi-hard manhood. He held it up, as if waiting for Molly to inspect it more closely.
"Yes, that one," answered the runaway housewife, a naughty gleam in her eye.
Seconds later, with lust churning her insides, Molly kicked down the bedcovers and swung her legs over the side of the bed.
Sitting now on the bed, she asked Peter to stand directly in front of her. As soon as the Englishman had stepped into position, she reached for his attractive privates. One hand slipped between his legs to cup his scrotum, and the other hand took hold of the cock itself.
"Know what happens now?" she smiled.
"Am I to guess again, Molly?"
"I'll give you one guess."
"You're going to pleasure me with fellatio."
"Right," said Molly, laughter in her eyes.
With that, Molly turned her attention to Peter's privates again. For maybe fifteen seconds more, she fondled the Englishman, one hand cupping and squeezing his hairy scrotal sac, while the other pulled on his almost hard pecker. Then she was ready to bring her mouth into play.
Leaning forward a bit, she opened wide, and plunked Peter's prick into her mouth, her lovely lips closing over the bulbous head of the organ. And then, she was sucking on the fleshy root, dragging it back into her oral cavity, the feel of it rolling on her tongue more than a little pleasant.
"Oh, Molly, that feels good," said Peter, lust beginning to thicken his voice.
The still very fuckable thirty-five-year-old groaned around the cock she had pushed into her eager mouth, and continued sucking. Her left hand remained between the Englishman's legs, fondling his balls. Her right hand went to her right breast and started squeezing.
"Mmm, suck it Molly," crooned Peter, who stood looking down at the woman blowing him. "Suck it like a good girl."
In no time at all, Molly found herself gobbling as stiff a hard-on as any female could wish for. Her beautiful head bobbed up and down, up and down, and her lustrous black hair swirled lazily about her face, as she ministered to the tasty member soon to be stuffed into her cunt.
"Lick me now, Molly. Lick my cock and lick my scrotum."
Molly was quick to obey the obscene order. Taking hold of the now fully-erect organ with her right hand, she pulled it out of her mouth and commenced a lascivious licking of the pretty, plump crown. Unashamedly, she swabbed the crown, her swirling, stroking tongue polishing it to dazzling sparkle.
That done, she went to work on the rest of Peter's warm, pulsating manhood, her tongue sliding wetly, smoothly, down the sensitive underside and then, for the return trip, curling over the top of the tasty erectile.
"You like to do that, don't you Molly? You like to lick prick."
"I love to lick prick," Molly corrected the Englishman, with a wicked little smile. She flicked her tongue at the wet, shiny head a few times, then pressed Peter's cock back so that it rested up against his stomach, while she commenced a tantalizing assult on the wholly vulnerable underside.
"Do my balls, Molly. Lick and suck them."
"In a minute. Don't you like this?"
That had to be the most foolish question of the year, thought Peter. How could any man not appreciate the way Molly was tonguing his cock? The feel of that wonderful tongue licking up and down, up and down, from his balls to the head of his tool and back again, was simply fantastic.
When she was ready, Molly steered her hard-working tongue to Peter's scrotum, and set about bathing that pendulous pouch of hairy flesh. Keeping Peter's saliva-coated cock pressed up against his stomach, she pushed her face into his crotch and annointed his balls.
"Yes, that's the way," the Englishman said thickly. "Lick them good, Molly. Suck on them."
Some ten seconds later, Molly's left hand was pushing the scrotum into her mouth, or at least trying to. She munched a while on the whole scrotal sac, sucking on it sensuously, the short hairs tickling her nostrils. Then the tasty testicles were sucked individually, the left one first, and then the right, Molly giving each equal attention.
"Oh, Molly, your mouth is fantastic." Peter was breathing heavily.
It was while sucking the Englishman's wrinkled bag of balls that Molly decided she was going to do something she had never done before, something she had wanted to do for the longest time. What she had in mind was horribly perverted, obscene to the nth degree, and this thought alone was enough to send a spasm of lust rippling up her spine.
What sense was there, she asked herself, in waiting, in putting it off. She was a free female now, unencumbered by her marital vows and free to do as she wished with whom she wished, when she wished. And she was sure that Peter, a man of good upbringing, knew the importance of good personal hygeine. He just had to be squeaky clean back there.
"All right, lie back and let me get it into you," husked the excited Englishman, somewhat surprised when Molly, without the slightest warning, pulled her face away from his genitals and looked up at him.
"No, I want to-"
"No? What are you talking about, Molly? Can't you see how much I want you?"
"You'll fuck me, Peter. In a few minutes. I want to do something first."
"Do what?"
"You'll see. Turn around."
"Turn around?"
"Yes, and bend over."
If Peter had been puzzled before, he was no longer. Looking down at the beautiful woman sitting on the side of the bed, he wondered if she was serious. She didn't look like the kind who enjoyed kinky sex acts. Then again, what did a person who liked the off-beat look like? And weren't we all intrigued by the very naught, some of us more than others?
"Are you sure you want to do that, Molly?"
"I'm sure, Peter," Molly broke in impatiently. "Now, please turn around for me, all right?"
The Englishman did as directed, and was soon standing with his back to the bed. Molly gave a second order, for him to bend over, and place his hands on his knees, and this, too, he obeyed. And then, seconds later, he felt her hands on his ass, kneading his taut buttocks. Now her thumbs were prying apart those buttocks and exposing the small hole nestled between them.
Molly stared hungrily at the asshole she would soon be licking. Never before had she been given the opportunity to inspect a man's backside. Now, at long last, she could make real what, for so long, had been one of her favorite fantasies, the wanton tonguing of a male bottom.
She thought back to the times, and there were many of them, when she had tried to interest Martin in anal sex play. And what was it he had said? "I want no part of anything so downright perverted."
"Molly, are you going to do it?" asked Peter, looking behind him, and wondering why the delay. Though he had been surprised by Molly's desire to perform analingus, he was by no means put off by the notion of having his asshole tongued by a very beautiful woman. He was eager for her to get on with it.
"You have a nice behind, Peter."
"Go on and lick it, then," smiled the attractive Englishman. "Let me feel your tongue, Molly."
As a tiny whimper of desire escaped her throat, Molly pushed her face against Peter's well-shaped posterior and sent her eager tongue on a lewd expedition. Up and down and all around she licked, taking care not to miss a single square inch of flesh. She loved the feel of her face rubbing against the taut and virtually hairless behind.
"That's the way. Lick it all over, Molly."
Lovingly, the raven-tressed beauty laved the Englishman's posterior, her tongue sliding here and there and everywhere as she bathed the bottom with her saliva. And then, finally, she was ready for dessert.
With her thumbs still holding Peter's cheeks apart, Molly zeroed in on his asshole. She licked tentatively at first, and then with more daring. There was, she noted, a faint, telltale odor emanating from the puckered port. But it was not at all unpleasant. In fact, it was strangely stimulating.
"Oh, Molly, that's wonderful," breathed Peter. "Stick it in my anus."
The obscene command fanned the flames of lust shooting up into Molly from her burning cunt. With a nymphomaniac's boldness, she plunged her tongue into Peter's asshole, driving it as deep as she could inside his rectum. Her nose was now caught in the crack of the Englishman's ass, sandwiched between his left and right buttock.
"Now work your tongue in and out," ordered Peter. "Fuck my ass with your tongue."
Molly didn't have to be asked twice. Reveling in the sheer wickedness of what she was doing, in the gut-jumbling dirtiness of it all, she started to piston her tongue in the Englishman's well-crafted bottom.
"Faster, Molly, faster," Peter called out.
The lust-happy beauty spent a good three minutes, working her tongue in and out of Peter's ass, his grunts of pleasure and sighs of approval spurring her on. Only when her tongue grew tired did she stop altogether her efforts at lewd simulation of sodomy. She dragged her tongue out of the Englishman's asshole and tried to catch her breath.
She was about to return to Peter's posterior and munch for awhile on his dripping wet anus when he suddenly straightened up and turned to face her.
"I have to fuck you now, Molly. I can't wait a second longer."
"Yes, all right," breathed Molly. "How do you want me?"
"On your back. Hurry, please."
Molly hurried. Swinging her legs up, over the side of the bed, she twisted and turned until she was resting flat on her back. She beckoned Peter with her arms, extending them toward him in wanton invitation. The taste of his anus lingered on her lips, reminding her where her tongue had just been.
Peter laid to rest the notion that all Englishmen were pompous stuffed shirts, as he climbed onto the bed, and very quickly maneuvered into position between Molly's legs. Penetration was accomplished smoothly, efficiently, in one strong, demanding thrust which sent his blood-thickened pecker tunneling deep inside Molly's slushy sex canal.
"Oh, that feels wonderful," moaned the impaled pleasure-seeker, wrapping her arms around Peter's hard back. "Give it to me good, Peter. Fuck me hard."
"Yes, I will, I will," gasped Peter.
"Yes, like that. As deep as you can."
Peter had no trouble working his bloated cock in and out of Molly's cunt. She was as wet down there as any girl he had ever screwed, and certainly as eager for his thrusts as any he had ever laid. She was reasonably tight, too, and she knew how to use her cunt muscles.
He envied Eric. The old boy had done it again, he thought. Leave it to Eric to arrive with a choice bird like this in tow. The man had extraordinary luck.
"Harder, Peter," Molly pleaded in a lust-thickened voice. "Hurt me with it. Harder."
Peter speeded up the tempo of his thrusts until he was fucking furiously. He knew it wouldn't be long before all hell broke loose and he sent his come booming into that heavenly honeypot.
Molly also knew it wouldn't be long before she received her partner's gooey ejaculate. She tightened her grip on Peter's back, hugging him harder as she hooked her legs over his wildly pumping middle. Then she was breathing into his ea the words she knew all men liked to hear, telling him in no uncertain terms what he was to continue doing.
The bed squeaked and groaned as Peter slammed his meat into Molly's mushy vagina, just as it had squeaked and groaned earlier, when Eric was fucking Molly to a state of total exhaustion. The raven-tressed beauty was dimly aware of this, and later, when all was quiet and she had time to reflect, she would savor the knowledge that she had serviced satisfactorily, two good-looking men in one night.
"Come in me, Peter, give me your hot come. Come, come, come!"
Thirty seconds later, the Englishman shot his wad, a savage growl of triumph roaring up from his throat as the hot, creamy semen bolted from his tool and into Molly's grateful cunt. Molly followed close behind, the feel of all that wonderful come spurting into her triggering her own climax.
It wasn't as explosive an orgasm as the one Eric had given her. It didn't catapult her into outer space, where, quickly and beautifully she disintegrated.
It didn't make her lose consciousness. But it was, she would think later, highly satisfactory. A truly delightful way for an Englishman to welcome her to his country.
Molly was beginning to think that England would be a very attractive place to spend some of her time. The proficiency of "its males, in terms of sexual prowess, was unbelievable. Never in her life had she experienced such purity of passion, and with such perverse delight. She sighed contentedly.