Chapter 8
"Get into that coat closet and close the door, I'll have them take their coats to my bedroom," Helen gasped as she snatched her tattered dress up from the rug and ran up the stairs. George was in a terrible state from the nerve shattering experience of his orgasm having been cut off just as it was about to surge up from his balls, but he couldn't resist staring at Helen's meaty black nyloned legs as they flashed up the stairs and her huge naked buttocks working together.
He opened the closet door and jumped inside, letting out a scream as his extended cock struck something hard. A set of golf club crashed to the floor. He turned around and closed the door.
Helen dashed into her bedroom and threw open the window. "Girls I'm terribly sorry but I had trouble with my car, I'll be down in a few moments."
Shortly thereafter, Helen descended the stairs, her massive assortment of curves held tightly in a white silk frock that looked as if it were made of wet tissue paper. The short-short mini skirt stood off in delightful contrast with the ink blackness of her hose, but it wasn't the sort of outfit one might select for an evening of bridge with three of the town's top socialites, she hadn't had the time to worry about color schemes.
"My deah you look simply ravishing," a busty blond said as Helen opened the door, her face flushed from all of her recent efforts. "I don't know when I've seen you look so lovely."
"You certainly do Helen," a tremendously tall brunette swathed in mink exclaimed. "You have such marvelous color."
"Your dress is so divine my deah," a lush redhead said. "And your black nylons go so excitingly with it."
"I know it's wicked to wear black hose with white Grace, but that's the way I feel tonight," Helen giggled. "Come on in girls."
"Oh DO-O you now?" the curvaceous blond exclaimed, a gleam coming into her eyes as they narrowed perceptibly. "You know Helen I never cease to be amazed by your bust; we girls certainly do envy you. Our husbands simply drool every time they see you."
"I'll say they do," Grace exclaimed as the foursome walked into the living room and took their places at the bridge table, three pairs of eyes glued to Helen's great bust as it went jiggling by. "Mine even goes to the extent of giving me a good jazzing after he's seen you at a party, he's so worked up."
"Oh does Roger do that too," the sexy blond exclaimed. "I always have the feeling that when Harold closes his eyes and chews on my breasts he's imagining that they're yours Helen; you're not very good for a girl's morale you know."
"Doesn't that beat all," the willowy brunette said as she shrieked with laughter. "My old bugger Tad does the same damn thing. One time when he was as passionate as it's possible for the poor old soul to get, he mumbled 'oh Helen'."
They all, including Helen, shrieked with laughter at this and then the blond dish turned to her hostess and giggled, "Well one thing you've done for us Helen, we all would have had a lot less fucks if you hadn't been around."
When the laughter finally subsided the women turned their attentions to bridge as Grace began to deal out the cards. While she was dealing Helen left the room and returned with a pitcher of martinis and filled a glass for each of them.
Within earshot in the closet George was flabbergasted. He had opened the door just enough for him to see the four women in the living room. They all had one thing in common. Each in her own way was breathtakingly desirable; all with expensively coiffed hairdos; all exquisitely gowned. Their expensive French perfumes mingled and permeated the entire first floor, wafting its way through the partially open closet door to drive George to a sensual frenzy. It was the contradiction of their obvious fine background and good breeding, as opposed to gutter-like talk that astounded him. Truck drivers at the diner rarely sunk any lower. It was George's initiation into the fact that sex and sex talk isn't relegated to the lower classes alone. And it was also his initiation into the fact that being a peeping torn created a sexual stimulation in him that was unique, a different sensation than the act itself.
As he watched the four women play their hands of bridge, George gradually had the impression that there was something in the offing other than bridge. It started with little things, such as when Grace's bronze hued stockinged leg brushed against the tall brunette's black net covered one. Instead of pulling back Grace pressed her leg harder and moved it up and down in a caressing motion. Both women glanced at one another under the hooding security of long, heavily mascaraed lashes and a trace of a smile turned the corners of their mouths upwards, their eyes quickly returning to their cards but the legs remaining pressed together.
This simple act seemed terribly exciting to George and his cock which was dangling down, nestling between his balls in the open fly that he had neglected to close, now began to fatten and rise once again.
The martinis flowed and as they did the talk became more intimate, the touching of female flesh more intimate in direct proportion to the number of martinis consumed.
"Wouldn't you like to pick something out Terry," Helen cooed as she leaned forwards, holding up a tray of hors d'ovres she had just brought in from the kitchen. "They're really delicious."
As she held the tray, Helen's great quivering melons that were threatening to burst over the top of her silk frock, were just scant inches from Terry's face.
"Yes my deah I think I'll have a boobie, it looks the most delicious by far," Terry giggled tipsily as she plunged both of her tiny hands into Helen's bodice which was gaping open due to the manner in which she was leaning forwards. The hands disappeared into the soft white flesh as though Helen's breast were made of soap lather.
"Well babykins, it seems as though you're interested in fun and games other than bridge," Helen giggled as she put the tray down and squirmed her great buttocks onto Terry's lap. "Take one out I'm certain the others won't mind, they seem to have a game of their own planned."
It was true, this had been the signal that they all had seemed to be waiting for as Grace reached down and slid her fingers, capped by long, carmine lacquered nails upwards over the tall brunette's black net hosed leg, carrying her skirt along with it. The brunette in turn reached out and wrapped her long fingers around Grace's formidable melons.
In the cramped confines of the closet George was going wild with excitement over the wanton turn in the bridge game. As Grace's hand moved upwards til it disappeared from view under the folds of the brunette's skirt at her crotch, George gasped at eight of the loveliest, the longest pair of legs that he had ever seen, all the more alluring in their taut covering of black mesh hose. Her slim white thighs shook spasmodically as George could see Grace's fingers worming their way under a tiny pair of white panties through which a great mass of black pubic hair could be seen.
As Grace slipped a carmine tipped index finger into her hot cunt, the brunette shook her head from side to side and moaned in obvious ecstasy.
Terry had both of Helen's gigantic melons out of her dress now and was kneading and twisting them cruelly as she alternately kissed the great sausage-like nipples back and forth, smack-smack-smack, as though she couldn't savor one without immediately longing to taste the other.
"Oh BABY," Helen wailed as she pounded a closed fist on the bridge table. "There's no-one who can suck my tits the way you can ... but wait a moment, I have something tastier for you to suck."
Helen scrambled off of Terry's lap screeching, "C'mon girls, it's high time we stripped for action."
As George watched the four frantic women get to their feet and rapidly disrobe, clothes flying all over the room, he realized that this wasn't the first time these four had had an evening of bridge together. He wondered if the three women's husbands knew what went on. He wondered why they bothered with all of the amenities in the beginning when they knew what would eventually happen; all undoubtedly filled with a mad craving for the action to start. Perhaps it was this sense of anticipation that made the final act more flavorful.
His rampant cock was in a state of full erection now, his rough hands cupping his fiery red gland, massaging the oil that was flowing freely from its slit into the velvety surfaces. He rubbed a finger on its undersides over the excruciatingly sensitive tiny tendons that were attached to his foreskin.
Helen was on her back on the rug now, her stiletto heeled feet drawn up tight pressing into her buttocks, her silken knees splayed as wide as they could go. Terry had grabbed a cushion from the couch and slid it under Helen's rear to give her easier access to the steaming cunt that she craved every exasperating moment that she was apart from her beloved. She was lying prone on her stomach between Helen's wide-spread legs, licking her lips and staring at the great gaping cunt and its massive profusion of curly black pubic hair, like a gourmet about to savor a delectable meal.
As she stared her long pink tongue began to dart in and out of her mouth like a rattler preparing to strike and Helen seeing this, tried to wiggle her lush rear along the rug towards that darting tongue.
"OH TERRY," Helen wailed. "Give me the only tongue that has ever really satisfied me ... GIVE it to ME-E-E-E-E-EE!!!"
Her last word was extended, ending in a shriek of delirium because Terry swooped down and skewered it deep into Helen's vagina. Helen released a series of spine-tingling screams as her woman lover supped ravenously on her boiling cunt.
In the closet George was mesmerized; he was getting a lesson in the art of cunt sucking from the lips of an expert and he made a mental note of everything she did. The way she used her rather aquiline nose to advantage, jamming it deep into the upper part of Helen's vagina and rubbing it vigorously against the slippery walls. The way she used her fingers above her nose rubbing and pinching the swollen clitoris; all the while her tongue and lips worked frantically deep in the vagina.
George tore his eyes from the wanton pair and glanced at Grace and the willowy brunette who were rolling about on the rug a few feet away in the violent throes of passion. They were in the traditional position of Eros with each one's face glued to the other's crotch. Unlike Helen who had her lovely limbs spread wide affording George a generous view of Terry's devouring mouth, these two had their thighs clasped around each other's head and George could only judge by their constant moaning and shrieking that tremendous activity was going on.
Helen began to hop her lush buttocks about on the rug and toss her head from side to side as orgasm approached, screaming, "I'm almost there baby ... here I COME-E-E-E-E!! ... that's it, don't stop, oh PLEASE don't stop baby, remember it's good to the last drop ... oh my sweet, adorable lover girl."
As Helen and Terry lay on the rug in a state of exhaustion, Terry slowly licking up the little droplets of passion from Helen's pubic hair, it was evident to George that the other two were fast approaching orgasm too as they screamed into each other's gaping cunts, the hollow sound reverberating around the room.
"I'm almost there are you?" the brunette moaned.
"NO-NO ... not quite, wait for me baby ... work a little harder," Grace gasped.
The brunette jammed her face deeper into Grace's steaming crotch, twisting her head from side to side.
"NOW ... NOW I'm ready ... OH BABY-Y-Y," Grace screamed as the torrent was unleashed. The brunette screamed at precisely the same moment as she experienced the delicious ecstasy of orgasm ... the bridge game was over.