Chapter 2
The sudden sound startled them both. Paul slumped helplessly against her. "Oh damn," he whispered in Connie's ear, "It sounds like our new neighbors have come to call on us."
"Neighbors?" Connie answered dimly, feeling the pleasure of the last moments begin to fade away.
Somehow, she hadn't thought of having neighbors. Her first thoughts on seeing the tastefully decorated two-story house, almost at the outskirts of town, were that the two of them could be alone now, away from gossipy old ladies and noisy kids like those in Paul's apartment building, making her dread the thought of living there. And now, here in a home of their own practically outside the city limits, already they had neighbors banging down the door!
"Well, I guess I'd better let them in," Paul said, starting to rise.
Connie clutched him, stopped his cock from sliding from its wet sheath. "Oh, don't! Maybe they'll go away. This is our honeymoon! I don't remember inviting anyone else to join in!"
He chuckled but pulled away, despite her efforts to hold him. His prick slid loosely out of her with a small slurping plop. "I wish I could, but if we're going to live here we can't be hermits, even though I'd like to try. Besides, I've already met Harvey and Irene, and I know you'll like them. They even helped out when I was fixing the place up for us, so we've got to be nice, okay?"
He was already zipping his jeans as he talked. Connie sighed forlornly, pulled her skirt down and reached for her panties. They were still damp, and when she pulled them up she could feel them soak through instantly, could feel the gathering of Paul's jism on the silken fabric as it threatened to trickle down her leg. But Paul was already going for the door, and there was no time to run and change. Quickly she smoothed down her skirt and ran fingers through her thick golden hair, making herself at least presentable. Then she caught herself smiling, actually pleased that she was smelly and sweaty, that Paul's cum was seeping slowly from the depths of her soft, hot cunt.
It served these people right if she shocked them! Why did people have to barge in so soon, anyway?
Surprised and delighted by her own brazenness, Connie swept forward as Paul opened the door.
The man and woman who walked in were the oddest-looking couple Connie had ever seen. As they caught sight of her, both of them paused, and the man whistled, making her blush.
"Good to see you again, Harve," Paul said with a proud grin.
He knew as well as Connie that the people were sizing her up, and she felt none of the irrational fears she would have felt just a week ago at the thought of meeting strangers. She no longer wanted to hide; if anything, she wanted them to stare, to see her new-found happiness. And seeing this new trait in her made Paul's grin widen.
"Harve, I want you to meet my bride of five days now, Connie. Connie, Harve and ... oh hell, and I just mentioned it, too . . ."
"Irene," said the woman in a warm, deep sexy voice as she quickly came forward to take Connie's hand and give her a friendly peck on the cheek. "Isn't that just like men? At first glance they memorize every inch of your body, but your name they forget."
Connie couldn't help returning Irene's infectious smile, despite a momentary twinge of jealousy. The first word Irene made Connie think of was "beautiful". Irene was a beautiful woman. Everything Connie had, she had-only more so. Her sleek raven-black hair fell far past her shoulders, shiny and lustrous even out of the late-afternoon sun. A glaring red halter barely contained such huge, full tits that even Connie had to stare. She had never seen such a pair-they were an artist's dream, jutting out defiantly despite their hugeness against the flimsy fabric of the halter. Connie's own precious little apples-right now she could only think of them as "applets"-would have seemed tiny and insignificant in comparison, if she had not still been in the midst of a new sense of joy and freedom.
And the contrast hardly stopped there. Irene's skin held a deep, rich tan that made Connie seem ghostly pale. Her hips, clad in short cut-off jeans, swayed naturally, sensuously, with every movement of her body. And though she looked a few years older than Connie, her face met all the requirements of that perfect body-full soft lips, high cheekbones and a pert nose, wide striking blue eyes that now gazed at Connie with such honesty, such openness, that she could hardly help but be drawn.
Compared to Irene, Connie could have been a sickly kid sister. A week ago, before Paul, she would have felt a mere child beside Irene.
"I know you're going to love it here, the way Harve and I do," Irene was saying, still holding Connie's hand. "You don't know how great it is having you right next door, Connie. I want you to know that you're welcome to drop in any time." She gave Connie's fingers a squeeze, then released her.
"Why, thank you," Connie answered, caught up in Irene's friendly glow. Perhaps having neighbors wouldn't be so bad after all. "I mean . . . thanks, Irene. Really."
"Sorry to barge in," broke in Harve, and Connie turned to see that he was eyeing her up and down. "But we thought you two were ignoring us. And offhand, I can sure see why."
Connie returned his blatant stare boldly. Harve was the reason they had struck her as a strange couple. A heavy set balding man in ragged T-shirt and worn Bermuda shorts, he hardly looked the match for a beauty like Irene. His double-chinned, sweating face was lined by a day-old growth of beard, and his beady eyes surveyed Connie in a way that reminded her of a butcher observing a new piece of meat. At a second glance, he really wasn't too many years Paul's senior, but his outward appearance made him look much older. He was grinning at their rumpled condition, and his teeth were yellowed and uneven.
What could Irene possibly see in him? she wondered.
"Oh, yeah," Harve said, his eyes still fastened to Connie, "I can see why, all right. Nothing like a real housewarming . . . eh? We thought we'd bring you two a little gift." He held up two bottles, then shoved them into Paul's hands. "The champagne's for the newly weds, but from the looks of you, I'm not so sure you need it. I also brought Scotch for any hard-drinkers in the crowd. That's me, by the way."
Paul laughed politely. "We'll use it in good health, anyway. I was just showing Connie our handiwork."
Harvey nodded. "Well, Missy, what do you think? Have we done right by you?"
Behind his crude mannerisms, Connie sensed that he was harmless, and she allowed herself to return his smile. "Yes," she said, beaming. "Oh, yes, it's perfect! I never could have hoped for anything as lovely. And all the time Paul was doing this ... I had no idea! It was such a wonderful surprise!"
Harve laughed and poked Paul in the ribs with a meaty finger. "Didn't I tell you she'd like it? Now, you just remember to listen to Old Dad, boy, 'cause he knows what women like." And with that, he winked broadly at Irene, who merely shook her head and shrugged helplessly.
Paul laughed, and even Connie found herself beginning to like Harvey. He wasn't really all that bad, once you overcame that first impression. He seemed more like a big fuzzy teddy bear-lovable and cute, despite himself. Connie decided for certain that she didn't really mind her new neighbors, after all.
"I'd better get this on ice," Paul said, waving the two bottles. "I want all of you to get acquainted. Harve, you and Irene have a seat. I'll be back in a roaring flash with some glasses."
"Please," Connie motioned as he vanished into the kitchen, "sit down. I'd ask to show you around, but it seems everyone knows the house better than I do."
"Then why don't I show you around?" asked Irene. "I can show you nooks and crannies we never touched. There are so many things to do."
"Now, none of that," Harvey caught Irene's hand and pulled her with him to the divan. He sat down, letting his weight drag Irene onto his lap. "Let the girl find her own way around her new home. I don't want you acting like the tour guide of some musty old museum, pointing out all the highlights. This is Connie's house . . . right?"
"You're impossible!" blurted Irene, but without anger. She resisted only a moment as his heavy arms swept about her waist, and Connie couldn't help but notice the way her mammoth boobs almost bounced free of her red halter. Then Irene gave in, casting an apologetic smile in the direction of the chair where Connie sat, across from them. "Harvey's right, of course, in his own rather unpleasant way. But don't let him fool you. After you get to know him, he's even worse."
"And don't let Bubs fool you, either," returned Harve. "This lady loves every minute of it."
"Bubs?" Connie asked innocently.
Harvey grinned, and his sausage-like fingers slid up the sheer fabric of Irene's halter to encircle her deluxe-size tits. "Sure. That's my little nickname for these." To emphasize his explanation he squeezed them, making them swell dangerously. Irene laughed and struggled briefly, but not seriously, to escape. "Harvey, stop it! Connie doesn't even know us yet! How do you expect her to understand that you always act this way?"
"Oh, she doesn't mind ... do you, Connie?" He flashed his yellow teeth at her. "Besides, what's wrong with two people showing some affection for a change? If more people were like us, there'd be less trouble in the world, you can just bet your sweet bubs!"
Connie stared in shock as Irene surrendered to the soft kneading motions of Harve's hand. She saw the bumps of Irene's nipples pop out beneath his fingers. She heard Irene's small gasp as he plucked at them between thumb and forefinger, stretching them out even further.
And dimly she heard herself reply: "No, no I don't mind at all."
That surprised her most of all. The sight of big fat Harvey playing with Irene's tits should have outraged her. It should have made her want to throw them both out, or at the very least tell them what she thought of their indecent behavior. But she felt no desire to do either. In fact, the sight of them made her feel warm, even closer to them than before. The way they behaved, their openness and affection, attracted Connie. Irene and Harvey were so obviously in love, she couldn't help but feel drawn. Loving Paul had done that to her. Before him, she probably would have reacted with embarrassment and disgust, but now she could only admire the intimate way Harvey embraced Irene, and the obvious pleasure she felt at his touch. It made Connie wish that someday she and Paul might be so proud of their love that appearances wouldn't matter.
The sudden image of Paul nuzzling and caressing her small pert tits, in some restaurant or crowded theater, made Connie smile, made her tingle. It would be so nice to be like Irene, to enjoy that much attentiveness, to let other people gape and envy her.
Connie broke out of her daydream with a start, and saw that Harvey was staring. She followed his gaze to her chest and saw what held his attention- thoughts of Paul's hands and lips on her small boobs, combined with the sight of Harvey's manipulations, had hardened her nipples. They pointed out through her T-shirt in a way that couldn't be missed, and Connie felt her face grow hot as an unexpected surge of warmth radiated from her still-soaked cunt, making it itch all over again.
She pushed aside an instinctive urge to hide them from his stare, realizing that he was actually paying her a compliment. Irene's boobs were so much bigger and more perfect, yet as Harvey's thick fingers played with them, his eyes were fastened on Connie. Well, let him look! Maybe she had something to be proud of too!
Irene was leaning back against him, enjoying his little pinches and caresses. "It's my own fault, I guess. I knew he was a tit man from the beginning, so I have to put up with it. And to be honest, it does feel so nice!"
"Does Paul give you this kind of treatment?" Harvey teased, still staring at the jutting little buds of Connie's boobs.
Giddily, excited despite herself, Connie joked the question off. "Not very often, I'm afraid. Mine are so small, he can hardly find them."
They all laughed, and Connie felt lightheaded at her own brazenness. Harvey appraised her critically, and shook his head. "In that case, I've got to have a talk with that boy. Like they say, the greatest treasures are always small."
His eyes had drifted down to Connie's legs and the dark crevice where her skirt rose above her knees. His stare made her unconsciously press her legs together, and she felt the soft squishing of juices left from her earlier fucking. The memory of their wild abandon on the living room floor increased the itching of her sopping cunt, and suddenly she had a mischievous, crazy urge: What would old teddy-bear Harvey do if she just let her knees part, if she slowly spread them wide and let him see completely up her skirt, let him gape at her wet panties plastered to her cunt, let him see the, open pink lips of her pussy, still warm and pulsating from Paul's cock? Wouldn't that make him forget Irene's boobs? Wouldn't that make his fingers twitch?
The sudden impulse quickened her breath, and at that moment Paul returned, bearing a tray that held the two bottles and four half-filled glasses.
"Hey, it's getting a little dark in here!" He went around flicking on lights with his free hand, precariously balancing the tray in the other. "You must be having quite a conversation to not even notice."
Instantly, Irene leaped from her husband's lap and ran to meet him, hard-nippled jugs joggling. "Now, Paul, you just sit with your wife and let me do the serving." Before he could protest, she had taken the tray from his hands and pushed him toward Connie.
Paul sat on the floor at Connie's feet, and his hand reached up to grasp hers, while Irene passed out the drinks.
Connie sipped hers hesitantly. She had only tasted champagne once before-on her wedding night-and it had tasted bitter and unpleasant to her then, just as it did now. But this time, she found that she really didn't mind the taste at all. In fact, it was refreshing. Before she knew it, she had drained her glass.
"Mmm, that was good. Is there any more?"
Harvey and Irene both laughed, and Paul refilled her glass. "Better go easy, honey. That stuff can hit you pretty hard if you're not used to it."
But Connie ignored his warning. The champagne relaxed her, reminded her of those luscious, warm moments after fucking with Paul. Everything in her life seemed so different now, so beautiful. She would never have believed she could feel so comfortable and happy. Here she sat, in her own house, with her husband beside her and two new friends visiting. It all made her dreary, innocent past seem like a drab dream that had never really existed. Now she wanted only to enjoy the present, to make up for all the time lost. She drank deeply and held out her glass again.
"For Chrissakes, Connie!" Paul winced at her empty glass. "Our neighbors are going to think I'm married to a real souse."
"Oh, let her have her fun," Harvey intervened, "Besides, I have a toast to make."
Reluctantly Paul filled her glass once more, and Harvey stood up, brandishing his drink theatrically. "To the newly weds, our new neighbors . . . may better friends never be found."
Connie tossed down her champagne and giggled, fighting back the wave of dizziness that coursed through her. "That was lovely, Harve."
Irene wrinkled her nose. "Until you've heard it for the thousandth time, that is. It's the only toast he knows."
"Worth drinking to, anyway," Paul said with a grin. "But you haven't touched yours, Irene."
This time it was Irene's turn to blush, and Harvey collapsed on the divan, laughing. "The lady can't hold her liquor," he chuckled. "One stiff belt, and she's zapped for the evening! Isn't that right, sweetheart?"
Irene glanced at him, flushing with anger at Harvey's mocking tone. "Fuck you, sweetheart." And with that, she raised her glass and gulped the champagne down, making Harvey laugh even harder.
"How long have you been married?" Connie asked abruptly.
Irene choked on her drink, and Harvey burst out afresh, tears streaming from his eyes. "Married?" he cackled. "Married?"
Irene looked at Connie, embarrassed. "I'm sorry, I thought you knew. Harve lives on one side of you, and I live on the other."
"Married!" Harvey chortled, and Irene's face clouded with anger.
"At least that's the arrangement," she went on, glaring at him. "And it's getting more and more temporary every minute."
"Now hold on," Harvey managed weakly. "Don't get that pretty body of yours in an uproar. We've both tried the marriage route before, and it just didn't work for either of us. So don't go trying to convince Connie and Paul that you're the injured party, okay? You're not looking for another failure any more than I am!"
"But I may be looking for another try," Irene said softly, and suddenly Connie felt sorry for her. It was obvious that she wanted to get married, and just as obvious that Harvey liked things the way they were. It made Connie feel relieved that she had Paul and that they were happy together.
Abruptly Irene stood up, weaving a little drunkenly, even though she'd only had one glass. "All of a sudden, things are getting too serious, and this is supposed to be a party. And what's a party without music? Come on, Paul. Surely you have something around here to give us some music!"
She bent down to grab Paul's arm, and her gigantic tits dangled invitingly before his face, barely restrained by her red halter. Connie felt a sudden flash of jealousy at the way Paul stared as he let himself be pulled to his feet.
"Sure," he said, regaining his voice. "I've got a stereo right over here."
Connie watched as the two of them sauntered over to the record player, Irene clutching Paul's arm for support all the way.
"Need a refill?" asked Harve, holding out the champagne bottle. "We're creating ourselves quite a little drunken brawl here, aren't we? Irene's already bombed out of her skull, and the rest of us aren't far behind. But what the hell, it's the cocktail hour ... it must be, somewhere."
Connie giggled as he leaned forward to fill her glass, and a blast of music erupted from behind her. "This is more alcohol than I've had in my whole life! Are you trying to get me drunk, Harve?"
Harvey laughed, and his hand swayed, spilling droplets of champagne on the floor. "Of course I am, Missy. Then you and I are going to sneak off to Tahiti and leave those two alone."
He nodded in the direction of Paul and Irene, and Connie craned her head around. Though a hard rock song was playing, they were dancing slowly, and Irene's arms were entwined around Paul. As she watched, Irene nuzzled the hollow of his neck and pulled herself tighter to him. And Paul didn't seem to mind one bit. He caught Connie's stare and gave her a lopsided, embarrassed grin, shrugging helplessly.
Fuming, Connie turned back, too angry to watch. She gulped her drink and almost choked on it.
"Now, now, Missy," soothed Harvey. "They aren't doing anything to be upset about, or I'd be the first to holler. In a way, I guess it's my own fault for teasing Irene into taking that drink. She knows she can't handle the stuff. And Paul doesn't strike me as being a heavy boozer, himself. I guess I'm the only one around here who can really handle it." He grinned stupidly, wavering where he sat.
"Why don't you get married?" Connie asked unabashed, not entirely over her anger. "Irene would like to. Any woman could tell that."
"And limit myself to just one woman?" Harvey gasped mockingly. You see this body was made for love?" He patted his fat belly, and Connie had to laugh at that.
Her sudden change in mood made her head weave, and she closed her eyes, feeling her brain spin beneath all the champagne she had drunk. When she opened them again, she saw Harvey raise his glass to his lips-and halt suddenly, staring.
Then Connie saw that she had let her legs slide apart, opening a deep dark cavern before his greedy eyes. And instantly she realized the horny thoughts that were echoed in Harvey's eager look. He was staring directly into the darkness between her legs, imagining what her soft, fuzz-covered cunt looked like. Connie almost laughed out loud at the horny expression on his face, recalling her earlier impulse to do just this. And his amazed, lustful look was exactly as she had pictured it.
Now a new fascination overcame Connie. All her life she had hardly ever dated, had fled fearfully from men until at last she met persistent Paul. Now she wasn't that shy, frightened girl any more, and she was determined never, ever to be that girl again. Paul had shown her that she was desirable, and in the past five days she had come to accept that possibility.
But now, with Harvey, she had an unexpected chance to prove it. That and a lingering trace of jealous anger at Paul kept her from quickly closing the gap between her legs. Instead, she slowly moved them even further apart, tantalizing Harvey.
Her eyes gleamed with pleasure at his expression.
Harvey stared. His mouth opened, but no words came out. She could feel his staring gaze trying to penetrate the black pit between her smooth creamy thighs, and the mere thought made her tingle. She could feel her juices beginning to stir again, wetting her still-damp panties.
For the first time, Connie knew the forbidden excitement of power. She had never felt this way before, not even with Paul. She had never felt so delightfully sexy and in command of the situation -almost as if Harvey were her obedient slave. She was the one in control, to hide or show her wet pussy as she desired, and Harve-poor teddy-bear Harve-had no choice but to sit and stare.
Finally he managed to speak in a rattling voice. "I . . . " He cleared his throat. "I think I could use another belt."
"Mmm," Connie said dreamily, watching his eyes try-but fail-to turn away as he reached for the Scotch bottle. His gaze kept darting back to the point where her thighs melted into darkness. "I think I'll join you, if you don't mind," Connie said.
Harvey found the champagne and held the bottle p. "Sorry, Missy, but you've polished it off."
"Then maybe I'll drink some of your Scotch," she said in a tone that was almost a command.
"Look, Missy, I think you've had enough for toni ..."
"Harvey!" Connie leaned drunkenly forward, cupping her glass with both hands, and her elbows brushed back her skirt several inches as if by accident.
And Harvey almost dropped the Scotch. Now he could see the outline of her panties, their smooth, pink silken fabric spotted by wetness. He licked his lips, and Connie felt her cuntjuice gush, "Pour me, Harve," she commanded.
Harvey poured. He couldn't take his eyes off her panties and her wet juicy cunt. He could see the wetness seeping through, making her panties transparent, until the dark, moist curls of her cunt showed through. He could smell the sweet-salty aroma of her cunt, could almost taste it.
Connie saw his Bermuda shorts bulge conspicuously, and that only increased her cunt-itching sense of power over him. She leaned back again, letting one hand slide her skirt up even farther.
"Thank you, Harve. My, it's getting so warm in here. Do you like my legs, Harve?"
She raised her legs into the air, pretending to examine them critically. "You don't think they're too thin, do you?" Slowly she brought her legs together, then separated them, wider and wider apart until her knees touched the arms of the chair and her creaming sweet cunt gaped open to Harvey's view.
His voice cracked, and the bulge in his shorts threatened to rip through the material and let his horny fat cock stand straight up. "Oh Christ, it's perfect . . . just perfect, Missy."
"Why, thank you, Harve." Connie's voice taunted him, proving her complete power. She gulped a heavy slug of Scotch and ran a hand between her thighs, until her fingers reached the moist pit of her own growing itch. She let her fingers dip briefly into her cunt, let them brush lightly against her rigid hooded clit. "I'm glad you approve. Of my legs, that is. We're going to be wonderful neighbors, aren't we?"
Harve's face was dripping with sweat. "You can bet we are, honey. You can sure bet on that." He tossed down the last of his drink.
Then a sudden snapping sound reached them above the music, and they both turned to see Irene standing by the stereo with her bare tits jutting forward, and Paul standing dumbly before her with her halter in his hands.
Irene gave them a look of total surprise, making no attempt to cover herself, and shrugged. "It broke." Then she began to giggle. "It . . . ripped . . . right off!"
Then she was laughing wildly, and her gleaming naked tits bounced and jiggled as Paul joined her laughter, and even Harvey chuckled. And Connie saw that even as Paul laughed, his stare was directed at Irene's dark dancing nipples.
Suddenly flaring with jealousy, she stood up, swaying, and stalked toward him, angered by the hungry way he followed Irene's heaving tits. Drunkenly, Connie planted her feet, glaring, as Paul turned to her. "If you like titties so much, then here!"
And she pulled up her T-shirt with a jerk, displaying her own small boobs.
For some reason, this only made Paul and Irene laugh harder, though Harvey's beady eyes stared greedily. Stung by Paul's laughter, Connie felt the tears welling in her eyes. Though she knew it was the effect of the alcohol, she couldn't help feeling hurt.
"You only want to see hers because they're bigger! Mine aren't good enough for you!"
Then she began to cry in earnest.
Immediately Paul stopped laughing, though he had to fight to keep it down. "Now that's not true and you know it, Connie," he said, taking his drunk little bride into his arms. "I guess we've all had a full day and a little too much to drink. I'd better put my wife to bed."
They said their goodbyes for the evening, and Connie let her husband lead her upstairs.