Chapter 5
Harry drove quickly and carefully. He couldn't spoil it now by careening over one of those cliffs that plunged straight down to the Pacific below. No, his chance had come and he was going to take it. What was the line... there comes a tide in the affairs of men, which taken at the flood leads on to fortune... or something like that.
He'd hightailed it out of those woods before Maeve and Sam had recovered from their orgasms, had a shower, and told Jo he had some errands in town. She'd looked up lazily from her labors over the barbecuing turkey that turned on the spit of the cooker.
"It's all right, love. Just be home by supper if you can." He still cringed at her British voice after all these years. It was the high-pitched nasal twang of the upper-class British female. She'd never let him forget she was upper class, either, or that her father had been a British general. But money was all she'd ever had. By his own goddamned selfishness he'd gotten hooked.
If he told Carl just right, he mused, his eyes sweeping the road ahead expertly, he could so completely undo him that he'd come all apart and muff his chance for that research money. He could imagine Carl's face when he told him that the Admiral Carl had to get the money from had just screwed his wife! You're a prick, Harry Neil, he told himself smugly... a real first-class prick.
Jo wiped her dark hair back from her face with the back of her hand, and her face broke into a smile as she saw Farleigh walk up in his heavy boots.
"Say... ah... Jo."
"Yes, love," she smiled cordially, putting down her basting spoon and sidling up to him with both hands in the pockets of the bright, gaily flowered long muumuu she wore.
"You know anything about this off-site thing I heard Harry and the Admiral talking about last night?" He stood with his hands stuck in the back pockets of his jeans, his big face frowning a little. Jo was looking at him like he was a cup of cream and she was a hungry cat. She was one hot piece who was hurting for it. Harry didn't do a thing for her, he figured. Under his eyelashes, he looked her over, wondering if he wanted the information that bad.
She was slightly plumper that the fashionable figure, of medium height, with dark medium-length hair that she wore in a flip that was a little too young for her and brown eyes set a little too close together. Not beautiful, but certainly not all that bad, either. She wore dowdy clothes like every British female he'd ever met, but she looked better today in the long flowered thing.
"Yes... I know a lot..." she purred. "Come on inside. I'll make you a screwdriver." Her eyes made the drink a vulgar term. Farleigh decided... what the hell! He followed her into the big luxurious trailer.
She bustled about, Grabbing him by the big muscular arms, she pushed him into the deep sofa. "Now, you just make yourself comfortable, and I'll only be a second." Mentally Farleigh cringed. That was Jo's whole trouble. She pushed people around. Poor old Harry sure showed the effects of it, too.
Jo settled down on the sofa beside Farleigh, a little too close for polite conversation. The screwdriver tasted cold and refreshing. He sipped it gratefully.
"This... uh... off-site thing I heard the Admiral and Harry talking about. Harry didn't seem too keen on it."
Jo laughed harshly, "I should think not. The off-site technique is Carl's baby. It would be in direct competition to what Harry wants to do in the management department. You may as well know. They're both killing themselves to get the research money the Admiral's come out to award. Harry thinks he has the edge since the Admiral consented to be our guest here for the weekend."
Farleigh scratched his chin thoughtfully, "Power play, huh?"
"Something like that."
"The Admiral said something about a permanent off-site location.... sort of a resort place to use for these off-sites for officers."
"And you want them to select Bendemeer's Stream?" she said quickly in her precise English voice.
Farleigh grinned sheepishly. "Yeah. I do. I'm getting kinda tired of trying to keep the hippies out of the bushes and coping with... well... you know some of the people I have to put up with. I don't know. Maybe I'm getting lazy. I just thought... well... if I could get a contract with the Navy..."
He took a long pull on his drink. Jo looked at the big, shaggy man thoughtfully, feeling her pussy tighten at the thought of those huge arms around her. Harry'd been no good to her for years now, and her sex came rare and makeshift. It wasn't easy to find when you were a proper professor's wife and not that good-looking. Laughable, really, when you knew that Jo had been kicked out of every good girls' school in England for sexual capers her father had paid a great deal of money to hide. Maybe it was retribution for being sexually precocious. She'd never really had this kind of opportunity before with Farleigh, and she wasn't going to let it go, no matter what it did to Harry. The impotent bastard!
"We are having a sort of party tomorrow for the Admiral," she said slowly so it would sink in. "And," her hand patted his thigh, "You're invited, of course. Would that help?" Her hand simply stayed on his bulging thigh.
"It sure would! I really appreciate that, Jo. But, I... well... I hate to ask you to help me on this... I mean, it wouldn't do Harry any good."
He felt himself tighten in the groin, despite the fact she wasn't all that good-looking. Her hand on his thigh was inching up.
"Don't you worry about Harry," she said grimly.
"Well, I sure would be grateful!" he said boyishly.
"How grateful, Farleigh?" Her eyes narrowed and her nostrils were flaring. She'd deliberately let her low-cut drawstring neckline slip so that part of one breast and her shoulder were bare.
"Well, what would I have to do?" he said slowly, knowing full well what she wanted. She was almost panting, and her big breasts were visibly rising and falling under the full muumuu.
"Fuck me," she said flatly, her hand moving onto his prick that was half hard in his tight jeans.
"Why, honey. I'd just be proud to do that," he chuckled. Farleigh leaned back on the sofa pillows. Jo leaped up and quickly closed the blinds and locked the door, her heart pounding already. It had been four months since she'd paid the damn golf pro at the country club, and he couldn't even get it up again after one quick lay. The damn dildo was all she'd had since, and it was damned unsatisfactory.
"I'll be right back," she flung over her shoulder, and rushed into the bedroom. She flung off her Muumuu and bra and panties. From the bottom drawer of her chest she pulled out the "fun" costume. It had been necessary through the years to find all sorts of things to help her own masturbations along to more sophisticated planes.
She leaned forward, slipping her arms through the filmy sleeves of a short bolero. Still leaning over as though she were adjusting her bounteous breasts in a bra, she hooked the red velvet bolero tightly between her breasts with two hooks. Then she stood erect, and pulled on the filmy harem pants that were set on a red velvet yoke that bared her whole belly and most of her hips. In the bathroom she flipped a brush through her hair, showered herself with a quick spray of perfume, and reached for one of the new lipstick gels. Looking in the full-length mirror she carefully stained both areolas and nipples that poked through the holes of the bolero with the deep red and then tilted her pelvis to reach her pussy. The filmy pants had no crotch at all and simply left her cuntal area bare, covering only her legs in a thin film of soft folds of nylon. Watching herself in the mirror, she carefully stained her labia with the thin red lipstick stain, too. She had to keep dabbing with a kleenex between using the lipstick, for she was already flowing freely.
Standing back a little, she surveyed her handiwork. Her big breasts were pulled to cones by the short bolero, for it acted as a support just as a bra did and the breasts stood naked and well-formed through the supportive holes. She parted the filmy folds, revealing her bare, shaven box, reddened with the stain and swollen. She squeezed her thighs together and watched the lips of her pussy rub together. God, what was she waiting for? She didn't have to manipulate her own body now. She had a great big male, a horse, a stud right there in her own living room!
Farleigh had refilled his drink from the orange juice and vodka on the kitchen counter. He didn't really need it, but it couldn't hurt. He nearly dropped the glass when he turned around and saw Jo coming through the trailer's narrow passageway right toward him. Jesus! She hardly looked like the same woman! Her tits were poking out through some kind of red top, naked... and the nipples were as red as the cloth. Some kind of filmy pants clung precariously to her hips and flowed down and were gathered at the ankle. Like in the movies in the harem... except... her snatch was bare... no crotch in the pants! Jo's was the barest pussy he'd ever seen in his life... not a hair! And red, too!
He set his drink down and reached for her. He caught both red-tipped, cone-shaped tits in his hands and pulled her toward him, "Honey, you're gonna get more than you bargained for."
Maeve couldn't believe that her whole life could have changed so radically in so short a time. She'd been unfaithful twice, and her twinges of conscience that had stabbed her so painfully were now just that... faint twinges.
After their bout in the grass, Sam had insisted she finish her painting! He was the strangest man she'd ever met! He seemed to be a walking library and museum. His knowledge of art far exceeded her teacher's. Jim Stein seemed like an amateur in comparison.
They'd talked for hours, and she'd never felt so intellectually alive. Never in her life had she ever had such a conversation with a man. He respected her opinions and talked to her as an equal. She simply couldn't believe it!
Back at the trailer he'd criticized all the paintings she had there. He was right about them, too. She could feel it. His encouragement set her whole being aglow, for she knew that he knew what he was talking about. You got so bound up in your work that it was sometimes very difficult to turn on the critical part of your mind and survey your own work objectively.
She even found herself telling him about Carl... about Betty. He looked up at her quizzically, his hawk eyes asking questions she didn't know how to answer.
"Maeve, child," he said patiently. "You were simply bound up in the middle-class morality that says that you, as an animal, must never behave as one. Your husband is a brilliant man, but he is also a functional man. His sexual behavior is not a shameful thing that nullifies his intellectual excellence or his moral courage. The philosophers have truly led us astray about this, you know. If Carl were so hidebound that he couldn't enjoy sex with your attractive neighbor when it was available... then he'd never be able to enjoy it with you, either. Didn't our experience in the woods teach you anything? Because I enjoyed you, I do not suddenly love my wife any less... nor do I think you love Carl any less."
She looked up from where she sat on the carpet, one arm on the narrow bench along the wall. "No, that's true," she admitted slowly. "But... I guess it's a very new idea for me. I'm afraid I swallowed my conventional upbringing rather whole."
"Most of us did, you know. And that same upbringing and the tradition, for instance, of the Navy, has made messes of a lot of people, too. That's why Carl's work excites me so. I think he's found some tools... at least for the Navy Postgraduate School, that could make a lot of people function more happily. That's really what my job is all about. Will Carl be coming down today, but the way?"
"I don't... know. I guess so. I'm a little... well... afraid to see him. He'll be so happy, though, that you approve of his work."
Sam reached down and pulled her to her feet. "I need to talk to him more about it. Why don't you call him and make up? Then get him to drive down. You can tell him... by the way... that the research money is his... or as good as. I can't absolutely promise quite yet... but soon."
"Oh, Sam!" she laughed... feeling she had somehow facilitated Carl's success. She felt as though she'd helped... just a little.
"Fuck harder!... harder!... fuck!" Jo screamed softly, her long-nailed fingers digging Farleigh's naked buttocks, trying to shove his huge, ramming prick completely up through her body. She'd never felt such a fantastic pistoning cock in her life! It was the best fucking she'd ever known! Oh God, she'd waited so long... but it was happening... at last it was happening!
She could feel the oozing sop of her last orgasm trickle down the crack in her ass, wetting the ivory silk sheets on the king-sized bed. She'd had three climaxes so far, and Farleigh was still good for another one or two before he blew. She was almost ready for another. She could feel the vaginal walls sucking hard and inward on his great, sawing, mammoth penis. Jesus! He was a stud. A first-class stud!
It seemed like all Farleigh had to do was stroke a couple or three times and Jo was off again. She must have had at least three orgasms already. This was one starving woman, and it didn't take much to set her off. Of course, she was probably thirty-eight or thirty-nine. He knew some women went absolutely ape in their late thirties and just couldn't get enough.
He reached down and caught her just under each knee and shoved them back till her whole quaking cunt, wet and dripping and bare as a baby's, was open to his pumping, laboring shaft. Her legs were bent so her knees touched her own shoulders and her whole, soggy, flaming naked crotch was exposed, the filmy nylon still falling in folds around her ankles. Farleigh raised himself on his knees so he could pound even harder, mashing this wildly lusting woman into a ball of carnality.
"Yesssss... oh, yessssss," she hissed, urging him even farther into her clenching, needing hole. This way she could take him even deeper and she could reach more of him. Her hands still on his laboring ass, she worked one finger into his crack. There she found his asshole, crinkled and hair-ringed. She wormed her forefinger into the reluctant opening that pushed hard to force her out again, but she persisted. He was slamming that huge, swollen horse prick into her now with mounting fury, and she could feel the inner furnace working to attain blast level again. She had to make his orgasm so overwhelming that he'd come back to fuck her regularly.
Her finger burrowed farther and farther into him, and he was so concentrating on the fucking that he didn't object to the discomfort. Finally her finger was in all the way to her palm, and she could feel his muscular buttock clenching as he drove his thick, long rigid rod slamming into her hot, quivering, simmering pussy. She moved her finger around in his asshole, probing and probing carefully.
"Hey... what... what'd you do, baby? Feels good!"
Farleigh knew damn well what she was doing, but the only person who'd ever done it to him was a doctor when he'd had a checkup. He'd never had a woman give him a prostate massage while he was fucking her! God damn! She was hotter'n a pistol! He could feel the itching, tingling pleasure in his churning gut, and the fuel load building up in his balls was rising to blastoff proportions. When he let go, his sperm-laden cum was going to shoot out her ears and mouth! He could blast all the way to China!
Farleigh braced himself by putting both hands on the coned breasts as he stroked heavily into Jo's milking, pulling cunt. The breasts were still held upright by the bolero, but they were as naked as they needed to be. The points of her red-hot nipples burned into his palms. She was an acrobat. Her knees must be paining her by now, but she showed no sign of discomfort... only the ecstatic contortions of sexual frenzy.
"How... how... do you like it?" she gasped, the breath laboring through her lungs, her finger tickling his prostate through the membrane of his asshole, deep in his bowel.
"Great," he grunted, feeling the boiling sperm swirling faster and faster in his aching testes and the head of his hammering cock actually moving her womb with each long brutal thrust. The prostate massage was increasing the unbearable pressure in his swollen balls as she was skillfully triggering his imminent and massive orgasm.
His hands left her breasts and grasped the upturned globes of her white ass. Farleigh suddenly increased his rhythm and drove the aching, blood-gorged prong into her slippery, sucking cunt with a blinding fury. He knew a hard prick had no conscience, but he knew that a wet cunt didn't have one, either.
Jo's head began to flop back and forth on the pillow like a wounded bird, and the pleasure moans coming from her lips were trying to form words to communicate her impending climax. Every muscle in her body was straining and urging and cording to climb the peak of rapture she was so close to. Farleigh knew he couldn't hold out this time. When she went, he'd blow out himself. Oh God, it was so close and was going to be so mind-blowing good and the explosion might just kill him. But what a way to go!
"Go-o-o-o-o-d-d-d-d-d-d!" she gasped, pulling her finger from his asshole and pushing his buttocks unmercifully with her digging fingers, trying to drive him all the way through to her backbone. "Ahh-h-hhhhhhh-hhh," she whined, her head twisting and flopping.
Suddenly she arched up by digging her heels against his shoulders, and as Farleigh roared home she screamed, "CUM-M-M-M-M-M! Cummmm w-i-i-i-t-t-t-h-h-h meeeeeeeeee!"
Farleigh felt her lewd scream trigger the great churning load he'd dammed up too long. Shoulders hunched, he almost stood on his own prick as he slashed it into the flowing hole beneath him, bellowing against her neck like a bull as the mighty blastoff roared down the constricted tunnel of his cock. "JEEEEEEEEE-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-su-SUSUSUSUS!