Chapter 5

I felt ambitious the next morning. A good lay usually has that effect on me. I shipped the kids off to school after breakfast, and even made myself some scrambled eggs and coffee. I relaxed for about twenty minutes after breakfast by reading the News. Then I got around to my housework. First, general straightening: putting everything back into place. Two kids and a husband invariably left a wake of disorder in their path that was comparable to the destruction of an earthquake. I went through the rooms briskly, straightening and tidying, and by ten the house was, even by my standards, in fairly good shape.

Before I went on to the heavier cleaning, I decided to take another small break. For me, that meant another cup of coffee and a telephone call or two. I decided to call Lynda first.

"Hi!" I said when Lynda answered the phone.

"Hi, Wendy!"

"What are you doing?"

"Getting ready to go to my Mother's."

"For a visit?"

"It's Dad. He's not feeling well."

"Is it his heart again?"

"I don't know. He's complaining about chest pains."

"It's hard to tell."

"You know how it is with old people."

"He's not that old, is he?"

"He's in his fifties...."

"That's not that old," I said. After all, I thought, it's only fifteen years older than I am. Fourteen, actually. To Lynda, I guess, it seems old.

"Will you be gone long?"

"Probably the rest of the week. Maybe the weekend also."

"Look. I better let you get packed. Call me if anything ... happens."

"Sure. No problem."

"Take it easy, Lynda. Don't worry."

"Thanks for calling, Wendy."

I hung, the receiver up. Somehow, all of my previous energy seemed to have dissipated itself after Lynda's call. I sat at the kitchen table with a cooling cup of coffee in my hand. I sipped at the coffee without enjoying it. It tasted flat and stale, and it didn't provide that usual pick-up that a second cup of coffee invariably had on my moods. I sat there, thinking and feeling vaguely tired and dissatisfied.

Thirty-six, I thought. Next week. Past the mid-thirties point, and on towards forty.

I sipped the coffee.

I thought about what Mark had suggested last night as a birthday present for me. I think I'd enjoy having two men make love to me at the same time, even if one of them was Mark. That was something that I've never tried. Even Lynda has that fantasy. I remembered what she had told me about the first dildo and her husband eating her and fucking her with it at the same time.

How typical of Lynda, I thought. Instead of actually experiencing the fantasy, she was content to just dream about it and use her husband's mouth and a rubber cock as a poor substitute.

I laughed to myself. Am I any better? I've never tried it either. I shouldn't talk.

We came close once, though. I thought back to Fran and Kenny.

Jesus! We haven't seen them in what? Six, seven years. Ever since we moved out here. I wonder how they're doing?

I sipped at my coffee, savoring the memory of two friends from the past. With Fran and Kenny we had come the closest to ever participating in an orgy. We had begun by just fooling around. Kissing with each other's husband and wife in a dark room. A little petting. Then one night-who suggested it?-we decided to swap partners: to make love to each other.

I thought back to the night. What a farce. Instead of being sexy, the four of us had gotten so stoned that we had to get undressed in separate bedrooms. Kenny and I had gotten the kid's bedroom, and we tried to make love on Laura's narrow, single bed. We kept on falling off, with arms and legs draped over the edge of the mattress. Once Kenny slipped off the bed and banged his knee against the floor. He jumped around holding his knee, stark naked, trying to smother his pain and embarrassment.

What a night. We were so serious about the sex that it turned into a fiasco. No one got satisfied, not even the men. We tried so hard to make it work.

I bet it would work now, I thought. I sipped my coffee. We're older now. More mature. I think we could accept sex more easily now. We wouldn't have to try so hard to prove how mature and cool we really were. We could take the sex for what it is-a sensual, pleasurable experience, and not an extension of anyone's ego.

The urge to call them made me almost get up from the table. I allowed the desire to pass and grow into a realistic perspective. Too much time has passed, I knew. Fran and Kenny are different people now. Sure, they might come, but it wouldn't be the same. The past is never the same. You can never relive it in the present The only way you can have the past again is to remember it.

Christ! I thought. What am I doing? Sitting here and thinking about the past as though my life were over!

It's only a birthday, I told myself. Just another birthday.

I thought again of Fran and Kenny. To a night before that abortive mess. We were all sitting on the living room couch kissing each other. Somehow we started petting and touching each other in pairs. First Mark and Kenny kissing and touching Fran: Mark massaging her tits and Kenny fingering her and kissing her. Then Mark's turn: I took his cock out and began to suck it while Fran was kissing him.

I sipped the coffee again.

Then my turn. Mark got down on his knees and parted my pussy with his fingers and began to lick it furiously. While he was doing that, Kenny pulled my blouse up and was sucking on my tits. I nearly went out of my mind. While Kenny was sucking my tits, I grabbed his cock and began to jerk it off. I nearly came while they were working on me. That night was a hundred times more exciting than the night we actually swapped partners.

I put my coffee cup down.

"Jesus Christ!" I said out loud. I was getting myself horny thinking about it!

My tits were hard under my house dress, and I could feel myself getting wet. I considered masturbating, but I've never enjoyed that as a solitary experience. It was always a last resort. I put my hands down and I squeezed my cunt. A thrill of pleasure spread out from my cunt and made my legs feel weak. My tits became hard and the nipples grew stiff.

I promised myself that I was going to convince Mark to give me a man for my birthday.

I laughed. That was foolish, I knew. Even though Mark and I talked about it, we would never go to that length. Mark could mess around on his own, and I would do the same. But we would never acknowledge that part of our lives to each other. There was a fine balance on which our trust and love precariously teetered. To acknowledge what we both knew, but never admitted, would ruin forever that equilibrium. Both Mark and I had our own secret life that we would never admit to the other. We couldn't. We loved each other too much.

That of course, was next week. But I was horny today. Now.

I began to sip at the coffee again, but put the cup back down again before it even touched my lips. I was too aroused to just sit there and drink coffee!

I considered calling Lynda back. No. That was no good. Even if she was still at home, she would be in a hurry, and certainly in no mood to jerk me off.

I thought of calling Mark at work. Speak sexily to him over the telephone; seduce him into coming home to fuck me. That, of course, wouldn't work either. At best, it would take him at least two hours to get home and by then who knew what kind of mood I would be in. Certainly not a sexy one. I was horny now.

Then I got an idea.

I smiled to myself. It was a good idea. It would be a birthday present. From myself to myself.

I got up from the table and went into the bedroom. I found my pocketbook, opened it, and took out the piece of paper I had hidden in the zipped compartment. With the paper in my hand, I returned to the kitchen.

I dialed the number on the paper.

"Local Reader's Service," a voice answered.

"Is this the magazine company?" I asked.

"Yes it is," a man said. "This is Ed Richards. Can I help you?"

"Possibly you can. This is Mrs. Wendy Allen. A friend of mine told me about your wonderful service. I'd be interested in subscribing to it also."

I purposely gave my words a double edge to their meaning. It was perversely exciting to know what I was planning, yet speaking so innocently to this unsuspecting man. I knew what he was going to get.

"I see. Well, that's very nice. It's gratifying to know that our customers are so satisfied that they recommend our service to their friends."

"Don't mention it. It's my pleasure."

"If you don't mind, would you let me know which of our customers it was who told you about Local Reader's? I'll give her a call and thank her personally."

"Why certainly, Mr. Richards. Her name is Lynda Conway."

"Gee. That name sounds familiar. Lynda Conway ... Humn. Oh, yes! ... I remember Lynda....In fact, I sold her subscription myself!"

"Did you? Lynda didn't say. She just told me of how much she enjoyed being a member." I see...."

"What do I have to do to join?" I asked. I think he was beginning to understand my meaning.

"Let me have your full name and address, and I'll be over there in a little while and explain the whole service to you personally."

I told him my name and address. "Thank you Mr. Richards. I'm so glad you could handle this personally."

"At Local Reader's," he said evenly, "we always like to keep our customers satisfied."

I was sure now that he understood my meaning.

"I'll see you shortly, Mrs. Allen," he said.

"Good-bye."

I hung up the receiver.

I had to hurry now, I knew. I had a feeling that Mr. Richards would not waste any time in getting out here. He seemed anxious enough over the telephone.

I went into the bathroom and urinated, then washed my face and neck and underarms. I giggled wickedly, then decided to wash my cunt. I pulled my dress up and ran the cold wash cloth through the lips of my cunt, inserting one finger into the hole, swabbing it out.

When I was finished washing, I sprayed some deodorant under my arms and a little Vespre on my cunt. Personally, I subscribe to the philosophy that a cunt should smell like a cunt and not a flower. But I didn't know how Mr. Richards felt about it. Some men are turned off by a raunchy cunt. I didn't want to do anything that might ruin my birthday present. The spray felt cold and tingly against the naked flesh of my cunt. I shuddered with excitement.

I went into the bedroom and took off my panties and housedress. I stared at my naked reflection in the mirror. I ran my hand across my flat stomach, down into the blonde-brown bush of my cunt. My pussy was wet with anticipation. I cupped my tits in my hands. They felt warm and soft. I rubbed the nipples and felt small flushes of excitement spread across my tits.

Quickly, I took out my makeup. I smeared the liquid base over my face, then applied a lighter shade under my eyes to hide any wrinkles or bags. I applied powder above each eye lid in short, rapid strokes, then penciled in the liner. I brushed on the mascara, then did my eyebrows. It wasn't perfect, but it would have to do. I put some blush on my cheeks to give me some color.

My hair! I thought. I took the headband out and brushed at my hair. Naturally, it was wild and unruly. I did the best I could, and stepped back and stared at myself.

Not bad, I thought. Thirty-five, but not bad.

Now for something to wear. I opened my closet. A dress or skirt and blouse? No underwear, although I considered a bra. No, I decided. Being nude under my clothing was sexy.

The doorbell rang!

He's here already! I thought. And I was still naked.

I grabbed the first dress I saw. The choice was a good one. It fitted me well, was short, and it buttoned down the front. That was useful when I wanted to take it off. It meant to get at my tits, all he would have to do was unbutton a few buttons.

I slipped the dress on and did up the buttons.

"Owning!" I called out.

I put the dress on and judged myself in the mirror. A little flat without the bra, but on the whole, not bad at all.

The bell rang again. "One minute!"

I made one last check in the mirror and then hurried out to the hall. I patted down my hair with my hand as I stood before the door. "Who is it?" I asked.

"Ed Richards," I heard a voice say. "From Local Reader's Service."

I opened the door. "Come in."

Mr. Richards walked in. He was rather young, perhaps twenty-two or three. He was tall and well built; the type that looks as though he once had been fat but had managed to diet off the extra pounds. He had blond hair, and was good looking in a rather craggy way. He was wearing a pair of Haired bells, and a white short-sleeved shirt. From the way he was walking, I could tell he was holding his stomach in.

"Hi! Mrs. Allen," he said. "I'm Ed Richards."

He sauntered into my living room, walking with a cocky kind of confidence. He was young and he was sharp and he knew it. He was sold on himself.

"Sit down," I told him. He sat in a chair across from the sofa. He leaned forward in the chair, giving the impression of dynamic, aggressive youth. He faced me from where I was sitting on the sofa, and he never once moved his eyes from mine. I had the feeling he was trying to hypnotize me. He had a leather pouch in his hands, and he was holding it self-consciously.

"First," he said, "I would like to thank you for calling...." He used this as a lead into his spiel about the magazine service. He said the words out of habit and memory: a well-polished delivery. He didn't give me a chance to speak: he controlled the conversation.

I sat back on the sofa and listened politely. I opened my legs slightly, and I saw his eyes catch the movement. Slowly I raised my leg and crossed it, revealing a flash of flesh.

That stopped him. He stumbled over his presentation. Just a word, but enough to let me know that he realized I had nothing on under the dress. From the way he was staring at me and talking rather absently, I knew he was staring at my cunt.

"Why don't you sit over here, next to me?" I suggested. I smiled at him.

He smiled back and stood up. He had a hard-on and it was quite apparent through his tight pants. Yet, he made no effort to conceal its presence. He stood erect, and walked boldly across the room towards me with that confident smile spreading across his roughly handsome features.

He sat very close next to me. Purposely he allowed his knee to graze the side of my thigh. Instead of pulling his leg back, he pressed it forward, into the softness of my thigh, and began to move his knee up and down against me.

I looked at his face. His blue eyes twinkled knowledgeably, and I could see his teeth through his open lips. He was almost nodding at me.

"Well," I said. "Continue."

He just stared at me. He put his hand down to his crotch. His began to rub his balls and cock through his pants. He watched my eyes follow his hand down. When my eyes did not pull away from the sight in shock, his grin broadened until it seemed it would crack his face in two. His squeezed his cock hard, lifting it through the pants, as if showing its length to me.

I did nothing but watch. It was his game. He had to make the move.

He did. Without a single word of acknowledgement from me, he reached across the space separating us, and slid his arm around me, pulling me close to him. He was that confident in himself. Here he was, making love to a woman twelve years older than he, and yet, he didn't hesitate for a single moment.

He drew my face to his. His mouth was open, and he forced his tongue between my lips. My mouth molded itself against him, and I accepted his tongue. It snaked into my mouth, bringing with it a hot, squirming fire that lashed against my own tongue, and licked at my teeth.

He kissed well. That same self-assured confidence pressed against my lips, rotating slowly, pressing down with just the proper amount of pressure and abandonment. I sensed his technique had been well perfected.

His hand moved to my breast. He had large hands, and his fingers tightened around my flesh with ease and sureness. For a moment I thought I felt his hand tremble as it touched my breast. I don't think he had realized that I hadn't worn a bra. His gaze had only discerned that I wasn't wearing any panties.

He squeezed my tit appreciatively, pressing the flesh down against my body, and moving his hand in small, rotating pressures. He pinched inwardly with his fingers and palm, catching the nipple against the material of my dress, and causing it to grow hard and stiff. He ran his index finger across the tip of my tit, brushing the erect nipple back and forth through the dress.

His tongue continued to move in my mouth, wetly, hotly.

I remained passive, allowing him to kiss and touch me.

I think he sensed this, and decided to make his own moves. He took his hand from my breast and picked up 'my hand. He brought our hands down to his crotch, and he wrapped my fingers around his erect cock. Then he put his hand back on my tit.

His cock was hard. And long. My fingers weren't passive as they pulled at his cock through his pants. I ran the palm of my hand down the length of his cock, from his belly to the tip. His cock was very thick, and I could feel the heat of his body generating up through the rough material of his pants. I squeezed down at his flesh, wrapping my fingers under the material so that I was holding his cock up, off of his body. I squeezed it again. It was as hard as a rock.

Encouraged, he began to unbutton the top buttons of my dress. His fingers moved steadily and surely down until he had me naked to my navel. He slipped his hand into the open dress, and continued his massage against my naked tits. His hands were cool against my hot flesh.

Without wanting to, I began to moan. Regardless of what I thought of his personality, he was good. The moans came out wetly, escaping from our open mouths and hot, wriggling tongues.

I could almost feel his confidence growing under my fingers. He pulled his lips from mine, and put his mouth down against my tits. He used the same slow, sensual kissing movement against my breast as he had against my mouth. Moving slowly, wetly, lashing his hot tongue across my nipples. I could feel his teeth biting into the flesh of my tit, grinding pleasurably down in small nibbles. I felt him suck my nipple up into his puckered lips. My tit tingled excitedly against the wet suction of his lips.

With the hand that had been on my breast, he moved it across my stomach, then down between my legs. He guided his hand slowly, allowing me to savor the intent of his movement. I parted my thighs to permit him entrance, and he slid his hand up under my dress, and touched the wetness of my naked cunt.

His fingers curled around the mound of my cunt. His hand rubbed against me, pressing upward. I heard the scratchy sound of my hair against his hand. The noise excited me.

He began to slide his middle finger up and down the slit of my cunt. The finger separated the thick outer lips, and began to play in the moist slickness between, spreading the wetness of my excitement up and down the length of my cunt.

He lifted his face from my tit. "Take my cock out," he commanded.

I fumbled with his zipper and pulled it down. His cock popped out, naked. At first I thought he had worn no underwear, but then I felt it under my hand. I realized that he had his cock pulled out of the slitted opening of his shorts. He had arranged it that way before he'd come here. He was that sure of himself.

I moved my hand up and down his cock.

He put his mouth back on my nipple, and began to circle his probing middle finger around the outside of my cunt hole. His finger was barely inserted into the hole, and he moved the tip of his finger around slowly, letting it squish through the wetness, pulling the entrance hole tightly and tautly with his rotating hardness. I found it excruciatingly exciting.

His cock was thick and long. I squeezed its round, uncircumcised head under my fingers, and I felt him tremble under the pressure. I pulled his balls free from his shorts, and they hung down the outside of his open zipper like twin sacks.

He inserted his tip of his finger into my cunt, down to the first joint, perhaps half an inch. He continued to move the finger in the same circle, stretching the lip of my cunt hole until I felt the trembling excitement of pleasure from the caress. I could feel the wetness of my body dribbling down against his finger.

"Suck my cock!" he said. He thrust his finger up into my box. His finger was long and hard, and I felt a swell of pleasure push outward from his jabbing movement. I felt the lips of my cunt clutch close involuntarily around his finger, catching the knuckles of his fist in the soft, outer thickness of my cuntal lips.

"Suck my cock!" he said again.

It hadn't been necessary for him to repeat it: I had every intention of sucking his cock. My mouth was watering in expectation of swallowing his long, thick hardness.

With his finger inside of my cunt and his lips back on my tit, I bent forward and put his cock in my mouth. I guided him in with my hand, still on his cock from before, pulling his thickness into the wet anticipation of my mouth.

His cock was hot in my mouth. I closed my lips against the sides of him, pressing the flat part of my tongue against the underside of the organ. I let my saliva dribble down his cock, and I began to pump my head up and down his length in a bobbing motion. I slid him down until I could feel the cool scrape of his open zipper against my lips. Wiry blond pubic hairs, standing stiffly out from between the open flap of his shorts, tickled my nose each time I slid down his cock and buried my face into his hot crotch.

His finger in my cunt became a piston. He pushed it in and out with a frantic tempo. I felt the walls of my passage way opening and closing around the bluntness of his pushing finger.

"Suck it, baby!" he moaned. "Suck out my come!"

I remembered then what I had told Lynda about the pleasures of swallowing come from a hot cock. The idea sounded exciting then, but now my cunt ached for a good fucking. Reluctantly, I pulled my lips away from his cock.

"Fuck me," I said. My eyes were closed, and my body was alive with raw sensation from his rapidly thrusting finger.

"What did you say?" he asked. Without looking, I knew he was smiling. "Fuck me," I repeated. "Say it louder ... and better."

"Fuck me ... please."

"Louder!" His confidence made me squirm. The supreme ego: the male with the golden cock. "FUCK ME!"

He slipped his hand from my cunt and began to undo the rest of the buttons. His hand was wet against my body. The dress fell loose, and I shrugged out of it. I was naked now.

He pushed me back on the couch. I lay flat, with one leg dangling off the couch, and the other up against the back cushions. My whole cunt was exposed to his view.

He leaned forward and began to lick at my cunt. His tongue was hot and he slid it into my box as though it were a wet cock. I felt him slide up inside of me.

"Fuck me!" I insisted.

He pulled his face up and looked down at me. I could see he wanted to continue.

"Fuck me!" I said again. "I'm going to come and I want to be fucked. My husband can eat me anytime. I want your cock!"

It swayed him. He first kneeled, then fell forward on top of me. His cock was red hot, and I felt him pushing it uselessly against my thigh. I reached down between us and took it in my hand. I guided his frantic thrusting into the fire of my cunt. He slid down and in.

"My god!" he said. "What a cunt! It's so hot! So hot!"

He pushed himself in and out of me. I could feel his pants against the nakedness of my thighs, and his balls kept on bouncing against my ass. His cock was like a red hot poker, and he slid it in and out, searing out the fires of my aroused box.

I tightened my cunt around his rod, squeezing down with all my might. I felt his cock throb, then shudder.

"I'm coming!" he moaned.

His orgasm was intense, just as his love making was. He came copiously, spilling his hot seed into the thirsting mouth of my cunt. His orgasm was different than Mark's: it was stronger, more passionate, vibrant, hotter. He shuddered as though he had palsy.

The very intensity of his orgasm precipitated my own coming. The hardness of his body, vitality of his youth, the burning fires that flooded from his cock, all made me recall my own youth, and the undulled peaks of exquisitely acute orgasm. My climax came crashing down and shattered in tiny pieces in my cunt.

I began to moan. Wave after wave of shuddering passion pumped through my body. My cunt was like a stuttering Up around his hot, throbbing cock, twitching in spasms of complete abandonment. He kept on pounding away at me, and it felt as though my cunt had exploded inside of me. It wasn't my cunt, it was my orgasm.

Later, as the waves of ecstasy diminished, and the fireworks of primary colors dimmed to cooler shades of pastel, I pushed him off my body, and he fell on the floor. He had been still pumping himself in and out of my exhausted cunt, and I could take the pleasure no longer. He lay on the floor on his back, with his mindless, insensitive cock unbent and still, poking proudly in the air, as stiff as it first went in.

"Lady," he moaned. "For an older woman-you're some piece of ass!"

Older woman! I thought, although I was sure that he had meant it as a compliment.

"How was I?" he asked. His ego, like his erect cock, was waving like a flag. He was so sure, so confident.

"You were good," I told him. It was the truth: he was good. "You're a good fuck."

I almost expected him to say "I know." Thankfully he didn't say anything at first. He pushed himself up on his elbows. With one hand he massaged his wet cock.

"When can I see you again?" he asked.

I looked at him. "Never."

He looked incredulous. "You have to be kidding, "I'm not. Don't ever come around here again. If you do, I'll call the police.".

He looked hurt, wounded. "Why?" he asked. "It was good, wasn't it?"

"It was good."

"I don't understand-"

I could see that he didn't understand.

Good, I thought. Maybe it will teach him a lesson. He was so confident, so sure of himself. Let him figure it out for himself.

"Put that thing away," I said, "and get out."

I left him sitting there on the floor, looking up at me, holding his cock in his hand. I put my dress on and walked away.