Chapter 12
After a few minutes Grace came out of the bathroom and went downstairs to get a broom and dustpan to clean up the broken glass and a couple of stiff drinks for her and Harold. I sat quietly in my chair listening to glass being swept across tile and the low sounds of argument. Grace's voice was calm, rational, insistent. Harold's whined off into mumbling as he rapidly got drunk. After about fifteen minutes they emerged, with Grace leading Harold by the hand. He threw one rancorous glance at me as he located me in the chair and then didn't look at me again . . . until he had to later on. He took the side of the bed closest to me and undressed with his back to me. He drew a deep, quavering breath as Grace gazed out the window and started unbuttoning her blouse, as though resolving to close his eyes to the whole thing until it was over. The minute Grace touched the first button a searing thrill of victory and overwhelming excitement coursed through me and my cock began to stiffen. We were on the way.
Grace removed all her clothes standing and looking out the window. When her royal blue slacks slid down over full, lyrically curving hips and her hands reached up behind her to unhook her full-to-bursting bra and she bent demurely to push her panties off my blood started to race and I got dizzy with the sight of Harold's very private flesh-reserve opening up to me. Grace had a model's figure with just a little extra added all around to soften her lines. Except that her tits had a lot extra. They were high and jutting and firm in a generous, motherly way, with nipples that were pink-champagne pale in the centers of wide, almost invisible aureoles.
When she turned and looked through me and reclined on the bed my eyes darted to the platinum blonde fuzz of her nearly hairless' cunt and I stifled a gasp. Her lips were soft and full as a baby's cheeks, and the tenuously exaggerated rise of her pubis seemed to thrust them out with muted brazenness, as though for the right man they could satisfy all the desires of a lifetime. I guess I have to admit that what excited me more than anything about her was the idea that, at least since her marriage more than fifteen years before, no man had so much as looked upon her cunt but Harold-and me. There really was something to the idea that what was most rare was most precious.
Grace lay on her back and Harold lay on his side next to her, temporarily blocking my view. But Grace knew that wouldn't do, and I heard her whisper, "Remember, we're alone." She patted his thick, muscular neck comfortingly. "Come on. Let's make love, and let's not let any worries get in our way." I had the feeling she wanted to say, "Let's show this bastard what making love really means. Let's show him what he's missing. Let's twist the knife. He can never measure up to you, so don't worry." But of course she couldn't say that, because that would be admitting my presence. So instead she pulled him up on top of her and pressed his head to her breast. She closed her eyes and shoved a knee up between Harold's legs and rubbed the top of her thigh against his long, dark, slender cock. After a few seconds he reluctantly took a nipple into his mouth and began sucking. She was doing pretty well at ignoring me, because she arched her back, pinching her shoulder blades together, and moaned softly. Then she started kissing his cheek and nibbling at his ear.
For a long time I had my doubts that Harold was going to be able to get it up. I started to get impatient at his laconic toying with Grace's nipples, even though he stretched them up and let them snap back provocatively and they grew bloated and hard. But maybe it always took them a while to get going, and I contented myself with adding the details of Grace's private parts, or as much of them as I could see, to my memory-collection. The all-but-bald bulge of her cuntlips, which rubbed together hypnotically with the grinding of her thigh into Harold's crotch, formed one of the most perfectly erotic little sculptures I'd ever seen.
Grace knew what she had to do to get this over, and after she'd calmed and soothed her three-quarters-soused husband for a while she disentangled herself from him and laid him on his back and covered his head with a pillow. Then she crawled down and spread his legs and knelt between them with her own knees wide apart, sticking her rear-end back at me, presenting me with a perfect picture of the vista between her legs. She even reached back to spread her outer lips and free the thin, still-dry ridges of the inner ones to dangle like ripe sections of fruit before my eyes. She wasn't giving much, but she was giving a little, and from here it was more than enough to send me into new ecstasies. Her ass cheeks were full and her crack was deep, and even with her spread the way she was I could barely make out the dully shining edges of her peachy ass-hole nestled at the bottom.
She took Harold's cock in her fingers and raised it. It was just the slightest bit hard. She sucked it whole into her mouth and swirled it around, and immediately I knew that was what got Harold off more than anything. She kissed it with the same gentle intimacy that had caressed his face and neck, and it responded of itself. It took a few minutes, but soon she was bobbing up and down on its hard saliva-polished shaft with intoxicating insistency. Her ass bobbed up and down to the rhythm, transfixing me with its full feminine sensuality.
When she had him good and hard she came up off him and looked around at me briefly. Her stare was blank, but through it I could read a guarded question: "If we go ahead and fuck now, will that be enough?" I smiled in vague assent. I might have been deceiving myself, but I thought I saw her return a tiny acknowledgement of gratitude. Another rule of mine: once you're in control, be as generous and flexible as you can. It minimized the dangers and maximized the possibility that the woman herself would get excited, which was the supreme triumph. Of course I knew better than to expect that from Grace, but I felt that I'd just lubricated things considerably.
In fact, just for my little gesture Grace gave me a little bonus. She was too dry to fuck and she knew it. She frowned a little and felt herself and then, stroking on Harold's cock to keep him hard, she glanced pointedly at the top drawer of a bureau next to me. She put a finger to her lips, indicating that I should pull the drawer out quietly, and I knew there was a tube of KY jelly or something similar in it. I slipped off my shoes and stood up and tugged gently at the drawer, but the wood of the bureau creaked and Harold stirred under his pillow. Grace winced, and I knew that by this time her only hope was to get us all through the evening in one piece. She shook her head. Then she glanced narrowly at me and her brow wrinkled. Finally she looked back at her cunt and made a licking motion with her lips, indicating that I should wet her with my tongue.
A jolt of delirium wracked my cock with convulsions. My breath came hard and shallow and that hollow feeling grew in the pit of my stomach. I tip-toed the few steps to her, testing each board before I put my weight on it to make sure it wouldn't creak, and bent to fit my face into the bowl-like hollow of her thighs, out of which her cunt bulged like a whale's back out of the ocean. The smell was sweet and the pungent, earthy odor of her secret crevice wafted but faintly to my nostrils. I wetted my tongue. She was stroking Harold hard now, with a fluid wrist-motion that said she'd learned just how to jerk him off, keeping what was left of his consciousness occupied. I touched my tongue-tip delicately, hesitantly to her slit, falling into the deliberate slow-motion tempo of barely flickering sensuality that carried us along cautiously on a murky, lazy river full of unseen snags.
Grace's cunt was absolutely delicious. There was no other word for it. The flesh was so soft and pliant, so feminine and yet so resilient, that it was like an answer to all my tongue's prayers. I licked its outer lips fully open with light, short, lingering strokes, feeling every tiny curl of fur. Then I probed into the gully between the outer and the inner lips, separating them methodically. Finally I pushed the inner lips out and, with my mouth now watering freely, dampened her well-mouth, prying it open in little circling motions and delving down into it to dredge up its natural juices and spread them over the entrance.
I pulled back and looked. Grace turned to me and nodded. Her cunt wasn't the oozing spring of readiness that it might have been, but its translucent rose-marble muscle was wet enough to reflect little star-points of light from the lamp atop the bureau, and it was wet enough to fuck. Noiselessly I sat back down again and held my breath.
Grace pushed Harold's legs together and planted her knees outside them. She shook her head to throw her stream of silvery hair in a wide, shimmering curtain down her back. She breathed deeply, as though gathering inspiration in the far recesses of her lungs and forcing it to seep down and saturate her crotch. In a way she was like an actor getting into character, except that the character she was trying to get into was herself. Suddenly it struck me that she had an intuitive grasp of what I wanted, and that although if I'd said, "All right, that's enough, you don't have to do any more if you don't want to," she would have had a blanket around her in a second, she was thinking of this whole thing now as a business deal. Somehow it had got through to her that if they held up their end they really would be free of me forever, and that since Harold couldn't face the prospect of being helpless before another man and could barely lend his body to the" occasion, the burden of saving herself and, actually, both of them, had fallen to her. She also knew that I was interested in her, not in Harold, and that if she tried her best everything would turn out all right. So she picked a position that would put her in control and show me the most, and then tried to forget that I was watching.
I could almost believe she had succeeded. I sat stork still and all but held my breath. She moved up over Harold and reached between her legs to grab his rod. She knelt straight up and blindly groped for her hole with its head, pushing lips aside and squeezing its shaft in sharp little attacks. When she had it firmly but shallowly implanted she bent and snuggled down onto him, grinding her tits to his chest. Keeping her head on my side of his, making it harder for him to see me, she removed the pillow and deftly buried her head in the crook of his neck. She slid her arms under and around him and hugged him hard and started fucking. The soft stretched leather of his cock sank into her as she sank onto it, her back sharply arched and her ass held stiffly high like the rear end of a cat in heat. Her thighs seemed pried apart and held by some invisible force as her back muscles tensed and levered her down in short, spasmodic thrusts. The membranes of her hole-mouth clung hungrily to the swollen-veined surface of his rod, puckering in and pouting out like a neatly punctured drumhead.
Little whines of excitement escaped from her lips. She hooked her cunt down harder now, grasping for all of him, and when his coal-black pubic hair met and meshed with her ephemeral blonde ones, when the base of his cock lay buried in the lush earth-mounds of her cuntlips that were piled and bunched around her opening, she began finishing each stroke with that upward-licking clit-motion that said she was ready to take her satisfaction.
Harold's hands had rested limply across her back, and except for his occasional stirrings and his erection, I would have believed he was asleep. Perhaps that was what he wanted me to believe. But when Grace went after him with the irresistible call of genuine passion and the promising, familiar intimacy of her long-time-wife's cunt, he responded. Perhaps he really responded more to the challenge of showing me I truly was excluded from their world no matter how close I sat, and of excluding me by showing me I really was excluded. I could hardly believe he had managed to forget me. Perhaps he had simply grasped his wife's wisdom. But for whatever reason, in response to whatever excitement, he spread his palms across her back and pressed her to him hard, and slowly his hips started to rotate. Grace came back with lazily-starting, fast-finishing undulations of her backbone mat shoved her tits even harder against him, setting up whip-like waves that cracked the knot-end of her clit against the base of his cock. He flexed his knees a little and planted his feet and curled his toes to get a grip on the sheet and mattress.
His flurry of passion did not last twenty seconds, but that was long enough. Grace felt him bracing himself and she squirmed and sprawled and writhed to beckon him on. She had her back to me in every sense of the word. I was no more than a piece of furniture; an ugly piece to be thrown out as soon as possible. Her fucking itself told Harold this. His strength flashed to life under the comforting cover of his wife's reassurances and he answered her with a furious barrage of lancing thrusts.
He chased her depths up and she chased his heights down. He slapped her ass cheeks red with his palms and guttural grunts echoed from his chest. Three fingers slid down into her crack and dabbed at her ass-hole and rubbed it to raw looseness, mashing it down onto the underside of his cock, running around the bottom of her cunt. One finger slid into her cunt along the underside of his cock. Her hole was big and his cock was thin. It took his cock and a finger together to really fill her up. When she got it all he started pulling his finger out as he pushed his cock in, pushing his finger in as he pulled his cock out, pushing and pulling and sawing in her slit with a rapid-fire motion that jerked him off inside her while it set her cunt on fire. He got off and threw his cock like punches into her, driving his come home. She weathered his savage attack, going with his rhythm, letting him have the reins, and then seizing him as he shot his last and struggling to choke her own orgasm out of him. Her hair flew into tangles as her cunt bumped, bumped, bumped against him. But she couldn't quite get it. She hung on, grinding away, her rounded ass-cheeks clenching, back and shoulders and arms working, until his erection failed and there was no more hope.
She lay panting on him, hanging her head like a dog after a long run, her cheeks puffing slightly with each breath. He looked up at her and I was surprised to see that his glance was steely and grim. He made a move to look in my direction but she put a hand over his eyes and turned back to me herself with a questioning expression. I nodded, smiling faintly at the sight of a fatly cone-shaped tit that hung in swaying profile beyond an arm. She bent and whispered into Harold's ear, "That's ah. We're done. Now please, darling . . . we've come this far. Let's finish it and be done. I know it's going to be hard for you, but it's going to be harder for me, sc please help me. It's the only way."
"Right now," I thought I heard him mumble.
"It's the only way," Grace repeated. "So please keep your temper. Try to pretend you're watching me choose draperies or something."
"I can't do it. I can't watch," he said.
"But I don't want to be left alone with him!"
I knew Grace was playing a subtle game now. She wasn't afraid to be alone with me. She understood me well enough to know that I played by strict rules and wouldn't hurt her. But she was afraid of what would happen if Harold tried to deprive me of the chance to humiliate him completely. So she made my wishes into hers.
"Oh, Jesus! What am I going to do?" He pushed her off him and rolled off the bed and stood facing me for a second, hands on hips, his features a picture of mixed hate and agony. Then suddenly he looked sick; nauseous. He bolted for the bathroom and slammed the door and we heard him vomiting.
Grace turned to me and fixed me with a look that asked, "How can you do this? Are you human?"
"I'm jealous," I said. "like him. The only difference is that I'm jealous of what he has ah the time, and he's jealous of what I have for maybe an hour in my life." I gave that a second to sink in. When she saw-or thought she saw-that I would not budge her face went stony. She got up off the bed and walked over and put a foot up on an arm of my chair. She looked down at where Harold's come dribbled out of her cunt and fell in thick little blobs to the carpet. She pulled her cunt open to show me the sticky mess inside. "Does that satisfy you?"
Harold was still vomiting in the bathroom. The toilet was flushing in between his gaggings. The whole thing suddenly made me nauseous at the thought of myself. I sat expressionless as that awful feeling threatened to turn my stomach inside out. It passed. "Yes," I replied. I pulled a kleenex out of a box on the bureau-top and handed it to her. "Here. Wipe yourself up. Harold doesn't have to stay for the whole time if he doesn't want to. But he's going to see some of it so I can prove a point. And if he's not in here, he's going to be in the next room or something, because I'm not going to have him going down and getting that gun again."
"He won't do that. When can he leave?"
There was the sound of running water from the bathroom. "You'll know." Harold reappeared looking weak and beaten. I got up and took Grace's hand and led her to the bed. I stripped off my clothes. My cock had gone soft with my nausea, but it slapped heavily against my thighs as I climbed up onto the bed and stretched out on my back. "There's just one little thing I want you to see," I told Harold. I motioned Grace to get on top of me in the 69 position. With a worried cautionary look at Harold, she complied.
Harold staggered back against the doorsill. A kind of glazed look came into his eyes as he watched in horrified fascination. "Now," I told Grace, "let's see if you can do me as nicely as I do you. I won't ask more. Okay?"
She shuddered. "Okay," she croaked hoarsely. I spread her pussy with the flats of my palms and my tongue journeyed once more between her cuntlips, tenderly licking her aroused-but-unsatisfied clit, coaxing it back toward gut-gripping inflammation. She couldn't help but feel the sensitive, subtle care I lavished on her genitals. It had to come as a pleasant shock. I guessed that, had she not known, she wouldn't have been able to tell my tongue from Harold's. Now she saw why I'd challenged her as I had.
She started off jerking me with her hand. Her movements were wooden, mechanical, at first, but I started pumping to show her the rhythm and placed my mouth sideways over her clit and sucked, and soon I felt that fluid wrist-motion taking over down below. It was a little too fast, but soon it slowed right down into my natural groove, and I was winging along on a magic carpet of stimulation, flying just below the fateful altitude of ejaculation. I pushed her ass down, signaling that she should show me what she liked. Grudgingly she let the weight of her hips down and squatted full on my face and shimmied from the shoulders, throwing her clit across the flat of my tongue with the regularity of a slow metronome. When I felt that I knew I had her combination. I worked her up as close to orgasm as I was. At the end I was shaking my head in wild little arcs. I could tell she was suppressing groans of pleasure. Finally she did what she knew she had to; she took my cock into her mouth.
At the first swirl of my parched flesh between her lips, over her tongue, around the insides of her cheeks, up against the roof of her mouth, a few inches down her throat, my aching overload of semen spurted free. It caught Grace by surprise. Her first instinct was to pull off, to spit out. But she stifled it and stayed down on me and swallowed valiantly, her nostrils flaring to suck in breath, her throat working desperately. I attacked her clit again with the boring vibrations of a mad tongue and felt her slipping. I nipped her swollen little love-bud and she was wracked with shuddering like a big ship running aground. She lost control of her lower body and it ground out an orgy of satisfaction on my face.
For a few seconds Grace hid from her husband, resting her cheek on my thigh and looking in the other direction. When finally she drew herself up and off me she paced agitatedly to the window and then stole a quick glance at me. The tiniest little nod of my eyes was enough to let her know.
Harold was still leaning against the doorsill, but the look of horrified fascination had been replaced with a crazed, disquieting expression of shell-shock. He was like a soldier whose best buddy had just been blasted to pieces ten yards from him by a mortar round. "You can go now," Grace said softly. "Please go."
"But stay on this floor," I added.
He ambled numbly into the next room. He didn't make a sound for the rest of the time I was there, and I never saw him again. After he left I fucked Grace twice, once with her under me on her back, and once from behind as she stood bending over a chair, and made her fuck me once just the way she'd done Harold. She was sullen and morose inside, ashamed of playing her part a little better than she really had to, certainly a lot better than she'd wanted to, in front of her husband. She didn't hit any more peaks of inspiration. But she used her body and mine with detached, almost scientific ex-pertness to get me off and get me out as thoroughly and quickly as possible, and the thrill of having her so completely under my power was more than enough to make up for her reluctance. In fact, if she hadn't been reluctant she wouldn't have been herself at all, and she probably would have been a lot less exciting.