Chapter 3
"Sandra? Sandra, where the fuck are my black shoes?"
She was in the bathroom, and shouted back over the rasp of her little electric leg-shaver. "Tommy, they're probably in one of the boxes. I haven't unpacked anything but your work clothes yet."
"Shit," I muttered. There were at least ten boxes of junk still in the bedroom, and while most of them contained her stuff, there were pieces of her clothing, scrapbooks, souvenirs of travel and school days scattered over all the boxes equally. I felt like telling the bitch to get her ass out there and find 'em for me, but I decided not to risk a fight that could spoil our plans for the evening. We were, after all, going to dinner at her boss' house, and if he liked us both, saw us as the happy newly married couple that we damn well weren't, it could help her get her job back after the baby was born.
I had just found the shoes when she came from the bathroom, wearing pants and bra. She took a dress from the closet and turned to me, then spun posily around once, swinging the dress like a cape.
"Am I showing yet, Tommy?" she asked, throwing me a bump of her belly and that patronizing smile I hated so.
I didn't answer. She knew damn well she wasn't, and it was a particularly sore subject because she was using the pregnancy ... had been since the day we'd gotten married, a week after her second-missed period ... as an excuse to limit my sex quota to once every two weeks. "The doctor insists we shouldn't at all," she had told me, patting my bulging fly before we undressed for bed that first night in the apartment. "I'm just too delicate, he says. But if you'll promise to be gentle, Tommy, do everything..."
Three times, therefore, in the six weeks we'd been married, she had crouched over my straining cock, lowered herself onto it and begun the hip-whipping, pelvis-grinding process of bringing me to orgasm, while I fought so hard to lie frozen and passive beneath her, that when I came it was with more relief than positive pleasure.
The apartment was some six blocks down the hill from the view park where, not quite three and a half months ago, I had fucked myself into the whole mess. I had since quit school and taken a job delivering laundry, and Sandra had gotten on as a clerk in a small insurance brokerage. From the apartment, this night, we drove several blocks north along the hillside, then down two blocks to the expensive, elaborately landscaped corner lot where Mason Eldridge, Sandra's employer, lived with his wife and no kids in a rambling five-bedroom ranch-house.
The Eldridges were well known, Sandy had told me, for the frequent weekend-long house parties they threw, so I was surprised to see only two cars in the long sweeping driveway and turnaround area beside the house.
"Are we early?" I asked, as I opened Sandra's door and grudgingly helped her out of the car, now on long-term loan from my mother.
"No," she said blithely. "Why?"
"Well, you said it was going to be a party. I expected ... "
"A dinner party, Tommy. Just us and them. Cozy. But don't worry, Mrs. Eldridge is a very sexy female, from what I've heard ..." She paused as she rang the doorbell. "So you'll have at least one chick to ogle, if the conversation bores you."
Unfailingly, Sandra hit sore spots like this one ... which had grown up through the three or four parties we'd gone to together in our six months of dating ... at times when I didn't dare answer or show my anger. And sure enough, she had no sooner dropped the icicle smile that accompanied her crack than the door opened.
"Why, hello! You must be Sandy! And Tom. I'm Irene Eldridge. Come right in! Mason's just now mixing drinks. Follow me."
Irene Eldridge was indeed a very sexy female. She looked no more than twenty-two, though her voice and manner, her clothes and hairdo spoke of many years of being the perfect hostess at posh gatherings. She wore a sweeping, clinging hostess gown, silky jet black, with brilliant red dragons blazing at strategic places to accent a mouth-watering figure that moved like a cat through high grass. Her blonde hair was piled high and flawlessly over a dark-eyed, full-lipped face that made you want to call her Your Majesty; and when she smiled, she puckered. She had poured that kiss-me smile on me after only the briefest glance at Sandra, and now she turned and swept along a wide formal entry hall to a big living room facing a huge patio and swimming pool. I noticed no details of the house or the yard beyond. I was too busy noting every detail of the sway and slither of Irene Eldridge's full, firm, hypnotic ass.
"Hello, Sandy! And this would be Tommy, eh?"
I looked up, red-faced, knowing I'd done so a minute too late, at our host behind the bar. But he wasn't even looking at me. His eyes were crawling hungrily over Sandra's tits in the scoop-necked green cocktail dress she was wearing.
Then he was handing her a drink, and I still hadn't met his eyes, and then Irene moved in front of him to whisk two tall galsses of amber fluid from the bar and move toward me.
"Let's sit over here, Tom," she purred, leading me to a corner loveseat that faced away from the body of the room, toward the pool outside. "Those two are going to be gabbing about business, I don't doubt, and we'd just feel left out anyway. Till dinner, let's you and I get acquainted."
Putting our drinks on a low table, she motioned me to sit on the loveseat, then swung down beside me, just far enough away to turn her knees toward me. When she crossed her legs, the long skirt of her gown slipped away in a vee that bared her thigh almost to the top, and when I looked up from the golden column, beginning to blush, she threw me that kissy smile again and said simply, "You like? Mason bought it for me in Hong Kong last year. It's not my color, really, but it's so easy to slip in and out of..."
I stammered out that I sure did like the gown, and that I guessed any color would look good on her, and then as she questioned me ... casually, warmly, seeming really interested and not at all patronizing ... about my job and my plans to finish high school at night during the next two years, I sipped my drink and stammered my answers, completely enchanted by this beautiful, kind .. tantalizing woman.
Only twice did I glance back to where Mason Eldridge now stood close, close to Sandra as she leaned easily on the bar. Was his free hand ... the one nearer to me held his drink ... resting her hip? I couldn't really be sure. But if it was, Sandy obviously didn't mind, for she was talking animatedly to him, giggling, tossing her head flirtatiously. Good. Once his wife saw how he was rubbing up to the new girl at the office, maybe she'd decide to do a little rubbing up herself ... to me!
But then a rather ugly little Oriental maid appeared to announce that dinner was ready.
Eldridge did most of the talking during dinner.
He began with a story about an insurance client who held policies on the lives of his wife and two mistresses, none of whom knew the others existed, and went on to tell about several other business acquaintances ... no names mentioned, of course ... who were stepping out on their wives, or whose wives were notorious pushovers for any man who dropped in when hubby was away on business.
"They aren't happy people," he kept injecting as he told these tales. "Always sneaking around, worrying about divorce if they're caught..."
Sandra seemed to be finding a lot to laugh about in what he was saying, but I wasn't listening closely enough to catch the jokes. I was too busy pretending to listen, and pretending to enjoy the food, and seizing every opportunity to gaze across the table at Irene as she popped dainty forkfuls of sauteed beef between those pouty lips, or sipped wine, or simply smiled cozily back at me, wrinkling iier nose now and then as if to say, "Isn't it boring? But we'll get off alone again later."
And sure enough, after dessert, Eldridge dragged Sandra off to his study upstairs, to look at the plans for a new building he meant to move the business to soon.
"They're likely to be up there for hours!" Irene exclaimed. "So lets you and I have a little more wine in the living room, and then maybe we'll want to go up, too."
Carrying clean glasses and the wine bottle, I followed her back to the loveseat, and this time she sat much closer to me, our legs almost touching, and as we talked ... about her garden now, and how she spent almost every weekday puttering there, or sunbathing in the nude, so bored, what with Mason at work for long hours, and the maid to keep up the house ... As she told me this, she toyed with the dragon-tail loop and black button which closed the slit neck of her gown, just at the top of her breast cleavage. She had crossed her legs again, and my eyes flew nervously about from her moist lips to that sleek, deep-tanned thigh she had revealed again, and to the exciting glimpses of breast-slope and valley that her fingers kept offering.
Finally the conversation dwindled to a long, eye-locked pause, and I wondered if she was waiting for me to kiss her. Crazy, I decided. Don't be an ass! She's just. .. this way; with all men, probably."
"What do you suppose," Irene said suddenly, leaning toward me with that pouty smile, "your wife and my husband are doing upstairs?"
"Well, I..."
"Do you think they're fucking?"
"I... Are you... ?"
"Come on, Tom," she said, rising and taking my hand, pulling me to my feet. "Give Irene a nice hot kiss, and then let's go peek. But you've got to promise not to be naughty; not to make noise or break in on them, if I'm right. Well just sneak a little look, and then maybe..."
Her face said the rest, and then her body, as she flowed into my arms and squirmed her tits and pelvic swell against me, drawing my head down to a kiss that just about barbecued my tonsils.
When we broke at last, I had an aching hard-on that showed as plainly in my pants as if I'd had a county-fair cucumber stashed in my skivvies.
"Irene, do you re ... "
"Shhhh! No more talk now till we're ... in my bedroom. Okay?"
I could only nod, and follow obediently as she took my hand and led me back through the dining room and up a broad, carpeted staircase to the door of Eldridge's study.
The door was ajar an inch or two, and after a quick glance inside, Irene stepped aside, raised an admonishing finger to my lips, then pushed me into position to peer into the fully lighted room.
They weren't fucking.
Mason Eldridge, fully clothed, stood before a large painting of himself on the right-hand wall of the study. "Do you like it, Sandy?" he was saying.
Sandra was kneeling in front of him, totally naked, her head obscuring Eldridge's crotch as she moaned an unintelligible answer.
Was she... ? Could she... ?
Yes. For as I stared at them from the gloom of the hallway, Eldridge shifted his stance slightly, grasping Sandra's head to turn her with him, and I could see the shaft of his long cock going in and out of her circled lips. She clutched the backs of his thighs and moved her head slowly, tremulously forward and then back, sucking the spit-glistening rod.
Did Eldridge glance toward the door at that moment? I couldn't be sure, but as I backed away, afraid to be seen, I heard him say, "That's enough, darling. Undress me now, please."
Irene took my arm, pressing it to her breast and raising a finger to my lips again as she guided me down the hall to a door at its end. When she had closed it behind us, she turned to me, came into my arms again and asked, "Are you shocked, Tom? Didn't you know your wife had ... "
"Me shocked?" I interrupted her. "What about you? That's your husband back there, having his ... Having his cock sucked by my wife!"
"Are you jealous, Tom? I'm not. We do this kind of thing a lot, and love every minute of it. But if you're jealous, I'd be glad to suck your cock, if you insist on waiting that long before we fuck."
As she spoke, my eyes had focused on the canopied king-size bed across the room from where we stood, its head and one side flanked solidly by mirrors, its only covering a jet-black fitted sheet. "Uh . . . Well," I stammered, "maybe afterward."
"Good," said Irene, pulling me into another deep, scorching kiss.
Then she stepped back. "Let's not waste time playing love games, either, okay? You undress, and I will, and 111 meet you on the bed."
With that, she swung away from me, her hands immediately on the gown's front fastenings. Two steps toward the bed, and the black fabric slid from her shoulders, down her slim, nut-brown back, and drifted to the floor, unveiling that bewitching ass and her long, lithe legs.
Then she stopped, feet close together. "Tom?" she called teasingly. "Are you watching?"
So far, I had popped three buttons from my shirt, knotted my tie hopelessly and had to lift it off over my head. I was watching.
And now she turned, swinging her full yet pointy tits into view, and the half-invisible patch of golden fuzz that topped her limber thighs.
"Hurry, Tom. I'm getting all gooey."
She lay down on the bed, at an angle which permitted me to see the wet gleam of her cuntlips as she parted her legs a little, smiling up at me as I tore my shirt and T-shirt off and bent to get rid of my shoes.
Irene wasn't the best fuck I've ever had; she was a bit too wrapped up in her own kicks to be fully considerate of my needs, my sense of timing. But I know that only by hindsight. At that time, by contrast to my four experiences of sex with Sandra, this long, wild blonde animal seemed to be the very goddess of sexual ecstasy.
She didn't tell me what to do; she urged; she begged:
"Ooooh, squeeze 'em, darling! Yessss! Suck! Ahhh, harder!"
And; "Oh, such a big, hard cock, Tom! I can hardly wait till you ... Oh, but I can wait! Keep doing that with your thumb! Darling, my little clitty's just..."
While I mauled and sucked and tongued those tits with their tough, pinkish-brown nipple-spikes, my left hand tested the juicy depth of her box with two fingers, my thumb mashing and rolling the throbbing nub at the top of her slot.
She alternately stroked my cock and tickled the ridge around its head with her nails, as I jolted the underside of it rhythmically against her hip.
She was kissing my hair, my eyes slipping her tongue into my ear when it came within reach, and her free hand had already begun to rake passionate furrows across my shoulders when she cried, "I'm close to coming, Tom! Put it in now! All the way in, and hard and fast! Ohhh, fuck me!!"
She wasn't as tight, going in, as Sandra. But even while that fact was making its way from my cock to my brain, suddenly she clamped down with a grip of inner muscles such as I'd never imagined possible, then slung her legs up to lock ankles behind my back, and drove her rippling cunt up to meet me, taking me to the balls and pulling for more.
"Now fuck, Tom!" she gasped. "Screw me right through the mattress! Ohhh ... yesss!"
The grip and slack of her legs was timed perfectly to my thrusts, and as I lay braced on my elbows above her, she held her own breasts and rubbed the taut nipples against my chest, her tongue doing a solo pagan dance between her drawn-back lips.
When I could stand watching that no longer, I plunged down to crush her beneath me, driving my tongue into her mouth to wrestle with hers, shortening my cockstrokes and accelerating their tempo.
She began to switch her snatch from side to side a little now, on every other inward thrust of my aching, broiling prick. And when I let her spead, she whispered, "It's starting, darling! I'm coming! Ohhh, hurry!"
The demanding clutch of those slick, hot inner tissues couldn't be denied any longer. I braced up on stiff arms and began to batter her wildly, without rhythm, my pelvis crashing and grinding against her as liquid lightning seared the length of my rod and gushed maddeningly into Irene Eldridge's spasming cunt.
"You might as well know now," Sandra said, as we drove home. "I'm not really pregnant, Tommy."
"You..."
"Now that you've met the Eldridges, I can safely expect that you'll want to stay married to me ... because they're my friends, you know; they wouldn't look twice at you if I didn't work at the agency, or if you'd left me. And you can get plenty of sex through their swapping friends, and leave me alone."
I was too exhausted and too confused to be really angry. "Sandra, do you mean to say you lied to me about.. . about the baby, just to get married? And that you let Eldridge screw you and. .. Sandy, I don't get it! I knew you were a bitch, but I can't see what you get out of this!"
"I was sick of school, and of living at home, Tommy. You're my way out. Until somebody better comes along. And you won't leave me, till
I'm ready for you to. Not now that Irene Eldridge has opened your eyes to the possibilities in swapping."
"But, Sandy, if you don't want sex with me, why do you want it with Eldridge or all the men in this swap club he told us about? Now can you ... " "I don't, Tommy. I hate sex, thanks to you and your big, brave New Year's Resolution. But I've learned how to handle Mason. He didn't.. .penetrate me tonight. He wanted you and Irene to think so, just like he wants everybody at the office to think he's.. .screwing me and the other girls all the time in his office. But he always wants to be sucked first, and when he wants me to stop so he can... Well, when he says to stop, I just don't. I hate it, Tommy, but it's better than the other, and if it keeps me away from my folks, keeps me married and working, where someday I can hope to meet a man who won't always want... Oh, I even hate the words!"
I shook my head, feeling dazed. "You're nuts, Sandra," I said quietly. "You are just plain downright off your fuckin' gourd!"
"We'll see, little Tommy," she hissed back, glaring hatefully at me. "Next Friday, we'll just see if I am."