Chapter 12
Dave Wormsley had had to fabricate an ingenious excuse to keep from joining his boss, the chief claims adjuster for Great Southern, for a couple of martinis after work and maybe a night on the town. He finally managed to agree on a rain-check, and hoped that he hadn't seemed too eager to break away, because Joe Mudgridge, his big boss, was a burly, noisy extrovert who didn't like to be crossed when he wanted his own way, and he could very well stand in Dave's path of advancement at Great Southern. However, he had adroitly managed not to offend his boss by promising not only to stand treat for the drinks maybe the following week but also try to dig up a couple of hot numbers. One of them would be none other than May Sumners, a languorous sandy-haired divorcee of about thirty-five, whose claim for a garage, damaged by her neighbor's drunken driving into it about four months ago, had led to her very unmistakable invitation to spend the night with her sometime when he could get away from home. May Sumners was hot for anything in pants, he figured, and she would probably take a shine to Joe Mudgridge.
So, after having described the divorcee's charms to his boss and reassured the latter that it was practically all fixed up whenever the two of them could get away for a spell, Dave Wormsley got into his Rambler, which he had parked in the garage across the street from his office, and drove through heavy traffic towards the motel where Eleanor Dudley was to meet him.
Traffic seemed to crawl on the Kennedy Freeway, because he'd got into it at the heart of the rush hour, but for black-haired Dave Wormsley it was a time not for honking horns in frustrated exasperation but for anticipating with increasing relish the pleasures of the rendezvous towards which he was heading.
When he finally pulled into the motel driveway, it was quarter of seven, and he was hot, tired and hungry, though for food right away, not pussy. Dave had a feeling that no man ought to fuck on an empty stomach, and he also liked a girl to eat heartily when he sat across the table from her, because it showed what kind of an appetite she might have in bed as well. Junie, for example, bore out his theory perfectly; she nibbled and picked at her food like a bird, and that was exactly the way she acted in bed. He grinned, remembering that Pete Dudley was at his place, probably right now. He wondered just how much luck Pete had had and whether Pete had taught Junie anything that she could put to later use when the two of them got back together again. If so, he would be eternally grateful.
He anticipated that Eleanor Dudley, married to a swinger like Pete, would be a great deal more aggressive and imaginative than his own petite, black-haired wife. He had already endowed her with all the attributes of the Queen of Sheba and Cleopatra and Marilyn Monroe all rolled into one delectable female package. As he parked the car and walked into the motel office to pick up his reservation, he casually inquired whether his wife was waiting for him, and was told that she had indeed come in and was waiting for him in the adjoining restaurant.
Whistling a merry tune, Dave Wormsley pocketed the key to the motel cottage and ambled towards the restaurant, when suddenly a soft voice called to him, "Dave, honey, don't you even recognize your customers?"
He whirled around and goggled. It was May Sumners, wearing a silky red minidress and charcoal-brown pantyhose, which did wonders for her long, sleek calves and thighs. She was clutching the arm of a fat, middle-aged, gray-haired business man who flushed and tried to look away at a jet that was just clearing O'Hare and heading towards the Lake, either for Cleveland or New York.
"How are you, Mrs. Sumners? Glad to see you, I'm sure," Dave Wormsley gulped.
"What are you doing out in this neck of the woods? Aren't you on your way home to that gorgeous little wife of yours, darling?" May giggled.
"Er ...I ...I'm meeting her here for dinner," he improvised.
"Oh, I see. Dave, I want you to meet Mrs. Chalmers. Teddy. My goodness, he does remind me a lot of Teddy Roosevelt, too, you know you do, Teddy dear."
"Aw, cut it out, May," the fat man beside her irritatedly mumbled, flushing hotly. "Glad to know you, Dave."
"-likewise. Well, see you both around again."
"I do hope so." May called after him. "You've got my phone number, why don't you give me a call soon? I'd just love to see you again and talk over old times." Then, turning to her discomfited companion, she gaily added, "You know, Teddy, Dave here is a terrific claims adjuster. Why, he got me more than my poor little old garage was worth. Now why don't you do something nice for me like that? Dave, Teddy's in the investment business. Don't you think he ought to try to make some money for poor little me?"
Tm sure he'll try his best," Dave Wormsley grinned. "Well, see you both around." Then, with a quick nod, he turned and headed for the restaurant. He could see that Eleanor Dudley was sitting there on the plush lounge, her legs crossed, twisting one pump irascibly and glaring out at him. It was a hell of a start. But what was worse, May Sumners was a compulsive talker, and she knew he was married and whom he was married to, and if she took it into her empty little head to follow him and see whom he was meeting, she'd soon find out it wasn't Junie. It was a complication he didn't need, not at the start of this wife-swapping scheme Jack Caspar had worked out.
"Well, you certainly took your time getting her, Dave," Eleanor greeted him with some acerbity as she rose from the lounge. His momentary chagrin at starting things off in a black mood like this was lightened, however, by the fact that she was wearing a kind of Chinese cheong-sam, slit at the left high up on her lovely thigh, revealing calf and thigh sheathed in off-black nylons. It was orange-colored and vivid, and it heightened her beauty and gave it an exotic look.
"That's a terrific outfit, Elle. I'm sorry I was late. Traffic was fierce this time of evening."
"I didn't mean the traffic. I mean that woman out there. One of your many conquests?"
"Oh, come on, Ellie, she happens to be a divorcee whose claim I handled some weeks back, and it's just an accident I met her. She had an escort, as you saw."
"I know. But I gathered from the way she was talking to you that she'd like to see more of you.
Of course, you're a slick, handsome guy, and I'm not surprised. Only I guess I was selfish enough to think that you were coming all the way out here just to see me."
"But I am, Ellie. Oh, come on, let's have dinner and forget her. She's an addlepated character. Also round-heeled."
"I don't think I like that remark very much, Dave. It's typical of a man to judge a woman by whether she's available for bed or not. And I suppose if she weren't accessible, you'd probably call her frigid."
"Don't let's us start a theoretical argument, for god's sake, Ellie. I'm starved."
"So am I. All right, let's eat. But this is all new for me, you know."
"You won't regret it, you watch and see," he murmured huskily into her ear, as he put his arm around her waist. He beckoned to the hostess who came smilingly forward, and said, "Two, please, a nice secluded table."
After the waiter had taken their order, he leaned back after having lit her cigarette, and then his own, and stared greedily at her. No two ways about it, Eleanor Dudley was really a dish. That auburn hair of hers was real, not out of the bottle, and she had a simply breathtaking ass and pair of tits on her. Also she was tall enough to fit right up tight against a man, while Junie, for all her gorgeous shape, was just a little on the small side. Almost irrelevantly, he wondered what position Pete had made Junie get in. Maybe sitting on his lap. That was one he tried with Junie on their honey mood, but she'd been so terribly embarrassed and shy he hadn't repeated it. Another was dog fashion, making her kneel on all fours and spread those juicy thighs of hers so he could poke that pink pussy to a fare-thee-well. But she didn't like that either. Well, by now, if he knew Pete Dudley, she was pretty well rogered out. Just the same, he was going to have to get together with Pete tomorrow night when they met at the Northwestern station and find out exactly what technique Pete had used and what the result had been.
"You're really terrific, Ellie," he said softly, smiling at her. "That's a sort of Chinese dress, isn't it?"
"Yes, it is." She gave him a little smile, somewhat mollified by his observance. "You do like it?"
"It makes you look like a princess, someone really special."
Her smile deepened. "Maybe you're not such a bad guy after all, Dave. Here comes our drink. Let's toast to each of us. I do hope we're not making a mistake."
"Can't possibly be making one, not from my viewpoint anyhow. Here's looking at you long and lovingly, Ellie!" He clinked glasses with her, and was rewarded by seeing her blush exquisitely.
He could hardly wait to get through dinner, though the steaks were first-class and the dessert of Cherries Jubilee memorable. He'd ordered a small carafe of California Burgundy, because he wanted to get her just stimulated enough to let down her hair in more ways than one. And he was gratified to see what justice she did to her food. He thought whimsically that Dave Dudley's grocery bill must be at least double his own.
Finally, when dinner was over and they had had their second cup of coffee, he whispered, "Here's the other key. I'll go on ahead and you come in whenever you're ready, darling."
She nodded, and again blushed. He rose from the table, took out his wallet and laid down enough for the check and a generous tip for the waiter, and then went straight out from the restaurant and down the long paved walk towards the motel cottage, already feeling his prick stiffen and tingle with anticipation. As he unlocked the door, he heard a giggle again and then, to his consternation, May Sumners, standing at the cottage next to his, waved at him. She was in a quilted blue robe, loosely tied, and high heeled pumps, and he could just catch a glimpse of pink-and-white bare legs as the folds of the robe parted. "If this isn't cozy, Dave, dear! Isn't it lucky, Teddy and I in the one right next door!"
"Yeah, sure, May. Well, be seeing you."
"Sort of second honeymoon for you and your wile, isn't it, Dave? Ah, well, I only wish my Henry had been a decent guy, but then Teddy's awfully nice. You should get to know him better."
"No, you should." He somewhat sarcastically corrected. "Well, I'll say good night to you, May. I'll be seeing you one of these days, maybe." Mentally, he added, "But don't count on it."
Just as he was about to go in, his eyes widened and he gasped in dismay. Eleanor Dudley in her gorgeous cheong-sam was just heading down the walk in route to the cottage. And May Sumners was staring at her, even though by now her escort had come out to grumble something about not gawking at everybody but to come back in where she belonged.
Finally May Sumners yielded, but not until she had caught a perfect glimpse of Eleanor Dudley, just enough to realize that Dave Wormsley's wife was petite and black-haired and this striking young woman was auburn-haired and a good deal taller. Whatever damage there would be, had been done, and Dave Wormsley groaned as at last the fat man had his way and pulled May Sumners protestingly back inside and slammed the door shut.
Eleanor Dudley had seen May Sumners, too, and as she walked into the cottage, she had that angry look again with which she had first greeted him. "What's the matter, Dave?" she quipped. "Are you going to have to change your schedule? I didn't know you were in such demand, really."
"Oh come off it, Ellie!" he almost exploded. "It's the worst possible luck that she happened to be out here with some guy and took the cottage next to ours."
"I see. Did you tell her you were meeting somebody?"
"I did not! I mean, I just said I was out here with my wife."
"Well, I suppose that's all right if she doesn't know who your wife really is.
At this point Dave Wormsley decided it was the better part of valor to keep his mouth shut and not tell Eleanor that May Sumners was well acquainted with Junie. "Oh come on, honey," he pleaded, moving to her and putting an arm around her waist. "Let's forget all about that tramp. Let's spend the time getting to know each other the way I want to. Mmmmm, you're wearing a special kind of perfume. It's terrific T Then he kissed her.
Eleanor Dudley relaxed, wove her arms round his neck and arched to him. His hands moved to her titties, and he fondled them gently through the cheong-sam. He felt the flick of her tongue between his lips, and he felt his prick swelling with joyous exuberance, knowing that soon it would have its fulfillment. It was going to be a night of nights, he told himself.
"Oh, my!" she whispered when the kiss was at last ended, gently pushing his hands down from her swelling titties, "I guess you do want me."
"Look down and see how much," he said hoarsely, seeing no reason to be hypocritical. She did glance down, and then she blushed. There was no doubt that the protuberance of his prick against the crotch of his trousers attested to his furious arousal from her presence.
"Gracious, I'm going to have to do something about that, I suppose," she whispered, putting out her hand and just brushing it over the tip of his aching ramrod.
"Oh, Ellie!" You sweet, luscious piece, let's get to bed before I practically rape you here and now!" he panted.
"Want me to undress first?" she archly queried.
"Sure!" He went to the windows and pulled the shades, then dimmed all the lights except a little one beside the comfortable, inviting double bed. With a few deft maneuvers, Eleanor Dudley made the cheong-sam drop to the floor and stepped out of it. He gasped in admiration. She was wearing a black nylon bra and panty set, with a narrow tight garter belt hooking to the tops of her nylons. Maybe her titties weren't so spectacular, but her thighs and ass were absolutely mouth watering. He pulled off his tie and shirt, unbuckled his trousers, tugged them down, tugged off his undershirt, and stood there in shorts, socks and shoes, his prick threatening to burst through the fly at any moment. She put her hands behind her and the bra fell, and then she wriggled out of the panties. The thick dark auburn triangle of pussy fleece covered the soft lips of her cunt, and as she stooped to unhook the garter belt, her bubbies jiggled and dangled enticingly. He went forward, cupping them, interrupting her long enough to kiss her hotly on the mouth while his hands squeezed her bubbies lingeringly.
"Oh, Dave!" she breathed, a hand slipping down to fondle his prick through his shorts, and then, daringly, to unbutton them and draw out his organ and squeeze it in her soft warm palm.
"Ellie ... oh, baby, am I crazy for you!" he gasped.
She finished unfastening the tabs to her nylons, and then moved over to the bed, stretched out each leg in turn and unrolled the nylon sheath off, carefully folding it and putting it atop the night table. Then she was all naked, bewitching, her eyes misty and wide, her nostrils flickering, as she waited for him to come to her, and moved to the bed to take her in his arms. Both of them sitting on the edge, turned to each other, their mouths meeting and their hands roaming. With one hand on a tittie and the other stroking her opulent, resilient, tawny-sheened ass, and with her hand nuzzling his prick and the other arm round his shoulders, Dave Wormsley was in seventh heaven.
Together they sank back down on the bed and turned to each other by magnetic force. She lifted her right leg high as he slid towards her, inserting his prick through the shaggy fleece of her pussy hair, pressing forward, feeling the tight clasp of her cuntwalls, and groaning with delight, as his mouth sealed hers. Her hands grasped his sides, and then she clamped her leg over his as she glued herself to him. Slowly, without haste, they began to fuck. She was new to him, and he wanted to learn her ways and configurations. His prick slowly edged along the walls of her cunt till he felt his pubic hair grind together with hers; and they both gasped with the shock of ecstasy this cohesion procured.
And then Dave Wormsley gave himself up to the hedonistic joy of fucking, abetted enthusiastically by the auburn-haired young wife of his best friend, who at that very moment was reclining on the couch back in Dave Wormsley's house, while Junie Wormsley, wearing only her glasses and a blush, was kneeling and bowing her head between his thighs and for the first time in her life talking French of her own volition to a man.