Chapter 11
God, he was doing almost everything to the woman but screwing her and she still didn't seem to be catching on. He wondered which one was playing the game better. Surely she would be on to him....
"Well?"
He jerked his face up. Now the game was up. She was looming over him, her feet braced, breasts jutting, fists on her hips. The look on her face told him he'd gone too far and she'd suddenly realized-after her intense concentration during her search-what he'd been doing to her.
"What?" He knew he sounded like a schoolboy with his hand caught in the cooky jar.
"I said to hang on, not to help yourself to everything in sight. I feel as though I'm being searched."
He jerked his hands away from her bottom but her command hit him like a whip. "Put those hands back! I want you just the way you were-red-handed, you might say."
He sank his fingers into her buttocks again, gulping. Christ, all she'd need to do is shout and Scott would come fast. Then he'd be out on his ear ... Joyce with him, if she consented to leave with him at all after the way he'd behaved in the study.
He hung on, still looking up into her face. Their eyes were locked and when he tried to turn away she gripped his ears and tilted his face up again. "Do you enjoy pawing my body like some street tramp?"
"Uh...."
"Do you?"
"Well, I wouldn't..
"Like hell you wouldn't," she hissed. "Go ahead, do what you will, Jim Babcock. That's an order. Do what you wish. I want to hook you good before I reel you into my trap."
He sighed as though he were very tired. "I'm really not...."
"Funny, I thought you were. You behave as though you're on fire. Your hands feel that way." She shook her dark hair down over her face. "I wonder what Scott would think. And your lovely wife, Joyce."
"They wouldn't...." he blurted before he caught himself. Better she not know or they'd still be thrown out of the house. And Jim would be inoperative, just like the English marriage.
"What did you start to say?"
"They ... uh ... wouldn't think much of the idea."
"You bet they wouldn't. All right, just you keep going, Mr. Babcock. I'm curious about what you had in mind."
"No ... I...."
"Keep going or I scream rape this instant!"
He swung into action. His hands dug into her bottom and then they sank down toward her crotch. As they continued to stare at one another he saw her eyes begin to glaze and they crossed slightly. Could it be...?
He moved them lower, down into the hairs at the very base of her vagina. He felt something damp and then the warm folds of flesh. "God ... I"
He studied her face. It was in mixed bliss and an guish, difficult to assess. He knew he was going to get to her, but he couldn't tell if she were loving it or hating it. Either way, he was scoring hard.
"Now. Do it!" she blurted, her voice hissing. She was trying hard not to scream. He could tell that much.
"It?"
"For Christ's sake, you know what. What's your mouth down there for?
He stiffened. "Uh ... no, I don't think so."
"Darling." Her voice was abruptly milk and honey. She'd cracked. There was no more playing games. She wanted him to service her all the way, wanted it terribly. Her hips were angling back and forth, her cunt hairs brushing against his chin when she shot toward him.
"No. I've never done that to any woman. Not even to ... my wife," Jim pleaded.
She was smiling, her lips pursed sweetly. "So that's what's wrong. You're inhibited, both of you. You for not doing it and she for not forcing you to. Don't you know that's the ultimate act of love? Eating and being eaten?"
He blinked.
"No, go ahead, or do I need to call for Scott? I wouldn't want to, sweetheart, because we can make beautiful music together. But I can make you look awfully bad when he comes busting in here."
He nodded and then he let his face come forward. She met him hard, before he was ready. Her crotch slapped into his nose and mouth while his lips were still open. Her musky smell seemed to drown him and then her juices were running down his chin. It was terrible for a moment and then it was wonderful.
She purred over him, stroking his head, pressing gently against the back of his head, pushing him deeper. At last he was able to enjoy it. Not relax and enjoy it. Just enjoy it, because his body was singing at too high a note for him to relax. He was close to orgasm himself, much too close to sit back and go after this woman's most private possession casually.
He opened his mouth wider and her pussy seemed to be trying to crawl into his jaws. She wormed her hips back and forth, ever forward. Then, unaware, his tongue lashed out-until he felt it lance between her lips. She was making small sounds as she leaned over him, cradling his head as though it were her infant child.
She shuddered and then, as he thrust his tongue as deeply as it would go, she lost control. She wrapped her arms tightly about him, almost pulling his ears off. Then she was coming, gushing into his face, coming almost like a man having an ejaculation. He'd never seen nor felt so much juice being pumped from a woman's twat.
He slurped as best he could, but most of the stuff was running down his chin, dripping into his collar and down the front of his T-shirt. He didn't care. It was wonderful. A dangerous game, for certain, but one that was worth the risk.
At last her flow began to slow and she released his head. Even so, he didn't pop it out of her crotch all at once. He licked her and then he kissed her. It didn't seem at all dirty, not as he'd always thought it would be. There was not much passion-given and received-that any thought of the mess was out of the question.
At last he leaned back and gasped for air, still holding to her thighs so she wouldn't fall. She was more precious now. She beamed down at him and he was half laughing as he peered up into her face.
He felt freed, as though he'd been able to throw off his inhibitions like they were chains. He actually felt lighter, clear of head, sharp of eye. Perhaps there was something to this notion of free-swinging sex with a willing partner that would work for him. But what about Joyce? He frowned.
She gripped his shoulders and stepped down and, as she did so, the bikini bottom slipped to her knees and she almost stumbled. She stood before him and the view would have been funny if she hadn't looked so sexy.
Her white bra was still in place over her breasts, but the bottom, halfway to the floor, was woefully stretched out of shape. Her black pussy was still glistening and some final drops were running down the insides of her thighs.
"What's the matter?" she murmured. "Second thoughts?"
He shook his head. "Joyce."
"Ah, dear Joyce." She seemed tired when the thought of his wife went through her beautiful head. "What shall we do about Joyce?"
"It may have already been done," he muttered. "She's been in conference with Scott for quite a while."
"Conference?" She shrugged and the breasts bobbed in lively fashion. He'd ignored them and they looked as though they wanted attention. Indeed, they seemed larger. "How do we know they're still in conference? They're probably napping, or out at the pool. Perhaps they're wondering about us. I hope Scott doesn't come looking. Not yet."
He peered into her dark eyes. "Um ... That was an experience I'll never forget. You're quite a woman, Mrs. English."
"You're quite a man, Mr. Babcock."
She draped her arms around his neck, loosely, lazily, leaning against him. Her cunt was still in full view, but she didn't care. He took a deep breath and she peered into his face. "What about you?"
"What about me?" he replied.
"You did your stuff for me very well, but I didn't see you getting much out of it. Sure, you enjoyed yourself but"-she pointed down at his crotch-"there's no indication you went off. Wouldn't you like to?"
Jim gulped, suddenly embarrassed. It was foolish that he should feel that way. After all, they couldn't have gotten more intimate. "I suppose so. There seems to be a lot of sex going around this house, but I haven't gotten much."
"A lot of sex?" She raised one eyebrow.
He wondered if she were fooling. Wasn't she suspicious of Scott and Joyce? Did she really believe that they were simply talking things over? "I suppose there's a lot. After all, there are women everywhere. Hostess, guest, French maid...."
"And Maria, the cook. She's all of 25 and worthy of an Aztec sacrifice."
It seemed as though it had been a week since they had had lunch and he thought about Kitty, the maid. She was tiny, all in black satin and white lace. He was willing to bet that Scott kept himself in practice on her diminutive body. The cook he'd not yet seen. Nor the children. There was another woman, the daughter, Darla. He wondered if son Kenneth were a stud like his father.
"Well?"
Helen was waiting, still draped over his shoulders.
"I feel drained already." He didn't, of course. He was hot, hotter than hell and, although she'd relaxed him and wiped out many of his inhibitions, he was inclined to look for Joyce first. He had to know how things were with her.
"Nonsense. You're a boy and boys never run out." She giggled like a child. "Believe me, I know boys. Turn around, if you're embarrassed."
He did as he was told and she was at once standing behind him. He felt her lean against him, from knee to the point of her chin which was dug into the back of his neck. She was warm and her full breasts pressed into his back.
"All right?" she whispered.
"I suppose so."
She giggled again and her fingers walked around his waist. They locked on themselves right over his belt buckle and she pulled in on his belly. "You've got a good body, Jim. A very good body. Compared to you, Scott's a fire hydrant. You still have your waistline and I'll bet you're not a hairy ape."
He felt a bit proud and a glow came over him. Yes, by Christ, he was a man, a man who was getting experience, a man who was losing his hang-ups. Perhaps he could save himself and thus save Joyce. There was no reason they couldn't be swingers and remain together, saving their very best for each other.
His thoughts were interrupted by her walking fingers. They were working on his belt, getting it open. There was the sound of metal and then she was whipping the leather free. For a crazy moment he wondered if she were going to use the belt on him, but she was tossing it to the carpet.
Then she was working at the top of his fly, opening the top snap and then searching for the zipper. She found the tab and it hissed down over his crotch. Inside he was like a stone. He'd cleaned himself, of course, so there was no trace of his ejaculation in the study earlier. And the orgasm seemed to have taken away none of his desire.
She pressed her hand flat over his pouch as he sucked in his breath. "Christ!"
"Something wrong?" she teased. "Don't you like that?"
"I ... I can live with it."
Helen laughed, her breath warming the back of his neck. She turned his head and gripped an ear lobe in her front teeth. She bit down hard until he winced. Then she let go, but she kissed the back of his neck and she kept on kissing him.
Her fingers were digging into his fly and in a few seconds his shorts were open and she was pulling everything down. His pants and shorts dropped halfway to his knees and they were in the same situation, each exposed and half trapped by their sagging clothing.
Her hands cupped his cock and balls, which was a handful for her. He was swollen beyond reason and his balls were tight and tingling. He wanted to come again-very quickly. He wouldn't be able to take much handling before it would be all over.
She purred into his neck. "Loving it?"
He leaned his head back. "You know it, Helen."
She reached far down, half squatting behind him so that her knees hit the back of his knees. Then she was rummaging at the very base of his balls, back where the crack of his buttocks started. She was whirling fingers through the thick hair and occasionally pulling a cluster of hairs until he winced.
She was still laughing, deeply in her throat, as her hands marched up out of his crack, across his balls to the base of his prick. She gripped it hard and he almost shouted as she gave it a firm tug, back and forth. She stopped pulling at it, for she apparently knew as well as he how close he was to going off.
Instead she drifted back to his balls, feeling of the marbles inside gently, as though they were golden coins in a chamois pouch. She rolled them back and forth and this was almost as effective as jacking him off, so close to the brink did she bring him.
He was gasping now and his knees were losing their strength. He wanted to collapse and let her catch him, take charge, do as she would. He had no more control over his body. Apparently she knew, for she speeded up her activities.
Both hands were back on his cock, one on the shaft back toward the base, the other over his knob. "God, you're a big one," she whispered into his neck. "And I thought Scott was a big man."
She was stroking, not with violence, but with a steady pumping that would produce results quickly. She had a wonderful sense of rhythm and it was working on him.
It was less than a minute before he could feel his seed stirring fresh, ready to expend itself anywhere the master should direct. He held his breath and was frozen, yet steaming, in her encircling arms.
"You're coming," she hissed.
He nodded violently.
She was chuckling as she pumped a few last times. Then she leaped around in front of him, but she didn't lay down on her back, as he might have expected. Instead she was on her knees, pressing her breasts around his crotch. She seized his prick and stuffed the throbbing pink knob down the front of her bikini bra, tightly into the soft crack between her breasts.
Then he came, boiling and churning his sperm into her bodice, down into the fissure, where it flooded and then backed up until it was running over the top of her bra. Helen held him there, her eyes squeezed closed, and her lips moving as though in prayer.
Jim was also praying. He was praying that he could do this a thousand times more before he was too old.