Chapter 6
Resolved then to take her punishment in silence, not knowing if Joan would then order her to pack her things and leave the house, she hung her head down in shame as her ass was delivered with a volley of stinging blows, spanked and battered so that her bottom cheeks felt on fire.
She bit down on her tongue, refusing to cry out or scream, refusing to give Joan Clayton the pleasure of hearing her moan with pain. But pain was only half of it, for her embarrassment was far more agonizing.
Her silence seemed to unnerve the woman and her hand came down like a scythe, slicing through the air, lashing down against her trembling quivering buttocks. But Joan held her tongue the way Amy was doing, no longer saying a word. Had Amy any idea of what the woman was thinking, she would have lost all sense of fear and regret.
But for the time being, Joan's true motivations were still a mystery. That they were grounded upon jealousy Amy could understand. But it was the kind of jealousy, the parties involved, which would have amazed and surprised her to no end.
For Joan was not in the least bit anxious about losing her husband, nor did she even think Blake would want to leave her to go off with Amy. She knew well enough his predeliction for young women and she had made good use of his letches, though not in the recent past, not for more than a year, she recalled.
No, it was not Blake's attentions she feared the loss of, only jealous of Amy, wanting the girl as well, now that her husband was fucking her every day, now that her son as well was taking to knocking on the door to her room late each evening, there to perform with Amy until the wee hours of the morning.
She had caught Blake and Amy a few days before, having come into the house to speak to him about the book they were working on. She'd heard the telltale sounds of sexual congress emanating from the other side of the tightly shuttered sliding French doors and instead of barging in on them, instead of trying to peek in and see what they were doing, she had waited outside the door, content to listen, confirming her first suspicions and then returning to her studio as silently and surreptitiously as she had first come.
As for her son's involvement, that was even easier to unearth. She'd gone to his room to speak to him about something, only to discover his absence. And when she stood there in the hall, rather perplexed, for she hadn't seen or heard him going downstairs, once again she found herself listening to the most familiar of noises, rutting grunts and sexual moans which now came from behind Amy Witney's bedroom door.
This time, however, she'd gone to investigate. Putting her eye to the keyhole, she stared inside, amazed at what she found herself confronting, proof of what was happening under her very roof. And, even more than that, the scene triggered a response she had rarely if ever dared to accept, for she found herself staring even more heatedly at Amy than she did at her handsome and well-hung young son.
Having never felt any incestuous yearnings for Chuck, that didn't surprise her as much as the fact that she looked at Amy Witney's body with far more than just passing notice. So now, as she spanked the girl, it was almost as if she was releasing her hostilities, hostilities borne out of the sense that Amy was turned on to her husband and son, but not the least bit interested in her.
Joan couldn't have been farther from the truth.
Although she had rarely-in fact, only twice before-had sexual contact with another woman, Amy was the kind of girl who was versatile, and in more ways than just positions. Not exactly ambisexual, she nevertheless had nothing against making love with a member of her own sex, though if the truth be known she didn't get off on it nearly as much as she did with men.
But she had no qualms about trying anything, no fears of latent lesbianism, female homosexuality and the like. Sex was sex and the body was a vehicle of pleasure. What mattered was that, not whom she was deriving her sensual delights from.
Had she known what was going through Joan's mind as she submitted to the spanking, she would have been greatly relieved. But Joan wasn't able to voice her true feelings, not until she saw how the entire surface of Amy's backside was now suffused with red.
Her buns were blotchy and swollen, hot to the touch, the red visible through the tightly stretched surface of her clinging nylon panties. Amy had been able to endure the punishment by concentrating on pleasure, not pain. For as Joan Clayton's hand had descended, she'd managed to rub and friction her crotch back and forth against the very edge of the bed.
So by now, her cunt was hot and damp, flooded with oily sap which oozed down to dampen the front of her briefs. But before Joan could even see the effect her vigorous spanking had had on the girl, she suddenly dropped down to her knees, unable to stop herself, to hold back any longer. It had reached the point of no return and she threw herself into the act without thought of the consequences of her hasty and impetuous desires.
Either Amy would cry out with horror, or else she would submit to this indecency as well, Joan thought to herself.
But it was not an indecency in the least. The moment Amy felt the woman's warm breath and lips sliding over her backside, she trembled and then relaxed, slouching down on the bed. She smiled to herself, able to put everything together in a single instant. Now, she understood why Joan had spanked her, what the woman had truly felt.
She shivered, allowing Joan the rare delight of rubbing her lips over Amy's panties, caressing her blistered and stinging buns, soothing them as she thrust out her slim raspy tongue and licked up and down, drawing her tongue down along the sweaty bum furrow between her nether globes.
And when she took hold of the waistband of her panties, Amy continued to smile, whimpering in positive response. Joan couldn't tell if the young woman liked it or not, or if she was merely doing this so that she could continue fucking her husband and even her son.
Actually, it was a combination of the two. Amy didn't want to be asked to leave and, in addition, she had nothing against being the recipient of Joan's frenzied caresses and sensual desires. For that was what she felt, pleasure now instead of pain, searing delight instead of searing agony.
She murmured with growing ardor, rapidly aroused by the way Joan was using her tongue to probe up and down the length of her bum furrow, pulling her panties right into the narrow cleft of her ass even as she tightened her grip on the elastic ringing her waist.
It was as if she was afraid to open up to Amy and reveal the true state of her feelings, afraid to admit what she wanted. She held onto the top edge of her undies as if for emotional and physical support and Amy murmured again and again, encouraging her without words, wanting to feel the woman's hot sensuous tongue spearing in and out of her ass, her cunt, anywhere she wanted to thrust it.
She remembered what had taken place with the two young women she had had sex with in the past and the memory was far from an unpleasant one. Two women in bed usually drove a man crazy, but even more than that, two women making love together became a symbol of all that was gentle, delicate and torturously sensual about sex.
She wanted it to happen, no two ways about it.
So she continued to shudder and Joan gathered her confidence, realizing that Amy would have stopped her by now. Even if she didn't like it, she seemed to be accepting what was happening and so she now began to pull the girl's panties down, wrenching them hotly off of her waist and then the padded meaty horns of her hips.
Her crimson-hued butt jiggled invitingly, revealing itself as her undies were skinned down off of her, falling in a crumpled heap to the floor. She kicked them off impetuously, only to glance back and see Joan snatching them up off the floor and pressing them to her flaring nostrils.
She inhaled greedily, savoring the hot spicy odor of cunt which permeated Amy Witney's bikini briefs. And when she felt the way the front of the girl's panties were damp from her abundantly flowing secretions, she grew even more confident and subsequently, even more daring as well.
Her hands grasped each rounded swollen but tock and she pried them gently and lovingly apart, holding onto them firmly and, at the same time, bending her head forward and thrusting her tongue out once again. Amy trembled with " genuine excitement.
The situation was a turn-on, to say the least, their contact almost forbidden and thus even more arousing than usual. And the moment Amy felt Joan's tongue licking down along her bum furrow, she shivered with voluptuous abandon, as if to say she was giving in, throwing herself into the act with everything she possessed.
She trembled violently and thrust her buns forward, pressing them back against the woman's slim and eager tongue. The odor of her rump and pussy made Joan pant and her tongue slid up and down, lubricating the pink and naked sphincter ring, dabbing saliva on Amy's anus and sucking up and down the entire length of her crevice.
"Ohh do it, yes, do it, anything you want. I love it. I love your tongue, it's so hot, so ticklish," Amy murmured, begging for more, encouraging Joan to lose control.
And that was precisely what was taking place.
For the more she speared her tongue up and down, trying to cram it right inside Amy's backside, the more turned on she became. Behind the front of her skirt her cunt was aflood with womanly dew, tingling and itching in response to what she was doing to the young woman who was leaning before her on the bed.
Her hands held onto Amy's buns as tightly as she could and her tongue lashed up and down, moving past the bottom edge of her anal groove to taste a hot and spicy droplet of cunt juice which oozed down the lowest edge of the girl's box.
Amy panted, her cunt lips fluttering heatedly. She tried to pull herself higher up on the bed, clawing at the covers until she was resting on her knees, her ass and cunt making a triangle the bottom edge of which was bisected by her pussy.
She shoved her ass back towards Joan's hungry slobbering mouth and felt the woman's tongue digging down. Joan lowered her head, sank down to the floor and buried in between Amy's legs, lashing out and tasting more and more hot pungent cunt juice dripping down to coat her lips and pistoning probing tongue.
It was better than she had dreamed, better than any time in the past. Amy wasn't the least bit inhibited and as Joan began to think that the girl was genuinely liking it, not responding this way so that her sins-if indeed they could still be called that-would be forgiven, she became more confident of herself and thus more passionate in addition.
Her tongue roamed up and down, licking the bottom edges of each drooping outer lip, trying to slide right inside Amy's pulsating and dripping wet vagina. And then she pushed Amy over, making her do a half-somersault to land on her back.
In less time than Amy could say Jack Robinson, Joan Clayton was stretched out between her legs, her face lowered and her tongue digging right inside her gaping split. "Oh God, oh yes, oh do it, eat me, eat me," Amy begged, writhing with pleasure, shuddering as the woman's tongue scaled the walls of her snatch, licking and slobbering with heated abandon.
The slim raspy tongue moved in and out, coiling around Amy's clit, squeezing and then releasing it. It pistoned almost violently, angrily perhaps, digging in and out as Joan's fingers moved up to caress the insides of Amy's thighs, then took hold of the outer lapels of puffy and swollen cunt flesh.
The heavy musky odor which assailed her nostrils made her head spin and she rubbed her crotch against the foot of the bed, her cunt on fire and her breath coming in gasps of unendurable excitement. Unable to speak, Joan could only communicate through the agile use of her lips and tongue.
But her amazingly overheated and deliciously stimulating performance said more to Amy Witney than words could possibly have communicated. She gave in to her excitement, flowing with the pleasure and finally, when Joan backed away and staggered almost drunkenly to her feet, Amy looked up at her with genuine desire, not feigning her response in the slightest.
"You ... you want...." Joan started to say, suddenly embarrassed and unsure of herself, not knowing if Amy was laughing at her or hiding her disgust.
"I want you to get undressed," Amy said in a low-pitched and husky voice. She pulled herself up on the bed to rest her head against the pillows, all eyes as Joan Clayton now began to rip off her clothes with undeniable impatience.
She pulled her sweater up over her head and tossed it to the floor, quickly unhooking her bra a moment later. And when she had freed her breasts from their haltered and tight confinement, it was Amy's turn to look up with delight.
The woman's jugs were round and heavy, the aureoles prominent like miniature saucers, their centers filled with the rounded swell of each long finger-like nipple. Joan pulled her skirt down and kicked off her shoes. She wasn't wearing stockings, only panties beneath her skirt.
But even before she could hook her thumbs under the edge of her panties, Amy's eyes opened even wider and she knew she was in for a most pleasant and diverting afternoon. For the lush rounded swell of Joan's pubic mound gave every indication of being even meatier and far more developed than her own succulent box.
The dark shadow of her love nest made an indelible impression. Joan cast the last of her garments off, casting off her doubts and inhibitions alongside of them. For she had seen the look which had come over Amy Witney's face, a look she had seen when the girl was getting fucked-and royally so-by her son Chuck.
It said more than words could ever have begun to describe and she peeled her undies down and stood there, stark and unequivocably naked, as bare and lush as Amy could imagine. The two women confronted each other, but Amy wasn't looking up, wasn't staring into Joan's eyes.
Rather, she was boring down between the woman's shapely thighs, staring heatedly at Joan's lush and naked box, the reddish-brown fur dense and wiry, as thick as her husband's coarse black pubic bush. Even each outer lip was barely visible, concealed beneath the heavy damp pelt of musky-scented cunt fur.
Joan's wide hips and jutting rump were additional features which Amy admired and as she kept on staring with wide and unblinking eyes, wondering too what would soon be taking place, how they would manage to consummate their raging lusts. Joan moved slowly but deliberately back to the bed, sliding up and inching forward on her knees and the backs of her legs.
"Swing around. I want to taste you ... I want to eat you out like you were doing to me," Amy whispered, the words stuck in her throat. She was still a wee bit anxious and apprehensive.
But Joan alleviated her fears by hurriedly swinging around on the bed and moving onto her side. She pushed her face down between Amy's legs, lifted up the top thigh and wrapped it around her neck. And the instant she buried her mouth against Amy's box, Amy took the hint and imitated Joan's frenzied motions to the letter.
She didn't have to do anything, for Joan had managed to spread her legs apart, the hairy triangle of her box leading Amy's eyes down. And as she felt the first deliciously hot and pleasurable swipes of the older woman's tongue, she responded in kind, needing no additional encouragement.
It was amazing to her how she could be doing this. First the son, then the father, and now the wife and mother. All that was left was Cindy, but she put that quickly out of her mind, at least for the time being.
Her tongue thrust out and she slurped around the border of Joan's pussy, licking across the top below her navel and then along each side of her muff. Joan's response was instantaneous. The instant she felt Amy's tongue lashing around her hairy turf, she shivered and dug her own tongue deeper inside the girl's dripping wet pussy, splaying the outer lips back as if she was peeling a fruit.
Her tongue skidded in and out, darting and weaving like a striking asp. And as for Amy, the more she licked, the more she was licked in turn, the more aroused she fast became. There was no sense holding back now, no reason to, either.
She liked what was happening, and that was for damn sure.
So she went at it with gusto and delight, her tongue moving around and around in ever narrowing concentric circles. And then her fingers came up to rub against the thick gristly outer lips of cunt flesh which effectively bordered the woman's split, a parenthesis of ragged vaginal tissue, swollen as if with trapped blood.
She held each slippery lobe, one in each hand, her tongue prying open the narrow wet gash that led down into Joan's pussy. The hairs which grew over her furrow were long and darker than the others, as was the case with Amy's box, but she had little trouble licking them down so that she could get at Joan's muff.
She gently eased each thick swollen lip farther and farther apart until she could stare down into the deep wide cavity that was Joan's vulva. And when she caught sight of the woman's clitoris, her mouth dropped open with pleasure.
For what she looked at was more like a large pulpy pea than anything else. As developed as the rest of her pussy, it wiggled enticingly, drawing Amy on, goading her on so that she pushed her tongue down, lashing it over the pulpy head of the woman's unhooded clit.
Joan responded in kind, scraping the edges of her front teeth over Amy's clitoris, making Amy tremble with rising pleasure. Her tongue moved more frenetically, licking up and down, splaying the outer lips wider apart and digging deeper and deeper inside.
By now there was no stopping either of them.
The loud slurping sounds they made were a symphony of sexual music and the women panted and shuddered with delight, each one eating out the other's box and loving every minute of it.
For Amy, it was more novel than anything else and she tasted the murky secretions which flowed down the undulating walls of Joan's pussy, collecting like rain in a barrel in the vestibule of her box, her vulva soon overflowing with spicy and delicious cunt juice.
The mucoid and syrupy secretions were lapped up with her tongue and lips while Joan did precisely the same thing for her. By now, both women were oblivious to anything else but their raging pleasure. Each fresh gush of cunt juice was accompanied by a fresh rippling surge of erotic bliss and Amy could already sense that Joan was well on her way to getting off, coming merely by having her cunt eaten out the way Amy was rather efficiently and expertly doing.
But if she was doing a good job, Joan was doing one even better. Alongside of her probing tongue now slid her extended index finger, creating additional pressure, pressure which frictioned along Amy's cunt walls and made her rub her body up against Joan's lush and curvaceous figure.
Their arms and legs were tangled and wrapped together and their mouths flat against each other's cunts. Each one murmured as the other licked in and out. And when Amy stuffed one finger into Joan's box, lubricated it until it was literally coated with a thin layer of slippery cunt juice and then proceeded to palpitate the woman's anus, Joan knew she would get off in no time at all.
She shuddered, her sphincter muscles going haywire, her cunt muscles exercising an amazingly powerful grip around Amy's jabbing darting tongue. But when Amy labored her asshole and then slowly succeeded in stuffing her index finger into place, Joan's response was even more heated than Amy had imagined it would be.
Her buns jiggled like jello, heaving up and down, left and right. She panted and groaned and cried out, ramming another finger inside of Amy's muff, two fingers and her tongue lashing in and out so that Amy felt herself about to go over the edge. She finger-fucked Joan harder than ever, feeling the tight spongy and dry walls of the woman's rectum, the way her muscles rippled and tightened their hold around her probing pistoning digit.
"Yes, make me come, make me come," Joan mumbled, slurping like a wild woman, unable to stop herself as she suddenly cried out and went flying into the abyss, the pit of pleasure.
It was an orgasmic response which needed no words of explanation. Amy knew what had happened and she sucked and licked with everything she possessed, trembling as Joan's cunt became hot and frothy with thick rivulets of sap. She was about to get off as well and when the woman thrust in a second finger, two fingers forming a scissor-like V to capture and frig her clit, the moment was finally and at long last at hand.
Amy stiffened and then crashed against Joan, coming with the same kind of randy and volcanic feminine force. The two of them moved as one, sucking and lapping each other's cunt, shuddering violently as pleasure consumed them and made their skin glow with the color of sexual combat and erotic fervor.
It was good, as good as it had ever been with a woman and Amy was pleased with the way things had turned out. From what had been a spanking of seeming retribution had emerged a bout of lovemaking and sex she had totally and completely enjoyed.
But it wasn't over so quickly, not by a long shot.
They still trembled as cunt juice sprayed into their mouths, their bodies convulsing from the nervous tremors which shot through them. Amy's mouth was stuffed with cunt and she could feel her finger moving on the other side of the distended septum, the divisional membrane separating Joan's box from her rectum.
She pushed it in and out as swiftly as she moved her tongue, triggering fresh gushes of sap which coated her lips, streamed down her throat and down her chin as well. The overflowing dew was hot and spicy and she drank as much as she could swallow, even as Joan responded in kind, working on her muff as her body trembled with ecstasy.
But at last the convulsive tremors were replaced by shudders of release and they fell against each other, panting and gasping for breath. Amy closed her eyes and pressed herself against the full length of Joan's hot and sweaty body, her mouth glued to the older woman's pussy.
Had someone told her her job at the Claytons would have encompassed such various and vigorous pursuits, she would not have believed it possible. But now she knew what Blake had seen in Joan, why they had first been attracted to each other, enough to get married and stay married for more than sixteen years.
The woman was as eager for sex, as hot-blooded as Amy was. Only her tastes were a little bit more diverse perhaps, but not that unusual that Amy still couldn't partake of them, enjoying Joan's caresses as much as Joan enjoyed her own eager and lascivious sexplay.
They lay there, tangled together, their tits rising and falling as they both breathed deeply and tried to return to their senses. They'd gotten so involved they hadn't even had a chance to fondle each other's jugs, to explore every nook and cranny of their bodies.
But there would be time enough for that, for Amy Witney knew then that the last thing Joan would do was ask her to leave. How could she, when she had a resident sex partner, right under her very own roof, and a sex partner who lacked every conceivable inhibition, able to get off on the most varied and diverse of sexual pastimes.
Confident that her job was secure, that she could continue to enjoy the attentions and increasingly stimulating performances of Blake and Chuck, Amy murmured her contentment and closed her eyes. But her daydreams were soon to be interrupted, although not rudely so.
For at that very moment, even as she and Joan lay there, head to toe on her bed, Chuck Clayton was unlocking the front door. He knew his father wasn't at home, knew too that Amy was supposedly at work in the library and his mother painting in her studio. And so he thought it would be a most perfect opportunity to break up her working day with a little bit of pleasure, pleasure he was finding it increasingly difficult to live without.
But when he slid the library doors open and found the book-lined study empty, he turned to the stairs and moved up to the second floor. He didn't hear anything, for by this time Joan and Amy had exhausted their climaxes and now lay gasping on the wrinkled sheets of the old wooden bed.
Chuck turned down the hall, his rubber-soled sneakers treading silently on the strip of Persian carpet that covered the hallway. When he got to Amy's room he knocked softly, hoping she was inside, hoping too that she was as turned on to having sex with him as he was aroused just by thinking about it.
"Amy?" he called out.
On the other side of the bedroom door Joan did a double-take. She sat up and made a move to silence Amy by pressing a finger to the young woman's lips. But what she hadn't reckoned on was the degree of inhibition and the degree of imagination Amy Witney possessed. For before she could even caution the girl not to respond, Amy smiled to herself and called out to Chuck in what was later described as a most loud and ringing voice, inviting him right inside.