Chapter 11
The kind of war council that had been brewing all week finally had to come. And it came over coffee in Mary's living room. Since Priss had been the most recent discoverer of the truth about their errant husbands, she told her tale first. And the more she talked about that madly passionate afternoon on Half Moon Lake, the wider Joan's eyes got and the lower her lovely jaw dropped.
"And then," Priss was purring, teasing the ends of her blonde hair as she let the precious venom drop, "your Bill did it to me with this thing he called a tickler. I think he said the brand name of it was a Satan's Tongue, this big rubbery item he slipped over the... uh... end of his cock. He told me he had been using one since he was in high school, and that he had pleasured his sisters with one just like it."
"Pleasured?" Sara hummed, grinning. "C'mon, Wranglers, let's call a spade a spade. You mean Bill used to fuck his own sisters with a French tickler!"
"Sara," Joan moaned, "don't make it any worse than it is!"
"I don't see how it could be any worse," Mary observed.
"Lordy," Sara grinned again, "he must have been one bucking stud of a teen-ager."
"He still bucks pretty well," Priss admitted, her blue eyes twinkling wickedly.
"Well, I don't think it's the least bit funny," Joan snapped, blushing with both shame and anger to hear about the sexual exploits of her own husband.
"Don't be a poop, honey," Mary laughed. "After all, men will be men."
Joan shot Mary and burning glance. "Uh-huh, we'll see how merry you sound after I tell you about your husband!"
Mary shrugged. "I'm sure that if you flirted with Walt, he might have given you some attention."
"Attention!" Joan boomed, revengefully. "I suppose you could call feeling between my legs in a bar booth giving me some attention! And I suppose you could also call all those perverted stories he told about... "
"Perverted?" Mary snapped. "My Walt isn't perverted!"
"Wanna bet on that, sweetie? Or didn't he ever tell you about his days in Paris with his countess!"
"Huh?"
"You heard me! And not only did he fill my shocked ears to overflowing with tales about the things he did with that slutty French whore, he took me to a cheap motel and showed me!"
Mary's face was a mask of splotchy blushes. "I don't believe you," she managed, huskily.
But Joan's voice had the kind of truth that everybody else found easy to accept.
"Oh, we played some wild games, let me tell you," Joan trilled, "games like bull and calf, the honey-rod rock, and something you do in the shower together called hide the soapy submarine."
"Hide the what?" Sara giggled.
"You heard me! It was just one madly perverted kind of plain old screwing position after another. I was so shocked that I... I... "
"That you couldn't bring yourself to leave," Priss hissed.
"Joan, you're fibbing about my Walt!" Mary panted.
Sara took a drag on her cigarette and blew a long blue puff of smoke toward the ceiling. "S'matter, honey. Can't you believe that your sweet hubby likes to poke a little strange pussy?"
Mary whirled on Sara. "My husband? And what about yours, damnit!"
Sara grinned. "I never said Jim was perfect!"
"Not perfect?" Mary yelped. "Listen, if Jim was any less perfect, he'd be the social director in Hell!"
Sara's eyes slitted patiently. "Now don't make my Jim out to be any worse than he is, darling."
"Any worse than you know he is, you mean," Mary thundered. "The trouble is, I'll bet you don't know any more about your husband than you think we know about ours! The truth is that Jim craves sex. He takes his females out to a house he and some guys rent just so he can fuck them!"
Sara's lips twitched in irritation, but she wasn't about to admit her real thoughts to the group. "All right, so Jim does misbehave now and then. So he does take on a piece of free pussy now and then, so what?"
"So make that free black pussy, that's what," Mary hissed.
Sara came up out of her chair like a cat. "Don't you stand there and tell me my Jim screws black stuff!"
Mary's smile was a satisfied and jagged line across her face. "Okay, then get him to tell you. All I know is, he told me he'd rather ball a black ass than a white one almost anytime. He just made an exception of me. He told me he'd humped at least three darky cunts last week alone!"
Sara took a deep, murderous breath and snapped: "Why, that goddamn black-pussy-lovin' bastard! What in the shit does he think I'll stand for!"
"A lot of waiting at home while he chases choice dark meat, sounds like," Priss giggled, tossing her golden hair like a schoolgirl who is happy to see a friend in trouble.
Sara gave Priss a withering stare. "Oh, and so you think your hubby is perfect, I suppose!"
"I didn't say that, Sara," Priss breathed, archly, "but at least my Greg doesn't go around with his breath smelling like corn pone and flour-sack panties."
"No, maybe not. But let me tell you something, little Miss Prissy Pureheart. After the other day that muscle boy of yours ought to have breath that smells like chop suey and Lesbian cunt!"
Priss looked suddenly as if somebody had shoved a rolling pin up her tight ass.
"Explain that bitchy remark," Priss croaked, weakly.
"Glad to," Sara trilled. "That stud husband of yours digs watching dirty fuck movies while any female within shouting distance licks his beautiful muscles and plays slave to his Atlas physique. I oughta know, I did it!"
"A... and the other one," Priss managed, helplessly, "the one you called a... a...
"Lesbian? Uh-huh, he wanted a piece of that action, too. I wouldn't say little Greg has a machine gun for a tongue, babydoll, but he sure as hell shot the shit out of that dyke's hot twat with it!"
"That's... that's unforgivable!" Priss gasped.
"You said the right word," Joan snapped. "By God, if I hadn't heard about Bill with my own honest ears from the lips of one of The Wranglers, I'd swear to Heaven I was hearing lies. But we can't all be lying about them, can we?"
She was answered by a chorus of righteous protests. Nobody was lying. And the truth was opening their eyes like grappling hooks.
"They deserve to be divorced," Mary said, finally. "And if that's too strong a word for you spineless cowards... "
"It damned sure isn't too strong for me," Sara hissed. "If that big-pricked bastard thinks he can pump black pussy during the day and my white pussy at night, he's got another... "
"The same for me," Joan grunted. "Bill can go tickle the whole world with that rubber thing, but he's not going to get another chance to tickle me!"
"I'm with you, Wranglers," Priss nodded, fighting back a sob of rage. "If Greg will degrade that beautiful body of his to the point of making love to a... a queer female... then he doesn't deserve me!"
"We're agreed then," Mary said, coldly. "We'll divorce the whole oversexed, lusty lot of 'em!"
"Agreed!"
Almost on invisible command, they stood up and joined hands like The Wranglers of old. And it was Sara whose fierce, treble voice first started the old war chant of liberated females. But soon they were all joining in, at the tips of their voices. Bang 'em, gang! Ball 'em, gang! Hump and pump and crawl 'em gang! We like 'em...
It was at that point that Mary stopped and twisted her head in the direction of the doorbell. It was ringing, and it had been ringing for some seconds. She broke from the group and made her way to the door. She was even hoping on her way that it was Walt. She was ready to give the perverted bastard a very large chunk of her mind. French countess, indeed! Hide the soapy submarine her ass, she croaked.
But it wasn't Walt. It was a creaky little bald-headed florist bearing four of the largest baskets of red roses she had ever seen. And behind the florist was Walt, grinning at her like a possum full of poultry.
"Missus Bates?" the florist demanded, happily. Mary nodded in confusion.
"Flowers for you and for Missus Wonger, Sanford and Davis. One big basket of red roses each!"
Mary's mouth was hanging open, and Walt was still grinning.
"Happy now, honey?" Walt said, as the other Wranglers came up with popping eyes. "We all decided the joke had gone far enough. So we thought roses would help smooth things over."
"Who is we, damnit," Sara hissed.
"The husbands of all you gals," Walt smiled, "and that includes me, although I've only met one of you besides my wife."
On that confession, Joan blushed as red as the roses.
"I know all about your meeting with Joan," Mary snapped. "And I also know all about that countess in Paris!"
Walt chuckled. "That's just it, you dumb bunny. There wasn't any countess in Paris. I just made that if up when I knew that one of your three friends here was going to try to seduce me. We fellows thought it would be a good joke on you Wranglers to get the full treatment. So we all made up some wild tale about ourselves. Bill made up some hairy deal about French ticklers and how he had fucked with his four sisters. Hell, he never touched his sisters in his life. And that tickler was something he bought in one of those adult novelty shops they have all over town."
"I knew my Bill wasn't a pervert!" Joan moaned, softly.
"And my Jim," Sara boomed, "how about him?"
Walt chuckled. "Well, I suppose my wife has told you all about Jim taking her out to this rented house?"
"She told us more than that, you big lug. She told us he said he liked nothing but black pussy," rasped Sara.
"Yeah, well that was a big fib, too. Jim knew Mary would tell you that. He knew it would hack you off. Hell, that house he took my wife to is owned by that little squirt he's got working for him. And Jim has only been out there a couple of times to drink beers."
"And Greg?" Priss stammered, hopefully.
Walt glanced at the pretty young blonde in front of him and gave her a sly wink. "Don't worry too much about Greg. By the process of elimination he knew that it had to be Sara who was luring him into that Chinese trap. So he played it innocent and went right along with it."
The four gals were still too stunned to totally comprehend what Walt was saying. And they were still stunned when the bald-headed florist retreated with a ten-dollar tip from Walt clutched in his greedy fist. But the huge baskets of roses looked beautifully impressive all lined up as gifts. It was Sara who found her voice first. And it was a voice etched with just a touch more than casual sarcasm.
"Just a damn minute, damnit," she croaked. "How do we know you're telling the truth! How could you guys possibly have known what we four were up to? You'd never met us!"
"Simple," Walt grinned. "My wife tipped us off to your little ruse the second she walked into Jim's credit agency. He recognized her right off from those billions of pictures you gals had when you were in high school. You know yourself, Sara, that you've got scrapbooks full of 'em."
"I'll be damned," Sara gulped, smiling.
"Besides, all Jim had to do was copy down the tag number of the car Mary was driving. He runs a credit agency and it's his business to be able to check out people real fast. He found out the car was registered to me, so he called me on the phone and asked me a few questions. We met for a beer, pieced part of the picture together, checked to see if maybe we could do a little detective work of our own. It took only a little snooping to turn up Bill and Greg. Hell, we knew what you females were up to almost before you did!"
Even Priss and Joan had to break into ragged little grins at the sudden exposure.
"And so you decided to send us some flowers to make up for pulling such an underhanded trick," Mary purred.
"Yep But the guys sent me over with 'em to see how the cookie was gonna crumble. Since it was my apartment you four had decided to meet in, they thought it might be safer for me to test the ice."
"So where are those big handsome lugs," Joan grinned.
"Right where they want you to be-at your own homes. Only I think you might be interested in a little suggestion they have for you when you get there."
"What kind of suggestion?" Sara piped.
Walt just grinned at her. "I'll let your own husbands tell you about that. And as soon as you clear out, I'll tell my own wife about it."
"We can take a hint," Priss smiled, knowingly. "C'mon, Wranglers. Let's go round up those men of ours!"
With happy whoops, Joan and Priss and Sara grabbed up their baskets of roses and streamed out the door. Walt and Mary could hear them laughing and talking all the way down to the elevator.
"Bastard,!' Mary whispered, when they were alone. But the word was half-crooned, and there was a warm little grin on her face when she said it.
Walt came over to her, took her in his arms and kissed her for a full minute. During the hot kiss they explored each other's throats with their tongues, pulling away with a hp-smacking reluctance. Mary felt the old hot-blooded need for her husband coming up like a fire in her loins. The edges of her nipples began to harden behind her bra. Instead of letting Walt go, she clung to him, holding his strong shoulders with her fingertips and sliding her thighs lightly up against his hips. "Is it true?" she breathed, huskily.
"Is what true, honey?"
"All that wild stuff Joan said you did with her in that cheap motel."
A wicked little twinkle appeared in his eyes. "Yeah, maybe. But like I told you, we were trying to really freak you gals out. I guess I could win a medal for thinking up some of that sexy stuff I did with Joan."
"Wanta try for two medals?"
His eyes were still twinkling, and his mouth was twitching in a horny, eager grin. "Hey, you mean you'd really like to try something like that with your own old man?"
Mary ran one finger up and tickled his glowing ear. "Let's just say that I wouldn't rest in peace if I thought Joan had had more fun with you than I have."
"Baby, you don't know what you're asking for. I mean, I did some really raunchy stuff with Bill's wife. Stuff that might shock your panties off."
"Just so you get them off," she grinned.
It didn't take long to go beyond the point of idle talk. In seconds they were in the bedroom, yanking their clothes off like teen-agers. Mary found herself unable to control a deep-throated, persistent little giggle as the passion was building between her legs. In all their married life she had never wanted Walt to fuck her as much as she did right now-and she wanted it raunchy, too! She was naked before he was, and she had her hands on his stiffening cock even before he got his shorts off.
"Hey," he grinned, quivering a bit as her eager fingers pulled and stroked at his large prick, making it grow long and hard, "you act starved for this."
To show him just how starved she was, she dropped to her knees and ovaled her mouth around his boldly erected prick. She sucked in half the column of meat in one gulp, and moved her lips up and down on it with humming noises of greed coming from her throat. Walt stood with his legs apart and his arms hanging down at his sides while she worked on his cock. He liked the way she wanted to suck him. It was something he didn't even know she knew how to do. Having his own wife blow him was churning his blood like lava. His husky, horny prick stiffened to its fullest, and each time she rode it down almost to the pubic hairs her cheeks bloated out like a whore's.
"Yeah, honey," he breathed, pumping his hips gently so that he could mouth-fuck her with slow rhythms, "suck on that big thing... eat your daddy good... yeah... yeah!"
Mary could feel the bulging hotness of his cock. It was like trying to chew and swallow a huge bone. And when he began to fuck her throat she went a little wild with the lusty madness of it. Both her hands came up to play with his balls. That brought a fresh groan of pleasure from him.
"Milk 'em!" he husked, humping at her mouth until his big prick was choking her. "Milk my goddamn balls off!"
She could tell when he was ready to cum. She knew by the way his nuts swelled in her hands, and by the way his grunts and gasps came faster and heavier.
And then Walt shot for her. The nozzle of his prickhead rammed into her windpipe bolting spurts of creamy cum into her throat. She grabbed the root of his huge prick and squeezed it until more cum came spitting out. She held his swollen cock in her mouth until it began to go slightly soft. Then she slipped it slowly out and licked the shrinking stick the same way a kitten licks a bowl of milk. The salty drops of his sperm tasted like nectar to her, and the hot, male odor of his satisfied prick filled her with a fresh desire to work him up again, to fuck him.
She pulled him over to the bed, and they collapsed together. She curled up into every possible nook and cranny of his flushed body, kissing his nipples and shoulders. She wrapped her fingers around his weakened prick so that she could gently jack him up again into lusty stiffness. Her salacious plan worked in less time than she had dared hope. Within seconds he was groaning like a healthy tiger. His virile cock was standing up as beautifully stiff as a young boy's. This time Walt fucked her.
He pumped between her sprawled thighs until she was whimpering with deep joy. Her cunt leaked juices that trickled into the crease of her buttocks, wetting his balls as they slapped there. It took him twenty minutes of stubborn fucking to get his rocks off again, but his sperm sprayed her cunt like a hose. She came all over again, meeting his throbbing completion of lust.
Then they lay in each other's arms again. He played slowly and teasingly with her erect tits, reaching down now and then to lick and suck each hard nipple.
"That suggestion," she breathed, finally, "what was it?"
He grinned. "You mean the one I said the guys had for their wives? Just a suggestion not to let this whole thing drop."
"You mean... "
"Yeah, sure. Why not. We damned sure don't have too many secrets from each other now. So why not make it into a real swinging kind of hobby. We thought we might have a little party next weekend-and swap around till hell won't have it."
Mary thought of Greg and Bill-and the idea of having another chance at Jim. And then she grinned.
"You guys. You think of everything," she purred.