Chapter 3

All the way home from the Golden Drake Mary kept telling herself that Sara's idea about seducing each other's husbands was the nuttiest idea on record-even though Sara had always been noted for her nutty suggestions.

Mary would never forget the time that Sara wanted The Wranglers to see just how big the village idiot's prick was. In this case the town character had been a twenty-year-old yokel who always rode a bicycle and spent most of his time poking around the dumps out at the city trash area. The young male was called Pedal Pete, and if he hadn't had about ten buttons missing from between his ears he would have been a handsome guy.

It was Sara who found out about how well Pedal Pete was hung. She found out on Saturday morning behind a mountain of wrecked cars while the rest of them stood watch to see that nobody bothered them. Sara used about as much finesse on the problem, Mary remembered, as a butcher handling meat. She simply unbuttoned the grinning dum-dum's pants and fished his cock out.

Sara said later that she almost lost her breath at the size of Pedal Pete's prick. She said that the way it got instantly stiff in her fingers made her wonder if some of Pete's perfectly normal sisters hadn't maybe played around with their well-hung big brother themselves. Then Sara became pretty damned sure of her theory when Pete begged her to let him fuck her, right then and there. To cool him down-and to indulge herself in one of her little vices-Sara elected instead to suck on the big whopper a tiny bit. She ended up blowing his huge cock for twenty minutes, and getting her gullet blown brimming full of the hottest cum of her career.

Now, thinking back on just that one scheme of zany Sara's, Mary had to grin about the latest one. And her grin was wider each time she realized that the drawing had produced an even funnier surprise. Mary had drawn Sara's hubby as her object of seduction.

The other results had gone this way: Joan had drawn Walt; Sara had drawn Priss' husband, Greg; and Priss had drawn Joan's husband, Bill. They had spent the remainder of their luncheon giving each other intimate rundowns on the habits, foibles, and vital statistics of their husbands. And Mary had already decided that Jim Broomley sounded like something of a real loser, despite the fact that Sara insisted he was hot as lava in the sack.

"I guess I'll find out," Mary sighed, feeling both a tinge of apprehension and a ripple of lusty anticipation in her tummy at the prospect of hunting down an unwary male just in order to make him fuck her. She was still, she told herself, interested only in one man-Walt. He was stud enough for her, and always would be. Except that night he wasn't.

He didn't get home at six o'clock, the way he had promised, but at eight o'clock. And he was dog tired. He said that he had been forced to lay a couple of guys off the building crew and that he had spent most of the day rounding up replacements. He said that if she didn't mind he would have a sandwich and a beer, take a good hot bath, and hit the sack early and alone.

So... no encore on the sex bit. No lovely screwing to take her mind off things... and to make it worse, that damned secretary across the way had her curtains open again and was giving a party.' Long after Walt was snoring in the bedroom, Mary was propped up in the dark kitchen and staring out the window at all the gaiety just beyond her reach. The secretary had her apartment filled with people. Mary recognized the same guy the little bitch had been so avidly fucking that very morning. He looked even better in clothes. But Mary couldn't get the memory out of her mind of having seen him bare-assed and pumping his husky prick in and out of that free and willing pussy. And the thought that probably the secretary was planning to get it again that night sent those little green horns of envy sprouting out once more through Mary's brunette curls.

And sure enough, when the party wound down there the spicy little whore was, alone with two guys, including her pillow pal of that morning. Mary could only watch with her own nagging little twat-itch as the two guys began to take off their ties and coats. Then the secretary pulled the curtains to shut out the prying world.

"Damn," Mary hissed, "maybe you do have more fun being single!"

The next morning was a repeat of the morning before, as far as Walt was concerned. He was up at dawn, poaching his eggs in the kitchen, and he was gone by eight o'clock, after having tiptoed into the bedroom to give his wife a quick little kiss on the cheek.

And it was also a repeat for Mary. She woke up with her nipples brazenly erect and the hairs on her pussy trembling with need. And for the first time she realized that Sara's sultry brainstorm had some merit, after all. The way she felt, she would fuck the grocery boy if he knocked on her door.

Following a quick breakfast, she went through her toilette again. Only this time she was aware that she wasn't dressing for the gals. She was dressing for a strange man, one that had to take one look at her and think sex. She had to look frisky and fuckable.

She solved the rather uncomplicated problem by simply putting on the most daring dress in her closet. Walt had seen it on a store mannequin and had given a low wolf whistle. It was one of those Hawaiian prints with cleavage at both ends. She just hoped that Jim Davis didn't turn out to be the shy type.

Mary put on a pair of dark glasses and made up her lips with bright red color. Then she atomized her earlobes-and the tit cleavage-with something called Storm Tossed, and called the taxi. Then, while waiting for the taxi, she thought better of it. What in hell would Jim Davis think if she came riding up to his credit agency in a taxi. Instead, she decided to beg the car out of Walt, and that way she and Jim could take a little drive out in the country, if necessary.

So she took the taxi to the construction site on the other side of the city and easily purred Walt into letting her take the car for the day.

It was only when she was actually on her way to meet Sara's husband that she began to get butterflies in her stomach.

Jesus, she thought, what has that dizzy Sara talked us into! We're not silly little gals in high school, anymore!

But it was too late to back out. And she was damned if she would go back to the group and tell them that she was too old, or too scared to consider herself a real Wrangler anymore. Goddamned if she would do that!

Fortunately, Sara had filled her in pretty well on Jim. He had been to college for a couple of years taking business courses; he had been a high school football star; he had a couple of years in the marines, and in bed he was a slow starter but a big finisher.

"And a long runner," Mary smiled to herself. Any man who was married to Sara would have to be something of a hero in the endurance department, unless Sara had changed colors since her Wrangler days.

She found the entrance to the credit agency on a side street off one of the main avenues of the downtown area. It wasn't the most impressive looking business in the world. But she was satisfied that Sara was telling the truth when Sara insisted that Jim's venture allowed him to employ three or four helpers and pulled in around fifteen thousand per year, flat profit.

She parked as near as she could, then walked up to the glass-fronted building with Davis Credit Agency printed on the front. The motto in smaller letters read: There's No Hole We Can't Fill For You. Mary had to grin at that!

She stepped into the carpeted foyer and was met by a young man. "May I help you?" he asked.

"I'd like to see the manager," she said. "I believe I want to see Mr. Jim Davis."

A tall handsome man entered from a back room and smiled.

"If you're Jim Davis," Mary said lightly, "then you're the one I want to see. My friend told me you could help me solve my problem."

Jim Davis stared at her for a few seconds, as if thoughtfully sizing up her bankbook, then grinned and took her hand.

"Won't you come on in the office, Miss... uh...?"

"Smith."

"Miss Smith?"

"That's right."

He smiled, and she thought she noted a little twinkle of moderate interest in his eyes-interest that had nothing at all to do with investing money, either.

"You say you have a problem?" he asked, helpfully.

"I certainly do," she replied, crossing her legs so that he couldn't fail to notice how shamelessly short her hem was. And notice he did.

"Want to tell me about it?" he breathed, his voice just a shade lower and huskier than before.

"I need a vacation," she lied. "I think I need to get away from the stress and strain. I can't seem to sleep at night. I think I need something, so I guess I need a vacation."

He had to drag his eyes up from the expanse of thigh that seemed to be signaling to him from where she sat. Mary could see that the color had deepened once more in his cheeks, and that his hands were clenching and unclenching on his lap. And finally, with a sigh, he crossed his legs.

"Where did you think of going on your vacation, Miss Smith?"

"I thought Acapulco, maybe. Thought I might like to lie in the sun."

"You want to go way down there alone?"

"Why not. I make friends easily."

"I'm sure you do, but I was in Acapulco once myself, and you have to watch out for those beach boys."

She grinned. "I'll be more interested in watching out for some beach men."

He swallowed slowly, and nodded. "Yes, I guess there's something to be said for maturity in a... uh... male. But what I meant was... "

"I know what you meant. And I think you know what I meant. And I think you know why I need that vacation."

That took care of the conversation for a couple of seconds while he looked over her shoulder to see that the other workers were well out of earshot. Then he zeroed in on her exposed legs again, and for good measure took a hard stare at her braless tits.

"You understand, Miss Smith, that a trip to Mexico involves a few hundred dollars, if you do it right. That's a lot of money."

"I need a lot of vacation."

"You haven't had any, uh, vacations lately?"

"A couple of short ones, here and there."

"You liked them, enjoyed them?"

"Loved them, but I want a longer one."

"Uh, maybe a longer and a bigger one, Miss Smith?"

She grinned. "Now what are we talking about?" she purred.

He smiled slackly, and lowered his voice again. "Don't you know?"

"I know, but I'm wondering if you know."

His smiled twitched upward and his dark eyes twinkled. "What I think you need is a vacation today, maybe this afternoon."

"What's wrong with right now, honey."

That really did it. The game was over. Both of them obviously had fucking on their minds. It was just a matter of getting away.

"Do you have a place to go?" he muttered softly, making the old line sound as fresh as a teen-aged boy's lust. Mary shrugged, knowing that she couldn't take him back to her apartment-not with Walt's erratic habit of sometimes coming home in the middle of the afternoon.

"Don't you have a place?" she countered.

"Well, I certainly can't take you to my house... but, yeah, I think I can manage something."

"We can take my car," she said, the second they were out on the sidewalk.

He was tall, she realized, a lot taller than Walt. And he had shoulders that wouldn't quit. Mary remembered what Sara had said about her husband being a football star on his high school team. She knew that it was going to be a whole basket of fun getting, or letting, him tackle her into bed.

"Where are we going?" she asked, as soon as they got into the car.

"Little place I share with a couple of buddies. Not much of a house, but it's fine for vacations."

She smiled.

He told her how to get to the house, which was one of those cheaper places before you got to the outskirts of the city. And on the way she couldn't resist probing just a fraction into his relationship with Sara.

"You do this a lot?"

"Do what, Miss Smith?"

"Take girls on vacations."

He grinned. "Only when they're as pretty as you. And only when they seem to want it real bad."

"You want it too, I trust."

He reached over and closed his hand on the inside edge of her thigh, squeezing her just enough to make her blood rise. "Why the hell do you think I had to cross my legs in the office back there," he whispered. "All that sexy double-talk was giving me a hard-on that wouldn't quit."

They reached the house and Mary drove into the drive. He told her to park the car around in back, out of sight, and she was more than happy to do so. Even though she and Walt were strangers in the city, you never knew who might drive by and spot the car.

They entered by the back door, and once inside Jim locked it securely behind them. Then he turned and put his hand firmly on the plump hill of her ass.

"Hey," he breathed, huskily, "I'll bet you're the cat's meow." She hadn't heard that expression in a but she had a quick answer for it.

"I'm more like the pussy's pant, you-"

"That's nice. What say we go into the bedroom and take that vacation together."

She grinned. "I damn sure didn't come all the way out here to take it alone!"