Chapter 5
AMY WANDERED ABOUT THE HOUSE AIMLESSLY.
She couldn't stop thinking of what had happened yesterday, when Patty was there. The experience had opened up a whole new world to her.
Pete was suspicious, and that was something to be concerned about. But she could think about only so much at one time, and now Patty crowded her consciousness.
Wonderful, sweet, loving Patty.
God, how that woman had kissed her-better than any man ever had!
And how Amy had responded! That was perhaps the biggest shock. She hadn't believed herself capable of such conduct, but she had swung just as strongly as Patty ... and she had enjoyed it immensely, on both the taking and giving ends.
What now? That was the question.
She was a married woman with prospects for a family some day, if Pete ever decided he wanted children. She had been counting strongly on that. Now she wasn't sure what she wanted.
At one moment she would tell herself that the thing with Patty had been only a novelty-a strange kick that had appealed to her because it was so wild, but which she wouldn't enjoy for a second time. After all, she was a man's girl. Wasn't she?
In the next moment, she laughed at that analysis. She now had to admit that, in the back of her mind, she had always been titillated by thoughts of Lesbian sex. When she finally had experienced it, she was anything but disappointed.
She had to talk with Patty right now. Impulsively she moved to the telephone and picked it up.
"Art! Oh, you devil!"
Art and Patty Claiborne were in bed, wrestling erotically. It was his day off from work, and he enjoyed morning sex on his days off. Patty enjoyed it, too. Woman-love was the farthest thing from her mind as her husky husband pressed her onto her back and pulled the nightie away from her quivering, stiff-nippled breasts.
He pressed his face to a ruddy, up-thrust bud, his whiskers scratching her delicate titty-flesh.
"Oh, your beard!" she cried. "It's killing me!"
"Go on!" he said. "You love it." And he nuzzled her all the stronger.
It was true that she did enjoy the abrasive caresses. They titillated her because they were so masculine. She sincerely enjoyed her husband's masculinity.
This fact was proved now by the way she gripped his long, thick cock as he bent over her. She rubbed the sensitive corona and palmed the circumcised head.
He tugged on a tall, sturdy nipple and used it to shake the breast to which it was attached. He went to the other one and treated that in the same way.
"Yeah, babe, you're getting soft up here," he teased, when he lifted his head.
"Well, if I am, it's because you play with 'em too damned much!"
"Hell no. Tits were made to play with." He leaned down again. "And lick." He licked them. "An ... suck." He slowly surrounded a red quivering nipple and pulled it up into his mouth where he prodded it with his tongue, pushing it this way and that as his lips contracted against the surrounding slippery flesh. He palmed the other breast and kneaded it.
Patty moaned and tried to get her legs open around him.
He shifted his position a little, so that she could accomplish her purpose. Both creamy legs came up and her nightie fell way back. Art shifted again and bore down. Her hand directed his dong into her dripping split and he slid way up inside her passage.
"Oh, Mister Cock!" she cried. "I love you."
Art began to move slowly but forcefully and she rocked beneath him in exactly the same tempo. The tactile sensations were wonderful for both of them.
"Mmmmm Daddy!" Patty purred, as she ground her breasts against his hairy chest and luxuriated in his steady stroking. "Is there anything better than getting screwed?"
"Hell, yes!" he panted. "There's screwing."
She laughed even as she moved and he moved with her.
"They're the same thing, you dope."
"There's a subtle difference," he said, driving deep and hard. "You're getting screwed. I'm doing the ... screwing."
"And how, Daddy! Christ, what a big fat pecker!"
The phone beside the bed rang.
"Shit!" Patty said.
Art kept stroking.
The phone rang again.
She said, "We'll have ... have to answer ... it."
"Okay..." he sighed deeply, and lapsed atop her, but he still supported most of his weight on his elbows and knees.
She reached for the phone and carried it to her ear. "Yes?" she said, her voice a little rough.
"Patty?" the feminine voice on the line asked tentatively. "Are you coming over today to get your blouse and bra?"
"Oooh, Amy. Look, I'll call you back in a little while, okay?" Amy was disappointed, but she said, "All right. If you want to."
Patty hung up.
"What'd that cute blonde want?" Art grinned.
"Never mind. This is the only cute blonde you need to think about." She slapped him on the rump. "Get going."
He chuckled, grabbed a quick kiss from her lips, and began to pump his prick once more.
Patty had lost a little ground during the pause. Sexy conversation would help her regain it, so she said:
"Mmmmm, what a wonderful ... prick you have! I love to ... feel it ... sliding up and ... down inside ... me."
"And I love to ... slide it up and ... down, baby," he breathed, sliding it steadily against her tingling love tip.
She squirmed as she bumped beneath him. "Uhhh ... do you like ... my cunt?"
"I love ... your hot cunt!"
"Oh, I like to ... hear you ... say that!"
They talked on and on as they screwed. Gradually they neared the peak. Art kept from switching to the short strokes until he simply couldn't hold off a moment longer, at which time he began to bang her rapidly.
"Oooh ... oooh ... OH!" Patty cried, and she had it, bucking and quivering as her vaginal muscles grabbed at him.
"Uuuuh!" he said harshly, and expelled his sperm into her.
Breathing deeply in gratification, he let himself down against her and licked her cheeks and neck and finally her mouth, letting his tongue gradually slip inside. Their lips caught and clung.
Patty was as pleased as he was.
She thought vaguely of Amy and concluded, the girl is going to be a bore.
Amy's husband, Pete, was on his way to call on a client of his firm. The woman owned several apartment houses and was one of his largest customers for furniture reupholstering.
He had made her on his first visit to her home. Since then, he had called her twice and managed to avoid bedding her each time.
She wasn't the most appealing dish in the world. She was close to forty and overweight. Her belly protruded, and her big boobs flopped around like cows' udders.
But today he might just screw her. He felt mean enough. That business with Amy and Patty yesterday was bugging the shit out of him.
It was possible, he kept telling himself, that nothing really happened. They could actually have been trying on clothes, as Amy had said, and Patty-she was kind of a kook-might have suggested a strip tease or some damned thing. That would account for his wife being bare underneath her outer clothing and for Patty being without her bra.
But he found it hard to believe that. He had seen too much of the world, and he knew Lesbianism was pretty widespread. It was possible that a woman might have such tendencies and keep them covered up. Even get married and try to lead a normal life, but they would come out eventually. Perhaps that was the story with Amy.
He would have to watch her closely from now on. It might not hurt to do a little checking up behind her back. If it did turn out that she was queer, he would walk out on her. He was a real man, and he'd be damned if he would live with anyone except a real woman!
He turned into Mabel Kern's driveway and brought his car to a stop. He got out and walked to the front door of the large house.
A uniformed maid admitted him. She showed him to the library where he took a chair and waited.
Mabel appeared in five minutes. She wore a dark dress. Her reddish-gold hair was up.
"Well! Mr. Edwards! It's nice to see you again."
Standing, he said, "It's nice to see you, Mabel."
"Oh, is it?" she asked skeptically. "And how does it happen that we're on a first name basis again? When you phoned me yesterday for the appointment, you called me Mrs. Kern."
Standing, he said, "It's nice to see you, Mabel."
"Oh, is it?" she asked skeptically. "And how does it happen that we're on a first name basis again? When you phoned me yesterday for the appointment, you called me Mrs. Kern."
"That was just a slip," he grinned.
"Want some coffee or something?"
"Thank you, no."
They sat opposite each other. Mabel crossed her legs, but her hemline was conservative and didn't show much. The truth was that she didn't have a great deal which was appealing to show. Her thighs were on the flabby side.
Still, today, Pete was interested.
It was as if he felt called upon to prove his masculinity anew in the face of what he suspected had happened in his home yesterday.
"So you want to talk about another upholstering order ... is that it, Pete?"
"That's right."
"I don't know if I'll give your firm any more business or not."
"Oh? Why's that?"
"I wasn't entirely satisfied the last two times I gave orders to you."
Pete knew what she meant. She was a shameless slut. Her husband had died several years ago, and Pete thought he knew shy: The old broad had screwed him to death.
He smiled. "You'll be satisfied this time, Mabel."
"Will I? Really?" Her eyes narrowed.
"Guaranteed." He stood up and crossed to the sofa where she was sitting. He sat beside her.
"Well ... Pete! This is more like it. You know, you have a remarkably persuasive manner as a salesman, when you choose to make use of it."
He felt like saying, how do you want it, baby-on your belly or on your back? But he just grinned and took her hand in his.
"Are you sure you wouldn't care for something to drink?" she asked. "Perhaps a little shot of whiskey?"
"What do we need whiskey for, Mabel? You're all it takes to make me high."
"Oooh, Pete..." she murmured. "What a thing to say."
"I mean it." His hand slipped to her leg, just above her knee.
"You know, I had the notion that you didn't like me any more."
"Well, we'll get you over that notion right now."
He slid his arm around her and drew her close, turning the trunk of her body toward him. At the same time, he slipped his hand underneath her dress and began to slide it up her stockinged thigh.
His mouth caught hers and they kissed.
His hand crossed the top of her stocking and patted her very full upper thigh. She rolled onto her opposite hip, leaning into their embrace. His hand went all the way to her bottom, which was sheathed in snug-fitting nylon briefs. He patted and petted her large fanny globes, then worked his fingers underneath a panty leg elastic and directly onto her ass. His fingertips teased her rear crack.
By this time, she was panting wildly and her tongue was thrashing in his mouth.
Well, he thought, it was time to nail down that order ... and get some of the meanness out of his system, at the same time.
He took his mouth from hers and slipped his hand out of her panties. "Shall we go up to bed?" he asked.
"No," she breathed heatedly. "I want to try something else. Let's do it here. See that leather hassock? I want to lie on that and have you kneel in front of it."
It was all right with Pete. One position was as good as another to him. He had tried them all. The only thing that mattered was getting his pecker into her hole and having room to stroke it.
"Sure," he said, and got up. He didn't have a hard-on yet.
Mabel, happy as a bride, jumped to her feet and presented her back to him so he could lower her zipper. He did so, and he unhooked her bra for good measure.
She turned and, facing him with a smile on her face, pulled her dress up. She wore a blue, lacy half-slip over her stockings.
Her bra came away with her dress, and her gigantic knockers swung free. Some men would have liked them, he supposed, but to Pete they were gross and bovine. Her nipples were big and round with wide, pebbled bases.
He began getting undressed.
Mabel took her slip off, then sat on the hassock and crossed her legs revealingly to remove her stockings. Dark hair curled out around the crotch of her blue satin panties. Her tits flopped and swayed as she moved. In taking off her stockings, her outstretched arms squeezed those big bulbs together.
Pete thought about inserting his prick between her tits and going off that way.
Better not, he decided. She might not appreciate it, and he was interested in getting her order.
By the time Mabel had gotten rid of her stockings, garter belt and panties, Pete had stripped off everything but his boxer shorts. Now he drew those away, and Mabel gazed at his hanging thick cock. What he had seen hadn't been appealing enough to make it hard.
But "he wasn't worried. He'd never had trouble with impotence.
"Hey, you're a little slow there, aren't you?" Mabel teased.
"Come here, baby. Maybe you can speed me up."
"Up is right," she said. "That's the way I want you."
She gripped a big breast in each hand and lifted them as she walked toward him. That, along with her round belly and black, bushy loins, created a spectacle that was unsurpassed for lewdness.
Still, he didn't gain an erection.
He pulled Mabel into his arms and began to kiss her heatedly all over the face. Her floppy tits rubbed against him. Her belly felt like a balloon against his lower middle.
He put both hands on her large ass, gripping the dough-like cheeks. He kneaded them, letting his fingers dig into her crack. She writhed and moaned. Her tongue pistoned.
Still, his bone didn't come up.
He bent and lifted one of her breasts in his hand. He rubbed the stiff nipple all over his face and back and forth along his lips. He let the cherry pop inside and he sucked on it.
Nothing.
He gripped goth tits and rolled them roughly.
"Easy...! " Mabel panted.
"Get down on the hassock," he ordered.
She turned to comply. He watched her fat fanny wiggle.
She sat on the hassock and leaned back pushing her open loins forward. He stared at her hairy box ... at the pinkness which showed between the parted outer lips. She was wet in there, ready for him.
He looked down at himself. He remained limp as a piece of rope.
"Wh-what's the matter?" Mabel asked, genuinely concerned now.
"I don't know," he admitted. "I've never been like this before."
"Do you want me to ... help you?"
He wasn't sure what she meant, at first. She had shown no oral inclinations when she had been with him before.
Interpreting his hesitancy as consent, she got up and approached him. She got down on her knees on the carpet.
A surge of excitement went through Pete. It wasn't every day that a guy got his cock sucked by a woman who owned three apartment houses.
She took his limp tool in her hand and raised it to her puffy, parted lips. She sucked its circumcised head into her mouth and worked it with lips and tongue and teeth, gently. The sensation was tremendous. But still, unbelievably, Pete didn't stiffen!
My God! What was the matter with him?
She let his dong fall away.
"You've got a problem, honey," she said, and stood up. "I'm sorry, Mabel."
"You oughta be, making me strip down like this and all."
He was searching his brain frantically, trying to come up with an explanation. There was nothing physically the matter with him.
He supposed that the fault was Mabel's. In spite of her mouthing him, she just wasn't appealing enough to turn him on.
He looked at her cow-like tits and her fat belly. Sure, that was it. He honestly didn't want to screw her.
Okay. So he wouldn't. And the devil with the upholstering business he would lose.
He turned and picked up his underwear.
"Well, is that all there is to it?" Mabel demanded. "You're just going to get dressed and leave?"
"Do you have any other suggestions?" he snapped.
"We could keep trying. Maybe if we were to get into bed..."
"That wouldn't make any difference," he said. "How can you be so sure?"
He whirled on her. "Because you repel me, you old bitch! Screwing you, to get an order, is more than my body can stand."
She gasped.
He resumed dressing.
"I never would have believed it," she said miserably, as she picked up her own clothes. "You seemed like such a decent person."
"What would you know about decency, you sow."
"Oooh!"
She didn't return the abuse he had heaped upon her, and this made him feel cheap. It would have been better if she had responded in kind.
She did say, just before he left, "You needn't ask me for any more business." The statement was superfluous in the circumstances.
"Don't worry," he said. "I won't."
It felt good to step out into the fresh air. It felt even better to drive with the windows open and let the fresh air rush past him.
There was nothing the matter with him, he kept assuring himself. It was just that Mabel Kern was unappealing; perhaps he was also bugged over what had happened yesterday and the possibility that he might be living with a Lez. A he-man like him! Jesus...
Well, he would prove what a he-man he was.
Another woman who had given him business, and with whom he had screwed around, was Debbie Parker. She owned a swank home on the west side.
He decided to drive out there right now. Maybe she wouldn't be home. On the other hand, maybe she would. If he were to drop in unannounced, his chances for a quick score might be better than if he were to call and allow her an opportunity to think matters over. He and Debbie had enjoyed a rather hot affair for a while, but then he had dropped her, as he had dropped every woman after the initial excitement wore off.
He visualized her beautiful body as he pointed his sports car in the direction of her house. His peter stirred slightly.
There! he thought. That proved there was nothing the matter with him.
He'd been a damned fool to think he could get excited over Mabel Kern. He was a discriminating stud. A woman had to have something in order to interest him.
He parked in front of Debbie's home and walked up the curving strip of concrete to her front door. The lawn was wide and green. Flowers bloomed in profusion along the front of the house.
He rang the bell and waited. There was no response. He rang the bell again.
Just as he was about to give up and go in search of other game, the door opened.
Debbie stood there, her black hair piled up on her head and a terry-cloth robe wrapped about her. She looked surprised to see him.
"Hi, honey," he purred. "I had time on my hands and just thought I'd drop by." He motioned toward her robe. "I didn't get you out of the tub, did I?"
"No. I was sunbathing."
"Great!" he grinned. "Let's both get some of that."
"All right. Come in."
Debbie was a divorcee at the age of twenty-eight. She was tall and trim with real black hair and cone-like breasts. Once Pete got a load of her in the nude again, he would be ready to go, he felt sure.
He followed her through the cool house and out to the patio.
"Are you alone?" he asked. "Yes."
She took off the robe and he stood speechless for a moment. She was totally nude.
Her body was every bit as good as he had remembered.
"Well, why don't you strip down?" she suggested. "There's a high fence around this place, so all you'll have to worry about are planes and helicopters."
"Fll chance them," he said, and began to take off his clothes.
"Why have you been such a stranger, Pete?"
"Oh, you know how it is."
"I thought you'd lost interest."
"Christ, no!" he said enthusiastically, as she bent to adjust the air mattress on which she had been lying, and thereby showed him a rear view of the black-haired pussy which lived between the tops of her thighs.
He couldn't get his clothes off fast enough.
Debbie lay down on her back beside the pool. Her cute tits pointed straight up, the nipples firm and plump as berries. Her curly black V glistened.
He took his shorts away and was rewarded by the pleasant caress of a cool breeze, mingled with the benediction of warm sunshine.
He drew an air mattress over beside hers and reclined on it. His penis was soft.
She asked, "Wanta rub me?"
"Damned right."
She said, "There's a bottle of goo around here somewhere."
He found the plastic container, uncapped it, and squirted a little of the lotion on his palm. He rubbed his hands together.
This will wake up the tiger, he thought confidently as he knelt beside Debbie and began to massage her upper arms and shoulders.
Nothing happened.
His hands slid down onto her resilient tits and he worked them, trapping her tall, stiff nipples between his fingers and squeezing them a little.
Debbie opened her eyes. "You're getting to me," she said. "I thought I'd try a little test and find out if I'd gotten over you. It looks like I haven't."
"I'm glad," Pete said, rolling her nipples between his thumbs and index fingers now.
He looked down at himself. He remained limp.
What the hell ... ?
Debbie's gaze followed his and she remarked, "Maybe you've gotten over me."
"Don't be silly."
Her hand stole to his loins and began fondling him. He still didn't stiffen.
"Pete, are you all right?" she asked.
"Hell, yes!" He was defiant now. He knew he was all right, and yet ...
She lay back, taking her hand from him. He massaged downward on her body. Real apprehension licked at his mind.
What if he really couldn't get a hard-on any more? Christ, that would be a fate worse than death!
He worked the pliant flesh of her middle, watching her belly button wink. He went to her hips, then the mound where her pubic hair grew. Those curls felt wonderful to his fingers.
Yet his pecker still wouldn't come up.
Good Christ! What was he going to do?
A joker would have answered that question with the simple word-nothing. But Pete was in no joking mood. He was desperate.
He gripped one of Debbie's thighs and kneaded it roughly. Her hand went to his loins again and found that he was still soft.
"Pete," she said with a cutting edge to her voice, "don't you think you'd better put some more lotion on your hands? The least you can do is give me a good rub-down."
He jumped to his feet.
She looked up at him, squinting.
She said, "You've been having trouble and you came to see me, thinking I could accomplish something that your wife couldn't. Is that it?"
"No! I haven't been having trouble."
"Well, you sure are now." She closed her eyes and lay back in disgust.
It was true. He was having real trouble, all right. When he couldn't get a bone up for a girl like Debbie, he needed a doctor ... or a psychiatrist.
He started putting his clothes on.
Debbie lay there for a few minutes watching him out of the corner of her eyes, saying nothing. Finally she laughed.
"Goddamnit, shut up!" he snarled.
She shut up ... and got up, her tits quivering tautly. The nipples still stuck out. mocking him.
"Let yourself out through the side gate," she advised, and strolled toward the house, dragging her robe behind her.
Pete could have killed someone-her or himself. If there had been a gun handy, he might have. As it was, he grimly got dressed and returned to his car, and drove to the nearest gin mill.
He got stinking drunk.