Chapter 10
Long before that sweet little book, Happiness is a Warm Puppy, was published, Harley Duke had decided--and stated--that happiness was a warm pussy. "And I don't have any copyright on the idea," he stated modestly to the various members of the party at the Lambersons.
Having decided that the marvelously earthy pair would be as asset at any party, and aware that their time for enjoying their new friends was limited, John and Pam wasted no time in scheduling a get-together that included the three couples they had originally contacted. And everyone, men and women alike, loved the roly-poly little accountant with the big dong and the trenchant humor.
John, listening with the others as Harley stated his personal philosophy, had decided that happiness could be a lot of things. Like no longer taking notes or worrying about tape recorders. Who could ever forget any of these memorable experiences? Happiness, for a fellow so far removed from this type of reality--as John had been when he contemplated this scholarly project--was on-the-job training. And a shifting of balance in methods of evaluation.
"Seriously, folks," Harley was saying, "the cunt is not only mankind's chief joy, it is woman's chief asset. And anyone who knows me will tell you I am no bigot where little side trips are concerned."
Pam's rectum tingled, remembering her experience of a few days before, and John, who had had the amazingly pleasant experience of having his cock briefly in Harley's mouth, inwardly applauded the likeable little hedonist.
"Look at this," Harley said, flipping pages in an old issue of Cosmophile magazine. "Here's an article by a lady named Carolyn See--it's all sex. And it's all straight--man-on-woman, no blow jobs, even, no butt-fucking. Maybe that's editorial policy--probably is--but it proves my point. Writers, editors, even dumb-shit publishers, place cunt first."
His wife, her magnificent ass spread comfortably on the floor as she leaned her blonde head against the voluptuously spread thighs of Marina Fredericks--"So I can be just a tongue's length from this little goody jar," Christine had said, pressing her fingers into the little brunette's dark-fringed cunt--looked admiringly at her husband.
"But he sees cunts everywhere," she said. "Remember that picture in Playboy, Harley? The lady sitting sideways in the big chair? You saw fourteen places where she could be fucked. Remember?"
"I saw seventeen places," Harley corrected her sternly.
Everyone laughed, but the women looked curiously at each other, and John, his scholar's mind intrigued, said: "How about running down the list?"
"Well," Harley grinned, basking in the attention, "take the standard places, that's three. I should say that this lady was sitting with her face up on one chair arm, her hands around her knees, in a sort of fetal position, and she was what the Jewish people call zaftig--you know, a lot of woman."
"Overweight?" ventured Pam, but Harley shook his head.
"No. Just right," Harley insisted. Melissa passed through the room, getting dinner ready and wearing only a frilly apron across the lower part of her belly. "Like Melissa," he said. "Come here, Melissa," he requested. "Put your arms down at your sides. Now," he said, pointing to the sweet, triangular puff of flesh at her armpit, "see how that's creased? Just like a tiny cunt, right? And the armpit's the warmest spot on the outside of the body. So, right straight under that little cunt-like spot, into the armpit. That makes five. Sit down here, Melissa."
He arranged the girl as he wanted her, her tits in plain view under her arms, which held the big globes up on her chest.
"Now," he said, a lecturer deep in his favorite subject, "under the arm and across the top of the tit. Beautiful! Two of them--that makes seven. And then, under each boob, where they lie on the ribs--nine--and between the boobs, pushing forward, toward the face, or the other way--that's eleven."
"But your ass would be right in my face," Melissa protested, making a disapproving expression. "Heading south, that is."
"You're young, yet, baby," Harley chortled. "Don't knock it unless you've tried it!"
Carol Malone, sitting on the floor in a position not too unlike that of her daughter, and mentally following Harley's discourse with interest, felt small ripples of warmth run all through her. Even lacking Melissa's curves, some of which were, unquestionably, baby fat, she could handle these assignments.
She thought of this neat little man's smooth asscheeks at her chin, and licked her lips, picturing how his asshole would open slightly as he fucked between her full breasts, held tightly together by her own hands. She felt a tremor of muscle in her vagina, and rocked on the shag carpet, tickling her exposed inner lips. I'll have some of that, she vowed mentally.
"See this crease here?" Harley asked, sawing his finger into the warm fold where the girl's abdomen telescoped into her rib cage. "Lovely! One on each side. Thirteen. Her navel--not much, really, but a warm, deep navel is fun, sometimes. Fourteen."
He paused, thinking, and Jim Mai one said: "Harley's running out of places. Maybe Chris was right."
"Not at all," Harley said. "I hate to admit it, but it was I who overlooked something. It's eighteen."
He got up and stood behind Melissa's head. "Put your head down on your shoulders, dear," he said, laying his prick, now getting hard, at the base of the girl's neck. Melissa's head came down, her soft jawline, her pink ear, pressed against the top of it. "That's warm and soft and close--and a girl's ear makes wonderful friction," he said wistfully, pumping back and forth, the by* glans coming right out along the corner of Melissa's mouth. "And just as you start to pop your nuts, the girl, if she's thinking right, can grab it and lip it--Jesus!" he exclaimed, as a small, clear drop leaked from the slitted eye in the glans. "Leggo, Melissa--or get ready to suck!"
The laughing girl raised her head. "Two sides to that question," she remarked. "That makes sixteen. How about the other two?"
Harley helped her out of the chair. "Lie down here, baby," he instructed. "Pull your legs away up, close together. That's it! Oh, wow! Lovely! Lovely!"
The girl's ass looked much bigger than its normally generous size, due to the spread as the top of her thighs met her belly. The creases under the buttocks disappeared. There was simply a gorgeously wide expanse of smooth, pink-white flesh, divided by the deep crease of her ass, her fat, red-furred cuntlips, drawn into a long, purse-lipped closure, creating a mouthwatering bull's-eye.
Harley pushed a pillow under Melissa's back, and held her ankles together with one hand, pushing them back, emphasizing the length of the stretched pussy.
He knee-walked up to his warm area, silently pointing to the thin stream of juice which trickled through the clamped cuntlips. "Melissa is with it," he chuckled, and she answered: "Hell, yes--and I think I've got a little action coming to me. For being a guinea pig," she giggled.
"Watch this," Harley demanded. "I lay my cock right here, and I push right up the slot. Not into the hole--that's been counted already. But just inside the lips, shoving hard to get through the thighs. Boy!" he whispered. "This is great--looking at all this stuff," and he gently touched the area of the asshole and the entrance to her vagina, pinching the soft, fat outer lips gently together. "And shoving in between those warm, smooth thighs!" He rocked gently. There was a responsive trembling in the firm thighs, and Melissa made a long, sighing sound, rocking as well as she could with Harley holding her ankles.
"Does that feel good, chickie?" he asked, and, as she nodded her ass in affirmation, he cried: "Look! She's ready to come!" But no one answered.
There had been a stir of action, a rustle of quietly moving bodies, from the time Harley had gotten to numbers six and seven.
John, sitting with legs spread wide and braced on his outstretched arms, was watching, entranced, as Carol, her red hair gathered in a pony tail, crouched on hands and knees, rubbing her long, full boobs warmly up and down his prick. He listened to her fast, shallow breathing for a few seconds and then, unwilling to see her heat go to waste, tumbled her on her back, moving between her strong white thighs.
"I'll go along with numero uno," he whispered. He reached a hand to part her tangle of red pubic hair, but she forestalled him, taking the length of his cock in her hand, rubbing it up and down to open the cuntlips and pick up lubrication, so that he sank into her all in one motion, their sighs simultaneous.
Del and Pam were balling an arm's length away. Christine had her wonderful thighs across big Jim Malone's loins, riding happily up and down on his cock, and little Marina, her wet and open cunt pasted against Jim's foot, was hunching back and forth, bracing her left arm against Christine's moving rump, licking at the bald cunt, and gently squeezing Jim's balls with her right hand.
The plowing underside of Harley's cock was giving an indescribably beautiful sensation to Melissa's pink inner lips, just as the closeness of her generous thighs was putting a loving demand on the entire length of his tool. And, at each forward push, his glans was stopped by the end of her split, to the blazing pleasure of her leaping clit.
Her mind was far up in the clouds, waiting for the wave of heat to focus and burst in orgasm, and she suddenly clamped her thighs even closer together, broke his hold on her ankles, and squirmed up, keeping the warm friction of his glans on her clit. Engulfed in the hot, enclosing darkness of pleasure, she lifted her ass even higher, and luck or instinct pulled his cock out from between her thighs and lips, and caught it in the spasming opening to her vagina, all in a split second.
He had been on the thin edge of coming ever since he began to assess her voluptuous young body, and now he fell all over her, sweeping her big tits up between his arms, sinking his face into them and biting, licking, sucking as they slithered this way and that. Her pussy, hot and slick and craving, was tight enough to lick his foreskin back and grind the exposed glans between writhing young muscle and her hard and girlish cervix, and the leaping bundle of hot, lusting flesh milked him of his sperm as his big cock jerked in tremendous spasms, jetting the overheated fluids into her in throbs that exactly matched her own.
She lay quiet and relaxed, in a kind of delirium, and suddenly cried: "Oh, Daddy Jim! Thank you! Thank you!"
The others, finished and watching in awe, looked at each other inquiringly, and Melissa, still half out of it but realizing her slip, turned to Carol and cried: "Oh, Mom--I'm sorry! But it was just the same way that Jim fucked me my first time! Honest! Wasn't it, Jim?"
It was obvious that Jim and Carol were putting their wagons in a circle, as it were, with both looking uneasy and defiant. Carol moved to help her daughter up to a sitting position, putting a motherly hand across her child's red-haired delta, getting her fingers smeared with Harley's semen.
"All right," Carol said sharply. "I'm the person Ruth Gruner hired to be your housekeeper! But I couldn't very well cook for you, take your money, and carouse with you! Could I? So I sent Melissa. Don't worry, baby!" she comforted the sobbing Melissa. "You didn't do anything wrong. Where's your dress? I think maybe we'd better go!"
John stumbled over Jim Malone to get to his wife. "Whoa, Carol!" he said, going down to his knees to put an arm around her shoulders. "What's all the shooting about? How in hell could you think any of us would judge you harshly? You and Jim--Melissa, too--you've all been so wonderful and warm and kind to Pam and me--strangers until a few days ago! You're only wrong about one thing. Of course you could cook for us and fuck, too!" He laughed kindly. "Fuck the money--it's not even ours. It's school money, put up for a worthy cause." He thought for a moment of explaining the worthy cause, but ducked the issue.
"What could be worthier than fine food and fucking?" he asked, his face in a wide smile. "But Melissa has been a wonderful substitute." He looked at Pam.
"If you're as good a cook as your daughter, you have to be great," Pam teased. "And John, with that dumb analytical mind of his, has been rating all of us. And he says Melissa's as good a screw as any of us old bags!" She laughed, patting Melissa on one of her smooth thighs. "As a matter of fact, he has you and Melissa exactly even--right down to the last decimal!" She winked at big Jim, who grinned sheepishly.
"He's dead right," Jim acknowledged. "I've been fucking them both for four years, and one's as good as the other."
After that, the ice was not only broken--as Del and Marina said--it was completely thawed. "And turned to steam," Del laughed, his fingers straying along Carol's breasts.
It had become quite dark, and they played games in the brightly lighted kitchen for the benefit of the watchers up above. For only one, really, since Harley, using his pull at the courthouse, had had Deputy Sam Rovere sent on a wild goose chase to a far comer of the county. "And the dispatcher won't send him any calls, either," Harley laughed.
So each of the men, after Carol and Melissa had been placed on the heavy kitchen table, shoved their pricks into mother and daughter, and all of them vowed there was no difference in dimension, heat, juice, or muscular control. Harley professed to find slightly more grip in Carol's twat, but, with an accountant's passion for accuracy, said that it was offset by Melissa's cuntlips wrapping around his cock. Nobody took him seriously.
They played another game for the benefit of the lonely woman who, they were sure, was watching.
One of the gourmet dishes Melissa had devised was a big bowl of small, soft, delicious fish dumplings, swimming in a rich white sauce flavored with grated cheese and sherry.
They turned the young chef front side up on the table, stuffed her pleased pussy full of the little slick fishballs, and one by one, everyone taking part, they sucked them out again. And Melissa, touched and grateful because she was, after all, the extra woman, came time and time again, with screams and struggles adding to the fun.
After he had sucked out four of the delightful little treats, John slipped out into the dark patio, turning his binoculars toward the dim outlines of the Rovere house. He had felt a mild regret at the frustration they were putting his ex-wife through, but, as the powerful glasses showed her figure glued to the telescope, some devil of retribution caught him up.
Without looking up toward the Rovere place, he turned a big floodlamp on, standing in its full brightness, stroking his hardening cock, making a spotlighted picture for Helen.
And his triumph was complete when Christine, curious about his absence, brought her big, lovely body out to add more spice to the tableau. John's imagination was inflamed.
First, whispering to Christine the reasons for his miming, he turned her in various positions to display her noteworthy pussy in all its bald lushness, fingering it, laying his cock alongside it as though measuring, and finally dropping to his knees to push his mouth into its hairless folds.
As a finale, she stood facing toward the darkness of the hillside, putting one foot up to rest on a redwood planter box, while John, more interested now in the cunt before him than in the lonely one on the hill, fucked her standing up.