textfiles/sex/EROTICA/T/tangled.txt

Archive-name: 3plus/tangled.txt
Archive-author: 
Archive-title: What a Tangled Web...


- GEORGE - 
     George didn't look like a young Paul Newman, or even like Robert 
Redford. George just looked like George.
     Not bad-looking, but not good-looking either. His face was not 
one to turn a girl's head from across the room. But, then again, it was 
a nice face. Nothing extraordinary, but at least it didn't stop clocks.
     George was no Rudolph Valentino either. His love life sucked. 
Not that he didn't try; he did. He tried all the time. But his success 
with the female gender usually approached zero.
     His body was fair, tending to put on an extra pound, but not to 
the point of being chubby, yet.
     George's problem was meeting the fair sex.
     He'd tried everything, and nothing seemed to work  for  him.
Everyone else he knew was screwing left and right, and George's only 
fucking was his handy right hand. Not that he minded jacking off; as a 
matter of fact, he loved it, was good at it, practiced at least twice a 
day, and built some very good fantasy's while pulling on his cock. But 
it was still not near as good as a girl. 
     George was an automotive sales clerk at a national parts chain, 
and didn't meet any ladies where he worked, not counting his boss's 
wife, the bookkeeper, whose name was Thelma and weighed at least 350 
pounds. Thelma had rolls of fat standing on top of rolls of fat. From a 
mole at the side of her jaw  grew two hairs that wiggled when she 
talked.
     Thelma liked George, and liked to bend over showing him  the
cleavage between her pillow-sized breasts, but George wasn't interested 
in fucking her. Too dangerous with her husband the boss, and too much 
fat.
     George spent his time in the shopping mall book stores, looking 
at the shelves of the self-improvement books, buying those that caught 
his fancy, hoping to find the secret of meeting and fucking girls.
     Most of the books were a waste of his money and time, but George 
had a lot of time.
     The books said that if you wanted to meet  girls  that  were
interested in doing what you wanted to do, then go to the places that 
shared a mutual interest. George was interested in fucking, and he 
didn't know where to go to find the girls who were also interested in 
fucking.
     The bars and cocktail lounges made George feel very ill at ease. 
Everyone there seemed to have more than a normal mouthful of teeth, and 
they laughed and smiled at nothing and everything. Everyone else seemed 
very confident that they belonged in the lounges, and George was well 
aware that he didn't belong.
     George was also shy. No small-talk to speak of, unable to kid 
his way through a conversation with a new lady, his bright remarks just 
sounded silly when he finally opened his mouth. His female bar-side 
companion would lose interest and turn to talk to the fellow who looked 
like a football star on her other side, and George would watch them 
leave the lounge arm in arm.
     George knew they were off to a rousing sexual encounter, while 
he sucked on his scotch and water, hating the taste, feeling it lay 
there in his belly, fumes rising. The worst part was the going home 
alone, drunk, room spinning until he put one foot from the bed to the 
floor to stop the spin.
     George went to concerts, football games, the dog races, horse 
races, flea markets and any place else that people gathered, to meet 
that special someone that would take him home and fuck his brains out.
     George didn't want a relationship, George wanted to fuck. In a 
relationship, George would have to take his girlfriend out sometimes, 
and buy her presents on her birthday, and remember the anniversary of 
when they met and all that crap, and all he really wanted to do was 
fuck.
     He even stooped so low as to ask Thelma if she knew a nice girl 
he could meet.
     Thelma said he didn't need a nice girl, he needed a girl  to
screw, and the hairs wiggled when she laughed at him, deep shadows 
between the huge breasts shaking with her laughter. Thelma was a bawdy 
bitch.
     George hated the weekends, Sunday being the worst. Except for 
the fat paper, he had nothing to do on Sunday, and worst of all, nobody 
to do it with.
     Late Saturday night, almost Sunday morning, George was bored 
with the TV, feeling cabin fever setting in.
     Saturday night was shit night for TV. Nothing but old movies, 
seen many times, and the comedies with canned laughter, and George 
didn't feel like laughing; he felt like screwing. He wanted his dick 
deep into some warm hairy snatch, wet up to his balls, his face pressed 
deeply into a pair of firm breasts, fucking his brains out.
     Moving from the shower, drops splattering the bathroom floor, 
hunting for a clean towel, then into the bedroom closet to find a clean 
shirt.
     Of the three hanging on the closet bar, all worn before, George 
sniffed at the armpits. Sour, old perspiration odors.
     "That takes the cake," George muttered. "Before I  can  find
something to fuck, I've got to wash clothes."
     Not that George had ever found anything to fuck when he went out 
looking for pussy. On the contrary. The only fuck George had ever had in 
his life was paid for. A prostitute who had propositioned George in a 
bar, and had complained bitterly while he was fucking her that he was 
taking up all of her time, and wasn't he done yet because she had other 
customers.
     He had never had a girlfriend, unless you counted Liz, who in 
the seventh grade asked George to go steady. It had lasted three weeks, 
and then Liz asked somebody else to go steady.
     Digging through the overfilled hamper, George knew every last 
piece of clothing except his gray slacks needed washing.
     Filling a plastic garbage sack with the soiled clothing, picking 
up the old socks scattered around the bed, clutching the garbage bag in 
one hand, George wandered through his apartment gathering shirts from 
the living room, shorts from the dining room and dish towels from the 
kitchen, stuffing the garbage bag full.
     House keeping wasn't really George's thing. Hell, nobody ever 
came over to see him anyway, so why keep the place neat?
     He pulled the gray slacks over his naked rump; no clean shorts. 
Slid his sockless feet into his leather jogging shoes.
     Pulled his only clean tee shirt (the one with  Mickey  Mouse
holding up one hand, purchased at the flea market, and one size too big 
for him) over his shoulders and head, George filled his pockets with 
change, a comb, car keys, wallet and reached into the drawer to add a 
pack of rubbers, just in case, to his shirt pocket.
     George was on his fifth pack of rubbers, had never used any, but 
wore out the packages carrying them around, until the contents became 
gummy in the Miami heat.
     George glanced at his watch as he pulled into the lot by the 
washermat, calculating time. A half hour if he used three washers to 
clean his clothes, another half hour to forty-five minutes to dry. It 
would be after two a.m. when he finished.
      George fed dollar bills into the changer, quarters into the 
soap machine, and quarters into the washers, stuffing his clothes into 
the three white machines carelessly.
     "You really ought to wash the whites in one machine and  the
dark's in another."
     George looked.
     A tousled haired, undersized gamin. Blonde curls spraying from 
her head, tight Gloria Vanderbilt jeans and a lumberjack plaid shirt. 
Smiling with her mouth, but her eyes frowning. Standing with one hand 
casually on her hip, she was inspecting the contents of his washers.
     "You work here?"
     "No, but I wash here when my washer at home is on the blink, and 
it is tonight, and your clothes won't come clean if you mix the dark's 
and the white's."
     She didn't look like she had any tits at all, but then again, 
with that lumber jack shirt that was way too big for her slight body, it 
was hard to tell. But her face was pretty.
     George resigned himself to pulling  his  clothing  from  the
machines and piling up whites and darks in two piles, and the ones he 
wasn't too sure about in the third pile.
     "If you're going to wash that shirt, you'd better  take  the
matches out of your top pocket," indicating with feminine pointed 
fingertip the packet of rubbers.
     "They aren't matches. I don't smoke."
     Her head cocked, "They look like matches, the pack is the same 
size as matches, whatever could it be if it's not matches?"
     George's adam's apple moved, wondering if she knew what  was
inside the packet.
     "It's just something for men."
     "Couldn't it also be something for women too, with lubricated 
tips?" She giggled, flirting with him and then moved away.
     George watched her body sway, ass moving fluidly as she walked 
across the washermat to another washing machine, wondering if she really 
had guessed the packet's contents.
     She bent over, stiff backed, across the tiled floor, putting her 
clothes into the front loading washer, jeans molding to her trim ass. 
Almost heart-shaped, an upside-down heart, her ass waved at him across 
the room. George's cock jumped inside his loose slacks. Raising like a 
cobra seeking a victim, head flaring like a cobra hood, throbbing in his 
slacks, demanding to be let loose.
     George had visions of standing behind her, sliding his prick 
into the sweet wet cavern, holding on to those slim rounded hips as he 
slipped his pounding prick up her cunt.
     He turned away, fantasy building, his cock leaping to his heart 
beat, almost feeling her softness surrounding his prick. Sorting clothes 
aimlessly while he imagined the sweaty feel of her buttocks pressed to 
his groin, his hands cupping her ass while he plunged and dug his hefty 
cock between the smartly cleft cheeks of her ass.
     "You want to put yours in with mine?"
     George's head whipped back. Visions of her soft voice asking him 
to slip his prick up inside her soft snatch.
     "What?"
     "I said, do you want to put your clothes in with mine? I have a 
light load here, do you have a heavy load?"
     George's mind spun, his lips tightened. His mind wanting to tell 
her just how heavy his load was, and that it was any heavier, his balls 
would be hanging to his knees, the size of grapefruit.
     "Well, do you want to do it, or not?"
     Of course he wanted to do it. Gawd, how he wanted to do it. His 
cock thudded inside his slacks, seeking freedom.
     He nodded weakly as she pulled a small batch of very  female
lingerie to pile it on top of the machine. Lace around the leg bands, 
wisps of material that wouldn't hide anything. Panties sprawled over the 
antiseptic white top of the washer.
     "We'll put our things together, and they'll be done at the same 
time."
     George's eyes devoured the soft pile of panties, brassieres, and 
other very female silky, wispy scraps of clothing that had hidden her 
very secret places.
     A soft curly hair, light brown, almost blonde, clung to  the
crotch band of one pair of panties, woven into the silky fabric like 
some perverse weaver had spent a pleasant moment sliding the curly 
spring to engage the warp and woof of the silkworm's product.
     His initial thoughts of no tits, changed. Her tits were very 
obviously there, and the still-rounded brassiere's pouches of lust lying 
next to his shorts implied the fullness.
     She flipped open the top of the washer as George gathered his 
shorts with her lingerie.
     Her head turned away, and George moved his head to sniff the 
fragrance of her panties, heady aroma of healthy female. His cock 
lurched and George felt the beginnings of a juicy flow of lubrication 
slipping from the hole in his flare-headed cock.
     Dumping the lingerie into the washer, George watched her bending 
to add the soap, her lumber jack shirt splitting down the  front,
swelling breasts and dark cleft between almost exposed at the angle his 
eyes used, even standing on tiptoes to peer further down the secret 
opening, glimpsing, or thinking he was glimpsing the beginning of a soft 
pink nipple until she closed the gap by straightening up.
     George fed his quarters to the machine, which burped and ground 
into motion. Thumping away in sexual rhythm, mixing George's boxer 
shorts with the wispy lingerie.
     "We didn't introduce ourselves, I'm Linda."
     "George."
     George felt her soft palm snuggle into his as she shook his hand 
briefly, the contact urging his cobra to spitting more venom on the 
inside of George's gray slacks, while the cobra hood pressed against the 
confining fabric, bulging out in a horizontal tent, and incidentally 
leaking the spermy liquid oozing through his trousers in a spreading 
circular stain.
     "Anything else to wash?" Her eyes noting the tent.
     "I can't wash these, they're all I have on."
     "Nothing under?" her eyes moving to the front of his trousers, 
noting the spreading stain and the material moving with  thudding
heartbeats beneath the thin fabric.
     "No."
     "I don't suppose you'd like to go in the restroom and take them 
off, and I could wash them for you?"
     "I'd have to stay there until they were dry."
     "You could go into a stall, and I could come in and talk  to
you."
     "I don't think so."
     "Now look here, you have a stain on your pants, and they need 
washing, and you need somebody to take care of you, now go on in there 
and take off your pants like a good boy."
     Inside the stall, George removed his pants, standing in  his
shoes and shirt, feeling foolish as he handed his trousers over the top 
to Linda.
     Moments later, sitting on the stool, George heard the door open 
again and Linda's voice.
     "They're in the washer with my undies."
     "Good."
     George could see Linda through the crack by the latch, his cock 
standing from his lap, straining to get at the girl. Moving his head, 
George could see her slim figure moving, past the narrow crack in the 
door jamb as she began talking about her washer at home breaking down.
     His fantasy started building. Linda, overheated  with  lust,
desiring his body, wanting to jump on his bones, removing her lumberjack 
shirt, breasts standing and bobbling on her chest, nipples puckered at 
attention.
     Linda tugging and pulling at the tight jeans, drawing them over 
the curves of her hips to bare the thatch of pussy hair between her 
legs. His hand curled around his cock, slowly masturbating as his eyes 
watched her, hearing only patches of her voice as his fantasy of fucking 
her grew.
     "... thing went out again, and the repairman can't come out and 
fix it until ..."
     His hand slipped faster and faster, oozing liquid beginning to 
run over the cleft glans and make his fingers slippery. He tuned out her 
voice, fantasy over reality, imagining the feeling of running his 
fingers over the full curve of her thigh, sliding into that sweet little 
honey pocket of her cunt.
     "... had to come here or else I wouldn't have any clean panties 
for work Monday, and I have ....."
     The feeling of intense pleasure growing.
     "... are you doing in there? You're breathing funny!"
     George stopped stroking, fantasy fading quickly.
     "Just listening to you talk, was all."
     "It didn't sound like it."
     "Well, I was."
     A couple of tentative strokes, and then  back  to  a  steady
movement up and down the length of his hard prick, jacking off and 
listening to her voice, the fantasy building again, trying to control 
his rasping breath.
     "... said that I ought to go out more,  but  it  seems  that
everybody that I meet is either ..."
     George's hand moved to slide the slippery oozing lubricating 
juice to coat the entire head of his dong, so that his fingers could 
slip over the swelling knob even faster.
     "I wonder what she'd do if I opened the door and invited her 
in?" Fantasy at white-hot energy level, warp eight.
     His balls swelled, George feeling the hot sperm shooting up the 
narrow channel, as he leaned back harder against the raised top lid of 
the toilet, his feet braced on the floor, body stiffening as he readied 
his cock in one hand to shoot his hot spermy contents.
     Freezing, seeing Linda's face pressed to the crack in the door, 
peering in with one eye as his prick spurted hot silver liquid in 
pulsing rhythm to his still milking movements.
     Her eye centered at the crack, peering in nearsightedly, making 
out his fist curled around his pounding prick, hand clutching as the 
liquid spurted in ropey strings from the end of his cock to splatter in 
the cement floor.
     "You bastard, you're jacking off in there, aren't you?"
     "Well, just a little bit. You made me horny."
     "I was going to take you home with me and screw you, and you 
bastard, you jacked off instead. You'd rather jack off than fuck me?"
     George heard the bathroom door slam, sitting naked on the pot, 
feeling very foolish, waiting.
     Unrolling six sheets of paper, George wiped the end of his wet 
prick, annoyed when the paper stuck to his cock, cementing the coarse 
cheap paper to the soft skin of his prick with the sticky residue of his 
sperm.
     "Whatever possessed me to jack off like that?" Silently.
     George's mind backed up, rear bumper lights flashing, reviewing 
his action in the john, pumping his prick to orgasm while Linda stood 
outside, talking. Thinking about what it would be like to fuck her, 
instead of trying to fuck her.
     Stupid!
     And she'd said she was going to take him home and fuck him.
     The bathroom door flew open with a bang.
     "Your goddamn clothes are in the dryer, here's  your  pants,
thanks for a nice evening."
     Anger and frustration in her voice as the door slammed again, 
his gray trousers sailing over the top of the door, falling on George's 
head, draping foolishly, still warm from the dryer, but damp at the belt 
line.
     He didn't know what to say, sitting silent and miserable.
     He could almost hear her telling her girlfriends at work the 
story of this guy jerking off in the toilet, and hearing them laugh. 
Visualizing several pretty girls gathered around Linda, giggling at the 
antics of a clod jerking off instead of screwing.
     Dressed again, the washermat empty, George gathered his clean, 
dry, warm laundry, filling the crumpled garbage bag, noting that Linda's 
clothes and Linda had disappeared.
     Driving back to the apartment, his dick itched, irritated by the 
still clinging toilet paper. 

- LINDA - 
     Angry was a good word, but frustrated was even better. Sexually 
frustrated.
     It was bad enough being driven into actively hunting for a man, 
any man, but what was even worse was finding an attractive man to screw 
and then being turned down!
     That damned George last night was a classic example  of  how
stupid men were when it came right down to the nitty gritty of raw 
sexual longing, and Linda tossed her head disgustedly, remembering.
     Linda would begin to think that she knew something about men, 
and would be able to manipulate the man of her sexual choice, when bang, 
something like last night would happen and Linda thought that she was 
back on square one, like a high school freshman, wanting to screw but 
not knowing how to go about getting someone that was interested.
     There must be rules in the gamebook that she hadn't read. It was 
not unlike sitting down and playing Blackjack in a casino without being 
sure of the cards or the rules. Really frustrating!
     Most of the time she didn't think all that much about sex. Oh, 
she'd have liked to have a boyfriend, and maybe get married some day, 
but not right now, thank you kindly. The pressure of having a steady 
boyfriend was more of a burden than she wanted.
     It was nice to have someone for the Friday night after work, 
relaxing, letting down after the pressures of the work week, and maybe a 
nice dinner out on Saturday night or even a Sunday afternoon lying in 
bed for a rainy day-type of sexual exertion, getting her brains fucked 
out. Snoozing a while while the world turned slowly past the half-closed 
eyelids until a slowly awakening lust opened her myopic blue eyes, and 
drove her into some sweetly exciting hot, sexual exploration. But Linda 
found the problems generated by a steady boyfriend -- always wanting to 
come over and just lay around, maybe watching a football game on the 
tube, which bored her out of her mind -- to be more than she wanted to 
handle.
     Not only that, but they always took over ownership of her body, 
and then her mind, not letting her have enough freedom to be herself 
and-- 
     It just wasn't worth the hassle!
     Not that Linda didn't like sex; she certainly did! She liked 
everything about sex. She liked the warmth and the smooth feeling of 
having her stomach knot up when she came, and the slippery wetness 
between her thighs. She liked the taste and smell of sex, the rosy hue 
her body achieved during a long, heavy sexual encounter, and  the
exciting exploration of a new lover's body.
     One of her previous boyfriends, Tony, used to fuck her  into
submission and then, when she couldn't stand it anymore, the Italian 
stallion would pull his prick out and spray his sperm over her breasts, 
driving her right up the wall with ecstasy.
     The hot spraying juice spurting out before her eyes, and the 
feeling of it hitting and clinging to her tits would bring her to a 
series of multiple orgasms that rippled her whole body like a piece of 
cloth hanging on a line in the wind.
     When he would dip his stubby finger into his liquid, and wipe 
his finger in her mouth, Linda would start gasping for breath, her eager 
tongue lapping at the still-hot juice, savoring, while her loins churned 
and spasmed with a muscle cramping-intensity.
     But they'd broken up when he'd started treating her like they 
were already married, and coming over in old jeans, not showering and 
having the weekend of stubble on his face, and she couldn't stand it.
     What she didn't like was not being able to have sex when she 
wanted it, without all of the strings that seemed to be attached to all 
of her relationships. Linda knew her body intimately, every curve and 
hollow, sometimes laying in bed for hours caressing and teasing herself. 
Once, on a lazy Sunday afternoon, she'd placed a new set of batteries in 
her pink plastic vibrator and used it continually, mostly between her 
thighs but over her breasts and the rest of her body, too, until the 
goddamn batteries went dead.
     Next time she purchased a vibrator, the damn thing better work 
on house current, and not depend on batteries! Dead batteries were also 
frustrating.
     Sex was addictive. Once she started having sex, she wanted more 
and more, and there didn't seem to be any such thing as an overdose. But 
when she wasn't getting laid often, then she kind of forgot about sex -- 
except for the few days just before her period, when her glands were 
secreting female hormones, driving her out of her mind wanting to get 
fucked.
     Like right now!
     Last night she'd fiddled around, even breaking down and calling 
a few male friends, delving through her personal phone book, to get no-
answer ringing, and once, a woman answering the phone at  an  old
boyfriend's number; Linda had hung up.
     She had so much nervous energy that she'd  decided  to  wash
clothes, and then the goddamn fucking washing machine made the same 
grinding sounds, and she knew it was a case of calling the mechanic and 
another round of headaches getting the goddamn thing fixed again.
     Another damn trip to the laundromat!
     She'd brushed her hair, slipped a pair of soft soled shoes on, 
and gathered up her undies and jeans and blouses into a big pile, which 
she stuffed into the mesh laundry bag.
     On second thought, she kicked off her shoes, pulling her jeans 
off, stripping the panties from her hips and tossing them into the pile, 
along with her brassiere. Might just as well wash everything now, since 
one never knew how long it would take to get her machine fixed, did one?
     Nude, she stared in the mirrors on the sliding doors of her walk 
in closet, turning her head, cocking it on the side, looking frankly at 
her figure.
     Slim, elegant, and exciting, she thought. Sometimes she wished 
her tits were bigger, but then again, they certainly didn't sag and 
there wasn't a crease at the bottom to gather sweat, and she'd not had 
any complaints, ever. She decided she liked her breasts. Pink nipples 
peaking almost to points that would thicken with lust when she was 
aroused, but blending smoothly into the surrounding skin when her libido 
wasn't all that excited.
     Now they were just half-peaked, half-excited, and no one here to 
do anything about getting them into full hardness. Too bad for them.
     Stomach flat, and she sucked it in even more, looking critically 
at the swelling of her smooth lower abdomen, seeing that the deep breath 
and holding her stomach muscles flat raised her breasts and made her 
figure look even better. She raised up, standing on her toes as if she 
were wearing heels, watching the further tightening of her slim legs, 
the muscles writhing smoothly under the soft skin. Most attractive, she 
thought. If I were into girls, I'd like to try my hand at this one, or 
maybe my head. A wicked giggle escaped.
     Curly dark-blonde triangle nestled between the swelling of her 
thighs, the fur protruding. Luxuriant growth; bushy might even be a 
better word. More might be better Linda thought, remembering  the
cushioning her muff gave her when some over eager lover was really 
pounding his cock into her, his belly and groin hitting her between her 
thighs. Then the bushy mound would act as a shock-absorbing mat. Not 
that she really had thought about it all that much while it was going 
on, but the next day, when the soreness of bruised flesh complained from 
the hard banging, her eyes would go upwards, thanking whoever was 
running the show for equipping her with a full bush of hair between her 
legs.
     She ran one finger through her curls, feeling the soft pliable, 
flesh, the opening slitted long between her thighs, the moistness and 
heat being radiated out, sensing the gathering moisture making the 
hidden, slotted, lipped opening even more slippery as she wiggled her 
finger over the bump.
     Jesus, I've got to stop now, or I'll never get those fucking 
clothes washed. Her mind was steaming to match her pussy.
     Linda slid the closet door open, pulling her Gloria Vanderbilt 
jeans from a hanger, standing on one leg, inserting the other, hopping 
from one foot to the other to pull them over the swelling of her hips 
and ass. Unable to close the zipper on the form fitted jeans, she lay 
face up on the bed, pulling in her already flat stomach, arms awkward 
and akimbo, pulling and tugging on the stubborn zipper, slowly tooth by 
tooth dragging it higher in the track until she could snap the metal 
button at the top.
     Jumping from the bed she pulled her plaid shirt from the closet, 
feeling the soft wool cling to her, opening the metal button again, 
stuffing her plaid shirt, then struggling to fasten the button, face a 
little red from the trial.
     Spinning, looking at her ass in the mirror, the denim  cloth
clinging to her butt, no panty line showing for the simple reason of no 
panties. Attractive, she thought. Nice ass, she thought.
     And the wool dark green plaid shirt brought out the highlights 
of her naturally curly blonde hair. The hair she'd paid a fortune to 
have naturally curled about once every two months at the beauty parlor.
     She smoothed the wrinkles in the bed and tossed the  pillows
again, in case she was lucky and met someone tonight and brought him 
home with her, it was always nicer to start with a smooth bed, and 
rumple it up with loving.
     Deciding her make-up was fine, Linda grabbed her mesh bag and 
turned out the bedroom light. Leaving on one living-room light, she 
carefully locked the door, both the top and bottom lock, the deadbolt 
that had been installed by the guy who didn't wear a shirt and had a 
cute butt, who she'd teased until he'd fucked her.
     Driving to the laundromat, her mind went back to that summer 
day.
     Remembering - June, no, July, sometime after the Fourth, she 
called a locksmith after the house down the street had been ripped off 
by someone who'd slipped a plastic card into the jamb and opened the 
front door. The house was a shambles, with all kinds of things stolen, 
and she'd gotten scared and called the locksmith from the Yellow Pages.
     He'd arrived in a battered white van, no shirt, burly chest and 
a tight ass with buns. She liked buns.
     He had convinced her to put in an expensive deadbolt, explaining 
how difficult it would be for anyone to get in, serious eyes staring 
into hers until she felt the animal heat growing in her loins and had 
decided to seduce him, or let him seduce her -- whichever, as long as 
she got laid.
     It had cost her for three deadbolts, one front, one back, and 
one on the sliding glass doors of her bedroom leading to the enclosed 
patio. But later he'd taken the labor off the bill, so she'd really done 
well in the money department.
     While he had drilled the door and the jamb for the lock on the 
front door, she'd hurried to her bedroom and pulled the vertical blinds 
full open, tossing a two-piece bathing suit on the bed and aimlessly 
moving around the bedroom with the lights on, every light on, until she 
could see him on the patio working on the back door. Then she kind of 
nonchalantly undressed as if she didn't realize that he could see her 
getting naked. Teasing him from twenty feet away.
     He didn't stare, but even though his head was turned to the door 
jamb as if he was really inspecting the wood, she could see his eyes 
fastening to her nude body moving back and forth in the bedroom as she 
hung her clothes, brushed her hair looking in the mirror, and got her 
bathing suit on.
     He was watching, alright!
     She could see his tight jeans at the crotch, and wondered if he 
had a hard yet.
     She'd wandered out onto the patio, slinking into the deck chair 
facing him, watching him work, following the shifting of his muscles 
while he drilled the pattern out of the jamb and fitted the metal 
deadbolt on the back door, the hot sun making him sweat.
     She kept moving her body, trying to make sure he paid attention 
to her, watching the lump of maleness at the junction of faded material 
of his jeans to ascertain if it was swelling.
     She'd sat, turned over and untied the top of her suit, lying 
back down -- but not before he could glimpse the naked swelling of her 
breasts -- looking back at him from under the crook of one folded elbow, 
eyes hidden, catching him staring.
     He was certainly interested, and interesting!
     The teasing was getting  her  really  aroused,  feeling  the
slipperiness gathering between her thighs, almost hearing the squishing 
as she tightened the muscles of her ass, mounded in twin curvatures, 
making the cheeks flex. More teasing.
     She'd moved her arm, raising up until she could let him almost 
see her nipples, asking him if he could go for a wine cooler in this 
heat, tantalizing.
     She'd tied her top back on, slipping once, letting her naked 
breast show, then headed for the kitchen after he'd nodded and said that 
an ice-cold wine cooler would really hit the spot.
     I know what spot he'd like to hit, she thought, smiling silently 
to herself in the kitchen.
     Filling two of the tall cooler glasses (she found them in  a
little store on Fifth, that specialized in blown glass, and bought six, 
at a horrible high price, but she'd never regretted the cost)  with ice 
chips, placing them in the freezer compartment to frost, she poured 
white wine into the pitcher then, looking in the liquor chest, brought 
out a bottle of vodka.
     Pouring a very hefty couple of jiggers into the pitcher, then 
shrugging and adding another, she tasted it, wrinkling her nose at the 
strength, wondering what she could do to cover the strong vodka taste.
     Mint! She pulled four leaves from her fresh mint bush on the 
patio, bending over and adding a little wiggle to her ass as he watched, 
moving gracefully back to her kitchen to wash the leaves.
     Powdered sugar in a saucer, the glasses now frosted, dipped rim 
into the sugar to coat the top of the glass, pouring ice to fill the 
glasses, pouring the wine and vodka over the ice halfway up, adding a 
can of soda, and garnishing with two of the fresh mint leaves each, 
Linda put the glasses on a tray and walked to the patio.
     They had enjoyed the drinks, Linda feeling the surge as  the
vodka hit her stomach, the fumes rising lazily into her brain, the sun 
intensifying the liquor and her own thoughts popping perspiration on her 
body.
     He'd explained about fitting a lock to the sliding glass doors 
to her bedroom, both standing with the doors slid partly back, Linda 
brushing him gently with just a touch of her breasts, then once pressing 
her left breast firmly against him as they bent to look over their heads 
at the top track for the door.
     It was fun teasing.
     The second drink went down almost as fast as the first. Linda 
gathering the glasses, returning them to the kitchen as he finished the 
back door lock, leaving the glass door half open, waited until he'd 
moved his tool box and drill outside the doors, with seeming unconcern 
had entered the bedroom from the kitchen as he was measuring and taping 
a template to the metal frame, untied the top tossing it on the bed, 
then wriggling, tugged the bottom of her suit from her bottom, dropping 
it on the floor, walking across the room full in his almost-staring 
vision, calling back over her shoulder for him not to mind her, she was 
going to take a shower.
     Soaping, lathering, smoothing the suds over her very slippery 
skin, she'd taken a very long shower, then opening the shower door, 
peering into the bedroom, was delighted to find him stark, lying on the 
middle of her bed, arms crossed behind his head, cock up, hard and 
throbbing, staring at her as she ambled over to the bed, still wet.
     Droplets of water sparkling on her smooth hide, Linda stood by 
the bed looking. His hand grasped the thickness of his cock, moving the 
foreskin gently to cover and uncover the bulbous head, smiling at her 
nudity.
     They'd made glorious love, him sliding his thickened cock into 
the more than slippery slit between her thighs, both clasping each 
other, legs astraddle his body as she rode his prick as they would be 
riding a pony. Her hands flattened on his chest for balance, her breasts 
peaked with desire, feeling the head of his prick thudding deeply into 
the wet hot cavern as his hips lifted both of them clear from the bed 
with each upward stroke.
     She'd sensed the growing frenzy indicated he was about to fill 
her cunt with his male wetness, and she'd spun, almost falling, off. His 
cock, freed from its capture between her thighs, now was trapped between 
her hands. Her mouth hovering over the lubricated and juicy head of his 
cock, squeezing with both hands, making the darkened  head  swell
alarmingly, jacking his cock off with lips open and waiting to catch his 
spurts of cum.
     Cum he had. Jets of creamy white and silver juice, spurting to 
fill her mouth, the overload running from the corners of her soft lips 
as she eagerly suckled at the spurting organ, savoring in remembrance 
the almost-forgotten flavor, then the sweet aftermath when later they 
had made love again, first slowly, then with increasing frenzy until he 
filled her writhing belly with hot sperm.
     The surprise when after tenderly fucking her pussy, shooting his 
sperm deep within and between her thighs, he'd moved between her legs, 
licking and tasting her slot, running his tongue over the bush of her 
hair, savoring the juices emitted by both.
     Finding out that he liked to taste the combined love juices, 
running his tongue deeply into her pussy, even bending her legs up high, 
spreading them wider, forcing his face between her thighs, digging his 
tongue deeper into her cunt, lapping and delving around the slitted 
hole, rising to show her, on his tongue the residue of their lust.
     Astounded that any man would want to run his tongue up a hot 
steaming cunt that he'd just fucked and cum into, but loving the feeling 
and depravity he brought to her.
     Turned on again by the thought, she'd sucked him hard again, 
then licked his body all over, savoring the salty sweat, the crease at 
the bottom of his spine, lapping broad-tongued at his  tightening
testicles until he'd grabbed her, making her kneel with her elbows 
supporting her upper body, ass high in the air while he knelt between 
her calves and inserted his cock from behind.
     Fucking long-stroked, balls dangling between her thighs, her 
face looking backward up from under her body past her hanging breasts, 
watching his slippery, thick cock vanish into her woolly opening, to 
reappear covered with her slick wetness.
     His hands using her hips as handles, pulling her willing ass 
back onto his cock, until with rapidly quickening lunges he'd cum again, 
matching her orgasms, and then knelt and sucked her off from behind, 
tongue slithering deeply into her almost over-worked cunt.
     She sighed, remembering.
     Her mind still on the summer's day, Linda drove with automatic 
movements, pulling into the almost empty parking lot by the laundromat, 
glancing at her watch, shocked to find the it was after one in the 
morning.
     Where had the evening gone? Gathering her mesh bag, entering the 
bright fluorescent light of the laundromat to find the only other soul 
present was a young, unsmiling man, lost in his own thoughts, paying no 
attention to her at all.
     She placed her mesh bag on top of a washer across the room from 
him, watching him carelessly loading the machine with his dark jeans and 
mixing the towels in with his shirts and shorts. Another dumb bastard 
who doesn't know how to wash clothes, she thought. Thinks that woman's 
place is in the home, can't be bothered to learn simple household tasks, 
but thinks that he knows.
     "You really ought to wash the whites in one machine and  the
darks in another."
     Not too bad-looking. Better if he'd smile, she thought. Nice 
eyes, deep-set.
     "You work here?" His voice more tenor than baritone, but not 
bad.
     She chatted him up, convincing him to sort his clothes, then 
left to walk across the room to the mesh bag on top of the washer. 
Bending, presenting her ass to his inspection, wiggling slightly for his 
admiration.
     He definitely must be single; he's alone. And I'm going to fuck 
him.
     She teased him with double-meaning conversation,  moved  her
girlish panties and bra's over, convincing him to put his clothing in 
with hers, startled a bit to realize his pants were sticking out like a 
tent in the front, a hard prick thrusting out the gray material of his 
slacks, and a spreading stain of wet gathering at the tip of his tent.
     Convincing him to go into the bathroom and remove his pants so 
she could wash them for him.
     He in the single stall, naked, while she tossed his gray slacks 
into a washer, returning to the bathroom. Prowling, walking up and down 
on the cold cement floor, nervous, talking too much, chattering almost, 
to the closed door and his silence.
     Telling him about herself, but not receiving even a  grunted
reply to her too-fast conversation, her sexual needs rising, wanting him 
to open the door so she could see him and his naked body, to evaluate.
     Pacing, passing the closed stall door, Linda could see that he 
was sitting on the john, through the cracks both at the hinge and lock 
side of the door, once stopping her pacing back and forth to tug the 
handle, finding it locked against her pull.
     Cocking her head, listening.
     Sounds of movement, rhythmical motions.
     "What are you doing in there? You're breathing funny!"
     She knew what he was doing in there; he was jacking off.
     She grinned, good, he was turned on by her.
     As long as she stopped him before he came, he'd be hers for the 
night.
     She started opening the buttons on her  shirt,  pulling  the
material wide, spilling her pert breasts from the opening, unzipping the 
Gloria Vanderbilt Jeans, leaving the gap open to show the curly tangle 
of her pussy hair, preparing to make him open the door, anticipating his 
startled look as he would realize she was partly naked, and his for 
whatever lustful perversions he wished. She felt super horny, the 
wetness gathering at the anticipation, taking a deep breath to push her 
breasts out, started pulling at the door handle, rattling the flimsy 
door.
     Too late, one eye pressed to the crack, watching as his hand 
slid rapidly over the shank of his prick, swollen and almost gross, 
watched the pearly gray liquid shooting in rivers from his  cock,
splattering on the cement floor.
     Astounded by the amount of his cum, the wasting of his juices on 
the floor when she planned on having it up inside her pussy, bathing her 
belly with his sperm, and he was wasting it on the floor!
     The running stream coating his still-gripping  fingers,  the
pulses of fluid still oozing over the crown of his cock, dribbling down 
his fingers to drip onto his balls. Occasionally  another  spurt,
splattering again to the floor.
     Jesus, but he could cum.
     It must have been a year without sex to store all that lovely 
juice. Her imagination savored the jetting liquid.
     Her frame shook, an orgasm tightening her body, just watching 
the river flow, seeing the globs of sperm on the floor.
     Then her anger struck.
     "You bastard."
     The feeling of being so fantastically horny, and this  prick
going to waste on a cold cement floor. "You're jacking off in there ...
     The rest of the conversation and her actions were a blur, anger 
clouding her thinking, remembering throwing his pants over the top of 
the stall and storming out.
     Driving home, clean clothes still wet, dripping over the back 
seat, thinking about putting them in the dryer tonight.
     She cried, frustrated....tears blurring her vision as she drove.
     Now, remembering last night at the laundromat, she cried again. 

- THE LOCKSMITH - 
     Not only was it hot, but the fucking humidity was so high that 
the slight breeze didn't dry his skin either. Fucking air conditioner 
had the condenser shot, or something. It was always something.
     Damn thing had quit late in the afternoon and he couldn't get it 
fixed until the repairman looked at it in Monday morning. And it was 
only Saturday night now.
     Norman knew about keys and locks and deadbolts. His father had 
let him work in the locksmith's shop, teaching and guiding his son since 
he was about six years old.
     By the time Norm was in high school, he was  making  service
calls, re-keying locks, replacing tumblers.
     When his dad died, a short six months after his mom, Norm had 
taken over the locksmith shop.
     He'd married his high school sweetheart, the bitch.
     She was never satisfied, always wanted something more for the 
house. And she was ashamed that he was a locksmith. She really felt that 
she should have married someone of a higher caliber.
     Never mind that he'd done well, now owned three shops, one in 
the north end, one south and one on Miami Beach, and had just started a 
new shop in Kendall.
     She still wasn't satisfied.
     He'd slowly, over the years, renovated the big old two-story 
house until it was a showplace inside.
     Still, she wasn't satisfied, and Norm, to keep away from her, 
had turned a large room on the upper floor, into a gym.
     He'd been working out in the second floor room of his house, 
pumping on the small weights, getting the sweat working (no pain - no 
gain), thinking about his wife again.
     The bitch had just about  quit  fucking,  wasn't  interested
anymore, and always either had a fucking headache or was on her period 
or something. He'd tried to pat her rounded ass this morning as she was 
frying up a couple eggs at the stove for his breakfast, and she'd moved 
away from his patting hand and slipped him an annoyed look.
     "Don't. I'm cooking. Can't you see I'm busy, Norman?"
     The anger in her voice had turned him off. She was always angry 
lately.
     She really was a sexy-looking bitch, in a sullen kind of way, 
but after the first few passionate years of their marriage, she'd slowed 
down in the sex department. But now she'd stopped fucking -- quit -- 
end.
     It had all started when he'd gotten caught kissing Christy, the 
wife of Al, the auto salesman next door, at a birthday party a month ago 
for her. Christy was a sexy cunt, and Al was a heavy drinking party type 
who'd invited them over for the birthday on a Saturday night. There had 
been several other people there, too, and Norm had followed her into the 
kitchen.
     She'd stuck her tongue in his mouth when he'd  given  her  a
birthday kiss when he and his wife had come in the front door. Norm 
knew, or thought he'd known, that she was a hot bitch when he felt her 
tongue slither into his mouth.
     His cock had warmed up and swelled while she had slowly french 
kissed him, right in front of his wife and her husband.
     Norm had followed her into the kitchen later, and patted her ass 
as she was trying to get some glasses from a high shelf in the cupboard. 
Her sleek ass, rounded under the slick material of her dress, had turned 
him on even more, and he'd patted the firm globes.
     She'd turned her head, smiled at him and wiggled.
     "Like that, don't you?" she'd giggled at him.
     "Love it!"
     "If you loved it, you'd lick it!" She'd wiggled away from his 
patting hand, but when he'd stepped back, she'd moved to him and looking 
up into his eyes, grinning at him.
     "Take it easy, neighbor. It's early, and even though I'm really 
in the mood, my husband and your wife are in the next room. Slow down!"
     "Just being neighborly."
     Norm had grinned back at her.
     "I'll bet just how neighborly you'd like  to  get!"  Christy
answered him, and then threw her arms around his neck and gave him 
another kiss with her hot, slithering tongue thrusting around his.
     Just as he was really feeling the globes of her ass, she pulled 
free, grinned at him and took the glasses back to the bar in the den. 
Norm followed, his cock throbbing hard.
     Gathered at the small bar, Norm had had a couple  of  drinks
during the early evening, and had noticed Al pouring the scotch down. Al 
getting louder, the jokes getting more raunchy. Al, paying a lot of 
attention to Norm's wife, putting an arm around her, whispering in her 
ear sometimes, and Norm's wife giggling, pushing him away playfully, but 
her eyes were bright and her face was smiling at the raunchy jokes.
     Norm could see Al's arm around her, fingers resting under her 
breast, slowly kneading, sneaking a feel. Lot of good it was going to do 
him, Norm smiled to himself. She looked hot and sexy, but looks weren't 
everything. She'd turned into a cold fish.
     Norm had a fresh ice cube in his highball, and had settled down 
on the couch, listening to the conversation, when Christy had crooked 
her finger at him from across the room, then put the same finger to her 
pursed lips to indicate that he keep quiet and come to her.
     He'd set the glass down and quietly moved around the standing 
guests, moving to follow Christy down the hall. Norm had caught up with 
her outside the bathroom in the dark hallway.
     "You want something?" His voice low.
     "I just wanted to tell you that when you're working on  your
weights at night with the lights on, sometimes I watch you from our 
window in the dark."
     "You do?"
     "Yes, and as a birthday present, next time you work out, can you 
work nude instead of wearing those shorts?"
     "You want me to take off my shorts while you watch me?"  His
voice almost cracking.
     "You'll never be sure if I'm watching or not. My lights will be 
off. Will you do it for me?"
     "Sure, if that's what you want."
     She'd thrown her arms around his neck, grinding her body against 
his, her tits putting the points of her nipples into his chest, his arms 
around her, squeezing her ass, pulling her hips up against his groin, 
when his wife had tapped him on the shoulder.
     "That's enough! Don't you think?" Her voice angry.
     She stalked off, back into the living room, leaving the two of 
them.
     "Whoops! I think you fucked up!" Christy giggled at him, turning 
and entering the bathroom, closing the door, and he heard the lock 
click.
     "Fuck her, she'll get over it!"
     His voice soft against the door, fingers testing the knob to 
find it locked.
     Stupid, locking the door against a locksmith.
     Pulling his key ring from his pants, he selected a slim metal 
strip of a key, inserted it into the hole in the center of the bathroom 
door, turning it slowly, feeling the lock unlatch. He'd eased the door 
open, seeing her standing at the wash basin, putting on lipstick, and 
he'd moved inside.
     Christy had grinned at him.
     "I didn't think that lock would stop you, did you come in to 
watch me pee?"
     "No, I came in because I need to pee."
     "Go ahead, don't let me stop you. Need a hand?"
     "Please."
     He'd opened his fly, pulling his semi-hard dick out, standing in 
front of the bowl.
     "Want to aim it?"
     "I don't think so, I've never been too interested in the water 
sports."
     "Hell, Christy, this isn't water sports, it's just giving  a
friend a hand."
     Christy had grinned at him, giggled and then taken his roll in 
her hand, pulling slightly until he was all the way out.
     The feel of her warm hand on his cock was fantastic! Christy 
moving the soft skin back from the bulbous head.
     "Alright, here I go."
     He'd started pissing, the hot stream splashing in the bowl as 
she grew more adventuresome, moving the tip in circles, watching his 
liquid hit the water in the bowl.
     That's when the unlocked door had opened, and his  wife  was
standing there, with Al behind her, watching Christy holding his cock in 
her hand while he pissed.
     That had really started all the trouble between himself and his 
wife.
     Now she was making him suffer, and wasn't letting up at all. 
They hadn't made it once since then, and  she'd  been  stiff  and
unresponsive to him.
     If it hadn't been for the little cunt he'd had while he  was
installing locks on the glass doors last week, he'd have had no pussy at 
all since before the party.
     That was a good fuck. The lady had tormented him with her body, 
letting him see her both in a bathing suit, and nude, and then he'd 
fucked and sucked her.
     If he didn't start getting some pussy pretty soon, he was going 
to go back and fuck her again.
     He'd have to look up her name and address again in the receipts, 
maybe give her a call and tell her that he needed to inspect her locks 
again, and see what she'd say.
     His mind had drifted while he continued counting to one hundred, 
curling the small weights, feeling the sweat starting to trickle into 
his eyes, past his head-band.
     Thinking about Christy, he wondered if she really had watched 
him work out.
     His wife never came into the room while he was working out. She 
said she didn't like the smell here. Prissy bitch.
     He always closed the door when he worked out. Glancing at it 
now, he wondered if he ought to take off his shorts and work out nude, 
like Christy had asked him to.
     He moved to the window, looking at the house next door.  The
lights were on in the living room, but the upstairs windows were dark 
and he couldn't see inside the upper rooms. Standing close to the 
window, peering down at his neighbors patio, he caught a shadow. Al was 
bringing a drink from the bar, and Christy's bare leg was in view, 
sitting at the table on a stool. Norm couldn't see any more of her, but 
he could hear through his open window.
     Al's speech was slurred, and while Norm idly continued pumping 
the small weight in his right hand, Christy's voice carried to his 
window.
     "Go on and get some sleep, I'll be up later."
     Al had moved out of his vision and the upstairs bedroom light at 
the corner of the house had illuminated moments later. Norm put the 
weight down, moved to the hallway, opening their bedroom door quietly, 
glancing in, seeing his wife's nude body lying on top of the sheet, 
trying to sleep in the heat. Sexy bitch, all tousled from the heat.
     Norm lightly ran down the steps, out the back door, standing on 
the cement, lit a cigarette.
     "Hi, neighbor." Christy's low voice from over the fence.
     "Hi, Christy, where's Al?"
     "Drunk, going to bed. What are you doing out here this time of 
night? Where's your wife?"
     "Sleeping. I'm just going to work out another half hour or so, 
and then I'm off to bed." Trailing the bait, seeing if she was still 
interested.
     "Maybe I'll watch tonight!" She was interested. "Are you going 
to make it worthwhile watching and take off your shorts?"
     "I will if you will."
     "Deal! See you in the upstairs." She'd grabbed her glass from 
the table and went back inside her house, and Norm flipped the butt away 
and re-entered his back door.
     He'd slipped off his shorts, leaving his head-band in place, 
closed the door to his room and picked up the hand squeezers, springs 
clutching in his grasp, corded muscles standing out on his forearms as 
he rhythmically squeezed, standing naked square in front of the window, 
watching the darkened window next door, only feet from him.
     Was she there watching? He couldn't see anything of her.
     There was only a bit of light from the hallway into her room, 
and she was not visible to Norm's scan.
     Where was she?
     He worked out slowly, watching, trying to make out her  form
behind the glass of her window, to no avail. Waiting to see if she was 
watching him.
     The time went slowly, waiting for some sign behind the  dark
window that she was there.
     Norm, moved away from his window, trying to draw her forward 
into the dim light spilling from his window.
     Finally, pissed that he couldn't see her, he moved to his side. 
Opening the door, he snuck down the hallway to their dark guest room, 
going to the window, looking out at an angle to see if he could see her 
from this dark room.
     No luck in the facing room, but his eyes were  caught  by  a
movement in his neighbor's bedroom.
     Christy was giving her husband a blow job, lights on, blazing, 
drapes drawn wide open, the room bathed in light as she crouched over 
her husband Al, sucking at the roll between his thighs.
     Norm knew she was putting a show on for him, and his cock rose 
level with the window sill, watching her attempting to harden her 
husband's meaty cock.
     Too much to drink again, his flaccid dick lolled around in her 
hand, the end drooping over her closed fist, dangling.
     Norm moved closer to the window, watching her glance over the 
soft meat in her hand at his room, knowing that she was attempting to 
see him watching her, but aware now how difficult it was to see him 
standing behind a dark window. Christy moved to the near side of the 
bed, presenting her rounded ass to Norm, crouched over her husband's 
supine body, wriggling the rounded globes of her soft ass at the window.
     Norm could see the dark blonde hair between her thighs,  the
puffy lips of her pussy softly nestled there, and the pink inner lips 
parting slightly to show a coral hued band of swelling flesh.
     Her long hair brushing over her husband's belly as she attempted 
to suck him to an erect state.
     Finally, giving up her task, Christy, stood away from the bed, 
and her passed out husband, standing full in the light and nodding at 
his form against the blackness of the dark window.
     Not really knowing if he'd been watching her or not.
     Christy left the bedroom, turning  out  the  lights  as  she
departed.
     Norm hurried, hard cock swinging from side to side, back into 
his workout room, closing the door behind him, to see the lights in the 
opposite room illuminate the inside.
     Christy standing to the window, looking straight at him. Norm 
moved closer, his dick, hard and pounding, pressed the wet tip against 
the window, smearing a drop of slippery honey against the cool glass, 
staring at Christy's naked body in lust.
     Her fingers dipped into her thighs, moving over  the  curls,
dipping into the sweet wetness of her pussy, then gathering a bit of her 
female juices, drew a straight line of wetness on the glass from inside 
her room.
     Norm's cock pounded, the tip wetter now,  a  line  of  veins
standing out from the corded shaft as he grasped his cock, pumping 
slowly, watching Christy playing with herself, for him.
     His hardened cock, rapidly stroked, drooled more of the slippery 
juice to the window, while Christy's fingers toyed with her visible 
clitoris, her other hand moving over her breast, peaking the nipple, 
fondling the quivering flesh.
     Norm felt his balls tighten, drawing up to the base of his cock, 
knowing he was about to spurt his sperm as he watched Christy put on a 
masturbation show for him.
     The fiery liquid spurted out the slitted tip, globs catching and 
clinging to the middle of the window, running down in streams as his 
torrent of sperm caught and held to the cold glass while his eyes were 
fastened to the junction between Christy's thighs.
     Her fingers, slippery and wet, glinted in the light as she moved 
them rapidly over her clit, then sagging as her orgasm shuddered her 
body, moving her breasts in quivers.
     Norm's prick erupted again, more of his hot sperm clinging to 
the window, until the force of his ejaculation gone, his cock drooled 
the last thin stream straight down, to the floor.
     Grabbing his shorts, Norm wiped the sticky sperm from his cock, 
tossing his shorts into the corner for washing later. Raising his eyes 
back to the window, he saw the lights go out.
     His voyeur's stint over.
     Norm, still breathing heavily, crawled on top of the sheets in 
his bed, staying away from his wife's body, turning over to lie on his 
side, still thinking about Christy, her body, and the show she'd made 
for both of them.
     Eyes closed, thinking about tomorrow night, and about how to get 
Christy alone so he could fuck her.
     His cock slowly began filling again, lying hard against  his
belly as he drifted off into sleep. 

- HELEN - 
     My pussy still tingled. I ran my fingers over the  hair  and
gently touched inside the lips. They felt swollen and a bit tender. I 
pushed my finger inside. The inside felt open, still trying to adjust to 
it original size.
                                  * * * 
     It had started a week ago. Norman and I had gone to  Al  and
Christy's home for Christy's birthday. I had a couple of drinks and 
started talking to Al, feeling kind of relaxed for the first time in 
many weeks.
     Al is a nice guy and does not deserve the bitch he has for a 
wife. Always flirting with other men. The music was down low and Al was 
talking about his work as a car salesman, telling me all the little bits 
of gossip that are normal at any place of work. I noticed that Norman 
and Christy had been gone for a while. I started to get a bit suspicious 
and excused myself, telling Al that I was going to the ladies' room.
     Instead, I walked to the kitchen and  found  Norman  kissing
Christy. I started to get angry, but did not wish to make a scene. I 
asked Norman to stop it and walked back to the living room, seething 
inside.
     Christy is not one of my favorite  persons.  She  is  always
flirting with other men. I had seen her several times parading around 
the house in her panties and bra when the gardener was around.
     Somehow, she had always behaved with Norman.
     Al looked at me when I walked back to the living room.
     "Is Christy flirting with Norman?" he asked. "I was wondering 
when she would get around to him."
     "It's just the drinks," I said, hoping to avoid a fight.
     "Don't try to fool me. I know what kind of person she is. She 
enjoys walking around half naked and showing all to any man. She's an 
exhibitionist. Do you know that she will only make love to me when she 
is being watched?"
     "Are you kidding?"
     "No, I'm not. And by the way, they aren't back. Want to go and 
look for them?"
     We walked back to the kitchen but found it empty. Al took my 
hand and signaled me to be silent. Slowly we walked up the stairs. The 
door to the bathroom was ajar. I pushed it and saw Christy and Norman 
inside, Christy holding Norman's cock while he pissed.
     "I think you two should go," said Al.
                                  * * * 
     Norman and I had spent the week barely speaking. He hadn't even 
tried to fuck me during this time. I was glad of this.
     Our love life during the time we had been married had been a 
one-sided affair. Norman was a lousy lover, a bum fuck.
     Our lovemaking usually consisted of him jumping on me without 
any preliminaries, sticking his cock in me and cumming in a minute or 
two, leaving me unsatisfied.
     It had become a ritual for me to  go  to  the  bathroom  and
masturbate to an orgasm after these sessions.
     Today, I was still in bed when the phone rang. It was Al.
     "Listen, we have to have a talk. Why don't you come up to the 
showroom at lunchtime and we'll go have lunch somewhere?"
     I quickly made up my mind and agreed to meet him at a  small
place near his place of work.
     Al is a handsome man, in an ordinary kind of way.  5-foot-9,
about 180 pounds, dark-haired with a few silver hairs at the sides. He 
drinks a bit more than he should, but seems to be able to handle it.
     Al ordered a couple of drinks.
     "I've been watching you the last week and you're letting this 
become too important. What difference does it make if Christy makes a 
pass at your husband? It happens everywhere. I'm used to it. Why do you 
think I have a few drinks too many once in a while?"
     "You don't understand. This is a problem that has been growing 
for a long while -- as a matter of fact, ever since our wedding night."
     "Look," said Al, "you know I'm your friend. If you want to talk 
about it, you know you can trust me to keep my mouth shut."
     The drinks arrived then, giving me a bit of time to make up my 
mind.
                                  * * * 
     "I was a virgin when we got married. Norman and I had been going 
together for about two years, but I'm a bit old-fashioned and wanted to 
wait. Norman kept trying to get me to go all the way, but I was able to 
fend him off, even though we came very close. We would neck in the back 
seat of his car at the drive-in. I used to get back to the house with my 
panties dripping from these necking sessions.
     "Finally he asked me to marry him. He figured it was the only 
way he could fuck me. We'd planned to go to the Bahamas  for  our
honeymoon and had just left the reception to change before going to the 
airport. The reception agreement included a room for us, but we did not 
have too much time left. No sooner had we closed the door than Norman 
grabbed me, threw me on the bed.
     "'You can't say no anymore; we're married.'"
     "I tried to slow him down a bit, but he was too strong for me. 
He pushed my dress up over my head, ripped my panties off and, without 
even trying to see if I was ready, pushed his cock into me in one lunge. 
It hurt so much that I passed out. When I recovered, I felt his cum 
dripping out of me. He had fucked me even though I was unconscious."
     "What an asshole! But you can't blame him too much. He was half 
crazy with need. There's just so much a guy can take."
     "Yes, I can see that. But it got no better during the honeymoon. 
He would jump on me, get his rocks off and go to sleep. Do you know that 
I haven't had an orgasm with him in six years? I have to do myself once 
in a while."
     "He deserves anything you do. Have you ever thought of finding 
yourself a man that will be a better lover?"
     I looked at him.
     "That sounds like a proposition, Al. Maybe if you get a couple 
more of these drinks in me I might just take you up on it."
     "That might not be a bad idea. You get even with Norman and I 
get even with Christy. You are a beautiful woman, Helen. It's a shame 
you're not satisfied."
     "Let's have another drink. This one is all gone."
     "Take it easy on those; they're big."
     I was feeling the drinks by then.
     "Just get me another one and tell me if you are big."
     "I'm not too big. Just average. But there's a guy back at the 
showroom who's hung like a horse. His name is Bob. He is our accountant. 
Looks like an ordinary kind of guy but is not ordinary there." Al 
smiled.
     "Maybe I should take both of you on."
     "If you do, I have to be first. After Bob is through, I wouldn't 
be able to feel you. Probably take a week for you to return to normal."
     "Okay. Why don't we skip lunch and invite Bob to join us?"
     Al's looked surprised.
     "Are you serious? I thought you were kidding."
     "When I make up my mind, I go through with it. Either you come 
with me or I'm finding someone else."
     "No, I'll do it. Wait here for a minute while I call Bob."
                                  * * *
     Bob did look like an ordinary kind of guy. About  35,  thin,
starting to get prematurely bald. But the looks were deceiving. Bob kept 
himself in good shape, playing handball at a nearby gym twice a week. He 
arrived about ten minutes after Al had called him.
     "Is this the lady in need?" he asked, looking me in the eye.
     "Are you the guy who is going to solve my problem?" I countered. 
"You don't look at all like the answer to a maiden's prayer."
     "If you can take it, I can deliver."
     "Hey, remember I'm first," said Al, "I heard what you did to 
Maggie. Nobody's been able to satisfy her since." 
     "Are you guys going to stand around talking about it or are we 
going to do it?"
     "My house is nearby and there's nobody there. Why don't we go 
there? Beats a motel," said Bob.
                                  * * *
     I was nervous. The trip to Bob's had taken but five minutes, but 
that was enough to let me think about what I was about to do.
     "Look, you guys, let me think about this."
     Both Al and Bob looked disappointed.
     "You're not going to back out, are you?"
     I took a deep breath. "No, I'm not, just point me to the bedroom 
and give me a couple of minutes."
     The bedroom was huge. The largest bed I have ever seen was in 
the middle. A bathroom opened to one side, while the stereo and a small 
bar took up the other.
     "Do you like it?" said Al behind me.
     "I do, but I thought you were going to let me get comfortable 
first."
     "I prefer to do that myself."
     Al's hands reached for me. One closed around one breast, while 
the other went around my waist. Gently, Al started to knead one breast, 
while the other hand found the zipper at the back of my dress and drew 
it down. I felt Al's mouth on mine, his tongue insinuating itself into 
my mouth, touching mine. My dress dropped around my ankles. My bra 
followed it.
     Al's mouth moved down my neck to my shoulders and then to one 
nipple, sucking on it. I felt myself carried to the bed and deposited on 
it. His hands pushed down my panties, removing them. I closed my eyes, 
just feeling his mouth trace a fiery path over my body. First one 
nipple, then the other, up to my shoulders, my neck.
     His fingers weren't idle. They went lower, touching my belly, 
lower, to the place between my legs, touching, feeling. I felt his 
fingers rubbing at the small bud at the top of my vagina, then move 
lower, inside, spreading the wetness. My breath was coming faster.
     "Fuck me -- don't make me wait. I have to come."
     "There's no rush, it is better to wait."
     I felt his lips go lower, kissing my belly. Then his  tongue
stabbing into me, licking, flickering at my clit. His lips nipping at 
it. I could feel a small stream of slippery moisture run down my pussy 
and down into the crack below.
     My hips were undulating, trying to capture that plateau that had 
evaded me for so long.
     "FUCK ME, YOU SONOFABITCH!"
     I felt him lift his head from my pussy,  moving  higher.  He
settled between my legs. I could feel his cock rubbing against me, the 
thick undervein moving along my pussy. My hips were bucking wildly, 
trying to capture his cock.
     "Slow down -- it isn't going to go away."
     I felt his hand hold his cock, moving the head up and  down,
moistening it, then he notched the head at the hole and pushed slowly, 
the head getting in, then an inch more, then two. I could not wait any 
longer and arched my back, catching it when he was coming down. I felt 
the whole length ram into me, the hairs at the base mingling with mine, 
the balls slapping against my ass.
     His hands gripped my buttocks, holding me for a moment, then 
lowering me back to the bed. I could feel the ridges along his cock, the 
head pressing against my womb. He started to move out, slowly until only 
the head remained inside, then reversing and not stopping until his 
balls slapped against my ass again. I could feel my orgasm lingering 
just out of reach. He was now pistoning in and out, faster and faster. 
My hips were gyrating wildly, trying for the climax that I had never had 
from a man's cock.
     Al wasn't to blame that I didn't come with him. He tried as much 
as he could to get me over that last hump. Suddenly he stiffened and I 
felt his sperm jetting against my womb, mixing with my juices and 
spilling out of me.
     He collapsed on top of me while I beat my fists in frustration 
against his back.
     After a while, he moved away. His now soft cock  hung  limp,
trailing a thin thread of semen from the head to my pussy. A small 
stream of cum ran down the crack to my ass and pooled on the bed.
     "I'm sorry," he said. "I wish I could have brought you out."
     "But it's your luck that I'm here."
     Bob's voice behind Al made me look up. My eyes were drawn to his 
legs. I could not believe my eyes! No man has a right to be that large. 
My hands went to my pussy in a defensive gesture. He would rip me apart, 
gut me like a pig! "No! Get away from me! You can't... I can't take 
that..."
     It was like a baseball bat, fully a foot in length and at least 
two and a half or three inches thick. It reached from the thick mat of 
hair to the tip of his breastbone. His hands were wrapped around it and 
could barely circle it. From the base hung a pair of balls like small 
coconuts. The head on it was the size of an apple and from the slit on 
the end shone a drop of lubrication.
     Bob smiled and said: "The little lady is afraid. Little does she 
know that hole she has will accommodate anything. Besides I buy this by 
the gross."
     In his hand was a tube of jellied lubricant.
     "Be careful, Bob -- you don't want to hurt her."
     "We'll just do it the easy way. Let her come to me."
     Bob laid on the bed and opened the tube of lubricant. Taking a 
great gob of it, he placed it on the great head and spread it down the 
length. he kept doing that until the tube was empty.
     My juices had started running again. If I got on top, I could 
stop anytime I started to hurt. Besides, he was covered with lubricant. 
I timidly touched it. It jumped at my touch. My hand could not circle 
it. Slowly I moved my hand up and down it. The skin moved easily and a 
new drop of juice appeared at the slit.
     I leaned closer and touched the tip of my tongue to the drop. 
The salty-bitter taste filled my mouth.
     I made up my mind. Lifting one leg, I straddled him, the big 
cock trapped between my belly and his. I lifted myself but found it 
impossible to get into the right position. It was just too big. 
     Al came to my rescue. Lifting me up by the waist, he lowered me 
until I could place the big head on the cum-soaked hairs around my 
vagina. Bob moved his hands to my pussy and with thumb and forefinger 
spread the lips until the edges lay on each side of the head.
     "Let her down, slowly."
     My pussy opening was being stretched inhumanely. My body lowered 
an inch and the great head insinuated deeper into my pussy, the blood-
filled tip stretching the flesh almost to the tearing point. I moaned, 
now aware through the pain that my own body was betraying me, that my 
own weight would be the momentum working me down the spear that was 
slowly piercing me.
     "Nooo, I can't... it's impossible."
     Al lowered me another inch.
     "Uuuuuuuggg!"
     The rubber bands of my vaginal opening began  unknotting  in
adjustment to the monument forcing entry, snapping loose little by 
little. It got a bit less painful.
     Suddenly Al laughed and said: "You can take it." And released 
the hands that were holding me up.
     Fire sirens went off in my brain, shrieking and alarm. I did not 
rush down the firepole. It came to me, tearing up my insides. The 
runaway cock smashed through all my resisting flesh, shoving the pink 
soft walls aside before its monstrous head. It rushed into me, filling 
every crack and pore in the tunnel to my womb, pushing my organs aside. 
His wiry pubic hairs cushioned the jolt as my buttocks hit bottom, Bob's 
pelvis. His huge member was completely inside my torn pussy, extending, 
I thought, through the top of my skull. The expression in my face must 
have changed as I stared down to where the cock had disappeared inside 
me, expecting a pool of blood.
     I looked at Bob. His arms were behind his head as he looked at 
me in amusement. I started getting used to the huge foreign presence 
that my body had accepted with such astonishing flexibility.
     "Oh... oh... oh... ohhh..."
     Bob's balls twitched when  he  inflated  his  prick  and  my
responding groan was pained, my teeth clenching and my pussy hurrying to 
accommodate the increased size of the large intruder. I repeated the 
moan when he shifted the other way, but each sideways move expanded the 
walls of my vagina until they fit the giant prick like a glove.
     There was no way he could be any deeper in me.
     "Fuck now," said Bob.
     Like a gymnast, I worked my legs back, my feet against my butt 
and tested lifting my torso up the big cock. We were sealed together so 
tightly that our meshed flesh was almost as one. I lifted my pussy until 
the lips found the ridge of the head, what seemed like ten miles above 
the base, and slowly lowered my body again. Bob shut his eyes, as if 
being lulled to sleep by the dreamy sensation of a snug-fitting warm 
doughnut of softness as it ringed up and down the length of the colossal 
cock. Al's hands went to my breasts, cupping them and softly kneading 
the nipples. His mouth started kissing my neck and bringing shivers to 
my skin.
     I was still pumping up and down, the pain now gone. Up and down, 
up and down the unmoving cock, a half smile on my face, a signal of the 
full enjoyment of something deliciously wicked. Faster I moved, Bob's 
loins now rushing to catch my pussy as it slipped away on each upstroke. 
His loins now kicked into high gear and the pistoning cock pushed inside 
me with teeth-rattling impact.
     I was riding out the storm, my pussy lashed to Bob's massive 
mast. My clit was getting rubbed as I rode it down the cock like the 
prow of a racing bobsled. The first blast of hot cum splashed into my 
pussy like molten lead, the monstrous shaft swelling like puffed cheeks 
as it gushed.
     I was huffing and puffing as if I had swallowed liquid fire. My 
screams must have filled the room as Bob's cock continued to fire, its 
hot cum filling my womb and backing down the vaginal passage, mixing at 
the base with the outpouring of my pussy.
     Finally I was there. My orgasm soared higher and higher. It was 
frightening how my body could run away, existing by itself. I climbed 
and climbed, my climax like a balloon that suddenly exploded. I felt 
that I had been straddling a high tension wire and someone had finally 
turned off the juice. I sagged on Bob, aware of my pussy seeping like a 
partially plugged drain around the thick stopper.
     I lifted my flowing pussy off the still-rigid cock and watched 
Bob's face clear as I threw a leg across his body and collapsed on the 
side.
     I rested, my leaking vagina hurting inside while  its  walls
readjusted, trying without success to locate in positions of the pre-Bob 
past.
                                  * * * 
     Norman is back in bed and I'm starting to fall asleep. But a 
smile is on my lips. My thoughts are in the little slip of paper in the 
bottom of my purse. The one with Bob's address and phone number. 

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