As she squirmed Betsy felt his hands grip her hips, holding firmly, and she knew the cock was deep enough in her asshole that it did not need guiding.
Despite the lanolin lubricating their joining, there was a burn to which she tried to adjust by screwing her ass around. As she did this Tom jogged, one-inch strokes that seemed to loosen her considerably. Deeper now, oh God, deeper, that hot and throbbing cock was going right up her rectum!
And his jogging echoed in her cunt. She too was hipping, pushing in and out or a the dildo, firing Doris again, who moaned, "Yes, fuck me, darling, oh Betsy, ram it up my hole…"
But she could not ram, could do only those short jerks out of fear of hurting herself behind. She reached around her buttocks and found his cock. She fingered around it, touching at her anal ring as though to convince herself that the burly dong was really buried in her ass.
Then she fisted it. There was just enough room between his loins and her ass to wedge her hand in.
"Got all you can take?" Tom asked.
"I don't – know – I'm awfully stretched…"
"Listen, if you want to give me a thrill, grab my nuts, huh?"
She felt down his hairy thigh, at last located the soft scrotum. She fingered it upward, inch by inch until his nuts rested in her palm.
She juggled them carefully about.
"Ah-hh!" Tom groaned. "Shit but I'm close! I fucked Vera until her cunt was sore – didn't quite get my load off – but now…"
His jogging became more insistent.
Feeling the prong of a cock move in mid out of her ass, and her cunt throbbing on the dildo, toying with his testicles while Doris massaged her breasts, Betsy for a moment kept the sensations apart. But his cock was too near the dildo, almost as though they were rubbing, friction causing her to burn in the tenderest places.
"Now," Tom grunted.
So soon? She had barely gotten used to being ass-fucked.
But his lengthening thrusts, demanding as his cock stiffened with the first flush of orgasm, sent the heat up her body in waves, swelling her breasts and bringing out sweat on her face. And she was rocking, backing to the thrust, which simultaneously pulled the dildo from Doris' cunt, returning it as he rammed in.
The loudest shrieks were her own, she knew that. Distant sounds because she was once again caught up in the raging turmoil of cum.
Exploding. Writhing, tossing, whacking her asshole back on the big cock within it.
Then Tom fired off.
She had lost his scrotum. And there was no space between his loins and her anal ring for her hand. She clung to her own asscheek, pulling it aside to help deepen his thrusts.
"Going off!" he howled. "Got my gun!"
She felt the spurls of jism fly like buckshot up her ass.
She took off. Left them. Flying a mile high, tumbling on the twin bars of cock in ass and in cunt. Up there in the limbo of pure sensation she met George with an erection that she popped into her mouth and sucked until he shot down her throat.
I'm being fucked out of my mind! she thought.
Then no more thoughts. Just the boiling explosion of cum after cum, sailing through the sky on endless waves of orgasm.
Daylight.
Betsy awoke lying on her own living room couch, a hand between her legs.
The sun was high.
Vaguely she remembered leaving Doris in the den, walking bowlegged with exhaustion from repeated orgasms. Out through the rain, home, passing up her peed-on bed, and flopping here on the couch.
She sat up. Her asscheeks hurt from the belting Jim had given her, and her asshole was sore. She rose and headed unsteadily far the kitchen. Her breasts felt like lead weights and the nipples burned. She fingered her crotch. Freshly slobbered. God, the cuntal juices still flowed!
In the kitchen she avoided looking into the mirror over the sink as she made instant coffee. She took it to the table and slumped down in a chair.
On the table was a note from Jim: "Home at seven."
She gazed blearily at the wall clock. Noon!
Why seven? Jim normally left the office at five.
Jim. The shit!
She was coming awake now. She got a cigarette and lit it, sat scowling. Her pussy itched. She scratched it.
She guessed she had never in her life slept until noon. Nor had she sat naked in her kitchen on a warm, bright summer day, scratching her pussy. But I will if I want to! she thought savagely.
I really busted loose last night. Really. I should feel ashamed. I don't. Just angry. And determined. Spiteful. He made me piss the bed!
She flicked a glance at the mirror, saw her hair tanged like a bird's nest. What a mess. And the smell, she smelled of cunt all over. Shower. Get with it.
She hung the cigarette in a corner of her mouth, picked up the coffee cup and headed for the bathroom, thinking, June Haley. Doris said she hangs out at Bingo's Boite. Likes girls. But so shy she and Doris just sit holding hands.
I'm not that fucking shy! Well, not any more.
In the bathroom Betsy squatted on the john, sipping her coffee as she peed, wishing she had Jim's face down there in the bowl taking the yellow hosing of urine.
Still, it had been a terrible shock to him, walking into Horny Haven and seeing her being fucked.
Teach him a lesson? Straighten him out?
Done pissing, she remained sitting there, in no hurry to clean up, perhaps afraid the shower would wash away her vindictive mood. Promiscuous sexing had shredded the conventions, the proprieties she had lived by – a doormat for the dominant male! As though lewdness were the weapon of her revolution, orgasm her struggle for freedom.
Thus she reached down to her pussy and fondled it, slipped a finger in between the sticky-haired lips and nudged her tilt, poked the soft nubbin until it swelled up and poked into view, a slippery, horny length. Yes, I'm glad I have a queen-sized clit that other girls haven't!
As she massaged the hot growth she tried to picture June, a redhead, Doris had said, but not red like Vera. Brownish. A darling girl… At last Betsy rose, still twiddling her clit, and went out to the phone in the hall. She dropped into the phone chair and sat spraddle-legged, masturbating as she planned.
Decided, she dialed Jim's office.
A soft, breathless voice answered. "Mr. Walters' office. Miss Haley speaking."
Betsy had spoken to the girl a few times, asking for Jim. She had always called herself Mrs. Walters, but June might know her first name. Second name, then. Ann. Betsy Ann.
She said, "Miss Haley – June – I'm a friend of Doris Colby's. My name is Ann – Dunne." She used her maiden name, thinking this the easiest identity to remember.
"Doris?" The girl hesitated. Then her voice lowered to a whisper. "I'm not supposed to use the phone for personal…"
"Dads said you and I must meet, June. We have so much in common, if you get what I mean. Tonight after work? At Bingo's?"
Silence. Then a whispered, "I must hang up, Ann…"
"Five, five thirty?"
"Yes, yes!"
Betsy hung up, smiling with satisfaction.
She had work to do but toying with her clit had brought her close to a cum, so she remained sprawled in the phone chair, massaging her clit and pulling her titties, at last panting when the steamy cuntal bubbles began bursting within her, an easy orgasm that left her feeling happily loosened, like warm jelly settling deeper into the chair.
Once she had dragged the wet mattress out to the back yard, scrubbed it with disinfectant, and left it for the hot sun to dry, she proceeded languidly, in keeping with the weather and the sensuality of her mood, bathing, washing her hair, tidying up tag ends of house work.
For the encounter at Bingo's she chose a clinging white dress but low on the bosom. Without a bra it looked shameful, lascivious! Was it too blatant a sexual come-on for the shy June? Well, it fitted the new Betsy.
She looked up the address of Bingo's in the phone book, drove there arriving just before five.
She found it on a side street, a place with a pink stucco facade, a pink door, a modest sign and no windows.
She went in.
The pink outside reflected the interior, pink tablecloths and seats in the booths, pink-cushioned barstools. Subdued lighting and a mere murmur of juke box music. A dozen or so people, mostly women alone or in pairs. Betsy chose a solitary barstool.
As she climbed onto it a woman bartender came smiling to her. Handsome, dark hair cut very short, wearing a pink shirt, a dark-blue vest buttoned tightly on a huge bosom.
"I'm Bingo," she said. "Welcome to our little den of iniquity."
"My name is Ann," Betsy said.
The woman was eyeing her breasts. "You're new…"
"Yes. What a charming place! I'm here to meet a friend of a friend – June Haley."
The other nodded. "I'll tell her something luscious looms in her future. Drink, Ann?"
"A dry martini, please."
While Bingo prepared the drink, Ann gazed about, saw two women in a booth with their heads together, hands under the concealing tablecloth.
Feeling each other up, she thought. Another woman, alone at the bar, was casting smiling glances at Betsy. Come hit her stuff!
She was amused and a little thrilled to be the object of a chase while herself on a mission of seduction.
She lit a cigarette, feeling quite satisfied with herself. She had left the house spick and span, had brought the mattress in and found it none the worse for its experience, had gone over to Laura's thinking of asking her about her work; selling houses sounded like fun and the hours appeared flexible. But Laura had been out. Well, tomorrow.
She was sipping her drink when a hand touched her arm.
It was the woman who had been eyeing her, a pretty brunette with a lushly sensual lower lip.
She said, "Bingo told me you have a date coming. But I thought – until then."
"Join me! I'm Ann."
"Marcia." She brought a barstool over touching Betsy's and climbed onto it, saying, "This place will be a madhouse after the offices let out. I like it better this afternoon way, sort of peaceful and friendly."
She smiled broadly. Dimples. And that lush, wide lower lip flattened in the sexiest fashion.
"You don't work, Marcia?" Betsy asked.
"My husband says he earns enough. And he does."
"The same as mine! But – dammit, I want my own money. Buy my own things."
"Me too. But so many jobs you have to sleep with the boss – my husband says. I just don't know if I could…"
"It would depend on the boss," Betsy smiled. "Goodness, we do think alike." She smiled quickly. Then Betsy felt, the other's hand caressing her knee.
"You prefer girls?" she asked.
Marcia blushed and glanced away. "Well – there's a cocktail lounge called Tina's – you've been there?"
"No."
"It's all women. Somehow I don't fed comfortable there, everybody pawing you, all hot eyed. See, I like men, I really do…"
Her hand had slipped under Betsy's skirt was stroking her thigh.
Betsy said, "But here you can sort of swing…"
"I'm terribly mixed up," Marcia said. And Betsy, sipping her drink, thought Marcia a match for what she had been yesterday, before Laura began turning her on. She observed that the woman sat slumped, biting her lip, frowning, while she herself was straight backed. Determined!
She said, "But Marcia, you seem to have a tendency to stroke girls' thighs."
The other withdrew her hand as though Betsy's flesh had burned her. A tear grew in her eye.
"Please excuse me. If you don't want…"
"Oh, I liked it. Did you?"
Both eyes misted over. She sobbed, "I'll ruin my makeup." She sniffled. "I didn't even realize I was doing it. Just being friendly."
"You mean you didn't let yourself know you were feeling my leg?"
"I'll look awful. Lily husband's coming here soon…"
"Pat your eyes with wet paper towels in the rest room."
Nodding, Marcia turned away and slid off the stool, then whispered, "Would you help me – cum?"
Curious now, Betsy climbed down and followed her toward the back of the lounge, noting the voluptuous roll of Marcia's ass. Bait? Am I being seduced?
The place was still quiet, the office crowd not yet arrived. There was time… She felt rippling little quirks in her cunt as they entered the rest room.