Vera stared wide-eyed at her. The change had been too abrupt. The tears welled in her eyes. Her face paling, she looked confused.
Then she dropped a hand to her red-haired crotch and squeezed herself, biting her lip.
"Betsy. I've never. Oh, Betsy. Except – drunk. But I'm hot!" She rubbed hard at her pussy. "My cunt's so – wet – oh, Betsy!"
With that she plunged in, throwing an arm around Betsy's ass and crushing in.
Betsy felt her entire vulva sucked into the girl's wet mouth, which seemed full of flailing tongues.
Her cum had started, a cuntal slithering that began to shiver, as though heat waves were racing out of her too rapidly for each to be identified. That trembling extended to her bowed-out leg, wee to her naked tits and they quivered like jelly, those swollen melons with caps puffed out to cones too large for even a male hand to cover. Straining, head back, her belly arched in to the mouth of the girl sitting on the john, she let the violent shivering carry her into orgasm.
She choked out, "Vera – lap me…"
The other's voice, muffled by cuntal flesh, seemed agonized yet hysterical with joy.
"I'm eating your cunt! Oh, Betsy, I'm – there – I sucked your clit, such a big clit! Oh, I love cunt-lapping, I'm drinking it! Betsy, I love you, love you!"
Panting, feeling her breasts wobble crazily about as she jerked to the very peak of orgasm, losing all control, afraid of falling over backward, Betsy could only hip into the licking and sucking, using it to balance her teetering body. She seized her breasts to still their wild rotation, pulled at handfuls of rubbery flesh, drawing the cum right up into her tits, through them to her burning throat and cheeks, cumming to the eyeballs.
Vera's tongue slid up her hole, into a convulsing space large enough to contain a thousand like it.
I need cock, Betsy moaned inside. I need a cuntful of stiff meat, Tom's long shaft with the head like – an apple!
Yes, even while surging through a cum, tongue was not enough.
She had to be fucked, just had to be!
Then she heard Vera's cry: "I'm cumming too!"
Betsy was falling. It was all spilling out of her, all the hot waves melted to mill-pond quiet. Below she saw Vera frantically finger-fucking herself. She was sliding down, knees touching Vera's, passing them. Limber now, loose all over, falling to knee the bath mat.
Before her were the girl's spread white thighs, straining, and between them her racing hand, jamming fingers up her hole.
"I'll lap you," Betsy said.
Crying out, not ceasing in the frantic cuntal massage, Vera squirmed to the front of the john seat.
The mat of red pubic hair. The yawning lips, dribbling streamers of vaginal juice, inner lips quivering, and the little clit a fiery protrusion.
Betsy pressed into it, mouthed the jellied flesh, and sucked.
She heard Vera's cry, like the howl of a wounded animal.
Hands seized Betsy's head and held her in tight as she sucked and lapped the girl into the most violent raptures of orgasm.
Then Vera folded down over her, sobbing, "Honey darling, oh Betsy, I want to go to bed with you and lap your cunt all night long!"
But Betsy, despite her cum, could feel her cunt still sucking in on its empty self.
It wanted cock.
They had washed their faces and tidied their hair, and left the bathroom with arms tightly about each other, Vera's bra and panties remaining behind.
At an open bedroom door Vera stopped, begged, "Please, sweetheart? To bed?"
"We can't, darling. We'd ruin the party. And we can't just sneak away to make love. We have to settle it with George. He has to accept you as a person with rights of your own."
"I can't face him."
"We'll face him together."
But they did not have to. In the living room people were dancing to the slow, quiet music Betsy had heard before. George with Laura, Tom and little Doris.
Colby, who was draining a glass, saw them, and after swallowing hard, called, "How long does it take to pee?"
It sounded like "bee". Amused, Betsy decided he was drunk. A silly ass, this Colby, grinning like a jack-o-lantern.
And Laura cried, "The john's free at last. Me having to piss a gallon!"
She broke from George and ran off to the bedroom hall.
The music had ended. Doris scuttled from Tom and scrunched into a corner of one of the couches, primly tugging her skirt down over her knees, reminding Betsy of a girl who had nerved herself up to a duty dance, and now breathed a sigh of relief that it was over.
Tom caught Betsy's eye, his look inquiring. Winking toward Vera, she nodded. He grinned, apparently pleased.
She saw the knob of his cock pushing out at his pants, forming a tent. From dancing with Doris! And once again she felt a stab of jealousy.
She slipped from Vera over to Tom and whispered hoarsely, "Tom, I've got to. I need it inside me."
He put an arm about her and turned her from the group, saying, low-voiced, "Look, we're breaking ice. Warming them up. Laura was riding George's leg and he loved it. The bastard's cock is sticking out like a hammer handle."
Betsy shot her hand over to Tom's prick and gripped the horny shank, whispering, "I've had all the lapping I can take. I need meat up my hole!"
"Honey, I'm the ringmaster of this circus. I can't leave them."
"You said George, is horny. I'll take him to the kitchen, I'll seduce him."
As she spoke her hand roved on that hard cock and fat head that she wanted so desperately.
"Do that."
Her gaze shot up at him, hurt. "But Tom, it's you I want!"
"The party won't be a success until everybody is horny for everybody. I haven't got the only cock in Horny Haven."
But the one she held, throbbing now under her caresses, obsessed her.
She straightened. "All right, Tom. It is your party." She turned from him and looked about for George.
George had clutched his wife's arm and was whispering in her ear while she, Vera, bit her lip and looked terribly unhappy.
Betsy moved toward them, moved all over, hips rolling and titties wobbling heavily before her, lashes low, gazing with feline lewdness at George, looking up his hard torso and at the erection still lifting his pants.
She slipped in between them, slithering, separating husband and wife, saying, "Vera, George is going to help me make drinks."
She used muscle in starting him toward the kitchen. She was of equal height with George, not as heavy, but as she measured their respective weights she had no feeling of being a frail reed.
She vined her hands about his arm – solid with muscle – and chinned his shoulder, saying, "You can teach me mathematics, George. I never got beyond six times seven because it kept coming out forty-one."
"I thought it was forty-three," he grinned. "But – um – Bets…"
"Betsy."
"Well Betsy, about Vera. Girls. I mean her and girls – you know what I mean? Sometimes I can't touch her for weeks and weeks."
"Maybe she needs those weeks to be herself," Betsy said.
"But a guy in bed with his wife every night…"
"That's the trouble. That's wrong."
He stopped her in the kitchen doorway. "You're saying marriage is wrong?"
"I'm beginning to think it's a lot of shit." She strode from him to the sink shelf where the drink makings were laid out. She did not neglect to roll her ass heavily as she walked, and at the sink stood with a hip cocked out.
"I'm very confused," George said.
Betsy spilled ice cubes into gasses. "I'm not. I'm fed up with my husband and I'm alone in a kitchen with a nice mathematician and poetry lover and I intend to make the most of it."
She turned on him, saw George blushing and looking away.
She said, "If you alternated weeks, sleeping with Vera one week, me the next, you'd have all the hot pussy you could handle."
He scowled. "Betsy, you're just trying to shock…"
"Shock you, yes, shock you out of stupid habits, out of a rut people have been in too long."
She switched back to the counter and poured whiskey on the ice cubes. Speaking sharply to George seemed to have cleared her mind. She meant to seduce him, but in her way. With pride!
He was behind her now. She turned, handing him a drink, took one herself and sipped it, gazing steadily at him over the din of her glass.
He smiled crookedly, said, "I like rational argument. Don't often get it from a woman. So tell me about marriage."
"No, I'll tell you about me. Something happened to me this morning and I woke up like shot out of a gun. I'm going to be me, Betsy, not Mrs. Pampered Housewife whose husband is so overbearing that I lose my nerve and can't even balance my checking account. So we'll start with what I am."
She set her drink on the counter and yanked her skirt up to her waist.
"See, George, I'm a cunt. Down under all that pubic hair there's just a split, and in it three important things. A clit like a miniature prick. A pee hole. And a fuckhole."
He flicked a glance down at her pubes, then away. Smiling wryly, he said, "This is a very strange rational argument."
Still holding her skirt up she said, "Whereas you, George, have a cock that can erect and point straight ahead like a gun. Maybe men like guns because they are superior cocks. Anyhow, men follow their pointing pricks. This is called masculine drive. Supposedly women lack drive because they lack cocks. But that's only an argument to keep men in power. Because brains run the world and my brains are not in my cunt. Go on, hunt brains in my cunt, George! Feel me up! Go ahead!"
George giggled. "I grant you the argument."
"I haven't proven it yet. I will. Go ahead, put your hand on my pussy."
Blushing, he reached between her legs and pressed his palm to Betsy's cunt.
And she grabbed his cock, feeling his hand curl closed on her pussy lips.
She said, low-voiced, "There, George. We're both people, one cocked and one cunted. Marvelously, we need each other, cock in cunt. Plug in hole. But I'm not waiting for you to ask or insist. I'm the aggressor."
"You're saying you want me to fuck you?"
"Na, I want us to share a fuck."
He smiled. "The word fuck comes from Anglo-Saxon. It meant, to plow. So it's male, a plowing of the female."
"And that I'm changing. Betsy doesn't get fucked, she fucks with men."
George laughed abruptly. "Betsy, I like you!"
And she, squeezing his stony prick, measuring it with fingertips running out its length, wondered why her bathroom lover had said her husband's cock was small.
She at last released it and pushed his hand from between her legs, saying, "Let's knock back our drink."
Together they leaned on the counter, his arm about her now, she cuddled to his side, and sipped their drinks.
He said thoughtfully, "You think I should let Vera have her girl friends?"
Betsy nodded. "Let her invite them home. You sleep in the spare room – on a couch – George, this marriage stuff smothers us." Then, warming as she rubbed against him, Betsy whispered, "George, you could put your hand under my skirt."
She felt him lift it, then his square, hard hand caressing her bare buttocks.
"You've opened my eyes," he said.
Sipping her drink, she slid a hand down between him and the counter and lightly grasped his cock. She moved her finger, gently, an easy jerk-off action.
He said, "You talk like you're leaving your husband."
"If he can't adjust to Betsy, yes. George, it has taken all my nerve to speak out, to act out my desires. Like, I wanted to fondle your cock, well, I'm doing it. And the argument I gave you, I was inventing as I went along – discovering! Yes, finding what I am. I think I'll get a job, George, prove I can do it, just as tonight I'm proving I can make love with a man on the same level, something mutual instead of rape."
George's fingers were invading her ass crack. She spread her legs to give him room.
And she grasped the tab of his zipper, saying, "I'm going to take it out, if you don't mind."
"Be my guest," George chuckled.
She opened it and dug out his hot and horny prong. Thick, very thick, though shorter than Tom's, filling her hand. She could scarcely wrap her fingers about it.
"Vera says its small," George said.
"Bah, that's because she has a big cunt."
"Do you know that?"
She laughed. "Cunts stretch to hold a biggie, shrink to hold a small one. Oh yes, I've been at Vera's pussy, which is none of your business, what she and I do, unless you're tolerant enough to let us be ourselves. But of course she had to let us fuck."
He was pressing her anal button. Betsy squirmed back against the pressure, it felt so good, and she squeezed his hot cockstem.
Like that, sipping her drink, hearing dance music in the living room, and rain beating on the roof, Betsy felt lifted on a wave of euphoria. She could achieve anything. And George seemed content, as tough caught up in her mood. Despite his rigid prick he seemed in no hurry to fuck.
They had finished their drinks. Betsy poured two more. Laughter in the other room, voices becoming raucous. Boozy now.
Time to find a bedroom. But she did not want to leave the kitchen. Like the john now belonged to Vera and herself, she wanted to leave her mark on the kitchen, with George. She glanced about. The linoleum looked awfully hard. She saw a counter stool. She giggled.
She pointed to it, said, "George, I think I'd like to fuck on that tall stool."
"You lady!" He was laughing.
"Come on. Naked, huh?" Gulping at her drink she slipped from him, curled an arm behind her to get at the dress zipper, thinking this might be the last undressing of the night. Yes! From now on, nude.
She tugged the dress off over her head, and tossed it onto the kitchen table, then went – wagging her rump – to the counter stool and brought it back to the drinks.
George, grinning hugely, was peeling his shirt off, revealing a hairy chest that looked three feet wide. Then he dropped his pants, Betsy watching closely. Lots of cock hair, stumpy prick protruding hammer-handle stiff from it, and a nice big pair of balls weighting his scrotum. His biceps bulged. Strong!
She said admiringly, "You didn't get that physique doing math or reading poetry."
"I'm a stone mason, Betsy. Or I was, that's how I worked through college. I build walls, fireplaces, in my spare time."
And Betsy, standing there naked, sipping her drink and feeling no embarrassment whatsoever, found she liked his body.
She said, "I love stonework. You should build a house!"
"We intend to. Vera and I…"
He paused, frowned, and she knew he was thinking in old terms, himself and his wife.
She said, "Maybe a house for three, since I like stone."
"You do upset my calculations, Betsy."
"And you mine. I was never interested in short men, being a tall girl, but I like looking straight at you." She stepped to him, her belly pressing his cock, turned her head and briefly kissed his lips. "How nice! The same height!"
"You make me feel like I'm growing."
Smiling, she gave his cock a slap. "That's the only growing thing on you, that horny cock. Hey, George, suppose somebody came hunting drinks and found us naked…"
"I've been thinking of that."
"But I mean, not fucking. Just talking." And now, flying on her wave of elation she added, "I'd rather they find us fucking, though. I want everybody to know we fuck!"
"We don't, not yet."
So Betsy backed to the counter stool, climbed the rungs and sat on it with her legs spread wide. She gave her cunt a rub – it itched-and said, "We'll have to test for height."
George broke up, bent over laughing. "Shit, Betsy, I've never had such a strange – love affair – in my life."
"Because you've never fucked a cunt who has just emerged from bondage and discovered she's alive! And well! And Betsy."
Wiping tears of laughter from his eyes, George came to her, halted with his stiffly protruding cock precisely at the level of the stool seat, his knob butting her pubic bush.
"This stool was made to order," he said.
And George, Betsy thought, was made to her order, this stony-muscled smallish man with the wide chest and the hard cock.
She braced her heels on the stool rungs and squirmed to him while thumbing his prick down below her bush into the steaminess of her split.