At the office Kit escaped her lust for Sonny through work. The boss had heaped her desk with reels of tape to be typed up, stacks of documents for photo-reproduction, and wads of memos. He had already taken the bag of golf clubs he kept at the office and headed for the country club.
Her job was largely a matter of organization, having a girl Photostat the documents, routing the tapes through the typing pool-later she would correct the spelling and send the stuff back to be retyped-making phone calls dictated by the memos, and filing it all away.
She kept an eye on the office's trysting ground, the water cooler.
When she saw Don Whitlaw head for it she abandoned work, fluffed her hair, and set out on the prowl.
Sauntering toward him she felt her cunt lips squish together. She was as randy as a cat on a rooftop.
Don was a grinning, lanky, disjointed, floppy haired guy with melting eyes.
He said, "Here comes Mrs. Pretty. Hello, Mrs. Pretty."
"Pretty what?" She knew what they called her.
"Knees," he said. "Mrs. Pretty Knees."
She filled a paper cup with ice water. Tasting it, she made a wry face. "Lousy beer, huh?"
"As beer, it is watery." He was looking at her breasts. She wore a yellow summer dress with thin shoulder straps, the bosom scooped out, a garment she had chosen for his delectation. He leered at her cleavage. "Mrs. Knees, you sure are pretty."
"But thirsty. This being beer season." She knew Don was a beer drinker.
"Well! The boss is off for the afternoon. And Barney's Bistro has suds on tap."
"Let's split this scene," Kit said.
Her plan to seduce Don Whitlaw ran into nothing but snags. They were no sooner ensconced on barstools at Barney's when a guy from the shipping department appeared, saying he had guessed from their departure that the big boss had left for the day.
He and Don talked baseball and drank beer while Kit, fuming with anger, sipped a gin and tonic. Shortly the shipping guy's two girl assistants appeared. One climbed all over Don. Other people arrived and within an hour a full-fledged office party was in progress.
A couple of men were flirting with Kit but she had her eye on Don. Seeing him duck out toward the phone booths, she followed, feeling so frustrated, so hot-crotched, so desperately in need of being fucked that she decided to simply demand that he take her to a motel.
He was talking on the phone when she opened the door and crowded into the booth.
His arm slid around her. He gave her a hug.
He said to the phone, "Honey, she's here right now. Kit, I have the wife on the line. Myra wants you to come to but house for supper. Can do?"
Kit could have screamed.
His wife had invited her for family supper, when her cunt was dripping like a leaky faucet!
But she agreed. At least this would let her stay away from home, giving Sonny and Lily more time to be together.
In her car, Kit followed Don's vehicle to Poplar View, a new development on the edge of town. Her jaundiced eye saw the place as ugly, a scatter of split-level houses clumsily plopped down on treeless, raw-looking lots. She positively hated Don for rejecting her, and his wife too, and their shitty house!
Don ushered her in the front door. She was pleasantly surprised by the living room. It featured a handsome sofa in color and apple green, some good antiques, boldly colorful abstract paintings on the walls.
Myra thrust out of the kitchen, calling, "Darlings!"
She was a tall, golden-limbed blonde wearing white shorts and a halter in which big tits bobbed and lurched. Kit eyed her resentfully, blaming her for Don's having come home. Myra was a luscious piece, and young, in her early twenties. Stiff competition.
Kit's attitude shifted to curiosity on recalling the party night when Myra had startled her by caressing her behind.
Myra gave her no time for speculation, seizing her arm and wheeling her to the kitchen, saying, "Don phoned that he was boozing with Mrs. Pretty-"
"Pretty Knees," Don put in.
"Then stop leering at her titties," Myra laughed. "And I said, Invite Mrs. Pretty-"
"Knees-"
"Oh shut up, darling. Invite her to dinner, I said. Kit, I'm so glad to see somebody from the world of the living! I am sick to puking over housewife talk of detergents and recipes. How beautiful you look! Gin and tonic, right? Don told me on the phone. You must be dying of thirst after the long drive here."
Despite herself, Kit smiled at Myra's rapid-fire chatter. Don's eyes twinkled as he watched his wife prance about, whipping a tonic bottle from the refrigerator, pouring gin with a generous hand. Don obviously doted on her. No wonder Kit's attempted seduction had failed. Myra seemed to fill the room, her golden limbs flashing, her big wobbling breasts tugging the halter this way and that.
She told her husband, "Chancy called over that he's having trouble patching his boat. He needs your fiberglass expertise. And he's run out of beer."
Kit saw their glances meet in one of those husband-and-wife gazes in which many things were said, unreadable by a third party.
He protested, "But Kit is here-"
"I'll keep Kit company. We'll yell when dinner is ready."
He opened the refrigerator and took out a six-pack of beer and headed for the back door. Myra watched him intently. The moment the door had closed she clutched Kit's arm.
She whispered, "Can you keep a secret? I mean, Don would kill me if he found out, he's so fucking square. Come on. The living room."
Kit followed her to the other room. Myra opened a chrome cigarette box on a lamp table and rummaged among king-sized filter tips.
She whispered, "I can't trust any of the neighborhood gals. They're so small-minded. But you've been around. See, it's no fun alone."
She drew a thin, hard-looking pink cigarette from under the white ones.
"Marijuana?" Kit asked.
Myra nodded. "It's the best grass, Panama Red. Do you want to turn on?"
"Well, I've only tried it a couple of times, never getting much out of it."
"This will send you." Myra seated her on the couch, dropped down beside her, lighting the cigarette. She sucked hard on it, lips compressed, drew until her face turned red. Biting firmly to hold in the smoke, she tugged the cigarette from her lips and handed it to Kit.
It was all too sudden. Kit gazed vacantly at the hard pink tube in her fingers.
The disruption of her plans had left her adrift.
"Go on," Myra urged. "It's the greatest."
Deciding she had not a thing to lose, Kit imitated Myra, sucking savagely at the stick, filling her lungs, her stomach, tensing every muscle as she forced it down. About to burst, she wrenched the stick from the vise of her lips and returned it.
She struggled to cramp the smoke down inside her, packing it by gulping, swallowing air. At last she had to let it hiss slowly out of her.
The next drag was easier. It sat like a lump inside her, then seemed to ooze through inner pores into her bloodstream. When she released her lungful there seemed little pressure left.
She had been gazing at one of Myra's abstract paintings. It was colorful, decorative, almost garish. But now she saw it come alive. The colors were layered and moving. Reds began to scream. Yellows blushed. The frame was transformed to a rectangular rainbow, a psychedelic nimbus.
Kit gasped, "Myra, I'm turned on! That painting is like a Technicolor movie."
"This is grassy grass, this Panama Red. Besides, there's a little hash mixed in. It lifts you like a balloon. Have you ever been a balloon?"
"No, I'm a movie projector," Kit giggled. "I'm projecting that painting of yours inside out on a wide screen."
"If you're zeroed in that heavy, I won't be a balloon either.
This nonsense talk somehow made perfect sense to Kit.
Myra took gold tweezers from the cigarette box and gripped the remaining butt of the pink stick, the roach, they called it. She held it to Kit's lips. Kit sucked it down to her toes. Her toes seemed to bloat, spread out, curl like fingers. She kicked off her sandals and toed into the nap of the rug, tugging it as she Pressured her gutful of grass down into a tiny pocket.
Myra had another pull before dropping the roach into the ash tray.
Kit watched the abstract painting change colors like a kaleidoscope. She gasped, "What a crazy cigarette that was!"
Then out of the corner of her eye she saw Myra's hand reach up to her. Slender fingers combed into her hair.
"Silky," Myra murmured. "Copper, gold, silken threads, a million of them, fluffy soft-"
Kit was aware that the girl had moved closer to her. The abstract painting was going away. She saw Myra's eyes, green warmed by other colors, not that green glitter associated with bitchy women, but a smiling haze beaming affectionately at her. She studied Myra's peaches-and-cream complexion, her delicate nostrils, her baby-pink lips. The lower lip was wide and plump, a damp cushion flattening as she smiled.
She realized that her time sense had been stretched by the drug. While drawing a single breath she could. study Myra's smile, look inside it, wonder at its meaning, evaluate everything the girl had said to her on their brief previous meetings. She gazed at Myra's slim golden arms, examined their contours, looked at the knobs her nipples made in the white halter, glanced at her long, downy, sun-gilded legs, at the shorts crotch molded to the form of her plump mound and large cunt lips, at the line of material drawn into her split. With a single look she saw Myra a thousand times and thought a thousand things.
The pertinent thought was that Myra's fingers winding voluptuously into her hair, her nearness, and her smile, all fitted that single ass caress at the party.
Kit knew she was going to have a lesbian experience. The thought did not disturb her. It would be part of this fourth dimension where picture frames were transformed to rectangular rainbows. She liked this shimmering, iridescent world. She would swing with it, let it happen, judging no one, especially not herself. She would float, drift, engulfing whatever pleasure arrived.
Myra's lips parted.
Her pink tonguetip slid out, wet and sinuous. It advanced. The fingers that had been weaving into Kit's hair curled around behind her neck, emerged touching her other cheek, turning her face toward the encroaching tonguetip.
Kit watched the tongue slipping in between her own lips, which had formed a small circle to admit it.
The tonguetip revolved slowly, rimming Kit's lip circle, opening it. Myra's mouth pressed in. An open seal was established.
Within it, Myra's tongue probed.
The tongue spilled heat down Kit's throat, a syrupy pink warmth that filled her body, dripping like honey down her vagina and seeping out her cunt lips into her panties.
It was delicious. Oh, it was a grass-floating drug thing, not real. Or did the drug only exaggerate the bald fact that she loved kissing this girl?
She raised her hands to Myra's face and caressed the velvety skin, held her firmly while yawning, turning her head to thrust her tongue in deeper.
In a corner of her mind she knew that no kiss could last this long or be so voluptuous. The drug tripled time, quadrupled it. An instant seemed an hour. Even the ending of the kiss was ridiculously drawn out, a lingering, sucking separation. Still reluctant to quit, Kit licked ovals about the girl's lips.
Myra spoke into her open mouth.
"I knew you would swing, Kit. Your every movement is so sexy. You sort of flow against people, man or woman. You're a very hot cunt, aren't you?"
Kit slowly nodded agreement without pausing in licking Myra's lips. They were simply creamy. She sucked the plump lower one as Myra spoke again.
"Sex with a girl is so much better, isn't it?"
Kit was puzzled. She was not exactly sexing with a girl, but with her mirror come to life, with a dream, a fantasy, colors from the abstract paintings gathered together and shaped into female form. She caressed peach-fuzzed cheeks, delicate earlobes, a soapy-soft throat. She fingered through warm hair that clung sensuously to her hands. What Myra said mattered little. This new world of visual beauty and voluptuous tactile impressions had consumed her.
Kit remembered many years ago staying overnight with a girl friend. She had been thirteen or so. In bed they had kissed, caressed each other's titties. In those days without responsibilities, she had been a giggling, giddy, happy girl, willing to try anything.
The drug was letting her float back to those days, away from the Sonny problem, into a world where each sight and touch and smell was new, exciting, unburdened by meaning.
Her fingertips brushed down Myra's soft throat to the white halter. They dug under it and drew it down long, white, broad slopes. She lifted it to clear nipples thumbing out from aureoles the size of small saucers. She levered the material down underneath the luscious melons.
The time-stretch afforded her an hour to finger-circle each breast, to tour the puffing aureoles, to tweak and gently milk the nipples.
A finger touched her chin. Myra's open mouth was approaching hers. She tongued into it, licked and sucked the sweet saliva.
With thumbs and forefingers she still milked the huge nipples.
Myra drew back. Kit glanced down at the protruding breasts shadowing the girl's belly and shorts. A metallic glitter caught her eye, the zipper tab of Myra's fly. She pinched it and pushed downward. The shorts yawned, exposing white flesh, then low-cut flowered panties, the material marked with the dark whorls and tangles of pubic; hair beneath.
Abruptly Myra moved.
Kit's time-lagging gaze blurred. The other was standing now, holding Kit's hand, saying, "Come with me."
Kit became the balloon Myra had spoken of. She did not rise, she simply floated to her feet.
"Let's go to the bedroom and take our clothes off," Myra said.
Myra drew the bedroom drapes, reducing the shimmering light that had been the soul of Kit's color-riddled psychedelic euphoria.
She felt calmer now but intensely curious about the next step in this adventure she was groping her way through. She watched Myra's big breasts sway, wobbling and jiggling as she moved. She eyed the girl's gaping shorts, where flowered panties were darkened by the backing of fluffy pubic hair. She thought, I want to tear her panties down.
How strange that she lusted for a woman!
But the very strangeness of it made this the perfect escape from her hunger for Sonny.
Myra placed a tight pink cigarette on the dresser before the mirror, murmuring, "We'll smoke that later."
Through the window Kit heard male laughter. Don's voice.
Myra stepped behind Kit, unzipping her dress.
Kit asked, "Does Don know?"
"That I dig girls? Of course. As long as he gets his fucking, he doesn't care. Just so I don't sex with gals in the neighborhood."
"Does he know that you and I-"
"Sure. When he phoned me from Barney's and said you were acting randy, I told him to bring you home and then get lost."
She unhooked Kit's bra, swept dress and bra down her body.
Myra gasped, "No wonder they call you Mrs. Pretty Tits!"
Kit gazed at herself in the mirror. Her nude breasts were high, almost perfect spheres, the pink nipples precisely centered on large, puffed aureoles. She had always been proud of her titties, and now, seeing Myra's hands rise under them, slim fingers winding circles about the orbs, they pleased her more than ever. Yes, she wanted Myra to caress her tits, to pant over them, to become as excited as a man would be.
Myra's hot breasts pressed her bare back. Kit shivered with delight. In the mirror she saw that her eyes were hooded, dark with heat, her smile puffy-lipped and sultry. Her whole body was slowly undulating as the girl behind her stoked and kneaded her breasts, tugged daintily at her nipples until they protruded like pegs from the swollen cushions of her aureoles.
Myra dropped a hand. Without surprise, Kit watched slim golden fingers caress her belly and slip under her panty waistband and furrow the thick tangle of her mound curls.
"You're hairy-twatted," Myra whispered.
"Do you mind that?"
"I love it!" Myra's knuckles now stretched the panty crotchband. Gently, her fingers slithered boneless down Kit's cunt lips, spread them and explored her gash.
Kit moaned and hipped into the tantalizing caresses.
"Kit, your slit is drooling. You're hot for me, aren't you?"
Myra made another of her abrupt movements, again disturbing Kit's taffy-pulling-slow time sense, quickly whipping down her panties, then turning away to divest herself of clothing.
Nude, she stood beside Kit, an arm around her. They gazed at their mirror images. Kit was first struck by the width of their hips. Two women hip to hip seemed triply wide. And their tits took up a lot of space. But more important was the graceful way they vined together, two forms without angles, a sweet, sisterly pairing. She slipped an arm about Myra, saw her hand emerge on the other's hipbone where the white triangle of bikini-protected flesh began, swooping down Myra's belly just above her tawny pubes, up to meet a similar white hip band mark on Kit's flank. Myra was the more deeply tanned, her breasts and belly whiter. Kit's flesh had a pinkish cast.
She studied the other girl's pussy, big lips tightly closed, the hair neatly furrowed. Her own cunt was more open, the glistening inner lips just visible in the masking fur.
Then, at the top of Myra's split, she saw a pink nubbin protrude.
As she watched, it grew, glistening, like a tiny cock nuzzling out through the tawny cunt hair. Was Myra-abnormal? Puzzled, Kit reached to the girl's twat and fingered the appendage. It was oily, and slid away before her touch.
Myra said, "Yes, I have an oversized clit. My doctor says it's unusual but not rare. I can jerk it off like a cock. I think that makes it grow bigger. Masturbating, I mean. It used to swell out like a tiny bubble when it got hot. But now-play with it, darling, see how big it is."
Kit pinched the little projection between thumb and forefinger. After spreading Myra's cunt lips she found it was sufficiently long that she could indeed jerk it off. But it was elusive, and as Myra grew excited and began hipping, Kit lost it.
Myra gave a groan and abruptly turned Kit, facing, pressing their tits together. The four swollen breasts formed what felt like a single, giant, pulsing, hot cushion.
Myra began to shake her shoulders.
Like shivering. Very slight, very rapid movements. The effect was a liquid rolling in the tit cushion that made Kit gasp. Almost instantly she responded by mimicking the shoulder shivering. The firm jelly of their tit mass rolled like ocean waves trying to break but failing. Waves mounted, crested, tumbled, yet paused hanging in midair, quivering about. Indenting nipples were hard points of certainty but Kit could not tell which pair of the four were her own.
She gazed down and was surprised to see that the shaking tit cushion was not a solid mass. There was a cleavage between. Each facing pair held fast through the traction of rubbery aureole discs and digging hard nipples. All four tits quivered like jelly, the meaty firmness that made them protrude seemingly liquefied.
This silken pulsing between them was utterly feminine, a world in which nothing as harsh as a man's stiff cock could exist. Kit thought, If this is lesbian ism, then I like being a lesbian! It rules out the man problem. A stick of pot, a girl with magnificent big tits, that's all I need.
The shoulder shivering had spread down their bodies. Their hips and legs shook stiffly, increasing the quivering-jelly tempo of their only points of contact, their breasts. The waves within the tit cushion mounted and tried harder to break, and Kit wondered if she could have a tit orgasm. The four breasts so filled her existence that her cunt seemed distant, unimportant.
Then Myra's mouth opened, her tongue protruding. Kit pressed eagerly to it, licked into the girl's rolling lips. Their tongues flowed together forming a limber unity, a soft, slithering roll of sensation connected to their titties, which had again lost identity and trembled on a single heartbeat. Myra's hands touched her hips and she arched in, her hot belly pulsing against the other girl's, their pubic mounds rotating together.
Myra spoke in her, mouth. "Honey, you're close to a come, aren't you?"
"Yes-"
"Then, on the bed."
Kit felt herself moved. The backs of her legs struck the edge of the bed. She fell.
Myra dropped to her knees on the floor between Kit's spraddled legs.
Kit saw the blonde head thrust in between her thighs. Myra's mouth yawned..
Her tongue lashed right up Kit's cunt.
She shrieked at the instant ecstasy of the wet length shooting up her hole, swabbing the walls as it entered. It felt as big as a cock. She knew this was an illusion deriving from the grass she had smoked. Yet her cunt was full of the flailing wet softness and her inner suction pulled in long surges, announcing a coming orgasm.
She looked down her belly at Myra's head in the notch of her raised thighs, a fringe of reddish pubic hair across her brow.
The tongue withdrew.
Kit reached down and clutched Myra's head, trying to force it in again. Then a wet suction seized her clit and she shrieked as fire boiled from the swollen clitoris into her belly.
Myra lipped off. Kit saw her clit protruding, a coral nubbin dripping saliva and cunt juice.
Myra gasped, "Oh, honey, you have the sweetest cunt!"
She coiled her tongue about the red clit.
Moaning, Kit threw her legs across Myra's back and began heaving, fucking her face. She felt her titties rolling wildly about. She seized them, kneaded, pulling the nipples. Myra's tongue again slid up her hole, a cock-sized lashing whip.
Finally the girl fingered up Kit's asshole, driving her to the peak.
Kit's hips were jerking crazily as she fucked at the piercing tongue and finger. A tidal wave stormed within her, rising, rising. She was coming not violently but like a toppling wave, a female-soft, hot wave spilling and washing her cunt, breaking endlessly, flooding the giant tongue.
Her heels dug into Myra's back. That was her only contact with reality. The rest of her was a gushing cunt gulping a tongue.
She dissolved in a gush, her being reduced to a Technicolor droplet of cunt juice.
Much later-minutes or hours-Kit found herself sitting on the edge of the bed, an arm curled about Myra, kneading a big tit.
Myra was lighting another pink cigarette.
Kit took her turns at pulling on it. Each time she ballooned, pot smoke raising her off the bed.
She gazed at Myra's tits. Incredibly swollen. The aureoles were long cones flowing into the finger-like nipples. They made Kit recall the time she visited a farm and tried milking a cow. The fleshy, hand-sized teats had been like this. Kit fisted one. It filled her hand. She bent down and licked the turgid nipple, then impaled her mouth on it and sucked.
She nibbled in rubbery aureole, gulped the nipple to her throat.
Myra finished the pink grass stick while Kit tilled her hands with tits, sucking one and then the other. She thrust her face in between them and laughed as she rolled the, soft melons on her cheeks, into her ears, her eyes.
They fell onto the bed then.
"Kit, baby, are you going to lap me?"
Kit abandoned her mammary feast and looked down Myra's white belly at her tawny pubes, a soft-edged triangle of hair extending almost to her hipbones, a froth of curls bushing on her mound, curving down between her legs to separate into sticky cunt lip hairs. The fat labia were ovaled about her gash, a wide, glistening red trough, and the oversized, dripping clit pointed up at her.
Kit said, "I never have-"
"You'll love it. Try it, baby."
Kit paused, thinking that in lesbianism there was freedom from Sonny's cock. But she could not picture herself going down on a girl's snatch.
She moved, perhaps impelled by curiosity, into the cradle of Myra's thighs and the hairy gates of her twat. The long clit was standing out from under its hood. The inner lips were swollen and seemed to quiver, shedding juice; Myra's hole was an immense coral ring leading to darkness. Below it, ass hair almost concealed the pucker of her anus.
Kit grasped the undersides of the girl's white thighs. Nearing, her nostrils quivered at the smell of hot cunt. Her blood pounded. The odor writhed hotly in her mind and sent her down into the gash, licking hard.
She swabbed the slippery flesh, the softest, slickest thing she had ever tasted. Within seconds she was sucking the long clit, holding it in her mouth and licking it. She loved it!
I'm a lesbian now, she thought. A grass-smoking cunt lapper, and I love it. She speared her tongue up the hole. Delicious! She sucked the juice. Soon she was drunk on it. She mouthed the whole cunt, sucking the big, hairy lips into her mouth, drawing off and swallowing a mouthful of vaginal drool.
Myra cried, "Honey, you're a wonderful cunt lapper! Let's do it to each other."
Kit responded eagerly. Soon she found herself on her back, gazing up the spread of Myra's thighs to her hair-fringed snatch and the white globes of her ass. She drew her lover down, digging her fingers into pearly buttocks, licking even before the drooling gash was within reach.
It was sheer ecstasy. She heeled the girl's shoulders, felt the tit cushions between them flatten under Myra's weight, and when her cunt gulped at the other's lashing tongue, she puckered her lips on the oversized clit above her and sucked it right into her mouth.
Myra moaned loudly. Kit wrenched her hips, shoving them into a fuck movement that soon had her flowing, her hole a pool of juice that her lover frothed with her gyrating tongue.
Kit's cunt was churning into orgasm, but now, sucking clit, fingering the girl's luscious behind, she was again time-stretched, gazing into the inviting depths of the big cunt hole, tonguing away at the dl, languorously lipping the jellied inner labia, almost lazily breathing into the yawning cunt before licking up it.
Her come was surprising, a high point flowing into another without breaking the rhythm of her belly's soft inward pulls. Myra came harder, squashing her open split on Kit's face.
Kit wolfed in the tender flesh, drank of it, breathed only the intoxicating cunt odors Her next come seemed to turn her pussy inside out. But nothing ended! She was rising toward yet another climax.
She realized that they were going to lap each other and come every few minutes until exhaustion made them stop.
It's all I need, Kit thought. At last I'm content