Ronnie Spencer was standing near the couch when she opened her eyes. There was no sign of the twins, Ted and Fred. Maybe it was just as well. "That was cute," Ronnie mid. "Really cute, Marie."
"Joanne, not Marie," Like said. "Unless you want to be Donny instead of Ronnie." She sat up, stretching, yawning. Her pussy and asshole felt as if they'd been reamed out with fire, but there was the strangest, weirdest sense of satisfaction bubbling inside Joanne. I was frightened, she thought, frightened of what I found out when I went to see my husband. But I'm not frightened any more. I can handle anything, the way I handled those two cocks.
"I mean it," he said. "What the fuck got into you?" He colored. "I mean, what were you thinking about, damnit? Do you know what you looked like? You looked like some kind of a slut. It made me sick."
"Did you stop watching?" Joanne yawned. She stood up, caught him by the chin. "Don't frown. It makes your facial muscles weak. Smile. Unless you want to have a permanent scowl, that is." She stood up on tiptoes, kissed him lightly on the lips. His mouth was cold, unresponsive. He caught her hand as she started to go past him.
"I mean it," he said, "I mean, I thought maybe you and I – you know, could get somewhere. I never had a girl quite like you before, one that was so cool and sharp and knew her way around. But…"
"Don't even say it," she told him, turning. "Listen, Ronnie, I am a lot older than you are, for one thing, and I have commitments. If I still have them, that is. When we got together, it was just something I wanted to do at that particular moment. And when your friends came along, well, that was something I wanted to do, too. I'm sorry you didn't join us. I think I could have handled all three of you, but now I guess I'll never know, will I?"
He made a face. She shook her head. "Listen," he said, "I could swear I've seen you before. Did you ever…"
"No questions asked, none answered." She shrugged.
"Maybe I'll see you again sometime. And maybe we can pick up where we left off. But right now I have to be on my way. Like I said, I have commitments. Sort of. I still have them, it's just that the person I have them to…"
She didn't feel like saying anything else. It was late in the afternoon and she had to get home. She still had to figure out what she was going to say to Tom when they had their big discussion. For Chrissake, she couldn't let it go on, could she, this double life of his? But how to talk about it, how to keep herself from taking him apart with the carving knife? She limped into Ronnie's bedroom, feeling the most delicious soreness and stiffness between her legs with every step, and she began to dress. Her mind was doing sixty but getting nowhere.
In the end, of course, she held her tongue. Tom came in about six, and though he mentioned the library, she knew damned well where he'd really been. She could smell it on him, now that she knew what to smell for, and there it was, strong as shit, the fragrance of another woman's arms. She watched him shovel away his supper. Would the college be interested in giving him tenure if they knew that he was fucking one of his students? She supposed it was only one, but of course she couldn't be sure. She couldn't even be sure that this Alice bitch was the only one. Oh, damn, she thought, picking languidly at her food, I still don't have enough information!
After supper he disappeared into his den to work on some essays his students had turned in that day. Hmmmm, she thought, I seduced poor Ronnie out of class and he missed an assignment. Maybe I should put in a good word, tell Tom that his student was doing a good deed for an old lady. Or did she care at all? She wasn't sure, especially when she happened to pass the door and stopped a moment to listen, the walls were pretty thick, but it sounded as if Tom were talking to someone. There was a private line telephone in the den. Was he calling his little twinkle? She couldn't tell for sure and she didn't want to make a scene at the wrong time. Best to save her cards for the big hind.
When he came up to bed that night, she was wearing her naughtiest nightie, a frilly pink nothing that was scooped out low al the tits and rode high at the thighs. It had a matching panty, but she didn't feel the need to wear it tonight. She lay on the bed, sheet tossed down to her feet, and the nightie's hem was pulled up. When Tom closed the bedroom door behind him, she was busy stroking herself with a shiny pink vibrator, shaped rather like a stiff pink cock. She'd bought it that afternoon on her way home from Ronnie's, at a drugstore. Surprising, really, how easy they were to get. A whole display case of them at the back of the store. She had only to make her choice and pay the druggist.
"What the hell are you doing?" Tom asked, taking off his shirt. His body was smooth and firm, and she felt the gnaw of regret as she watched him undress. Wait a fucking minute! Was that a scratch on his shoulder? Goddamned right it was! And she knew she hadn't put it there. Angrily, she flipped the vibrator back on and began to slide it up and down the bun of her pussy.
"What does it look like?" she asked. "I'm masturbating." He stood by the bed in his shorts. Was there a tiny telltale stain on the crotch? A pecker track? She thought so. Joanne set her lips firmly and kept tickling her pussy. It really felt good, once she got the hang of it. A constant stimulating buzz along the crack and down into the anal cleavage. Oohhhh! Jesus Christ! She was still very tender there, and it might be days before she was even comfortable taking a slit. Damn, she hadn't really wanted to be cornholed today, but she'd been dry so long that anything was an improvement.
"That's obscene," he told her. "For Chrissake, Joanne, do you have to do that while I'm watching?"
"I'm sorry if it offends you," she said evenly. "But you're under such tremendous strain that you haven't had time to ball for – well, God, how long has it been now? Ooooohhhhh! Kinda got me that time, you know? It takes time getting used to one of these." She slid it up and down her cracked opening, buzzing the puffy labes of her pussy while he watched. She let the pink tip of the vibrator ease gently into her slightly splayed slit, just enough to give him the message, but not enough to irritate the tenderness of her twat. After all, the poor little rosebud had gotten a hell of a working over today. She'd tested it with her finger, moaned in a mixture of agony and sweet sweet joy.
"Are you some kind of sex maniac? Is that it? Christ, Joanne, all you ever think about is fucking. It seems to me that it's unhealthy to have it on your mind all the time."
"I don't have it on my mind all the time," she answered, pushing the button to the higher speed. "I just have it on my mind when I can't get it. Which is all the time. But don't be concerned. This is just to tide me over until you get your own, problems resolved and we're a happy couple again, the way we used to be. I know that as soon as you find out about your tenure everything will be comfy-cozy for us, and in the meantime – oh, Jesusssss!"
She had it in herself now, the tip – maybe an inch of it in all – shoved boldly into her pussy, and her toes were twitching where they stretched down the bed, at the end of her long naked legs. She could smell the hat arousal of her twat now, and she knew that what had begun as a calculated effort to piss off her husband would have to be carried all the way through. She was worked up again, and she needed it. If he didn't want to watch, he could sleep on the couch this evening. She worked it free of her clinging labes, moaned, began to stroke herself again, sliding deeper and deeper into the crack of her ass no matter how much it ached and tingled when she touched herself there.
"See?" she panted, turning to face him. "It's the housewife's friend, and the husband's helper too. When in need, put in some batteries and just go to town – wow! You don't have to worry about me running around with other guys, either. Not as long as I have this. And when you have time for me again, well, I'll just throw it in the trashcan and replace it with the real thing. What could be more convenient. Oh, God, this thing feels incredible! Would you like me to tickle your dick with it? I bet it would put some lead in your pistol, tenure or no tenure, darling. Oh, roll over, let me stroke you. You'll love it!"
He resisted strongly as she tried to flip him over and get the buzzing vibrator into his shorts. Probably wouldn't help, she told herself. "You know," she said, abandoning the attempt and returning the vibrator to where it could do the most good, "this thing makes me feel like Alice in Wonderland. It's just like magic on my little honeybun."
Tom sat up. "What did you say?"
She could hardly keep from laughing. Determinedly, she worked the vibrator harder and harder across her pussy bulge. It slipped into her crack again, just the tip of it, but because he was watching, she flipped her wrist and drove another inch or two of buzzing pink plastic up her fucked-out hole. It whirred through the reaches of her twat that had been most heavily exercised this afternoon, and she moaned and groaned and kicked out wildly on the bed. She wasn't faking, not all of it. The vibrator couldn't begin to compete with a real, flesh-and-blood dick, a cock that could fuck her hard and fast and fill her aching pussy with the healing milk of cum, but it was okay when you didn't have anything else, and she was a little sorry that she'd never gotten around to buying one of the clever devices a long time ago. Still, though, if she'd had one to fall back on, she might have never discovered her husband's sordid secret life. This is for Honeybun and Professor Big Cock, she thought, humping it home as he watched with slack-jawed disbelief, and then she was thumping up to meet the invader and her pussy was full of juice. If it had been an electric vibrator she'd have short-circuited herself, but it worked on battery power and she could hump it till the cows came home. Not that she had to. The thrill of fucking herself with a piece of plastic, right in front of the cheating eyes of her husband, was too much.
"God, fuck meeeee!" she wailed, wrapping her legs around the buzzing tool that protruded from her wet snatch, and she grabbed at Tom, hugging him tightly as she rode through her come.
When it was over she sank back, reached down, flipped off the buzzing mechanism, and slowly extracted the vibrator from her snatch. "Thanks love," she murmured, and she kissed the thing where it was wet with her pussy juices. There was a sweet, piquant taste to the plastic, coated as it was with her own leakings, and she let her tongue glide up and down. "Oh, wow," she said finally, and she leaned over, put the vibrator back into its box, tucked it under her pillow. Tom was still propped on one arm, staring at her as if he'd never seen her before. "G'night, now," she said, blowing him a kiss, and she turned out the light. She stayed awake in the dark long enough to be sure that he was having a hard time getting to deep.
Oh, too bad, she thought, maybe Miss Honeybun won't like Professor Big Cock with bags under his eyes in the morning. And with a grin of satisfaction, she closed her eyes and went to sleep. It had been one hell of a good day.
The next morning was delicious! Tom didn't have any classes till ten o'clock and he even decided to eat breakfast with Joanne before he left for school. All through the meal he stared at her across the table, and she knew he was seeing her as he'd seen her last night, stroking her curt with the buzzing vibrator while he'd looked on, unbelieving. Think about it! she had signaled to him. "Will you be home for supper?" she asked. "I was planning to cook."
"No," he replied, "I, uh, don't think so. Some work I need to take care of."
She knew what kind of work he had meant. There was a guilty look in his eyes, and she could see it so damned clearly now. Had it been there all along? Had she only overlooked it in the past? No matter. As soon as he was out the door and into his car, she was on the telephone. The school records office gave her an address and phone number for student body member Alice Custer and, inventing freely, playing her pan like the actress she'd always wanted to be, she called the number and – Lord God! – actually spoke to Alice herself.
She recognized the voice immediately. It came across the telephone wires slightly distorted, the way it had sounded on the intercom box the day before. There was no longer the slightest doubt that this Alice bitch was the same person she'd eavesdropped on. And now it was time to see the girl, face to face, and confront her with what she knew.
Mmmm, Joanne thought, yesterday I couldn't have handled it, but today I am on top of the world. I've been to the mountain and I've looked down the other, side. Representing herself as a survey researcher for a women's study group based in Cleveland, she made an appointment to visit Alice at her off-campus apartment promptly at noon that day. Alice didn't have any afternoon classes and was free to be interviewed as long as necessary. And Tom was safely in the English building, with a full schedule of classes from ten till four. Possibly, Joanne thought, I'm interrupting a nooner for them, but it doesn't really bother me.
She had been expecting some sort of femme fatale, some stacked, bleached blonde with great legs and a penchant for feathered boas. So far she'd only heard Alice Custer's voice, never actually seen the girl in the flesh, and on her drive across town she amused herself by conjuring up mental pictures of her rival.
As it turned out, all her guesses were a mile off the mark. She knocked on the door and it opened a moment later.
She stepped into the apartment, not quite believing her first sight of Alice.
The girl was about twenty or twenty-one, a little taller than Joanne's five-four, and built on the same slender frame. Her hair was rusty blonde, frizzy-curled, cropped close to her head. She had a small sharp-featured face with large eyes and a neat pointed chin. Her mouth was wide and narrow-lipped, her nose slightly snubbed, and she wore oversized glasses with tinted frames. It would be difficult to call her pretty, let alone beautiful, and Joanne took two or three sharp breaths before sitting down on the small easy chair.
Alice was wearing a snug cotton t-shirt, nothing under it, and the shape of her tits was very obvious. They were fuller than Joanne's, with small taut nipples that stretched the cotton covering them. She also wore a loose tie-around skirt that looked like a piece of tablecloth. It was tied in the front and, when Alice sat down on the floor in a modified lotus position, the skirt opened and Joanne could see the younger woman's crotch and panties. The panties were tight and skimpy, white with a red heart printed across the crotch. There was a shadow at the edges of the crotchstrip, evidently tangled curls of hair peeking out.
Joanne cleared her throat, opened the satchel she'd brought along, and took out a couple of sheets of paper – some junk mail she'd received a few days ago and never gotten round to throwing away. It looked enough like a questionnaire. "The first thing we'd like to know, Ms. Custer," she said in what sounded very much like an interviewers voice, "is…"
Alice leaned over, put her hand on Joanne's knee. "My name is Alice," she said, drawing back her lips, towing the smooth even tips of her white teeth. She had a nice smile.
"Alice, then," Joanne replied. "My name is, uh…"
"Joanne, you said on the phone."
She didn't recall mentioning her name on the telephone but she let it pass. "Yes, Joanne," she said, turning over the first sheet. "Now – our study group is very interested in the status of women on college campuses today, in 1978. As you know, there are a number of new federal laws, not to mention the state ERA, but we want to find out if these are being followed scrupulously at the school level. Do you feel that you're discriminated against because of your sex?"
"Not on your life," Alice said. "If anything, quite the opposite. But maybe I have a different outlook from your group's. I enjoy being treated like a woman, not like one of the guys, you know?" Her hand was still resting on Joanne's knee. Joanne looked down, frowning. The pressure was light, but it was more than a little disconcerting. She wished she'd worn a pantsuit instead of jacket, blouse, and skirt.
Alice began to drum lightly on Joanne's knee, her fingers making a soft persistent tap on the skin, just below the hem of the skirt. She made a funny face, then slid a little closer. Her hand didn't fall away.
"Do you mind?" Joanne asked, pointing to the hand.
"Oh," Alice laughed. "I thought you'd be more comfortable that way, you being a feminist and all. I mean, we're both women, aren't we? And women shouldn't be uptight with one another. Not when we have so many other things to worry about. Right?"
Joanne nodded but she didn't say anything. She didn't know what to say. An old fleeting memory slipped into her mind, something from years ago, something she'd almost forgotten, pushed to the back of her memory. It hadn't meant anything, really. Just one of the silly things you do once in a while, when you're young and growing up and full of a newfound sexuality that you don't know what to do with… her first winter at college, and she was in rehearsal for her first play. Nothing big, just one of the dancers in "Carousel". But it was a start, and she was part of the whole glamorous, special world of college dramatics, and wasn't that why she'd come to college, to learn to be an actress? Of course it was. And there were no small parts, just small actors. Everyone knew that she had a lot of fun.
Rehearsals ran late, especially for the bigger production numbers, which were often hacked out when the principals had already gone home. Lots of coffee, half-smoked cigarettes, blocking. Some of the steps were beyond her ability, but she was game and eager, and one of the older girls in the dance chorus, a tall, lean-bodied brunette named Lisa, had offered to give her a hand, in the wee small hours when the rest of the crew had packed up and gone home.
They had a record of the tow's score and while it played, Lisa guided her through the steps, showing her how to move, when to jette, when to pile. She was the nicest, most helpful person a nervous freshman dancer could ever hope to run into.
"You're still too tight," Lisa had told her. "See? When you should be loose, your stomach is taut and tense, and your shoulders are set too high, and your legs too stiff. You can't get into it if you're not loose, darling, do you know what I mean?"
"I think so," Joanne had said, trembling in her leotard. It was very late and she was very tired. The janitor had already been in twice to find out if they intended to finish up soon so he could turn out the lights. "I just don't think I can do it."
"Sure you can," Lisa encouraged, slipping, her arm around Joanne's shoulders. She hugged affectionately, and the tips of her fingers slid around, came to rest on the edge of Joanne's left tit, snug under the leotard top – but not so snugly that she didn't know when it was being touched. "You know," Lisa went on a moment later, turning Joanne around to face her, "I think you have a fantastic body and it would be so graceful in motion, if only you were more confident in yourself. You're sexy, but it's the raw, untaught kind of sexiness. Do you know what I mean? Have you ever – you know? Have you?"
"A few times," Joanne confessed, "but I didn't really like it."
Lisa bent in, kissed the younger girl at the top of her forehead, just below the part in Joanne's chestnut hair, which she wore long and straight at the time. It was tied back in a taut bun this evening, because that's how, the other dancers wore their hair. Lisa touched the smooth, taut hair, and then she was busy unclasping it, shaking the hair loose so that it fell down Joanne's shoulders.
"That's better," Lisa purred, smoothing Joanne's hair with her fingers. She held up a lock, made it rub back and forth across Joanne's lip until the younger girl giggled nervously. What was Lisa up to, for God's sake?
"Come here," said Lisa, and she put her arms around Joanne, pulled her tight and warm, into an embrace. Joanne's tits rubbed Lisa just below her own, which were higher set, for she was several inches taller, and the sweaty tang of Lisa's boobs drifted up into Joanne's nostrils, made her twitch a little. "I want to do everything for you," Lisa said in that silky smooth voice of hers. "And first I want to show you how to get loose, really loose." She took Joanne's hand, and the younger girl was about to point out that they couldn't practice that way. But by then they were in the makeup room and Lisa had let go of Joanne, had let go and begun to unbutton the front of her leotard suit, slipping it off her shoulders.
Even while it was happening, Joanne could hardly believe that it was happening to her. She didn't know how to protest and, once things got started, she wasn't sure she wanted to protest. Lisa, naked, slender, almost breastless, skinned Joanne out of her leotards, settled her on the edge of a makeup chair, knelt between her legs, and reached into the younger girl's dark-furred crotch with both hands. "My God!" Joanne chirped as the fingers made first, sweet contact with her clit.
She'd never been touched that way before. Her boyfriends, the ones she had allowed to have sexual use of her body, had been so crude and direct. All they wanted to do was get their cocks into her, in her cunt, in her mouth, someplace they could fuck until they squirted their hot sticky goo. When she was a lot younger she'd sometimes experimented with her girlfriends, but it had all been innocent curiosity. None of them had really known what they were doing, and furtive games at pajama parties just seemed part of growing up.
And now – now she was stretching her legs, grasping wildly at the head that moved into her opened crotch, moaning as a frisky snakelike tongue began to wiggle across her slit, into her pussy, making clever love to her erected clit. "Oh. God, Lisa – pleeeeease!"
Please what? Please stop? Please don't stop? She didn't know. One of her thighs lifted, and she got her leg around Lisa's naked body, and she was leaning back, further back, in her chair, the edge of the makeup table stiff against her spine. It hurt a little, but what Lisa was doing felt so much better!
She reached down with one hand, eager to lend a finger's assistance. She found her clit, stroked it while Lisa was sucking sweet honey from her pussy hole, and then she was getting her finger licked by Lisa's frisky tongue, and she was coming, God, she was really coming, and she hadn't done it to herself, she'd actually done it with somebody else helping, the first time it had ever happened to Joanne in all her eighteen years. She slumped back, drained for the moment, really drained, worn out, exhausted, unable to do anything but lie there moaning and twitching and shivering.
Until Lisa stood up, tall and proud, her face beaming, her lips bent into a triumphant smile. "New you do me," she invited, offering her tiny tits with their long hard brown nipples, offering her scantily-haired pussy with its crinkly lips protruding. She sat down on Joanne's lap, brought the younger girl's mouth to her nipples, steered Joanne's hand into her crotch, and as the nipples wet in saliva and throbbed against Joanne's tongue, the young girl felt her middle finger willingly poke its way into Lisa's pussy, plunging deep into a tight wet hole whose walls were smooth as satin, whose walls snapped shut around her. Lisa's cunt began to milk at her finger the way Joanne's mouth was milking passionately at Lisa's dry lips. Before the evening was finished, Joanne had knelt on the floor and lapped nervously into Lisa's cunt, tasting the juices of another woman's snatch, and she had teased Lisa to a quivering orgasm that ended in body rubbing body and mouth sucking mouth, tongues dueling crazily back and forth.
She'd never done it again. The next morning she woke up frightened, feverish, certain that God had cursed her during the night with some frightful plague. It was only mono, but she'd managed to pass on the germs to Lisa last night and both of them had to drop out of the play on account of sickness. And when they met again, at another drama tryout, Joanne was still obsessed with the fear that had come to her after it was all over, and she avoided the girl and all her attempts to renew the acquaintance they'd begun in the makeup room. By that time she was dating a boy, and she was fucking him like a mink, proving to herself that she was a normal girl, that she wasn't one of those weird dykes she'd heard about in idle gossip, no matter if she had acted like one once, only once.
But, God, she used to think, it was so exciting, the way she made me come, the first other person who ever made me came, and her tongue on my clit, her nipples in my mouth, the way her pussy felt when my finger slipped inside and began to stir her juices round and round. Could it feel so good and still be so awful?
Thirteen years later she still didn't know, but the pressure of Alice's hand on her knee – Tom's slut's hand! – was making her feel very butterflyish in the stomach and she was having trouble getting her words out. She couldn't even remember the scenario she had planned to improvise around and she wondered if she really had the stuff to carry this off after all.
"I said," Alice repeated, looking up, "that you seem awfully tight for a member of the movement. Like, when I touch you here. Isn't that the right thing for women to do, to get loose with each other? Aren't we all sisters, after all?"
"I don't want to talk about it any more," Joanne said. "I really think I should be going, if it's all right with you. The group will probably be in touch with you again, if we continue this study, that is, I, uh…"
She got up, and Alice rose from the floor. Joanne stuffed the papers into her satchel case, thrust it under her arm, starting to turn. "Wait a second, would you?" Alice said, catching Joanne's other sand. Joanne turned slowly, and saw that Alice had taken off her glasses and fluffed her hair a little.
"What is it?" she said, and then Alice leaned in and kissed her all over the mouth and chin.