The redhead got on Mike's bus at her usual stop at one the next afternoon. She sat directly behind the driver's seat. She leaned close to his back and talked in a very low voice, hoping the other passengers wouldn't hear.
"Going crazy," she whispered. "Christ, Mike, can't you see me for an hour after work? Just an hour?"
Mike maneuvered the huge bus expertly through the downtown traffic, resisting the urge to slam into a double-parked car. Linda's little sister had left such a hot glow in his loins he actually stopped his bus at a crosswalk for two little old ladies.
"Can't do it," Mike said tersely. Actually, he could but he'd rather save his energy for Terry. The divorcee could have his leftovers once Terry was gone.
Unless he went with her to Los Angeles.
"Just one time," the redhead pleaded, aware that other passengers were staring at her curiously. Screw them! She'd picked up a guy in a bar last night and they went to a motel. The selfish bastard had come in three minutes flat, leaving her high and dry and furious. "Just for thirty minutes, Mike. Please?"
"Keep your voice down," Mike muttered, thinking. She sounded desperate and he couldn't figure out why. A sexy, lushly curved, plump-assed divorcee like Sally shouldn't have the slightest bit of trouble getting laid. Possibly she'd picked up a dud the night before.
"Can't," Mike said flatly.
"Well, Goddammit!" hissed Sally, and Mike gritted his teeth. Her voice was rising, and the temperamental bitch was going to create a public scene. She had a redhead's temper, an Irish explosion that built up slowly but ominously.
"Just thirty lousy minutes!" she almost shouted. "Christ, I'm not asking you to shack up with me for ten years!"
"Okay," Mike said desperately. "Okay, Sally. Usual place after work."
To his relief she got off at the next stop, her huge tits still heaving with emotion. Mike scanned the passengers in his rearview mirror, seeing theft smirks with anger. He was in a vicious mood now. The only reason he'd agreed was to avoid a scene, but now he'd have to screw her, and that meant one less round for hot little Terry.
Unless…
A slow, mean smile spread across his rugged face. Jesus, that would be a dirty trick! Not just dirty, but filthy. Mike had always prided himself on his natural sense of decency, on treating women like ladies – even if they weren't – but the idea was beginning to sound like the perfect solution to the lustful divorcee. It might even get her out of his hair permanently. And she might even love it.
The more he thought about it as the afternoon passed, the wider his vicious grin got out. Blonde, cock-crazy little Terry had crawled under his skin like a disease, and if it came to a showdown, he'd even avoid screwing Linda to save his come for the eighteen-year-old minx.
She was so wild and unpredictable she'd slipped into the shower with him this morning while Linda slept a few yards away and sucked him off with feverish delight.
But was he really crazy enough to run off with his wife's little sister? He drove his bus mechanically, brooding about it as he plowed through the congested lanes, casually missing cars by mere inches, grinning down at horrified drivers.
At sixteen she was so wild she might run off and leave him after a few weeks or a month or two, possibly for some scroungy hippie. She said she was crazy about him, but what she really meant was she was crazy about his prick. And while Mike immodestly admitted he was hung like a bull, there were other studs out there who weren't exactly boy scouts either.
And if he got rid of the divorcee once and for all, and ran off with Terry, and she ended up running off with someone else, what were his chances of having Linda take him back? He'd be stranded out in the cold, his feast of pussy vanished into thin air, having to start all over again.
The whole Goddamned thing was driving him crazy, but he was sure of one thing with devastating certainty. He was hooked on his wife's little sister, on her tender silken flesh and madly sucking cunt, on her eager, frenzied mouth and luscious little ass.
There had to be an answer to all this complicated crap, but if there was it eluded him like a prick-teasing cheerleader.
At five, he turned his bus in. He walked a block and sauntered into a noisy bar. A number of men greeted him, some bus drivers just getting off duty, others hard-hat construction workers, big brawny studs who drank and brawled like gorillas.
Next door to the bar was a cheap hotel, which he and Sally used from time to time, mostly when he knocked off a piece on his lunch hour. She would be up in a room now, naked in bed and waiting for him, her huge creamy tits panting and her wet thighs spread wide.
Mike gulped down a beer with lightning-speed and ordered another, thinking about what he planned to do. He hated dirty tricks, but how else was he going to get the madly-sexed redhead out of his hair? Every man was entitled to be a sonofabitch once in a while, even a nice guy like him.
He told the guy on the next barstool to watch his beer for a couple of minutes. Then he left the bar and entered the hotel. He talked to the desk-clerk for a few seconds and found out which room Sally was in.
She was waiting for him exactly as he pictured, her eyes burning with lust. She reached over and grabbed the massive bulge of his crotch and rubbed it lewdly.
"Let's not bother with a lot of romance," Sally whispered urgently. "Just shove it and fuck me, Mike! Lord, I'm so hot I could burn up!"
"Look here, honey," Mike said solemnly, sitting on the edge of the bed and squeezing one of her hot tits. "I want to ask you a favor, see? A good buddy of mine has got a little problem with his wife. She, uh, stopped putting out to him about a week ago, family argument, you know? And he's so horny he could faint."
He ignored the look of shock on Sally's face and rushed on.
"Now this guy is built like a gorilla, a real stud, see? And he's a real pal of mine, and, well, I thought maybe you could do him this little favor, just for me, just a little fast quickie…"
Sally's voluptuous mouth popped open. Then a look of rag flashed in her eyes.
"Good God, what do you think I am, a whore!" she hissed.
"Not at all, baby," Mike said smoothly. "But if you can pick up men in bars and screw them, I don't see why you can't swing with a good friend of mine. Just this once. I mean, it's not like screwing a stranger, is it? You do him a favor, because this guy is hung like King Kong."
He watched her grasp his logic. She was still panting, but not with anger. The idea was starting to excite her tremendously. After all, she was still deeply frustrated over her three-minute clash last night with a stranger, she was still hotly primed, and after all this was a friend of Mike's.
And the more curious she became about whether he was hung as Mike said, the more aroused she got. It was sort of a game, she thought, like spin-the-bottle. And as long as he was a good friend of Mike's…
She nodded eagerly. "Okay," she whispered. "Just this once, for you. Axe you gonna be here?"
Mike shook his head gravely. "I might get jealous," he said with a straight face. "I'll be downstairs having a beer."
Mike stood up. "I'll send him up, okay?"
The divorcee licked her lips and nodded. "Tell him to hurry," she said hoarsely, her pussy beginning to trickle profusely with her juices. "And then you'll come back, fight?"
"Yeah, sure," Mike told her.
Going down the stairs, he breathed a sigh of relief now all he had to do was find someone who thought he was hung like King Kong.
In the bar, he took a long swig of beer and turned to the rugged construction worker on the next barstool.
"Hey, Al, how about doing me a big favor?" he said.
The brawny hardhat clapped him on the shoulder, half-drunk. "You can have anything in the world, buddy, except my wife. She's got the rag on and she's meaner than a hungry rattlesnake."
"Funny you mention that," Mike said, nodding. "See, Al, I got this sexy broad upstairs in the hotel next door and she's hotter than a firecracker about to go off. Now my wife is home waiting for me and if I'm late she'll spill the soup on me, burn the roast beef and kick me in the balls when I'm not looking. So I thought maybe a good pal like you might just run up there and be my relief man for a little while."
Al's eyes beamed. "She's sexy, huh? Big knockers?"
"Like watermelons," Mike assured him. "Room three-oh-six. She's waiting for you, Al. Just tell her you're a friend of mine. And one other thing," he rushed on as Al jammed two open beer bottles in his rear pockets and turned to go. "When you're through, tell her you've got a buddy who's in a worse fix than you are, and ask her if she'll do you a favor and take care of him. She will. Then come on back down here and pick out someone who's big, mean and horny. Then tell him to do the same thing when he's finished. Okay?"
Al looked at him with drunken admiration.
"You're a real motherfucker, Mike," he said, shaking his head. "I gotta hand it to you, you sure know how to treat a lady. Someday I'll let you bang my wife, if you think you can handle two hundred pounds of ornery cunt."
"I'll pass," Mike said, reaching for the beer Al had bought him. When the hardhat was gone, he finished the beer quickly and left the bar.
Actually, he was doing Sally a favor. She'd always complained she could never get enough cock to really satisfy her.
After Al and his buddies got though with her, she wouldn't have anything to complain about.
"Oooooooh, shit, love it!" Sally groaned, as Al plunged his colossal rod into her hotly eager cunt for the third time in less than thirty minutes. He was fucking her dog-style this time and each lime he slammed forward, his big hairy balls slapped loudly against her thighs.
"Every – aaaaaaaaaaaagh! – inch, hot and heavy!" the redhead gasped, wiggling her fleshy ass with lewd delight. She could feel his boiling knob battering her to the hilt, but she was so juicy and slippery from lust it was all sexy heaven to her clasping pussy.
"Come now, now!" she begged, pumping her slit fiercely on his driving meat. Al squeezed her big ass-cheeks harshly in his fingers and reared back his head as his third load of come shot out of his bursting prick. Terrific cunt! After his fat, nagging wife Sally seemed like a Goddess with her tight, searing crack and luscious ass.
"Fraid I'm a little pooped," he confessed with a flushed face afterward. "Hard day on the girders. My wife'll be waiting for me too…"
"You don't hear me complaining," Sally told him with a wide, glowing smile. "And just in case you need another, urn, favor why don't you take my phone number, Al?"
He took it eagerly, dressed, kissed her daintily on the cheek and turned to leave, his balls tingling with happiness.
"You can send Mike up now," Sally told him.
He snapped his fingers, remembering. "Uh, thing is, Sally, I got this friend of mine down in the bar and, well, he's in worse shape than I am, you know? I mean, hornier than a bull on Spanish Fly. I was wondering…"
"Send him up," Sally said quickly, panting with new eagerness and excitement. It served that bastard Mike right anyway. He could damn well wait and sulk.
She shivered with hot anticipation as she lay back on the bed, waiting. She felt deliciously guilty, like a whore, she thought. But fucking strange men, like an obscene blind date, was tremendously exciting to her. After eight years of utterly boring sex with her indifferent husband, Sally felt intensely hot for sex, unable to get enough, not even with Mike. Her pussy was on fife, blazing away like a holocaust.
She gave her next visitor, a lean, muscles hardhat with a long thin rod, a super special blowjob the way Mike had taught her. From the wild whoops he was making, his mind was as blown as his cock.
Then he solemnly told her she had the most gorgeous tits he'd ever seen in his life, big and creamy and fantastically sexy. Would she mind very much if he fucked her in the tits?
The divorcee panted lasciviously as he mounted her breasts, and she massaged their satiny fat heat around his bristling prick until his knob spurted out with a great white flood. Moaning hungrily, the redhead grasped it in her mouth and greedily gulped it down.
When he started to get dressed, Sally said, "Mike isn't even down in that bar, is he?"
He blinked his eyes at her. Who in the hell was Mike? "Guess not," he said, shrugging. "But the fact is, ma'am, I've got this friend of mine, and he's…"
"He's about to cream in his pants," Sally said with sudden rage. That sonofabitch Mike! He'd set her up like a common whore! Of all the lowdown rotten tricks.
Seeing the look blazing in her eyes, the construction worker moved quickly toward the safety of the door.
"Wait," she said. She licked tier lips. "Send him up, but make sure he's got a bottle of gin."
"Right away," the hardhat said, and got out quickly. He tipped his hat to the desk-clerk as he passed, who eyed him suspiciously.
"Just a minute," the clerk said, a fat man with a sour expression. "What's going on up in three-oh-six?"
The hardhat came back to the desk and leaned close. "Dancin' lessons," he said gravely. "I just learned how to fox-trot myself. Friend of mine's gonna learn how to rhumba in a couple minutes."
The clerk looked indignant. "We don't allow that sort of thing in this establishment…"
"Is the room paid for?" the lean construction man said coldly. The clerk nodded, swallowing hard. They were a rough crew next door. One night they'd wrecked the bar, just for exercise.
"Then you got no complaints," the hardhat said. He looked contemptuously around the seedy lobby. "This place is a wreck already, but it could get worse. Know what I mean?"
"Dancing lessons," the clerk said quickly. "Fine with me."
"Send you over a couple shots," the hardhat said, clapping him so hard on the shoulder he almost fell down. "Too bad you can't get it up any more, buddy. She really knows how to dance."
Upstairs, Sally still seethed with rage over Mike, but she couldn't deny the throbbing glow of contentment in her pussy and mouth either. She told herself she might as well make a party out of it, get good and drunk and let her hair down completely for a change.
In three hours Sally took on seven more brawny men, the liquor firing up her passion to an insatiable fever. She fucked and heaved and thrashed beneath an assortment of hard pricks, until she lay back sweating with exhaustion, her strenuous screwing keeping her halfway sober in spite of the gin.
She didn't know if she'd ever make up for those eight lost, bleak years of a nearly sexless marriage, but she'd valiantly tried in one night. And instead of feeling ashamed, she felt exhilarated.
So Mike had jilted her. So what? She'd just discovered he didn't have the only huge cock in town, and in fact one of the studs had come four times in succession, sparking her to claw his back so deliriously it looked a road-map of lust.
And one of the men, a bachelor, had asked her out for dinner the next night, not the slightest bit fazed by the assembly line she'd taken on.
But even if he got serious about her, Sally had no intention of marrying again, not for a long time. She'd screwed nine men in the past few hours and that, the hot-blooded divorcee told herself, was just for starters.
Sally dressed slowly, doing some rapid mental calculations. She'd worked as a bookkeeper for five years, and by the time she was fully dressed, she had the fingers accurately compiled in her mind.
Her husband had fucked her an average of two and one-half times per week for eight years, which worked out to nine hundred, twelve and a half lays, or just a little over a hundred a year. With the same dreary prick and hasty selfishness.
If she'd gotten screwed every night during that eight-year period, she would have been fucked two thousand, nine hundred and twenty times.
The passionate divorcee therefore calculated she was owed two thousand, eight and one-half lays for lost time.
And she fiercely intended to collect every one of them as quickly as possible…