“You take the legs, Harold," Lisbeth ordered with a quick look up at Cheryl.
"Good idea," murmured Cheryl.
She knew now that she and Lisbeth were in league together with dark designs on that lump of cock that Harold carried between his legs. Harold knew that something was up, but with his near-virgin innocence, he couldn't quite understand what was happening.
Cheryl slid her hands from the soft arch of Lisbeth's ribs to her stomach. Lisbeth was okay, with only a little surplus flesh. Oh, it did feel good to stroke her warm flesh and sex up the woman! Her hands kept moving, up now, to the towel. Under the towel. She dug her hands into the naked breasts for a luscious moment, enjoying the springy feel of tit and the hard tension of thrilled nipples. Lisbeth had to move and groan, so Cheryl quickly broke contact. Lisbeth had a full sex blush now. Her eyes began to look dreamy and she wet her lips.
Cheryl glanced at Harold. The lad moved up from Lisbeth's calves to her thighs. He blushed, too. Cheryl could tell that he had an erection. Instead of reveling in it, he was ashamed of it, fearing their criticism. His brain failed to realize what his cock told him plainly.
"Higher, Harold," ordered Cheryl.
"I think this is… far enough."
Lisbeth added firm encouragement. "Higher, Harold. There's a bit of soreness higher-uh- higher up.”
"S-sure," His hands crept higher.
"No, Harold, like this," said Cheryl. She turned her back on Lisbeth and faced Harold. She ran her hand up those sweet inner thighs that glistened with sex education. Her wrist pulled back the towel as she fixed on Lisbeth's pink cunt and worked it. Harold stared in frozen fascination. At the same time Cheryl fingered Harold's hard-on in his pants. She squeezed his cock firmly. She felt a little dizzy with all the sexuality going on, her own cunt boiling now and her tits hot and ready.
"I think Mrs. Foster is ready for the full treatment," Cheryl said.
"I'm ready," crooned the happy woman on the bed.
"Huh?" said Harold.
What a turkey. Cheryl mouthed the word "fuck" but Harold couldn't grasp it. She took him by the hand and led him away from the bed.
"I have to go to the bathroom, Mrs. Foster," Cheryl called back over her shoulder, "I'll let Harold finish for me. Is that all right?”
"Perfect," said the older woman. "Beautiful."
To Harold, Cheryl hissed. "Fuck her. She wants it.”
"Oh, my God, I don't dare," he whispered. "She's too nice a woman-”
"Crawl her," she insisted in a low voice. "You're hard and she's wet. She wants it. I happen to know the professor cheats on her. It's all right.”
"I-I-I-”
"If you don't," said Cheryl, "she'll hate you forever. She thinks we plotted all of this because you're crazy for her." She put deadly menace in her voice. "If you back out, she'll smash you for a jerk and a clod. You have no choice.”
He groaned and looked at the bed, where the woman pretended to be resting…
"Harold, don't you want to?”
"Yeah. I think she's sexy, but, but-”
She shoved him toward the bed. As Cheryl went out of the room, the last thing she saw was Harold unbuttoning his shirt and Lisbeth whisking off the towels…
It was no trouble finding the room where Lisbeth had stacked all her art objects. Finding the small figurine was a different matter. Cheryl groaned when she saw the clutter of stuff-pictures, lamps, small tables, figurines, jewelry. Evidently a lot of artistic people had attended Brighton and had had time to create a lot of objects. It was going to take her a half hour to go through all of this stuff thoroughly and she knew she didn't have that much time. Furthermore, the light was dim. She stood in the middle of the room and gave a small wail of despair. It was like going through somebody's crowded attic.
At least there might be another light switch to make the job easier. She turned back towards the door-and froze in triumph. There it was, all by itself, set just inside the door on the floor where Lisbeth must have placed it when she got it earlier today. Salt-ugly as ever yet heartwarmingly familiar in every line. The end of the chase. Cheryl scooped it up with a glad cry and cut the light and headed out of the room and toward the stairs to sneak out of the house. Lisbeth would certainly understand, and it would save Harold embarrassment. She listened at the bedroom door and heard reassuring sounds that told her Harold and Lisbeth would be occupied for a while.
There were front stairs and back stairs in a house like this. She chose the back stairs in order to avoid the professor, who was undoubtedly preening himself down in his study, waiting for his massage that would never come. She felt guilty about deserting Harold when the professor could possibly catch him, but she doubted that Foster would do much. He-had his own guilt to contend with.
Through a pantry, into the kitchen, and toward the back door. She had to check if the Gypsy were still crammed up inside the figurine, but that could wait until she fled the house.
A strong hand closed on her wrist; she was spun about to face the professor, dressed now only in a robe, and glaring at her with gleaming eyes.
"Leaving so soon?" he said.
"I-uh-have another appointment," she said, struggling.
He stared at Salt and back into her face. His grip did not relax.
"I'm sure you can spare me a minute. I want to show you something."
"Wha-what?”
He walked her back through the kitchen into the front part of the house. His grip on her arm was compelling. He opened the door to the library and thrust her through, into the book-filled, leather furnished room. Under ordinary circumstances Cheryl would've loved to relax in this happy, comfortable room. Not tonight. Especially not after she saw instantly what he'd brought her here to see. the big Foster home included closed circuit TV among its features. Right now a camera in the master bedroom upstairs focused on the bed of Lisbeth Foster. It showed two naked bodies, writhing around each other. So far Lisbeth and Harold weren't fucking. It might be better if they were. You could see everything this way-Lisbeth's hand closed on Harold's smallish stiff prick, Lisbeth's wet, gleaming cunt as she opened her legs in anticipation of the joy to come and Harold tonguing and sucking the woman's quite good breasts.
"That was a great massage," said Foster dryly. "From down here it looked like you shoved your whole fist up Lisbeth's box to get her locked.”
Cheryl gasped in amazement and embarrassment. "You-spy on your wife?”
"Not like this usually," he chuckled. "We've had the closed circuit TV in the kids' bedrooms for years. Then they grew up and left. I didn't want to waste it. In fact I improved it with a better camera and a master monitor here, since I spend so much time in the library.”
He pushed a button and set off the zoom effect on the camera upstairs. The picture enlarged to show the screen full of Lisbeth's fist jacking off Harold's cock. She could see Harold's cock veins and fine hairs on Lisbeth's hand.
"Improvements," he chuckled. "Lisbeth doesn't pay much attention. With the two of us alone in the house she uses it when she's upstairs or in the kitchen to talk to me. We have several cameras-it saves a lot of steps.”
Cheryl heard the sounds now. Not as good as in regular TV, but quite audible and very embarrassing. Harold praised Lisbeth's breasts. Lisbeth murmured something about being hot and ready and "let's do it.”
"Lisbeth is so used to it, she never thinks about it any more," he went on. "I rigged the bedroom camera so I could watch her undress. Sometimes she plays with herself. I sit down here getting hot and then I rush upstairs and we really go at it. Believe it or not, she doesn't realize why I get so hot at certain times. She never cared much for mechanical things.”
"Why, that's-voyeurism," breathed Cheryl.
"Beyond question," he said. "It keeps my marriage green.”