She squeezed the bulb. Warm water washed sex juices spattering down into the bowl.
She had slept for hours in the swing room. Awakening, finding no one about, she had taken her tunic to the wardrobe, slipped into her dress and staggered home.
Washed clean she rose, put the douche in the medicine cabinet and gazed at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were hooded, smiling at their secrets. Her lower lip, pink and moist, pouted provocatively. She got a comb and whipped it through her hair until it fluffed, a tawniness with sunshine in it, and there was high color in her cheeks. You look so pretty, Susie, she thought.
She had brought her bra and panties home in a wad, wore only this yellow summer dress with button shoulders. On impulse she unbuttoned the right shoulder, folded the material down under exposing her right breast the way her wood-nymph tunic did. Her breast cap looked still a bit puffed. She rubbed it to conical protrusion, powder-pink and luscious looking. What a nice tit!
Her gaze fell on the clit sucker on the sink.
She picked it up, frowning, and went thoughtfully out of the bathroom, hiking up her skirt and rubbing an itch in her pussy.
In the kitchen she popped a Coke, took it to the living room and flopped down on the couch. There she wound her skirt up to her waist and as she drank she toyed with her clit. When it had firmed she wetted the plastic bell in pussy juice and by expelling air from the rubber bulb she sucked her clit right into the tube.
She shivered with pleasure as the horny little spike gave a throb.
Slowly she squeezed, gently released the bulb, watched the pink growth ooze up the tube.
Then she fingered her bare tittie, milking out the nipple, thinking how she had called masturbation self-abuse. All changed! A matter of viewpoint. This let her wallow in thoughts of the house next door, humping to meet Howard's powerful fuck thrusts, licking into the livid split of Rita's pussy; her hand in Phil's pink panties, massaging his cock and balls. But there was something else, a burgeoning pride in her clit, which Howard called one in five hundred.
Maybe, using the clit sucker, she could make it grow bigger.
What a turnabout, after a lifetime of shame over the dangling morsel of erectile flesh that her pussy hair did not always conceal!
She glanced up at the wall mirror, then moved down the couch to face it directly. She raised her feet to the couch, heeled it while spreading her legs wide, and gazed at the split between her legs, like a vertical smile edged with brownish hair.
She dropped the clit sucker to see if it would remain there, held by partial vacuum. It clung, all right. She switched her hips, watched the rubber-bulbed tube flail about her pussy lips.
She giggled.
Then, laughing at her mirror image, she fisted the bulb and languorously worked it, pulling her clit through a voluptuous cum.
In the mirror her vaginal mouth, a glistening coral oval, sucked in on itself.
Brian, she thought, if you could see your wife now!
Did Brian really see her at all?
That evening he seemed bemused, no drinking before supper except for a beer while he worked on some papers in his den. He was going to ruin Clayton, he said, by reorganizing the man's department in such fashion that it would be under his, Brian's, thumb. But later in the evening he phoned Clayton, and laughed boisterously while talking of office things Susie did not understand.
Sometimes he whispered into the phone, and she guessed this was to conceal something she would understand, and it had to be women.
She thought, wives should work at their husbands' offices! How else can they share?
But maybe Brian was more pig-headed than most, more involved in those strange, man-type struggles, in which he stuck knives in Clayton's back while both laughed, about their clawing, throat-biting contest for supremacy.
Between phone calls to Clayton, Brian watched the ball game.
And Susie, gazing at his broad face, felt forced away to the world that she had begun to develop from what she had available, the entrancing house next door where Gwen did yoga exercises naked unto her shaven crotch, and Howard had invented the clit sucker, and Rita played Hawaiian ukulele, and where maybe Susie had dispersed Phil's worries about his homosexuality.
These two days had been full of firsts, fucking with men in defiance of her wifely vows, going down on pussy, and masturbating with joy instead of shame.
One first remained, sucking cock.
Tomorrow?
CHAPTER NINE
In the morning Susie rushed through her housework, then got her clit sucker and hurried next door. On the kitchen porch she called out for Rita. There was no reply until a rather distant voice said her name.
She entered, heard Gwen call from the yoga room, "Rita's gone shopping. Come join me, Susie."
"I'll change first," Susie told her, went to the wardrobe and put on her blue tunic. The day was hot, and the feel of the airy material delighted her. In this weather she could of course go naked, but the gossamer garment satisfied her feminine desire for adornment, while provocatively exposing one breast. And the short, loose skirt let air wash over her pussy, a rather sensual tease. Panties, she had decided, let odors gather, and barred penile intrusion. Down with panties!
The tunic lacked pockets, however, and she was afraid of losing her clit sucker. But on a shelf she found some balls of yarn. She took a length of red yarn, knotted it about the gadget, and tied this about her waist under the tunic. Thus prepared, she set out.
She found Gwen wearing a canary yellow turban and the red dot of paint in the middle of her forehead, sitting in the straight-backed, cross-legged lotus position.
Susie bent down and kissed her, pausing to savor the sweet slipperiness of Gwen's lips and tongue.
Gwen asked, "Are you ready for your first lesson, Susie?"
"Oh, yes!"
"Then sit beside me. The position is difficult at first but you will eventually find the three-point balance the most restful thing imaginable."
Susie sat, crossing her legs, then with great difficulty prying one foot up over the other. This locked her, forcing her thighs to spread out wide, and drawing her pussy open.
"Back straight, wrists on knees, thumb and forefinger making circles," Gwen said in a soft, dreamy voice.
It hurt. It hurt all over, but Susie gritted her teeth and hung on.
"Now you will learn to breathe," Gwen said. "Slowly in, slowly out. Study every breath you take. You will not think, just breathe."
After a few minutes of this mechanical breathing, Susie found that she had relaxed considerably. Sitting straight-backed was oddly relaxing.
Gwen said then, "Yoga is the triumph of mind over flesh. To show you, first take the wall poster, the male God with the enormous cock. Gaze at it. Reduce the phallus in your mind to a size that would fit inside you. If it goes well you will be able to feel it in your vagina."
Susie tried. Staring at the monstrous organ, which stood up to the God's shoulders, she pictured Howard's lusty prick in its place, then Phil's standing up out of those pink panties he had worn. The column of cock seemed to recede in her vision, traveling away, returning with a rush toward her, then racing off. Her legs and back hurt, her arms ached, and her intertwined feet were agony. But a glance at Gwen, back straight and breasts protruding like grapefruit, so beautiful in her stiff repose, spurred her to further efforts.
And she did feel something in her belly, an imagined shape that in a vaporous way seemed to fill her vagina.
It seemed hours later that Gwen said, "Enough, Susie. We'll go at it several times a day and in a week you will tremble with eagerness when about to assume the lotus position."
Susie uncoiled with difficulty, feeling absolutely broken. Groaning, she knelt facing Gwen.