When the art room had spun into focus she found Nick fingering her clit, and finally licking it. She gazed down her body at the bearded man facing her in reversed position, apparently engrossed in his study of her jutting organ.
Surprisingly, it had not wilted. It stuck out sharply, a pinkness against the red of his tongue.
Before her loomed his massive dark cock, shiny with her juices.
She gazed at it while Nick lipped her clitoris and began a slow sucking.
She was clearly worn out, had fucked to exhaustion. Why did his sucks feel so good?
His cock gave a hearty twitch.
She remembered sucking it, thinking she wanted to drink his load. There it was, waiting. And his sucking felt just lovely, maybe a tapering off from the violence of orgasm, certainly not the beginning of a new one, of course not! A woman had only so much strength.
She reached to the fat prick and fingered it. Slick. Dripping. Gee, Nick had said hers was the wettest cunt he had ever fucked, and Brian had found her dry, so the answer was plain. Well! The shaft seemed too slippery to hold. She inched nearer, deciding she must at least taste it.
She circled the rim of the head with her tongue.
The thing twitched. It leaped away from her, right out of her fingers.
She could not hold it still until she reduced the amount of cunt juice, so she squirmed to it, mouth yawning, and forced it in, stretching her jaw, got the rim past her teeth, and gave a good, hard suck.
Down in her pussy, Nick let out a cry.
She caught up his slippery scrotum, and by curling her other hand about the shank and pressing the two together, got fair control of the twitching, throbbing prick.
She had it now. She sucked slowly, sweetly. Nick's thigh jacked up toward her. She rested her head on it while licking and mouthing his meat.
The suction on her clit changed, became more even, and she realized that Nick was using the gadget on her while his mouth explored the slobbered jelly-flesh of her cunt. The swabbing of his tongue was a steady caressing that calmed rather than excited her. She raised a leg, cocked it up to give him easy access to her cunt, and smiled contentedly while lazily licking his cock and giving it little fish-mouth sucks.
She could smell his male musk strongly but the odor of pussy dominated, making her think of lapping dear Rita's cunt. Probably she would be more excited right now if Nick had been fucking Rita than sniffing her own pussy flow, but she smiled with pleasure as she looked down the dark cock protruding from her mouth, sniffed her own crotch odor, fingered juices up the stem and painted them on her lips.
Quite apart from her, way down there between her legs, Nick was busy with his own things, right now curling his tongue around the mouth of her vagina.
If Brian could see this sixty-nine coupling, his wife's lips forming a smile around the artist's cockstem!
She slipped off it, then with her teeth gently nibbled the tip.
"Hey!" Nick gasped. "You'll drive me crazy!"
Grinning, she nibbled some more. She began rolling his testicles about and with her left fist kneading and pulling his stem, abruptly filled her mouth and sucked hard at the slippery knob.
And Nick gasped, "Hey, now that's cock-sucking!"
His cunt-lapping, she thought, was delightful, beginning to heat her, but more important was her new-found ability to tease and excite Nick, a profound satisfaction that made her want to prolong her oral sex play. But then it changed. The iron-cored plushy blob in her mouth twitched violently, throbbed, shoved to her throat.
He groaned, "My load is coming, baby, take it!"
She knew a moment's fear. But she wanted it, and sucked harder, bobbing on the skewering prick. It seemed to swell and a fever swept her body, starting not from her cunt, though spasms rippled into her in response to his tonguing, but from her mouth and lashing tongue.
"Shooting off!" he gasped.
And it came fountaining, heavy blobs spattering her throat, hot and thick. She gulped it down, took a fresh blast, could not swallow it all but clung grimly, determined to get every drop. Her mouth filled and it dribbled down her lips. She fingered it back in, swallowed.
She had taken all but a few dribbles and suckered off panting for breath when her own cum peaked and she squished her cunt against his bearded face.
"Ah-hh!" she cried, "my cum is so hot!"
He was mouthing her clit, pulling it out to an enormous burning length.
Then it all spilled out of her, a torrent of fire, her vision a roll of flame.
Moaning, panting, she had to wait through the wrenching release until she could again mouth his twitching cock and suck out the last drops of jism.
When Brian returned from work that evening, Susie had supper in the oven and was wearing a fresh summer dress and carefully applied makeup. She sipped a cocktail and gazed narrowly at him. She felt composed, even triumphant. Nick had just phoned and said he had sold the baseball-wall-paper design and the buyer wanted more. Tomorrow they would do a football design. That had thrilled her almost as much as the passion in Nick's voice, his choking, straining lust for her.
Brian entered tearing off his shirt, swearing, "This fucking heat, traffic jam on the highway. Sweating like a pig!"
He stormed through the kitchen toward the bathroom, dropping his shirt on the floor.
In the hall he said, "Got to see Clayton about the new billing system."
Susie sipped her drink. Then she moved to the shirt and stepped on it. She carefully wiped the soles of her sandals on it, then sauntered after him. She felt as cool as a cucumber, powdered and sweet smelling. Chin high, she walked with a sensual roll of her hips and felt her pussy lips squish together, not hot but wet and open. She wore no panties and guessed that in strong light her pussy hair could be seen through the dress; she would welcome that. She felt all woman, strong, autonomous, ready to spit in the eye of anybody who crossed her.
In the bathroom Brian had turned on the shower and was kicking out of his undershorts. Susie stood in the doorway eyeing him, that splendid football player's body, the long, fat cock and loaded scrotum. A shame, she thought. I'd like such a body mounting me, such a cock slipping up my hole. If Brian were Nick, or Howard or Phil.
He ducked into the shower, said, "After supper we'll go to Clayton's, get this billing system cleared up before the ball game starts on TV."
His pants hung over the toilet, his undershirt was beneath the sink, and his shorts were on the shower ledge, getting spattered.
Susie sipped her drink.
Brian paused in soaping his crotch. "Hey, you going to leave my clothes there? Looks like a pigpen."
Susie said, slowly and evenly, "Pick up your own fucking clothes!"
She turned away, and with a saucy wag of her ass strode toward the kitchen to freshen her drink.
Brian had cleaned up the mess he had left without remarking on the incident but during supper he gave her some puzzled looks.
At least he's noticed I'm alive, Susie thought.
She had a very strong urge to take the gravy boat and break it over his head.
But her thoughts kept drifting to tomorrow's football design, wondering what sort of pattern Nick would dream up, and her reverie was interrupted by vaginal twitches or maybe gurgles, anticipating a certain fuck before they started work.
They rode in silence to Clayton's house, a pleasant, modern ranch that Susie guessed had cost about the same as their own. But Clayton had a surprise in the back yard – a great yawning oval in the lawn and pyramids of fresh earth. He was putting in a pool "big enough for a real swim!"
Brian's teeth ground in envy. Oh, he did not show it. He was all smiles and congratulations, but Susie saw the angrily-working muscles in his jaw.
The men went in to work on the billing system, leaving Susie with Carla Clayton, who looked awfully luscious tonight in a yellow dress cut low on her plump breasts. Her chestnut hair gleamed. But she was scowling.