"Awww, damn," she swore softly, trying to stop playing with her heavy breasts. She felt she was behaving like a vain child, playing with her own body this way. But she was so desperately, desperately horny!
Damn Jerry anyhow! What was wrong with him? He hadn't paid any attention to her in weeks and weeks now. Maybe there was someone else. That secretary of his was certainly a looker.
However, Sue felt reasonably sure Jerry was not having an affair with Diane. She and Sue were friends, good friends. On the other hand, Sue was pretty sure Diane was in love with Jerry. What secretary wasn't in love with her boss to some extent? And Sue had to admit that Diane showed very good taste if she was in love with Jerry.
Sue kept fondling her breasts with one hand.
She slid the other slowly down over the gentle swell of her tummy, and pressed soapy fingers through the soft, soggy curls of her auburn pubic bush. The touch of her finger on her clitoris made he legs go weak, her knees spread slightly. She swirled her other hand in a circular motion over one breast and then the other, making her nipples burn. Weakly, Sue leaned back against the wall of the shower as lust boiled through her.
She tried to picture Jerry making love to Diane. She found she could easily imagine Jerry with the tall, lithe brunette. But, strangely, along with the surge of jealousy, Sue also felt a blast of excitement in her guts. The picture of Jerry's huge cock being rammed into Diane brought a gush of fluid excitement from Sue's cunt.
Sue wanted to stop this masturbatory fantasy, but was too far gone now. She drove a finger into her straining pussy, and jammed her thumb down on her clitoris. She visualized Jerry's huge prick, sliding out of a black-furred cunt, the ivory column all shining wet and slippery with fluids. Then she imagined it jamming back into a hot, velvet tunnel, and recalled how wonderful it felt pistoning in and out of her own belly.
Sue groaned softly, her body knotting as she climaxed. She stimulated her pussy with as many fingers as she could cram in, in feeble imitation of the cock she really wanted. She savored the flames roaring through her. Then, at last, unavoidably, the fire faded, leaving her feeling hollow, empty, and disgusted with herself.
"Damn you, Jerry, damn you," she swore. "What's happened to you? What's happening to you?"
She turned her face to the hot, stinging jets of water. Then, finally, pulling herself together, with brisk efficiency she finished showering.
Turning off the water, she pulled her towel from over the door and gave her hair a quick blotting.
She wrapped her nakedness in the towel, gathered up the soggy wads of her suit and opened the door.
The corridors were reassuringly vacant as she made her way toward her locker. The bathhouse was a sprawling maze of ceilngless hallways between the dressing rooms. Her feet slapping on the wood floor, Sue followed the familiar twists and turns.
She had just unlocked the dressing room door when a slender, wiry young man appeared at her elbow, and firmly steered her into the cubicle. "Hi there, Mrs. Anderson with the mole over her cunt."
Sue went rigid. Then she turned, her face red with fury. "Just what the hell do you think you're doing?" she asked.
Stan Simpson snapped the lock on the door behind him and leaned against it. "What do you think I'm doing?" he retorted.
"I think you're going to get the hell cut of here," Sue answered angrily. Without realizing it, she drew his attention to her scanty covering by clutching at the towel defensively.
"Haw," Stan snorted. "You look like, who was it now? That broad that was in all those road pictures with Bob Hope."
"Dorothy LaMour," Sue filled in automatically.
"Only better," Stan went on. "Much, much better, in fact."
"What do you want?" Sue asked desperately.
She blanched when Stan untied the string at the waist of his skimpy swimming suit. "Just a little piece of the action you gave Carl," he informed her insolently.
Sue's eyes were glued to Stan's crotch as he stripped off his suit and jock strap, casually exposing his stiff, jutting prick. "You – you're crazy!" she gasped. The sight of the white, spearing prick stabbing straight at her made her throat tighten. Stan was as tan, even tanner really, than Carl. And, where Stan's suit covered him, he was a pale white. His cock looked almost as long as Jerry's monster prick, but it was not nearly as large around. It was long, and skinny, and threatening.
"No, just horny, Mrs. Mole-above-the-pussy," Stan taunted.
"You-you just get your suit back on and get out of here," Sue said desperately, cursing the way her voice shook. She felt a hideous surge of lust at the sight of Stan's naked cock. Why did her pussy have to born so with hunger at the sight of it?
"Stop that!" Sue said, frantically clutching at the towel.
Stan pulled it out of her grasp easily, unwrapping her deftly. His pupils dilated visibly at the sight of her pink and white and tan nudity. He licked his lips, his eyes sweeping from the rounded, full thrust of her lush tits, to her trim waist and perfect hips.
Sue huddled, one hand ineffectively shielding her breasts, the other cupped uselessly over her furred pussy. She couldn't believe she was in such a position. How had it happened? She was stripped naked, and was being insultingly, intimately studied by this little twerp of a lifeguard! Desperately, she rallied her courage and her Irish anger. "You get the hell out of here, you damned animal!"
Stan's handsome face clouded with fury, his dark eyes snapping angrily. "Not likely, Mrs. Mole-above-the-pussy," he retorted. "Not until I get exactly what I came for. Otherwise the entire Wednesday Club will get some really juicy grist for their mill."
Sue felt the blood drain from her face. The so-called "Wednesday Club" was the worst collection of gossips at the club, a collection of viper tongued women who would like nothing better than to be able to demolish Sue's reputation and standing in the club. But that didn't bother her as much as the knowledge that if the Wednesday Club got word of anything about her, Jerry was sure to hear it, too. "You wouldn't dare," Sue hissed desperately.
Stan Simpson's cruel, confident smile as he stood in front of her, naked, his arms folded across his strong chest, told Sue that he would do exactly as he had threatened.
"Please," Sue whispered, facing defeat at last.
"Give me what I want, and I won't breathe a word," Stan told her. "Now, let's see a bit more of that gorgeous bod of yours."
Sue felt like crying. But, at the same time, she felt a flicker of pride at Stan's obvious hunger and admiration. She lowered the arm she had been using to shield her tits. Then she uncovered her pussy. She stood up straight and proud, facing him. After all, it was her body, nothing to be ashamed of.
Stan stared, and his cock stiffened, swelling and pulsing heavily as his eyes raked her from head to toe. "Shit! You're everything Carl said, and then some," he murmured in amazement.
Sue felt pride, and a quivering of sexual excitement at the youth's rampant admiration and desire. She felt her tits harden in anticipation. She felt her pussy ooze its desire. This young man stunned contemplation of her, beauty gave her feeling of power and confidence. Stan's hand shot out and gripped one heavy breast. He sank his finger into the soft, warm, tender mound. His face was cruel. "That's what you think, bitch!" he snarled.
Tears of pain scalded Sue's eyes. "You're hurting me," she said as calmly as she could.
Stan released her breast. "Aww, gee, I'm sorry, Mrs. Anderson," he apologized with mock concern.
Tenderly, he brushed her nipple with his fingertips.
Then, abruptly, sadistically, he snapped the tender bud with his fingernail, hard. Sue yelped inadvertently.
"Look at this, bitch," Stan whispered nastily. He held his prick in his hand, tilting it up so the head, and its tight slit, pointed straight at her face. "Look at it!"