I was up on my knees, with my thighs wrapped around one leg. I rubbed my wet cunt up and down Mark's trapped thigh.
"Forget the time," I said. "Make love to me."
"I wish I could, Wendy." He reached down and lifted me off his leg. "But I have a nine o'clock meeting, and I still have to go over my presentation."
"Fuck the meeting," I said petulantly. "Fuck the presentation."
I lay in Mark's arms.
"I wish I could, honey," he said. He kissed me lightly on the lips. "I'm sorry."
"Not as sorry as I am," I pouted. "I'm all shook up. I want to get laid."
"I'm sorry, hon," he repeated.
I turned away from Mark, momentarily angry. The anger would pass, I knew. And his reason had been justifiable in turning me down. But I was just so damn shook up!
Mark leaned over the bed and mussed up my hair. "I'll try to get away early tonight."
"Don't bother," I said.
He bent over and kissed me on the top of my head. "Leave me alone," I whined.
Mark turned from me and walked out of the bedroom. I heard his footsteps padding lightly across the cold morning floor, and I knew he was headed for the bathroom. He would go to the bathroom and shower and shave. For him, the morning was over.
I flipped back over and stared up at the ceiling. I usually went back to sleep this time of the morning. The kids didn't have to get up for an hour yet. Mark generally reset the alarm for me before he left for work.
I closed my eyes and tried to sleep. I knew it wouldn't be successful. Sleep eluded me. I was too aroused to go back to sleep.
I'll masturbate, I told myself. Somehow I felt by masturbating, I was punishing Mark: depriving him of my orgasm. That he had already turned down that privilege somehow didn't matter to me.
I threw the covers off of me, and I lay in the center of the mattress with my legs spread in a wide vee. I put my hand down to my cunt, and using my index and middle fingers, I began to masturbate myself. The feeling seemed dull and distant, yet I continued to move my hand mechanically, more out of habit than passion.
I cupped my left tit with my free hand and began to knead the flesh. My nipple jumped to attention, but the pleasure was vapid. I continued to massage the flesh anyhow. Masturbate and massage.
I closed my eyes to create a mood. In my mind I saw cocks and cunts, and people fucking, and me fucking men and women. But the faces were vague, and all the men seemed to resemble Mark.
I took control of my fantasies. I organized them and ordered them in my mind. I began to concentrate on them seriously.
First I thought of Ed Richards from yesterday. I recreated the whole episode in my mind, intensifying what I enjoyed about it, distorting and lengthening my favorite parts. A flicker of passion wove through my crotch, but then just as quickly vanished.
I thought again of Lynda, and her lovely, soft, youthful cunt. I parted its lips in my mind and I began to lick it all over again. I remembered that Bill had come inside of her. I tasted his clotted sperm again.
Then my mind jumped, and I pictured Lynda fucking Bill up the ass with the dildo. Only this time I was sucking Bill's cock, and he started to come in my mouth.
That almost worked. I felt the sensations growing in my cunt; the gradual building of pleasure that would end in my orgasm. The feeling grew slowly, but steadily. Then, just as it peaked, it slipped away, and I found myself mechanically jerking myself off again.
I opened my eyes. It was frustrating! I was so aroused, yet I couldn't concentrate. My body needed to come, but my mind wouldn't cooperate. I needed something to help me.
I was tempted to call Mark, but I knew that wouldn't work. He would only get angry.
I thought of Lynda, but then remembered that she wasn't even home.
Out of frustration, I leaned across to Mark's night table. His cigarettes were on top of it, next to his ashtray. Generally, I don't smoke, but I had to do something!
Behind Mark's lamp, folded in half, was a newspaper.
The Humper! I thought. Just the thing!
I propped up the pillow behind my head and turned on my lamp. I began to flip through the pages, concentrating mainly on the photos. I saw a lot of cunts, but very few cocks. Those cocks that I did see were limp. And there is nothing very sexy about a limp cock.
I tried reading the articles, but my mind kept on wandering. I'd get into something, then lose my place.
Then I remembered the ads. The personal ads, in the back of the paper. Bill had read some of them to me the other night. They were just what I wanted. They were short and crude, but they got right to the point.
I turned to the back pages and began to read. I folded the paper in half so that I would manage it with one hand, and I put my other hand back against my cunt. As I read, I masturbated.
I passed over the ones that didn't interest me: "Foot fetishist desires'…"
"Experienced models…"
"Bi Male… seeks other males for groovy times…"
Then I came to one that stimulated me: "Woman to perform oral sex on my wife. Must be between 18 and 40 and wear sexy panties."
The ad went on to say that the man's wife was twenty-seven years old, and had a forty-inch bust. There was a telephone number and an address.
I fantasized about that for a while. I imagined the woman in my mind. I was down between her legs, sticking my tongue up her cunt. I was on my hands and knees, and was wearing a pair of crotchless panties. The woman's husband was fucking me through the panties doggie-style while I ate his wife.
It began to work. The feeling grew and the vagueness faded. The fantasy became real. I began to feel the sensations I was imagining. My cunt grew wet. I could feel his cock reaming out my cunt, bringing me close to a climax. I could smell her cunt.
Quickly I inserted two fingers into my cunt, then withdrew them and smeared the wetness over my lips and nose. The fantasy grew more vivid. My legs stiffened, and I parted my thighs a little more.
I read further.
"Have cock loaded with hot come. Will shoot it in the right places. Your cunt, your ass, your mouth. Come ode, come all. Girls, women and couples. I'll fuck you in your home or in mine."
It was blunt and left little to my imagination. Raw sex. A man who wanted to get fucked.
I pictured him with a large cock, jerking off. I began to wonder whether men like that ever received any responses to their ads. I wondered whether any woman would answer?
Would I answer? I asked myself.
I felt my mouth grow dry at the thought. Answer a sex ad? Why not?
My fingers moved steadily against my cunt. My clit was hard, and it felt like a nub under my fingertips. I felt it slide and slip, grow hard, and send rushes of pleasure down into the valley of my cunt.
What kind of man would place an ad like that? I wondered. A hard up man? A sex maniac?
I quickly looked at the ad again, rereading it. My eyes scanned the body of the message rapidly, searching for the end. Disappointment stabbed through me when I saw there was no telephone number, only a Post Office Box.
I skimmed through several more ads. My hand continued to move against my cunt, and my excitement grew. My cunt began to make squishing sounds from the rapidity of my moving hand.
Then I found it. I read the ad aloud:
"Swinging thirty-year-old bachelor wants to hear from all chicks: single, divorced or adulteresses. I have my own pad. I am well hung, and I know how to use it. French and Greek cultures. Please contact Anthony Salerno, 351 McGraft ave., New York, N.Y. Or call Tx9-8976."
I stopped masturbating. I listened. I could hear Mark hj the bathroom. He was turning on the shower. I waited until I heard the muted roar of the shower splashing against the glass door. I heard the shower door slide open then close again. I waited a few more minutes, making sure that Mark was safely in the shower.