Amy's warm eyes jumped into the quick-freeze compartment as she turned to me. “Don't you agree that even close friends shouldn't pry too deeply into one's private life?”
I shrugged like a neutral ambassador from India as Alice kept on. “What's happened? You can tell us. After all, what are friends for?”
“To mind their own business,” Amy snapped, smiling like an angel as Sam returned with a tray of booze, passing out tall glasses dark with bourbon.
As we played hand after hand the women continued their sparring while Sam and I exchanged sympathetic glances and tried to interrupt by occasionally talking about the business. From time to time Alice's knee found mine and jiggled its familiar hello, but I didn't answer very loudly.
Alice was in a bad way, I figured, either because she knew Amy and I had something going she didn't know about or because Sam had been even more impotent that week and her crotch was building up a head of steam. As it turned out she made her move for me without bothering with the old retreat-into-the-privacy-of-the-kitchen routine.
It was about the fourth hand that I felt her fingers replace her knee, and how a woman can play bridge with one hand, dropping and scooping up cards, is beyond me, but she did it skillfully. Nobody seemed to notice that anything was going on, except for me, naturally.
Her fingers wiggled up my thigh and I looked her straight in the eye, smiling like a used car salesman. “Your play.”
She batted her eyes at me, taking my words opposite to the way I'd intended. “I know. I'm doing something about it.”
For a moment Amy looked sharply at Alice and then at me, but our faces were so serene. Besides. I figured my wife still had the gangling image of Buddy Pipp seared into her brain, so we could have knocked out the front wall of the parlor and she wouldn't have noticed.
Alice's fingers squirmed farther up my thigh and, just when I thought she was going to dip around the curve and into my crotch, she instead went all the way up until she could tap my elbow. Again, she was managing all this without a movement that could be seen and still playing her usual excellent bridge.
My hand joined hers under the table and she squeezed my fingers as though they were heroes just back from defeating the Hun at Belleau Wood. I was having trouble concentrating, so she eased up each time it was my turn to make a play.
Then my hand was being pulled into position, against her knees and then between them. She shifted, spreading her legs and then clamping them on my fingers. It was clear what I was supposed to do next.
I proceeded up the insides of her thighs and she turned her head, smiling at me, the only signs of heightened sexual pleasure a moistness at her lips and a brightness in her brown cow eyes. “There are nights when you play an excellent game, Don,” she murmured.
Amy shot another daring glance our way, but Sam didn't seem to suspect a thing. “Excellent game, my foot. He let us drop two tricks we should have collected.” Snorting, he turned toward my wife. “Come on, Amy, help me with the next round of booze. I need some pretty company to inspire me when I pour.”
Amy touched his hand lightly, smiling in a way that could switch on a eunuch. “My pleasure, tiger.”
They slipped out of the room and I sighed, watching them go and then turning back to the business at hand. Hand was the word for it, for I was under the hem of her short skirt and clearing the tops of her stockings already, my fingertips whispering on incredibly soft flesh. Alice was a little on the hefty side, but it made her curves a little softer than other women's and there were times when that was a comforting thing.
She was gurgling like a nursing infant, so I paused, shooting a look toward the kitchen. “Let's recess until further notice,” I whispered, watching her begin to squirm. “It's impossible to hide an orgy at the bridge table.”
“You stop and I'll scream, Donald Brady,” she hissed. “You know I'm not kidding.”
I knew it, all right, so I pushed on until I reached the place where her pants should have started, except that they didn't. There was nothing there but more heat and more soft skin that was softer than ever. I looked at her.
“Nothing?”
She shook her head. “Nothing. Proceed, Attila.”
My groping hand brushed across a fringe of fur and her gasp seemed loud enough to be heard out in the street. I listened, but there was nothing except ordinary bantering chatter coming from the kitchen as bottles clinked. I touched again and Alice gripped the edge of the table, her knuckles turning white as her body turned on to high gear.
“Soon?” I whispered.
She nodded, biting her lips.
My operation deep probe resumed and I fluttered through her bush until I was against the softest place of all, those double folds of mystery and joy where the deer and the antelope and my fingers loved to play. She was shuddering and gasping as the noise in the kitchen ceased and I froze.
Amy and Sam trooped back into the parlor, carrying drinks as they settled down at the table. Somehow I was able to take my glass from the tray and Alice let go of the table edge long enough to help herself, even taking a sip from a shaking hand that carried the glass to her lips,
Sam was dealing the cards now and, under the table, Alice's legs were undulating against my wrist, imploring me to go on. Alice stared into my face. “I'll simply scream if you don't tell me the rest of that joke,” she murmured, almost losing control of her voice.
Her message was sharp and deadly, so I shoved the tip of a finger between her lips, realizing I'd been this route only the week before. Rather sadly, I wished I could use my cock once in a while in this house, instead of always being called on to give somebody else all the fun with a hand job.
“Yes, Don,” Amy was saying, her voice level. “Tell us the joke, too.”
“It's only a traveling salesman story,” I stuttered, smiling like a sick hippo. “You've heard it before.”
“But I insist,” my wife continued, her eyes sliding to Alice's wan face. If she got any more suspicious she'd make some excuse to look under the table and yours truly would be washed up for a long time to come.
“Well,” I mumbled, shoving my finger another inch into Alice's snatch and wiggling it, “the farmer said, you'll have to sleep in the upstairs bedroom with the baby.”
Alice's shriek was meant to sound like laughter, but she was losing control fast, her face frozen in a howl of mirth. Sam frowned at her. “What's wrong with you, dummy? He hasn't gotten to the punch line yet.”
“Oh,” she giggled, squirming forward so that my finger shot inside another inch. It was cozy and wet in there and I realized she'd already had a half-hearted orgasm, but the main event was still to come.
“Anyhow,” I blurted, fighting to keep my voice under control, “he gets into bed and finds this beautiful doll curled up at his side. She's about eighteen and loaded.”
Amy smirked at me, her expression joyless. “Perhaps like Trudy Pipp?”
Alice recovered long enough to look at my wife. “Trudy Pipp? Is that your sitter?”
Amy nodded.
“Hm, is that why you two have been shooting daggers at each other? A sitter must be providing the third point of the lovers' triangle.” She giggled, snapping her knees against my forearm.
“Alice, for Christ's sake,” Sam snapped back, twisting his face. “Forget your wild imagination for a minute and make your play.”
“I already have,” she blurted.
Her husband frowned. “Like hell. Get your card down on that trick and cut the chatter.”
“Oh,” Alice mumbled, “that play.”
She tossed a card, glaring at me. “It's your move, lover.”
I made my move, extracting a card with one hand and working the other higher. A second finger joined the loner inside Alice's pussy and they began to scissor their way here and there, fishing around for even more vital spots in the interior. Alice was giggling again and Amy seemed madder than before.