She experimented by closing the girl's lips on the turgid nubbin. It protruded. Holding the lips closed, she could still suck it through the tangle of hair.
Puzzled, she raised up from Grace's crotch and looked about for Myra. Myra, naked, was lying on the huge bed, legs raised and apart, her gaping, blonde-haired cunt toward Kit. Louise was still sucking Myra's tits. Kit eyed the dripping pink projection at the top of her slit. She had to find out. She began crawling out from between Grace's legs.
"Don't leave me!" Grace cried, trying to vise her thighs on Kit's head. But Kit wrestled free, climbed over her toward Myra s scarlet gash. Grace was clutching at her but she continued on and mouthed her friend's slobbery twat.
Myra loosed a groan and arched up, shoving against Kit's face.
Kit sucked the girl's clit out to finger form. She closed the lips on it; Like Grace's, it protruded far enough that she could still mouth it.
She heard Grace sobbing. "You've abandoned me, Kit! Please, please tongue my hole!"
Then Myra spoke. "Quit sniveling, Grace. You expect everybody to do it for you. Get down and eat some hair pie and then you'll get yours."
The girl still whimpered as she crawled between Kit's legs and suckered onto her cunt.
Among Kit's hallucinations was the growth of her clitoris to the size of one of Myra's breast points. Eventually it became a cock and she fucked Grace with it. At least, they were in fucking position, she between the girl's legs, ramming the growth protruding from her split into a seething, squirty hole.
Through most of the orgy she could not sort out her impressions. At one time someone was licking her cunt and fingering up her asshole while a mouth sucked each of her tits. She blacked out on that come. Later she was part of a daisy chain of writhing flesh, and the twat she was lapping seemed to be Louise's.
She did not know at what point she lost consciousness.
She awoke in glaring moonlight. Her mouth was on fire, burned dry, her tongue swollen with thirst. She needed beer, great icy mugs of it.
She sat up and saw that the three girls formed a triangle, the head of each between the thighs of another. They moved squirmily, very slowly, as though in the last stages of exhaustion. In the triangular space between them hands moved, caressing flesh, tits or bellies, whatever they happened to touch.
Kit stood up. Cunt juice spilled down her legs. Her twat was gaping but she felt no desire to return to the lesbian tangle, that meaningless plethora of soft flesh. She dressed. Finding Myra's purse on a table she took the car keys from it and left the room.
They did not seem to notice her departure.
Downstairs she went to the bar and asked the butch-dyke proprietor, Mona, for a bottle of beer.
Mona asked, "Did you have fun, darling?"
"I guess so," Kit said.
She drank the entire bottle of beer and went out to Myra's car and drove homeward.
She began to feel frightened. Yes, she had liked it. She had come more times than she could count. She had a leaning toward the lesbian bit, and maybe she would like having her clit stretched out to match Myra's and Grace's. Or had that been an illusion? Louise's had been small, though. Perhaps she was a new recruit.
But above all they, were simply bodies, not people, nothing to cling to, meaningless, and what frightened Kit was the voluptuous limbo, the cavern of delicious nothing that formed their lives, a place for drowning.
Arriving home she parked the car in front of her house where Myra could not miss seeing it, left the keys in the ignition, and went inside.
She paused on the porch, glancing next door to Bill Folsom's house. There were no lights. Bill, oh, Bill!
Bill was strong enough to save her.
Groaning, she went inside, locked the door behind her, knowing that Myra might well try to get in. She locked the kitchen door as well and took a bottle of beer from the refrigerator and drank it down.
She undressed and climbed into bed with her son.
He slept as though dead. Worn out. Too much sex. Not a man, simply a boy with a man's genitals. She caressed his cock. The ropy limpness of it provided nothing to hearten her.
She turned from him. Soon her pillow was wet with tears.
She needed help. She simply could not do it all alone.
The day was already hot when Sonny awoke alone in his mother's bed.
The clock said ten. He got up feeling groggy, wandered out to the kitchen and found a note from her on the table, saying, "Sleepyhead! I've gone to work. Buy steak and tomatoes. Money in drawer."
He made breakfast and ate, thinking back over their crazy weekend of fucking. Where had Mother gone last night? He had awakened, watched a night ball game on TV for an hour, then went back to sleep.
Done eating he put on a pair of shorts and went out and sat on the back steps.
He saw Lily's white t-shirt moving about the greenhouse.
She must be mad as hell. She would probably throw a trowel at him. Well, he had to kind of explain. He angled across the lawn to the gap of the hedge and entered the greenhouse. It was steamy and Lily's tits were blackened by florists earth.
He sauntered to the aisle where she was seeding a flat. He leaned against a bench.
He said, "Lily, I'm awful sorry."
She gazed at him, shrugged. "Sorry for what?"
"Well, my mother had so many things to do."
"The way you're tangled in her apron strings, I bet you have trouble opening your fly to pee unless she tells you which way to zip."
He saw that she was wearing a bra, the way her titties protruded and did not dip or bob when she moved. He guessed that was to spite him.
Anyhow, she cared enough what he thought to wear a bra when he preferred her without.
He said, "Lily, I feel the same about you. I mean, you know how my mother is, I just had to go off with her Saturday, and then yesterday-"
"I haven't been lonesome," she snapped. "Well, I know you were busy, especially with me not here to help transplant."
"I mean, you haven't got the only prick in town."
She said it harshly but turned away, to hide a blush, he saw.
He pondered her meaning. As far as he had been able to keep track of her, she had been home all weekend.
Did she mean her father?
He would have to think about that. He said, "Let me sprinkle the dirt on after you seed."
"I can do it myself."
But when he took the trowel and began scooping dirt on the flat she had seeded, she moved to the next flat and began seeding it.
At the office Kit buried her troubles in work until mid-morning, when Myra phoned.
"It's all your fault, you bitch!" Myra screeched. "Myra, this is a switchboard phone. Be careful what you say."
"He blacked my eye. I have ice cubes on it but it's all blue and ugly. What do you mean by stranding me miles from home? That's why he beat me up.
Kit could not make sense of it. She had seen Don an hour before, his eyes red and his face puffy from booze. Apparently he had gotten drunk- Myra was simply looking for somebody to blame things on.
Kit said, "You found your car, didn't you?" "Yes, Grace drove me, but listen, you cunt lapping bitch, I'll get even-"
Kit hung up.
Shortly Myra was on the phone again, quieter now. "Darling, it was all groovy, wasn't it? And listen, Grace is madly in love with you-"
Kit dropped the receiver once more. She buzzed the switchboard girl and told her that if any woman called, no matter whom, she was not in the office.
But just before noon a man called her.
It was Harry, her ex-husband, saying, "I want to have lunch with you, right now. I'm at Barney's, the place your office gang goes to."
Kit was startled. Harry lived in a town some twenty miles away. She had not spoken to him in three or four years.
She said, "I'm terribly busy, Harry."