They work well together, Gert thought to herself, but there was no malice in the thought as she realized that she had come and come well and they both deserved the goodness of the thing that she had just felt within her. And she rolled over on her stomach and was smiling with satisfaction when their thrashings paused for an instant-then crashed together in the heavy breath-catching and then releasing that signifies the bliss of come-completion.
And minutes later when she could muster up the effort necessary to rise to her knees, the two others laughed at her. She was at first embarrassed and wondered what she had done that could possibly cause their loud amusement.
It was by following Fred's hysterically stabbing finger that she got her answer. Evidently the wetness of him and her together had dropped to the printed page below.
There, on her lower stomach, hat and eyes and nose visible but the lower head lost in the hair of her box-bush was the noble visage of Napoleon Bonaparte himself.
Gert joined in the laughter. After all, Josephine never had it so good, she was willing to bet on it.
Chapter 9
Mexico furnished Senor Larry with a couple of hot spicy tricks of three basic varieties. One, a hot red peppery thing, turned his hot red "peppy" thing into a blunderbuss in terms of size. That was a fun thing. The second, a blackish powder applied in her vagina, drove her itchy-crazy and demanded his blunderbuss for scratch work. That, too, was a fun thing. The third was not much fun at all-a failure, as far as Gert was concerned. Larry seemed to think that the green slime was successful, however, and she allowed as to how that might well be if the purpose of the stuff, when packed liberally up her rectum, was to send her tearing to the John where she spent half the night sitting and shitting her brains out.
"I don't like it," Larry said the following afternoon when he'd come home from the office. "You don't like it?" Gert snapped. She was sitting on the throne, having just finished. Or at least she hoped she had finished. Her raw asshole hoped so, too.
Larry looked at her sympathetically and, stepping before her,, pulled her from the seat and against him. "I don't mean you," he said, and to prove his point he unzipped his fly and his tool came out, magically prepared for action. Gert's cunt sighed at the sight and lifted to wrap its lips around the preferred glans.
Larry thrust gently. "I've been back just one day," he said. "One day-and I'm off again." He thrusted again, bringing his hands around to Gert's rear. Realizing what he was about to do, she tensed up, but a thrust to her front loosened her rectal muscles, and before she could open her mouth to protest he had a finger inside her, not moving though-thank heaven not moving. It was even kind of soothing, that finger of his against her rawness, as if it let the cool air "You're not listening," he said.
"It's kind of hard tooo-uummm," she said. 'I'll try."
His rhythm picked up in speed, his length going all the way in and almost all the way out. "I said I'm off again. Day after tomorrow."
"Day-ooo!" And suddenly the motionless finger began to make her feel strange as if it was burning her. Burning? Of course! The salt in his skin. "Larry, your finger," she said, and then she gasped because he had moved it, and there was an abrasive feeling like sandpaper.
"What about my finger?"
"Leave it there. Right there. Don't move ahhh!" This last syllable was a reaction to a ferocious cock thrust and had nothing to do with the finger, which, for the moment, was quite forgotten. But Larry had more to say:
"Don't you care, Gert? I'm off the day after tomorrow-if all the visas can be gotten that fast."
"All the-mmmmuhhh-visas? Normally-"
"That's what's got me worried. Normally I hit one country each time out." Which she knew and right now he was hitting so well, so well, each time out and in and out…"This time, I get five in one shot." No, no shot yet, Larry, not yet… "It's a circuit jaunt almost." Oh yes, jaunt my circuit, yes- "Gert are you listening to me?"
"Oh yes. Yessssssss." And the finger and cock in asshole and cunt-hole, respectively, brought her to a quick but full come. And the finger was gone with an inward sigh from her and he now was pumping jism into her and she took it standing, pulling at him with savoring cunt lips, saying, "Oh yes, Larry, I'm happy."
He sat down on the John seat and pulled her onto his lap.
"I don't even know exactly what I'm supposed to do out there. It's not just service work, it's making reports on local staff efficiency, customer satisfaction, sales levels, that sort of thing."
She relaxed in his arms. "Don't worry. Your staff is very efficient, and this customer has reached satisfactory levels-don't worry about that at all."
"Gert, I'm telling you I might be promoted! This might be a test of some kind, I feel it."
Her reverie was broken by a scream from her innermost anus. "A test? So screw it up. That sounds simple enough."
He looked at her as if shocked. "Screw up? I couldn't do that. I pride myself at being good at what I do."
Her blazing asshole almost shouted at him at that point, but her words were calm. "And how long is this trip to be?"
"Three, maybe four weeks. I know it sounds like a long time, but-"
"Don't worry," she told him. 'I'll find something to occupy my time. There's always something to do around here."
Chapter 10
Horny.
Undeniable, the empirical evidence all over the place. Itching palms, twitching twat-horniness is what I've got. Christ, that rhymes, Gert thought to herself. Twat, got. But it was what her twat hadn't got that was the trouble. Three, maybe four weeks Larry had-said he'd be gone, and it was now two and a half weeks.
And Gert had gone without for all that time. Why? She couldn't really answer that one. There had not been a specific opportunity, that was true-nobody interesting had come pounding at the door. Yet she could have gone out looking, but hadn't. She'd gone out, yes, several times, for clothes and for food, the Thanksgiving weekend being two days away and she being determined to Happy-Turkey it even if she did so alone. No, she hadn't played her usual game. And take that back about nobody interesting coming to her door: there had been that uniformed policeman selling or collecting on behalf of the Policeman's Benevolent Fund or something. Not only was he sort of cute, but the thought had occurred to her that she had a chance there for a kind of unique distinction.
To wit: she had a chance to become a real live cop-sucker.
But she had simply given him five dollars and wished him good morning, thus blowing the chance. No pun intended.
She paced what had by now become a well-worn psychological pathway through the first floor of the house. The kitchen radio, loud, was giving up-to-the minute sports scores.
Horny.
HORNY.
Rah rah rah. Let's hear it for the old team-team of cock and cunt, prick and pussy, lingam and yoni.
Lingam and Yoni. Sounds like a folk-rock duet.
She turned off the "radio and marched into the living room, humming as she went.
"Horny." To the old tune of "Mother."
H is for the hot pants that I'm wearing. O is for the organ that I lack. R is for the reaming that I'm wanting. N is for the nothing in my crack. Y is for the Crap, it didn't fit. "Mother" had one letter more than "horny." Not only that, mothers didn't get horny, not regularly anyway, they never had time. Mothers were busy.
Busy. There was a logic in that. One who is busy is not horny, Q.E.D. Therefore…