He ate away at her while Elsie sat just behind her and bounced on his cock.
Having Lucy's hot, red-haired cunt in his mouth while Elsie humped him was all it took.
Jeff gave a sudden gasp, sending his hot breath up into her cunt. Then his prick jerked spasmodically inside the warm, wet grasp of Elsie's cunt. She squealed as she felt it coming and be spewed into her until he had expended his entire load. It filled the channel of her cunt until she quivered, feeling as if she would burst from within. Warm semen, began dribbling out to slip down the stalk of his cock and mat his curling pubic hair.
"Aaaaaggggghhhh!" Lucy gasped, and thinner, paler juice flowed from her onto Jeff's face. Rhythmic waves of blasting orgasm rocked up from her clit in quivery spasms. The exhilarating climax curled hotly into the deepest recesses of her belly.
As she sagged onto his limp body, he felt Elsie rise from him. She moved sideways. He looked down at his beautiful wife sucking his half-hard cock.
"Good?" be asked.
"Always," she mumbled around his prick.
"Want some more?"
"Don't I always?" Elsie crooned, her eyes smiling up at him.
"That's my girl," he said, shivered, and sank back as he felt one of Elsie's fingers slither hotly into his asshole, while her other hand squeezed his balls.
Elsie bobbed her head smoothly up and down his cock… her cock; she only loaned it out now and then to the other girls. It always came back to her. She knew it would, because Jeff was just like she was – crazy about sex.
Of course, she hadn't always been like that. She wasn't like that before she married her first husband, Bill.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Elsie stood at the top of the stepladder, threading the lacy white curtain onto the metal rod. Beyond the window she saw the spreading, well-kept lawns of the new housing development. She felt good about the move from the small apartment to the new house, even though she and Bill couldn't really afford it.
Here she was, a child bride almost, although she neither looked like it nor felt like it. She was seventeen; Bill was twenty-four.
"Mrs. William Glass," she whispered to herself as she stepped off the ladder. It should be better than it was.
She was married and out of her ugly home, with her ugly parents. They had been glad to get rid of her and she was glad to be rid of them. All her mother ever did was whine, and all her stepfather ever did was stay drunk and look at her with lecherous eyes.
"Mark my words, Elsie," he would say when they were out of ear-shot of her mother, "with a big beautiful body like that you'll come to no good end. You might just as well start with me."
He had tried twice, and both times she had scratched his face into hamburger.
Bill had been an easy out. She wasn't sure she loved him, but anything was better than staying at home. Then, when he had taken her to bed and turned on the wild sex that had lain dormant in her body, she was sure that she loved him.
Then she found out that she wanted more than Bill could give her. She had already had two brief affairs in the last two months. But she had done it very carefully and discreetly. Or thought she had.
But Bill found out. He was due for a promotion, more money. So they decided to move away from the city, to the suburbs, so Elsie would be removed from temptation.
But now the urge, the need, was back. And she didn't know how long she could hold out.
She stood looking out the window for a moment. She felt, as she so often did these days, the scalding tears well up in her eyes, spill over, coursing down her cheeks. She wiped them away with the back of her hand.
It was bad enough, she thought, that Bill now hated her. No, she couldn't blame him for that. But he bated himself, too. And that, somehow, was worse. Her mind went back to the early days of their courtship… God, they'd been like children, then, innocent as lambs. And be had been so full of hopes, so starry-eyed. He'd been ready – and he's considered himself able – to beat the world, back in those days.
But now here they were, in this shining little house, all chrome and tile and polished wood, circling each other like a couple of dogs, ready to spring at one another's throats, but somehow too civilized to let themselves go. Something she had read years before came back to her. "Hell is… other people."
And they had made the damndest little hell for each other that anybody could imagine.
Elsie automatically glanced at her watch, saw that the hour was late, knew that Bill would be home for dinner soon.
She got to her feet and went into the kitchen, got the vegetables from the refrigerator, the meat from the freezer, found a cook book and looked up the recipe for Bill's, favorite dessert. She beat the eggs into a froth, folded in the cream, her mind on her husband. What did he want, really?
Her mind went back, once again, over their whole life together, and she knew that they had never really been happy. There had been something missing between them, something other people had. What was it? What did Bill really want?
And suddenly she knew.
He wanted a whore. Only he wouldn't admit it to himself. He loved to make her tell him about all her affairs when he was angry with her. But actually he seemed to enjoy it, to wallow in her shame.
Well, tonight she would give it to him.
She heard the squeal of tires as he drove up, parking the car in front of the house, beard his heavy footsteps on the stairs, on the front porch, the slam of the screen door as he came in. He ailed her from the living room.
"How about a martini?" he called.
"Coming right up!" she called back.
Elsie brought him his drink, well-chilled, perfect.
"Well, it happened."
"What?"
"That son-of-a-bitch boss of mine… Jeff Montlan."
"What about him?" Elsie said, a slight ripple running up her back at Montlan's name. He had a reputation for being the wildest and craziest lover around. And he didn't care who knew it.
"He turned down my promotion," Bill said angrily, and snapped his fingers. "Just like that! And then he went off to spend the weekend on his boat with his cronies and his whores!"
"Bill, I'm sorry."
"Forget it," he said, gulping his drink. "What's for dinner?"
"I'll put it on the table."
"We might as well enjoy the house, while we can afford it."
Elsie served the dinner in silence, and they ate it in silence, although it was one of her better efforts, as even she had to admit. After dinner, Bill went back into the living room, looked through a couple of magazines, watched television for a while, and then got up, yawning, to go into the bedroom.
"I think I'll turn in," he said, closing the door behind him.
Elsie finished the dishes, waiting until she was sure that Bill had climbed in between the sheets, and then turned the lights off. She entered the bedroom.
She crossed to the bed and stood for a moment. He paid no attention to her. She let her dress slip to the floor.
"Bill?"
"Yeah?"
"Are you… are you in the mood?"
"I don't think so, honey. I've had a hell of a day."
Elsie turned and bent to pick up the dress at her feet, hoping he could see the thin nylon strip of her tights, slipping tautingly into the crease between her buttocks, catching there as she straightened up. She walked across the room towards the closet, the dress folded over her arm, her smoothly rounded ass cheeks quivering voluptuously.
Bill was watching every movement.
She turned around, quietly slipping the straps of her brassiere down off her shoulders, unhooking the clasps at the back, sliding it off so that her full, resilient breasts fell free. Just as nonchalantly, as gracefully, she slipped her panties down over her firm, quivering thighs. She stood before him for a moment, and, he thought he had never seen anything quite so beautiful.