Until finally the two panting bodies were one mass of wriggling flesh, uttering low grunts and groans of desire as the springs of the bed squeaked unmercifully. Helen's loins jerked spasmodically against her husband's belly. She held her breath for a long moment and then gave it up. She was cumming deep down at that spot where her husband's up-thrusting cock was touching her.
"Mmmmnnaahh!" and she was pulling him in, in closer to her and now that throbbing hardness that was making her cum was spurting its life-giving heat into her filling cunt. There was no room on earth for anyone else but the two of them, and it seemed that they had been transported to a place that only true lovers can find if they are very lucky.
"You're very lucky," Hannah looked all around her, suspiciously, hostilely taking it all in.
"Oh," she said to herself when she saw Helen smiling nervously. "He wants me to bring the wife out!"
"Nice pad!" the prostitute added.
"Come in, won't you, and sit down?" Helen said. Adam put his arm around his wife. Christ! They looked like honeymooners, Hannah thought as she observed them. She moved slowly and deliberately into the living room. What kind of trick was this going to be anyway? She wanted to hurry and get it over with.
"God something to drink?" she asked.
Helen dashed to make something at the bar. "How about daiquiris?" she asked shyly. She had already made up a pitcher.
Helen looked at Hannah and saw beneath the makeup and the wig a rather pretty woman who had an enormous chip on her shoulder. And yet somehow the sight of this woman had affected her husband in such a way that he had gained more insight into her own predicament than if he'd been lectured about it for weeks. Helen had gladly accepted the idea of meeting this prostitute when Adam had told her about the other woman. It seemed in some say, she didn't know just how yet, to be important to their understanding of each other. But now she was nervous about what the woman in the jet-black curly-haired wig might be thinking of this invitation.
"I… uh, suppose you're wondering why we asked you to come!" she said timidly, sitting down beside the other woman after handing her her drink.
"Yeah, sorta," Hannah answered, giving Helen the once-over from up close. She was pretty and straight, Hannah thought, and she hated Helen's guts.
"I'll try to explain," Adam's wife said, feeling the enormous animosity that emanated from her guest.
"Yeah, do that!" Hannah said, thinking about what life might be like for Helen, not having a drug habit to take care of, not having to be worried about getting busted, even after the cops fuck shit out of you! Just waking up every day to soft music on a radio probably, and putting on something filmy and pretty. Just fucking one man instead of hundreds of nameless johns.
Helen looked up at Adam who was hovering uncertainly nearby. "Perhaps you could leave us along for a little, darling," she said.
"Of course, of course," Adam went for his coat. "I'd go down and get the papers," he said a moment later. "Back in a bit."
And then Helen began to talk to Hannah, telling her everything. It was something she hadn't even realized that she was going to do before it happened, but it seemed perfectly natural as it was happening. She told her everything that had happened, the story of her life in brief, and bit by bit as Helen talked, she could feel Hannah's attitude toward her changing. And when at last the story was brought up to the moment and Helen had gotten up to get more drinks, Hannah spoke.
"Yeah, a lot of women get tricked into being nothing more than a high-class hooker. That's what happened to you, and you couldn't even get a decent lay because your old man didn't even know who you were!"
Helen nodded and remained silent.
"Yeah, there's more than one way to get fucked, right?" Hannah said, smiling for the first time.
There was a kinship there, a special knowledge between the two women.
"You know what I think?" Hannah said. "I think your husband wanted me to come because he wanted us to make it together."
Helen reflected. "Yes," she said finally, "I think that's what he might have had in mind at first. But maybe talking together is as much as the same thing."
"Maybe."
"Maybe not," Helen said, after reflecting a moment.
"They all want to see two women together!" Hannah said, sneering.
"Do they?"
"But what if the women want to?"
"That's different."
Suddenly it was clear what she had to do. The pretty blonde wife spoke clearly and deliberately. "I want to!"
Adam returned to the apartment not knowing quite what to expect. He brought flowers and a Cue magazine, thinking that he and Helen might want to go out later that evening. He entered without bothering to disguise his sounds. Moments later, he stood in the doorway of the bedroom where the two women had retired. What he saw aroused in him a multitude of emotions, none of which he could single out as his true comprehension of what he was taking in.
In the darkened bedroom where a short while before Adam and Helen had fallen in love again, or perhaps for the first time, Helen groaned and bit her lips. The softness of the prostitute's touch was strange to her. It brought back all the feathery delights that she had ever known in her life, and after all the rough tortures her body had recently known, after all the indifferent caresses, she was profoundly shocked to find that the prostitute's fingers knew her body as well as she herself. The sensual contact with the other women who had done Helen the supreme honor of talking off her black wig and revealing the true chestnut color of her straight hair, was reaching her on some other level of consciousness, a level that spoke volumes about pain and loneliness and at the same time was a thoroughly potent and forceful erotic experience.
The prostitute's naked breasts pressed against hers while Hannah's fingers swirled insistently around up inside of Helen's wetly willing cunt. Comfort and warmth, mother-love was hers again, but pure in its sexuality. Even though the two women were simultaneously aware that Adam was watching, they were not self-conscious, and Helen was proud that she could show Hannah how naturally she could comprehend the perversity of their act.
Moaning softly to herself, Hannah rubbed her dark hair-fringed vaginal mound down against Helen's quivering cunt, feeling the privileged wife writhing sensuously beneath her, her legs straining apart. Their respective roles disappeared. They were both whores and they were both wives; they were women.
Helen's vision of herself was enhanced as her desire heightened. She learned untold things that masturbation, for example, had failed to show her about herself. She moaned as Hannah's caresses increased, fingers slipping in and out of Helen's lust-aroused cunt as though the prostitute were possessed by a demon, the same demon that Helen knew so well. The prostitute's shapely body with soft, silky flesh blended against hers as the wetly heated pussy moved over and around, wriggling on top of her abdomen and stimulating her tiny clitoris.
Helen moaned over and over again, her steaming vaginal furrow one big crevice of desire as she strained against the heated friction that rose between them. Helen's softly quivering buttocks tightened and grew tighter still as she heard Hannah's soft whispers into her ear. "Whore, cunt! Bitch!" she cried, "Cum! Cum for me!"
Hannah's pale breasts pressed and rolled against the larger breasts of the scientist's wife, causing Helen's passion to mount. Hannah's knowledgeable finger slithered upward into the blonde's tightly clenching pussy, feeling not like a man's penis, but something more flexible that could give her more individual attention. An exquisite floating sensation of pleasure pervaded her nakedly twisting body as she sank deeper and deeper into a lustfully provoked swoon. Opening her eyes, she could see Adam standing nearby, an expression of tortured jealousy on his features.