Large, protruding breasts - bigboobs,banana,dry vagina erotic story
Susie felt it happen as she slipped off her dress, sheer magic warmly enveloping her flesh, softening it to the bone. Her movements slowed. She dropped the dress on the bathroom laundry hamper and felt her face, her throat, her bra stretched by suddenly swollen breasts. Her nipples were hard. She slid a hand down her belly, over her panties to her crotch. It was moist.
She gazed about her blue-and-white bathroom. Nothing appeared altered. The tiles gleamed. She had scrubbed them this morning. The shower door stood open.
She had been about to shower. In the bedroom she had laid out fresh undies and a crisp summer dress. The kitchen smelled of roasting beef, to be done in an hour when husband Brian arrived home. Susie, young Mrs. Susie Fenner, was an efficient, methodical homemaker.
But magic sent fingertips languorously roving her nyloned breasts, buttery-soft caresses teasing the growing caps. She felt slinkily sensual, like a cat in heat, switching her tail and sniffing for toms. Magic? She did not believe in magic. It was sex. Her vagina was pulling, wetting. But why?
She turned to the mirror, saw cornflower-blue eyes wide, round, a blonde girl amazed at the transformation of herself. The eyes of innocence, about twelve years old, Brian had said with a sneer, her emotional growth stopped before puberty. And each time he drove his erection into her dry vagina, each time she humped desperately at him, trying to cum, and failing, she wondered. Maybe Brian was right.
But Susie was twenty, a grown woman with large, protruding breasts, and in her panties a broad fan of hair, and plump lips swelling the crotch.
She plucked at nipples like thumb-tips poking out the nylon. Lust had darkened her eyes. Heated breathing had dried her lips. A sliver of pink tongue-tip lashed out, wetting them. Brian Fenner's frigid wife saw her nostrils flare, then her hips writhing.
This was not the Susie she knew.
What was happening to her?
She curled an arm behind her back, pinched the bra hooks free. The nylon jerked, pulled by the weight of her breasts.
Her chest was golden, from gardening in the hot summer sun. Abruptly the color changed to milky white, flesh protected by her halter, broad mounds swelling outward, the inner curves almost meeting.
In the john at an office party she had overheard a woman say, "That wife of Brian Fenner is all tits and ass! Such a sexy girl, why on earth does he screw his secretary?"
Susie knew why. Brian screwed his secretary because his wife was frigid, had a dry, knotted vagina, despite the feeling right now of moistness in her panties.
She plucked the bra cups off her breast crowns, pink swells of teacup size, tipped with thick nipples. She brushed her fingertips about the areolae and watched them bulge, extending the nipples until together they formed cones. Hot, now. Tingling. She let the bra fall and fisted her tit ends, squeezed them, closing her eyes and thinking how Ronnie used to suck them, Ronnie her high-school guy, the awful shit, stood her up on dates, eventually joined the Army and disappeared, but sweet, dear Ronnie had kissed and licked every part of her body, loved her to the toes.
In the mirror her pink lips were open, teeth glinting as she drew deep, shuddering breaths. Avoiding the sight she looked down at her swollen breasts as she pulled the nipples out to fingering pegs. Then she dropped her hands to her panties, rolled them slowly downward over her mound hair, which expanded to a brownish fluff on release. She had a quite hairy snatch, a jungle of thick, silky curls hiding her plump mound and lips, even concealing her clit, which was grossly oversized. It disgusted Brian, who said it was like "a little boy's prick"!
"Well, it's what I've got!" Susie had sobbed.
Anyhow, it was not like a prick. It was smaller, and completely slick, and Ronnie used to suck it avidly. It was not a deformity, a doctor had assured her long ago, a mere anomaly, unusual but not rare. Susie was determined to ignore it. Yet had it something to do with her vaginal dryness, her inability to cum on Brian's penis?
She was rubbing her pussy before her panties were down, squeezing the hairy lips and working their slippery insides on her hot, swelling clit. Wow! Hot! And wet in there, like when Ronnie used to slip his prick in and sometimes she'd cum on feeling the head throb in her vaginal mouth.
She choked out a cry. So hot! She shoved the panties down, kicked out of them and hurried to the shower, turned it on and stepped in squeezing her pussy lips, pulling and pushing as the tepid spray dashed at her breasts. The water did not cool them. Instead the needling jets teased the turgid flesh to further swelling. Susie had begun hip-grinding, forcing her pussy at the finger pressure, wrenching and jerking, which made her firm breasts wobble and slip, roll here and there.
And why? Why? Because she could not cum in bed with Brian, and all her sexuality had bottled up? Because he was a selfish brute, just jamming it into her without a kiss or a caress? And maybe because of the new people next door, who laughed all the time, joyfully full of piss and vinegar? And she envied them? Because she was so alone?
All of those things?
She bowed her legs, slid a finger up her drooling, open hole, and went into a paroxysm of hip jerks, fuck-shoved, impaling her on the digit.
It was the people next door, she thought. They had to be part of it. It was since they moved in that those waves of heat had swarmed over her a dozen times a day.
She backed to the tiled wall, bracing herself as she surrendered to a flurry of hip jerks, hissing loudly through clenched teeth, writhing, twisting, breasts spilling to the right, then the left. She flagged her head, let out a shriek.
A boiling gush, a flare of scalding heat ripped through her belly as a hip jerk shot her over the peak.
She sagged against the tiles, sobbing, the jerks slower, voluptuous now, and she groaned as her vagina slithered and pulled, gaped, then snuggled in on itself, all loose and sexy but empty, nothing in it but a girl's finger.
Susie felt wobbly-legged when she toweled dry, rubbing her flesh as though to punish it, sobbing, smearing at tears, avoiding sight of her reflection in the mirror. Shame! Self-abuse, that's what they called masturbation. If Brian knew, he would be sickened. Perverted woman! He'd say maybe her long clit was no deformity but the result of continual masturbation. Or from lesbian practices. Yes, he would say that. If Susie showed any warmth at all toward another woman he made horrid remarks, said maybe she was such a lousy lay because she really dug other snatches, wanted to eat hair pie!
Sniffling, she wound the towel about her body, knotted it under one arm and went to the bedroom, a bright place where sunshine glowed in the pale-yellow marquisette curtains, a color like the clothes she had laid out on the bed, a yellow dress and matching bra and panties. She would dress, look fresh and pretty for husband Brian, meet him at the door with a wifely kiss and a chilled dry-martini cocktail. But she would pass the evening in dread of the moment when he jammed his hard prick into her dry vagina, which he said felt like a rusty keyhole.
Yet right now she felt love juices trickling down her leg.
She could hear voices now, and a spate of laughter coming through the curtains. The people next door. She moved to the window, crouched against the wall and peered out through the curtains.
The neighborhood was composed mostly of ranch houses and split levels only a few years old but Susie was gazing at a relic of times gone by, a Gothic monstrosity of three stories, with cupolas and slate Mansard roofs, a house much too large for one family. Two weeks ago, three young couples had moved into that weather-worn antique.
Susie had not yet met any of them. Nor had Brian, but he judged them commune hippies, probably fags and lesbians; in his view, disgusting.
Hedges of overgrown privet surrounded the house except for a gap on this side, where they had rigged chicken wire on posts and had planted Morning Glories that were already vining up the wire. Susie understood their desire for privacy, having glimpsed much naked running around.
The voices she had heard came from three of them beyond the chicken wire. They were scraping the peeling paint off the house. Two girls and a fellow, wearing straw hats, shirts and shorts.
As Susie watched, the male member of the trio reached the handle of his paint scraper up between one girl's blue-denimed buttocks, and gave her a goose.
She screeched, whirled on him and made a grab at his crotch.
The three of them were laughing. Watching, Susie giggled.
He backed off. The other girl got into it, and they crowded him against the hedge, both girls snatching at the front of his shorts. He dropped his scraper and tried to fend them off with the palms of his hands, but feebly, helpless with laughter. Finally one of the girls got a handful of crotch bulge.
There were laughs, shouts, and the two girls went back to their paint scraping.
Like in high school, Susie thought, she and Ronnie, always grabbing crotches. But Ronnie had been her steady. Here two girls had gone at one man, and that sort of took her breath away.
What followed left her gasping.
Standing there talking to the girls -- Susie could hear only echoes of their voices -- the fellow unzipped his shorts, dug out his penis, and began to pee.
Both girls watched as a glistening stream of urine arced through the sunshine and spattered on the lawn.
Wow! Susie thought. One of the girls could be his wife or girl friend, but the other? What kind of a bunch were they? Did they live in heaps? Group-grope stuff?
She could see his prick clearly, a long one, and she reacted by slipping a hand in under the fold of her towel to the furriness of her pussy. She gave it a squeeze, found the inner surfaces of the lips were squishy. She thought, I do love guys! Meeting the right guy I feel flash blushes, find my ass wagging, and my panties get squirmy-moist in no time at all. Like it's only my husband who turns me off! Yet I married him because after just a glance at the big, handsome bastard my pussy juiced!
Now she heard one of the girl's voices distinctly, saying, "Howard, we know how big your cock is. Why do you have to show it off?"
They were laughing, and so was Susie, though she felt a tear in her eye, loneliness. How she wished she were one of those girls, teasing the fellow about displaying his prick!
While massaging her pussy, she tore the towel open and began pulling her nipples. And the longer she watched the three next door, the more her tugs and squeezes speeded. Were the people next door the cause of her spells of heat, the sensual upwellings that demanded masturbation?
Well, they made her think of Ronnie, and the carefree days with him, when their sexuality had been joyous, laughter punctuating the gasps and grunts of orgasm.
Susie bowed her legs, squeezing her pussy back and forth as she panted uphill toward her cum.
Brian arrived home late, a huge man filling the kitchen doorway. He had made it through college as a line-bucking halfback, and as an executive at the Helting Corporation he bulled his way up the ladder. He was dark and ruggedly handsome but his face was red. He had been drinking, Susie knew.
She gave him his martini cocktail and the wifely kiss on his cheek. He was sweaty. In her crisp yellow summer dress she did not want to press close up to him.
He gulped at the drink, then snarled, "That guy Clayton! The cocksucker tried to take over the Burkholtz account. I told the big boss that Clayton would bungle the fucker, give it to Brian boy, I'll make Burkholtz buy like our products are cheap at half the price."
"That's nice," Susie said, understanding none of it. Brian ranted a lot about office doings, but never explained. She only knew that Clayton was Brian's friend, that with his wife they often went to dinner as a foursome, but on the job the two men fought like jungle animals.
"Clayton blew his top when the big boss gave me Burkholtz. Called me a back-stabbing shit, and I laughed in his face. He even took off on you, saying, 'Your wife Susie, the way she wags her big ass...'"
"I haven't got a big ass," Susie said mildly, taking the roast from the oven.
Ignoring her, Brian went on, "'Wags it like she's hot pussy you can't satisfy, probably fucks the plumber and the gas-meter reader.' I mean, you can see how pissed off Clayton was, saying all that, and I told him she's frigid, got a cunt like a faucet rusted shut."
Biting her lip, Susie left the roast and poured herself a drink. She said, "You didn't really tell Clayton that."
"I'd had some drinks."
"You and he were drinking together, after work?"
"Who else? I had to smear it in his face, didn't I?"
"You could leave me out of it."
"Oh, fuck!" He refilled his glass. "In public you do that wiggly sexy shit, dance with Clayton, rubbing your belly all over him, can't blame him for thinking like that. But at home, shit. Then you're little Miss Dry-cunt, big round eyes surprised like she never saw a cock before."
He glowered at her, then lunged off toward the bathroom, unbuttoning his shirt.
Susie blinked at tears. Brian was really wound up tonight. Had something happened besides the fight over the Burkholtz account? Like, if Clayton had made it with Brian's secretary -- they seemed to battle that way, too.
She and her husband lived separate lives, that's all. After two years of marriage they were strangers.
She heard the shower go on. If she were part of that office life, she thought, they'd have things in common. But Brian would not let her hold a job.
He was not always this bad. Though, lately it had been worse between them, as though the new people next door were also affecting him.
Thinking of them, she found her fingers walking her skirt up and dipping into her panties. She opened her slit and nudged her clit. At least, Brian had not mentioned that tonight, how it grew out like a little boy's prick.
If only he'll get stumbling drunk, she thought, and pass out, unconscious so he doesn't even know I'm in bed with him...
The evening went even better than Susie had hoped, Brian moodily silent, drinking beer as he watched the TV ball game, then going off to bed and a dead sleep. During the night he erected once, jabbed at her behind but apparently fell asleep again.
In the morning she got him off to work and sat drinking her coffee, smoking a cigarette, and wondering. She felt trapped. If she had a job, made some money to be proud of -- but she was a house slave, hating the master of her life.
Do something! Something new!
With sudden decision she butted out the cigarette and rose, strode out the kitchen door.
She paused a moment in her yard, gazing at the overgrown hedges about the monstrosity old house next door, at the chicken-wire fence which Morning Glories grew, at the lattice gate beside the fence. She moved slowly toward the gate, unsure now, afraid she would be disappointed in the new neighbors. But what else had she? Every other woman on the block had a job.
She opened the gate and stepped inside. The new people had certainly been busy.
The overgrown yard was neatly mowed, and flower strips planted against the house. Out back a vegetable garden showed new green shoots. All very tidy.
She climbed steps to the roofed back porch and at the screen kitchen door called in, "Hello! I'm Susie from next door!"
She heard a girl's voice. "Come on in, Susie!"
Entering, Susie found a darkish kitchen with antique equipment, except for a big new automatic washer. A girl was about to dump an armload of wash into it. She had glossy, dark straight hair cut in bangs, and eyes like black velvet. She smiled dazzlingly over the mass of clothing at Susie.
"I'm Rita," she said.
Then she spilled the clothing in and Susie's eyes went round, for Rita's housework costume consisted of a South Seas sarong from waist to mid-thigh, yellow and orange flowers on a blue background. Otherwise she was naked, and came toward Susie with big white breasts wobbling and tossing about.
Rita seized Susie's hands and pressed them warmly in greeting. Then, seeing Susie's blush and her open-mouthed gaping, she laughed.
She said, "You're shocked by my bare boobies, Susie? Well, it's summer. Hot weather. And I'm on a South Seas kick, reading all about Polynesia, learning to dance the hula and play the ukulele, and how to cook fish with bananas. So I wear a sarong like the Hawaiians did before the missionaries got at them, just hip down and hooray for bare tits!"
Susie surprised herself by giggling.
Rita said, "You don't mind? I mean, we're a nutty bunch, the six of us, and we do things different. I don't want to offend you."
The notion of recreating the South Seas here in suburbia appealed to Susie. Why shouldn't Rita do this? It was her house. But she was a bit shocked, especially since Rita's breasts were so big, the dark crowns enormous. Hard to avoid looking at them. And what about the men at the house? They were such luscious boobs.
She asked, "But don't the fellows just pant -- stare?"
"Only when I hula," Rita said, and started to, raising her arms and clapping her hands rhythmically above her head while her hips began gyrating and her breasts, wow, they practically seemed to revolve! Rita added, "Doing this, a girl can get very quickly fucked, you know."
Her eyes twinkled so impishly that Susie burst out laughing.
Seeing this, Rita stopped dancing and threw her arms about Susie, hugged her, crying, "Susie, how you laugh! I believe you should be one of us. Love and laughter are what we care about. Welcome to the Zoo, which some call the Pageant, though my husband Howard says it's Howard's Horny Haven."
Susie felt a burst of affection toward her new friend, and returned her hug.
She was delighted with the Zoo, the Pageant, Howard's Horny Haven.
But never had she blushed so furiously, as though her cheeks and throat were on fire.
Rita started the washing machine while filling Susie in on the denizens of the house. Her husband, Howard, invented things. Nick was an artist, and his wife, Gwen, was deep into yoga. The third couple, Phil and Willa, were not married. She worked as a secretary. Phil had quit his job to inner-search homosexual tendencies that Rita thought non-existent.
As she spoke, the bare-breasted Rita's hand caressed Susie's, and vined up her arms.
These affectionate gestures warmed Susie's heart, for she had always been one to hold friends' hands, be they men or women, when in deep conversation.
Still, when Rita hugged her, squeezing a hot, bare breast to hers, she blushed. Well, she thought, I'm just not used to it!
"Now for the guided tour," Rita said.
She took Susie first to the dining room, which contained a round table lacquered Chinese red, green chairs, a yellow highboy and abstract paintings in exploding colors. Despite the shading of the porch roof, the room dazzled the eyes.
"Now the yoga parlor, Susie."
This was darkish, paneled in natural wood, with a couple of posters and no furniture except a wood platform raised a foot on which a girl sat in what Rita explained was called lotus-seat position, cross-legged, her thighs winged out at right angles and her feet intertwined. Her hair was bound up in a white snood held by a red-jeweled clip above her forehead. She sat chin-high and straight-backed, the position cruelly painful in Susie's view, yet her hands, on her knees, thumbs and forefingers forming circles, looked completely relaxed, her face serene. It was a lovely, flat-cheeked face, hazel-eyed, with a speck of red paint in the middle of her forehead.
The girl was nude. More than nude, for her pubic hair was shaven off.
"Gwen, you're busy?" Rita asked.
Eyes that had been fixed on the facing wall turned slowly to Rita. She smiled, a very gentle smile.
She said, "No, darling. I'm only at the second level."
Then Rita astonished Susie by bending down over the nude Gwen and kissing her on the mouth.
Susie gasped on seeing that their mouths were open, pink tongues twining about each other.
Rita straightened, said, "This is Susie."
Gwen's placid gaze washed slowly up Susie from feet to face.
"Hello," she murmured.
Rita said, "Susie, the rule of the house is that we kiss if we haven't seen each other for some hours, and of course on meeting people."
"My goodness," Susie said, eyes and mouth round. She had never kissed a girl on the mouth but good taste said when in Rome do as the Romans, so she bent down to Gwen, whose face turned up, smiling, and Susie held her breath and kissed her.
A dainty tongue-tip slid into her mouth.
The sensation so startled her that she licked the girl's tongue without realizing what she was doing, and when she straightened she felt stunned, saw stars spinning in the darkish room.
The wall posters had come into focus. There were two, in garish colors, mostly dark red and blue. One showed a man in lotus-seat position. He had a Buddha smile and a vaguely Oriental look about him. But more important, from between his crossed legs rose a penis of elephantine dimension.
Gwen said, "He is the Nepalese Virile Buddha, and she is a Sikkanese Siva."
The Siva was the other poster, a woman with impossibly globular breasts concealing her torso, and a round, red vaginal opening the size of her head.
Gwen added, "On the higher levels, these Gods can be quite nicely mimicked."
Susie had a hunch what she meant. She slipped a glance at Gwen's hairless crotch and saw her split spread wide open, the mouth of her vagina a gaping red ring.
Flushing up to the roots of her hair she looked quickly away.
"Susie, I will instruct you in yoga, if you wish," Gwen said.
Susie gulped. "That's terribly kind of you."
"It is my Karma."
Before Susie could decipher this, Rita had taken her arm and was leading her to the next room, leaving Gwen to her meditation.
This room was spacious and walled with books, clearly the library. There were footstools and cushions on the floor and a single couch, on which sat an angular woman wearing a cocktail dress, earrings, makeup, high-heeled shoes. She had exceptionally broad shoulders and long feet.
Rita said, "Susie, this is Phil."
Phil looked appraisingly over her, then said in a bass growl, "Hi."
Rita bent down and kissed Phil on the mouth.
By the time Susie had offered the ritual kiss she saw that Phil had missed shaving a patch of stubble beard under his jaw. The kiss, though, was soft and seemed feminine.
As their mouths parted he said, "Hey, you're a luscious broad, Susie. Welcome to the Zoo."
Susie thanked him, though she was not used to being called a broad by strangers.
Then Phil turned to Rita and said, "Shit, Rita, this Goddamn costume makes me feel like a jerk. I'm just no transvestite. Except for the panties. They give me a hard on. Christ, you should see it!"
"Well, show me," Rita said.
Phil raised his skirt, revealing hairy thighs and pink nylon panties stretched by the stiffness of his massively swollen penis.
He grumbled, "The earrings hurt and the fucking wig makes me sweat and I can't walk on these high heels. I think I'll chuck it except for the panties. Do they make me fae. Huh?"
Rita said, "You're always trying to get into panties, so to speak. Though of course here at the Zoo you're the only one wearing them, ever!"
Susie had noticed that when Rita walked, her sarong gaped on the hip where it was tied and she saw no panties, just white flesh, so that left Phil wearing panties and her, Susie.
Phil kicked off his shoes and began unscrewing the earrings, grumbling, "Fucking things women wear. Transvestites got to be nuts."
Rita took Susie's arm and led her out of the library to a hall. Across it, through open doors, Susie saw a room full of large, potted plants, gilded bird cages full of twittering and flittering feathered creatures, plus a two-person swing hanging from the ceiling by chains wrapped in crimson velvet.
"The swing room," Rita said, and without further explanation led her to the next doorway and inside. "The ward robe," she said.
It was a small room walled with racks of clothing, a medley of colors from which Susie picked out certain costumes, a clown suit, a fireman's helmet and raincoat, and many indecipherable gossamer garments.
Rita said, "You can be a bullfighter, lion tamer, acrobat, ballet dancer, whatever turns you on. Some of our bunch change every day, though Gwen sticks to saris and I'm on sarongs right now."
Susie was delighted. Dressing up, becoming someone else -- wonderful! Escape being Brian's wife!
"I'm going to change, now that I'm finished in the kitchen," Rita said, untying her sarong. She stripped it off, naked now, though less naked than Gwen had been, for Rita had a dark pussy bush that big birds could nest in, a wealth of belly and crotch hair. She flung her sarong onto a rack and took another, this one of flowering hibiscus on maroon. She said, "Susie, you remind me of the White Rock girl, you know, on the soda bottles. The woods nymph perched on a rock gazing at her reflection in the water? Here!"
From a hanger she took a brief pale-blue garment so lightly woven that it was almost a mesh.
"Put it on, Susie," Rita said.
Delighted, Susie peeled off her dress. She was fitting it to a wire hanger when Phil came in carrying his female garments.
He still wore the pink panties with his penis standing out like a hammer handle tenting them.
Susie, in bra and panties, choked back a cry of alarm. She tried to cover her front with her dress.
Phil hung up his dress. He was chewing on an unlit cigar.
Rita was laughing. "Susie, continue undressing. Phil sees us girls nude all the time. Besides, he has this fag hangup, like he's really hot for guys. Huh, Phil?"
"Shit," Phil said. "I think the trouble is, like the book says, guys have no way to show affection for other guys. I see you broads kiss and hug, but guys just shake hands. So I dressed in drag to see what dreams might come, like if there's queer in me. But what happened was I got horny for Susie. Susie, you got a really cute ass, you know?"
Susie swallowed hard, and said, "Thank you, Phil."
"I'm going out and work in the garden. Susie, later you and me will have a talk, huh?"
And Phil left.
Susie was puzzled. She asked, "Is he serious, Rita? I mean, his dressing up like a woman seemed silly to me."
Rita smiled. "He may have been merely begging for attention. Or testing his fantasies? I don't know. It's his bag. Come now, sweetheart, undress. I'll help."
She began unhooking Susie's bra.
When she had done that, her hands lowered and Susie felt them trace the form of her pantied behind.
Rita murmured, "Phil's right, Susie, you have an adorable ass!"
She helped push Susie's panties down, then laid lingering caresses on Susie's high-sprung, pearly globes.
It felt rather pleasant, Susie thought, but scary, and she hurriedly struggled into her costume.
The wood-nymph outfit, she discovered, had only half a top, a left shoulder from which the gauzy material angled down across her left breast to her right waist, leaving one pink-capped orb completely exposed.
The skirt reached just below her crotch. The material was so sheer that it did no more than veil her pussy hair. She needed panties but knew they were taboo in this house.
"You look utterly toothsome!" Rita cried.
She seized Susie's hand and led her out to the hall, saying, "Come, we'll make tea, then have a swing."
Susie cringed with fear that Phil or one of the other men would appear in the hall and see her bare breasts. But the house seemed empty except for them, and of course the shaven-crotched Gwen on her yoga platform.
In the kitchen Rita put water on to boil. From a row of tea canisters she chose one called Kashmir Karma. She spooned some into the teapot, poured on boiling water, and from a shelf got tall cups made of bamboo.
When the brew had been poured, Susie was at first bemused by the woody feel of the bamboo on her lips, but the tea proved much stranger, having the fragrance and sort of the taste of perfume, if perfume tasted as it smelled.
"It's weird," she commented.
"I agree. And it is slightly narcotic, besides having aphrodisiac qualities."
"Oh!" Susie cried. "You mean, it makes you feel sexy?"
"I bet it will wet your pussy," Rita chuckled. "Drink up, and we'll go swing."
Susie was feeling very odd when they left the kitchen, as though her feet did not quite reach the floor. She was glad for the security of Rita's arm about her waist, despite her embarrassment at the plopping of her bare right breast against Rita's.
In the swing room Rita asked, "Want to try a jiji?"
"Howard made some in his workshop." She opened a drawer and took out two small plastic egg shapes. She said, "Inside each are two ball bearings of unequal size. Japanese women have used them forever. Come, sit on the swing."
The swing was comfortably padded, seat and back, and had room for the two of them.
Susie watched with horror as Rita sat, spreading her legs. She raised her sarong and tucked the jiji into the hairiness of her split, pushing it up her channel. She then closed her thighs.
She handed Susie the other and said, "Up your love hole, darling."
Susie could only think once more, when in Rome do as the Romans...
The jiji was slippery, and so was her vagina. It popped right in.
"Now we swing," Rita said.
When Susie got over the embarrassment of having inserted the jiji, it seemed nothing, a tiny firmness in her belly.
Then Rita kicked off and they were swinging.
Susie had not been on a swing since childhood. It seemed a silly thing to do, sitting here in her wood-nymph costume, one rosy-capped white breast exposed, beside Rita in her sarong, gliding back and forth. She smiled tolerantly.
But after the swing had inscribed its third arc she was staring bug-eyed down at her crotch, which had the feeling of bursting open like a melon. But her thighs were firmly together. Inside, something like the throbbing head of a fiercely engorged penis was wobbling insanely about.
She felt clicks, uneven jarrings as the two roller bearings knocked together and against the plastic jiji. The movements were almost imperceptible. She held her breath to not disrupt the rhythm of that inner wobbling, or to calculate it. But there was no rhythm. The lack of one tantalized her until she began to initiate one, forcing down, sucking back. The egg-shaped blob was everywhere and nowhere.
"Give with it, darling," Rita smiled.
Susie gave, found herself prickling all over, her titties heating, every click of the roller bearings sending waves of sensuality rippling to her very fingertips. She gazed at Rita, who seemed transformed, her dark eyes velvety, her lips so glistening red. And desirable! Susie felt a yearning she could not believe. She wanted -- needed -- had to -- kiss her swing partner!
She touched Rita's face. An arm glided about her neck, softly vining. They neared and a tongue tip slipped from those red lips to meet hers. Liquidly their mouths met, flowed into each other. They turned together and a facing breast melted into Susie's exposed one. She felt the hard growth of nipples, could not guess which was hers.
She was lapping at Rita's mouth, inside it, licking her tongue, and oh, the sweet humid warmth oozed through her to her jiji-rocked vagina, as though Rita's tongue had gone right through there and nudged the plastic gadget about!
Never had she imagined that she could enjoy kissing a girl.
They were breathing hard. She whispered, "Rita, you're so sweet to me. I adore you!"
Rita smiled and nuzzled her cheek. Susie fingered her throat, felt up over the girl's neck into that glossy hair, which clung so sensually to her fingers. She caressed it, stroked the nape of her neck.
The jiji seemed to wallow in an oil bath, every movement softer and less predictable than the one before. It was a hundred times more feminine and gentle than a throbbing penis, yet in its mild way frantically exciting.
Susie was exploring, fingering Rita's velvety cheek, the curl and turn of her ear, each movement a slow, voluptuous adventure. And when her fingers walked downward onto the swell of firm breast it seemed quite natural to stroke the smooth orb, circling it, then finding the center, the rubbery areola as big as her palm and the rigid protrusion of the nipple.
She forked her fingers on it, squeezed, held on for Rita was kissing her throat and the soft, wet mouth sent fiery waves fanning through her flesh.
Rita murmured, "I burn you with my kisses, my love."
Susie had once read the line, a bit from the Song of Bilitis, the love poems of Sappho of Lesbos.
She whispered, "But Rita, I'm not lesbian. Am I?"
"You are my wood-nymph sweetheart."
Fingers brushed at Susie's shoulder. The gauzy material slid down her arm and a palm descended her now-bare left breast and sleekly crossed her stiff nipple.
Moaning with pleasure, she squeezed Rita in closer, and whispered, "If I'm your sweetheart then aren't we lesbians, Rita?"
"Do you want to be?"
"Why, you see, I never thought about it. I mean, can I be something I'm not?"
"Here at the Pageant we think you can find what different things you are, and make each one beautiful, something to be proud of. I love you and I can love a man, and love myself, which people say amounts to narcissism, and its act is called masturbation. But masturbation can be proud and beautiful."
Susie reflected on this. "I'm quite confused, Rita."
"Yes, sweetheart, because you thought sex was just a man pronging your hole. That's why in a moment I am going to leave you here to study yourself, discover the effect of Kashmir Karma tea dissolving your hangups and wetting your pussy, swinging your jiji, while you face up to a Susie you may not have known."
"Don't leave me!"
"Trust me, sweetheart. Now kiss me, and fondle my breast and I'll swing through a cum, then go take care of some kitchen things."
Susie felt tears in her eyes. Clinging to Rita like this, she had hopes that lesbianism would be a simple answer, a perversion she had never suspected but which might explain her unhappy relations with her husband. Now Rita hinted that the cause of her ecstasy was Kashmir Karma and the jiji rather than mere lust for another female.
Their mouths met, squashily sucking, and oh the thrill of licking her lover's slippery tongue! And clutching her big, firm breast, feeling the huge nipple bore at her palm. Rita kicked the swing high and as they lurched downward through the arc the jiji in Susie's vagina seemed to turn end over end in bubbly hot froth, yummy delicious, sweet thrill far short of orgasm but really just as good.
Then Rita's tongue shot into her mouth, and the girl moaned, stiffened, writhed, flung about the seat.
"MY cum-m-m!" she moaned. "There, I've cum, oh my sweetest lollipop I've cum in your arms, dear wood-nymph Susie!"
Spasms shook her to a jelly within Susie's embrace.
Rita had sprawled against her, panting, for some moments.
Then the girl slid from her grasp, off the swing. She retied her sarong. The way her dark nipples jutted, Susie thought them like thumbs.
Rita went to the hall door, which stood open, and Susie, on noticing that, thought, Goodness, anyone could have looked in and seen us!
Rita said, "I'll close the door. The back is a mirror. I want you to look at yourself, and perhaps you'll see what I see."
Her lips formed a kiss. She touched two fingers to it and tossed them at Susie, then went out, shutting the door behind her.
The door was broad, the mirror large enough to show the whole double swing. Susie closed her eyes, not wanting to look at herself. She wriggled to the center of the swing and pushed back, let herself go while concentrating on the moving little egg shape buried in her belly.
It clicked, wobbled, swam about in the frothy juice, and from it gentle waves of heat seeped throughout her body. She smiled. How gently exciting! Yes, it was rather like the head of a penis throbbing inside her.
She heard the trilling song of a canary.
She looked upward, avoiding the mirror, saw the golden little bird in a gilded cage, and in another a parakeet bow-leggedly and comically climbing a tilted perch. She smiled. And the room smelled of flowers and green growth.
She grasped the velvet-sheathed chains leading to the ceiling. How sensual velvet was! And birds and flowers, and swinging almost nude, wearing only the mesh-like blue wood-nymph costume with a single shoulder and a see-through skirt. It was not under her behind. She sat on soft silkiness.
At last she gazed at her mirror image.
The dress shoulder still hung down her arm. She raised it in place and studied the blue-eyed blonde girl on the swing, with her one white breast exposed. The pink areola had puffed out, extending the nipple so that together they formed a rather large cone. Never before had this breast cap appeared so turgid. But then, never had it pressed another woman's boob, nor been stimulated by butter-soft female fingers. Susie stroked it, watched it become ever more bulgy and shiny. Could Kashmir Karma have done this, altered her senses? Goodness but I'm big titted, she thought.
She gazed at the skirt, like a blue mist over her upper thighs, shadowing her pussy but in no way hiding the blonde-brown fluffiness. And her clit, what had Kashmir Karma done to it? Certainly, it felt terribly hot and swollen.
She was afraid to look.
But the seeming hugeness of her breast cap did arouse her curiosity, and at last she drew back her skirt and spread her legs.
The pink nubbin stood right out of her pussy hair.
Gasping with astonishment, she slipped a finger in under it, and oh that horny prong did look like a little boy's prick, standing right out of the glossy notch, an inch of it. Or longer?
She tweaked it between thumb and forefinger.
Hot! Sizzling, on fire, and suddenly she was swinging hard, the cockhead jiji wobbling and throbbing maniacally in her vagina, her fingers tugging the clit-prick out ever longer and flames shooting throughout her body.
She watched herself squirm on the swing, saw its pendulous movement become erratic as she switched about. Her face flamed. Legs spread, she saw her vaginal mouth seem to gulp, suck and blow, a glossy red little convulsing hole dribbling juices.
Faster and faster she twiddled her clitoris, stretching it, poking it in under its hood, wresting it about, treating it like a light switch and then a doorbell, then pulling, pulling...
"Wow!" Susie cried. "I'm cum-ming like crazy!"
The flush of orgasm had descended from her face, down her throat, pinked her exposed tit. The cap of this swelled out as though to burst. She clapped a hand to it, squeezed while stretching her clit.
She shrieked, hips jerking wildly now, her behind flagging about the padded silky seat, the swing rocking and tossing.
Inside her the clicking roller bearings raced, clattered, jarred her vagina in the lightest, most delicious way, as though a butterfly were up her hole and flapping crazily.
Then she saw her mouth go round and small, her eyes huge. She was hissing like a punctured tire, then gasping, swallowing air as her face turned beet-red.
She saw herself peak, heard her cunt gurgling, felt her clit pop like shooting bubbles out at the mirror.
Then, slumped into a heap on the swing, she was smiling at her mirror image.
"I like you, Susie," she said.
Her hips still moved, but slower, as she humped more feebly, descending from the heights of orgasm.
She watched the little egg-shaped jiji fill the mouth of her vagina. Cupping a hand under it, she squeezed her sphincter muscle, and there, it popped right out!
She got off the swing and took the jiji to the chest of drawers where Rita had gotten it. She found a box of tissues, wiped it clean and put it in a box with several others, of which it was now the smallest.
There were combs in the drawer. She took one and, facing the mirror, tidied her hair. She thought, Really, I look nice in this outfit, the blue going very well with my eyes, the exposed breast a quite lovely orb, to tell the truth. And though my pussy hair shows through, everybody knows I have hair down my belly and between my legs, don't they? Fortunately my clit snuggles down into the lip folds when soft, and I can see only a faint pink glistening under the fur.
Susie put away the comb and opened the mirror door, venturing into the hall. She heard not a sound in the house except for the bird twitterings behind her. She recalled that the wardrobe was to the left, the library ahead. She decided to retrace the course she and Rita had taken from the kitchen, which took her first to the library.
It was a pleasant room, had a nice big window, so many hundreds of colorful book bindings, the couch and footstools and floor cushions all in different hues.
On one shelf lay a pack of cigarettes and matches. She took a cigarette and lit it, then thought, Goodness, I shouldn't just take things! But Rita had made her feel so welcome, as though she belonged here, that, she simply sat down on a footstool, hugging her knees, and smoked the cigarette.
She noted that she smelled strongly of pussy.
Normally her instinct would be to rush to the bathroom and wash up, take a douche if possible. But she felt rather lazy, much relaxed by that big fat cum on the swing, and the odor somehow pleased her.
Glancing over the bookshelves she saw An Encyclopedia of Sexology.
She rose and took out Volume C. The shelf was broad enough to lay the book open on it. She paged through to clitoris, found the opening line, "A small organ in the anterior vulva, homologous to the male penis. The focal point of female sexual sensation."
She flipped through the pages and found an astonishing picture, a naked black woman with a plumpish appendage dangling out of her vulval lips, four or five inches long!
She scanned the description. "Arrifra tribe of West Africa, practices clitoridectomy, incision of the clitoris and lengthening by manipulation -- including hanging objects from it..."
Goodness! she thought.
She heard a voice say, "Susie."
A male voice. She glanced at the doorway, saw Phil standing there, still wearing his pink panties stretched out to a tent before him by a massive erection.
He said, "Susie, I apologize for leering at you. But gosh, your ass just sends me. I mean I'd like to lick it all over. And nibble. I mean, just sit down on a footstool and feast on ass cheeks."
Susie was too startled to speak, but what she thought was, Oh, my goodness!
Gazing at Phil, Susie almost forgot that she was a married woman wearing a diaphanous costume that completely exposed one breast, alone with a horny young man. Perhaps Phil's ridiculous appearance, wearing a girl's panties and smeared remnants of feminine makeup while smoking a stump of a cigar, teased her sense of humor. Too, his friendly and apologetic manner pleased her. And he did not look threatening. He was of medium size, was not particularly muscular, though his body was well formed. He had brownish hair, eyes of indeterminate hue, and the pretty lips that, when she had given him the kiss of greeting, had felt so feminine on hers.
At length she said, "Phil, that's not nice to say, talking about kissing my behind!"
He frowned. She thought she saw a blush color his cheek.
He said, "I'm trying to learn to talk out my hangups, Susie. My girl friend, Willa, says I'm repressed. I've got all these inhibitions, like you have no idea how long it took me to get up the nerve to dress in drag. To see how it felt. Do you understand?"
Susie, who had just had her first glimpse into herself at what might be repressed lesbianism, recognized a fellow sufferer, and said, "I'm sorry I spoke sharply, Phil."
"Oh, that's all right. Look, I have some tea steeping. Would you like a cup?"
"That's awfully kind of you."
He darted off. Susie stood there, a finger in the clitoris section of the encyclopedia, thinking about Phil's desire to kiss her behind. It was a bit flattering, really. And his frank but shy manner was rather touching. It brought out her maternal instincts.
He returned with two of the bamboo mugs and toed a couple of footstools to position where they could sit facing. The sight of his erect penis tenting the pink panties did make her blush but she resolved to accustom herself to it. She laid her book on the floor and took the bamboo mug.
"Is it Kashmir Karma?" she asked.
"Yes. Rita's suggestion. She says it will do both of us good. I asked her to join us but she said she wants us to get acquainted. She's gone out to hoe in the garden."
Susie guessed she should not drink a second cup of the tea, considering how the first had dissolved her inhibitions. But Rita had suggested it and she trusted Rita, so she sipped it and lit another cigarette from the pack on the shelf, using the ash tray Phil had placed on the floor between them.
He said, "I've tried Gwen's yoga. But it makes me nervous, sitting in that funny position just staring at the raunchy wall posters. So Gwen said, ease off, try again during the quarter moon. Or maybe it was the full moon, I don't know."
"Have you gone back -- had an experience?"
"No. I thought I'd study myself in depth, here. Now look, Susie, what happens I see you standing at the bookshelves, up on tiptoes reaching for the encyclopedia, which lifted your skirt half off those luscious cheeks, and my cock stiffened in two seconds flat! Does that sound weird?"
Susie had to agree that it didn't.
"So Susie, I thought it might be therapeutic to work out the urge, sublimate my hard on, touch your rump with just my fingertips and mouth. Dig? I know it's a lot to ask since we just met but I feel you belong here, like you're one of us."
Susie, halfway through her cup of Kashmir Karma, really did feel like one of them, at home, no longer embarrassed by the erection tenting his pink panties or her exposed right breast. Thus, sipping tea and smoking her cigarette, she pondered the matter. Considering, for instance, Rita's hospitality and her easy acceptance by both Gwen and Phil, she had certain obligations.
She asked, "Do you really think it would be therapeutic, Phil? Sort of medicinal, curative?"
"Susie, I don't know. I think I should try. Look, don't think I'll go wild and jam my cock into you. I'm really too timid for that."
"Sort of a scientific experiment, huh?"
Finished with her tea, Susie decided the least she could do would be to cooperate. After all, what harm was there in it? None. It simply seemed odd.
He said, "Like if you'd kneel on the stool facing the shelves..."
Very well. She got up, moved the footstool closer to the shelves so she could grip them, turned her back on Phil and knelt.
"Beautiful!" Phil cried.
She felt the skirt lifted to her waist, hung there, then fingertips tracing the forms of her cheeks and Phil's warm breath fanning them.
"Pearly," he said. "Like two full moons. You ready, Susie?"
"Yes-s!" she said, her voice hissing, quite strangely excited, gasping when a wet lash laid a cool streak on her right cheek. It ended in a light suction, which remained for a moment, followed by a gentle nibbling.
She closed her eyes.
Phil's lips wandered across her cleft to the other cheek, marked a curving course down it, suckered fast. A nibble. A pull. Moving on across the cleft again to the other, wetting and pulling and nipping flesh until the many little kisses and caresses had both cheeks tingling most pleasurably, producing a warmth that glowed right into the heart of her.
"Susie, you don't mind?"
"It feels very nice," she had to admit. "I mean, Phil, my husband is so harsh, I find this puzzling. But sweet."
He renewed his labial attack, his kisses -- now voracious, circling each cheek, leaping to the other, nibbles more frequent, some a bit painful, though she came to find them strangely exciting.
He paused, breathing hotly on her lower cleft. "Susie, you're getting wet."
"Yes, there's drool slipping out and running down your thighs. Shall I lick it up?"
Having no tissues with which to mop up the juice, she guessed something should be done about it, or she would stain whatever she sat on.
She said, "That might be best," and moved her knees farther apart to let him get in between her thighs. And oh, the lovely wet caressing feel of his tongue down there, lapping steadily at the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs!
He murmured, "Your pussy smells great, sweet and hot."
She had to admit to herself that it felt good, too, pleasantly loose and quivering on each tongue-lash of her thighs.
She said, choking, "I suppose -- it's somewhat -- open?"
"Yes, and sort of blinking at me."
She thought she heard a suppressed chuckle. Teasing her.
He said, "I could lick the juice off it, too."
That, Susie thought, was going beyond their agreement but she was tempted to let him, especially as his tongue-tip slitted between her pussy lips and thighs, nudging in thrilling fashion.
He relieved her dilemma by saying, "There, kissing your ass was as sweet as I'd hoped, Susie. So now let's talk."
Sighing with regret, she climbed off the stool, turned about on it and sat facing Phil.
He began, "No good with your husband, huh?"
"He thinks a woman should scream with joy when he brutalizes her."
Phil reached to Susie and patted her knee comfortingly.
She clasped his hand, said, "I began to wonder if I wasn't a man-hater. But you're so sweet, Phil." Then her gaze fell on Volume C of the encyclopedia. She said, "I have another problem. It seems dreadful to mention it to you. Embarrassing!"
"Susie, it's my turn to try to understand."
His gaze was so sympathetic that Susie came out with it. "I have too much clit."
His eyebrow raised wonderingly, and he gazed toward her crotch. "Too much? I don't get it. Maybe you'd better show me."
Goodness, she thought. Display it to him? Oh, wow! But something made her want to show Phil, perhaps his frankly expressed desire to kiss and lick her behind, a strange sharing that seemed to make all else possible.
She said, "You won't laugh?"
"No! It might be therapeutic, Susie."
Blushing she drew back her skirt, and, sitting there on the stool, spread her cocked-up legs and fingered her pussy lips open.
Her clit was semi-erect, a glistening pink worm. She slipped a fingertip under it and raised to display it to him.
Phil's response was direct. He reached, gently lifted it off her finger and enclosed it in the warmth of his own fingertips.
She watched him toy with the little appendage, caressing it in such fashion that it quickly achieved full, horny stiffness. And it heated. It was pulsing excitedly.
"It's beautiful," Phil murmured. "Susie, clits are often hard to find, sometimes way inside. But yours, gosh, I can really hold onto it!"
She was so pleased that she leaned to Phil and kissed his cheek. Relieved! She clutched his bare shoulders and nuzzled about his face while he lightly massaged her little jinker.
"You like it?" she whispered in his ear.
"Susie, I'd like to get down on it. Lick it. You want?"
The proposal excited her, but rubbing her mouth on Phil's cheek, she gazed down at the tent in his pink panties and got rather different ideas.
She said, "No, but don't stop what you're doing."
Then she reached down his chest, down his belly to the panty waistband. She slid her fingers inside, down into a girl's panties in search of the strangest object ever found within such a garment. Her fingertips touched it. Bony hard! And hot, so hot as her fingers vined about it, caressing the stony flesh, walking out to the end of it and the great, spongy knob.
"Susie!" he gasped, as though surprised.
And she murmured in his ear, "Wow, such a hard penis. Okay if I hold it?"
"Sure, but be careful with the glans, it gets irritated."
She was dubious about the location of the glans. The head? It looked all fiery. She delved deeper into the panty crotch and found his scrotum heaped there where the garment was shaped to hug a pussy, which made her giggle. Imagine, male organs encased in nylon that had no opening through which his prick could be let out to pee! How nutty. But sensual too, feeling girl nylon on her knuckles, but the sac of plump testicles in her cupped hand. She loved the feel of them, like shelled, hard-boiled eggs, wobbling about as she jiggled them.
He said, "Susie, you're a very sensual girl, you know that? Jiggling my nuts that way."
"They're yummy nuts," Susie said, then felt a blush burn her cheek. What she had said! Nuts, to a boy. But the situation was unusual, they sitting spread-legged on stools facing, she nuzzling his cheek, he lovingly squeezing and pulling her extended clit, she with a hand in his pink panties holding his testicles, the length of his horny organ a burning brand against her forearm. She drew back enough to see his eyes and asked, "Phil, do I seem prudish? I mean, I just said nuts when I meant testicles, and it made me burn with shame."
"I was worse until Willa untied my tongue. Susie, however you talk or act, I love it."
"But that may not be the real me," she said thoughtfully, sure that this Susie in the wood-nymph tunic with one breast bare, fondling a boy's testicles in pink nylon panties, sitting on the stool with thighs winged out so he could finger her clitoris, was a girl who had not existed before, a product of Kashmir Karma and jiji, who had a scant hour before been astonished by her unmasked lesbian tendencies. Within her still lurked the Susie who was Brian's trampled wife, whose only outlet was self-abuse; a shy and probably prissy homemaker.
She felt Phil's soft lips press her forehead.
The tender kiss made her smile with pleasure. She gazed down his body to his stretched panties, where she let his scrotum rest in the pussy-shaped crotch and began fingering his rigid stem. The underside of the head pressed her wrist. It felt hot and a bit sticky. Thumb-nailing the split she found the source of this, a slight seepage. She pressed all about the sponginess of the head, found the plushy sheathing of the organ to be thick, the boniness within a rather small core. This explained why such a swollen knob could fit into a vagina, she thought, the outer softness changing shape as required.
Never before had she examined a penis in such detail. She enjoyed every moment of it, and her self-confidence grew out of Phil's patience and his obvious pleasure in their sexuality.
She glanced at her crotch, saw Phil's fingertips tugging her prong of wet pink clit. Her brown-haired pussy lips had ovalled out from it, and the glistening flesh of her cunt appeared swollen, especially the protruding lips bracketing the drooling mouth of her love hole.
Her one bare breast, with its jutting cone of nipple and engorged areola, needed attention. She plucked at Phil's free hand and brought it to the hot cap. The warmth of his palm made the livid swelling pulse excitedly.
They had done their sex backwards, she thought, first her clit, then her tittie. And now a kiss?
Yes. She nuzzled down to Phil's mouth and licked it open. She felt the strong meatiness of his tongue respond, and she sucked it to her throat.
The kiss did not last long. She was too short of breath.
He whispered, "Susie, we're going to fuck, huh?"
She, squeezing his horny prick, responded on impulse.
"Yes, Phil! Of course we will!"
Susie was blushing furiously, hiding from his gaze in another deep tongue kiss.
That quickly she had agreed to take his organ up her love hole! Wow! Susie, Susie! Unfaithful wife? But be sensible, Susie, it's no more an infidelity than what you're doing, massaging his horny organ while he twiddles your clit.
Having put that from her mind, the question remaining was her own body's state of receptivity. The wet pulls of her vagina did feel eager, and she wondered how long that had been going on.
She kissed her way to Phil's ear and whispered, "When you were kissing my behind you said my love hole was blinking at you."
"Like a fish mouth gulping and blowing."
She giggled, picturing that pink ring sucking in and pushing out, but her giggle broke off when she felt it actually happen, quite hard pulls and squirty pushes.
She looked down at her hand in his panties and knew how it had to be. She brought in the other hand and pushed the panties down his hips, stretching them out over the rigid prong, revealing it as red as fire, awesomely naked, an upcurved stalk bearing that splendid big purple-red swollen fruit.
Like this. Rising off her stool she grasped his shoulders, levered up, climbed one leg at a time over his thighs, and when her hairy pussy was poised over the fat, turgid plum of a cockhead, she began lowering onto it.
She could see her livid clit standing up out of its red notch.
Hands still on his shoulders, she maneuvered her middle body toward the cap of his penis. Her gulping hole felt so huge that she thought anywhere they met she would simply swallow him. But inexperience caused her anus to bump the spongy head, which gave a rather nice little thrill, but she moved, pressured here and there until, wow, her inner lips squished on the fat knob, and by lowering an inch she had the pulsing thing squeezed into the mouth of her love hole.
"Baby!" Phil gasped. "Like honey melting all over my cockhead!"
Crouched over him, she stilled, studying the slow, suck-like workings of her vaginal mouth, gulps, which were erratically punctuated by the throbs of the plushy knob to which her vulval lips clung so squashily.
"Like a fish mouth!" he exclaimed.
She realized that many men would not let a woman mount them in this fashion, Brian for sure, but Phil seemed to love it. They had been, she thought, like small children exploring a world reborn, in which neither sex had a role to play. Certainly she had no feeling of dominating Phil, was sitting on his cockhead simply because their position on facing stools had made this the quickest way of filling her hole.
She sank down, gasping at each hard pulsing of his prick, feeling her sphincter clutch and suck his rigid stem instead of the compressible head.
With several inches of it up her vagina she paused and screwed about, stirring her insides on soft-capped rigid prick. Luscious! She looked down and saw how near her clit was to his loins. The thorny growth felt unbearably hot. When it pressed him and she moved about, her cum would surely be triggered. She wanted to delay that, take her time evaluating the fit of his cock to her sucking sheath.
But now she felt his hands behind, clenching her cheeks and drawing her to him.
He choked, "Susie, we've played too long, my load is about to shoot."
And liquid flows were racing up and down her vagina, hotter and hotter, audibly sucking the stiff phallus.
So she sank downward, hipping about, rotating herself on the burning staff until her clit pressed his hairy pubes and like a tiny firecracker bursting she got a preliminary cum, a spasm that fluttered her belly.
She was seated on his thighs squeezing to him, absolutely full of throbbing cock.
"Oh-hh, Phil!" she moaned.
"Baby, you're an oven burning my prick!"
She grasped his arms, tugged them around, his hands on her swollen tits.
He gave a squeeze and her cum started, a swirling flow of heat from each breast meeting halfway down and boiling through her vagina.
He humped, raising her, driving the big cockhead to the very limits of her cuntal pocket.
She heard herself shriek louder than his groan of release.
She rose on the fountain spurting inside her, the creamy milks squirting her full. Then she went wild, hammering on him, hip-jerking up and down, bouncing like a pogo stick, lifting until the spitting cock almost escaped her cunt, but capturing it as it shot his charge up her hole.
Her cum was like great fists clenching together, gripping so hard that they shrank to one, fingers merging, all of it smaller, down to the size of a knuckle that then exploded.
She saw stars flame and she was a tunnel housing a racing locomotive, though its plunge was no less fierce than her sucking of it.
She had fallen, her arms hung over Phil's shoulders, limp, arms like emptied sacks.
She was crying and smiling and gooshing all over Phil's loins, each cuntal spasm releasing more of her juices mixed with his cockspew.
Her cum ebbed but she did not move for his cock remained a stiff pillar on which she was impaled, which her vagina still hugged and laved with its juices and sucked with shameful eagerness.
In a daze she let Phil take her to a john where she squatted and let their sex gook spill into the bowl.
She was still cumming, she knew, blushing and smiling rapturously each time Phil caressed her cheek or kissed her forehead or she squeezed his hand.
Then she watched Phil standing on tiptoe at the sink, washing his cock and balls. She, squatting on the john, was so reduced to mere flesh that when the urge to pee came over her she just let go.
As her urine spattered in the bowl, Phil said, "That Kashmir Karma is diuretic, makes you piss."
"Apparently," she murmured, elbows on knees now, chin in hands, listening to the sizzling spatter of pee and the splashes as Phil washed his genitals. She felt a terrible, aching contentment, a well-being so profound that she was afraid to move a muscle for fear of flipping the coin to what had to be an ugly side. Tears were running down her cheeks, a happy weeping. Here she squatted, down in the toilet bowl her cunt winged wide open, pee-hole spitting and vagina dripping, loose and slobbery and so happy she was crying.
She knew she had to leave to present her new being, this reborn Susie, to the acid test of reality in her house.
Phil did not ask about her tears. He kissed them, said, "I'll be in the library if you want me."
She nodded, pressing a kiss to the palm of his hand, and then was alone.
Who was alone? Susie the wood nymph who had drunk Kashmir Karma and had swung on jiji and then fucked with Phil, or Susie the doormat of husband Brian?
When she had recovered her strength she went silently to the wardrobe, hung up her tunic, put on her clothes except for panties -- she had to douche out, no use spilling muck in the panty crotch -- and went silently out of the house.
At home, in her kitchen, she heard the phone ringing.
She took it from the hook over the kitchen table, sat there gazing at the panties wadded in her hand as she answered.
The caller was Madge, Brian's secretary, saying, "Your husband will be with you in a moment, Mrs. Fenner. Your line is on hold."
"Uh huh," Susie murmured absently. She tossed the panties on the table and pulled back her skirt. Her pussy, she saw, was still wet, hair matted, the lips puffed and pinkish, ovalled about the crinkled jelly of her inner parts. Her clit had gone limp and lay curled about its notch.
Then Brian spoke. "Tonight we're going to Caroso's with Clayton and his wife, so dress up for Crissakes, you know what a terrific looking hunk of ass she is, and Caroso's is the in restaurant, got it?"
She said, "I thought you were fighting with Clayton."
"Olive branch stuff, his idea, bury the hatchet. In my back, and don't trust his bitch of a wife -- he has her trained to milk you, see, find out what I've said about him, the crummy asshole. Pick you up about six."
The line clicked. Dead.
She did not lift the receiver up to the hook but laid it on the table and returned to studying her pussy.
A few tiny flecks of Phil's creamy jizzum hung in her pink labial creases, evidence of her infidelity to Brian.
On the phone, squeaky sounds, perhaps a feminine voice. Probably it was Madge, repeating Brian's orders. Madge, who spread her legs when Brian said to. At least, that was what Susie had heard at office parties. Carla, Clayton's wife, said everybody knew about it, though Susie had no reason to trust Carla's word.
At the moment that whole scene was unimportant. Susie rose and headed for the bathroom to douche out her pussy but on the way her steps slowed. She felt lethargic, drugged, and reaching the bedroom she entered and flopped down on the bed. In her mind whirled Phil's erection stretching the pink panties, the jiji wobbling in her vagina as she swung, and Gwen naked down to shaven vulva, in lotus position on her yoga platform. It all seemed too much to absorb.
She slept through the afternoon.
Brian arrived late. He flung himself into the house tearing off his clothes on the way to the shower.
Susie sat at the kitchen table sipping a dry martini and smoking a cigarette. She wore a blue sheath dress and opal earrings, heavy eye shadow, mascara, and lipstick.
Brian, unzipping his pants, gave her a quick look and said, "Okay, you look all right. Maybe you'll get into the swing eventually, dressing like an executive's wife should."
But Susie was seeing herself as a wood nymph with one breast exposed, flitting about the house next door.
He said, "But hold down the boozing or you'll spill the beans to Clayton's wife, like how
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