Robert Taylor: Bored wife

Approaching them, Betsy said, "You must be June…"

A nod. A quirky, shy smile. Pearly teeth.

Bingo moved off. For a second they measured each other, June's eyes widening as she gazed at Betsy's breasts.

Betsy slipped her hand into the girls, said, "Let's sit in a booth?"

"All right." A sweet smile. The hand nestled warmly to Betsy's, fingers vining together. Her walk was a slow, swaying, long-legged saunter to the booth where they sat, pushing aside heaps of tablecloth.

"And how's Doris?"

"Like always," Betsy said, quickly dismissing her lover of last night, mentally apologizing to darling Doris, who must not be allowed to get between herself and this girl, Jim's office fuck.

A waitress brought Betsy's drink from the bar, and she ordered for June, then said, "You must have a good boss, letting you go this early."

June shrugged. "He had to see some visiting big shots off on the six-thirty plane."

So that explained why Jim would be home at seven, Betsy thought.

"But sometimes I work all hours," June said. "And the partying. Men! I get so sick of it when he introduces me as his wife. And winks. And the men snicker. So having a girl on the side makes him a big shot, understand."

"A big shit."

"Shit is right." She eyed Betsy slantwise. "You know, when you phoned today I thought you were his wife. Your voice sounded the same. But I see now I was wrong. His wife sounded like a mouse."

Betsy cringed inside. She had sounded like a mouse!

"But Ann, you're obviously strong and independent."

"You like strong women?"

The long, black lashes fluttered, and June whispered, "Well, I like you…"

Betsy stroked the girl's soft hand. Fingers twined sensuously into hers, and June squirmed closer. A warm little piece, Betsy thought. Yet she had to suppress a desire to bunt into laughter, and tell June that she, Ann, was the mousy Betsy whose husband introduced his secretary-mistress as his wife. She asked, "And are you wifely to him? I mean – in bed…"

June frowned. "I'd rather not talk of that."

"But June, I want to know all about you!"

"Let's talk about fun things. You – what you do…"

"No!" Stroking the girl's arm she said, "Let's hear the wont and get it out of the way." June sighed. "Yes, you'd be like that – determined – but Ann, you know that to hold her job a girl has to…"

"On the office couch?"

"Oh, no! Never. At the office he's very prim and businesslike. In my apartment."

"Does he pay the rent?"

June smiled. "You don't know my Mr. Walters. He doesn't pay for what he can get free. Still, it wasn't so bad – I mean, men don't often ring my bells – but last night was horrid. He made me submit to one of the visiting big shots."

"The lousy shit!"

June sighed. "But now I can forget it." She gazed smilingly at Betsy, then plucked a loose thread from the neckline of her dress. Her fingers lingered, almost touching bare flesh. "Your breasts are gorgeous! And no bra. That's so daring…"

Under the tablecloth, Betsy patted the girl's thigh, felt her squirm an inch closer. She saw the long, black lashes slant away.

June whispered, "Ann, you'll get me all excited!"

Betsy fingered under her skirt and stroked the soft sleekness of June's inner thigh. The girl shivered.

When her drink was brought she gazed at Betsy over the glass and murmured, "I'm so attracted to you, Ann. You're so forthright…"

Betsy's hand moved higher, brushing the sleek flesh. For a moment the girl's thighs jerked shut, frightened. But then she eased, curled over, pressing her shoulder to Betsy's.

"Ann, you shouldn't. Your hand. Not here."

"Darling, I can't resist." Indeed, stroking that luscious inner thigh flesh made Betsy's pulse pound. As she neared the girl's panties she pressed closer and whispered, "I want to kiss you, darling, but in public – well, the tablecloth hides – let me…"

"Ann, I'll get too excited!"

"But June, I'm so horny hot for you."

June sipped her drink, her hand trembling. "Wait," she whispered. "Let me gulp this down."

She drained the glass, then reached under the table to Betsy's hand and pushed it in between her spread thighs to her panty crotch, forced it in while straining, jaw clenched, as though to contain her emotions.

Then she groaned, and slumped down, her hand trailing away.

Sitting like that she let Betsy squeeze the damp crotch of her lace panties to the form of her pussy.

She choked, "Ann, nobody has ever turned me on so, so quickly that I can't breathe…"

"Hold still." Betsy slipped her fingers into a leg hole. The panties were rather loose, and soon she was raking her fingers through the girl's pubic muff, then down to the soft dampness of bushy haired lips.

"Listen," June said. "This isn't fair, it's like raping me. I mean Doris is so gentle; respects my inhibitions – sex isn't easy for me, Ann."

"Come now, your pussy has juiced up faster than mine. You're a hot cunt, June."

"But I can't just sit here squirming!" Betsy fingered into the girl's juicy slit, whispering, "Then we'll go to my house."

"My apartment – it's only a few blocks away."

"My house," Betsy said firmly.

June proved indecisive, as Marcia had been, put off complete sexual confrontation by asking for another dry martini. Betsy gave in, and when they finally left Bingo's she felt lightheaded, walking on air, prone to burst into giggles.

In the car, seeing no one about the parking lot, June shed her inhibitions and thrust into Betsy's arms, kissing her open-mouthed, tongue thrusting, hands cupped on her titties.

"Oh, your breasts, Ann, such jugs, I want to suck them!"

"Not here, darling. People will be passing by."

But June stretched her dress down, exposing the swelling nipples and rubbing her palms on them, gasping with excitement. Then she plunged a hand down between Betsy's logs, under her skirt, wrenching her panties down to grasp her pussy.

And this was the girl Doris had called as shy she herself!

Betsy had to wrestle her away in order to start the car.

She glanced at her watch. Six o'clock. Jim would be home in an hour. Maybe less. If the plane he was seeing off left promptly at six-thirty he could be home a bit before seven.

"You're not fair," June complained. "After hitting me up you push me away."

"My God, it's broad daylight," Betsy said, turning out onto an avenue where homebound cars hurtled by.

"And you don't want to be seen close to a girl. Because you're married. You took off your rings but I can see the marks."

It happened that Betsy had removed her rings before last night's party at Horny Haven. She shrugged, not caring if June was offended by this. The girl was a hot little firecracker who could be turned on with a touch.

"What's your husband like?" the girl asked.

"Like your boss. Thinks women are just something soft to stick his cock into."

June had moved across the seat, sat biting her nails and gazing longingly at Betsy.

She asked, "Can't I even sit by you? And touch your boobies?"

"No," Betsy said sharply.

She turned off the boulevard to her own street and as she slowed on approaching the house she saw, with horror, their name, "The Walters", painted on the mailbox. To distract June's attention she reached over and stroked her cheek. The girl was so grateful for the caress that she clutched Betsy's hand to her mouth and kissed it, thus took no notice of the house until the car was in the drive at the kitchen door.

But what other evidence of "Ann's" identity might be lying about? Clothes of Jim's that June would recognize. In the kitchen Betsy hugged the girl, kissed her, caressed her prettily high-sprung asscheeks, in short reduced her to panting horniness. But to make sure, Betsy made a couple of strong dry martinis that they sipped standing at the sink while Betsy glanced about searching for some object that might prove her Mrs. Jim Walters.