Chris Simon - A real hot number

"She likes to do it over the telephone," I explained. "She's a telephonic voyeur; a telephonic exhibitionist."

"What does she do?" Patti asked. She had forgotten her cigarette, and a fine long gray ash was building at the end of her cigarette.

"Mostly talk dirty," I said. "She calls up men and masturbates while she talks to them."

"Really?"

"Once she called me while she was being screwed. I heard everything. Her panting, groaning. She gave me a very graphic description."

"And she told you?"

"Yes," I said. "She described it in detail. When he was going down on her, when he was fucking her, even when he came inside of her."

Patti's eyes were incredulous.

"It's true!" I said. "Really. Iris is a very strange woman."

The faintest flush of redness seemed to color Patti's cheek.

"Did you do it with her?" she asked. "Over the telephone, I mean?"

I considered my answer for a moment. "Yes," I finally said. "I did."

"What did you do, though?" she asked. Her eyes were bright, and she seemed suddenly animated.

"I jerked off," I confessed.

"Was it good?"

"Yeah. I guess. It was all right."

Patti was staring at me. I noticed that her legs were open slightly; open more than they had been a while before.

"What did she want this time?" she asked.

"I'm not sure," I said, laughing. "She said something about a dog…"

"A dog?!" Patti said. "What do you mean a dog?"

"She had a dog with her."

"Did she say what she was going to do with the dog?"

"No. But I think it's pretty obvious."

"You mean… sex with the dog?" she asked. "She's going to make love… fuck with the dog?"

I didn't answer because Patti really wasn't asking me a question. She was talking more to herself than to me. I noticed that the blush of color had spread across both her cheeks, like a flush of passion. Her legs were open widely now, and her dress was pulled up to the middle of her thighs. I could see the whiteness of her panties.

"Are they all like that?" she asked. "All the women?"

"No," I said, slowly. I was looking at the ash on her forgotten cigarette. It was bending precariously.

"Tell me about them," Patti said. The ash fell from the tip of her cigarette and landed noiselessly on the bedroom rug. "Tell me about them," she repeated, "Please. Allen."

I stared at her. This was strange; a side of Patti I had never seen before.

"Why do you want to know?" I asked.

"It's exciting," she admitted. "It's stimulating me more than anything I can remember."

"Do you really want me to?" I asked.

"Yes, Allen. Please."

"Everything?"

"Everything."

I leaned against the bureau. She stared up at me with wide, passion filled eyes. I told her about Gail Bowman and her friend Sandi. Patti stopped me when I passed too lightly over certain points. She made me repeat them in great detail. My words seemed to excite her to a degree I never knew existed.

"Was it good?" she asked. "Fucking one and sucking the other?" The words sounded strange in her mouth; oddly out of character. Not that Patti was a prude; she wasn't. But I've never seen her so sexually involved.

"Yes," I said. Her excitement was contagious, and I felt my hard-on through my pants. Patti saw my caress with her wide, passionate eyes.

"Sit here next to me," she said. She seemed to be directing her words to my cock.

I sat by her on the bed. She opened my zipper and took my cock out. She caressed it boldly with her fingers. Her earlier mood of love and romanticism was replaced by this strange, raw passion.

"How did it feel?" she asked. "To be inside another cunt? Was it bigger than mine? Wetter? Better?"

"It feels mostly the same," I answered honestly. I don't think it was the answer she wanted.

"You mean one cunt's just like another?" she said. "Oh, I don't believe that. I'm certain one cock won't feel the same as any other cock."

I looked at her.

She either ignored my look or was unaware of it. She continued to talk, oblivious to my presence. "I wonder how it would feel? Another cock? A bigger one or a smaller one?"

I didn't know what to say. I know Patti had been a virgin when we married, and I doubted whether she had done any fooling around since our marriage. Mine had been the only cock that had ever fucked her. Her interest was strangely disconcerting to my ego.

"Tell me about the others," she said. Her hand moved up and down my cock, jerking me off.

I considered her request for a moment, then carefully chose one from all the others. Purposefully, I eliminated Ellen Marshall from my selection. I was afraid, somehow, to tell her about Ellen Marshall. Afraid more for her than for me.

Instead, I told her of Kenneth Hill and his wife Yvonne. I told her about the film, and about Kenneth Hill's sexual pleasure at seeing his wife screwed.

"Did he touch you?" Patti asked. She had one hand in her panties and I could see her finger going in and out of her cunt.

"No," I said. The idea repulsed me.

"Too bad," she said, somewhat distracted. Her eyes went suddenly distant, and she stopped moving her hand on my cock. She seemed to be thinking of something.

"Too bad," she repeated.

She seemed to come back to me. "Tell me some more," she said. "While you're fucking me!"

I stared at her. Her passion was real, and I felt a sickening, threatening heaviness in the pit of my stomach. I had never seen Patti like this, and I couldn't adjust to the intensity of her excitement. It was as though I had never known her, in all the years we had been married. Was this the real Patti Dawson? The one hidden for so many years under the thin veneer of socialization?

She stood up and unbuttoned the dress and flung it onto her dressing table. Her body was fairly slim, but attractive. She wore a bra and a pair of panties. She pulled the bra down, unsnapped it, and threw it with her dress. Then she pulled her panties down her long legs, and stepped out of them.

I stared at her cunt as though I had never seen it before. It was average in size, covered with a moderately thick growth of hair. Her hair was blond-brown in color, and very curly. Patti had narrow, boyish like hips that made her cunt seem in the center of her body.

"Get undressed!" she urged. She took her panties in her hand and wiped her cunt with them. I've seen her do that before. It was a sign that she was very excited, and her cunt was flowing heavily.

I unbuttoned my shirt and pants. As I was pulling my undershirt over my head, Patti dropped to her knees and put my cock in her mouth. Her mouth felt hot and wet against me, and I grasped her head and pressed her face into me. There's one thing about Patti that was good and that was her mouth. She had a wonderful mouth.

So had Ellen Marshall, I thought. So had Ellen Marshall. I pushed Patti away.

"I can't take my pants, down with you standing there," I said. My voice sounded self-conscious. "You're in the way."

"Sorry," she said. She seemed completely unaware of the strained quality of my voice.

She got up and went over to the bed and lay on the mattress, with her head on the pillow. She opened her legs and pulled them up. She pressed both of her hands against her cunt, and I could see that she had inserted a finger from each hand into the wet hole of her cunt.

"Hurry," Patti said, "and fuck me!"

I watched as she pumped her fingers in and out of her cunt.

I stepped out of my pants and undershorts. I touched my hard-on. Her excitement excited me: it was like fucking a strange, different woman. The Patti I had always known had been a reserved romantic, not a sex pot. Sex for her had always been an extension of love.

But this was different, and her passion was different. This was raw sexuality and nothing else. Patti didn't want to be made love to: she wanted to be fucked.