James Evers - Hungry wives

It worked.

"Ooooohhhhh Jeeeesssuuussss!"

His scalding sperm exploded into her waiting mouth like white tar shot from a cannon. It hung in long threads from the cavernous opening of her throat as she swallowed slowly, savoring the full, salty tang of his cum.

And still she kept sucking. Not until the final weak spurts had dribbled out onto her tongue did she release him from the perfect joy of her mouth. She finally rose up and collapsed against the arm of the couch, her mouth swilling the last drops of jizz like some vintage wine.

For a long time the three bodies just lay there, lost in the afterglow of their union. It was with great reluctance that Ben finally rose and dressed. Carefully he gathered his bag together, and staggered toward the door.

"Wait, Ben!" Jenny called. "You forgot the vibrators and the lotion."

Unable to talk, he dismissed the comment with a wave of his arm, and exited. Marge finally stirred, raising her head, and staring at Jenny.

"Roger ain't going to know what hit him!"

Jenny giggled loudly in agreement. "And neither will Tom!"

Suddenly Marge became aware of the fact that Jenny urns still dressed. "Hey! You still got your clothes on. Didn't you get a piece of the action?" Jenny shrugged. "Someone had to do the work."

"Well bless your heart," she said, and reached for the vibrator. "Well, it's not fair for you to be left out. You did the work… now you deserve the pay."

And so saying, she approached her friend, the vibrator whirring in her hand, its blunt tip aimed for the soft folds of her moist waiting cunt.

Marge was glowing, her spirits soaring as she relived every moment of the previous night's sex. She had virtually attacked Roger. She had poured every bit of new knowledge and awareness, every morsel of the weekend's experience into pleasing him. And he had loved it.

She had succeeded in not only getting him to fuck her earnestly, but had gotten him so worked up he took her a second time.

And now all she could do was lie in bed, her heart singing, and stare at the early afternoon light as it filtered through the open window. Not even the ringing phone could jar her from her reverie.

"Hello."

"Hi, honey… whatcha doing?"

"Oooh… just thinking. What's on your mind?"

"Aaaawwww… nothing… I just called to tell you I wouldn't be getting home till late."

"Okay…" Suddenly her husband's words sunk in. "You what!"

"I'm… but we've got to wine and dine a couple of buyers tonight. I don't know how late it will be, but probably it'll drag out… so don't wait up, okay?"

Marge was boiling, desperate to control the anger perched so delicately near the surface. "Yeah! Fine! I won't wait up… enjoy yourself."

"Fat chance! I'll see you tomorrow."

No sooner had Marge hung up the phone than the doorbell rang. She raced downstairs, opened the door, not the least bit surprised to see Jenny's fuming face.

"They're mother-fuckers… both of them!" Jenny stormed into the room, and Marge slammed the door behind her.

Jenny paced for a few minutes, too angry to talk. She roamed the floor like a caged lion, her claws poised and ready, starving for something to lash out at. "I know what I'm going to do," she finally growled. "I'm going to screw everything in pants… I'm just going to have to do my shopping somewhere else."

"Noooooo… I don't think that's the answer," Marge said pensively. "We're going to have to wake them up. If I'm going to do something… I want it to slap them right in the face."

"Any bright ideas?"

"Just one, and it's going to require all the luck we can possibly get." Marge picked up the phone and dialed. "Keep your fingers crossed, Jenny."

"Marge, what the hell are you doing?"

"The way I figure it… if they're entertaining buyers, that means girls… And if there's going to be girls, why not us?"

Jenny's face brightened, her voice breaking into a giggle. Marge frantically waved her quiet as the voice came on the end of the line.

"International Landscape, may I help you?"

"Mr. Sommers' private secretary please."

Marge waited nervously for the phone to stop buzzing. "Mr. Sommers' office… Miss Lovis here… may I help you?"

Marge spoke, her voice thinly disguised. "Yes, I understand you need some girls this evening." There was a pause on the other end, only a second or two, but it seemed like an hour to Marge.

"I'm sorry," came the voice, "I don't mean to appear stunned, but how did you know? I haven't even had a chance to call out yet."

Marge struggled for an answer. "I… I think after… I think Mr. Sommers called earlier."

"That's strange… he usually refused to handle it himself."

"Yeah… look… do you need the girls or not?"

"Yes! Yes, we do… we need four girls." Marge took down all the information regarding time and place. Her hands shook with the delight of her soon-to-be-had revenge. "Okay… I've got it all down."

"Good! Oh, and please! Screen your girls a little more carefully this time. One of the last girls you sent behaved rather boorishly. Remember, these are businessmen, not perverts!"

Marge could not resist the opening. "I promise you… they won't know these girls from their wives."

Marge hung up, and let out a scream of sheer delight. She clutched the paper with the information tightly to her breast, almost as if she were afraid it would disappear.

"Marge, you're a genius. Well… what do we do between now and then?"

"Go shopping… we owe these bastards the show of their lives, and we're going to give it to them."

The two women approached the hotel suite door quietly, their minds seriously challenging the sanity of their actions.

"Well… this is it!" Marge blurted. "Let me have a final look at you, Jenny."

Jenny stepped back and twirled model fashion. Marge hardly recognized her. Her hair was teased and curled into a giant afro, and her face was made up to the hilt. She wore a thigh-length wrap-around skirt, and on top, a wide knit shawl that, when opened, revealed a blouse of transparent material that completely exposed her firm, braless tits.

"Jenny… you're perfect! I may take you right here in the hall myself!"

"You don't look so bad yourself, kid!"

Marge was next to show herself off. She was dressed in a floor-length, jet-black gown that was split clear up the side, the front and back held together only by thin black laces. The long split clearly revealed the lack of any kind of underwear, and the deep dip in the front displayed to its best advantage the dark cleavage of her full breasts.

"I'm telling you, Marge… in that outfit, you could raise the cock on a corpse."

"Bless you, fellow hooker… bless you!"

They giggled for a few seconds, and then fell into contemplative silence as they stared at the door.

"Well, Marge…"

"YEP! I guess it's time."

Marge pressed the doorbell, preparing herself for whatever should come. To her relief a strange face answered the door. He was a brawny man with thin wisps of puffy red hair covering the obvious baldness of his skull. His ruddy face seemed to glow even redder with the smiling cheerfulness of his greeting.

"Heeeeey! You must be the ladies we've been waiting for! Come on in! I'm Sam McCord." The girls filed past them, and into the specious suite. "This here's Mike… he's my associate."

The other man rose from his chair and greeted Marge and Jenny politely. He was a young man of twenty-nine, with a firm, muscled body, and an air of total confidence. Unlike the other man, he looked at them as women, not hookers.

"Hello," he beamed, "what are your names?"

A smile broke out across Marge's face, and she gave Jenny a quick wink before answering. "My name is Viva… and my friend's name is Candy."