Rex Taylor - Overeager wife

"Green?" Maggie asked, not realizing she'd spoken aloud.

"Oh!" Belinda laughed. "Christina. She's wearing her nipple makeup again. Sometimes it freaks people out, you know. When she takes off her shirt and the nipples are blue or silver or whatever." She licked delicately at her lips. "The green is peppermint flavored. Delicious, delicious. Well? Hadn't we better make a contact? No offense, Maggie, but I came here to be ravished."

"Oh, go ahead," Maggie smiled. "I'm just not ready yet. My stomach is all butterflies. Where's the john?"

"Out that door and dawn the little hallway," Belinda said. "Uncle Dan's exercise room is at the very end of the hall and there's a john right next door."

Maggie thanked her and went. She tried not to look too closely as she passed the couch where Dan and Mary Beth sat, but the slurping sounds the young girl made were inescapable, and Dan was moaning in gratification as his cock moved inside Mary Beth's hungry mouth.

She went down the narrow hallway and her hand was on the bathroom door when she heard other sounds seeping from the half-shut door of the exercise room. Curious, Maggie listened a moment to the groans, and then she stepped closer, peering through the cracked door.

Her eyes went saucer big. A wrestling mat lay on the floor, and on it lay David Rodgers, completely nude, his cock thrusting up into Andrew Dawson's sucking mouth. Maggie had never seen anything quite like it before. She felt dirty, like a peeping Tom, like that neighbor who sometimes used his binoculars to spy on her while she sunbathed, but she couldn't take her eyes away from the scene going on in the exercise room.

She remembered Belinda's description of her husband as a moderate, bisexual but she, hadn't appreciated it until this very moment. And she knew that she could never allow herself to touch him or to be touched by him again.

And almost simultaneously the unfairness of her thoughts struck home. There were people, men and women alike, who would react just as strongly to the sight of Maggie and Belinda going at each other as voraciously as they'd done last night. Was there really any difference? If two girls wanted to make love together, or if two guys so desired… Who was Maggie Spencer to make moral pronouncements and condemnations? Wasn't sexual freedom what swinging was all about?

Maggie wanted to turn away, but she couldn't. Her system was full of doubt and dreams. For a girl who had been totally opposed to the idea of swinging yesterday at this time, she had gone full circle, imagining her husband engaged in perversities that would arouse his blackest anger if only he could read her mind. The rebellious instinct must have been lying dormant in her mind all these long years and now it was taking over with a vengeance. Maggie found it difficult to recognize the person she was becoming.

Her hand reached for the doorknob and for the quickest moment she considered throwing herself into the two-way on the floor. Her cunt was sopping wet – she was afraid to look don at herself, lest she find a stain on the front of her dress from the seeping cunt juices – and Maggie knew that if Andrew got one crack at her gash he'd go straight in an instant. She could feel that skinny, long cock of his prodding inside her, if only in fantasy.

She whirled around and marched boldly up the hallway, and her eyes shot around the drawing room, searching for someone – anyone – who might help to scratch the unbearable itching in her cunt.

And she saw him.

A tall, lean man, in his middle thirties, she guessed, just stubbing out a cigarette in an ashtray. He was almost smugly handsome, she thought, and when his eyes lifted they locked right into hers. Maggie strode across the room, heading toward him like a lemming making for the sea.

"My name is Maggie," she said, "and I want you."

They went upstairs, chose a bedroom, and went inside. The lights were off and they could hear a couple going at it in the other bed, the sounds of sex making Maggie hornier than she had been already. Her fingers flew as she wiggled out of the nylon dress and the panties beneath. Her shoes clattered onto the floor and she threw herself on the bed to await him.

He got out of his clothes as fast as possible and joined her. On the next bed the woman was groaning in what must have been her third orgasm in less than two minutes, and come-fever seemed to be contagious as smallpox in the room at that moment.

Maggie rolled onto her back, fingers locking around, the man's cock, and she pulled him into her. He had a good-sized prick, long and thick, and it filled her aching cunt beautifully. She let him fuck her for a few minutes, working from above and at his own speed, but she wanted it harder, faster.

"Let me on top," she panted, and he moved to accommodate her. Maggie twisted and, without breaking the connection inside her cunt, she rode atop him, pulling high and slamming down hard on his stiff cock, taking it as far inside as it would jab.

The walls of her twat seemed to be afire with passion and she came for the first time almost as soon as she was firmly atop him. He felt the rippling contractions of her cunt and stepped up the pace of his fucking, ramming it to her harder, harder, harder. On the next bed they could hear the woman screaming her passion to the heavens: "OH, GOD! Once more!! Give it to me just that way! You beautiful son of a bitch!!! OHHHH!!!" She sounded like a come machine, the way she was going off at the drop of a hat. Maggie thought the voice was vaguely familiar but she couldn't place it. Certainly it wasn't Belinda, and she doubted if Christina's whispering little voice could rise to such pitches even under the pressure of orgasmic release.

The only sounds in the room were the groans of fucking couples and the shattering groans of the overworked beds. The bed housing Maggie and her friend seemed to creak even louder than the other, for she was hotter than hell and anxious to get cooled off. She worked herself up and down as if she were a cowboy and he a bucking bronco, and each time his cock jammed its eager way into her sucking cunt.

He filled her nicely, spreading her cunt walls just enough to cause a coinciding stimulation of her throbbing clitty, and, to aid that nubby little organ in its journey to sexual explosion, Maggie reached one hand into her sopping cunt, fingers pinching and tweaking at her trigger as she galloped madly on the stranger's gouging cock.

She felt one of his hands slip in to join hers and they both massaged her cunt as it was filled, refilled, and plugged to overflowing. Maggie's body was drenched in sweat and she was chewing her lips as she worked her way toward a massive come. When it came she screamed a wordless cry and her body turned to jelly.

His hands seized her hip bones to keep her from falling, and his fingers dug into her perspiring flesh. Maggie swayed atop him like a nearly severed tree, but somehow she found the strength to keep fucking, and she fucked him viciously, savagely, as viciously and as savagely as he was fucking her, until at last she felt his prick burst inside her and his cum flowed into her sucking cunt.

She collapsed upon him then, her mouth seeking his in the darkness, her fingers stroking and scraping at his cheeks as she kissed him, and she lay there, his cock still inside her. It was starting to go limp, now that its primary duty had been discharged, but Maggie couldn't allow that to happen. She could still see, in her mind's eye, David and Andrew going at it on the wrestling mat, and until she had fucked that provocative picture out of her mind she could find neither peace nor rest.

She lifted her leg, allowing his softening cock to slip out of her jism-slick cunt, and then she kissed her way down her new friend's body, feeling her way in the darkness. Her chin brushed across his pubic hair and her fingers seized upon bin cock, sliding on its wet limpness.