Jason Cannon - Marcy in heat

"And the book?"

"Hanging underneath it."

Fishing in her purse for a coin, Marcy crossed to the phone. She flipped through the telephone directory until she found Robbie Hart's number. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the young attendant staring at her with his mouth open and his eyes bulging.

She smiled to herself in satisfaction, and dropped a coin in the slot. As she dialed she turned her body in the young man's direction.

She leveled her gaze at him, taking in the rich head of blond hair, the easy grace when he moved, the heavy muscle-corded arms and shoulders, and the taper of his body where it narrowed to his waist and hips. Her eyes stopped and fixed when they saw the bulge in his tight Levi's.

Her staring made him nervous at first. Turning on the local high school girls and a few older women in his neighborhood had been one thing, but this chick was definitely something else.

Her eyes moved back up to meet him. He smiled, and she returned it, again dropping her gaze to the now more prominent swell. She deftly touched the tip of her pink tongue to her red lips, running it smoothly across them to let him know she admired what she saw.

He finally got up enough nerve to fully return her stare, and was equally delighted with what he saw. Heavy, black hair cascaded around the bare whiteness of her shoulders and fell in flowing waves down her back. The thin blue filminess of the plunging blouse barely covered the bra which in turn exposed the barest suggestion of rosy-pink nipple above its lace. A tiny waist flowed outward to a generous expanse of hip and thigh. The miniskirt she wore was for looks only, barely serving the purpose of covering her. The skirt was tight across her hips and ass, molding to them and revealing their lushness.

As his stare continued, she sensed his interest, and kept it at a peak by slouching a little to throw her mound forward. In his mind he could see the tiny black curls surrounding the slit of her cunt.

The spell between them was broken when the buzzing on the other end of the line stopped and a voice said, "Hello?"

"Could I speak to Robbie Hart, please?" Marcy said, returning her attention to the telephone.

"This is Robbie."

"Oh, good… I was hoping you'd be home for vacation. How's school, Robbie?"

"It's fine, I guess. Who's this?"

"Marcy Whalen," she said.

"Marcy Whalen? What are you…?"

"Why am I calling you, Robbie? Because I'm home from school, too," she said, hoping she was putting enough of a sultry quality in her voice that he would forget all the limes she had turned him down and put him down when he had tried to date her in high school.

"So?" be said, not sounding very impressed.

"So I was wondering if there was a party on at your place tonight. I know your folks are in Florida for the holiday, and I know that when they're away."

"What if there is a party, Marcy? You know it's not the kind of party that you dig."

"Maybe it is, Robbie. Maybe I've changed."

"Oh?"

"But only on the inside," she said hastily, and laughed. "The outside… the part you always liked, hasn't changed a bit." She could hear him take a great gulp of air on the other end of the line.

"Maybe you should come on over," he said.

"I'll do just that. I'll be there in ten minutes," she replied, and replaced the receiver.

She picked up her purse and the sack and turned to find the young man staring at her in awe. He smiled sheepishly, but nevertheless took all of her in with his eyes.

She crossed to him. "I wonder if you could tell me where forty-two Norton Lane is?" she said, leaning over from the waist in front of him. The full, scoop neck of her blouse fell outward so her firm, thrusting breasts with their pink nipples were clearly visible to his eyes above the barely restraining bra.

"Yeah, sure," he gulped. "Next street down… take a right… go two blocks… another right and it's the great big house on the corner."

"Thanks," she said.

"I know you now," he said.

"Oh?"

"You're Marcy Whalen… I'm Fred Cox. I was two years behind you in school."

"Sure," Marcy said, again taking in his big, muscular body. "You're the big football player this year."

"Yeah… me and my brother Ted."

"It's nice to see you again," she said, and started for the car.

"Yes?"

"While you're home… ah, maybe we could go for a ride some night… y'know, have a couple of beers?"

"Well, I don't know, Fred," she said, opening the car door. "I rarely get to date; my parents are very religious, you know."

Robbie Hart and his parties were famous in the town. There was usually a lot of booze, a lot of pot, and always a lot of screwing. Even in high school, Robbie loved to invite the more liberal, swinging students to his home when his parents were gone. Usually his parents found out about it but they never seemed to care. It was rumored that they liked to swing themselves, so they rarely clamped down on their son.

In high school Marcy wouldn't have been caught dead at one of Robbie's parties. Just one time there for a girl, and she wad branded for life in the town. The parties often got so wild and rowdy that the police were called. Rarely did anything come of it, because Robbie's father had so much wealth and power.

"Well, I'll be dipped in shit."

"Hello, Robbie," Marcy said, moving into the hall while he held the door for her.

"Hello, hello, hello. This is not the Marcy Whalen I once knew," he said, putting his arm around her waist and guiding her into the living room.

"Like I told you on the phone," Marcy said, smiling, "same shell… different contents."

"I think you know everybody," Robbie said. "Grace and Bob, Sherry and Will, Toni and Sam… and this is Wilma Dale."

"Hi," Marcy said all around.

"Watch Wilma," Robbie said, "she drinks a lot."

People generally milled around, talking and listening to music. Marcy had a drink and watched some of them dance. She danced twice herself with Sam and Robbie. All in all the party seemed a little dull. Some of the couples did some minor petting on one of the three sofas, but Marcy had seen no one head for one of the five bedrooms she knew the house contained.

She was almost certain the party was going to be a colossal bore and her purpose for the evening – that word would get back to her parents that she had attended one of Robbie's orgies – would be a failure.

She had just about decided to pack it in and go home when one girl he didn't know, Wilma Dale, slid onto the bar stool beside her.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi, yourself," Marcy replied. The girl was very drunk. She was barely able to get all the liquid from her glass into her mouth when she took a drink.

"I'm Wilma Dale."

"Yes, I know," Marcy replied, moving her legs away from the area of the girl's glass.

"You're from around here, aren't you?"

"Yes," Marcy said, "I went to school with most of them. You're not?"

"Nah. Robbie brought me down from school. He thought I'd probably put some life in his parties." She hiccuped and took another drink. "I probably will." She threw her head back and laughed. "You like to fuck?"

Marcy was a little taken aback, but then she thought of why she was there. "I love to fuck."

"So do I… I wonder how come nobody is fuckin'?"

"I don't know," said Marcy, suddenly realizing that the room behind her had suddenly gotten very quiet.

"I like to eat pussy… oh, I like to fuck a cock too… but I really like to eat pussy. Don't get me wrong… I'm not a lesbian, or maybe I am… no, I couldn't be, 'cause I like to have a cock up my cunt… but I dearly love suckin' on a wet pussy."

Marcy just nodded. This, she hadn't quite expected. She could feel all the eyes in the room focused on her and Wilma Dale.