Dana Swanson - Blackmailed Into Swapping

Mavis nodded to the other girls as Connie brought a large pitcher from the refrigerator. "Screwdrivers," Connie smiled, filling glasses on a tray in the center of the table.

Mavis glanced about. Terry's eyes seemed to glitter and Mavis speculated that the little doll had had quite a bit to drink before she and Mickey arrived. And Becky, the trim strawberry blonde, seemed wound up tight. Her eyes seemed furtive and fearful. Mavis wondered if Connie and Miriam had something planned for her and whether Becky was aware of it.

Vaguely, Mavis could hear the deep murmur of the men's voices and the clatter of chips as they were tossed into the pot. There were six of them playing. Willie had always contended five made a good game. If they had known that there would be six, she and Phil could have stayed at home. She shrugged away her discontent and tried to concentrate on the girls' harmless conversation about clothes and the drudgery of housekeeping and meals and the lack of variety and excitement in married life.

Maybe Becky and Terry missed the subtle inference but it was clear to Mavis that Connie and Miriam were alluding to husband-swapping. She frowned. It seemed, lately, that Miriam and Connie were obsessed with the topic of hopping into bed with some other woman's husband.

She made up her mind that she wasn't going to drink much, was going to stay sober so she would be keenly aware of whatever happened-to others as well as to herself. Little Becky was beginning to feel the effects of the vodka. And Terry was drinking faster and the alcohol was beginning to belt her hard; it was evident in her slightly slurred speech and brassy tone.

Mavis eased away from the table and strolled about the room, carrying her drink, but not touching it. No one paid attention to her and she drifted toward the den to lounge in the archway. Ben Glover's eyes picked her immediately and fastened on her legs below the miniskirt.

Mavis stifled a shudder and wished she had worn slacks! His eyes seemed to strip her naked!

"Has your company beefed up its security-especially on Saturday nights, Willie?" Glover asked tossing his hand into the discards.

Mavis watched Willie nod negatively. "The brass is satisfied that the armored van guards are sufficient. The van rolls up at ten-fifteen every Saturday night with three armed guards. I help one of them load the money and it's their responsibility."

Her eyes swung to Phil who blew her a silent kiss and winked as he said, "Ben and I both know that your insurance premium and bond rates would be sharply reduced if you had guards on hand through the evening as receipts arrive from the other stores."

"So?" Willie shrugged, "tell it to the brass."

The men chuckled, paused in their play to sip their drinks and light cigarettes.

"It would be a cinch," Henry Carr said, "to knock you over, Willie.

Even amateurs could hold you up and probably get away clean. For one thing, the police department-we have discussed it and fretted about it-would have damned little to go on. Hell, there isn't even a record of serial numbers of bills. All that cash and checks are dumped in bags by other stores after a fast tabulation and brought to you."

"You're right," Willie nodded. "And it makes me a little nervous. I guess store officials think the practice is unknown and they rely on this against the probability of robbery."

"Bullshit!" Glover shuffled the cards, offered the deck for cut, buried a card and dealt. "That kind of secret can't be kept!"

"Tell it to the brass!" Willie said, opening with a blue chip.

The casual discussion of armed robbery had a chilling effect on Mavis and she gulped her drink nervously.

"Another round, Connie!" Willie called, interrupting the conversation.

In an instant Miriam slipped past Mavis and into the room. "I'll accommodate you," she said. "Connie went upstairs to wee-wee."

Mavis watched Miriam, wearing snug shorts and a loose middle blouse, strut to the bar with the men's glasses and mix drinks. The men paused in their play until Miriam returned to hand them fresh high-balls. She didn't bother circling the table to serve, but leaned out over the table-and the blouse sagged and Miriam wasn't wearing a damned thing under it. Her opulent breasts were clearly visible to any man who wanted to look. "Get your hand off my bottom-whoever you are!" she challenged. And Mavis-she couldn't tell who-knew that either Ben Glover or Mickey Lewis was sneaking a feel of Miriam's legs and ass!

But Miriam didn't bolt away, seemed to enjoy the men's leering at her breasts under the gaping blouse. Then the hand must have been withdrawn from her fanny and she backed away and set the tray on a table next to an easy chair.

Mavis watched Miriam circle the table slowly as the men resumed their game. She didn't care that Miriam stopped behind Phil, leaned forward until a full breast rested on his shoulder. Mavis winked quickly when Phil glanced at her, questioningly. Let Miriam throw her sex at Phil, she mused. I don't care. She actually anticipated seeing her husband reach up and tweak Miriam's nipple. But he just folded his cards on the hand of stud and sat unmoving.

She wished she could have heard what Miriam whispered to Phil; he scowled slightly. Mavis finished her drink as Miriam wiggled against Phil, actually forced his arm around her narrow waist. Then she edged herself onto his lap, ground her fanny-around and around-against Phil's groin.

How obvious and blatant and wanton can a woman act? Mavis wondered, frowning slightly. Miriam was doing her best to give Phil a dry fuck!

Mavis had the eerie sensation things were going to happen before the night was much older.

Maybe Phil would get a piece of ass-strange stuff. Mavis pouted. Maybe he has screwed other women since they had been married, but tonight would be the first that she would know about. Herself? Mavis' fingers of her left hand toyed absently with the end of a long blonde tress that trailed over her left shoulder. Would she be subjected to some man's animal, sexual lust? She shivered as if the room had grown suddenly cold. The muscles in her tummy, deep in her loins, seemed to coil with hungry expectation-all against Mavis' troubled will.

My God! Mavis fretted mentally, her eyes drifting to her husband who was still getting the coital rubdown from Miriam's teasing, goading swiveling butt in his lap. The others around the table had paused in their play to leer at Miriam trying to arouse Phil to sexual frenzyand a possible orgy right there in the Quentin den.

My husband will flick Miriam tonight! the thought seemed to explode in her mind. And I wanted his cock in me so much! Then an objective thought was sharp and scintillating in her mind. She would like to see Phil's face when he saw Miriam's hairless pussy and shoved his prick into that meaty maw. She wondered if her husband had ever shoved his big click into a woman's chamber that had no carpet of pubic growth adorning it.

Everyone was watching Miriam grind her pussy against Phil's genitalsexcept Ben Glover. His eyes seemed afire, burning in his haggard, lustful face. Mavis' body jerked and there was a sharp stabbing sensation deep in her womb. Her mind was crying NO! NO! NO! But her vaginal appetite for a man's prong-prawn was increasing. Oh, God, no, she quailed. She didn't want to surrender her body to any more men! All the fucking she wanted was from her husband! She didn't want any further humiliating sexual abuse of her body. But she had a strong premonition that she, again, would yield her body to the panting greed of a man. She would spread her legs and let him in, not even resist his pumping his carnal prick into her!

She felt tears about to form and turned away, left the room. She paused briefly in the dining room, glad it was empty. She composed herself quickly, brushed away the start of tears. Slowly, Mavis followed sounds in the living room. She paused between the two rooms and watched Connie and Becky easing Terry onto the davenport.