"Wife in the middle" - читать интересную книгу автора (Taylor Ron)

CHAPTER TWO

"Want a beer?" Caron asked as they entered the house through the glass doors that opened onto the patio. "I have some beer in the fridge." She leaned against the door frame, her tits out thrust, thighs close together. The sticky cunt was oozing down her legs and it felt good. She dropped her bikini and robe onto the floor, closed her eyes dreamily, then reached down and began to stroke herself. There was sand on her fingers and it felt raspy, but not unpleasant against the tingling tender lips of her snatch. She could smell sex. It was a stronger aroma than the salty tang of the sea.

Paul dropped his own clothes onto the floor and moved toward her. The sticky-moist tip of his dick bumped her belly, halfway between bellybutton and pubic hedge. She looked up. His face was flushed and he was breathing very hard. She didn't have to ask again. Beer was the last thing on his mind. She locked one of her hands with one of his. She kissed him, and they sidestepped the rest of the way into the house, their bare sandy toes sinking into the deep pile carpeting. "I want you again, Mrs. Archer," he said, lips humming vibrantly against Caron's.

"Don't call me Mrs. Archer," she said, leaning back and making a fist with her free hand. She raised it menacingly before his face.

"What shall I call you, then?"

Caron laughed slyly. "You can call me a cocksucker, if you want to," she announced, and by then they were in the den and she was gilding gently to the floor, relaxing onto her knees.

His cock thrust out before her face, but not for long. Caron started to lick him from nuts to tip with long gliding stokes of a practiced, delighted tongue. She felt his prick shiver in her fingers. She kissed him with deep, satisfied smacks, then tell to licking again. Her tongue was agile and clever. Everyplace she licked him was the right place, for that particular moment, for that particular effect. She was quite satisfied with herself. Slowly, she drew her head back, then came down, lips slightly parted. The head of his prick eased between her lips, past her teeth, and she began to suck with soft, gentle pulls. The taste of his cum, and of hers was strong on Paul Drake's dick, and she lapped it lovingly, relishing the taste. No wonder he loved to get his tongue into her cunt, she thought, no wonder if she had such a sweet tangy taste! And who could blame her for loving the moment when his cock exploded in her mouth and she was full, totally full, of his rich, tart sperm?

As she sucked, Caron tried to remember the first time she'd ever eaten a cock. In college. Yes. Not long before she lost her virginity. Christ! What a memory! It was all coming back, clear as crystal. Some boy she'd been dating, someone horny for her body, someone she had been hesitant about surrendering to. "You could suck it," he'd suggested. "I mean, if you won't do anything else, the least you could do is blow me." Slurping on Paul's cock, Caron giggled mentally. The boy had ejaculated in her mouth after promising he wouldn't, and it had been the foulest, most disgusting thing that had ever happened to her. She'd resolved the same night to go ahead and give up her cherry, because fucking couldn't be half, as sickening as that!

She'd never really enjoyed it, not till the last year or two. Lou had only talked her into it a few times, and she'd never allowed him to go all the way in her mouth. Same with most of the other men she'd been with. Barring, of course, the ones during her year of bar hopping. She couldn't remember what had happened some of those nights. She'd probably eaten her share of jism and lost the memory in some boozy haze. It was something she'd never have done sober. And then there was a guy named Ken, her last real fling before Paul, and one night they'd both been mellow on wine and grass, and somehow it just happened. One moment she was sitting there toking a reefer and feeling groovy, and the next moment she was lying across the couch with her head in Ken's lap and his prick in her mouth. Toking a different kind of joint, she thought at the time. He came in her mouth and it didn't taste bad at all. Before they broke up, she'd turned into some kind of cocksucker. One who really loved her work. And right now it was paying off, with Paul's hard penis in her mouth, slipping deeper with each breath she took, gliding across the velvety carpet of her tongue, making for the upper part of her throat. No problem. She could take him that deeply. Seven inches of rod in her mouth looked like an amazing feat, but it wasn't so difficult.

She and Ken had gone up into Delaware and caught a drive-in showing of DEEP THROAT, giggling in the darkness and playing with one another. It was the first and only porno film Caron had ever seen. Linda Lovelace had been inspiring, and with a little help from Ken, Caron had begun to catch on. Surprisingly enough, or not so surprisingly, Alfred, her gay store manager, was also a lot of help. He was a faggot, cocksucking was his game. He shared a few of his pointers with his boss. She'd even gone down on him a couple of times, both of them giggling like schoolchildren playing doctor. All in the interest of education, of course.

She took a little more of Paul into her mouth and she sucked, wolfishly, giving him a joy ride with tongue and lips and cheeks, bathing him in her frothy, fluid saliva, welcoming him home with every talent and ingenuity she had to offer.

She sucked a little harder, a, little, more passionately, as he slipped into her, and his hands came up onto her head, steering her. She didn't need guidance. There was something especially sweet and precious about his cock. God knew she loved to eat him! And if he spurted thick hot cum into her mouth – so much the better! In fact, she'd have sucked him to orgasm right now, drunk gladly every spurting gush of his jizz, if her pussy hadn't been aching for a special kind of attention too, itching and aching and driving her almost crazy with desire. Not even the fuck on the beach had satisfied her. She'd known as dearly as Paul that it was only round one.

But she wanted to suck, too. Why couldn't a man have two cocks? One to put in his darling's pussy, the other for her to suckle contentedly. That way she could enjoy the best of all possible worlds, enjoy it fully and completely every time she made love. Neither of her, holes would feel the gnawing pang of neglect and emptiness.

Caron sidled a little closer, moving till her pussy lay atop of Paul's foot. She stroked his leg, pawed and petted him until his toes began to wiggle and, when they did, one of them began to brush back and forth over the itchy lips of her cleft. She made a deep satisfied purr around his pecker, rearranged herself a little more, then moaned throatily as his big toe worked its way into her twat. Caron flexed her thighs to increase the cuntal pressure around his toe, and she sucked faster and harder.

He moved his foot, pushed deep with his toe, and she almost bit him. Giggling, she released his cock. "There's a better way to do this," Paul pointed out, and he did the toe number again. Caron lay back, sighing, her hands folded beneath her heaving tits. The nipples were red and stiff, long enough to hang flags from, and her fingers stole up to touch and tease them with wicked knowing caresses. Paul sank to his knees beside her on the thick carpeting, and his hands came down on her tits, kneading and massaging. "That feels good," she purred, "don't stop, don't ever stop."

"I'll have to stop," he replied, "because I have something a lot better in mind. If it's okay with you, Mrs. Archer."

"Wait a mm," she said, hopping up. She ran across the room, opened a cabinet drawer, came back with a framed 8 by 10 color photo in her hand. "I think he deserves a chance to watch," she said, setting the picture upright on the floor.

"My God," Paul said. "How can I keep, a hard-on with your husband staring at us?"

"Look at the man," she said. "Can you honest to God imagine me married to him? Thinking he was a real catch?"

Paul laughed. There was something owlishly solemn about Lou's face in the photo. The crooked tooth showed, for he was trying to smile, and the thinness of his hair, the pastiness of his complexion, were obvious. "That is what I'm replacing," Paul said, and he shook his head.

"C'mere," Caron husked, "and show off a little for him. I only wish he was sitting there instead of his fucking picture." She slinked her arm around Paul's neck and kissed him as fervently as she'd sucked his dick. His tongue shot into her mouth and she sucked it, too, and then he repaid the favor. They settled onto the carpet, not two feet from the glossy photo of the late Lou Archer, and Caron wondered why she had not bothered to do this a long time ago. There was a delightful, heady sense of independence in making love in front of Lou's picture. And she wouldn't have too many more chances, because that Goddamn photo was going down the john as soon as she was free. Her own personal touch for the celebration.

His hand slid down her stomach as they kissed, and he got his fingers into her pussy. Caron opened her legs with a gasp, ready for another fuck, but he seemed interested only in using his fingers. Well, he did a damned good job with them. They slipped neatly into her slot and, three strokes later he had her juices flowing like a flyer. He tickled her clit, rubbed it round and round, pushed it like a button, then slid down a little lower and traced the puffy outline of her cuntal lips. They were fleshy with lust and dripping with passion. His fingers entered her again and she squirmed, moaning, "Yes, darling, yesssss."

His lips moved off her mouth, centered on her chin, and she giggled, she stopped giggling as he continued down her body. He licked her nipples till she was twitching like a bitch in heat, and he sucked her slender stiff tits, his teeth gnawing gently onto the tanned flesh at the ends of her breasts. He sucked hard, and Caron groaned, her fingers pawing though his hair. "Drink me," she whispered. "If I had milk, I'd give you milk, darling. I'd fill your mouth with it. I'd feed you like a baby. Oh, God! Wiggle your fingers again!"

He was only too happy to do just that, and her thighs snapped shut. His fist was large and hard between her thighs, and it exerted a heavy, consistent pressure against her pussy. She bucked furiously, loving every ounce of pressure he was giving her, and die juices kept oozing from her hole. His finger stabbed deeply up her twat, scooping out the juice.

Paul suckled her tits and hippies for a few more exciting moments, then kissed and licked his way down her belly. He rimmed her navel with his tongue. She was sensitive there. "Jesus!" she giggled, jolting as if she were being electrocuted.

His leech-like mouth slid the rest of the way down. He was into her bush, the thin hedge she kept trimmed at the edges so that unchic patches of pussy hair wouldn't show around the sides of mini bikini pants, and his fingers popped out of her, making room for his tongue. And God, what a tongue! It went deep, snapped like a whip on her clitoris, went deep again, so fast she couldn't keep up with him. Caron jerked and bucked and twitched, and her hand reached toward Paul, fingers eager to wrap themselves around his prick again.

"Come here, damn it!" she sighed, and he was agreeable. He couldn't help being agreeable. She was jerking on his cock as if she really meant to jerk it off. As he came closer, she had a momentary flash of Lou's portrait, the asinine face unchanged. Watch this, asshole! she told him mentally, and then she was leaning to meet Paul, her tongue stuck out in anticipation of touching the end of his dong.

He moved into her mouth and they started to sixty-nine on the floor. The carpeting was comfortable under them, like a fur bedspread, and she felt no muscle strains or aches as she began to suck Paul hungrily.

She swallowed hard and something more than half of Paul's seven inch cock rammed into her mouth.

Paul raised his head. "You taste salty," he said. "Like a mermaid." He was licking his lips thoughtfully, and while he spoke, one of his fingers kept working in and out of Caron's hole.

She unclamped his penis for a moment. "How many mermaids have you been going down on lately?" she asked. "Do you have a secret life I don't know about?" Caron giggled then. "Hey, how can you go down on a mermaid in the first place? They have tails, like fish, instead of cunts."

"Some do," Paul nodded, "but most people don't know that there are other mermaids who have fish bodies down to the waist and all the necessary working parts underneath. But it's so much bother. If you want to fuck and kiss at the same time, you have to have two. I think it's a little easier with a girl, so I believe I'll keep you."

"Thanks." Caron chirped, humping up to kiss his face with her sopping pussy. "Fuck that," she said. "French style. With your face."

"Happily." He bent in and started eating her again, this time even more ferociously than before. His teeth gnawed at her puffy, sopping snatch, and he sucked the juices from her. She groaned. He took eating literally, it seemed, and she couldn't be happier. She leaned toward him, took his cock in her mouth, and began to suck again.

Caron raised her head again. "We'd better hurry," she moaned. "Sheila may come back any time now."

"Well," Paul opined, "I guess we could always ask her to join us."

"You're awful!" Caron's eyes widened. "How could you say such a thing? About my own sister!"

"You're the one who worries about her social life," Paul replied. "It seemed the natural solution. Anyway, she's very attractive. And it's not anywhere near dark yet."

"Mmmm," Caron purred, her hands busy on his thick root. "I think you're just using me to get next to my sister. I ought to horsewhip you."

"You don't have a horse."

"I have somebody who's hung like one," she snickered, pulling hard on his cock. Tie groaned, eyes rolling, and he lunged at her face. As he entered her receptive mouth she found herself thinking about what he'd said. About Sheila, that is. It sent little chills up her spine, but they weren't nasty chills. She tried to picture Sheila, so prim and reserved and quiet, walking into the room while this was in progress. She tried to picture Sheila being invited to join in. Oh, my God, she thought, almost ready to laugh. Still, it would be nice if they were finished and dressed when Sheila got back from the cove, and if it was six o'clock now, the hour of Sheila's return had to be drawing near. How long could anyone paint, after all? Caron worked her head from side to side. She didn't really want to get caught by her sister.

Not that she had anything to hide, of course. Sheila knew how it was between Caron and Paul, that they were in love. Still, having Sheila know about it was one thing. Having her watch was something else. Caron's only group experience had been that awful time on the beach, and she could never remember much of it. Thank God. No, one on one was perfectly line for Caron Archer and she had no intention of changing in that respect. So, in the interest of modesty…

"Make me come," she moaned between mad slurps at Paul's dick. "Suck me like you mean it."

"Who says I don't?" he growled into her twat, and he began to lick her in a style that made his previous cunnilingus look like pre-game warm-up.

His tongue was everywhere, and she was starting to go crazy. Her body jerked and jiggled and her leg went up, locking around his neck. She'd drown him in her musky twat.

She was too preoccupied with her own response to do a perfect job on his prick, but she could still do pretty well. Her tongue slithered up and down his hard male flesh and the strong, male taste of him was delicious. She licked and tongued and kissed and slurped, fluttering her tongue endlessly against the underside of his penile glans. Quivers shot through his root and she knew what those meant. Ah, she knew!

His lips seized her clit and he brought her into a sudden, wrenching orgasm that tested the resilience of every nerve in her body. She could only moan and wail and jerk on his prick, keeping her moaning lips pressed against his flesh. Her fingers worked him, due as much to the convulsion of her entire body as to any conscious desire to help him join his pleasure to hers. Cum began to spray from the end of his rod in glistening, high arcs that spattered down, onto Caron's upturned, ecstatic face. She felt his sticky, creamy jizz running down her cheeks, streams of it pouring down on either side of her nose, into her open, fluttering mouth. Her tongue shot but and, as the pleasures of orgasm swept through Caron, she sought to drink as much as possible of the sweet viscous semen that was drenching her face.

His cock was still squirting. God, he must have been full of the stuff! Another spurt hit her on the eyelid. She tightened her fist on him, leaned close, stuffed him into her mouth.

He was almost finished by then, but she had the delicious pleasure of tasting the last gob that squirted from the end of his prick, felt it roll across her tongue, slide greasily down her throat, warm all the way to her belly. Releasing him, Caron lay back. She raised her hands, scooped up the cum which had only just begun to clot on her face, and she brought her wet sticky hands to her mouth where she licked them dry, licked until she could taste only her own flesh, and then she sighed. "And you wonder why I'm crazy about you!" she said with a lilt.

They rolled together, kissing, caressing, her tits hard and firm against his chest, his wet sticky peter limp as a noodle but so delightful to feel, bumping on her sleek smooth thigh. She reached down to stroke his well-used dick, and it felt small and delicate in her hand, like a precious little treasure. Hard to believe that only a few moments ago he had been erect and arrogant, feeding his tool into her mouth or her pussy with equal enthusiasm.

"How'd you like it?" she asked the portrait of Lou, and she scooped up a stray bubble of cum from the end of Paul's dong. Laughing, Caron smeared the sticky gob down the front of the glossy photograph. "That's what a man tastes like, in case you're interested. Asshole!" And she pushed the picture over. "I am really looking forward to getting rid of that," she told Paul. "I think I'll piss before I flush it down. Would that be appropriate?"

"From all you've told me about him, maybe we should both piss on his picture," Paul suggested. "Was he really as bad as you say?"

"Worse," Caron sighed. "Physically, he was repulsive. I'm still not sure how I ever stopped barfing long enough to marry him. Had a body like a toad when he undressed. And did you ever see that little joke booklet, WHAT MEN REALLY KNOW ABOUT WOMEN? Open it up and it's all blank? Well, Lou wrote that. In between chapters of his book on Keats. Say – will the estate settlement allow me to burn his manuscript? I could really get off on that."

And they rolled together, laughing and tickling and giggling like children at play. I have never, Caron thought, felt one half so good in all my life. Never. But the realities were imposing themselves. "Listen, I had better get dressed. Why don't you fix us another drink and put on some music? Be back in a few minutes, love, don't get started on anything without me."

When she came back, wearing a loose silk shirt and baggy gaucho pants, a scarf tied around her long brown hair, the room was full of Nat King Cole and a fresh campari and soda was sitting on the bar. Caron remembered the days when she had to get piss-drunk before she had the nerve to try fucking, and she shook her head sadly. She drank a little now, not much, and only for socialization.

"Cheers," she said, tilting her glass, while Nat King Cole sang "Nature Boy". Paul had turned her on to soft jazz, Cole, Ellington, Billie Holiday, George Benson. Something else she had to thank him for. "Oh," she said, a little sadly, "I think I hear Sheila's moped."

"At least we're decent," Paul smiled. "But the room smells like a Chinese whorehouse." He touched her skin. "I happen to like Chinese whorehouses." She stood on tiptoes to kiss him, then settled back.

"That's awfully loud for Sheila's moped," Caron observed. "It sounds more like a car."

Paul went to the window and looked out. "It is," he said. "A red Volkswagen, with – California plates, I think."

Caron stood up. "Oh, Good Christ," she moaned, "are those Goddamn Bible salesmen working the area again? Shit! There's the doorbell! Well, if it's a salesman, you can help me chase him off. Unless he's cute. Then maybe we can work up a threesome – or a foursome if Sheila gets back in time…"

Hand in hand, laughing, they went to the door. Caron opened it, said, "Yes?"

A girl stood in the doorway, a girl probably in her late teens. Blonde, breathtakingly blonde, in fact, with a proud mane of golden hair that swept around her cute face and swirled onto her shoulders. Built like the proverbial brick shithouse. About five feet two, at least 38-D on top. It was hard to tell, because she was rocking slightly on the balls of her bare feet, while her tits rocked much more than slightly. She wore a skintight t-shirt with HOORAY FOR HOLLYWOOD emblazoned across the front and a pair of jeans she had obviously been born in. If she owned any underwear, it must have been in the red Volkswagen parked in the driveway, just behind Paul Drake's Buick. She didn't look at all like a Bible salesperson.

"Yes?" Caron said again, and the little blonde stood grinning vapidly. Stoned? Probably. Weren't all kids stoned nowadays? All the time? And this was a kid if Caron Archer had ever seen one.

"Mrs. Archer?" the blonde said in a whisper of a voice that some people would probably find very sexy. Caron looked over at Paul, who stood beside her. His eyes seemed to have glazed over slightly, and the angle of his vision was apparently focused downward, toward the puffy protrusion of nipples in the tight t-shirt the blonde wore. Oh, my God, Caron thought, if he's responding to this little twit! Men! It was easy to see that the girl was a cheap, showy piece of nothing, and it unnerved Caron to see the silly grin occupying Paul's face. She elbowed him sharply in the ribs.

"I'm Caron Archer. Is there something you want?"

A head peered round the edge of the doorframe. Its owner must have been standing there all the time, waiting for his child accomplice to make the first move. Caron stared at the head, wondering why it looked so familiar.

It belonged to a man, a well-weathered man, apparently in his late thirties, perhaps early forties, she decided, as he came into full view and slipped his arm round the busty little blonde's waist. He was bald on top, with fingers of hair on the sides of his head. Gray hair, though he didn't seem that old. The top of his scalp gleamed as if it had been polished. The biggest moustache Caron had ever seen not belonging to a member of the walrus family. Barrel-shaped body in sleeveless t-shirt. Big, beefy arms, tan everywhere she could see. Faded denims. Sandals on his feet. Grinning like a shit-eating dog.

Caron's forehead wrinkled. His eyes glittered. So did his teeth, under the mustache. White, even teeth, barring one on the lower jaw that was slightly out of line and protruded just like a little fang.

The moustache, she thought. He hasn't always had that moustache. He was shorter, pudgy and flabby, big pot around his waist, white skin like a fish's belly. The crooked, out of line tooth. "Oh, my God," she said, and her body started to go limp. Paul caught her, braced her.

"Hi ya, kid," the man said, still grinning. "Don't tell me you've forgotten."

"Caron – is something wrong?" Paul asked in concern.

She couldn't speak. He had to hold her up. He framed her face with his hand. She felt her consciousness starting to go. It would be so much better if she passed out. Caron cleared her throat, found she really could speak. Even if she didn't want to. "It's – it's him," she told Paul. "Don't you recognize him? From the picture? It's – it's Lou. My husband. He's come back."

Lou grinned, shrugged, squeezed the giggly blonde. "We were in the neighborhood, thought we'd drop by and say hello. Aren't you going to ask us in?" And before Caron could answer, he and the girl were edging past. "Do you still keep the booze in the same place?" he asked. "I hope you have some Scotch around."

Caron stood trembling, watching them enter the house. Paul was there, at her side, but she had never felt so alone in her life. Never. It's worse, she thought, worse for him to came back than it was when he left in the first place. She still couldn't believe what her eyes and her brain assured her were true, very true. Lou Archer had come back.