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

CHAPTER SEVEN

Caron Archer didn't hear the Buick pull up in front of the house. She was mounted on. Lou, fucking up and down on his stiff thrusting cock, the nipples of her round tits erect with desire. He handled her tits as she rode him, and she leaned her head down from time to time, rubbing his fingers with her cheek. "Oh, God, don't stop," she whined, "don't get soft, keep fucking me. I want you to fuck me, fuck me, keep fucking, promise you won't stop."

She couldn't remember how many times they had done it. That first time, when he'd carried her from kitchen to bedroom, thrown her on the bed, mastered her – that was rape. In a fashion. At least it was rape while he was pinning her to the bed, eating her pussy making her suck his fat lustful cock. But when they rolled together like a pair of spoons, his loins firm and hard against her butt, when he slipped his dick between her legs, when she reached down, led him to the mouth of her slit, humped down to take him in – was that rape, too? And if it was, who was the raper and who the rapee? She didn't know. She only knew, as his large cock slammed up her tube, that she was being fucked and that it was fantastic. Her body boiled internally and sweat ran from every pore of her skin.

And she fucked him. It didn't matter that he was the husband who had deserted her seven years ago. It didn't matter that she hated him passionately. It didn't matter that he had forced himself upon her. Caron Archer had never been so thoroughly fucked in her almost thirty years of life and she was so far from being finished it took her breath away, even as she and Lou moved into position after position.

He knew them all. Apparently he'd learned the KAMA SUTRA by heart. He took her in the congress of the elephant, the water buffalo, the cow, the pelican, and all the other animal names Vatsyayana dug up for describing fuck-postures. He draped her over the edge of the bed and fucked her from beneath. He gave it to her dog-style, hunching against her buttocks while she clawed at the bedclothes. He sixty-nined her, he put his cock between her small hard tits and worked back and forth until his cum gushed into Caron's face. He fucked her in the armpit while she kept herself in a clench, squeezing his cock against her moist, sweat-drenched skin. He fucked her in the ass once, not the first time she'd ever done it, but the first time she'd ever climaxed while being cornholed.

And when she climaxed, God, it felt as if she'd never stop! Her asshole and pussy were fucked raw, but her body ached for more, still more, as if she'd spent the last seven years in a nunnery and was only just broken loose from vows of chastity.

"You motherfucker, what are you doing to me?" she moaned between bouts, her fist clenched tightly on his cock as she shook and jerked him to a fresh erection.

"Something I should have done seven years ago, it appears," he replied, working his finger in and out of her aching twat. She whined, squirmed, milked his finger with her pussy muscles, bent low to suck his dick into her mouth and vacuum it hard with her well-trained lips. And when he jutted forth again, stiff and ready, Caron rolled obediently onto her back, knees up, one hand between her legs alternately spreading her cooze lips for his visual delight and rubbing herself in anticipation of what Lou was going to put inside her.

"Come here and fuck me, you bastard," she growled. "You bald-headed, walrus-faced bastard! When this is over, I'm going to pull that moustache out, hair by fucking hair."

He put his hand on her twat, fingering the cumsoaked fuzz that hedged her slice. "Every hair you pull out of me, I pull one out of you, bitch." He ground down, mashing the lips of her snatch, and she breathed in throaty delight. The mouth of Caron's pussy oozed cream, a thick tangy-smelling mixture of hers and his. "Does that lawyer give it to you like this?" he asked, coming down upon her with his cock at the ready. He worked it into her hole. "Does he make you scream the way I do?"

"Don't talk about that," Caron gasped. "Just fuck. Don't talk, fuck. Okay?"

"Okay, baby. You want it like this? Hard, fast, deep. Or like this? Slow, alternately shallow and deep, and oh, baby!"

"I just want it," she sobbed, scissoring her legs around his body. He worked from side to side, hitting new places in her pussy with each penetration. Caron rolled beneath him, never certain where he'd punch her next. He was long and deep. He filled her pussy to overflowing, and it felt as if he were fucking into her body itself, through her stomach, into the hollow place at the very core of Caron. How could two people who hated one another fuck so Goddamned fantastically? she asked herself. But they were living proof, and she screamed and creamed under him, moaning deep in her throat that she wanted still more, you son of a bitch, more, more, more!

It's doubtful she'd have heard the car even if she hadn't been slamming up and down on Lou's dong. Her head was full of ringing bells, and she probably wouldn't have heard the ringing at the door either. All she could do was romp up and down on the stabbing piece of love muscle, shivering as Lou mauled her hard, taut-nippled tits, as his hand dropped down and fingered her clit from time to time, sending fresh spurts of energy and lust through Caron's entire body. She could feel him, feel him with every inch and pound of her being. He was proving to be all man, all afternoon. He wasn't the old Lou at all. It was like meeting one of those strangers, one of the men she'd balled in dingy motels during her trampy days. She looked down at his flushed, sweating face, and she felt as if she'd never seen him before in her life. And how could she hate someone she didn't know? How could she fuck someone she hated? How could she – how could she – so many things she didn't, understand how she could possibly do, but she was doing them, doing them all. And through it, her mind raced ahead. If he didn't dog out on her, maybe she could persuade him to shove it up her ass again. God, the way she'd climaxed when he was reaming her! His hand on her clit, his dick shoved a mile up her asshole, both of them pumping like oil drills. Did that slutty little twat Melissa give it to him as well as she could? Had anyone been as good for him as she was, right now? She'd bet her life the answer was no, a big fat NO. Proof of his turn-on was, driven nine inches up her pussy and plunging deeper with each fresh stroke he gave her. I'm the best you ever had, you cocksucker, she thought in triumph. You know it and I know, it. And the knowledge was fulfilling. It gave her what she wanted, a fist on his balls, a tight, commanding fist.

She was thinking about that, fucking with a vengeance born of seven years kindling, when she heard someone call her name in a loud, startled voice. "Caron!"

"Oh, my God," she said, turning around, sliding to the left. Lou's stiff, juice-coated dong rocked out of her cunt and jiggled in lonely prominence. He sat up as she came down beside him. Paul Drake was standing in the bedroom doorway, his briefcase in his hand. His face was dead white under his tan and Caron had never seen a face so full of horror and shock in her life. He must have looked even worse than she did last night, when Lou appeared out of nowhere at the front door.

And worst of all, what had he walked into? How much had he seen? She didn't even have to guess. His face told the entire story. And then he began to speak, confirming what she already knew too well.

"What in the Goddamned hell is this?" he asked, pointing at them. His hand was in a fist and it shook tensely. For a moment Caron wondered if he might – just possibly – hit her, the way Lou had hit her. But Lou's would be a love-tap compared to the anger signified in Paul Drake's fist right now.

"It's – it's not what it looks like," she stammered. "It really isn't!"

"Do you know what it looks like?" Paul replied, closing the door behind him. "Do you want to know what it looks like?"

Lou laughed, a deep rumbly self-satisfied laugh, deep in his barrel chest. "Hell of a lot of nerve, buddy, walking into a bedroom when it's occupied by a husband and his sweet wife having a reunion."

Paul threw down the briefcase. "Get off that bed, you bastard," he growled. "I'm going to break you in half."

"Because she belongs to you?" Lou wondered. "Because I'm trespassing on some private pussy? Why don't we ask the lady herself? It seems to me that she has more say than anyone else about tins."

Caron couldn't look at either of them. She was off the bed, crouching on the floor staring into the corner. "Both of you go away," she said. "I am so embarrassed. I think I want to die."

Lou got off, went to her. He put his hand on ha shoulder and she looked up. "Listen, baby," he told her, "I've been around. I'm a civilized man. If you want a little on the side with Perry Mason here, it's okay. I won't object." He looked at Paul. "How does that grab you? The lady has enough to go around. I'm not possessive. You want to knock off a piece? Go ahead. Stand up, Caron. Good girl."

Paul ignored him. "Caron, I've brought the divorce papers. Do you have a gun in the house? I think we can even make his death look like suicide."

She shook her head. "I don't know, damn it! I just don't know anything anymore!"

Lou put his arm around her waist, squeezed her against him. His cock was sticking out, not at all inhibited by Paul's presence in the room. The smell of sex was strong, Caron realized. No one could have come into this room without knowing what had gone on this afternoon. Afternoon? She looked at her digital clock. It was a little past three. They'd been in here, she and Lou, since before eleven o'clock, fucking their brains out. The room smelled like the inside of a well-used rubber. And so, she realized too, did she. Her tits and thighs and crotch were sticky with spilled jism. Her lips were salty with the residue of Lou's sperm. She swallowed hard and she could taste the stuff, all the way down to her belly. What had she done? To herself? To Paul?

"Challenge, stud," Lou said, petting the side of Caron's tit. "Let the lady make her, own decision. Strip off that three-hundred-dollar suit and remind her how macho you are. And if you ring her chimes louder than I do, then it's settled. I'll pack up my bedroll and get the hell to wherever I'm going from here. What do you say, hot shot?"

"Lou!" Caron's voice, totally shocked.

"I'm not possessive, I told you," he said, fingering her nipple. "And the choice is up to you, baby. You've been balling me, and I know you've been balling him. You might as well run a test and see who gets the check mark."

Paul was livid. "That's disgusting," he said angrily. "That's…"

"All right," Caron said. "All right. Paul?"

"I thought I loved you," he said. "I thought you loved me. Is this all it means, Caron?"

"I don't know what anything means any more," she sobbed. "But this is the only answer that makes the least bit of sense. And if that doesn't show you what kind of trouble I'm in, Paul…"

She didn't finish. He had already thrown off his jacket and he was unknotting his tie. In a few moments he was naked, his lithe, tanned body in strong contrast to Lou's. Where Lou was hairy and big, Paul was smooth and slender. His cock hung limp between his legs, impressive even when soft. Caron looked at that dangling dick and she remembered how many times she had sucked it, fucked it, petted it to spurting orgasm. But never in front of a third party. Oh, God, what a mess! But she had no choice. Her mind was fucked up and she had to get straight. She slipped free of Lou, went to Paul. She offered him her mouth, and he kissed her gingerly. He could taste the semen on her lips, another man's semen. She couldn't blame him for being a little turned off by it. Caron lowered her eyes.

She took his cock in hand, squeezing it, toying with it with the practiced easy way that had never failed to bring him up, big and hard. He didn't respond. "It's not going to work," he said. "This is obscene."

"Yes," she said, "I guess it is. But there's no other way." She dropped to her knees, lifted his soft peter to her lips. She kissed its warm tip, started to lick him up and down. Her tongue was agile and frisky, and it had already had a workout today. If she couldn't mouth a man to erection now, she ought to turn in her lips at the door. She put him in her mouth and began to suck, easily at first, then very hard. Life flooded into his penis and it rose in her mouth. Caron drew back as he stiffened and she sucked furiously at the knobby bulging tip of him. It filled against her tongue and she leaned back. Paul was erect now, his cock red and ready, thrusting from his small patch of pubic hair. It was a beautiful cock, one she had loved to love. Until yesterday she had thought it the only cock in the world she'd ever want to love, but today her conceptions had been shattered and destroyed. She wasn't entirely sure who she was, not now, at three o'clock in the afternoon of this strange, mad day.

Caron stood up. Both her men were facing her, both of them naked and rigid. They were handsome men, each in their own ways, Paul young and lithe like a swimmer or a gymnast, Lou heavy and husky like a steelworker or a lumberjack. Their cocks thrust out proudly, and each of them had reason to be proud. She knew both those cocks, and now she was being forced, to choose between them.

She reached out with both hands, at the same time. It wasn't a time to show favoritism. She took hold of Lou's prick at the same moment she took hold of Paul's. Male power surged in her fists and she squeezed, relishing her command of that power. Two men at once, she thought. Two hard virile men to service me at the same time. And I'm sober enough to know what's going on. This might be an enriching experience after all.

The realization that she could even think in such a fashion almost shattered Caron's composure. But by then she was at the bed and her men with her. She settled onto the edge and they drew in, their cocks glaring at her. She looked at their faces. Lou's was sardonic, cynically amused, Paul's was tense and drawn. And how do I look, she wondered. If she turned around she could have seen herself in the mirror, but she didn't want to do that. She was afraid of what she might see, afraid she might be able to tell how much she relished this moment.

She lay back on the bed, her legs hanging over the side, her pussy slightly exposed by the spread of her thighs. "Who's first?" she asked saucily.

"Goddamn it," Paul said, clenched teeth muffling his words. He threw himself upon her, and his cock sawed into her twat. She kicked high into the air as he penetrated her, and it was a good stroke, a damned good stroke. He was hot and angry, and he fucked in a hot angry fashion. She clutched him with her arms, her legs, her pussy, and he drove relentlessly into Caron's cooze.

"Mmmmmmm," she purred, and it was good, but she wanted Lou to know it was good too. He stood beside the bed, watching, one hand stroking his peter, the other twirling the ends of his walrus moustache. She'd pull that damned thing out hair by hair, she reminded herself. Sometime when he least expected it. Maybe while he was asleep some night she'd take scissors and cut off one side of the wiry monstrosity. He'd wake up in the morning with half a moustache and a hell of a surprise.

Caron stiffened under Paul. What in the name of hell was she thinking about? That entire fantasy involved a future, and a future with Lou Archer. Moustache and all.

Paul sensed the sudden change in her mood. "Loosen," he said. "You wanted it this way and you're going to get it this way." He pumped her savagely, using a vindictiveness she'd never known in him before. She writhed and moaned and pushed at his chest. "No, softer," she murmured, but he didn't seem to hear. Her snatch, was raw from the fuckings it had already taken this afternoon and he scraped that raw livid flesh with his hard peter, pushed deep into the creamed-out center of her vagina, hit her womb with driving, ferocious stabs. She bucked and writhed under him, and it was a kind of rape, like that first assault from Lou, and she found it taking on a new depth, a new interest. Her body twisted, and his angle of penetration wasn't so agonizing. In fact, it was almost nice.

The bed depressed and she looked around to see Lou beside her, the tip of his cock pointed toward her mouth. "Chew this," he said, "and remember who's still the king."

He pushed, and she opened her mouth widely, as she had to in order to get his big tool comfortably inside. He thrust deep and she began to suck. The taste of cum, his and hers, was strong as garlic on his meat, lending a flavorful tang that was delightful on her tongue.

"Bitch," Paul growled. She half heard him, wasn't sure that he had really called her such a name. Maybe she was imagining the sound. She was more concerned with sucking Lou's fat prick, with moving her body to accommodate the vaginal piercing thrusts of Paul's sizable rod. Her knees came up, clutched at Paul's sides, and she worked one hand from his body, bringing it round to grab at the base of Lou's peter so she could cup his balls while she sucked his shaft.

Maybe Paul had called her a bitch after all. He began to fuck her like a rabbit humping its mate, and she couldn't shimmy fast enough to keep up with his strokes. He was hurting her again, hurting her with the impetuous drive of his cock. She made little choked moaning sounds around Lou's prick, and the vibration of her mouth seemed to inspire him with added arousal. He thrust deeper, until he was almost in her throat. Her cheeks were drawn in tightly and her tongue and lips made passionate love to his organ.

The sensation of being with two men at once was incredible. Caron's whole body was live and pulsating with stimulation. I wish I'd tried this a lot sooner, she thought. It had its own kinky brand of satisfaction. But there were so many things she'd never really tried. Like assfucking. Not until today had she understood the true glory of the act. How about cradling a pecker between her thighs – not inside her body, just rubbing the gash of her cunt from outside, frictioning her to distraction? Lou had taught her that one, too. Or making it with a woman. She'd never even thought of doing that. But Lou had spoken of it briefly, in passing, mentioned that Melissa would be delighted to join them in the sack.

Lou. Lou. Lou. She was thinking of nothing but Lou and the things he'd done to her today. Paul fucked like a maniac, and twenty-four hours ago she'd have been crawling out of her skin, ready to explode in a come. But what about today? Where was her head now, at three in the afternoon?

Paul groaned and shot off into her pussy. She felt his cock exploding, but there was no matching response from Caron's twat. She bucked against him, wanting to come, but somehow she couldn't. The urge was there but not enough power. He'd fucked her savagely, brutally, to prove a point – not to bring her the pleasure a man brings a woman. Was it so much different from Lou, slapping her around the kitchen, carrying her off to bed like a caveman?

Paul dragged his dick from her sheath and finished squirting onto her belly. She looked down, saw the thick drops of cum spurt from his prick, splattering her skin. It was a rather contemptuous gesture, she thought, and it reminded her of the time they'd gone to that dirty movie drive-in. All the sex scenes had ended that way, the male actors pulling their dicks out just before orgasm and creaming all over their partners' stomachs. She'd felt uncomfortable watching it. A man should ejaculate inside his woman – her mouth, her pussy, even her asshole, where Lou had squirted not more than an hour ago. She felt that same discomfort now, as Paul rubbed his sticky cum into the flesh of her abdomen.

"Suck mine now," he said. "You might as well give it the old taste test," and with that he too climbed onto the bed.

Caron moved back, making room for him, and she released Lou's penis. Reluctantly. She turned around, and there was Paul's rod, still erect despite his ejaculation. She took him in her fingers, and he was sticky with cum. She put him in her mouth and began to suck.

"C'mon, suck me, Caron," he growled fiercely. "Eat it all the way down!" He rammed into her, not caring if he hurt or not, and the head of his cock went all the way to her throat. She was used to taking him that deeply, but she required a little warm-up first and he'd not bothered giving it to her. Caron furrowed her brow and she thought as she blew.

At the same time, Lou was pulling her legs around. He worked his finger – surprisingly gentle – into her cummy snatch and reamed it round and round a few times. Her lower body began to undulate softly, arousal building. His thumb located her clit, which was not difficult to find, and he pressed down upon it. Bells started ringing inside Caron's head. She was hardly aware of the dick in her mouth, but she sucked it, steadily, mechanically, taking it deeply and loving it with everything she could bring to bear.

Lou's hand stayed busy between her legs, sliding around. Paul's cum was beginning its slow ooze from her slice and he greased her with the stuff, greased her puffy, fucked-up labia, smeared more of the sticky goo into her crack, working with his little finger till the sphincter of her asshole had popped open and he was inside her there. She moaned and her tongue did cartwheels around Paul's cock.

Lou came in behind her then, his stiff cock wet with her saliva, nudging her buttocks. "Spread 'em," he said, massaging her ass. She spread them, and the head of his prong came to rest in her crack. She couldn't tell where he meant to fuck her, in the bun that Paul had buttered or up the asshole. She twitched in suspense, and he teased her by moving his dick back and forth, pushing now at this hole, and now at that.

Finally he gathered up strength and he plunged. Her asshole hadn't tightened up a hell of a lot since he'd fucked it an hour or so ago, and he entered her with no trouble and no pain she could not handle. He went deep that stroke, and she knew that a cock was in her bung. A fat, thick, masterful cock, one that had already spurred her to come after come after come. What are we going to do about Melissa, she wondered, mouth full of Paul's cock, and she shivered a little, understanding that her decision was even now in the process of being made.

But he's a bastard. He deserted me and then, when I'd learned to get along without him, he came back. And look what he's done to me since he came back. Look what he's turned me into! I am a bitch. Paul was right. I am a bitch and I'll roll over for the first dog who comes along and sniffs my snatch.

She tried to count up Paul's good points, to remind herself that she loved, him, that he was the man who loved her. Until this morning it had been perfect for the two of them. Until this morning.

Paul came in her mouth, with no warning. He grabbed her head, forced her to stay in place while he pumped a thinner stream of semen into her mouth and down her throat. She swallowed obediently, tongue teasing him to squirt out more, and then his cock went soft in her mouth and she felt him slipping out. A little trickle of cum oozed across her lower lip and she looked up at him. Her eyes were trying to apologize, but she didn't think he could see that. His own eyes were still blazing, as they had been ever since he walked into the bedroom and discovered Caron pussy-full of Lou Archer. Well, he had a right to be angry. But she couldn't give it a lot of thought. Not now, when Lou was picking up speed in her asshole. He had her from behind, had her fully now. One of his hands mauled her small but sensitive tits, the other was busy with her cunt, thumb-tickling her clit, fingers working in and out of her pussy in counterpoint to the asshole splitting strokes of his thick cock. She moaned and writhed and fucked back at him, her breath coming in short gasps, her nipples rigid, her pussy full of juice. She reached down, touched his hand where he fingered her twat. One of her fingers slipped in, alongside his, and they finger-fucked her pussy in sweet happy tandem. His cock swelled and thrust in her rectum, and she knew he was almost there, ready to shoot. His fingers pinched off her slit and she moaned, knowing that she was almost there too.

"Do it, oh, do it," she whined, "make me come, make me fucking come!"

He did the scissors bit on her clitoris and that was all she wrote. Caron exploded. Her pussy convulsed and her rectum tightened like a vise on the swollen bulk of his dick. He kept fucking, into that constriction, fucking as best he could. Deep, slow strokes that plumbed the depths of her anal tube. Her finger was still in her snatch and she could feel, through the narrow wall of tissue that divided pussy and rectum, the steady, implacable penetrations of his cock. She could even sense the throb of his pulse, rippling through his dick. It was like touching him, finger to cock, and it was magic.

"Now," she moaned, "do it now, do it nowwww! Ohhhhhhh sweeeeetttt Jeeeeeesssuuussss!"

And if the first come had been spectacular, the second might have been orchestrated by Cecil B. De Mile. The only thing missing was Moses parting the Red Sea. Her body went crazy and so did Lou's. She felt every separate gush of cum he poured up her asshole, and she tried to keep count of them, but who could concentrate in a situation like this? He thrust into her seven, maybe eight, even nine times, each thrust dumping a globby squirt of cum deep in Caron's anal passage, and then he lay panting and hushed against her, holding her tightly as she sobbed and wept through the remainder of her own orgasm.

The room was silent when she and Lou came apart. Paul sat on the bed, sullen-faced, as if he'd been morally outraged by the display he had just witnessed. Caron's features were deep red, not from embarrassment, but from the exertion she'd been through. Taking on two men at the same time was exhausting, especially on the pussy. How many men had she fucked on the beach that time, years ago? Five or six? Maybe seven? She couldn't remember, and she was somehow thankful she couldn't. It wasn't the kind of thing she intended to do frequently in the future, and yes, thank you, she did, have a future.

Caron sidled off the bed. She ambled slowly across the room, walking gingerly to ease the strain on her crotch, and she took a robe from her clothes closet. It was late for modesty, but no matter. She'd been undressed all day and she felt like putting something on, even a dressing gown. She tied the sash around her waist and looked toward the bed. Lou and Paul were both sitting there, and she could see the curiosity on their faces. The big moment, she thought. How would Joan Crawford play it? Caron cleared her throat, as if she meant to speak, and both men looked up expectantly, but she remained silent.

"Paul," she said. "Would you get the divorce papers out of your briefcase?"

Did Lou's face drop a little? Did he lose just a hair of that infuriating smugness? Did his moustache droop ever so slightly? That moustache! No matter how good it felt on her clit, she hated moustaches.

Paul came to her, holding the papers. She took them, looked at each page, pensive, of face. "Mmm," Caron said, nibbling her lip.

And then she tore the papers up, one by one, tossing the shreds onto the floor. "I'm sorry, Paul," she said. "I'm very sorry."

Telling Sheila would be the hard part. Sheila hated Lou Archer and Caron doubted she could ever make her sister understand that it really was best for them to start over again as man and wife. I'm not even sure I understand, she reminded herself. But, God, the way he makes me feel when we're fucking! There's no romantic nonsense about it. We're a pair of animals and we interact beautifully. I think it will work, this time. But if it doesn't, I don't think he can ever hurt me again.

Paul had dressed and gone, some time ago. Lou had taken off in his VW, back to the mainland to pick up a case of champagne. "If you think you got it in the ass today," he told her at the door, "wait till tonight, after the party."

Melissa. Caron wasn't sure what they'd do about the girl. Lou had said she meant nothing to him, she was just a piece of ass he'd brought along for the ride. She could imagine him fucking the girl, and it made her a little jealous. He's not going to remember Melissa very long, Caron promised herself I'm going to screw that girl right out of what's left of his hair. That big bald spot was kind of cute. Maybe she'd paint it while he was asleep tonight. Or call in a tattoo artist and have him decorated with a butterfly. I must be crazy, Caron told herself as she walked up the dunes. "I must really be crazy," she added aloud, for the benefit of a passing seagull.

Where in the hell was Melissa? She hadn't seen the girl all day. Lou had said a seashell was enough to occupy her itsy-bitsy mind for a couple of weeks, though. Maybe she was painting her toenails somewhere and contemplating the meaning of life and the chemical structure of nail polish remover. Carol really didn't give a fuck.

She came out of some trees and stared across the intervening dip at Sheila's favorite painting spot, on the bluff overlooking the east cove. "My God," she said, stopping short.

She'd come to find Sheila, to break the news to her, but someone else had found Sheila first. Carol couldn't believe what she was seeing, over there on the bluff. Was she suffering from some kind of post coital madness? Or was that Sheila – and Melissa?

Melissa was naked, her body golden in the afternoon sunlight. Her blonde hair shimmered where it fell down her back and shoulders, and her tits were every bit as impressive as they'd looked inside that tight t-shirt yesterday. And Sheila was nursing on those big-nippled tits as if she were a baby and Melissa some kind of wet nurse. Melissa stroked Sheila's face, reached down now and then, into Sheila's unbuttoned blouse, caressing one of Sheila's smaller breasts. Even here, forty feet away, Caron could hear them moaning and purring. If that wasn't sexual, what was it?

Caron stepped back, leaned against a handy tree for support. Her tummy was full of butterflies. She still couldn't believe what she was seeing. Things Lou had said kept floating through her mind. "Melissa's made at least one conquest… Melissa's as queer as a six-dollar bill. She'll go down on anything." Caron called out her sister's name and the two girls came apart in a hurry, both of them staring across the little divide. Sheila sighed heavily and closed the front of her unbuttoned shirt. Melissa reached lazily for her towel, but she didn't put it on. She draped it over one shoulder, tossed back her long golden hair, then slipped her arm around Sheila's waist, and both of them sat back while Caron hurried to their vicinity.

"Hi," Melissa said, bouncily, cutely. Her tits bounced too, and as Caron got close she could see that Sheila's drool was foamy and bubbly on the stiff pink nipples. "How's every little thing with you?" she added, squeezing Sheila's shoulder. "Pretty good, if your face is any indication."

"Sheila," Caron said. Her sister got up slowly, buttoning her shirt. "We have to talk, kid." They walked down the other side of the hill together, Caron shivering despite the summer heat. Had she really seen that? Sheila sucking Melissa's tits? And what did it mean? She looked back over her shoulder. Melissa was picking up something, tossing it over the edge of the bluff, into the water far below. Caron couldn't be sure, but it looked like a painting that had been slashed to pieces. Melissa was still naked, towel hanging over her shoulder, and her ass was twitchy and provocative. She had a glorious all-over tan, and her body moved with patented allure.

"Sheila…"

"Caron…"

They'd both spoken at the same time. Sheila gulped. Her face was red and she was obviously struggling for composure. "I might as well tell you now," she said. "If you didn't guess, I know you saw us, and I know you must be wondering. You've been worried about me for a long time, afraid I'd never meet Mr. Right, huh? Well, I haven't been looking for Mr. Right, Caron. You might say I've been looking for Ms. Right. Caron, I'm a lesbian. I've been one since I was sixteen, and I don't intend to be anything else. I'm not ashamed of it. The only reason I never told you was because I didn't think you'd understand. Well, it's too late to cover it up now. I'm in love with Melissa and I think she's sort of in love with me. She's coming back to Darien with me. I guess we'll go tomorrow. I know you'd be uncomfortable having us around, especially after you get rid of Lou, so…"

Caron sighed heavily. "You think you've got problems of explanation?" she asked, cupping Sheila's chin. Her eyes were kind and as understanding as she could make them. "Lou isn't leaving. We've – we've decided to reconcile, to give it one more try. My God, Sheila, how could you be a les… a les… I can't even say it! How could you have been that way all these years?"

"I have been, and I am, and I will continue to be," she replied. "It's me, Caron, it's the way I am. I don't want to change. Wait a minute. Did you just tell me that you and Lou, that you and that slimy son of a bitch…"

"He's not so slimy if you give him half a chance. Bear with me, huh, kid? I had a choice to make, and I made it, and I hope it's the right one. But as for you – you're my sister, you can't be gay. You're just a little mistaken. But for the love of shit, it you have to have a girlfriend, can't you do better than Melissa, of all people? She has the I.Q. of a Chihuahua! She worked in a massage parlor! She made porno movies! She is trashy and cheap and she's the sluttiest thing I have seen on two legs."

Sheila sighed. "I know all that. But I love sluts! And who are you to be talking about bad choices? Oh, Caron," and she embraced her sister. "Don't be so tight," she added. "I'm not going to rape you, for Chrissake! You're not a slut, and that means you're not my type! See? I can kiss you without sticking my tongue down your throat. Now, if you were about a 38-D around the chest, and if you swung your hips like a truck stop waitress, and if you snapped chewing gum all the time – well, you wouldn't be so safe. Oh, Caron, did you let him screw you? Is that what changed your mind? Melissa told me he was going to try to get you into bed, but I thought it would never work. Did he? And that's what made you decide…"

Caron nodded, a little sadly. Sheila hugged her. "He told me," Caron said, "not in so many words, but plain enough I could have read him if I'd been a bit smarter, that you had your eye on Melissa, too. What are we getting ourselves into, Sheila? You and me? These people come out of nowhere, plant themselves on our doorstep, and the next thing you know they've got us both in the sack. Are we that crazy, the two of us? Do we think with our cunts?"

Sheila giggled. It was a pretty flutelike sound, and Caron couldn't help giggling too. "I guess so," Sheila said. "After all, we're women. And when it gets right down, what can we trust, except our cunt and our hearts? If it doesn't work, we can always cry on each other's shoulders. You brace me and I'll brace you. Fair enough, Caron?" And she offered her sister a hand to shake.

"Fair enough," Caron agreed. They shook, but they didn't unclasp their hands. I wonder what it would be like, Caron thought. I know how it is with a man, but what about with a woman? Is it really different? Different enough to commit your whole life to? Sheila thinks so, obviously, and I can't understand her reasoning, any more than she can understand why I'm so ready to give Lou Archer another chance. We're crazy, both of us. But I don't care!

Holding hands, they went back up the hill to Melissa. The blonde girl was still naked, her shaven pubes a landmark between her thighs. Caron looked at the hairless slit, tried to imagine Sheila licking it, then tried to imagine herself licking it. Who knows, she thought, who knows what is coming next?

Down below, on the causeway from the mainland, they could see Lou and his VW, racing home with that case of champagne. Party tonight. And tomorrow? Tomorrow would have to take care of itself. For Caron, for Sheila. They were trusting their pussies and their hearts, and maybe this time their trust would be rewarded. It wasn't too much to ask of life, and Caron knew that the chance was worth the risk.