He began flying then. His body whipped like spring steel, smashing the tremendous bulk of his cock into her.
He went rigid. Lily shrieked and stopped dead for a split second while his balls climbed up into his cock and squirmed through. He lunged and his nuts shot off, spewing into her.
She whacked at him, her cunt milking in uncontrolled, gulping seizures.
His second shot seemed to blow holes in her. She collapsed.
He cried, 'I've got more! Lily, are you over the top?'
'I'm over two tops,' she panted. 'Honey, I'm coming again. Give me the rest of it.'
He slammed in. Lily screeched and hammered at him and clawed his back. Her hips were swinging through huge circles, winding up until they exploded in voracious cunt gulps sucking his semen.
His testicles were empty but he fucked on, driving Lily over yet another peak of orgasm.
CHAPTER THREE
At the office Kit escaped her lust for Sonny through work. The boss had heaped her desk with reels of tape to be typed up, stacks of documents for photo-reproduction, and wads of memos. He had already taken the bag of golf clubs he kept at the office and headed for the country club.
Her job was largely a matter of organization, having a girl Photostat the documents, routing the tapes through the typing pool-later she would correct the spelling and send the stuff back to be retyped-making phone calls dictated by the memos, and filing it all away.
She kept an eye on the office's trysting ground, the water cooler.
When she saw Don Whitlaw head for it she abandoned work, fluffed her hair, and set out on the prowl.
Sauntering toward him she felt her cunt lips squish together. She was as randy as a cat on a rooftop.
Don was a grinning, lanky, disjointed, floppy haired guy with melting eyes.
He said, 'Here comes Mrs. Pretty. Hello, Mrs. Pretty.'
'Pretty what?' She knew what they called her.
'Knees,' he said. 'Mrs. Pretty Knees.'
She filled a paper cup with ice water. Tasting it, she made a wry face. 'Lousy beer, huh?'
'As beer, it is watery.' He was looking at her breasts. She wore a yellow summer dress with thin shoulder straps, the bosom scooped out, a garment she had chosen for his delectation. He leered at her cleavage. 'Mrs. Knees, you sure are pretty.'
'But thirsty. This being beer season.' She knew Don was a beer drinker.
'Well! The boss is off for the afternoon. And Barney's Bistro has suds on tap.'
'Let's split this scene,' Kit said.
Her plan to seduce Don Whitlaw ran into nothing but snags. They were no sooner ensconced on barstools at Barney's when a guy from the shipping department appeared, saying he had guessed from their departure that the big boss had left for the day.
He and Don talked baseball and drank beer while Kit, fuming with anger, sipped a gin and tonic. Shortly the shipping guy's two girl assistants appeared. One climbed all over Don. Other people arrived and within an hour a full-fledged office party was in progress.
A couple of men were flirting with Kit but she had her eye on Don. Seeing him duck out toward the phone booths, she followed, feeling so frustrated, so hot-crotched, so desperately in need of being fucked that she decided to simply demand that he take her to a motel.
He was talking on the phone when she opened the door and crowded into the booth.
His arm slid around her. He gave her a hug.
He said to the phone, 'Honey, she's here right now. Kit, I have the wife on the line. Myra wants you to come to but house for supper. Can do?'
Kit could have screamed.
His wife had invited her for family supper, when her cunt was dripping like a leaky faucet!
But she agreed. At least this would let her stay away from home, giving Sonny and Lily more time to be together.
In her car, Kit followed Don's vehicle to Poplar View, a new development on the edge of town. Her jaundiced eye saw the place as ugly, a scatter of split-level houses clumsily plopped down on treeless, raw-looking lots. She positively hated Don for rejecting her, and his wife too, and their shitty house!
Don ushered her in the front door. She was pleasantly surprised by the living room. It featured a handsome sofa in color and apple green, some good antiques, boldly colorful abstract paintings on the walls.
Myra thrust out of the kitchen, calling, 'Darlings!'
She was a tall, golden-limbed blonde wearing white shorts and a halter in which big tits bobbed and lurched. Kit eyed her resentfully, blaming her for Don's having come home. Myra was a luscious piece, and young, in her early twenties. Stiff competition.
Kit's attitude shifted to curiosity on recalling the party night when Myra had startled her by caressing her behind.
Myra gave her no time for speculation, seizing her arm and wheeling her to the kitchen, saying, 'Don phoned that he was boozing with Mrs. Pretty-'
'Pretty Knees,' Don put in.
'Then stop leering at her titties,' Myra laughed. 'And I said, Invite Mrs. Pretty-'
'Knees-'
'Oh shut up, darling. Invite her to dinner, I said. Kit, I'm so glad to see somebody from the world of the living! I am sick to puking over housewife talk of detergents and recipes. How beautiful you look! Gin and tonic, right? Don told me on the phone. You must be dying of thirst after the long drive here.'
Despite herself, Kit smiled at Myra's rapid-fire chatter. Don's eyes twinkled as he watched his wife prance about, whipping a tonic bottle from the refrigerator, pouring gin with a generous hand. Don obviously doted on her. No wonder Kit's attempted seduction had failed. Myra seemed to fill the room, her golden limbs flashing, her big wobbling breasts tugging the halter this way and that.
She told her husband, 'Chancy called over that he's having trouble patching his boat. He needs your fiberglass expertise. And he's run out of beer.'
Kit saw their glances meet in one of those husband-and-wife gazes in which many things were said, unreadable by a third party.
He protested, 'But Kit is here-'
'I'll keep Kit company. We'll yell when dinner is ready.'
He opened the refrigerator and took out a six-pack of beer and headed for the back door. Myra watched him intently. The moment the door had closed she clutched Kit's arm.
She whispered, 'Can you keep a secret? I mean, Don would kill me if he found out, he's so fucking square. Come on. The living room.'
Kit followed her to the other room. Myra opened a chrome cigarette box on a lamp table and rummaged among king-sized filter tips.
She whispered, 'I can't trust any of the neighborhood gals. They're so small-minded. But you've been around. See, it's no fun alone.'
She drew a thin, hard-looking pink cigarette from under the white ones.
'Marijuana?' Kit asked.
Myra nodded. 'It's the best grass, Panama Red. Do you want to turn on?'
'Well, I've only tried it a couple of times, never getting much out of it.'
'This will send you.' Myra seated her on the couch, dropped down beside her, lighting the cigarette. She sucked hard on it, lips compressed, drew until her face turned red. Biting firmly to hold in the smoke, she tugged the cigarette from her lips and handed it to Kit.
It was all too sudden. Kit gazed vacantly at the hard pink tube in her fingers.
The disruption of her plans had left her adrift.
