I stuck my finger between her lips and held it here, waiting, not moving. She became impatient and her hips began to thrust at my hand, arching forward until my finger was sliding more deeply between her portals. With each arc of her hips she was giving a small cry and her hands stayed busy, working over my penis and then shifting to my balls, so that no part of my crotch was left neglected.
“I should imagine it's time to shift gears,” I suggested, croaking into her ear like a dying man after his final piece of tail. “I dare say,” she whispered with a shudder that tore through her like an Iowa twister.
I turned her around and she looked down at my cock, and then into the exposed gates of her loins. By now her skirt was around her ankles and the pants had long since given up, parting like silk clouds in a blue sky.
“Another pair down the drain,” she complained, not meaning it one bit.
“A wonderful way to go, struck down in the midst of glorious battle.”
She took my penis, studied it like a shortstop looks at a hot grounder he's picked up before firing to first, and then she placed the head against her box. Her hips pushed and half of the knob sank inside. We waited and I wondered if she were testing me, for Id been known to go off before even being properly seated.
I closed my eyes and concentrated, thinking of every movie star I'd ever wanted to roll and finally switching to someone closer to home-Trudy Pipp. My staff at once began to convulse; great ripples travelling its length, each one expanding the big red knob that was buried inside my wife.
“Very, very good,” she whispered through clenched teeth. “You get an 'A' in today's lesson.”
“This is night school, honey,” I gasped, as my stuff began to pour.
She pulled me against her, grabbing the cheeks of my bottom and steering me as though she had her hands on the handles of a powerful lathe. I was seated in her, all the way home, my balls flapping against her thighs. Then she was shaking, her knees giving way so that I had to hold her up.
“This, as the general told his troops, is it.”
“Stop blabbing, general.”
Then we were shooting our milk into each other, hard, my stuff pouring forth and splashing against the base of her womb. I was rather proud, for it hadn't been too much earlier that I'd enjoyed a similar ejaculation. I'm twenty-seven, you understand, and, according to some sex experts, I'm a good ten years past my prime. What do they know? Hopefully, I'm a medical freak.
Amy was letting go, giving me everything, her knees recovering their strength and gripping me as though she were squeezing every drop from a toothpaste tube. We emptied our sex organs, draining our desire until I half fell against the sea wall and she clung to me.
When it was over we picked up our things and I helped her get back into her dress. Her shattered pants went into my coat pocket and I knew we'd have a load for the cleaners when we got home.
Back in the car she opened her knees enough for me to slip my hands between her thighs and then up against the drying lips of her box. The slight shaking of the car caused her to become moist all over again and I looked her in the eye.
“God, you need more?”
She snuggled on my shoulder, her breast poking. “I think that's possible.”
I shook my head, wondering how she could keep from becoming pregnant after such a thorough servicing. I had shot so much so deeply that even a wall of birth control pills would have been broached.
As always, time would tell. For now, it was time to get home, time to check on that chicken dog and his keeper, the teen-aged temptress, Trudy Pipp.
We drove in silence and I wondered if Amy was thinking the same thoughts as I. It was funny but, even as I knew we satiated one another, somehow there was a need for more. We had always resisted the impulse to get into the swapping game, even though Sam and Alice Champion had made it clear enough that they wouldn't turn a deaf ear to such a proposal.
Even as Amy had drained me of passion, even as those lovely legs had squeezed my waist time after time over the past months, even as she gave me all the loving any normal man could desire, there was that age-old wish to try something new. That was where Trudy Pipp had come into the picture.
I felt guilty about seducing her, even though she'd offered it to me on a platter. After all, I was a man and man had to have his pleasures. I almost had the feeling that I wouldn't seem so guilty if Amy were getting her kicks, too. So far as I knew she'd never cheated on me.
Sure, she'd been working for Pratt in his dental office for some time, but I didn't think a dentist who was losing his hair could beat my time with my wife. If that happened, then I deserved to lose her through sheer neglect. No, Pratt wasn't making out. He was too interested in abscesses and drainage canals.
We pulled into the drive and I pressed the button that opened the garage door. Inside, we paused, looking around for Alexander. He wasn't in sight.
“She said something about letting him into the house, I think,” I muttered, showing supreme disinterest in anything Miss Trudy Pipp might be up to.
Once in the house we found the two of them curled up in front of the television, Alexander flat on his side and Trudy fast asleep, her head lying on his stomach. She looked like a range cowboy being faithful to his pinto.
Alexander's eyes opened and his tail thudded on the carpet, but Amy had to kneel and shake Trudy's shoulder before those melting glacier eyes opened. They blinked and then looked at me. They shifted to Amy and then back to me, shooting a question to which I blinked an answer in Morse code.
She sat up, smiling and stretching until I thought her firm buns might pop out of her blouse, but they didn't. Scrambling to her feet, she looked at the clock. “Golly, it's late. I didn't know.”
“Don't worry about it,” Amy muttered, her voice flat. “After all, you made money with each tick of the clock.”
“Gee, I guess that's right, Mrs. Brady. Did you have a nice bridge game?”
Amy looked at me for a long time before swinging her eyes back to the perky blonde. “Lovely, but it's time my husband took you home.”
She shook her head. “I don't mind walking. It's only a couple of blocks away.”
Amy was firm. “It's also after midnight and we're responsible for seeing that you get back to your aunt's place safely. All right, Donald.” She always called me Donald instead of Don when she was trying to impress somebody or when she was sore. At that moment she was probably halfway in between.
Trudy and I headed for the door. “I hope I did well enough so you'll ask me to sit again, Mrs. Brady,” the kid was saying over her shoulder as Amy knelt and stroked Alexander's heavy coat. He was trying to get up to follow, but she gripped his collar, keeping his head down.
“You did beautifully, my dear. I hope Alexander behaved himself.”
“He was a dreamboat. Gosh, you wouldn't know he was afraid of the dark, he's so big and strong.”
Amy snorted. “You'll someday discover men are like Alexander in that respect, Trudy. Good night.”
It took less than half a minute to drive to Trudy's Aunt Charlotte's old two-story home and I stopped, letting the engine idle while I dug into my pocket and pulled out some bills. “This ought to cover it.” I murmured, “And there's no deduction for refrigerator raiding. Good night.”
She paused, her hand on the door. “I will be sitting at your house again, won't I, Mr. Brady?”
I shrugged. “Who knows? Alexander might not make it as a permanent member of the household, or he might quit being chicken or my wife and I may never again go out at night. It's really difficult to say, Trudy.”
She got out but leaned back through the window long enough to say, “I think you'll be calling me anyhow.”
“I told you…”
She reached inside the car far enough to grasp at my crotch, catching me right on the head of my penis, which she squeezed.
“Yes,” she whispered, agreeing with herself, “you'll be calling… unless your dong is just naturally half hard like that all the time.”
When she let go I drove home to my wife and Alexander.
CHAPTER SEVEN
