the wet crease until her finger was sticky and moist and the aroma of hot excited pussy filled her nostrils where she knelt. She moaned, gasped, started working her fingers into herself, fucking her pussy with passionate groans that were torn from her heart, from her very soul.
Melissa was singing with this song too, if you could call it singing. At the very least you could call it sexy. If I had my guitar, Sheila thought, we could do duets. Even her sour notes sound good. One song drifted into another while Sheila masturbated and stared, and almost before she had time to appreciate the change, Melissa was down there, flatting only an occasional note as she joined the recorded voice of Debby Boone on “You Light Up My Life”.
She went down onto her knees on the sand, dropping the radio onto the beach. She stretched a hand toward Lou and he reared up, his bald pate gleaming in the firelight.
Sheila stroked herself furiously as the tableau kept shifting before her wondering eyes. With her free hand she managed to unlace the top of her gown. She thrust her hand inside, eager to pinch and maul her tits. The nipples of her small hard boobs were firm and upright, and she seized them avidly, squeezing till her breath shortened and her whole body shook and ached with raging arousal. Drool oozed from one corner of her mouth. She couldn’t control the flow of her saliva. She tried to swallow the excess; maybe that would help her tight, dry throat. But she had to stop, just short of choking on excess spit. Her finger kept socking in and out of her foaming pussy and she was feeling those strokes, all the stabbing way in, all the shuddery way out. Her muscles clenched and sucked, and her snatch was full of wetness. She hadn’t been this hot in months. Not since—not since the last time with Claire. The last good time. And how long ago had that been?
An eternity. At least an eternity.
That had been their song, too. “You Light Up My Life”. Sheila had learned it on guitar and she used to sing it to Claire, sing it in a quavering, loving voice. To hear it now, to remember it, as Lou and Melissa came together on the beach—oh, it was too much! She ought to go to bed, stop this degrading voyeuristic game she was playing with herself. But she couldn’t. Her eyes were glued to Melissa’s naked body down there on the beach, and she could try to make her mind filter out the disturbing presence of Lou. God, where had be gotten the girl? How long had Sheila been looking for someone just like Melissa? And how long had she been finding them, only to lose them? Lou was only a man, but he had Melissa.
The song went on, gospel-like piano chords emanating from the radio on the sand. Sheila’s heart raced inside her bosom and her fingers raced inside her pussy. It was a toss-up who would win, heart or fingers. She was stroking herself hard now, masturbating furiously, her eyes following Melissa as she knelt on the beach, offering herself shamelessly to Lou Archer.
He was kneeling too, and their bodies rocked together. She was dry humping against him, doing it like a slut. She was a slut. Of course she was. Sheila had known that the first time she saw Melissa. “But I love sluts,” she whimpered. “God, I love them!”
Melissa pulled back a little and, profiled in front of the fire, Lou was obviously hard in his pants. Sheila dug into her twat with three fiery fingers, pounding them like hammers on the anvil of her lust. She jerked them free, drove them home again, drove up her snatch until her throat tightened and her body seemed on the verge of becoming jello. That was how Melissa deserved to be loved. In the soulful, intense way that only another woman was capable of loving her. A woman like me, Sheila thought. A woman exactly like me!
Caron would strip Lou when the divorce settlement was finalized. She’d take his money and his property and everything except the clothes on his back. If they were lucky, and drew a woman judge for the case, Caron might also be granted the right to castrate her ex-husband in open court. She was entitled to all that, and more. But if it was me, Sheila thought, if it was me, I’d take nothing. Nothing but Melissa. That would hurt him where it really counted, in his pride, in his Goddamn balls. And what would it do for me? It would light up my life, oh, God, it would light up my life, brighter than that fire on the beach, brighter, than the sunshine at noon. Even if I knew I’d get my heart broken one more time. Even if I knew the pain would kill me, Sheila thought, I would take that girl and I would teach her to love, to be loved, I would take her, I would take her, I would take her.
Lou was stripping himself, with help from Melissa. She pulled the shirt over his head and shoulders, and then he reached down to undo his pants. She fell onto her belly on the sand before him, jerking at his jeans. His cock bounced out and smacked her in the face. The fire’s glow made his cock look red as the devil’s ass.
Sheila’s heart recoiled at the sight. God, it was so big and gross! Ugly! All cocks were ugly, but this one was uglier than any other cock because it belonged to an ugly, vicious man. How could Caron have allowed him to use that ghastly thing on her, even if she had been married to him? How could she have let Lou degrade her with that tool, let him fuck her, let him… oh, God…
Melissa said, “Ooooohhhhh, honey, it looks good enough to eat!” She said it in that dreamy little voice of hers, a child’s voice in a woman’s body. Sheila closed her eyes a moment, trying to remember the name of that actress, the one she couldn’t stand to watch, the one who always played teenaged sluts and did tit scenes in R- rated movies. Same voice. Soft and sweet and light as a feather, and as innocent as a ten-year-old asking for a lick of that tasty-looking pecker.
“Then eat it,” Lou said, and Sheila wanted to crawl under a rock. She didn’t want to watch this—she knew what was coming, knew how much it would hurt —but she couldn’t tear her eyes away, even when she tried. She could still see it, plain and clear, Lou thrusting his cock into Melissa’s sweet mouth.
Grabbing him by the legs, she began to eat him up and down, gobbling, swallowing, making loud, vulgar slurpy sounds. It made Sheila queasy. Until now she could almost have pretended that Melissa’s erotic display was for her benefit, for Sheila’s own private arousal. But not now. She understood the game that was being played on the beach, and she understood that she could only spy on it. No one would ask her to join in.
The tears flowed more freely as she watched Melissa humiliate herself, make her mouth a receptacle for that man’s throbbing prick, as she watched Melissa apparently reveling in her own shame. It was Sheila’s shame too. She didn’t want to watch, but she couldn’t stop. She didn’t want to fuck herself, but she couldn’t stop her fingers from reaming madly in and out of her pussy. The sprawl of Melissa’s busty, ripe frame on the sand, the curve of legs and hips, the thrust of tits—they were too much, God, too much! Sheila was excited and she was saddened, and she was so ashamed of herself for what she was doing, but she couldn’t make her fingers go limp in her steamy jungle of a twat, and she couldn’t force her pussy to stop snapping like a piranha at those fingers.
Her nipples were stiff, agony swelling and coursing in them each time her hand brushed the rubbery little tips. She knew that a warm wet mouth could make those nipples feel good—better than good —but she didn’t have a warm wet mouth to suck on her, only her fumbling, aroused hand, clawing over her lust-hardened boobs, pinching viciously at her swollen, aching nipples.
“You gonna fuck me?” Melissa asked, wiping drool from her mouth as she sat up. She had a smug grin on her face. Forty feet away, Sheila could see that grin. Lou’s cock jutted up with a slight curve in its length, giving him the appearance of a scimitar someone had tried, not successfully, to straighten out. Sheila was good at estimations. Space and proportion were part of her calling as an artist. And she knew that Lou was a well-hung man, that his cock was big and fat and long and thick, bigger than the average, bigger than any other prick she had ever seen. The knowledge fired her with rage. Was Melissa like other women? Did she think of nothing but length, thickness, stiffness? Did her every waking dream center around a stiff prick? Was she really just another Claire, after all, another Lucy, another Janice, another Melanie?
“It seems kinda kinky,” Melissa observed, lying back on the sand, her knees up. “I mean, here we are. Your wife in the house and us on the beach. Shouldn’t we at least invite her to join us?”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, baby?” Lou teased, coming into the spread of Melissa’s legs. He put his hands on her knees, worked them. She tossed her blonde hair around. Obviously she was happy.
“Think she’s sexy?” Melissa made a humming sound that meant yes. “You should have seen her when I left,” Lou added. “She was a nothing. Student in one of my classes, used to come sucking around to me after class. Not much to look at, all stringy hair and knobby knees, but I wasn’t much myself then. All I knew was Keats and Wordsworth and Shelley. We used to go to motels and recite poetry. It was a hell of a lot better than the fucking we did.”
Sheila’s ears burned. She was hearing something she had no right to hear, but it was not Lou’s right to talk about Caron that way, either. As if she were a thing. She was a woman, and she was a good woman. She’s my sister, Sheila thought. I ought to go out and kick his nuts. Get some use from the karate lessons I took. The fucking pig!
“Are you better now?” Melissa giggled.
