Chapter 13

Mavis awoke with the sweet realization that she was naked atop the covers in hers and Phil's bedroom. My husband, she thought, must haste carried me upstairs to bed. She stretched slowly, deliciously. Criminy! Hank Carr gave me a good fuck!

Her cunny still crawled and convulsed with the pleasure of having his huge cock socked into it.

With eyes still closed, Mavis caressed her firm titties and pinched the nipples. One thing, though, she frowned: Hank wasn't the robber who had raped her. She reviewed the situation quickly. And it hadn't been Willie Quentin. And she was positive it wasn't Dell Emerson. Who? Her quest for the man with the tantalizing growth--or wart--on the side of his penis might never be fulfilled. She could fuck all the Mormons and Catholics in Utah and still not find him! What a helluva way to try to help her husband crack a robbery--bed all the men around!

Mavis stifled a giggle. What a delightful way to conduct an investigation... give all the suspects the third degree between her thighs, grilling them--and their peters--in her pussy!

She turned onto her side and opened her eyes slowly. She squinted and smiled broadly. Phil was lying on his hack beside her. He was blessed with a massive hard-on and his husky gonads were rolled high in their crinkled sac.

Delicately, Mavis raked a fingernail across the purplish head and restrained the desire to laugh as her hubby's stomach muscles crawled and his erect penis trembled. Gentry, she jacked him off, just running the tip of an index finger over his thick shaft, working the tight, thick skin up and down.

Phil groaned; his ass bucked upward to meet her touch. "She sucked the whole thing," Phil mumbled and a smile brightened his expression. "She ate and sucked and swallowed the whole thing."

Mavis pouted, then frowned. He was talking about Miriam Carr. It was clear to her. Miriam had given Phil a blow-job-- and it was still in his mind. She has to be a master at cock- sucking, Mavis thought, if the pleasure she gives a man will dominate his subconscious. Mavis raised on an elbow to study her husband. Phil had been sucked off and he, obviously, had liked the lips of a woman--Miriam--lapped around his dong slavering and licking and sucking!

"Christ!" Mavis whispered softly, "he still has lipstick all over his packer--and it's matted in his cock hair and smeared all over his belly and balls."

You bastard! she swore softly, taking hold of his long, hot shaft. She began to masturbate him in a determined manner and his body jerked rhythmically.

"Oooooohhhhh," Phil mumbled. "She sucked and ate the whole thing."

Mavis jacked him off with greater diligence, rising to use both hands on his prick. Faster and faster. If it hadn't been for Miriam's mouth paint all over her husband's genitals, she would have been tempted to blow him herself! But she drew the line. She decided she would see if he had any jizz left in his reservoir...

"And he does..." she smirked as she felt the tensing in his pipe. She worked harder on his joint. "Shoot, you bastard! Shoot your cum all over yourself!"

She whipped her hands up and down on his cock and kept it up all the time Phil ejaculated thick spurts of sperm all over his belly, even up into his chest hair.

He awakened with a start and frowned as he realized that Mavis had jacked him off all over himself. Then he grinned as she scampered off the bed. "At least Miriam didn't create a mess." He swatted futilely at her naked butt.

"She may have sucked you off and you didn't get cum all over everything," Mavis corrected, "but she left you a mess--your club all painted up for war. I'll make some coffee."

"It wasn't Hank, was it?" Phil called after her.

"He doesn't have a wart on his dingus," Mavis replied.

As Mavis was fixing breakfast, Phil received a telephone call. Over their third cups of coffee, he said, "I have to chase my ass over to Reno. That was my boss on the phone. And, according to him, I am more and more under suspicion in connection with the robbery here."

His tone was mild, but his bitterness wasn't concealed from Mavis. She saw his eyes briefly and the pain in them almost made her cry.

"Oh, how can they think you were mixed up in it? You weren't even in the area."

"But I was in the area," Phil shook his head. "I can't account for some five hours of my time even though I was here, at home, at the time the robbery occurred."

Mavis turned away. More than ever, she wished she could strip away the mystery--that is, strip the robber, screw him, if necessary, and find the man with the wart on his peter.

She wished Phil didn't have to leave, but realized that being busy, on an investigation, would be better for him than being idle, waiting for something to happen.

How, she wondered, could Willie and Hank be so blithe and carefree about the robbery? They just seemed to be so nonchalant about the whole thing. And her husband was the one who was catching all of the hell!

She was just kissing Phil good-bye when Terry Lewis drove up, obviously a little tight. The trim little pixie sauntered up, wearing hot pants and weaving her vixen body enticingly. "Mavis, do you know where Connie and Miriam are?"

Mavis suppressed a frown as she caught a brief glimpse of the way her husband peered at the diminutive, but very seductive little orangish blonde.

"No," Mavis said, "I haven't seen them." She was tempted to tell her husband, Get the hell out of here, or fuck her right now, on the lawn!

It was indelibly in her mind, the wanton scenes of Terry Lewis. She was a fuck-kitten and, probably wouldn't object to Phil's stripping her down to the buff, slamming her down on her back or taking her on all fours. Terry fairly oozed sex; an aroma of fuck-fuck seemed to emanate from her every pore--not to mention her crotch orifice!

"I'll call you when I arrive in Reno," Phil grinned and Mavis frowned as he started the engine and backed slowly from the drive. Oh, you'll fuck her later, huh? She waved goodbye until Phil turned the corner and was out of sight. Without even turning, Mavis was aware of Terry close behind her, could smell the sweet perfume of hot pussy. The very proximity of a vibrant, warm female primed for a sex domain whatever form--started Mavis' sexual organs churning... the puffy lips of her pussy grew hot and her coital channel seethed with lustful anticipation. "Let's go in the house," Mavis said.

"And have a drink and take off our clothes and play fun games," Terry tittered, falling in beside Mavis. As they entered the back door, Terry taunted, "I'll bet you haven't had a chance to get a sweet screw from your husband since he got home from Wyoming, have you? But, you've been getting some stiff dick, haven't you?" Terry teased.

Mavis ignored the all-too-true analysis. As she mixed drinks in the kitchen, tried to keep her eyes from the great expanse of bare skin revealed by Terry's scanty attire, she asked, "Whose car are you driving? That isn't yours and Mickey's."

"Maybe not, maybe so," Terry pouted. "It's a T-Bird. I like it and I'll have it."

Mavis had never made many Singapore Slings, and the third pair of them didn't go any faster. She merely frowned as Terry said, "I got something in the car," and she ran through the house, her woman aroma wafting on the air. When her measurements proved faulty, Mavis tilted the bottles of straight booze into the glasses.

She wasn't happy, but was, strangely, exultant about the delicious sensation of her pussy fairly steaming with anticipation of having sex-fun with Terry Lewis!

"Did you like the randying you got from Del Emerson, Mavis?" Terry winked when she returned. "And how about Mr. Carr? And Mr. Quentin? And, how many others, Mavis?"

Mavis didn't like the subtle, prying inquiry about--what Mavis interpreted--her life as a whore. "Did you like your trick with the boxer?" Mavis countered. "How about your being jumped and sex-banged by that dirty old Ben Glover?"

"Massive cock!" Terry grinned, drinking deeply. "Mean as hell--the way he fucks a girl!"

Mavis' pulse quickened, but she recoiled mentally. She didn't want Ben Glover's insidious prick in her body. Yet, provocatively in her mind was the thought... does that lecherous old man have a wart on the side of his long pussy--pole? God! Would she have to fuck him to find out? To determine whether he might have or might not have been the robber who had fucked her during the night of the supermarket heist?

She shuddered with grim dread. Would she have to? Have to fuck him--take his sex joint into her canny? She wouldn't ask Terry if she remembered whether or not the lustful man had a growth on his thing. Terry, being as drunk as she had been, probably couldn't remember anything except Ben Glover's rocking the cock to her.

Mavis felt her skin growing hot. Sleek muscles tensed under the silk dressing gown she wore as Terry's lascivious eyes prowled over her. "Mick took some boys from the summer recreation program camping in the Wasatches and won't be back until tomorrow afternoon," Terry said. And Mavis was aware of the lithe young girl's shallow, almost passionate breathing.

And you want us to have a lesbian fling until then, Mavis thought. She wouldn't meet the flashing, sensual invitation in Terry's eyes. Maybe I should get Becky over and we can have a threesome--but she's probably priming herself for another blast from Willie's sex thunderstick,

Why not Del Emerson? Mavis frowned; maybe it would be best to go along with Terry's game and get their sex thrills from each other. Eventually, Mavis' eyes were drawn to Terry's nervous fingers that kept toying with the package wrapped in brown paper. The sexy gal seemed obsessed with opening it.

"What's in the package?" Mavis queried softly.

"A toy that will beat the hell out of that gadget Miriam has!"

The sensual warmth that flooded through Mavis' body made her even more keenly aware that she was absolutely naked under the dressing gown. Where there had been a faint dread and a wish that Terry would leave, there was now a hot, almost lewd anticipation taking its place. And Terry's eyes were fastened to the loosening vee of the gown that revealed the deep valley between her feverish, pointing titties.

Terry's faint, smirking smile told Mavis that her companion was cognizant of the passion that was clutching her loins, that passion juices were starting to steam in her undulating vagina. The craving for sex was almost painful. Mavis was tempted to demand to see what was in the package. She was already convinced, after Terry's flat hint, that it was some kind of sex tool. Well, the way her pussy was crawling with need, she hoped it was a big one. Her deep well was like a starving mouth, eager to be crammed full of sex fare. She needed it! She just hoped that Terry was adept enough to girl-fuck her until she was satisfied.

Trying to control the tremulous tone of her voice Mavis asked slowly, "What's in the package, Terry?"

Mavis wasn't sure whether the hot film of moisture on her inner thighs, near her crotch, was from perspiration or was the sweet passion-hone from her vulva. God! How her labia and asshole itched! "A double-dildo!" Terry exclaimed triumphantly.

Mavis frowned. Why doesn't she unwrap it? She watched Terry stand, slowly remove her halter with the built-in bra cups. Mavis stared at the perfect cones of firm flesh. The nipples, surrounded by tight aureoles, were taut brown spikes tilting slightly toward the ceiling.

Her fingers itched to touch the smooth woman fruit untouched by the sun. They seemed frothy and confection-rich with little smooth berries on top of all that sweet whipped cream. Her mouth watered to savor Terry's luscious breasts and to nibble those dainty nubs.

"Where do we romp, Mavis?" Terry asked, excitement building in her voice. "Take off your robe and let's find a place to make girl-love!"

Mavis watched Terry float to her feet, breasts hardly quivering from the motion. The puffy eagerness of Terry's pussy lips was a pronounced prominence in her hot pants. A proper name, Mavis thought, for those rape-inviting shorts... HOT pants! And Terry certainly has hot pants!