Chapter 3

Mavis, purposely, had left it dark all through the house, had sequestered herself in the master bedroom that she shared with Phil--when he was home.

After Miriam had stolen from the house, Mavis had taken a long, hot bath, soaking for nearly an hour. She had powdered and perfumed her body, yet a taint seemed to linger in her flesh. Completely sober now, she knew what it was. The memory of her masturbation and having Miriam walk in and assist her into a second orgasm left a dark thought crashing through her mind. Shame and embarrassment gnawed at her. Another thing, as she considered it as objectively as possible, was Miriam's parting comment about being able to persuade her to agree to mate- swapping. She had been right at the time... There was something callous and threatening in her voice!

Surely, just having seen her playing with her pussy for needed relief wasn't enough to give Miriam a lever to compel her to consent to sleep around with other men! What the hell! A lot of women whose husbands weren't available masturbated. And not just with their fingers, either! She had read the books. And she had seen some of the tools that were available--some of the girls in college had them--dildoes--and used them regularly, nightly!

Mavis wished that Phil would call, and she didn't. What would she say to him? Could she talk about Miriam's open proposal that they swap husbands? Over the telephone? It might be easier than having Phil in the same room with her. On the other hand, if he were present, she could study his expression and compare it with his comments.

The thought of having Henry Carr or Willie Quentin riding in her sex saddle and banging her cunt with their cocks should have nurtured total revulsion in her mind--but there was an aura of excitement mingled with questioning apprehension about it!

"Oh, damn!" Mavis swore softly, deeply tormented. How could she tell Phil, she wondered miserably, sitting down before the vanity mirror, wearing nothing but panties. As she slowly brushed her long, blonde hair, tears fell from her blue eyes onto her gorgeous boobies. Would Phil understand? Would he be furious? Maybe, he knew about their friends already!

Maybe her husband had already sampled the love wares of Miriam and Connie Quentin! And she was just being set up for a complete Mardi Gras of mate-switching! The thought was slightly repulsive to her.

But she and Phil hadn't been so hot in bed; their lives hadn't been exactly a bowl of passionate porridge lately! But she hadn't realized all of the signs were there for other people to read so easily.

Mavis waggled her taut, trim fanny around on the dressing bench to ease the twitchy-itch in her rich crotch. Phil hadn't given her a full ration of peter for more than a week. And her appetite for man-meat was getting to the point where she needed a lot of it and one as big as a horse!

Even though the experience had been distasteful she forced herself to reflect on it. Miriam, with sandy hair and large hazel eyes, after helping her masturbate, had looked right at her and brought it right out that she knew she and Phil weren't "making it so good."

And they weren't making it!--not in the bedroom, on the sofa in the living room, in the shower standing up, in the tub lying down, in the back seat of their shiny Buick or in the patio or on the back lawn after dark. Mavis started crying harder. She needed her husband to make love to her--not other men in the neighborhood. Oh, how she gloried in having his big bone buried in her swat! And she needed him so much she felt she could just make sausage out of his pecker. For a moment, she had the aching sensation she could use any he-meat--young or old!

Her sense of shame deepened. How could she contemplate surrendering her body--her pussy to another man's cock, her breasts and lips to another man's mouth? The brief episode of her life, before she was married and had taken men's lustful bodies between her thighs, sex stumps in her cavern, was blotted from her mind. Her brief tenure as a prostitute didn't count now. She didn't remember she had taken their thumping cocks deep in her pussy almost as eagerly as she had taken their money.

Mavis was aware that the double ply of her scanty skivvies had wedged into the tight smile of her vulva and was agitating her again. She finished brushing her hair and strolled restlessly around the bedroom. She paused at a window and cautiously parted the drapes and peered out across the dark back yard. It was after ten o'clock. A light was on in the den of the Quentin residence. The Carr home was blacked out.

She opened the window slightly and strained to listen. There was faint music wafting on the still night air. Mavis quickly concluded it was emanating from the Quentin home. She stared a moment longer and worked the drapes back together. Was it possible the Quentins and Carrs were swinging--had swapped mates and actually were engaging in orgiastic fucking in the same room? Her heart hammered violently as her mind conjured up a lewd spectacle of the four naked people twisted in lewd knots, each screwing the other's marital partner.

"Oh, damn!" she whined, pouting and falling over backwards on the huge double bed. Why did such thoughts start her blood racing, heart palpitating madly? She DID NOT want to engage in such adulterous behavior.

She touched her bare breasts gently and found the aching dainty nipples fully extended to the point of exploding. She caressed a hand downward, fingering the thick mesh that adorned her pubic region. She found her crotch was like a bed of live embers, nearly torrid enough to sear her fingertips.

Mavis closed her eyes and worked her hand under the band of her panties and cupped her luscious mound. She had no qualms, then about masturbating again. She closed her mind to the embarrassing incident of Miriam catching her. Delicately, she plowed a finger into the smile and waggled it until the thick petals unfolded in a broad bloom.

"Oooooooooohhhhhhhhh!" she moaned, working the finger up and down the long, slick, hot rut, gouging it deep into her vagina, sliding back to the top of the furrow again. "Eeeeeiiiii," she panted, feet planted far apart, heels dug into the bed, frenzied ass bumping and grinding as she whipped her hand back and forth in her snatch, rapidly soaring toward an orgasm.

Just as she slammed into it, fingers buried in her cunt, thumb prodding her stinging clit, the telephone rang. The sound did nothing to deaden her erotic pleasure. A hand left her boobies and reached for the instrument. Still savoring the sweet, sugary blasts of her orgasm deep in her cock-channel, she gained control of her breathing.

"Hello?"

"This is Phil," the voice sparkled over the wire. "I-- wish--you--were--here!" Mavis blurted, clutching her passion- greased snatch. "Why haven't you called before?"

"Been to places where there are no phones, baby," Phil laughed. Then she sensed a frown in his voice. "Anything wrong? Is everything all right?"

Mavis refrained from speaking for a moment as the firecrackers stopped blasting in her swat. "I'm not sure." Then a boldness crept into her mind. "Miriam made a bizarre and startling proposal today." Before he could interrupt, the words cascaded from Mavis' lips, "She suggested we join her and Henry in mate-swapping!"

"The hell!" Phil whistled and Mavis couldn't read in his voice whether he was for it or against it.

"She said," Mavis forced herself to giggle, "that it stimulates marriage. Can you imagine?"

She was waiting for his condemnation of the proposal, but all he said was, "We'll talk about it when I get home in about four days." And he hung up.

Was he in favor of screwing some other woman and having his own wife fucked by another man? God! She couldn't tell from his terse comments.

Mavis' slumber was troubled and restless. She dreamed over and over that her husband was slipping between her veed thighs-- but just as he was about to glide his big, hard cock into her pussy, she opened her eyes and saw the faces of Willie Quentin and Henry Carr and Dell Emerson and Mickey Lewis, the basketball coach who had moved into the neighborhood such a short time before. Their eyes were hot and wild and lewd and they fucked her, one after the other. And Phil was watching, as were Miriam and Connie. And she saw him fucking them!

She wakened, gratefully, to the persistent jangle of the telephone. It was Miriam Carr--and it was nearly ten o'clock in the morning. Miriam suggested she come over for mid-morning coffee. After the nettlesome dreams, Mavis was almost elated to receive an invitation to do something--get out of the lonely house. Gone from her mind was the dream of Connie and Miriam watching her being diddled by their husbands.

"You woke me and I'm glad, Miriam!" Mavis laughed shakily. "Just give me about half an hour for a quick shower and time to throw on some clothes!"

After showering and briskly drying her opulent body, Mavis quickly selected a snowy mini-bra and matching bikini panties. She hummed softly as she shimmied her firm fanny into the briefs. Leaning forward slightly, she adjusted the half-cups over the proud prominence of her cone-shaped boobies. "Aaaaaaahthh," she sighed with pleasure as the cool laciness snuggled against her smooth flesh that was still tingling from the shower and brisk toweling.

She slipped into a light linen blouse that buttoned up the front. With a faint smile of satisfaction she inspected her reflection. The blouse displayed the deep cleft between her breasts in a low-cut vee. Then she stepped into a miniskirt and zipped it up the back. The hem struck her at mid-thigh, showing lots of creamy leg.

Before slipping through the gate of the high, chain-link fence, Mavis paused to peer at the lofty, rugged Wasatch Mountains that ringed the Utah capital to the east. They were mysterious, foreboding and beautiful. Then she hurried on to the Carrs' home. The faraway reverberation of chimes had barely died away and Miriam opened the back door.

"Come in, neighbor," Miriam smiled warmly. "Connie will be along pretty soon. We had a kind of wild little party last night and she has a slight hangover."

Mavis sat down at the kitchen table, aware of a tight, nervous feeling, a fluttering tension in her womb. Had she been right? Had the Quentins and the Carts had a little swap party last night? Would she and Phil have been invited if Phil hadn't been in Wyoming on an insurance case? The thought was naughtily exciting and frightening at the same time. Phil, on the telephone, had given her no clue how he would have reacted under such circumstances.

She didn't protest as Miriam laced their coffee with brandy and took a chair opposite her. "Have you thought about our conversation yesterday afternoon, Mavis?"

A tightness in her chest made breathing a little difficult and the tips of her breasts felt icy. "A little," she said, voice slightly choked. "Phil called last night and..." she paused to sip the brandy and coffee... "I mentioned it to him."

"Well?"

"He didn't say much," Mavis hedged, not wanting to meet Miriam's excited, glinting eyes. "I don't know," she muttered. "Oh, Miriam, I'm not sure it's right--swapping, letting some other woman's husband do it to you..." Words failed.

"Crap!" Miriam laughed brightly. "He isn't just doing it to you, you're getting your jollies from him! Like I said, it adds spice to life and enriches your own marriage. It makes husband and wife appreciate each other that much more!"

Mavis wasn't convinced; her mind was still assailed by doubt. Had Miriam had Willie Quentin in bed with her last night while her own husband was diddling Connie? Maybe, as she had speculated last night, they had swapped and fucked right in the den!

She gulped at her coffee and brandy. She was dismayed at the sudden torrid sensation centered in the pit of her tummy. Miriam's hand was on her left wrist. THAT hand had been in her tormented groove yesterday afternoon and it had produced a heavenly sensation. She had never had another woman's hand on her most intimate place before in her life. It had been a strange and exciting and forbidden pleasure! She wondered if she would submit to it again, if Miriam made a pass. She pressed her thighs together. She wasn't sure, but she sensed she would let Miriam masturbate her, if she made the gesture!

A sudden surge of shame failed to stem the rising tide of need and passion.

"You may have some doubts right now, honey," Miriam said, and Mavis detected a tone of nebulous threat behind the bright, lively voice, "but you'll see things my way--and we'll all have a wonderful swinging life. What's better, anyway, than one well- hung hubby, than two or three or four?"

My God! Mavis frowned inwardly. How many different men did Miriam and Connie bed? She may have been a prostitute for a short time, but that was out of necessity. She had never, never considered giving her body to several men--for free! Yet, that seemed to be what Miriam was suggesting.

In the next instant, Mavis was stunned. It was as if Miriam had read her thoughts. "Honey, I know all about those few months right after you graduated from Brigham Young University. Now, don't be ashamed or frightened. Hank found out about it while he was investigating the theft at the jewelry store where you worked- --afterwards."

Mavis' entire body felt cold and she thought she was going to faint. My God! Miriam and Henry knew she had been a prostitute! She was speechless. It would just kill her--and Phil--and her marriage if Miriam told other people! Had she told the Quentins? She had never felt such morbid misery in her life. Even her first customer as a young whore hadn't made her feel this remorseful! And she knew she couldn't bluff Miriam that she didn't know what she was talking about. MIRIAM KNEW!

"Don't worry, honey. Hank and I understand the circumstances. We know you had to do it--no work and all sorts of financial obligations. Lots of girls and women do it for a lot less reason. Now you cheer up! Let's have another brandy royal. Hank and I have never considered telling anyone else--much less Phil."

Mavis watched the lithe, agile woman rise to replenish their drinks. Despite Miriam's words of reassurance, she knew her terrible secret wasn't safe with them. It was a club over her head. It virtually made her a captive of Miriam, a lever to compel her to do whatever Miriam wanted to do. And what Miriam wanted to do was introduce her and Phil into a wife-swapping ring. Miriam wanted to have Phil in bed and her to screw Henry.

Mavis' thoughts were in such a turmoil that the coffee and brandy seemed tasteless. This was something she couldn't confide to her husband! For the very thing she would have to tell him was the thing she thought she didn't dare for him to ever find out!

"You have met Terry and Mickey Lewis, haven't you?" Miriam changed the topic of conversation. And Mavis was dully aware of her hostess rising to let the family pet, a well-disciplined boxer, into the house. Vision blurred, she watched the handsome animal trot into the utility room. She heard him rustling and turning before lying down.

"I know them slightly," Mavis said absently, striving to overcome the shock of having been informed that her neighbors knew she had practiced as a prostitute for a time before marrying Phil.

Returning to her chair, Miriam said, "Connie is having her over tomorrow afternoon. We're going to teach her to play bridge. You play, don't you?"

Mavis nodded vacantly. There had been a standing joke at BYU that bridge was an audit course attended between classes.

"Why don't you join us, honey; it takes four to play."

There was that impish, secretive tone in Miriam's voice again. And Mavis' mind tormented her--play what? A mental picture of Terry Lewis flashed in her mind. She was a small young woman--about five feet, a pixie face and orangish hair. She had been a cheerleader in college. Someone had said she had married Mickey last June right after graduation from Utah State at Logan.

The initial shock of Miriam revealing she knew all about her past was waning and the alcohol was warming her body, the chill was passing. Miriam was so casual and nonchalant, evincing no sign of condemnation and consternation that her neighbor had been a prostitute for a short time. There was an aura of warmth about Miriam and this comforted Mavis. The fact that Miriam could twist her and bend her was slipping into the back of her mind.

The brandy was numbing her sense of reality and Miriam had said she and Henry wouldn't reveal her shameful secret. Listening to Miriam's cheerful chatter lulled and soothed her. There was a comfortable air of camaraderie in the kitchen as the two of them sat there, sipping coffee and brandy. Mavis knew she was getting a little drunk, but the deep sense of loneliness was fading. She glanced at Miriam and her mind reminded her--this is the woman who helped you masturbate and gave you such intense pleasure.