Chapter 7

Hank and Miriam Carr were in the Moran living room when Phil drove in the driveway and Mavis had no opportunity to talk to her husband, let alone take the time to choose her words and determine just how much she could tell him--about the things that had happened to her.

"We got a poker game tonight at Willie's," Hank said, sipping the drink Mavis had mixed. "You'll make it, won't you? We won't play too late."

"I reckon," Phil grinned, patting Mavis on the bottom. He flattened his dark brown hair with the palm of his right hand. "When does the game start?"

"In about an hour," Hank said. "Gives you time to eat and come over."

But even after Miriam and Hank had gone, with Phil nibbling on cold beef sandwiches, washing it down with bourbon and soda, Mavis couldn't think of a way to open the conversation that was weighing on her mind.

Absently, it seemed, Phil finally said, "What's your feeling about what you mentioned to me on the phone?"

"What? I don't know," Mavis muttered, nerves jangling. "I don't think so..."

"Why?" Phil grinned. "Don't tell me you can't bear the thought of a little strange puntang? Just talking, though, I think Connie and Miriam might have a pretty hot tail between those fancy legs. And they're kinda obvious, pushing it at a guy sometimes. And Hank and Willie--I know they're aware of it-- don't seem to be perturbed by the idea their wives might put out between strange sheets."

Arching an eyebrow, Mavis challenged, "If you think you want to dip your wick in their lamps--go ahead!"

Phil laughed easily, "I was thinking of a different analogy-- -darting my stinger into their blossoms!"

"Then dip your stinger in their blossoms," Mavis joined her husband's soft laughter. She loved his infectious grin and sparkling brown eyes. Truly, she didn't care if he fucked Connie and Miriam! Bitterness gnawed at her elation for a second. How could she resent her husband's having an affair with other women-- -after what she had done? And she had enjoyed it--once the penile penetration had been accomplished and hard, experienced cock was inserted deep into her hungry vagina.

Quietly, Mavis said, replenishing her husband's drink, "If they give you an opportunity to fuck them--don't turn it down." She hoped bitterness and deceit weren't apparent in her voice.

Phil laughed and clutched a firm butt cheek in one hand as he took the drink from her hand that trembled slightly. "I doubt that they can give a guy the quality of nookey you can."

"Thanks for the dubious compliment," Mavis smiled gratefully.

"You're a good piece of ass," Phil nodded, reaching under the hem of her miniskirt and stroking her inner thighs, caressing the pulpy fruit of her woman--hood and tracing the crack of her ass with his closed fingers.

"Want a sample now?" Mavis teased, grinding her pelvis coitally against his hand.

"Let's go play a few hands of poker--and I'll fill your tight little sex maw later with lots and lots of eager cock!"

Mavis smiled good-naturedly, "You'd rather go play 'poke her' with cards than stay home and poke me with prick! I don't understand how you can prefer chips around a table with men when you have a red-hot chippie at home just dying to flop into bed naked and fuck you to sleep?"

She was surprised she didn't cringe as she labeled herself a chippie for her husband. After all, that's what she was! First with Willie, then the boxer, then with Dell Emerson!

Who would be next, she fretted as she accompanied her husband out of the house and across the back yard toward the Quentin residence.

"Do you want to swap--really--Phil? she frowned, taking his arm with both hands and crushing her right breast against his hard biceps.

"It's a thought," Phil replied, slowly, thoughtfully. "I don't know. I've thought about it a lot since we talked on the phone. I don't think I'd have any trouble banging Connie and Miriam--mental hang-ups, that is. But I have jealous palpitations when I consider you naked in someone else's arms and him pistoning his prick into your snug pussy."

Mavis cringed. If you only knew, she wailed mentally, that in the past couple of days Willie had had me, a dog flicked me: Dell laid me. Oh, I just couldn't bear to have you find that out!

Softly she said, "If you want to shag Connie and Miriam--I won't think any the less of you, darling. I've heard that a man sometimes needs some strange poontang.

"But, if I did," Phil said thoughtfully, pausing in the Quentin backyard to light a cigarette, "Willie and Hank will want to bang your ass!"

Mavis was startled by the stern, almost vicious tone of her husband's voice. I'm glad you don't know, she thought, looking away, eyes peering at the abundance of stars in the clear sky. And you'll never arrow, no matter what I have to do! She knew this admission to herself had put her life in bondage as long as she and Phil remained in Salt Lake City where Connie and Miriam and Willie and Henry--and who knew how many others--could get to her! She was a captive just as sure as if she were locked in a jail cell!

Connie opened the door and stood peering at them, without a word, for several seconds. She had changed into a one-piece sunsuit and looked very leggy and appetizing. The tight bodice accented her full breasts.

"Come in, characters," Connie smiled slowly, and Mavis was aware that Connie's eyes were on Phil. As they passed by the den, Connie took Phil's arm, stopped them. "Phil and Mavis are here," Connie called. A table was in the center of the room. Poker chips had been cut into stacks in front of each chair.

Mavis saw Willie and Hank immediately, leaning against the fireplace. Then she saw Ben Glover, Mickey Lewis--and Dell Emerson--lounging in easy chairs positioned about the room. "Come and join the gals, Mavis; let Phil have a drink before they start their pasteboard carnage."

Mavis nodded to others sitting at the dining room table. There was Miriam and Terry and young Becky. If it worked out that way, everyone could be mated with the exception of Ben Glover. God! she thought, he has lecherous eyes!

Mavis nodded to the other girls as Connie brought a large pitcher from the refrigerator. "Screwdrivers," Connie smiled, filling glasses on a tray in the center of the table.

Mavis glanced about. Terry's eyes seemed to glitter and Mavis speculated that the little doll had had quite a bit to drink before she and Mickey arrived. And Becky, the trim strawberry blonde, seemed wound up tight. Her eyes seemed furtive and fearful. Mavis wondered if Connie and Miriam had something planned for her and whether Becky was aware of it.

Vaguely, Mavis could hear the deep murmur of the men's voices and the clatter of chips as they were tossed into the pot. There were six of them playing. Willie had always contended five made a good game. If they had known that there would be six, she and Phil could have stayed at home. She shrugged away her discontent and tried to concentrate on the girls' harmless conversation about clothes and the drudgery of housekeeping and meals and the lack of variety and excitement in married life.

Maybe Becky and Terry missed the subtle inference but it was clear to Mavis that Connie and Miriam were alluding to husband- swapping. She frowned. It seemed, lately, that Miriam and Connie were obsessed with the topic of hopping into bed with some other woman's husband.

She made up her mind that she wasn't going to drink much, was going to stay sober so she would be keenly aware of whatever happened--to others as well as to herself. Little Becky was beginning to feel the effects of the vodka. And Terry was drinking faster and the alcohol was beginning to belt her hard; it was evident in her slightly slurred speech and brassy tone.

Mavis eased away from the table and strolled about the room, carrying her drink, but not touching it. No one paid attention to her and she drifted toward the den to lounge in the archway. Ben Glover's eyes picked her immediately and fastened on her legs below the miniskirt. Mavis stifled a shudder and wished she had worn slacks! His eyes seemed to strip her naked!

"Has your company beefed up its security--especially on Saturday nights, Willie?" Glover asked tossing his hand into the discards.

Mavis watched Willie nod negatively. "The brass is satisfied that the armored van guards are sufficient. The van rolls up at ten-fifteen every Saturday night with three armed guards. I help one of them load the money and it's their responsibility."

Her eyes swung to Phil who blew her a silent kiss and winked as he said, "Ben and I both know that your insurance premium and bond rates would be sharply reduced if you had guards on hand through the evening as receipts arrive from the other stores."

"So?" Willie shrugged, "tell it to the brass."

The men chuckled, paused in their play to sip their drinks and light cigarettes.