I popped the last bite of my sandwich into my mouth, washed it down with the last of my milk and went back to reading my book. I nearly jumped out of my skin when I looked up to find my Jell-O and discovered that I was no longer alone at the table.

“Jesus!” I gasped, flinching back.

My tablemate looked at me in surprise and then giggled. “Sorry Larry,” she smiled. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

She was a woamn named Betsy, a year or two younger than my twenty-five. She was a statuesque redhead; at five feet ten inches tall, she could almost match my six foot, two inch height when she wore heels. She had blue eyes, skin as pale as my milk and a cute little button nose over a wide and sensual mouth. Her short and curly hair was the color of wet rust, and the look fitted her perfectly. She had a very nice body; firm, full breasts, a slim waist, womanly hips and she dressed to show it off.

She had a right to, although you’d never guess it by looking at her, she was married and had two kids.

“You didn’t startle me,” I said, putting my bookmark in the book and snapping it closed. “You scared the shit out of me.”

She laughed and shook her head. “I didn’t mean to do that either.”

I started to gather up the debris from my lunch and load it onto my tray. Betsy looked at me in dismay as I stood up. “You’re not leaving angry, I hope,” she said.

“No,” I answered, looking at my watch. “I’m leaving late. My lunch ended three minutes ago.”

“Oh. Well, the reason I sat here was to tell you that we’re going out tonight, to the bar at Ho Jo’s. You wanna go?”

My department was made up of primarily young people and we usually went out as a group, two or three time a month after work. We worked the second shift, which meant that we got out of work at eleven o’clock at night. Since the bars closed at two in the morning, we were usually a hard drinking bunch, pounding them down in order to catch a buzz before the bar closed.

“Yeah,” I said. “I’m ready to raise a little hell.”

“Cool,” Betsy said. “I’ll see you there.”

I pulled my convertible into the parking lot of the local Howard Johnson’s at eleven fifteen, popped the tape out of the eight-track tape player and locked it in the glove box. Then I got out of the car and went inside, noticing that I was the first one there from work tonight. Wonder of wonders, there was a good-sized table available and I grabbed it, stopping a passing waitress and ordering a beer before I sat down.

There was a three-piece band mangling what sounded like a Rolling Stones song, making up in volume what they lacked in talent. I’d only been there for a few minutes when Betsy walked in with a short girl that I didn’t know. She spotted me at the table and waved, then got herself a drink at the bar and came over with the short girl in tow.

She introduced the girl as Valerie and I checked her out as we talked. As I said, she was short, about five two, maybe. She had shoulder length brown hair with long bangs that shaded her brown eyes. Her nose was just a tad to big for her face, but it wasn’t obvious. Her high cheekbones gave her a regal look and she had a nice smile, showing even white teeth through plump, Cupid’s bow lips.

And she was stacked. God almighty but how she was stacked! Her tits must have been thirty-eights, D’s probably. She had a narrow waist that was emphasized by the weight of those imposing breasts and a round, firm ass. I always felt sorry for girls like her; they probably had guys hitting on them all the time and more than likely, not one of those guys could tell you what color her eyes were.

We sat and shot the shit as we waited for the rest of the gang to show up. We’d been talking for just a few minutes when Betsy waved at some guy that I didn’t know and he sauntered over to the table and sat down. It turned out that he was Betsy’s husband, Brian.

We all talked for a few minutes and then the girls excused themselves and went to the ladies can. (Why do women always go to the can in groups?) Brian and I swiftly ran out of things to talk about, so we sat there and listened to the band slaughtering a Beatles song. I looked at my watch, I’d been there for over twenty minutes and so far, no one else from work had showed up.

After another ten minutes, I looked at my watch again and said, “I wonder where the hell everybody is.”

He just shrugged and went to get us another round. Another ten minutes passed and I said, “Maybe we ought to see if the girls are alright.”

“They’re fine,” Brian answered, not looking at me.

“They’ve been gone twenty minutes.” I was a little concerned, although I couldn’t imagine what kind of trouble they could be in, especially in the middle of a crowded bar.

“Don’t sweat it,” Brian said in a bored voice. “They’ll be along as soon as they figure it out.”

“Figure what out?” Now I was just confused.

He looked at me, surprise evident on his face. “You mean she didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

He smirked at me. “I’ll let her tell you,” he said, just as the girls finally returned for the bathroom.

Valerie sat down but Betsy took my hand and pulled me to my feet. “Come on, Larry,” she said, a smile on her face, “Let’s dance.” She towed me out to the dance floor, just as the song ended. They started a slow one and Betsy sort of ... I don’t know, she just flowed into my arms, plastering herself up against me.

The table was just behind us and I was enormously uncomfortable with her dancing so close, considering that her husband was right there. “Ah, Betsy?” I asked quietly. “I don’t think that this is such a good idea.”

She smiled at me and looped her arms around my neck, pulling me closer, until her breasts were crushed against my chest. “What idea is that, Larry?” she said in a low voice.

“Jesus, Betsy, Brian is right behind us!” I tried to back off a little but she held on even tighter and ground her belly against me.

“Brian is a little busy right now,” she giggled.

I maneuvered us into a turn and looked past her at the table. She was right, Brian was a little busy. Valerie was perched on his lap and they were kissing, and not just a peck on the lips either. He looked like he was trying to lick her tonsils and he had a hand full of her right tit, kneading it like it was a huge ball of dough.

“Son of a bitch!” I breathed and Betsy chortled, a low, dirty laugh. I turned back to her and she was on me, her lips hard against mine and her tongue digging against them for access to my mouth. Without even thinking about it, my hands slid from her waist to her ass and I pulled her tight against my rising cock as we kissed.

I was breathless when our kiss broke. “Jesus!” I gasped, “What are you guys, swappers or something?”

“Nope,” she breathed, “Swingers.” She gave me an incredibly lewd grin, her eyes full of the promise of things to come. “You wanna swing with me, Larry? Huh? You wanna take me home and fuck me?”

“Holy shit!” I moaned. She kissed me again and then took me by the hand and headed for the door.

“Hey, are we just gonna leave ‘em?” I could have kicked myself before the question was even out of my mouth. She stopped and turned so suddenly that I collided with her, and she wrapped her arms around me a second time. “If we don’t go now,” she said, grinding her boobs into my chest again, “We’ll get stuck with the couch.” She gave me a hot-eyed look. “And what I’ve got planned for you needs a bed.” She kissed me, this time her hand delving in between us and groping my cock. She broke our kiss and looked down at the lump in my Levi’s that she had her hand on.

“Oh, Larry!” she cooed, smiling up at me. “You’ve got a nice big one, don’t you?” And then she was dragging me to my car. “Come on,” she said impatiently, “Let’s go!”

And then we were speeding down the Interstate on our way to her house in Jericho, her hip against mine as she fondled my cock through my pants. She took my right arm and put it over her shoulders and pressed my hand against her braless breast.

I automatically cupped the firm, heavy flesh in my hand, finding the rigid spike of her nipple and playing with it. “Mmm,” she moaned, “That’s nice, Larry.” And then her hands were busy with my pants, and she sighed happily as my cock burst out of them, standing proudly in my lap.

“Oh yeah!” She said hoarsely, staring at my cock. “You DO have a nice big one!”

I almost screamed as she dove onto it, cupping my balls in her hand as she plunged her mouth over the head of my cock and started to suck it, her tongue lashing it wildly as I tried to keep the car in one lane. She came up for air and then scrambled to her knees on the floor, leaning over and sucking my cock back into her hot, wet mouth again.

“Oh, mmm!” she moaned, her hand digging between her own legs. She gave my cock a nice long suck, the head of it making a popping sound as it came out of her mouth. “Hurry up!” she whined, looking up at me for a second, before turning back to my cock. “I wanna get this big fucker in me!” Her hand was a blur as she furiously jacked my cock while she laved the bloated, blood red knob with her tongue.

I shivered and damn near lost control of the car as her mouth vacuumed my cock back inside, her tongue digging at the slit on the head. I knew that I couldn’t take that for to long and self-preservation warred with lust for a few moments. I gathered her hair in my fist and gently pulled her hotly sucking mouth off of my cock.

“Cut it out!’ I snapped, pushing her away. She stared at me in surprise. “Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to yell, but Christ, Betsy, I can’t drive and get a BJ at the same time. I’ll kill us for sure. You’re gonna have to wait.” I damn near choked over those last words. I NEVER thought I’d ever be telling a good looking woman to stop blowing me.

Betsy sat up on her heels, as much as she could on the floor in the front seat of my car anyway, and unbuttoned her blouse, exposing one ripe, heavy breast and toying with the thickly spiked nipple as she massaged her cunt through her pants.

“Better hurry up, lover,” she purred. “I’m gettin’ real horny for that big, fuckin’ cock of yours.” She looked into my eyes and licked her lips lasciviously, her hand still digging at her crotch like a small animal digging a burrow. She swayed on her knees as I looked away from her lewd show just in time to take the exit I needed, the tires of the big car howling as it shot around the corner and onto Route Two.

“You’re gonna get us fuckin’ killed if you keep that up!” I growled. “We can stop and fuck or we can get to your house and fuck, but I ain’t driving while you play fuckin’ games with me. Make up your mind!”

She laughed throatily and tucked her tit back into her shirt. “I’ll be a good girl, until we get home,” she said. “And then I’m gonna be all the fuckin’ slut you can handle.” She got back into her seat while I tried to concentrate on driving, the implications of her matter-of-fact statement turning my cock into a steel bar and taking my breath away.

The road was straight and empty in my headlights and she laughed like hell as my foot tromped on the gas. The big four-barrel carb emitted a throaty howl from under the hood, the rear tires chirped as the transmission downshifted and the car shot forward, the exhaust blatting into the night and echoing back to us from the low hills as we rocketed towards her house.

The door snicked shut behind the babysitter. The teenaged girl wasn’t even off the porch before Betsy was on her knees in front of me, her hands busy extracting my half hard cock from my jeans. “Oh, umm!” she crooned as my swiftly hardening cock flopped into view. “I’ve been waiting all day for this!”

I’ll never know what ‘this’ was, because I reached down and pulled her to her feet by her nipples, and then bent down and scooped her up, holding her firmly in place with my right arm around her thighs as she folded over my shoulder. She gasped and then laughed as I asked, “Where’s the fuckin’ bedroom?”

Her hand appeared next to my face and I followed the pointing finger, swatting her across that firm, round ass of hers when her other hand groped down my front, trying to find my cock. She yelped as my hand cracked against her butt and I growled, “Do that again and I’ll tan your ass properly when we get there.”

She was still giggling as I kicked the door to the Master bedroom shut behind us and dumped her onto the bed. I heard a soft snicking sound and Betsy’s face appeared out of the darkness. She lit four candles lined up across the headboard of the biggest bed I’ve ever seen, set the lighter down and then stood up.

Her hands went to her blouse and she started to unbutton it, staring at me as my hands mirrored hers while I unbuttoned my shirt. She hesitated before opening the last two buttons, biting her lip as she looked into my eyes. “I ... I have some stretch marks...” she said softly.

I leered at her and allowed a little spit to drool from my mouth. “Oh goody!” I said as hoarsely as I could manage. “I can look at ‘em and know what a motherfucker I really am!”

She laughed softly and opened her blouse, letting it slide down her arms and pool at her feet. She smiled as I moaned “Oh baby!” when her breasts came into view and she unconsciously arched her back, thrusting the big, teardrop shaped mounds towards me. If she had any stretch marks, they were too faint for me to see them in the dim light of the flickering candles. And then our hands were fumbling at our belts and we both dropped our pants at the same time.

She was wearing nothing but a g-string and most of that was pushed inside her from when she had masturbated in the car. There was only a narrow piece of it visible from in between her labia, the small swatch of fabric stained a darker color than the strings from her cunt lube. She had a prominent mound crowned by a neatly trimmed patch of tightly curled, amber pubic hair a shade or two darker than the hair on her head.

“I’ll be damned,” I whispered. “The rug matches the drapes!”

She laughed and moved towards me until her stiff nipples grazed my chest. She hooked her thumbs in the waistband of my underwear and pushed them down, planting a wet, sloppy kiss on the tip of my cock as it popped up past the top of my shorts. She wrapped her warm hand around the length of my cock and straightened up, moving into my arms and kissing me slowly, thoroughly and completely, turning me into a gasping, trembling wreck before she leaned back and smiled at me.

“I’ve been cheated,” she said. “Your rug doesn’t match your drapes.” Which was perfectly true. At twenty-five, I had a head full of thick hair, a salt and pepper combination that was, quite frankly, mostly salt. But my pubic hair was a solid brown.