Swinging Wives

CHAPTER ONE-1

CHAPTER ONE

The television repair man would be here in a minute.

She would commit adultery. Yes, she would f**k the man into weak-knead submission. It seemed impossible. After all, she was married to a fine man. Robert was a dear and he was good in bed, too.

"Ooooohhhh!" she wailed, closing her eyes. The very thought of Robert Foy's c**k gave her a red hot blast of c*m itch. It was terrible to be thinking of another man's c**k at the same time. Especially a stranger's.

She heard the sound of a motor and looked out of her bedroom window. From the second floor, she could see over the trees on their big lot. How nice it was to have all this privacy! Living in Rancho Rico in this comfortable old house.

Just the thought of privacy was also the thought of f*****g and being f****d. Of lying on her back with her eyes closed and her beautiful thighs open, her cunt slickly ready for the strange c**k. And no neighbors were able to see the TV man's panel truck so they could have plenty of time.

She saw the top of the truck over the thick hedge of oleanders. It was really here at last! Soon she would be seeing the man who would f**k her! Soon she would be fumbling his c**k cut of his sweated work pants! It would be soft but it would be getting bigger.

"Oh God! Please help me!" she prayed. Her legs trembled as she saw the truck turn up her driveway. Her trembling p***y throbbed with the intensity of her need. "I've got to hold myself in," she muttered fiercely. "I've got to let him make the first move!"

She watched the big fellow get out of the truck, easily, casually. God, he was big! But maybe he just looked big because Robert was kind of small.

She knew the man by sight. When she had felt the surge of heat start in her guts she had begun to look around. She would simply have to have a strange c**k soon, she knew that. This time she wanted to choose the man carefully. The time of passion which came to her now and then could be dangerous. She had been frightened a couple of times, so this time she had started to look around as soon as the urge set up its hot anticipation in her sensitive cunt ... someone who could come to her home in a natural way. So that if anyone did see him, there could be no suspicion. After all, she and Robert were a respected couple in the wealthy little community.

There was the musical chime coming up the stairs from her front door bell. The television man, was here!

She clutched at her full breasts, unconfined under her swirling negligee. They were aching with her heat. She would have to pull herself together and let him in.

She started to move to the hall and then to the stairs, but her knees wavered. She was near the window so she simply opened the screen and called out: "Mr. Benson! I'm upstairs! Please let yourself in and come up!"

She smiled at her reflection in the mirror. Her voice had been steady, none of that cocksucker's whine in it. She was in charge of herself. She would be in charge of all that happened.

She had gone in and out of several stores in Del Rey and Sonrisa Beach before she had decided on The Man. She had no illusions about herself. Once that trembling heat began in her belly and her p***y, she was lost. Or found, maybe. Because the self that wanted to get f****d, had to get f****d when the urge came, might well be her true self.

Anyhow, on the third day she had gone into Benson's Appliance and TV. The big auburn-haired man had been quiet and polite, but he had certainly eyed her breasts thoroughly. And that had been enough. She loved to have her breasts used. To have them sucked and mauled and mashed and pulled.

She heard the big man coming up the steps and called: "This way, Mr. Benson! The set's in here!"

She could have melted in s****l heat right there on the floor. The minute she saw him she knew she had been right. Because he looked at her with that special kind of knowing look, the look that said: "Okay, lady, I know what you want and I'm gonna give it to you!" It was as plain in his look and manner as if he had jerked out his c**k and said: "Here it is, baby! Suck it!"

Jerome Benson, known as "Sonny" to his many friends, was all that Janet Foy could have dreamed. He was no stranger to this sort of f**k-matinee. His looks and his good manners made that inevitable. And his job helped, too, because

TV and appliance service calls are a daytime thing. In most households the man is at work during the day.

It was simply a matter of statistics. If you call on so many women and smile and smile and talk and talk, sooner or later the vital words are said. And the f*****g begins. And big Sonny Benson got his share.

In fact, he got such a big share that he was very discriminating, f*****g only those women who looked good to him.

Janet smiled and turned gracefully to the big color TV.

"This is the set," she said. "Ordinarily, I'd have had someone pick it up. But my husband loves baseball and this is Monday night. You know," she said. "Monday night on NBC."

He was acute enough to know she must feel like a fool to make such inane conversation and to use such an excuse. But it would make her feel worse to say: "Yes, sure, Mrs. Foy. But what you want is to be f****d, so why fool around?" No, it very definitely wouldn't be nice to say that.

And besides, he wanted to f**k her so bad he could taste it. She was exactly what he liked. Not that his Old Lady was anything to poke fun at. But Mrs. Foy was different.

She moved to the set. This negligee was so-o-o nice. If she stood still, it fell on her in drapes. That way, in spite of the transparent material, it covered her. But when she moved, if someone looked quickly, he saw everything. And she wanted this big redhead to see everything. And to want it.

He looked at the set but he saw it only as a prop for the woman. He was very particular about wasting his hard-ons on women who only partially aroused him. But this woman-wow!

Lady, he thought, you've sure got the knockers. I sure want to eat those t**s! I wish you'd twirl like you did before. For he had seen her big, firm breasts standing out from her chest as the light fabric lifted and showed them. I think I saw your little p***y, too, lady, his thought ran on. Sure looked neat. And dark. I love those black-haired little cunts.

So he was smiling up at her and setting his tool box down on her bedroom carpet. And she was smiling at him while her mind was ten feet away. Back on the big bed. Her bed and Robert's.

"Dodger fan, huh?" the big man asked. "Your husband, I mean." He turned away to make certain the set was unplugged, and Janet leaned farther over the set. She knew he was looking at her jugs, and she felt a prickly interest in his gaze. It pleased' her to know that he was looking. She moved her left leg so that her thighs were apart. She wanted the feel of his politely hungry eyes on her cunt.

It felt as if it were hanging open. Her interest in the man was very keen. Especially now that he was proving to be eager to see more. She concentrated very hard on such words as cunt and c**k and f**k. Ideas can be transferred from one mind to another. She knew that. If she thought of f*****g, maybe the man would think of f*****g. Her cunt itched and burned with heat as she thought of f*****g.

"Is it something serious?" she asked, leaning down to expose more of her right breast.

"Too early to see," the man said. He blushed. "Er, I mean it's too early to say. Have to see what's wrong. Haha!"

Haha my pretty pink ass, Janet Foy thought. This dude's getting a hard-on and it's affecting his brains. She laughed in a lady-like way.

"I just meant I hoped it wouldn't take long," she explained. "Wouldn't want to keep you away from the shop. I expect you're pretty busy. Can't stay away too long."

The rankly beautiful scent of cunt was everywhere in the room. Sonny Benson knew that smell. It was better than gardenias to him. Better than the smell of frying pork chops on a wintry night. More arousing than the aroma of hot rum after a day on the ski slopes. Cunt! It made his tongue hard. But he drew, out the works of the television set and wondered why women who wanted him always pulled out that most visible wire.

He got up and stared at her, trying to be certain that she had staged this meeting. If he could be sure of that, he could be sure she wanted to f**k. His c**k was rising in his lightweight gray slacks. She would see it soon.

"Don't worry about my time, Mrs. Foy," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. His hands burned with the itch to grab those t**s, to push roughly under that filmy whatever-it-was-called and rub her slick cunt. "I've got all afternoon if I need it. Say, does it seem hot to you?" He made a sound of forced laughter.

Janet felt a weakness strike in her legs. It came with the rising wave of heat in her cuntal area. Dully throbbing in her inner cunt lips, swelling them with hot blood.

Oh God, she thought, it's real. He's going to f**k me! For a moment she wanted his c**k so bad that she could taste it. She was unaware of the cunt fragrance which swirled around her because that was almost always with her. But she could sense the heat of this beautiful redheaded man. Not just the heat of the day. Not just the clean, sharp acridity of perspiration. Although she found that male scent lovely and provocative.

No, this was stronger. It was crotch perfume. The dense odor of sweated balls. The throat-clogging aroma that rises from a warm prick when the foreskin rolls back. The gaggingly marvelous pungency of the ass-hole and the humid furrow where it hides out.

She tried to focus on the question asked her by Benson. He had asked if she was hot? Or if the room was hot? She felt the quick sting of perspiration under her arms and an answering jolt of heat between her thighs, along the warm, smooth skin on the insides of them where she wished this big man's hand was pushing, prying, feeling.

She could see very plainly that the man had a hard-on. Or else he had some very strange sort of wrench in his pocket. Just looking at it made her heart beat faster. It made her cunt juice of its own accord. Not a real c*m, just a quick flow of female lubricant.

"It is hot," she managed to say. "Won't you take your, uh, shirt off? Will that help? Or can I get you a cold drink?"

She was babbling, but it was a struggle not to give in to this inevitable event. A struggle not to rip the negligee off and cry: "Look! Here I am, naked and hot! Won't you please f**k me?"

Benson had moved near her and was looking into her eyes. He was asking a question and she knew what it was. And since she dared not do or say the thing nearest her heart, she did the next best thing. She removed the need for words.

With a gasped out: "Oh, please help me!" she leaned toward the repair man and held up her hands. If necessary, she intended to fall. But he caught her. Caught her with his big hands alongside her t**s. Caught her so that she pressed against him. The flame in her guts rose again, hotter than before. The hard ache in her swollen t**s became a deep run of painful joy. And her sensitive belly confirmed what she had thought. The man had a hard-on.

The big redhead was as relieved as the woman. The die was cast. It was no longer a question of whether this woman wanted to f**k or not. His c**k was as stiff as an oaken cudgel, as hot as a booster tube in an old fashioned TV set. Without any more ado, he lifted her to the bed and on it.

He ran the zipper down at the front of his slacks and pulled out his shirttails. He was looking intently at the dark-haired woman on the bed and she was rolling her head from side to side, moaning: "No! No!" but she was making no effort to escape. The man understood. She wanted reassurance that he was a co-fucker, that she was not alone in her desire to have her cunt plugged by a hot c**k.