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Pussy Hound

By: KerrFuffle



Dedicated to Toni Bentley

"In those first years after my marriage, I discovered that the greatest antidote to bad fucking - or no fucking - is fantasy, and that fantasy's greatest aide is the Pussy Hound: the man who lives to dive ... Most men will lick and suck and drink a pussy - and I'm not complaining. But it is the rare man who does so with his whole consciousness poised on his tongue."

Toni Bentley, The Surrender

*

Chapter 1

Sheryl said she couldn't make it, so Kate laid out the table linen for four. Sheryl didn't explain, and Kate didn't ask, although she thought she had a pretty good idea what Sheryl was up to. 

Four bottles of wine: two whites, a red and a pink, for a little variety. By the time they opened the fourth, no one would care what color was left. Maybe Beth would, a little, but she wouldn't complain. She'd make some kind of snooty comment about what goes with what, and the other three would roll their eyes, and the conversation would resume without further interruption.

It was the third Thursday of the month, and it was Kate's turn to host the monthly meeting of I-Need-A-Fucking-Drink-Or-I'm-Going-To-Kill-Somebody, better known as The Wine Club. More ritual than institution, more excuse to drink and gossip than to taste, Kate, Beth, Faith, Stacey, and Sheryl had convened at each other's homes for the better part of two years, the men away for the moment or, for most of them, for good.

Girl's day in. 

Rain or shine, warm or cold, out came the bottles, the $30 corkscrew, and the elegant glassware. Shoes off, legs tucked under skirts on the couch, or lounging on the oriental, the five friends drank themselves stupid until the last bottle was empty. Laughing like hyenas, one-upping each other with complaints and tales of conquest or disappointment, they drank coffee to sober up or just gave up and called cabs. Then early to bed.

h

Except for Sheryl, who never went to bed early, and almost never alone, at least when she didn't want to, which was often. Kate had guessed right, pretty much, that Sheryl was more horny than thirsty, and she had parked her BMW two-seater outside Sullivan's almost an hour ago. A high class steak joint, Sullivan's attracted a young and noisy after-work crowd, and though Sheryl had a good many years on nearly all of them, she was hardly out of place. Tight, tan and blonde, legs up to here, tits that gave new meaning to the word "perky," and nicely displayed for all to see, Sheryl had no trouble navigating any social scene. She hypnotized men far too easily, but women fell, too, when she put her mind to it.

Tonight, Sheryl had decided against hardcore porn star sex - her usual preference - in favor of soft hair, soft skin and soft, wet kisses of the female variety. So she planned to put her mind very much to the subject of womanly companionship. Half-way through her first vodka gimlet, she spotted her prey on a bar stool and made her way to the empty seat adjacent. (For Sheryl, there was always seemed to be a vacant seat at the bar next to a prime candidate for sexual gratification.) A stylish twenty-something, which made her at least ten years Sheryl's junior, with flaming red hair and a dress that revealed plenty of thigh, she saw out of the corner of her jade green eye the striking Sheryl order a drink, her own much darker brown eyes fixed in her direction and appraising her shamelessly. The young lady didn't stand a chance, and she knew she was a goner. She didn't seem to mind the prospect of being consumed by Sheryl one bit.

h

At Kate's house, Faith was the first to arrive, appetizer in hand. All the Club members had long ago given up trying to think up something novel or even creative to make to keep everyone from having to drink on an empty stomach. No one even bothered to complain anymore about the predictable fare of stuffed mushrooms, spinach-cheese squares and toothpicked cubes of whatever cheese was on special this week. Faith abandoned her plate of shriveled whatever on the table, grabbed a bottle and the corkscrew, and flipped off her sandals and settled into the club chair. She unceremoniously poured herself and Kate a full glass, and the meeting was essentially called to order.

The word most often used to describe Faith was "mouthy," although a trail of defeated men referred to her as "that fucking bitch." A Midwestern fish-out-of-water, she found her way to Boston for college, and never left the East coast. Self-reliant, with an uncanny facility with numbers, Faith made her way through business school and onto the trading floor, where she earned gobs of money and the sweaty advances of her male colleagues. She was entirely suited to the single life, and she had no interest in children. Marriage could wait as far as she was concerned.

h

By the time the others had arrived, the first bottle was gone, and, across town, Sheryl had deeply invaded her new companion's red-haired pussy. Thongs and bras were scattered about, and the lady of the afternoon was draped shamelessly over an ottoman, her long red curls hanging wantonly, her knees up, legs splayed, pedicured toes hanging on for dear life. Sheryl had a firm grip on her hips and was at the moment tonguing the little button asshole, making its owner senseless. Her vagina was red and swollen, after the lady had begged Sheryl to "eat me like a dog," and Sheryl was only too happy to oblige. Like so many effortlessly sexy women, Sheryl could be selfish, but she also could be a generous lover, especially after she had been treated so well herself. Her pussy ached in a satisfying way from the welcome and repeated violations to which the redhead had subjected it.

The lovely lady on the bar stool had understood Sheryl's intent - her febrile need - from the moment Sheryl sat down and brought her blue eyes and glittering smile to bear on her intended victim. They laughed and drank and touched each other's knees as they talked, leaning into each other's shoulders and touching each other's hair as if they'd been lifelong friends. Bosom buddies was more like it - Sheryl made her cleavage unavoidably visible, practically pouring her diminutive but well-formed breasts into her new friend's lap - and they both knew it.

As soon as they got into Sheryl's car, they embraced and kissed, long, deep and meaning it. Hands quickly found their way into panties, and buttons came undone, but somehow Sheryl managed to start the car and make it to the house. They fairly burst through the door, knocking the coat rack ass over tea kettle, and threw themselves on the nearest couch practically whimpering with anticipation.

h

If there was lust back at the Beth's house, no one was owning up to it. Glasses were refilled, as Faith held the floor.

"I'm just saying," she insisted. "I just asked him to dance."

"Oh, please, Faithless." Beth wasn't buying it. "You don't dance. It's just your way of getting to feel a guy up in a room full of people watching."

"Damn right. And what's wrong with that?"

"Shit, Faith. Finish the fucking story," objected Stacey. "It is a fucking story, isn't it? Otherwise, I'm not interested."

"Oh, my God," Faith confided. "I was so horny, I finally got up the nerve. I knew I would someday, I just didn't know it would be at Nina's wedding reception." Her audience leaned in closer. "I had my eye on her cute cousin the whole night. You know, the one who drove Nina home from the rehearsal dinner?"

Stacey almost spilled her wine. "Are you for real? He's like sixteen!"

"Actually, he's nineteen," Faith corrected her. "I made him show me his driver's license. I told him I wanted to see if it was a good picture!"

Uncontrollable laughter erupted all around. Kate asked if it was a good picture, triggering more inebriated sniggering. If the attendees had been boys, milk would have come out of their noses.

"Anyway," Faith continued, "I've wanted to have some kind of sex - real sex - on a crowded dance floor for, like, forever. So I waited for a slow dance, grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him out before he had a chance to say no." Faith had everyone's attention, and no one said a word.

"So we put our arms around each other to dance, and right away I moved my hand down his back and on to his ass. Right onto his tight ass. He did a quick double take, and then pulled me in close. Next stop: hard-on city!

The women roared their approval, and demanded Faith keep going. "I Frenched him long and hard, and pushed my tits into his chest." She mimed herself heaving her chest, to everyone's amusement. "He was so hard I thought he was going to lose it right there. I opened his sport coat wide so it covered us up, and rubbed the outside of his pants. He was big, lemme tell ya, girls, and hard as a pipe." 

Faith had a well-deserved reputation for taking sexual matters into hand. By this point in her story, she had arisen to her full height of five feet, six inches, and with much of her one hundred and eleven pounds put to exceedingly good use above her waist, Faith was free to indulge in her desires for choosing such partners as she liked for whatever purposes she chose to put them. Faith wasn't gorgeous, but she wore her carnality on her expensive sleeves, and there was no mistaking that she possessed a dirty mind. She liked to show off her formerly small breasts, which were now the object of frequent interest and close attention by gentlemen and ladies, alike. Faith adored fine lingerie, not only the way it looked in the full-length mirror and felt beneath her elegant wardrobe, but also the way it could be flashed to advantage to signal her interest in a new partner. When she told a man, "Come over here, will ya?" he knew just what she meant. A frequent flier, she took her sex in business hotels and airport bathrooms, where she was just as loud as she was everywhere else. 

She continued her story. "There were a lot of people dancing, but I wanted to make sure we finished before the song ended. I unzipped him right there and pulled out his fat fucking cock and gave him a monster squeeze. I thought he'd pass out, but I was the one who couldn't take it anymore. I pushed him over to the coat room, yanked off my panties and straddled him where no one could see us. Best two-minute fuck I've ever had."

The assembled crowd called her every dirty name they could think of, but everyone heartily approved and let her know it. Faith pretended she was hot and fanned herself, and Stacey made an obscene gesture like she had something big and long in her mouth. This month's meeting was essentially over, even as Sheryl and her new friend got their second wind and staggered into the bedroom.

e

Stacey tamped out her cigarette in the overflowing ashtray, and drew another from the pack. She loved the dry paper taste on her lips and she habitually flicked the end of the filter with the tip of her tongue. It felt gratifyingly stiff, and her lips held it lovingly, as she torched it with the absurdly expensive lighter she bought years ago on vacation in St. Thomas. Inhaling deeply, she pulled the smoke huskily into her chest and the delicious aroma of burning tobacco into her nostrils.

Stacey had immensely and consciously enjoyed every cigarette she had ever smoked. The addictive satisfaction brought to mind her complete surprise, fresh as a snowflake, that she could have ever given up smoking at the annoying insistence of her ex-husband, that prick. Peter had many fine qualities, she supposed, and they tried hard to make the marriage work, but it sagged after just three years. The two years before they finally got up the nerve to divorce were the most miserable of her life, punctuated by too much wine and obsessive masturbation. Thank God they never had children.

Stacey was endowed with sparkling blue eyes that set off her curly, dirty blond hair to considerable advantage. She was a frequenter of electronic beaches from coast-to-coast, so that when she showed off her well-defined abs - which she did at every opportunity - her tawny skin and navel pendant brought the eye to a place that male and female alike hoped to kiss. Stacey was generally only too happy to accommodate, since she was an aspiring slut who did not discriminate against those who were not as gifted physically as she was. She thought the advice to "love the one you're with" was entirely sound, and immediate gratification was the only kind of pleasure she understood. Her favorite expression was "Let's get out of here."

Many of her most satisfying gratifications involved forcible restraints and instruments for the imposition of gentle - and sometimes not so gentle - physical discomfort. Faith had first been introduced to the dominant arts some years back by a man who understood the allure of submission, and she had been a keen and perceptive student who took to a riding crop the way Jimi Hendrix took to the guitar. She could apply handcuffs with a flourish with just one hand, while the stiff leather handle of her whip poised at the rectum of a naked and vulnerable companion made clear that instructions would be forthcoming, and that she was not to be disobeyed. 

It had not always been thus. As long as they had known each other, even before they were married, sex with Peter had been utterly predictable. It even had a starting signal: if Peter got hard when they kissed, it was time to have sex. Ten minutes later they were done, after the prerequisite sucking of nipples, fingering of pussy, and missionary intercourse. Stacey "liked it" most of the time, but the idea that sex could be earth-shattering, much less nasty, never really crossed her mind.

All that changed during their last two dreary years of marriage, when Stacey had the unexpected good fortune of seducing her son's third grade teacher. Mr. Texeira was a physically-imposing and handsome black man who looked completely out of place in an elementary school classroom. Appearances notwithstanding, he openly adored his students and they returned his affection with joyous hearts. He was married to a sweet, lovely woman whose name Stacey had not known, but whom she quietly envied for the beautiful and mannerly gentleman in her life.

One night, she and Mr. Texeira - "Tex" - were alone in his classroom, the last parent-teacher conference of the evening. In later years, when she thought back on that night, she often wondered if she had intentionally chosen the last time-slot so they'd be by themselves, two of the last few in the nearly-darkened building. The handsome teacher had remarked on her necklace, a Southwestern original of silver and blue stone, which had allowed her to lean forward to lift the necklace for him to touch. Her openly visible breasts followed, of course, and he did not hide his interest in her soft skin and available, albeit modest, cleavage. Without thinking, Stacey made a silly innocuous remark so she'd have an excuse to laugh musically and nonchalantly place her hand on his. With nerve she didn't know she had, driven by a sudden and overwhelming lust, Stacey gave him an unblinking stare that was full of unspoken meaning, signaling unmistakably her availability to him.

A fevered kiss followed, which they quickly broke off, ashamed and flushed with desire at the same time. Stacey's gaze let him know she did not want to stop. He quickly took her by the shoulders and led her into a small storeroom. Kissing deeply now, hungrily, she offered him access inside her loose dress to her aroused breasts, to which he helped himself tenderly. Stacey permitted herself to grab his hard-on without pretense or formality, and he offered no resistance. His body was impressively firm, and his cock was magnificently so. She felt neither shame nor reservation, and uncontrollably pulled at his belt and his zipper to release his prick and his balls, which she took into both hands. Her lover fell back against the wall, and she lowered her mouth onto him.

Stacey had little experience in giving or receiving oral sex, but now she had an instantaneous understanding of precisely what to do. Her lips, her tongue, her hands, even her lustrous hair, were all brought to bear on stimulating his cock. There was no part of it that did not get her attention, as she sucked him energetically, clutching his balls gently with her fingernails, and licked him and stroked him and squeezed him with complete concentration. Neither of them had any interest in stopping, and each moment seemed brand new to her, as if she were discovering the intense joy of giving head over and over again. He struggled to hold on.

Before long, it somehow occurred to him that he had not reciprocated in any meaningful way, and he extricated himself from her mouth and pulled her up to his face to kiss. As Stacey reached her arms as high as she could to enfold his neck, he reached under her dress and forced her panties down to her ankles and over the heels that she knew were too sexy for the occasion. Her pussy was drenched and he eagerly rubbed sweeping circles into her cunt with his thumb, which she ground roughly into his large hand. As her head fell back, Tex gently forced her back against the wall and opened her thighs. Stacey grabbed his cock and led him inside her.

He reamed her and kissed her and fucked her with all his energy, and Stacey encouraged him to impale her mercilessly, as she pulled his firm ass toward her with both hands. They panted heavily into each other's ears, making guttural sounds that added to the animalistic intensity of the encounter. He could fuck her like this forever, she thought, until she began to feel the tingling growing inside her, which soon became excruciating. Her thoughts, reduced to rapid-fire electrochemical stimulations, turned inward, at the same time that she was vaguely aware that something outside her was responsible for the sensory overload. Stacey heard the teacher grunt, then groan, then yelp, and he was silent for a moment before he convulsed violently and filled her with warm fluid, which overflowed her interior space and ran down her thighs. 

Her own violent orgasm followed shortly, shattering her to bits. She shuddered gratefully, feeling every particle of the delicious spasms between her exhausted legs. They kissed deeply for several long minutes, groins still fused wetly together. They pulled themselves apart after who knows how long, smiled sheepishly, and laughingly pulled themselves back together. 

Stacey and Tex enjoyed several more passionate encounters, until one bleak winter night when they were caught in flagrante delicto and the handsome teacher was summarily fired. Her own divorce followed ineluctably, but she had no regrets, as she now understood what she had been missing all those years, and she eagerly made up for lost time. Stacey discovered Internet pornography, in all its rich and deviant variety, and the bondage and S&M sites thrilled her unexpectedly. Mr. Texiera had taught her the joys of heavily-muscled black men with massive erections and copious amounts of semen, which she accepted joyously in her mouth, on her tits, and, soon, up her oh-so-tight and exquisitely sensitive ass. Her own homemade video recordings with multiple partners and triple insertions were appreciated by young boys and old men the world over.

And each and every time, she thought to herself, "Fuck you, Peter."

Chapter 2

"But why do they think we like it that way?"

After a fruitless day of shopping together, Faith and Sheryl had stopped into Starbucks before heading their separate ways, Faith to an empty house and more one-handed Internet surfing, Sheryl to a downtown drinking establishment for the real thing. It was late afternoon, and the coffee emporium was full of high school kids, speaking loud, fast and interrupting each other like competitive mah jong players slamming down tiles. The ladies tried not to listen, but it wasn't easy.


Pussy Hound



Sheryl shook her head. "Thinking has nothing to do with it, Faith. Their pricks have complete control over them. When are you going to understand that?"

Faith always resented Sheryl's condescension, but she shook it off. "Hey, I love my vagina, too, but at least I try to pay attention to who's ever fucking me." One of the high schoolers turned her head toward Faith sharply. Sheryl stared her down.

"That's because you're a sensitive, nurturing woman, dear. We have no idea what it feels like to have a hard-on, but as soon as a man gets one, he turns into a machine. I don't care who he is, a rocket scientist, a brain surgeon, they all become morons when they're aroused. And once the screwing starts, guys go into orbit and don't come back until they finish. We might as well be inflatable dolls."

They sipped their lattés and considered the wisdom of Sheryl's observation. Faith was a good deal less jaded than her companion, and enormously less experienced - but, then, who wasn't? - so she had to admit she was hardly in a position to disagree. 

Not that she had reason to. Her own experience, which wasn't exactly limited, confirmed that, with few exceptions, men were not generous in matters of sex. Faith's lovers had generally fallen into the proverbial two groups: those who were boring and seemingly apathetic, and those who were passionate and seemingly in a different room. Passionate was better, sure, but both were frustrating, and frustration and sex did not mix, although they did seem to travel together quite a lot.

"Well, isn't there some way to get a man's attention when he's fucking?" Faith asked earnestly. "I mean, I can't even get a guy to French kiss long enough to notice me while we're doing it. Don't some men try to show some fucking consideration?"

Sheryl leaned back in her chair. If she'd had a long, grey beard, she would have stroked it in a philosophical way. "In my time, I have heard of such men, of course. But to be perfectly honest, sweetie, in all my years in the sack, I have yet to meet one, let alone fuck one. They are as rare as they are wonderful." She became momentarily lost in thought, as she daydreamed about one particularly gentlemanly lover. Faith brought her back to consciousness.

"I just don't understand how that can be. Men and women have been having sex forever, and they should have evolved together to achieve some kind of balance. Instead, men expect women to do all kinds of exotic things, and all they do in return is fuck like a piston until they cum like an animal. Christ, the law of averages alone should produce better lovers!" The students stopped talking and pretended not to eavesdrop.

Sheryl gave Faith a pitying look. There was really nothing more to say; the world worked the way it worked and there was no point in getting upset about something that wasn't going to change. They finished their coffee, hugged and parted.

e

Sheryl first delivered herself into sexual oblivion at the tender age of thirteen at the onset of her biological ripening. There was no calculation and no deviancy, just a full appreciation of one more amazing thing to which her young, strong body was so well suited. Sheryl loved all kinds of sports and she took quickly and easily to anything involving a stick or a ball, especially anything edged with speed or fear. Riding horses was her favorite, a rare treat in which she hugged the animal's much larger body with every inch of her own, from her heels and ankles, strong calves and thighs, her tiny butt and sharp pelvis dug well in, her flat belly and tiny breast buds pressed against the beating neck muscles, the mane in her face as her own dark hair flew backward in the wind, her strong, thin fingers telling the horse to run as fast as he'd like, as fast as he could, oh, please, can't you go faster?

Her cousin Teddy was her regular riding partner. Teddy owned his own horse and took her to the riding club as his guest. Sheryl learned to accept the leering glances of the adult males as she traversed the clubhouse behind Teddy, keeping up with his long strides. As puberty overcame her, she began to notice appreciatively how his ass moved in his tight riding pants, but she did not separate in her mind the incipient sexual feelings arising from the anticipation of the ride or the powerful stimulation of the headlong rush of pounding through the fields on horseback.

One cool October afternoon, the cousins enjoyed a particularly grueling ride and they decided to walk the heaving horses back to the barn for the last half-mile. Despite the briskness of the day, both teenagers shone with sweat and their faces were flushed from hyperventilating. It felt good to be alive on such a day, tingling from head to toe, laughing comfortably at nothing.

As they passed a stand of birch trees, Sheryl tethered her horse to a tree and flopped on her back to bake her freckles in the undiminished sunlight of midday. Teddy did the same, the top of his head touching hers. When he asked her a question, she turned to answer him, with their faces so close that their noses touched and their eyes refocused. At such a moment, it was impossible not to kiss.

Had they not been newly teenaged, had they not had such an invigorating ride, and had they not been damp with their own clean sweat, the kiss might have been a cousinly peck that dissolved into friendly laughter. But he was fourteen and she thirteen, and the ride had been thrilling, and their bodies were warm and supple. Sheryl had kissed a few boys before, but never in such splendid outdoors isolation and never while laying on the ground in immediate physical proximity. She gathered Teddy in her arms and legs, and he did the same, and their pelvises crashed into each other as if they knew what they were doing. When her handsome cousin opened his mouth she did the same, and she responded reflexively when his tongue invaded her. She had heard of French kissing, but this was her first time, and its overwhelming significance was not lost on her.

Sheryl was a smart and sassy kid, and there wasn't the least thing slutty about her, but she was about to discover her affinity and skill for sex. Her athletic body took to foreplay like any other new sport, and it simply did not occur to her to restrain herself out of some undefined notion of propriety.

Teddy had never encountered such an ardent lover and lost himself equally in her heated mouth and fierce embrace. His prick responded purposefully, and he drove his groin into her without thinking. She reciprocated with equal stupidity, feeling the electric reaction between her legs, and brought her hand from his back to his growing hardness. Their mutual thrusting intensified, and they ate each other's mouths as indecently as they possible could.

As Teddy grabbed Sheryl's writhing ass, she could not direct enough pressure to satisfy the unbearable tingling in her crotch. She pushed him onto his back and climbed up to rub herself painfully onto his accomplished hard-on, taking complete control now of her own pleasure. She bucked furiously and left him no escape, and they both closed their eyes and came ferociously in their pants.

She collapsed onto Teddy, gasping for breath but not breaking their kiss, and she guided his hands onto her grateful breasts. He squeezed them much too hard, not understanding their exquisite sensitivity, and Sheryl could forgive him only if he did it again. He did, this time pinching her rigid nipples, which caused another tremor in her crotch. She forcefully unbuttoned her shirt and wrestled herself out of her training bra, and pulled his mouth to suck on her buds. At first, he was too gentle, and she thrust her breast into his face and grabbed the back of his head to let him know she meant business. He was a good student, and she descended gratefully back into senselessness.

The sight and touch of Sheryl's bare chest - not to mention her aggressive seizing of control of the heated situation - revitalized Teddy's attention and began to bring his sopping wet prick back to life. A feeling of inevitability enveloped them as one organism. They rudely kicked off their riding boots, and Sheryl collected herself to focus on unbuckling his belt. She grabbed his hardening pick roughly as they escaped from their pants, and its growing size was thrilling. She wanted to fuck him like a slave.

She shuddered uncontrollably when his fingers intruded into her slit, but she spread her exposed thighs to help him make his way inside her. The heel of his hand brushed against her clitoris, and the jolt made her grab his hand and press against her with all her strength. She splattered his hand in a way that made her swoon.

There was no turning back now. His cock was as big and hard as an organ made of flesh could become. This time, Teddy pushed Sheryl on her back, which she accepted eagerly. She separated her dust-covered thighs and held his still sticky prick at its base, directing him inside her with purpose. Her legs seized his back, preventing an escape he had no interest in making, and with one heroic effort, they tore away the protection of her hymen with the aid of an involuntary but simultaneous shout of completion.

Sheryl felt insane with pleasure and she silently begged her cousin never to stop fucking her. For reasons she could never understand, she reached around behind him with one hand and rudely touched his asshole with her middle finger, while the other hand gently cupped his balls from behind. Teddy responded like a race horse, and Sheryl's legs released his back and her feet flailed in the air to create the widest possible opening for his attack. Teddy's prick was thin but long, and she couldn't stand any kind of withdrawal from her cavity, so she used her greedy hands to urge him to impale her completely. With even partial escape thus prevented, his thrusts hammered her into the dry grass.

Afterward, she was unable to grasp the concept of orgasm as some kind of distinguishable event that sometimes happened during intercourse - and sometimes did not. Her dedication to fucking Teddy and being fucked by him was complete and unreserved, and she crashed through repeated and rising waves of killing spasms with the expectation that an infinite supply were on the way. There was a mutual reward to their combined effort, to which she devoted herself with sweat and flying dirt. Her noises became hysterical, and eventually Teddy joined in, peaking with a warming sensation in her battered cunt that seemed to take forever to subside. The pulsation continued for an unknowable amount of time, as they tongued each other's mouths to attempt to express the full measure of their mutual gratitude.

Since that first time, Sheryl's flowering had become not only noticeable to one and all; instead, it defined her. Everywhere she went she found herself fixed in the gaze of men and boys, women and girls, their carnality transparent and raw. At first she was surprised, thinking each instance was singular and unremarkable. Soon, though, she realized that these were not isolated episodes, but part of a predictable and expected pattern. After finding herself reflected in the searing stares of dozens of strangers, she began to realize that there was something about her appearance that attracted sexual attention. By the time the number had grown to hundreds, she had long since realized that her appearance was exceptional. Not only had she become used to it, she accepted it as the natural order of things, and saw herself as others saw her, as beautiful, ripe and fine.

Before long, of course, people did not merely look, and she was accosted by strangers on a regular basis. Teachers, Starbucks baristas, mailmen, receptionists, librarians, waiters and waitresses, doctors, delivery men, convenience store clerks, relatives, classmates, and other human beings, various and sundry, overcame their respective levels of reticence, whatever they might be, and asked, in one way or another, to get inside what they knew to be her delicious pants.

Getting hit on so often was a profound teacher and Sheryl quickly learned how to master any sexual overture. She learned when a simple refusal would work, and when a firmer response was required. She learned how to say yes, as well, in all its many shadings and variations. She could calibrate her acceptance to control the situation precisely; a new lover was made to understand the boundaries in a way that he (or she) would not dare to transgress. The high school principal received his blow job behind closed doors and knew not to ask for more. She let her uncle finger fuck her in his car and he accepted his hand job gratefully. The janitor had her in the closet, as she took the biggest cock she'd ever seen from behind, the old man rising to the occasion and leaving her nearly unable to walk.

Gynecological exams almost always got out of control. The first time she'd removed her clothing and heaved herself into the stirrups, the nurse tried to contain herself, but failed miserably. When she asked Sheryl if she was sexually active, Sheryl replied, "Yes, but not today." When she fixed the nurse with a lewd expression, her examiner became undone and shuddered with embarrassment. Recovering her composure, but not her self-control, she placed her palms on Sheryl's creamy thighs, and slowly lowered her face into her wide opening. Sheryl writhed appreciatively as the nurse held her pelvis in a firm grip, and invaded her cunt as deeply as her tongue would allow. 

h

As soon as Faith walked in the door, she called Stacey to continue the conversation she'd started with Sheryl. Faith had convinced herself during the ride home that Sheryl was just showing off. Surely there were plenty of available men who appreciated the gift a woman gave every time she consented to sex, every time she exposed her imperfect body to the silent judgment of her lover. When a woman who was a skillful and creative sex partner - and Faith was both - was naked and fully attentive in bed, when she left her shame elsewhere and did all she could to thrill his prick and his ass and his legs and his mouth, it seemed inevitable that the man would think of nothing beyond how he could return the exquisite favor.

Stacey's response was a curt as it was disappointing. "Sheryl's absolutely, 100% right. All men are selfish pigs in the sack."

"All men? Come on, Stace!"

"Well, I've never met one who wasn't. I've had good sex and bad sex and so-so sex and great sex, but I've never, ever had sex where the man tried to make me feel as good as I tried to make him feel. Not one damned time."

Faith shook her head in dismay. "I can't believe this. How did this happen? So much has changed, and guys still screw like mindless animals?"

"Well," offered Stacey, "a mindless animal with a nice fat cock can be a beautiful thing. But I learned long ago to lower my expectations, and it sounds like it's time you did, too."

Faith was not ready to concede. "I still can't believe all women feel this way. Hang on, I'm going to conference Kate in."

"Don't tell her what you think!" Stacey interjected quickly. "Let her give her own answer."

Kate's voice made it a threesome. "Hey, ladies. What's up?"

"Faith and I wanted your opinion about something. Do you think all men are selfish in bed?"

"What!" Kate laughed uncontrollably until she coughed and spluttered, before regaining the power of speech. "Let me guess which one of you rocket scientists think the answer is no: Faith?" Stacey screamed a laugh, and Kate joined in the good time at Faith's expense.

"Come on, Faith! Have you ever had a lover who cared about your needs as much as you cared about his?" Faith admitted that she hadn't, but protested that didn't mean there weren't any. 

"Maybe not," Kate replied, "but it doesn't mean there are, either. Maybe where there isn't smoke, there isn't fire. Maybe at least one of the three of us would have had just one by now." When Stacey interjected that Sheryl hadn't found one, either, Kate couldn't contain herself. "Jesus Christ, Faith! If fucking Sheryl who has had more sex than anyone in the fucking Western hemisphere hasn't found a generous guy, there's a pretty fucking good chance they don't exist!" 

Faith reluctantly conceded that Kate had a point. They agreed to convene an emergency meeting of the Wine Club and said goodbye.

h

Between Sheryl and Kate, it was hard to say who was the more attractive. Sheryl looked like she'd been created for the purpose of maximum sexual arousal, while Kate looked like a textbook illustration of a trophy wife, which was precisely the career to which she aspired. Her qualifications were almost ludicrously oversupplied: at 33, she still had lustrous, naturally-blonde hair, parted just off-center, that cascaded to her waist, where it crowned a tight, alert ass on which all men who beheld her thought of bouncing quarters endlessly. Her Nordic face featured impossibly clear skin that radiated wholesomeness and lubricious health, reinforced by her sharp, distinguished nose, a handsomely cleft chin, a majestic forehead above grey-green eyes of inordinate size and captivating clarity. She smiled easily with a full-on set of polished teeth that looked to be set with a carpenter's level, and her lips were symmetrical, full and inviting. She never wore lipstick or makeup, never woke up with bed head, and undoubtedly could come in from a hurricane looking ready for a Victoria's Secret photo shoot. She had, of course, the slim, long-waisted and small-breasted body of a lingerie model, whose most arresting feature was her absurdly perfect legs, which of course required neither stockings nor elegant shoes, but showed off both to jaw-dropping advantage. 

Unlike poor Beth, whose mind was perpetually in the gutter but who couldn't seem to attract a sexual partner with a gun, Kate's pickup line - "Would you like some company?" - never missed. Of course, in Kate's case, "Excuse me, do you happen to know what time it is?" would have worked every bit as well, and she was exceedingly careful to deploy her powers of attraction only in the direction of the most deserving prospects. She had had precisely as much sexual experience as she wanted, which was a considerable amount, while preserving at all times the air of refined elegance which she knew would someday stand her in good stead with an appropriate Master-of-the-Universe husband.

h

Kate's sexual beginning had a ring of the trite tale of the mistreated baby-sitter, but with the surprising twist that she found the experience neither degrading nor distressing. Kate's burning powers of attraction had turned on like a light switch when she was barely thirteen, which coincided perfectly with her readiness to watch the neighborhood kids and give the parents a rare night out for a couple of hours. Wives had the intuitive sense to worry about Kate's radiant appeal, and husbands found themselves helpless in her proximity.

On the night of her deflowering, Kate was sitting almost a mile away from her own house when she stumbled on to Mr. Bank's stash of pornographic DVDs. She put the kids to bed and lost herself in masturbatory indulgence to the point that she was caught completely unawares with one hand deep inside her pants and the other buried beneath her training bra when she heard the front door open. She only had enough time to wildly grab the remote and shut the TV off with the DVD still spinning away in the player. Her clothes were still askew and her face was flushed crimson when Mr. Banks sauntered into the room to ask if the kids had been good. As she stammered a reply, he pretended not to understand that he'd caught her doing what he himself had done so many nights in this same room.

The ride home was excruciating. Mr. Bank's transparent efforts at small talk were not easing the tension even a little, and he seemed as mortified as she was. In truth, he was overcome with thoughts of fucking Kate with abandon, and his synapses were firing chaotically. Kate stole a glance at him when he made a left turn, and she was stunned to see his straining erection clearly visible through his khaki pants. Her brain catapulted back to the massive pricks in the porn videos that drove her fingers deep into her wet pussy, and she looked away and clutched the armrest as she surrendered to graphic visions of her cunt invaded by his obviously sizeable cock.




Pussy Hound



Lost in thought, Kate realized that the car was slowing down and pulling over on a gravel embankment on a poorly lit side street not far from her house. The lovely teenager looked at the father seated next to her, who was struggling to speak.

"Look, Kate," he began haltingly. "This is incredibly embarrassing for both of us." He fumbled for words, intending to do the right thing and put them at some kind of ease. Kate looked at him hopefully, wanting him to succeed, but her thoughts were too obvious for him to miss. They both looked at each other for an uncomfortably long interval, until he broke the silence: "God, you are so beyond gorgeous ..."

They grabbed for each other and wrestled awkwardly in the confined space of the front seat. Their tongues lapped hungrily, and she whimpered with excitement. She reached for his crotch, and pressed the length of him, bringing him out of his seat and on top of her torso. She clutched at him wildly, before reaching inside his belt and pulling the strap from the buckle ineptly. He heaved himself to his knees on her seat and shimmied out of his trousers, his chest bent lower over her incandescent blond hair.

Kate needed no encouragement. She slipped his boxers down and exposed his erect member, before descending on him with her open mouth. He gasped as she took all of him in, before retreating to lick the full length, squeezing his shaft roughly as he struggled to maintain his balance with one hand on her shoulders and one on the door. He grabbed at her blouse and untucked it from her jeans, and she obliged him by freeing her already developed breasts from their confinements. He held them with tenderness and awe, and she return to pistoning his penis in her mouth.

Her nipples had stiffened against his intruding thumbs, and she needed more. She pushed him away and scrambled into the back seat. He had to climb out the front door and into the back to join her, by which time she had kicked off her shoes, unfastened her pants and exposed herself from the waist down. She managed to escape from her blouse, and they dove back in to find each completely naked, an astonishing physical revelation to them both.

The father was licking and groping her tits, and she accepted his attention with the same fierceness with which he gave it. She blindly grabbed at his ass, which was firm and surprisingly smooth. As she reached around to find his sack, her hand grazed his ass crack, and as if she had some kind of key, he arched his bottom and spread his cheeks for her. Kate was unsure about what to do, until she felt his stiff fingers entering her wet pussy, and she accepted his unspoken but unmistakable invitation to penetrate his asshole with her finger. This was entirely new territory for them both, but he did not resist as she bravely probed his inside, causing him to increase the violation between her legs in equal measure.

They were now engaged in some kind of contest, in which each tried to escalate the onslaught on the other and thereby cause their own pleasure to be made all the more unbearable. Kate was gasping shamelessly, having surrendered herself completely to whatever he wanted to do, knowing that her finger in his ass gave her control to force him to do whatever she wanted, whatever she needed. She ground her finger beyond the furthest point it could go, eliciting an exhaled "oh" from him that he could not contain.

The sensations in her cunt were becoming unbearable and she needed to release them or she felt she would explode. She fucked his hand by thrusting her pelvis and grinding her clit into his pubic bone. It was not enough; she needed much more.

Kate grabbed his cock and lifted one leg up over the front seat. Mr. Banks understood her intentions immediately. He backed up to give himself room and she directed his pole into her, encountering resistance at once. Her opening was too narrow to accept him, but they could not contain themselves. She pushed her abdomen forward and stretched herself as wide open as she could manage, at the same time driving him forward with her ass-embedded finger.

He complied and made progress with no small difficulty before encountering the wall of her virginity. The pain of opening her tight canal was now compounded with the pain of resistance. Kate bit her lip and they persevered in a loud combined effort. He thrust and grunted, while she winced and encouraged him to continue. She felt herself being ripped apart and cried out, but he was too committed to relent. It was clear to her that there was no alternative but to give way, and she fought to accept his invasion. She knew there had to be blood with anything that hurt so goddamned much. She felt so much bittersweet relief as he completed penetrating a place even her own fingers had not touched.

After a moment's pause in which she was able to collect herself, she prepared herself to accept his renewed attack. The pain had subsided, replaced with an increasing pleasure that she knew would make everything worthwhile. Her groin felt so full, so wonderfully fucking full, as he drove her into the cushioned seats, and she allowed herself to accept and receive.

"Fuck! Oh, oh, God, oh, God, fuck."

Her filthy words encouraged him, and her tight vagina held him in its grip. She was completely soaked in her own wetness, and he began to slide back and forth inside to the full length of her pussy and the even greater - astonishingly greater - length of his magnificently full-grown erection.

She threw her head back as the first crashing orgasm overtook her. Kate voiced high-pitched squeals right into his ear, making him thrust faster and deeper, impossibly deeper. She could not stop, nor she could continue. Her noise-making became continuous and thinner, finding the top of her vocal range, pleading with itself to reach where it could not go. His back was slick with sweat, and she tore at his ass cheeks with her fingernails, verging on a complete loss of control. Bank pushed himself up with his hands against the seat bottom to gain more leverage, and grunted with exertion to achieve ecstasy that would fall just short of murder.

To Kate, it felt like the sweetest murder there could be, a complete annihilation of her separate self, a willingness to tolerate eagerly whatever he could do to her, however fiercely and senselessly and unendingly he could fuck her. She had lost all pretense of control, her finger hanging limp in his rectum, his ass cheeks all hard muscle now, driving like a piston that would not relent. She came and came and came and came; her fluid covered the seat, but she had an endless supply, if only he would keep fucking her.

The increasing noise coming from her lover let her know he could not keep it up much longer. She could tell he had lost track of her entirely, as his consciousness zeroed in on his bursting testicles. As she awaited the inevitable climax, her own rippling spasms became intolerable, too sweet to endure, too convulsive, too everything at once.

Kate could sense from some distant, interior place that Banks was surrendering to his own orgasm, his plentiful liquid adding to the infinity of her own. He seemed to come forever, as he rammed her repeatedly with punishing force. God bless him, she thought.

They collapsed in a heap, covered in slop and smell and warmth, their skin aglow and their gasping shared. He moved first, and she helped lift him off her, accepting a last deep kiss to tell each other that what they did was okay, that they weren't ashamed, that such exquisite pleasure had no regrets.

Kate staggered into her parents' dark house and fell into bed, where she allowed herself to wallow in the aftershocks in her pussy. "What a fucking great feeling," she thought to herself. "I'm going to do that as often as I possibly can."

Chapter 3

The membership of the Wine Club was assembled in the grand suburban splendor of the household of James and Beth Ryan. As the last couple who had anything remotely resembling a happy - or even civil - marriage, Beth had managed to assemble a home that would have done Architectural Digest proud. The daughter of accomplished and educated parents, Beth had discerning taste baked into her DNA, and her thirteen year marriage to a successful investment banker had provided the funds, the time and the designers to make a model home. When the Club had a meeting the members considered important, it was understood by one and all that Beth would host.

Beneath the surface appearance of domestic tranquility in the Ryan household, emotional turmoil troubled Beth during most of her waking hours. It was not the chafing of a long marriage that bothered her, for she loved her husband dearly and he was devoted to Beth, albeit in a settled kind of way. But Beth had the mind of a fourteen-year old girl in thrall to her hormones, and she was hopelessly preoccupied with obsessive thoughts of dirty, filthy, shameless sex.

The simple fact was that she had had far less bedroom experience than her friends, and her generally normal desires had flowered into full obsession. Her fantasies were intrusive and distracting, and a constant source of nervous stimulation. She had cheated on her husband just once, but only because the opportunity never presented itself. Beth had no particular physical gifts, but she was skilled at the cosmetic arts, and her wardrobe was stylish, tasteful and original. The overall effect was of a cultured, mannered woman who made the very best of the little that she had to work with, which, she fervently hoped, should be enough for most men looking for extracurricular fun.

The one time, which seemed like a thousand years ago now, happened, of all clichés, on a rare business trip with her boss from a prior publishing job, back when she was a very junior editorial assistant reporting to a sweet but not-so-handsome and somewhat less-junior editorial ladder-climber. He was a frequent business traveler, and they had taken advantage of his membership in one of those elite clubs to take refuge one February night snowed in at O'Hare.

The overcrowding and cancellations had become sufficiently overwhelming that the club had declared an open bar, which brightened the mood of the stranded population considerably. Beth and her boss were on their third vodka martinis, and they were starting to look more and more attractive to each other.

Beth's boss had few features of face that would be considered desirable by most women. He was a large, gentle man who was entirely unschooled in even the most basic techniques of flirtation. To be fair, he'd been shy his whole life, and it was to his credit that he had managed to overcome his social disability to achieve some measure of success in the business world. He was about as comfortable with Beth as he was with anyone, which is to say he wasn't very comfortable with her at all, but the drinks put him in a frame of mind where he was a little more able to throttle back his self-consciousness to a more functional level.

Beth, on the other hand, was well along to unreserved inebriation, and she was smiling drunkenly and talking louder than usual with garishly overdrawn expressions and sweeping hand gestures. The boss was perfectly happy to have her dominate the conversation, and he found himself enjoying the view of his elegantly-dressed traveling companion and drinking buddy. Beth had moved into close physical proximity, and she frequently squeezed his large bicep or slapped his knee to punctuate her animated storytelling. 

"I mean, this fucking guy wants me to tell him on the phone, right then and there, why we were rejecting his manuscript!" Beth never swore in public, let alone in business settings, but she was enjoying the freedom to do so now. Her boss did not express disapproval. "He would not let go! I couldn't get him off the fucking phone! So I told him: 'Well, first of all, you can't write worth a damn.' I can't believe I said that! And, of course, he didn't like that one bit. 'What do you mean I can't write! Everyone in my writing class loves my stuff!' "Can you believe that? Where did they get this guy?"

Beth paused to finish her drink, and her boss flashed two fingers to the bartender for another round. Beth performed a short pantomime to show how drunk she was, but she didn't refuse the drink. Her boss made a token effort to contribute something to the conversation, knowing that only minimal effort was required. "What was the book about?"

Beth practically ejected herself from her chair in a vain attempt to portray the enormity of her reaction. "Ohmigod! It was so lame! It was an incredibly long manuscript about some horrible couple who had all the money in the world and traveled all over creation to find a cure for some incredibly rare disease the wife had. He had stuck in all these pointless trips to exotic locales where they stayed in five-star hotels and drank hundred-dollar bottles of wine while they pestered the locals about where they could find some witch doctor or other they'd heard about on the last continent they visited." She was enjoying herself immensely, now, slurring her words and losing her equilibrium on the bar stool. 

"And the sex scenes were unbelievably cheesy!" Beth delighted herself with the discovery of the conversational possibilities of this new-found topic. She put her hand on her boss's shoulder and leaned in to try unsuccessfully to talk discretely in his ear, without modulating her volume at all. "The husband and wife cheated on each other every chance they got. And there were so many sexual clichés! All the women had enormous boobs and all the guys had huge cocks, and they fucked for hours on end having multiple orgasms and making all sorts of noises. They talked dirty when they screwed, and said clever things like, 'don't stop!' and 'oh, your cock is so big!' It was hilarious, but he thought it was enormously erotic."

Her companion smiled weakly and said nothing, clearly embarrassed by the frank talk, however trite it was. Beth was far too drunk to notice his discomfort, but she was working herself into some real enthusiasm.

"So I told him, 'Look, what you've written isn't sexy. Believe me, I have a very active fantasy life, and I know what's sexy. You do a terrible job of describing what it feels like to touch someone else's private parts.' That's what I called them, 'private parts!'" she confided to her boss. "Can you believe that? Anyway, I told him you've got to create a very vivid picture of what it's like to screw somebody, or give oral sex. Your reader needs to feel that cock in her mouth, to know what it feels like to work a big, stiff dick and slobber it with your tongue. Or what it feels like ramming a woman's pussy. Women don't always make noise whenever they fuck, you know? At least I don't, that's for sure."

Beth was talking out loud to herself now, her fourth glass empty, its contents swimming around in her head and traveling down her torso to her extremities. She enjoyed the relief of her unaccustomed frankness, and decided that the world needed a lot more honest talk about sexual desires, starting right now.

"You know, Tom, I think people are too repressed about sex. I really do. Why shouldn't mature adults like us be able to say what we really think about stuff without getting all embarrassed. Hell, we all have healthy fantasies about people we work with, right? I sure do. God, I'd fuck you in a heartbeat. In a fucking heartbeat."

Beth hadn't the least awareness that she had said anything remotely inappropriate. Her companion drained his glass and decided he didn't either. Beth's previously unappreciated loveliness had become increasingly evident to him, and the idea of fucking her hard seemed entirely sensible. Beth regarded him with half-closed eyes, and managed to form the intelligent thought that sex was available. She asked Tom if he could help her find the ladies' room. As they took each other's arms and stumbled down the hall, they shared a single thought.

Beth pulled her boss into the oversized bathroom and looked for the handicapped stall. Happily, there were two, and one was apparently occupied with another couple who'd had the same idea sooner. Their neighbors were having a raucous time of it, and their high-pitched yelps made clear that the participants were both women. Beth pulled Tom into the stall, stuffed her tongue wantonly into his mouth, and grabbed his stiffening package. Tom reciprocated desperately with his mouth, and clumsily extracted Beth from her jacket and grabbed at her tits. Beth undid her buttons as quickly as she could manage and unsnapped her bra, leaving both in a heap on the floor, something her normal fastidiousness would never allow.

Tom sucked her nipples hungrily while Beth held his head for dear life. Her eyes were tightly shut as her lover pushed his hard-on into her crotch, demanding entry. Beth was ready, and removed his pants while he forced up her skirt and groped at her panties. She climbed aboard, encircled his neck with her arms, and lowered herself onto him with one foot balancing on the toilet for support. The penetration was instantaneous and complete, shocking them both, and producing guttural sounds for the satisfaction of their neighbors, who were still going at it with considerable energy. 

There was no other word besides fucking to describe what they were doing. Their exertions were too strenuous to allow anything other than pumping each other for all they were worth, though her nipples were as stiff as quarters and begging to be sucked. But the needs of her pussy were so much greater, and she needed to take his prick as much as he needed her to ride him violently.

From time to time, they heard doors open and close, but paid them no mind, and they could have noticed their neighbors standing on the toilet and peering over the partition at them, but they were far too far gone. As his orgasm built and the intensity of the friction increased, they vocalized their uncontainable pleasure without forming comprehensible words. The evident intensity of their lovemaking drove their unseen lesbian companions back to work, and the room took on the pervasive aroma of sweat and vaginal fluid.

Tom's orgasm produced a wave of convulsion that required a good deal of noise to release. Beth welcomed his ejaculation and added her own sounds of release, while she pressed her high-heels against the wall to absorb his final spasms. There was cum everywhere it seemed, but the warm mess only reinforced the overwhelming sensations that governed them. They listened to the facial fucking taking place in the adjacent stall, sober but inebriated in a new and more satisfying way. After recomposing themselves, they cleaned up as best they could and stumbled back to the bar, trying to avoid eye contact with the bar tender, who wasn't born yesterday.

Other than that, Beth had never cheated on James. Which is definitely not to say that she didn't want to in the worst possible way. Her favorite - in fact her only - pick-up line was, "Would you like to get some coffee?" which she hoped sounded like, "Would you like to fuck me?" She couldn't understand why it had never had the intended effect.

h

Kate, Faith and Sheryl had each filled Beth in on their recent conversations on the subject of male attentiveness - or lack thereof - during sexual intercourse. The conversations were animated and lengthy, and the four friends understood that this meeting was not to be missed. Stacey had been away for the weekend with a new man in her life, and although the sex was "good" by most standards (not to mention plentiful, the pair having spent almost the entire weekend in the sack, the tub and on the thickly-carpeted floor), it merely corroborated the thesis that, once the penis finds its way into the vagina, men became utterly self-absorbed. In short, all five ladies were ready to blow, and several glasses of wine into the discussion did not serve to lessen their ardor.




Pussy Hound



"When guys are screwing, you could hit them with a frying pan and they wouldn't notice," Faith declaimed. "Once they start, all they want to do is finish, and nothing gets in the way."

Kate was vehemently in agreement. "Even if they're great kissers, even if they go down on you, even if they like foreplay, when the fucking starts, it's all about them. And then it's just pump and drill, pump and drill, until they cum. If you happen to get off, too, great; if not, that's your problem."

Stacey chimed in. "This guy I was with this weekend was a great lay. From the minute we got in the room, we were all over each other. He was very sweet, mostly, and he usually took his time. But most of the time, I could tell he was just waiting to start screwing, and then he forgot that I was there." She sighed long and hard. "Don't get me wrong. This was a weekend of really great sex and lots of it. Hell, I can barely walk. But the actual fucking felt like working out at the gym. Intense, but in a strenuous sort of way."

"We're getting a bit too negative, here, aren't we, girls?" It was Sheryl's turn. "One of the reasons we're all such good friends is we all feel the same way about sex." When the other four all shouted at once and practically threw their glasses at her, Sheryl corrected herself. "Alright, so I'm a little more sex-crazed than the rest of you. But don't pretend that you don't think about it as much as I do. I just do something about it more often." The room remained silent.

"Anyway," Sheryl continued, "what you're complaining about is just reality. We all love a good, hard, long screwing, and that's what we get from these guys when they do it right. They're men. They're physical. Yeah, they like blow jobs, yeah, they might indulge in a little foreplay now and then, but what they're really all about is fucking. They want to shove their big, hard cocks into our pussies and get to work, and then they just want to blow a big load inside us. This is not news, ladies." Sheryl surveyed the room as if daring anyone to disagree.

Kate spoke up before she had really thought through what she wanted to say. "You're not getting the point," she said. "I love having sex and I love having intercourse. God, I love all of it and I've had some great guys. I guess I'm talking about balance or something like that. It always seems like sex is divided into the big part - intercourse - and the little part - everything else. It's not just the amount of time, it's the emphasis, too. How much the guy cares about you."

Faith agreed. "It's like when it comes to screwing, we're along for the ride, but it's really about the guy. We're incidental."

"It is about the guy," Sheryl answered. "He has the cock, we have the pussy. The cock goes in the pussy. Even when we're on top, the cock still calls the shots."

Beth refilled everyone's glasses, as everyone seemed to agree more or less that that was the way things were and the way they would stay. They all liked to get laid, they agreed, and they all liked it long and hard, for the most part. They even had to admit that even they sometimes forget about the man when they were screwing their brains out.

But they also admitted that Kate had a point when she complained about the lack of balance. They all felt a bit deprived when it came to intercourse. The feeling was less with guys who were great in bed, of course, but most men weren't great in bed. With those guys, it really was all about fucking, and it was all about the men getting themselves off. Women really were along for the ride way too much of the time.

Chapter 4

Shaking off her late afternoon hangover after her guests had departed, Beth reflected on the fact that she was the only married one of the group and the one who seemed the most dissatisfied about the situation. She and James had a decent sex life, but sex had certainly become less frequent over the years, and their sessions were shorter and more routine. Intercourse became more central to their lovemaking, and she now realized that was a big part of the reason sex had seemed less satisfying.

When Beth masturbated, which she did much more frequently it now seemed, she didn't think about having intercourse. She thought about getting head for a long, long time. Some guy with his mouth on her pussy, lapping her up with his tongue, keeping it up while she came and came and came, until she brought herself to a genuine, crashing orgasm. 

Suddenly, Beth realized that she wanted just what men wanted: to be completely selfish while her partner paid attention to her desires until she was completely satisfied. The big difference was that her fantasies of selfish, greedy sex turned to oral sex, where she could guide her lover's head with her hands, grind her hips into his face, and pretty much control how he ate her out. Intercourse was cool, too, but she craved more oral sex, not more screwing.

By this time, Beth was making herself good and horny. Her hand had found its way down her pants, and she was gently stroking her pussy on top of her panties, making her hips squirm on the couch. She slid her hand inside her underwear and laced her fingers into her soft pubic hair, before placing her middle finger on her wet slit and sliding it up and down with increasing force. She pulled her hand out to unsnap her pants and pull down the zipper so she could get at herself with both hands. One finger smashing her clit, the other fiercely fucking her hole, she kept at it attentively until she felt the spasms coming and gave into the flood of feeling and warm liquid.

Panting heavily for a couple of delicious minutes, she recovered her clothing and straightened up on the couch. Thanking herself for a very nice time, Beth picked up a book from the end table that a friend had loaned her, The Surrender by Toni Bentley. Other than the subtitle, An Erotic Memoir, she knew nothing about it and read the flaps and back cover, astonished, and continued to read until it was time to make dinner, except for one short break to make herself cum furiously one more time.

h

Sheryl had fucked boys and girls and men and women of all ages and races, in various multiples, combinations and permutations, and her appetite only increased the more she indulged. But despite seemingly leaving no sexual frontier unexplored, Sheryl had stayed away from anal sex. The idea appealed to her plenty, but she was genuinely scared about taking one of those magnificent cocks she liked so much in her dainty little asshole. She had fingered her anus a few times, with some pleasure, and she let a couple of guys do the same, usually with less pleasure. But now it seemed like everyone and her mother had taken it up the ass, and Sheryl was not one to lag behind (so to speak). If they could do it, she thought, so could she.

So when Beth called to tell her about The Surrender, she was out the door like a shot. Self-confident girl that she was, Sheryl marched into Barnes & Nobles and asked the surprised young man at the information booth if they had it in stock. "It's about anal sex," she volunteered. 

After the clerk recovered some of his composure, he checked the computer and asked, with considerable embarrassment, "Would you like me to check the shelf to see if we have it in stock?"

Sheryl decided she was going to have some fun; she just couldn't help herself. "Let's go check together, okay?" She flashed him a dazzling smile, hooked her arm inside his, and told him to show the way. The poor sap started to walk in the wrong direction, suffering as he was from sensory overload, before finally finding The Surrender featured on three shelves in the New Arrivals section, displayed impressively with its front and back covers alternating. The back cover was a handsome and fetching grayscale photograph of the author, who seemed to have a thought bubble over her head saying, "Yeah, I've been getting fucked in my ass. What about it?"

The front cover had a peek-a-boo keyhole cut out with something pink behind it. The frightened clerk had managed to take one down and hand it shakily to Sheryl, who promptly lifted the flap to solve the mystery. There on the cover was the loveliest, most erotic and touchable color photograph of someone's absolutely luscious ass cheeks covered by the sheerest pink panties one could imagine. The poor boy was horrified when Sheryl leaned in to show him, pressing her chest into his shoulder.

"Oh, my, this looks perfect!" she said. "Let's take a peek!" She marched him into a back corner of the store, sat herself down in a handsome oak Windsor chair, pulled him onto her lap, opened the book to a random page, and read aloud in a stage whisper: 

"Then I asked that he lick my pussy for a while, taking long strokes from my ass to my pussy to my clit and back again, the whole wet package. That was great. Really just great. Next I asked him to concentrate on rimming my asshole with slowly increasing pressure until his tongue starting forcing its way inside: 'Like you want it.' 'Like'? He did want it. Then he served me four or five inches of a red chili pepper vibrator up my ass. I hadn't asked for that part, so to speak, but it was hot so I didn't object."

Her lap rider had become supremely uncomfortable, not least due to the fact that something big and hard was raging in his tight black jeans. Sheryl did everything she could to compound his misery. "Oh, man, doesn't that sound great? Have you ever done that? I'm starting to get kind of wet, here!"

She ground her crotch into his backside, and reached around his front to roughly take his hard-on in her hand. The boy had no idea what to do, so he did nothing, which let Sheryl lead the way. She pulled his mouth to her with her free hand and Frenched him deeply while she worked his dick like someone who had done it a thousand times before, which of course she had. As he began to lose control, Sheryl pulled him back to her so she could rub her stiffening nipples against him, and reached inside his belt. As she applied friction to his substantial erection, she tongued his ear and breathed into it noisily. In no time at all, he whimpered helplessly and released himself into her hand. She kissed him mercilessly, thanked him for his help and marched off to the ladies' room to clean up. The young man collapsed into the chair to contemplate the meaning of life.

h

Back at home in front of the fireplace, Sheryl could not believe what she was reading. Bentley was an educated, cultured and beautiful woman, a member of the tiny elite world of professional ballet dancers, who was writing graphically and eloquently, even poetically, about ass-fucking as the best sex she had ever known. It sounded both excruciatingly wonderful and excruciatingly painful, although Bentley seemed to have figured out how to alleviate the physical discomfort. Sheryl was enthralled as she read, in no small part because Bentley seemed to be as much of a sexual connoisseur as Sheryl was.

Sheryl was certainly getting the education about anal sex that she'd been looking for. It sounded exotic and possibly worth trying with the right guy, but her misgivings remained. How could a big, hard cock fit inside a little hole that wasn't really meant to accept one? And how could anal sex give you an orgasm, anyway? Does a rectum have the same kinds of nerves that a vagina has? She wasn't sure it made sense, although Bentley certainly described it in ways that made it sound very appealing. Sheryl had to admit she was getting extremely horny.

Chapter 10 was entitled, "Hound Sex." Sheryl practically dropped the book as she read the opening paragraph:

In those first years after my marriage, I discovered that the great antidote to bad fucking - or no fucking - is fantasy, and that fantasy's greatest aide is the Pussy Hound: the man who lives to dive. Every woman should have at least one; it can mend years, even centuries, of patriarchal ramming. Thank heaven, then, that women's liberation has fostered what appears to be an entire generation of this particular man: the male masochist who can now masquerade, legitimately, as the feminist man, the male lesbian. They can be spotted on street corners everywhere. I say grab one, girls, and give him a job!

She felt like an archeologist who had just stumbled upon the Rosetta Stone. This smart and sexy lady, who had transcended every boundary of conventional sex, and then obliterated the inhibitions of anal sex, had not only identified the very problem that the Wine Group had argued about, but she had also come up with the perfect solution: Pussy Hounds! There were men - supposedly lots of men! - who loved nothing better than to give women unlimited oral sex. They loved to give as much as women loved to receive. Men who "lived to dive." Imagine, a man "with his whole consciousness poised on his tongue," not his prick!

Forget anal sex, thought Sheryl. If such men existed - and Sheryl had such admiration for Bentley that she was sure they did - then she would find them. She would find them and give them just what they craved: her divine pussy. She would give them her naked thighs and her naked ass and let them have their way with her cunt and her clit and her soft, curly pubic hair, and they could cover their faces with her cum to their heart's content. Sheryl had no difficulty conjuring vivid images in her filthy mind of nice, considerate orally-obsessed men who would give her pussy their full attention while they brought her to unrestrained orgasm after orgasm, until she begged them to stop. She grabbed the phone.

"Stacey, you will not believe what I just read!" As she read her friend the entire chapter, both girls squealed with their fingers inside their panties, thrilling themselves with the thought of unlimited Hound sex, eager faces between their legs, taking all the time in the world, letting the women direct the action.

"Sheryl, how do we make this happen? Where are we going to find these guys?" 

Sheryl didn't know, but she was determined to find out, and fast. "Get dressed, Stace. We're going out. I'll be right over."

h

Nymphomaniacal though she was, Sheryl had very refined taste, and she graced her beautiful slim body with a lovely print silk dress, revealing at the top and bottom, barely reaching her mid-thigh. She covered her graceful legs in ultra-sheer stockings infused with silver sparkles, and her long heels with razor-thin straps would have made Carrie Bradshaw proud.

Stacey took a different approach. She was quite tall and didn't need any extra height that might disqualify guys under six feet, so she started with an attractive but demure pair of low-heeled pumps, and built her outfit on that foundation. A simple cotton calf-length skirt, with a tight pink collared blouse, but without a bra and with one too many buttons unfastened. Both women were ready to lay waste to any qualified Hound, and they set off.

In the car, they discussed both strategy and tactics. "How the hell are we supposed to recognize a Hound?" Stacey asked. "Do they look like every other guy you'd want to jump on?"

"I have no idea," Sheryl answered, pulling The Surrender from her bag. "She says 'the man who materialized in these heated encounters was more often than not almost physically repugnant to me - a beast-man.'" Silence filled the car, as neither girl was sure she wanted to take home a "beast-man."

"Well," offered Sheryl, "it sounds like we should at least be open to the possibility that any guy could be a Hound. If that's really what we want, we should keep an open mind."

"Fuck, that's what I want," admitted Stacey. "Imagine having some guy just eat you out 'til you couldn't take it anymore. Is that even possible? Shit, I'll keep an open mind for that any day."

Sheryl readily agreed, as they entered Sullivan's. It was almost 7:00 on a Thursday night and the bar was packed. Every pair of eyes in the place, even the women, turned to take in the two newcomers as they surveyed the scene. Two would-be pickup artists at the nearest table offered them seats. Sheryl and Stacey exchanged glances and accepted. Drinks were ordered and delivered.

"So," began the first laboratory rat. "You girls from around here?" Stacey said they weren't, and Sheryl decided to take the direct approach.

"Have you guys heard about this book called The Surrender? This really hot chick wrote it about her experiences having anal sex." Both men stopped what they were doing and practically did spit takes with their drinks.

"Um, no," said the second rat. "Sounds interesting."

"Well," said Sheryl, as she leaned conspiratorially into the table. "The thing that we found really interesting was the chapter on 'Hound Sex.' Have you ever heard of that?" Their table mates had not. "Well, she says there are guys who love to eat women out more than they like to screw. They can't get enough of it."

Both guys had incredulous looks on their faces; in fact, they were so appalled that they quickly recovered from their shock at the direction in which the much hotter of the two girls had steered the conversation. 

"Guys who would rather eat pussy than fuck? Are you serious?" 

Sheryl and Stacey assured them that they were, and looked at their companions intently. "Come on, use your imaginations," insisted Stacey. "You could drive a girl insane if you just ate her non-stop 'til she couldn't stand it anymore." She could tell she wasn't winning any converts. "Seriously." She leaned in close to the boy to her right, and put her hand on his thigh. "What if she had her legs wrapped around your neck and you were just diving into her for all you were worth? Doesn't that sound totally hot?"

Sheryl joined in. "Yeah, her pussy could be all shaved, and she'd be going totally wild on your face!"

The guys looked at each other, confused. Here were these two gorgeous women who they'd been sitting with for less than five minutes, out of the blue they had brought up the subject of anal sex - which was really cool! - and now they were saying that they wanted oral sex but no fucking. What the fuck?

"I thought you said the book was about anal sex," one stammered. "Have you ever done that?"

Sheryl flashed a murderous look that made them both shrivel. She was used to having men deal with her on her terms and she wasn't about to let these amateurs change the subject. "Hey, pal, we asked you two a question. Wouldn't it be hot to just eat a girl out until she couldn't stand it anymore and leave it at that?"

The boys were at a loss. One tried to explain weakly that he liked oral sex and everything, but that fucking was pretty cool, too. The other agreed, adding, "Um, isn't oral sex just, like, foreplay?"

Sheryl and Stacey exchanged knowing glances and disembarked from their chairs. "Thanks for the drinks," Sheryl said, clearly not meaning it.

Resettled on a couple of stools at the end of the bar, they commiserated over cocktails. "Well, what did we learn from that pathetic experiment?" asked Sheryl.

"Well, Sher, at first, I was thinking that maybe the direct approach wasn't the way to go. You know, hitting them over the head with it. But now I'm kinda thinking that maybe that's exactly what we should do. I mean, those two dopes weren't into giving head no matter how we brought it up. So why not just jump right into it? The kind of guys we're looking for would've loved it if we came right out and asked them!"

Sheryl listened and nodded. "Makes sense. We'll probably scare a lot of guys off, but so what? Either they get it or they don't. Just don't waste our time. If Bentley's right that there are a lot of guys who live to eat pussy, eventually we're going to find some."

And so the intrepid explorers split up and made their way through the available gentlemen in the bar, all of whom were impressed, even intimidated, by their overt sexuality, but all of whom were equally dumbfounded by what they were asking. Giving head instead of fucking? Were they serious? Not only did the boys make clear that they were definitely not that interested in going down on a girl, but they also clearly thought that a guy would have to be half-a-fag to not care about screwing her afterward.  




Pussy Hound



The ladies came to the unavoidable conclusion that, although this crowded bar was full of attractive guys whom they would gladly take home on any other night, it was, sadly, bereft of Hounds. They departed dejectedly, realizing that this wouldn't be as easy as they had hoped.

Chapter 5

Faith and Brian had been work friends for years, the kind of work friend with whom you share increasingly intimate secrets: embarrassing personal episodes, petty insecurities that make you mildly ashamed, and, eventually, matters of sex. The evolution to sexual topics was entirely natural, never forced, just one of those things that, being on both of their minds so much, became an unavoidable part of conversation. 

But now Faith felt uncomfortably self-conscious and she had no idea how to nudge the conversation in such an atypical direction. Sometimes, though, these things have a way of working themselves out, as if one's internal obsessions could somehow influence others along similar lines. 

They were standing together at the vending machines one day, expressing their mutual frustration about not having a relationship, which inevitably led to confessions of extreme horniness, and its close cousin, masturbation. Trying to sound more casual than she felt, Faith offered how she had been laying on the couch after a nap one hot afternoon, trying to wake up, when her thoughts drifted carnally to a mutual acquaintance at the office. The object of her fantasizing was unquestionably handsome, broad-shouldered, and studly in a rock hard sort of way. 

"Before I even realized what I was doing," Faith relayed, "my fingers had found their way inside my panties." She had Brian's full attention when she added, "I slid one slowly up my vagina, and in a few seconds of stroking, at first slow and gentle, and then really fast and rough, I had an amazing orgasm. I was soaking wet and limp as a noodle."

She looked at Brian expectantly, indicating with her fixed stare that she expected him to reciprocate with his own story of beating off. Faith's story had made him plenty hard and she could tell, so it wasn't that difficult for him to begin.

"Well, Faith, I fantasize about you when I masturbate," Brian said, keeping steady eye contact with her. He wasn't trying to make a move, exactly, but her ballsy story had given him the nerve to tell the unadorned truth. 

"You do?" she asked, eyes wider. "Do I want to hear this?"

In fact, he fantasized about her all the time. In particular, he dreamed of pulling down her panties from under the short skirts she often wore and burying his face in her crotch. In his trance, she settles back, splays her legs wide, and pulls his head gently into her warm open flesh, making him hard as a board, until he explodes as he clutches and pulls and rubs himself. And that's exactly what Brian told Faith, to her considerable astonishment.

Faith looked astonished. "You beat off thinking about eating me? Most guys hate that!"

"I don't. I love it. Always have."

"That's unbelievable," she said. "And hot, if you don't mind me saying so." She was blushing uncontrollably.

Brian tried to help Faith over her evident embarrassment, which he shared completely. "Hey, I think it's hot, too. Don't forget, I'm the one who ends up with the spunk on his hand."

She responded to his sheepish smile with an expression of regret and no small measure of resentment. "God, most guys only want to get a blow job and then fuck. They never want to reciprocate with their mouths. If they give any head at all, it's real quick and you can tell they're only doing it because they think they have to."

"Hasn't any guy ever given you great head?"

"Not really. Not to the point that I could say I was really satisfied. Definitely nothing memorable or earth-shaking." She was clearly unhappy.

He tried to be sympathetic. "Faith, I'm sorry. That must be frustrating."

"You have no fucking idea. Guys love blow jobs but they hate to return the favor. Lots of women love to give blow jobs, but they like getting head as much as guys do. Look, I think I give outstanding head, lots of guys have told me that. I get really worked up and stay at it for as long as he wants. I use my hands, I suck their balls, I've even swallowed and let guys cum on my tits." 

Brian was having trouble believing what he was hearing, which is not to say that he wasn't enjoying himself immensely.

"But when a guy goes down on me, I can always tell that he's not into it and is just waiting until he can fuck me." She was seriously upset now. "I like fucking, too, but I'd kill to find a guy who wanted to dive face first into my crotch and stay there until I had enough."

Brian didn't know what to say. "Um ..."

Faith looked at him intently. "Are you shitting me? Do you really like to eat pussy."

"More than anything." She knew he meant it.

"And you think about going down on me?"

"Uh huh. All the time." He couldn't keep from smiling stupidly.

Faith looked at Brian hard for a good long time, and then she reached a hand behind his neck and pulled him to her. She opened her mouth wide, delivered her tongue full into his waiting mouth, and filled him with hot breath and warm saliva. She took his hand, said "We'll see," and led him out to the parking lot to her SUV.

Faith didn't take her eyes off her friend as she unlocked the doors, climbed into the leather back seat and stretched out with her back against the door, she didn't take her eyes off him. She removed her shoes, and placed one foot on the floor and wedged the other one into the seatback. "Help yourself."

Brian was momentarily taken aback, but he managed to regroup and made himself comfortable. "All right, Stace. Here's the thing." She gave him her full attention. "I want you to let yourself go completely, to cum as much as you can and to have as many orgasms as you can. And don't even think about reciprocating in any way." He looked at her intently. "Understood?"

She nodded without saying anything, but shifted her hips involuntarily.

Brian placed a hand on each bare leg, soft, smooth, and brown, and slowly slid his palms up to her silken thighs, where they remained, exploring the delightful terrain. Faith squirmed and made a small guttural sound, but they kept their eyes fixed on each other.

His fingers slid slowly under the lacy edges of her pale blue panties, walked up the mound of her public bone, and lost themselves in her fulsome pubic hair.

God, he thought to himself, I love hairy bushes.

He played with her hair for a while, before brushing his thumbs lightly on both sides of the edges of her vagina and onto the sensitive plains of her inner thighs, slowly working his thumbs toward the center until they found wetness, all warm and slippery. He spread her pussy lips gently apart, and worked his thumbs up and down in parallel motion. She sat up to give him a deep, forceful kiss, before settling back down. The wet spot on her panties became noticeably darker. She closed her eyes and went inside herself.

With one thumb probing gently into her opening, the other found her clit, all swollen and exposed. He circled there very slowly, feeling its texture, resisting it gently, then plucking carefully, but insistently. They stayed that way for several long minutes, until Faith flooded the seat with her cum and her scent, undone, riding the wave, exhaling completely, consumed by the overwhelming sensations of spasm and release and the fluid of her cunt.

Orgasm number one. 

Neither of them moved for several languorous minutes. Then, gripping the top of her panties from the inside with both hands, Brian gently but firmly pulled them down her long, smooth legs. She did not resist, but let her legs fall open wider, freed from their restraint. His hands returned to her inner thighs, stroking softly in parallel. As he lowered his head, she could not see him with closed eyes, but she knew what he was doing. And what he was going to do. She titled her pelvis toward him for maximum availability.

Her pussy was soaking wet, at once puffy and sodden. He placed the flat of his extended tongue between her cunt lips, and licked upward slowly, one time, before lifting his tongue from her body. Faith arched her back and moaned encouragingly.

Brian licked her again the same way, but this time traversed up to her clit, which he sucked and tongued deeply, slowly but with more urgency, with hunger, without ever removing his tongue from her clit. He lapped up her juice, inviting her to supply more, pressing against her pussy and her clit with his mouth and tongue and chin, entering her full opening, pressing his nose into her clit, which he drilled gently, at first, then more fiercely. She pulled his head into her crotch with real force, using both hands. Gripping her pelvis, he pulled her further into his mouth, covering his face with her cum, while she ground herself into him. Releasing his head, she cupped both breasts and squeezed them mercilessly through her gauzy shirt, before pinching her nipples hard.

Her flood was now abundant, and he sucked her clit harder, pulling it into his mouth, careful to make it hurt just a little. She needed more. "God," she begged, "don't ... stop ..." 

"No chance," he told her. He renewed the assault, eating her fully, tongue inside her hole, then along the lips, then slobbering her clit, now flicking the button relentlessly, as she started to squirm, losing control. The sensations became overpowering, and she tried to push away. Brian held firmly to her hips, his tongue working very fast, feeling her reaction, finding her rhythm, advancing and retreating as her movements directed him, but never giving ground for long, maintaining intense focus on her response, probing, listening and feeling for her to guide him. His face danced with her cunt, giving as much friction as he could provide, pushing when she yielded, yielding when she pushed.

It quickly became too much for her. Sounds escaped, first moaning, then murmuring, and then expressing themselves fully, throaty noises of unbearable pleasure, spasms too strong to control. Faith grabbed his hair roughly, tossing his head as her hips lurched, not being able to stand anymore or to stop. His beard was soaked with cum and his mustache raked across her clit, as she bucked convulsively, barked out sharp pleading noises, shook fiercely, and fell back, spent and liquefied.

Orgasm number two.

Time passed, as Faith lay there limp and insensate, the side of Brian's head resting gently on her crotch. His lips and tongue were numb with feeling, full of delicious stink and completely marinated with sex. Occasionally, she rippled with an aftershock, as she slowly regained control of her breathing. Eventually, she opened one eye to look at him lazily as if to see if her were still there. She closed both eyes again, but pulled his face to hers, and swallowed him in a deep, long, gluttonous kiss, completely indifferent to the wonderful mess that covered his face.

"Oh . . . my . . . God," she breathed into his ear.

"You're welcome," he replied with a smile.

h

It is fair to say that Faith had confirmed the existence of at least one Hound and she was eager to pass the exciting results of her research along to her fellow sexual scientists. After her afternoon adventure with Brian, which left her drained and delirious, she needed some time to recover before she could call anyone.

"Sheryl, you will not believe what just happened to me." Twenty-five minutes later, the news was rebounding to each member of the Wine Club in turn. Faith demanded to know if Brian were available for hire or even for time-share. All the girls thought that that was an excellent idea, but in the interest of maintaining the integrity of the scientific method, they agreed they should try to replicate the results of the experiment with another male subject first. Repetitive sampling could come later.

Sheryl's reaction to Faith's success in the field was not exactly hostile, but she was afire with envy. Faith, after all, was a novice compared to Sheryl when it came to matters of sex; if Faith was being devoured by Hounds, goddamnit, Sheryl could accept no less. Ten men lusted after Sheryl for every one who looked twice at Faith, so why, Sheryl asked herself, should Hound-worship be different?

Sheryl thought she had a Hound candidate in mind. She had fucked Dennis more than once, and he gave better oral sex than just about any man she'd encountered. True, their times together had always evolved into intercourse, and Dennis became lost in space while screwing her just like every other guy she'd taken to bed. Perhaps, though, a Hound was just a guy who gave better head than average, someone who might be willing to think of eating pussy as an end in itself. So she made the call.

"Hi, Dennis, it's Sheryl. How've you been, handsome?"

They arranged for drinks at her place before going out to dinner, Sheryl having supreme confidence that the only thing Dennis would be hungry for would be her. He arrived at the appointed hour, already equipped, it seemed, with a large problem in his pants. Sheryl had a strong preference for big cocks, and Dennis filled the job requirements - and Sheryl's pussy - quite nicely. 

She greeted him at the door dressed not like someone planning an evening out, but like someone who planned to curl up with a good book and a glass of wine for the evening. Her hair needed washing and brushing, her mid-calf skit was unstylish to the point of bland, and her skimpy tank top was wrinkled. She wore no makeup, but her luminous skin and naturally intoxicating eyes and lips made makeup superfluous. She was still an object of lust, of course, and her dishevelment only made Dennis want to see her naked even more.

Sheryl kissed Dennis distractedly and hugged him just enough to confirm his hardness. She returned to the couch and tucked her long legs underneath her, refilled her glass of red and poured one for him. He removed his jacket, loosened his tie, and sat down facing Sheryl, wine glass in hand.

"You look great," Sheryl said, smiling and taking him in. Her conversation with men was almost always calculated, but they were usually too drunk with the sight her to notice. 

Her unexpected appearance had the intended effect, and seemed to catch Dennis off guard. "Thanks. Um, are we going out to dinner, Sher?"

"Oh, sure," she replied casually, "I'll take a quick shower and change into something more eye-catching." Sheryl had learned long ago that, when seducing a man, it was always advisable to make some reference to being naked. It never failed to plant the seed; she could see it in their eyes. "Let's just catch up for a while first." Taking her cue, and trying to relax despite her unexpected appearance and the visions of her wet and in the buff, Dennis leaned back into the couch and drank some wine.

"Are you seeing anyone these days?" she asked brashly. "Or just sleeping around?"

Dennis struggled to maintain his composure. "Neither, really. How about you?"

"Oh, you know me. I'm not seeing anyone, but I can't do without, so I guess I'm sleeping around." Sheryl let that sink in, before adding, almost as an afterthought, "I seem to be doing it more and enjoying it less, though."

Dennis finally got his bearings enough to ask, "Is that why you called me?" Now they were both playing the game.

"Well, Dennis, we have done well in bed together, haven't we? But fucking is starting to seem like the same old thing, you know?"

Dennis could not see where this was going. As soon as he'd arrived, Sheryl had started flirting shamelessly, but now she seemed to be throwing him off the scent. Did she want to get it on or not? 

"Sheryl, I have no fucking idea what you're talking about."

"That's exactly what I'm talking about," she laughed, "no fucking! Here, let me show you."

Sheryl put down her glass and advanced on Dennis, engulfing him in her arms, introducing her tongue thickly and deeply into his mouth. Pressing her chest into his, she cupped his package assertively, feeling its size and hardness without reserve. As Dennis succumbed, his senses overwhelmed instantly, Sheryl deftly helped him out of his trousers, and smoothly took his sizeable tool in her mouth. He fell back while she worked on him, until she stopped sucking him with a noisy pop and leaned back to her end of the couch. She pulled her skirt up to her waist and brought her knees up and apart, showing the still-reeling Dennis her shaved and unpantied snatch.

Dennis knew what to do, and Sheryl gave herself and her cunt up to his eager gluttony. She threw her head back and wrapped both legs around his back, pulling his head commandingly into her slick pinkness. Sheryl's hips moved as vigorously as Dennis's head, and she directed his oral ministrations to her needs. Dennis ate her willingly, soaking his face, her thighs and the couch in a grateful, sticky mess. 

As they continued on, Sheryl badly needed to squeeze her swelling breasts, so she removed her hands from her lover and pulled her tank top up roughly, which proved to be a mistake. Dennis sat bolt upright and reached in his jacket pocket for a condom, size extra large. Sheryl was stunned by the sudden loss of stimulation, and tried to grab his head and return it to its rightful place between her legs. Thinking she was raring to fuck - which was usually the case - Dennis misunderstood her intentions and hurriedly unrolled the rubber along his shaft and moved into position. His size and his hardness knocked her back off balance, and she found herself poised for entry, no turning back.

Sheryl's intense desire for unlimited oral was nowhere near sufficient to repel a strong man like Dennis whose impressive dick was halfway to home. She pulled him in the rest of the way and let him have his way. He fucked Sheryl just the way she liked it, hard and fast, deep and fast, fast and fast, and she rode it out as long as he could manage, which itself was quite impressive. The man had strength and stamina, and he applied himself energetically, his first fuck in more than a few months, as it turned out. The walls of her pussy began to contract and hold his prick tighter, but before her orgasm had time to gather real strength, Dennis unloaded every fluid ounce from his balls in several final thrusts before collapsing all of his 200 pounds on her lanky frame.

As Sheryl lay beneath him, gasping for breath under his weight, feeling for the most part well and truly fucked, the thought began to form that this was precisely the problem with intercourse. For men, it was the main course that never disappointed. If it was preceded by a blow job and briefly going down on the lady in return, so much the better. 

But for women, there was never enough oral sex to make a whole, satisfying meal. It was just an appetizer, a mere morsel that left you hungry for much more that intercourse didn't always provide. As Bentley said, "for women, cunnilingus is a much more dependable pleasure." By any measure, she had just had an outstanding lay, about as good as any horny lass could ever desire. She even came in a reasonably-okay sort of way. Not the way she would if he ate her without stopping until she couldn't stand it anymore, which is what she had been hoping for. True, she hadn't sucked him off until he came, either, but she'd done that before, and even then he couldn't wait to slam deep inside her. 

How could she slow down the freight train so she could take her time in the dining car? How could any woman?

Chapter 6

The Wine Club reconvened to compare notes and plan where to go from here. The glass, they agreed, was both half full and half empty (the wine glasses, however, were filled and refilled). On the one hand, Faith's outing with Brian had proved conclusively that there really was such a thing as Hound sex. On the other, Hound sex was hard to come by, as Sheryl and Stacey had shown, much to everyone's dismay. 




Pussy House-1972



The year was 1972. The Jefferson Airplane was playing in the corner of my dorm room on one of those cheesy in one radio/phonograph/8-track stereos. From the missionary position, I was humping the living daylights out of my everlasting true love soul mate whose name escapes me at the moment. "Humping" is the apropos term for my sensual techniques at that time. I lacked that certain panache and style that developed later in life. 

My partner had an uncanny ability to consider a completely irrelevant thought even under these unique circumstances. She could even manage a conversation during my rhythmic attentions. With her 20-year-old coed breasts keeping jiggly time, she managed, "I, need, you, to, come, to, the, so, ror, i, ty, house, to, mor, row, night."

Sweat was trickling down my forehead when I managed, "What for?"

"Just, be, there, at, 8. Bring, your, robe."

Nothing more was said about the subject and our evening of rapture progressed and concluded as usual, with not one hint of tenderness. It was an arrangement that seemed to work for both of us at that time in our lives. She stood at the door, looked back at me and said, "And for God's sake, wear clean underwear."

Gee, I never thought that was an issue.

My girl friend's sorority house was Pi Mu Sigma. As you can see, the first and last letters conveniently start with "P" and "S". When written, the greek letter Mu (pronounced "m-you") looks enough like a "U" for the purposes of hormonally-charged college men. With just a slight extension of this convoluted logic, Pi Mu Sigma was fondly referred to as "Pussy House". To get into "Pussy House" you had to be one fine-looking babe, the cream of the crop so to speak, so it was no small wonder why I was so attracted to, uh, what's-her-name.

Per my standard operating procedure, I arrived at ye old Pussy House ten minutes late. Draped over my arm was my tattered avocado-green terry cloth rode that my mother insisted I take with me to college. I don't think I had worn it for at least three years. My girlfriend was standing at the top of the stairs and was waving me to come up. She whisked me into her room and told me to take my clothes of. OK by me. In moments I was standing naked with my boxers (clean) rumpled at my ankles ready for another lustful encounter.

"Oh, fer Christ's sake. Pull up your underwear and put on that robe."

With those words of tenderness still ringing in my ears, she took me by the hand and led me back downstairs into the large sitting room. The furniture had been rearranged for some kind of ceremony. Candles were lit around the perimeter of the room. The light from two aluminum cone fixtures, the forerunners to modern track lighting, shone down on two ottomans in the center of the room. There were four other guys standing along one wall. All were wearing bathrobes in about the same crummy state as mine. I joined them as the fifth in line. We all looked at each other and shrugged. Neither of us had a clue to what was going on. (Upon reflection, I guess that could have been said for about 80% of my normal day at that time.) 

About twenty or so of the sorority girls were in the darkest part of the room, seated in rows of folding chairs. After about a minute or so, a procession of girls entered the room single file. No one said anything. They were all dressed in white sheets except for two. Theirs were dyed pink. The first five of the girls stood in front of us in the line. The two in the pink sheets stood beside the ottomans. The last girl I suspect was the Queen Bee of the group. She had some goofy tiara on her head. She stood in front of the two in pink and started to read from some paper. Thus began a sorority ritual, complete with an overly contrived and amateurish liturgy.

"Hear ye, hear ye. The secret council of the order of sisters of Pi Mu Sigma..."

I heard two guys in line mutter in unison, "pussy house."

"... is now convened. I, Sister Aurora, do hereby call this tribunal to order."

Aurora? Gee, I thought her name was Stephanie.

"Let it be known that the witness to these proceedings have solemnly pledged not to divulge the details of this evening and to take their memories with them to the grave."

Pledge? What pledge? I don't remember any pledge. Nobody said anything about any graves either. What was all this mumbo-jumbo anyway?

The queen bee turned to the gals in pink and said, "Sister Moon Beam, Sister Star Dust...."

What the hell was with those names!

"...you have been charged with a violation of the sacred vows of Pi Mu Sigma."

Again those two guys muttered "pussy house" and then snickered. They would do that for the rest of the evening any time anyone said the name of the sorority.

"We, the sisters of Pi Mu Sigma..."

Another "pussy house" was muttered.

"... are bonded in spiritual oneness. Our love for each other is a love of the mind, not of the body. You two are accused of violating the sacred oath to keep our love for each other such that it transcends the temptations of the flesh....."

She went on and on with all this goofy spiritual sister crap. The best that I could figure was that Sisters Moon Beam and Star Dust had experience a little carnal knowledge without the benefit of a Brother. I was still pretty confused. The story around campus was that just about every girl in Pussy House had had at least one fling with another girl. So what was all the fuss about?

Queen Aurora continued. "As a penalty for your behavior and as a reinforcement of the proper doctrines of Pi Mu Sigma...SHUT UP YOU TWO!... which espouses to the goals of earthly male-female relationships..."

God! She was making my head hurt. The bottom line? Because these two girls had an evening of sucking each other's pussy, they were going to get it from the five of us along the wall. It was some sort of re-indoctrination for ex-prisoners of war. Hey! Who was I to argue with the queen bee with the high hairdo?

The head babe Sister Aurora waved her hand at the five girls standing in front of the five of us. In unison, they dropped their sheets and were wearing only bikinis. They then reached out for us and pulled our robes open and then off. Like a precision drill team, they dropped to their knees and yanked down our shorts. They were each just inches away from the business parts of some pretty eager college boys. Each of these girls was stunning and no encouragement would have been necessary but these girls were there to get us in the proper mood to take care of the two violators of the sacred vows. I can't speak for the other guys but if five beautiful women, wearing only bikinis, knelt and one was staring right at my naked crotch, I would need very little encouragement.

Before any of us could react, the five girls took our dicks and started rubbing and sucking. It took just moments for all of us to reach our full potential. Lots of moaning could be heard, including from the girls that had their mouths full. While we were getting "fluffed", the Mother Hen went to the two girls in pink and took their sheets off. They did not have bininis! The girls then laid down on the two ottomans. Another hand wave by the Senior Sister caused the first two girls in the line to stop what they were doing. They stood and with saliva and lipstick smeared faces, escorted their two male charges over to the center of the room. They then returned to us and we shifted down. I was now third in line and being "handled" by another gorgeous coed. 

I was having a difficult time paying attention to what was going on around me. The young lady kneeling in front of me was very good at her craft. She was a tall girl, with wonderfully long legs. She had long softly curled light brown hair that fell past her shoulders. Her breasts were delightfully well exposed in her bright yellow halter-style top. They bounced to the rhythm of her talented sucking. It was an added touch that she attempted to smile and look up at me while she sucked by fully engorged cock. Her wet lips and chin shimmered in the candlelight.

The peacefulness of the moment was shattered when the coed next to me shouted, "Awwww, God Damn it! You son-of-a-bitch!!!!"

That was followed by a slight cough. Then there was a lot of apologizing by her partner. It seems that he had succumbed to the moment and the attentions of his most recent fallatrix. I empathized with the poor bastard. His reputation was now doomed. He was trying not to draw attention to himself but it wasn't working. The more he tried to downplay what had happened, the more pissed she got. Strings of semen were clinging to her lips and chin and dotted her breasts. It made the whole scene so surreal while she balled him out, spitting cum with every hard consonant. When it was clear he could not help the situation, he sulked out of the room, to commit Hari-Kari no doubt. 

Everyone shifted over one, placing me second in the line. I found myself in front of the lovely lady who had just been the recipient of my comrade's over-eagerness. She looked up at me while she resumed her position. A thin streak of cum in her black hair just above her ear was all the evidence that remained. She never stopped staring at me and the look in her eyes was one of pure evil. I was convinced that if I were to commit the same faux pau, she would surely bite it off. It was a sobering thought indeed. I can honestly say without any reservation that that was the one and only time when I actually lost some of my aroused state while my cock was being sucked. 

I decided to turn my attentions to the happenings in the center ring where the mood was significantly less chilly. The two fellows were re-introducing the female felons to heterosexual behavior with impressive enthusiasm. They were not going to let an opportunity such as this go by without taking full advantage. 

Sister Aurora motioned over to us again and the fellow first in line joined the two already center stage. I shifted over and would be next to join the foray. Needless to say I was glad to leave the vulnerable clutches of the Iron Maiden.

The activity in the center of room was reaching a feverish pitch. The two women were screaming at the command of the Major Mistress. Shrieks of, "Oh yes. I, Sister Star Dust have been bad. I was weak. I need to be punished! Fuck me harder like I deserve. Give me your cock! Fuck me and make me feel like no woman can make me feel!"

Sister Moon Beam was enjoying herself too. "I'm coming Sister Aurora! I'm coming!"

Carol, a.k.a. Moon Beam, was the lucky beneficiary of some doggy-style treatment from a legendary fellow. His impressively long cock allowed him to provide attentions elsewhere with his hands. For the benefit of his partner, even from this position, he considerately made sure that her breasts were massaged and that her clitoris was well stimulated. She collapsed on the ottoman. She shook and screamed in orgasmic bliss, still impaled with Max' cock. Aurora signaled over again at it was my turn. I removed my cock from my new best friend's talented mouth with a sexy wet plop. I felt a sigh of regret and was looking forward to another opportunity to take our brief encounter to its logical conclusion.

I joined Max but was unsure of what to do. Moon Beam, still murmuring and quivering, was in no condition to coherently provide direction. Max gently rolled her over and took a position at her head. I moved to between her legs. Her pussy was very inviting. Her juices were everywhere and matted the little pubic hair that remained on her mound. Her lips were parted and she was still very open from the recently vacated Max. Her cum seeped from her and she internally twitched with the final elements of her climax. She smelled wonderful and I felt compelled to enjoy her more thoroughly. I knelt down and plunged my tongue deep into her sweet tasting pussy just as Max entered her mouth. She let out a loud groan. She grasped my head in a vise-like grip, grinding my face into her every dampening pussy, drenching my face with her juices and moments later, with her cum.

It was hard to stay with her because of Max' thrusts and so I stood and took a more conventional position by sliding my cock deep into her while she completed her climax. Max was receiving delightful oral attentions and it wasn't long before he let out a yell. In the next instant, thick white cum came flowing out of Moon Beam's mouth still filled with Max' dick. It was if a volcano were erupting in spite of the plug that was inserted into it. She gagged a bit and the ever-considerate Max removed himself from her mouth, spurting the rest of his impressive ejaculate about her neck and breasts. 

Carol, uh, Moon Beam rose as best as she could and looked straight into my eyes. Cum stuck to the edges of her mouth and covered her lips in a faint gray film. It dangled from her chin, streaked her neck and blotted her breasts. "Ok handsome, show me what YOU'VE got!"

I threw my head back and thrust at her as fast as I could. She moved her hips in unison and we soon fell over the edge together. The spasms of her pussy grabbed and clenched my thrusting member that was spurting wave after wave into her already dripping pussy.

When my vision returned, I gazed over at Star Dust, the girl formally known as Betty. She was on the floor on her hands and knees being fucked from behind by Willy's willie while sucking on Jim's beam. (Gosh, I'm proud of that sentence!) I'm not sure who was re-indoctrinating whom. Willy grunted, withdrew and squirted strings of cum onto Star Dust's ass and back. Jim finally had his own release, sending white bands of cum into her open mouth only to have it all slide out, dangle in long dribbles from her chin and eventually fall. 

The two women lay on the ottoman, exhausted and breathing deeply. My fellow indoctrinators and I were also panting heavily, our semi-flaccid cocks dribbling harmlessly and unattended onto the carpet. The heady scent of sex hung in the whole room. Moon Beam and Star Dust rolled over into each other's arms and hugged in a wet and sticky embrace in solidarity for the experience that they had just shared.

I don't now about how successful the event was in dissuading those two lovely college girls from future lesbian lovemaking but if there needs to be another lesson, I'm there!