Pussy Hound

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.