Sensing my distraction, Stephanie rolled off me and sat up again. “And they put that poor girl through all that trauma-drugging her, telling her she was pregnant, convincing her not to have an abortion—they did all that just so they could get even with that man for blackmailing them into buying him a football team in the first place!”
“Yeah . . . Steph, you’re blocking the set again.”
“Well, you know what I think?” She ignored my complaint.
“No. What do you think?”
“I think they’re childish.”
“Okay.”
“I mean, these are big important men, the men who run the country, the world. And look how they behave! Petty! Childish!” she railed. “But you know what really gets me?”
“No. What?” I gave up on the first quarter. From what little I could gather, it was pretty seesaw anyway, and neither team seemed able to get within scoring distance.
“The rest of us let them do it! They’re schoolboys playing silly games with grudge matches and all kinds of kid manipulations, and they’re running the world the same way, and the rest of us let them do it!”
“I guess you’re right.” I really didn’t want to argue with her. I wanted to watch the Superbowl, drink my beer, and maybe fool around a little during the time-outs. Was that so much to ask?
“They run an automobile company and get petulant when it turns out that they’re not selling cars because the Japanese are building small ones, and they’re building big gas-eaters, and the public prefers the little ones—something any man on the street could have predicted -- and then we taxpayers have to give them money so they can stay in business. What do you call that?”
“It’s called free enterprise,” I told her in a neutral voice.
“That's not what I call it! I call it a government handout!” Her green eyes sparkled with fury.
“You’re gorgeous when you’re angry.” I reached out with the middle fingers of both hands and stroked the nipples of her breasts through the black silk. I wanted to calm her down; sex or football, one or the other, but please get off the soapbox.
She purred. She took the two long fingers in her hands. She kissed their tips. Then she replaced them over her now erect nipples.
“. . . and so at the start of the second quarter it’s still a scoreless game . . .” I heard Olsen announcing.
Again Stephanie reacted to my being distracted, withdrawing the pulsing, long tips of her quivering breasts from my touch. “Or we put them in charge of armies and massive weapons systems and they move them around like toy soldiers and battery-operated doohickeys you give kids for Christmas. They shake their toy swords and go all red in the face and start yelling that our father can beat up their father, and what they’re talking about is nuclear war! What do you call that?”
“Maintaining an arms balance for peace,” I suggested. “And don’t be strident. It makes your face go all red.”
“Strident!” Her voice wasn't strident as she said it; it was shrill. “You mean I should walk softly and carry a big neutron bomb like these men in their tutus do?”
“Make love, not war,” I suggested, falling back on an old saw. I sat up and drew her into my arms placatingly. Over her shoulder I saw Terry Niemath fading back into the slot and firing off a long pass. Kiss number three prevented me from seeing if it was completed.
Stephanie came to me willingly enough. She was all churned up with resentment and it worked on her libido. Anger, I’ve noticed frequently, has that effect on some women and some men as well. It makes them horny.
Her being horny made me horny too. Stephanie looked particularly delectable with the black silk clinging to her voluptuous body from bosom to knee. I pushed down one of the thin straps over her shoulder and bared one of her firm, melon-shaped breasts. The aroused nipple quivered in its center like a small lipstick. I bent and licked it with the very tip of my tongue.
“Ahh!” She moaned and her slender, graceful fingers tangled in my hair. “Ohh, Steve! You bastard! You know how sensitive my nipples are!”
I drew the nipple between my lips and bit down on it ever so gently. Her fingers tightened over the base of my neck. Holding the breast-tip that way, softly but firmly between my teeth, I proceeded to lick it rhythmically with the full length of my tongue. It was like running a swatch of velvet over it. Stephanie shivered and clutched me to her even more closely.
“. . . and it looks like it’s going to be a long one . . .” Engberg’s voice rose excitedly from the TV set. A long one? Who? Which side? Was it complete? Stephanie bent and licked the inside of my ear and I heard no more.
Her tongue in my ear spoke, blotting out whatever there might have been to hear. “Suck harder!” Her voice was husky. “Take more of my breast in your mouth. More!”
I drew the firm white flesh into my mouth and sucked with my lips. Panting and squirming, Stephanie clawed my shoulders with her nails. We were both in sitting positions on the bed now, me with my head bent to her bared breast, her with her tantalizing mouth nuzzling and licking and nibbling at my ear.
Dropping my hands, I reached under her nightie to caress her thighs. Shapely and sleek, they burned under my touch. Moaning again, she stretched her legs straight out in front of her, over the edge of the bed. Stephanie would loathe the description, but they are truly chorus girl legs. Their lightly-muscled perfection has always been a turn-on for me.
It worked that way now. Looking at Stephanie’s legs with her writhing breast in my mouth, ‘I became aware that under my jockey shorts my stiffening prick was climbing my belly. She noticed too.
“Oh, my!” Her agile tongue made the words a caress in my ear. “You’re getting so excited!” She turned her outstretched legs this way and that. Then she separated them, widening the space between them, causing her nightie to ride further up her flushed thighs until its hem was almost at the juncture of her insinuatingly twisting limbs. “Do I excite you, Steve? Is that it? Is it me?”
“Damn straight!” I raised my head to find her green eyes smoldering wantonly as they met mine. Holding her gaze, I slipped out of my shorts. Her eyes dropped to the naked erection bristling between my legs. They narrowed to greedy slits of green-gold. Her tongue circled her lips like a snake drawn from. its lair by the heat of the sun. She reached down and circled me with her fist. Under her touch my prick jumped with a will of its own. But when I ordered it to subside, it did so, albeit reluctantly. “Yeah!” I told Stephanie. “It sure is you!”
“I see.” She wriggled her bottom cunningly on the bed where she was sitting. The result was that the nightie tightened and climbed up higher. Her mons veneris was revealed like a choice, copper-colored, particularly succulent fruit. The silky triangle of red hair shimmered as with the dew of her desire. The high mound rose from her body like a small hillock as she leaned back on her elbows. The purple lips had a patina of moist cream and they were parted invitingly. The meatiness between them was throbbing and pink. The deeper red tip of her swollen clitoris. was just barely visible. Stephanie lifted her bottom slightly and her pussy opened still more widely. “You can play with it if you like,” she suggested.
“I like!” I ran my hands up between her thighs and she lifted still higher. The rosy flesh was slick with a mixture of perspiration and lusting lubrication. I traced the purple lips with my fingertips and Stephanie gasped. Tentatively, I dipped one fingertip. The mouth of her cunt closed around it like a Venus Flytrap capturing its prey.
Stephanie looked down the length of her body to where my hand squirmed between her legs. She laughed excitedly. Her pussy opened slightly and she slid down the length of my finger. Her clitty stroked it as she did so. Then, with a sudden gesture of abandonment, she flung herself backwards on the bed, raised her legs so that they were bent at the knees, and arced them as widely apart as possible. The movement presented her gaping pussy to view like some erotic feast. “I’d really like it if you kissed me there, Steve.” Her voice was quavery as she said it.