Fifty Mission Crush 3

Cliff picked up his hat from the nightstand. “Easy does it, Jenny. Remember it’s the tortoise that wins the race, not the rabbit.”

Jenny bit her lip as he went off, wanting to call him back to her, to force another bout of lovemaking through her strained body, but she knew that would only make things worse. Spoil the satisfaction he’d managed to get by acting like a whore and making him feel like he was imposing on her—some poor, dutiful housewife who laid back and thought of England, instead of a woman in love who wanted to be his in every way and on every occasion that he would have her.

The next thing she knew, she was standing before the mirror with her eyes glancing off the reflection of her naked body, trying to bear the vivid memory of her so-brief time with Cliff and not be filled with unsatisfied yearning.

Jenny walked back to the bed and stretched her lovely body onto the soft mattress, as she gradually had to force her mind off the memory of Cliff, trying to recapture the contented lassitude she’d enjoyed right after orgasm. She reached down and held her long fingers to her open sex, still feeling the rhythm of Cliff’s body pounding into hers during the magic time they’d shared.

Her body flinched shockingly at the touch of her own hand. It felt as though she’d connected herself to a livewire; God, she was hot! Jenny forced her fingers into the soft mattress instead, as though she were holding herself down, denying herself to the frustration that settled over her supple body—praying silently that there was a way for her to fully satiate Cliff so that they could both be fulfilled.

A soft knocking at her bedroom down interrupted the tired spinning of her retreaded thoughts and she pulled the sheets over her nudity before asking: “Who is it?”

“Just little ol’ me,” Betty answered. “Are you decent?”

Without waiting for an answer, her roommate breezed into the room. She stopped short at the sight of Jenny’s naked body, a voluptuous silhouette within a thin bedsheet.

“Oh. You’re a damn sight more than decent. And here it is almost noon! You’d think with the two of us being so shameless, we’d have more fun.”

Jenny blushed at her last remark, knowing that while Betty had plenty of gentleman callers, her time was not occupied nearly as much as Jenny’s was. The strange thing was, Betty dressed to the nines for them, while for Jenny she seemed to go naked. Jenny couldn’t count how many times she’d entered Betty’s room and found her in the nude.

Betty seemed to spend all her time either naked or barely dressed. Which was fine, Jenny supposed. It wasn’t like she stayed naked when she had a guy over, much less Cliff. But it was hard for Jenny to believe that such a good egg could also be a sort of closet naturalist.

Betty was a confident girl; Jenny envied her lack of shyness. She told herself she didn’t really need to be so self-assured—not when she had a big strong man to be bold for her. But if she had Betty’s composure, maybe she could just fling Cliff down and have her way with him instead of hoping he’d fully sate himself like she needed him to.

“What’s wrong?” Betty asked. “You look so down in the dumps you’re about to reach Jersey.”

“Oh, nothing much. Newlywed troubles,” Jenny answered, halfheartedly gazing at her roommate and trying not to envy her beautiful darkness as well.

Betty was a tall, pale girl in her late twenties who seemed to maintain a substantial income from working as a model. Many times before, Jenny had wanted to see some of those pictures, wanting to compare them to her own portfolio and see if perhaps there was a way she could meet with Betty’s success.

Each time, though, Betty put her off, saying none of the pictures really captured what she was trying to express. By now, Jenny had stopped asking. She had enough problems of her own without digging into Betty’s.

Despite Jenny’s nudity, Betty was dressed little better than her, with a faded polo-neck sweater and a pair of tight blue jeans. They had been through the wash so many times they’d shrunk up to her calves, while around her crotch, they showed the outline of her mound in their tightness. Her long, dark hair fell over one side of her face in uncombed tangles. Betty didn’t wear any make-up at the moment, letting the sun tan her cheeks to a soft amber—one more way she barely had to do anything with her appearance when she’d already been blessed with an even, classical bone structure.

Winding the bedsheet around herself, Jenny pulled herself up against the headboard, feeling too odd about talking to Betty while in bed like she did when she spoke to Cliff. She coiled her long legs up under her and stroked feverishly at the shave-job she’d done to make them nice and soft for her man.

“Betty, do you know what it’s like to have a man that’s perfect for you, but you don’t feel perfect for him?”

Betty sat in a stuffed chair, the vantage point making Jenny a shadowy silhouette against the sun-filled window behind her. “Let’s not talk like we’re a silent film and we can only make the audience read so much. Tell me what’s going on with you and Cliff.”

“It’s his…” Jenny reached into the nightstand for a cigarette. “His desires.”

“Oh. He wants it more than you do? That’s perfectly natural. Guys enjoy it more than girls. Who wouldn’t, with a girl like you?”

Jenny took two drags on her cigarette. “That’s not it… he has a lot of passion to express, you know? I want him to get it all out, but it’s like he wants to go easy on me. I end up feeling like I haven’t been a good wife. How can I be, when I’m not fully doing my duty?”

Betty looked at her friend, waiting for a further clue to the mystery Jenny wanted her to solve. “I haven’t met many men who have a problem fully satisfying themselves. Are you sure the problem isn’t that he’s not satisfying you?”

Jenny laughed bitterly. “No, that’s not it. Cliff is so good to me. That’s what’s so difficult about it. I love what he does to me, but there’s only so much I can take of a good thing. And Cliff won’t keep going when I’ve fainted dead away…” She smiled softly. “If he did, at least I’d know he’d been taken care of, the big lug.”

“Emphasis on big, I take it.” Betty leaned forward in her seat. “Can’t he just finish himself off? Or are you worried about hair on his palms?”

“Oh, Betty, I couldn’t ask him to do that. A married man needing to abuse himself?” Jenny shook her head. “I’d be a pretty poor wife if I couldn’t do better for him than some floozy in a plain brown wrapper.”

Betty caught her breath. “What if she’s not inside a plain brown wrapper?”

Jenny looked mystified. “What are you talking about? Stag films?”

“Not as such—Jenny, you’ve ever wondered why I haven’t shown you my work?”

“You’re neurotic about it, I get it.”

“No, Jenny, I’m not shy at all. In fact, if you saw even one of those pictures, you’d know exactly how shy I’m not.”

Jenny’s eyes widened, not wanting to fully comprehend what the other had said. “You mean to say they’re… artistic?”

Betty spoke in a low voice, as if afraid to be heard even by Jenny. “Let’s just say that even the Air Force wouldn’t paint them on the nose of a plane.”

Jenny colored. “Gosh!”

“Now, let me ask you something, and please be as openminded as you can be—when Cliff was off at war, and he got urges, would you have minded if he relieved himself with some… dirty pictures?”

Jenny closed her eyes and thought of Cliff, the wonders they knew together, how she craved his hard cock, how she knew she’d never stop wanting it, how she wanted it this very moment, and how much she’d hate if any of its loving was ever wasted on a woman other than her.

Yet at the same time, she loved Cliff. She knew he was a man—a virile, hot-blooded, all-American man—and when he went without relief, it was like him walking around with a dagger sticking out of him.

“No. I suppose not,” Jenny admitted. “But Cliff’s not at war anymore, Betty—”

“Shush! We’re just talking. Pretend this is all happening on planet Mongo if you like, just think hard and answer my questions. Now, say Cliff’s here…”

“Here-here or here on the planet Mongo?”

“Whichever!” Betty snapped. “Cliff is around—you can make love to him all you want, you sultry minx—but he still has urges. Would you mind if he relieved himself with those same dirty pictures?”