House of Holes

Cardell Meets Betsy on the Beach

Cardell knelt to study the footprint in the sand. In the air there was a deep-in-the-nose smell of ocean and seaweed and timeless things that have no name.

The footprint was light and small — the print of a woman. He pressed his own foot into it and tried to imagine her firm footbone. He started following the footsteps, walking in them as much as he could.

The beach curved back into a small bay where the House of Holes condominiums were, and as Cardell turned the corner he saw a distant figure wearing a hat. He increased his pace, still stepping in her footsteps. With each step he took, he learned more about the arch of her foot, the ball of her foot, and her small, strong toes. He was almost loping now.

Finally, he caught up to her. She was wearing a loose, faded dress and a hat, and she held her sandals hooked on her fingers. Her hat was woven of pale fine straw and made her face glow like a classy tangerine. He recognized her.

“Hi, I bought the pen,” he said.

“Oh, good,” said Betsy.

“I’ve been walking in your footsteps,” he said. “It was the most intimate experience. Did you feel my feet pressing against your feet?”

“I’m not sure,” she said. “Let me try walking in your footsteps, and you can see what you feel.”

“Okay.”

Cardell walked a few paces ahead and stopped.

“Don’t turn around,” she said.

He didn’t. She walked up to him.

“Did you feel the ball of my foot pressing into your footprint?” she asked.

“Some,” he said. “More I felt the arch. But yes, I feel I know you better now.”

“And I know you better. We’re old friends, in fact.”

Cardell paused, full of indecision. “But we’re very different.”

“That’s true. I collect beach glass, and you don’t.”

“You seem rich.”

“I’m not poor. My husband’s father was rich. He was sup-posedly a ruthless businessman, but he was always nice to me.” She smiled.

“I’d love to see you come,” Cardell said thickly.

She laughed. “Ah, but I’m married, as you know. I don’t cheat. Much.”

“Does your husband have a friendly sex organ that treats you well?” he asked.

“He does,” she said, in a distant voice. “It’s got a knobby end that fits me just right. But I suppose that’s private information.”

Cardell looked out at the ocean. “I wish I had a cold iced tea right now.”

Betsy’s voice was very small. “I have cold Snapple in my condo, if you want to come back.”

So they went back to her condo where there was a tall vase filled with carved canes and a Chinese ceramic pig on a side table, its head resting on a red pillow. There were also many jars of shells and beach glass. Betsy pulled the sliding door half open so that they could still hear the sound of the sea.

“My husband is at his office,” she said after a moment. “I–I can call him. Should I?”

“Absolutely, yes, give him a call.”

She flipped out her cell phone. “Honey,” she said, “I’ve met a nice-looking young man on the beach who says he wants to watch me come.” She paused. “I know. I know. Okay. I know. Okay.”

She held the phone away from her ear. Cardell raised his eyebrows questioningly.

“He’s kind of angry,” she whispered. Then she listened some more to the telephone. “He wants to talk to you.”

Cardell took the phone. “Hello, sir?”

There was a strong voice in his ear. “I don’t know who you are, but stay away from my wife. Leave the condo immediately.”

“I will leave the condo, but I would really like to see her come first, and I know that’s a problem for you, but I also know she wants to see my mandingo. I’m just going to shuck my boxers off, and my mandingo will be sticking out, and she’ll get a good look at it. She wants to, I know it. Do you say yes?”

“No, you will not bring out any such mandingo!” the husband choked. “You will absolutely do nothing of the sort! You are out of line!” He hung up.

Cardell handed the phone back to Betsy, shaking his head.

“Oh, he’s such an old poke-in-the-dough,” she said. “Are you disappointed?”

He nodded.

“You poor thing, you wanted to see me come, didn’t you?”

He nodded again.

She looked at him appraisingly. “And then you’d come, wouldn’t you? You probably have a cock that you’d jerk off big-time, wouldn’t you? I know you just love jerking off that proud nasty cock.”

“That I do,” he said. “Hard as a ship’s biscuit, but fresher.”

She had an idea. “I’ll tell you what we’ll do. Let’s go out on the back deck and I’ll pretend to have sex with my husband, and I’ll tell you all about it, and you’ll watch me pretending. Will that work?”

“That sounds like a good fallback,” Cardell said.

So they went out to the back deck, and she started with the running commentary.

“Usually I’m in bed first,” she said. “He stays up doing the crossword — he’s good at it, but it takes him a long time sometimes, and I read a book.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, maybe something a little frisky, a little naughty,” said Betsy. “And sometimes I just turn my light off and go to sleep, and sometimes I’m still reading when I hear him washing up and sniffing. He hangs up his pants carefully and puts on his pajamas, which are on a hook on the back of the closet door. We have two hooks. Am I boring you?”

Cardell was smiling, watching her tell the story, lying back on a lounge chair and feeling perfectly happy. He shook his head.

“Good. Then he gets in bed, and if I’m awake and I stir he says, ‘Good-night, hon,’ and I say, ‘Good-night, darling.’ And often we go to sleep.”

“But sometimes you don’t.”

“Right, sometimes we’ve made a prior arrangement to do the triple-X dirty nasty.”

“I see.”

“And we both know that there’s the appointment. So I lie there, and he rubs my back for a while.” She lay with her eyes closed as she said this, rubbing her hands on her thighs. “Sometimes he teases under my ears, and that makes me shrug, whoo! And then I reach back behind me, and I find his bulgy bits in his pajamas, and I hold them a moment to figure out what’s what. Then I reach my hand in and grab a handful, and then usually he shifts and pulls his pajamas down. And then everything begins to make itself known.”

She was reaching behind herself as she said this.

“Do you like feeling him get hard?”

“Love feeling him get hard, yes. He says, ‘Can I tweak your titties?’ And I lift so he can get at them, and he knows just how to play with my nipples so that the two jagged lightning lines go dingalinging straight down. And then I have to turn toward him—” Here she turned in the chaise longue and held her invisible husband. Her hand slid under her blouse. “He kisses me all over me and puddles up one of my tits so that the nipple is aiming straight up. Mmm.”

Cardell, watching her tell this, found that his hips had slid forward on the chair and his knees had straightened. “And then he pushes that big cockhead inside you?”

“Yes, he does,” she said. “He’s quite talkative sometimes when we get going, like if we’ve been out to dinner at our little Mexican place. There’s a nice little Mexican place we go to. And he doesn’t know it, nor should he know it, but when he really gets down to fucking me I’m sometimes thinking of sucking off the Mexican busboys. I’m thinking they’re tied down on tables after the restaurant closes, and they need me to give them handjobs and blowjobs to relieve all the terrible stresses that come with the job of being a busboy, and I can feel their come boiling up the length of their cocks, and I swallow it all.”

“Cocks on the boil, eh?”

“Yes, often I think about jerking off well-knit young men whose dicks are out.” Betsy looked pointedly at Cardell when she said this. “But he doesn’t know what I’m thinking. Except once I told him and he came so hard afterward. That’s why I thought maybe he’d say yes to letting you watch me.”

“But he didn’t.”

“No, he didn’t, because he’s a poky old thing. But he does know me better than anyone, and I’ve figured out just how to have a good orgasm with him, which I like.”

“I kind of want to bring myself out now for you,” Cardell said.

“You want to bring out Mr. Thick Dicky?”

Cardell said, “Mm-hm.”

“One sec.” Betsy dialed her husband’s number again. “Hon, I’m out on the back deck with Cardell, that’s his name, and I’ve been explaining to him how you and I make love. I know. I know, hon. I know. But he’s gotten a little aroused, the poor boy, as I have, and I wondered if it would be all right if he took out his dick and played with it, just for a moment or two, in a tasteful way, while I continued to tell him about us and what we do, so I thought I should ask you—”

She listened for a moment.

“Okay, no. I understand. Okay.” She clicked the phone off. “He says no. But!” She got a shrewd expression. “He didn’t say you couldn’t do what you need to do in your bathing suit.”

“You mean reach in?”

“Precisely. Reach in. Just don’t ‘bring it out.’ ”

Cardell reached in, and as he did she came over. “But I’d like to have a peek,” she said. He pulled on his waistband so that she could peer into the depths of his bathing suit. She saw his fist in the green shadows, clutching his swollen packmule.

“Oooh,” she said, “I’d like to have a taste of that big hunk of badness. But sadly — it is not to be.”

“Why don’t you keep telling me how you and he fool around? That was going pretty good.”

“Okay, well.” She closed her eyes and thought. “Somewhere along the way my panties have been scooted down and kicked off in the bottom of the bed, which means that after we’re done I have to hunt around for them for five minutes or give up and get a clean pair and figure I’ll find them in the morning.”

“Then what?”

“Ah, well, then there comes a point, always, inevitably, where I have to go on my knees and put my ass up. I don’t know why it is, but I need to feel the pressure of the bed on my knees and elbows and the high-up feeling of my ass pointing straight up! I can’t help it. It simply must go up! Always has.”

“Does he like that?”

“Yes, it makes him crazy.” She looked at him. “Do you want to see?”

He smiled.

She put her ass up. She was still wearing the light-blue shorts she wore over her bathing suit. She looked entrancingly suggestive, and Cardell began breathing noisily through his nose.

“Does he cram it directly in?”

“Not right away. By the way, does my eye look swollen?”

Cardell leaned and peered at her. “Not too swollen. A little red, maybe, in the corner. Have you been crying?”

“No, just a bug bite this morning. Annoying. Anyway, yes, his cock is knobby, so sometimes he rubs it against my thigh for a second and spanks it against my asscheek, because he likes me to know how big and warm and ass-slappy and hard it is. So hard.”

She was lying back on the chaise longue now with her hands in the air. “Then I feel his hands grab my hips, and his woody finds me on its own, and I’m so darn wet and puffy that he can just stab it in one long stroke, right there, that long bone, mmmf.”

Floomp, floomp went Cardell’s hand in his bathing suit.

She opened her eyes and looked over at him. “You like listening to me tell you about how my husband fucks me?”

Flump flump flump, said Cardell’s hand. He was smiling a wanker’s smile.

“You love to tug that dirty dick and listen to me chatter, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do, and tell me, do you prefer when he’s slow and smooth or hard and pounding?”

“I like it when he’s been going along slow and then with no warning he just barrels into me at double speed, bam bam bam bam! And I say, ‘Fuck me, moneyman, bang me hard, yeah, hard, yeah!’ He likes when I call him moneyman.” Her arm was up to the wrist in her shorts now. “But he could be anybody, then. In fact, he is anybody. He’s not my husband anymore, he’s a big bad stranger on a string connected to twelve guys I’ve seen, some on TV, some in real life. They’re cycling around, having at me one by one.”

At this Cardell stood wildly and pulled all of his dick out. “Does his dick look like this? Hmmm?” he asked. “Sorry, I can’t help it,” he added.

She stared at him and blinked. “No, yours is very different — very different in shape and tint and everything — although about the same size. People care so much about size, but size is just the beginning. It’s like comparing flavors of apples.”

Cardell was slowly working it, leering.

She stared a moment longer and then roused herself. “Put it back now. I’m trying to stay within bounds. Back in the bathing suit, back, back, back, that’s right. Do whatever you have to do in the suit.”

Cardell started floomp-floomping again, punching from within the bathing suit to make room for his rogue jacquard.

He said, “Tell me about the hardest time you ever came.”

She reflected, lightly touching the potted boxwood that was next to her. “In general I come hardest when I put a something in my ass. My husband is away a lot, and I read one of my erotic romance books about bad assfucking vampires, and I start to get a little wild, and I put a screwdriver in a latex glove and put the handle in my ass.”

Cardell was silent, surprised, pondering. Then he said, “It would be nice if you could do that for me.”

“What, now? Put a screwdriver handle in my ass now? No, I haven’t showered. I’d have to shower. I have a whole procedure. Also I’ll have to call my husband and ask him if it’s okay.”

“You know he’s going to say no.”

“It’s worth a try.” She blipped out the phone number again. “Hello, hon, I’m still here with this boy. I know, but he’s a good listener. I know. You’re right, but — I was just telling him about how I read one of my dark urban fantasy books and I play with the screwdriver handle. And he said he wanted me to show him. Yes. In my ass. Yes. It’s Cardell.” She handed him the phone.

“Cardell, I thought I told you to leave my condo,” said the husband in an even voice.

“I will,” said Cardell, “but you should know that your wife was telling me all about how you take her like a madman at least once a week, if not oftener, and leave her fully satisfied.”

“That’s private information!”

“True, but she says you’re quite the cocksman. She says you slap your dick on her ass to make her feel its meat. She says she knows just how to come with you inside because your knob is special and fits her perfectly. She seems quite content with you as a husband and a lover.”

He sounded relieved. “That’s welcome news, at least.”

“But look, man, she’s clearly a highly sexed woman, and she wants to show me how she takes care of important business when you’re out on the road selling the cheese, or whatever.”

“I draw the line there.”

“You shouldn’t draw that line, sir. I’m looking at her, and I can tell you she is nasty for the handle. This is a big, big urge she’s got. I think if you don’t say yes she may get frustrated and take me as a lover.”

“No!” There was real anguish in his voice.

Cardell let the reality sink in for a moment. “How about if she just tells me, briefly, and doesn’t show me. Would that work?”

The husband made an explosive sigh. “Did she just go for a walk on that beach?”

“Yes.”

“I know she’s a beautiful woman and a highly sexed woman. She gets superhorny after she’s gone for a beach walk and found a couple of pieces of nice beach glass. Put her back on.”

Cardell handed the phone back to Betsy.

“I’ll just tell him about it, hon,” said Betsy, “I won’t show him. Yes, I promise. Okay. Love you, honey. Bye!” She hung up. “I’ll pop into the shower, Cardell. Meanwhile, we keep the screwdrivers in a tool belt hanging in the foyer. I like the one with the kelly green handle. Not the huge one with the blue handle — I tried that one once. Troppo big. Feel free to read a magazine. As you can see, my husband’s into mountain hiking.”

Cardell went and got the screwdriver, and then he sat and read part of an article about crampons. He heard the shower going for a while in the pipes, and then he heard it turn off. Betsy emerged wearing a loose gray cotton dress with her hair turbaned and a different color of lipstick on. She was carrying a tube of something. She walked near him, and he smelled her smell of warm clean wet skin and Kentucky bourbon. He heard a drawer close in the kitchen, and she emerged with one latex glove.

“Now, Card, I gave it some thought in the shower, and here’s what I think we might do. You sit in that chair, facing away from me, and I’ll sit here on the couch like so. You put the handle of the screwdriver into one finger of this glove and hand it back it to me.”

“Right now?”

“Why not? Here’s your drink. I’ll just take up my usual assplay position on the couch.”

“This is where you usually play with your ass?”

“Yes, I like to do it in the living room because it’s nastier that way.”

“I got it. Here.” Cardell handed her the glove with the screwdriver in it. “I figured go with the middle finger.”

She smiled. “Ah, the long fuckfinger of the night. Tried and true. Don’t turn around, now! You can’t look, you horny boy. Now.”

He heard sounds. “I just pull up my dress and scooch down, and then I just squirt a whole mess of Push on the screwdriver finger, like so, mmhm, get it all ready, and then some more right around my asshole, mmhm.”

“What’s ‘Push’?”

“It’s a kind of organic lubricant. Really thick but really slippery. Magic stuff. Unscented. Ooh, I’m tingly now. And one thing: I’m not a fan of the word ‘enema,’ but let me just inform you that I’m very clean.”

“You mean you squirted a bunch of warm water up your butt and all that?”

“I did, used the syringe and the old red two-quart bottle. It was my grandmother’s hot-water bottle. She was a pretty wild lady. Passed it down to me. I used to fill it with hot water and hump it on cold nights. Now, though, mmm. I love to get savage with my ass, but it’s got to be squeaky clean. I hate shit, just hate it.”

“No, I agree, shit’s bad. It’s not good.”

“So now you want me to fuck myself in the ass while I play with Monsieur Twinklestump?”

“Who’s Monsieur Twinklestump? A sex toy?”

“My clit.”

“Oh. Yes, if that’s what you most want to do, yeah.”

“Oh, that’s what I want to do, you bet it’s what I want to do. See, I get reading these paperbacks about the dark devilish men from New Orleans with their hungry eyes and their long southern python cocks that are always ready to ransack a loving woman’s asshole, and while I’m reading I put my feet on the arm of the couch and I just feel that cool air on my cunt’s pussyhole, and I put two fingers in there and, slimp, I taste it, and then I kind of pet my clitty with my thumb, like this, ooh. I like to keep everything growling and purring as much as I can. My left hand’s for my ass, my right hand’s for my cunt and clitty. Separation of powers.”

“Phew, I need a rearview mirror.”

“Don’t you turn, now, Card, you just listen while I devastate my ass for you. Whooo! Oh, it’s going to go in slow. Nice and slow. I start to push it in a little and then I stop — not yet, cause I like the push part so much, and I circle it around the outside some where the choirboys sing because it feels so good on the outside and my asshole starts to melt and depuckerize and get all soft and willing and ready for this big hard screwdriver handle that I’m about to — ooooooof, there it goes in. Screwdriver’s going in. Awwwll.”

“Is it all the way in?”

“No. I can feel the edgy parts, the facets. It’s about an inch in. I wish you could see my cunt staring at the ceiling, Card. My cunnyhole is just looking straight up, and I’m holding the metal part of the screwdriver. I can wiggle it a little bit, that feels good. Ooh.”

“You’re making me nuts!”

“Stand up and slip off that bathing suit. I want to see your ass while I keep pushing and jiggling on this thing.”

Cardell’s suit dropped to the ground, and he kicked it so that it billowed and landed on a bowl of shells. He flexed his asscheek muscles, trying to look as buff as possible.

She said, “You’re a hairy candy-bun boy, aren’t you? Can you show me your asshole?”

“What? No.”

“Why not?” she asked.

“I’m not into that,” said Cardell. “This is about your ass, not mine.”

“Nonsense, just show it to me, bun boy, bend over. Give me a good look. Come on.”

Finally, Cardell bent and opened his asscheeks for her to have a look.

“Oh, Card, that’s one tiny hairy asshole you got. Very discreet. What’s the matter, you’ve never shown anyone your asshole before?”

“This is outside my comfort zone.”

“Good, well, good. Now grab your cock and get it in its comfort zone, honey, and do just what you want to do with it. I’m going to screw myself with this screwy fucker, I’m going to — hooo. I’m going to let it go in till my asshole muscle locks on the — almost, almost — handle’s — there it is — narrower part. Hoh, it’s locked in. Hoo yeah. Fuck. I’ve got this shiny silver screwdriver pointing straight out my ass, I wish you could see it.”

Cardell scanned the room for reflective surfaces. He thought he could almost see some of what was going on behind him in the curve of a glass vase filled with colored sand. “Me, too,” he said.

“Well, do the next best thing and jerk your bull cock while I abuse myself with this thing, just jerk and jack and pound it like you love to do every single day and night. And if you can, tighten your buns again so I get something to look at besides your arms and elbow moving, although I must say they’re nice arms.”

“Okay.” He breathed little panting breaths, his hips rocking as he flummoxed his beatstick.

“I’m going to take a moment to check in on my nipples now. Yep, crinkling up nice. And now I’m going to — oh, lord god — pull the handle out, because that empty feeling feels so good, when I feel my ass closing down again, I tighten it on itself, and it’s suddenly all, like, empty but concentrating hard on its memories, all the nerves in a huddle, and when it goes tight that always makes me want to work my clit, like right na-ha-ha-how! But then when I do my clitty, that makes me need to feel my ass tingle again, so I’m going to circle it with my fingers and feel it go soft again and oh, god, I need something in my cunt now. I think I’ll shove this tube of Push in my cunt, oooh!”

“I’m jacking, Betsy, you’ve got to know I’m jacking it now.”

“Back up toward me, I need to feel those balls when I come. I need a heaping handful of hot hairy balls! Don’t turn around.”

Cardell backed toward her and stood with his legs parted and felt her hand enclose his balls and tug on them.

“Big warm balls,” she said. “You’ve got a lot of come in these, I can tell.”

“I’m close, Betsy!”

“Come all over my coffee table, baby, just shoot it every-where.”

“Betsy, no, I can’t come on your coffee table! Those are your husband’s hiking magazines.”

She spoke in a quiet voice. “You’re right. Then close your eyes tight and turn around.”

“Okay.” He turned, and just before he closed his eyes he saw her with her legs jackknifed back, propped against the arm of the couch, and the screwdriver in one hand and her other hand pincering.

“And now sit on my foot.” She held her foot in the air so that Cardell could rest his weight on it, as if he were astride a bicycle seat. “Nestle yourself right down on my foot. Push on my leg. Ooooh, yeah. I like to see your balls squashed and hanging like that around my foot. Can you feel the ball of my foot against your cock root?”

“Oh, god, oh, god, oh, god, yes,” said Cardell.

“You like to see me push this in?” She squinted. “It hurts a teensy bit when it goes back in, and then it locks, and it fills my hips so good.” She jiggled the screwdriver. “Come for me now. Come very slow now, slow down right on my open cunt. Press your hot butthole against my heel. Oh, that’s it, fucking press it and jack it for me. Blow that load!”

He made a strangled shout and put his full weight down on her foot, feeling her heel against his ass. A torrential comeload pitched from his cock and landed on her stomach and thighs. “It’s silver,” he said, catching his breath.

“I told you. All silver. And now I’m going to put my legs all the way back, all the way, and tickle my ass so it’s like an eye staring right at my finger, and I’m going to frig myself now and think about you watching me and coming on me. I’m thinking about the vampire count’s cock filling my bowels, oh, my ass, my ass is so freaking hot.” She slapped high up on her thighs with a pat pat sound.

“Come for me, you sweet sexy thing,” said Cardell.

“I’m almost there, I’m almost there!” She arched. “I’m there, ah, ah, AAAAAH, hoof hoof hoof.” She lay splayed, tired, smiling.

“That was fun,” said Cardell.

“It was,” said Betsy. “Maybe I’ll just give my husband a quick call and tell him about it.”

“You should,” said Cardell.

“Could you put the screwdriver back in the tool belt on your way out?”