Blackmailed swingers

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"Damn it, Darren, I thought you wanted to fuck!"

"I do, baby," Darren Rethro said from the window of his apartment where he was fisting his dick into rigid erection.

He was looking directly down into the scoop necked dress of a beautiful blonde. She stood one story below, at the door of the manager's office.

She was tall enough to be called statuesque. Her faintly bronze complexion gave her the look of a sun-drenched native who spent all her free time on the beach. Her ample tits bounced under the material of her blouse. She wasn't wearing a bra. Her shapely legs, long and supple, were tantalizing looking. She was definitely the kind of girl whom men would notice, and she was entirely aware of that fact.

She must be the new tenant in 4-B, Darren thought. Damn, what a body. He wondered how long it would take to get in her pants.

"Shit, if we're not gonna fuck, I'm goin' home!"

"In a second, Carrie, in a second," Darren said. Carrie Gayle lay on the bed behind him, naked, fingering the lips of her hungry pussy. She really didn't care for Darren Rethro, but he was the only guy in the apartment house who was always available for sex in the afternoons. And, since Carrie was a stripper who worked nights – under the name of Virgin Waters – she usually got the hot-to-trots in the afternoons.

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