Frustration can become an obsession ... and it does in Raped And Traded Teenager. All too often, the denial and repression of basic sexual urges leads to violent behavior in the drive to relieve those frustrations, and this saga is the portrayal of what happens when a young girl repeatedly leads her swain on without fulfillment for him. In one berserk moment he sets the complete pattern for both their later sexual patterns, patterns that manifest bizarre acts and degrading treatment ... all in the seeking of pleasure.
The case in point is a fairly common one, stemming from the type of upbringing in which the child, at an early age, is taught that any functions involving the genitalia are dirty, and that sex is something to be feared, and inherently evil. Read on, see what awaits Sandra, a victim of her own making....
New from Surrey House, Inc., you will find four fresh, new Bedside Books, along with their all-time bestselling companions, Rated-X and Surrey Collectors Series. Serious collectors will want each and every one, side-by-side on their special, private book shelves, handy for several pleasure-filled readings.
Bedside Books, like all Surrey House, Inc. books, are designed with YOU in mind, and every attempt to reflect your desires and reading tastes is made. Readers' comments are invited at all times, and we urge you to write us, at all times, with exact details of what you like to read, or with any other sexual matters you wish to impart, IN ABSOLUTE, STRICTEST CONFIDENCE. You need not identify yourself if you wish not to, but only through communication with YOU can we give YOU what YOU want.
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Chapter One
She started out on top, the bitch. On top! How many virgins ... well, ex-virgins ... do you know that started out on top?
We were parked on the hill... to watch the lights, all that shit. I'd been bringing her there every date for six months, and it had taken me three of those months just to get a goddamn kiss out of her, and then she'd backed off at that after just one night. And I was relieved, because that one night of mild necking ... not even a feel, for Christ's sake ... had my balls aching like they were going to fall off! Relieved! And she knew I would be, the bitch.
So anyway, on New Year's Eve we parked there ... the view spot just a couple blocks down from where she lived ... and watched the lights and the stars, and talked. I can't even remember what we talked about, except she did most of the talking, and it was always about what was wrong with me. How lazy I was, and how mean to my mother; all that shit she wouldn't quit spouting.
At midnight she was still talking, and she didn't even hear the radio announce that it was midnight. But I heard, and I'd made a New Year's resolution, and I was damn well gonna keep it.
I had my arm around her. She allowed that, as long as I just kept my hand right up on her shoulder and didn't do any rubbing around. So now I pulled her up against me, and when she tried to squirm away ... without even stopping bitching at me, for Christ's sake! or even changing her voice ... I grabbed a handful of her hair right up close to the back of her head, and wrenched her face back to me .. . and just sort of surged right into her. I must have bruised her tits, my chest would have hit so hard, but I didn't even notice that, because my mouth hit hers so hard that I could feel my lower lip split, feel my teeth impact with hers and her head sock back against my hand.
I just kept lurching forward until she was smashed up against the door, the back of my hand against the window glass, her head squashed against my clenched fingers, my teeth still against hers and feeling like they were going to be bent back inward like a snake's.
Her left arm was caught between our waists, and all she could move were her right one and her legs. She seemed to be pushing with her legs, like she wanted to slide upward out of my grip, but she couldn't get the angle right to make any progress.
The arm kept beating against the back of my head, and the pops when the knuckles hit, and the rasping roar of my breathing... those are the only sounds I can remember, and I must have held her like that for three minutes, just crushing my smashed mouth down on hers, tasting blood, feeling her muscles flex as she tried to squirm away ... Where her tits were against me I couldn't feel anything but pressure, and I wasn't thinking about them anyway, but because of them she was able to shift her torso from side to side a little, and she was doing that, but it just made me madder, made me jam myself against her all the harder, hating her, trying to get up tlje guts for the next step.
Then I realized that the moving side to side on the cushions of her tits, and the upward strain she was exerting by pushing with her legs was making her hip rub up against my cock ... and the fucking thing had gone soft!
My left hand had been clamped on the door handle beside her waist, pulling me hard into her, helping my legs, which were having trouble getting good purchase just like hers were. But then I got the left foot up against the stem of the clutch pedal, got the knee straight and locked, and could use that hand.
I guess what I'd planned was to start ripping her dress off, because first I tried to jam the arm up behind her to get at the back of the neckline; but it wouldn't go up that far, she was so tight against the door, so I pulled the arm down and grabbed a handful of her skirt just below the hip, and yanked fiercely ... and it wouldn't rip.
That was when I really felt rage. I still knew what I was doing, but for the next several minutes I didn't know what I was going to do, even a split second in advance. I just sort of watched myself doing it... and saw that it was good.
God, I moved fast! I straightened out my right arm, forcing my head and chest back from hers and turning her head to my left, and as it turned, and as she started to get breath for a scream, my left fist was already coming up ...
The impact was pretty disappointing. It sort of glanced off her cheekbone, and two knuckles hit the ridge of her eyebrow. She moaned, but it didn't even snap her head back, and that made me madder still, and now the fist was backing off to the side, toward the windshield ...
I guess she saw it. She cut off the moan and started to gasp, and I could see the blood all over her mouth, and her eyes bulging, and feel the strain of my right nand's grip iri her hair, scalding her scalp ...
This punch hit her right on the jaw, and I could feel it all the way up both forearms as her skull was still-whipped solidly between my two hands.
Her eyes were wild, and a sheet of fresh blood began to slide down her chin, and I knew it was her blood, even if the other hadn't been, and that was good.
I was panting and sort of sobbing, and my teeth hurt like hell, but I think I was happier at that moment than I'd ever been before in my life.
Now my left hand unclenched and the fingers scraped down her throat and hooked in the prissy-prim neck of her dress... and down. The buttons were in the back, but a couple of 'em gave way before my slashing yank lost its force against a new barrier ... the fabric of her bra between the cups.
"Tom!"
It came out with bloodspit and a drowning sound from that frog-eyed face. I'd never seen a cunt, not even a good picture of one; but I'd imagined Sandra's in full, wetly gleaming color every time I'd jacked off for all those six months. Now her mouth, as she sucked her lips down over her teeth to try to stop the blood, suddenly looked to me like that ruddy, quivering slot I'd a thousand teeth-gritting times imagined driving my spurting cock into ...
The fucking thing was still soft, I realized then!
"Tom . .. Stop it! I..." Did those wild eyes flash with cunning for a minute?
"I love you, Tom. But if you don't stop this and... and take me home right ... "
The next word was a shocked wheeze, as my left hand came back up edgewise, thumb extended, chopping into her windpipe.
I straightened that arm and leaned on it, pinning her in the corner between seat-back and door, and
I dragged my right hand out of her hair now, feeling a few broken-off strands tangled in my fingers, and I pulled that hand back and drove it into her body, aiming for the belly but hitting ribs.
She coughed another bloody wheeze out and tried to get her hands to the place where I'd hit her this time, sort of hugging herself, and slammed her chin down against my wrist, trying to double up.
Her legs came up, too, and I remember wanting to look and see if I could see her pants, and maybe grab them and start pulling them off.
But I couldn't stop glaring into her hated face ... that bloody, cuntsome mouth working in agonized rhythm, those eyes that had made me so weak by seeing all my weaknesses, now swollen with bewildered terror ...
"I'm going to rape you, Sandra."
She couldn't answer, and I wanted her to. I want her to contradict me, to scorn me and laugh at me just this once more, like she did when I'd said I was going to make first string guard on the football team, and she knew I wouldn't even stick out practice for a whole week. So I took my hand off her throat, sort of rolled back toward the driver's side and waited, not even touching her for a minute.
She stayed scrunched up, holding her ribs, her feet trying to get heel-purchase on the edge of the seat, but her skirt was caught between her knees, and from beside her I couldn't see even her thighs when I looked for a second. She had her eyes closed now, and she gasped a couple of breaths in, and then opened those eyes and blinked, and got 'em focused on me.
The laugh came out as a cough, but I knew what it was.
"Take me home, Tommy. You couldn't RAPE A... You're too scared already that I'll tell. And maybe I will, too, Tommy, because ... "
It was the first perfect thing I ever did in my life, I guess. My right arm shot forward just the way I knew it should, with the legs pushing up to put my whole weight in motion behind it just inches before it hit her, and the knuckles caught both rows of her teeth together, and I felt it, I knew it was perfect and I knew it in time to really watch as her head moved back through a little arc, flashed back to jolt against the door post like thunder as the lightning bolt of the punch blazed back up my arm and down my spine and down both legs, right to my toes!
I knew she was out, and I knew she wasn't dea!d, and I didn't even need to look at her. I sat there staring at my fist, trembling and reddened atop my forearm, looking at the muscle ridges still striping my forearm as I held it up in front of her empty face like a giant's cock ...
That was when my hard-on returned, and that was when I started thinking ahead about what I was going to do. But for a minute I didn't care about my real cock; I wanted to strip her and wake her up and bite her all over till she was torn and bleeding, her tits in tatters, her legs half chewed off, her ass a pulpy flag of butchery ... and then I wanted to drive that fist and forearm up her clear to the elbow, rip her cunt apart, burst through her very guts and grab her heart and tear it out through the blood-blazing rent I'd opened.
For a minute I felt like 1 could do it, too, and that made me know that I didn't want to kill her. She had to know she'd been raped and walked away from; and if her old man killed me then, or mine did, or they put me in jail for the rest of my life, it would be worth it.
I hadn't thought to check before ... since right when we'd driven into the little view park ... to see if any other cars were around. I checked now, and we were still alone. And the cops would be too busy herding drunks on the highways and main streets to go through the usual 1:10 roust routine, I knew. It was pretty chilly outside, though, and as heated up as I was, I didn't feel like spending much time out there, and another car might come any minute...
I sort of crawled over her, stopping to peer into her face and listen to her breathing. She was out.
I thought about working at her dress and pants right there, just to get a look at her tits and cunt before I really stripped her and laid her out to be awakened and fucked, but I decided to do it right ... make a ceremony of it.
The car was a station wagon. It was my mother's, but I used it much more than she did, driving to high school every day and on dates, and once in a while to the store for Mom, just to make sure she'd keep buying the gas... I got out on Sandra's side, closed the door so the cold air wouldn't start her waking up too soon, got in the back and folded down the seat. There was no blanket, but so much the better, I decided. Scrape the bitch's ass up a little, just for good measure.
I wasn't thinking too straight. Instead of just hauling her back to me over the front-seat backrest, I got out again and went around, got in the driver's seat and then up on my knees beside her, and lifted her over.
She moaned a couple times and flopped her head back and forth, but when I plopped her down in the back she was still completely out. Now to undress her.
She was lying on her back, within easy reach as I knelt on the front seat, her head to my right. By shoulder and hip, I rolled her onto her right side, her back toward me, and held her there with my left hand while the right undid the rest of the buttons, down to her waist. There was a belt thing there that had no buttons, so I just ripped it loose, then discovered the bent hooks and eyes that had held it. She had a slip on, and I peeled the top of that down to her waist with the bodice of the dress, and then let her flop back toward me so I could look at her tits in her bra.
Tits, I have discovered since, are pretty forgettable. And Sandra's weren't ... neither then nor later, when she was fully mature ... anything very special. But they were the first tits I'd ever seen even near this naked since my mother was faultlessly modest around the house and I was a sheltered only child in a very respectable home in a very churchy community. Bathing suits and the sexy magazine-pages the kids used to pass around don't count, of course; not if you're any kind of real stud.
Anyway, tits are secondary. Good for heating em up if they need it, good as handles in certain positions, once you get going... And I guess every man likes to suck 'em a little, whether he wants to think about why he does or not. But tits don't mean as much to me as they seem to to most guys. I can remember distinctly at least a dozen cunts I've fucked, for which I can't for the life of me recall a thing about the accompanying tits. But I was sixteen then, and Sandra's were going to be the first I'd ever seen, ever touched, ever squeezed and sucked ... ever smashed with my chest, as I then foresaw it, while I drove my scalding, straining cock into a real, live, clutching, grinding cunt. Sandra's tits were Stage One of my Manhood Ceremony, therefore.
Chapter Two
The bra was white, simple. I hadn't torn it at all, nor unfastened it before I let her fall back to bring those snug cups into view.
My cock began to ache as I gazed down at the white cones, at the swollen arcs of flesh that glowed above their top edges. I just looked, my hands hanging limp, my hips straining forward into the seat-back to keep pressure on my cock, taking deep breaths and making my eyes crawl slowly over every pore, every tiny change of color and contour in those white-clad swells and their naked upper slopes... the inner curve of her right tit into pallid cleavage, a sleep valley only barely less white than the bra fabric that blocked its lower reaches from my view ... the outer bulge into dark armpit of the left one's mouth-watering overflow...
How many breaths, how many tingling forward surge-waves of my loins against the little-yielding seat-back... I don't know. But finally my hands wanted in on the business. They wanted ... I wanted ... to rip that bra from Sandra's still body as her next shallow breath lifted so slightly the snow-clad barrier mountains on which I gazed, these heights that I must take before I sacked the city of her sex.
I haven't tried it since; I don't know whether the bra was flimsy or if my strength was exceptional at that holy moment. But when her breathing did thrust those tits up toward me, my hands were there, hooking the cups apart, fmgerbacks indenting the warm softness and I jerked, and both cups tore free of the band beneath them, dragging the straps from her shoulders...
My hands were shaking, locked on the torn flaps of cloth they held as my eyes drank in the sleeping, moonlike hillocks with their dark-plateaued crests, the nipples flaccid, pink, crinkling slightly while I watched.
Mother of God! I wanted to crush them, twist them, wrench them from her as I had the bra cups. But the pain might wake her, and I wasn't ready yet. I didn't even touch them.
By hip and shoulder again ... the shoulder now gleaming naked in the dark car, the hazy moonlight ... warm and yielding, a little sweat-slickened ... I rolled her to her side once more. But I found I needed both hands on the bra's catch, so I had to crouch up and swing my left leg over the seat-back, bracing her ass with my shin as I undid the two hooks'and cleared the conquered garment from under her, lifting her at the waist till I had slipped it free, tossing it to the floor in front. I got in back with her then, took her calves and turned her at an angle across the cargo space, and she slumped flat again.
Should I push the skirt and slip up now, to gaze at her crotch in the panties I had so of ten imagined seeing her slide tantalizingly down her slim thighs? Or work skirt and slip down past her ass and off? This must be done soon anyway, for I knew I must have her totally naked when I drove my cock ... throbbing painfully now, feeling bigger in my tight-twisted pants than it could possible be ... feeling as big as my forearm and fist...
Down, then.
My fingers, at either side of her trim waist, sorted the folds of fabric till only the panties were free of my grip. I knelt over her knees and slid my hands low, pressing them into the give of her buttocks' sides, lifting and pulling toward me... She moaned again, her breathing deeper and irregular for a moment, her eyes fluttering open once, but sightless, and she twisted to her right a little in unconscious protest, enabling me to pull the bunching cloth past her butt on one side, then force it free on the other as she settled flat again.
The panties were white, too, thin cotton, but opaque over her taut belly. A fold of the dress-top still obscured her mound and the line where legbands gripped thighs, but I paused to stare again, knowing she couldn't come to at least until I began to work the panties off, now.
She seemed to grow out of the crumped cloth in my hands, a legless creature, utterly vulnerable, and for the first time since I had know her ... for the first time in my life, for that matter, applied to anyone ... I saw, I felt her breathtaking beauty.
The backs of my fingers must have been touching her thighs, I suppose, as I still held the bunched skirt and slip, but I was unaware of this. I seemed to be breathing in my vision of her, feeling it in my chest.. . The spiraling curve of neck as her head lolled to her right, her hair in disheveled magnificence... limp arms slim and white those breasts looming smugly from her chest as it rose and fell almost imperceptibly again... the long, softly terraced slop of rib cage, diaphragm and belly to the broad snowfield of the panties, ridged by her hip bones.
My cock decided I had gazed long enough. It twitched painfully in the bind of my clothes, and I rocked back to relieve it, pulling Sandra's dress and slip down her legs, moving to kneel at her side while I freed them from her feet and threw these, too, into the front.
Yes. The swell of her mound was visibly darker than the rest of the white pantie-badge, and grew still darker as it creased down to disappear between her glowing thighs ...
That was where I was going; and I had waited long enough.
I would slip them off, careful to touch no closer to the vital goal than I must, and then I would bring her to, somehow. I hadn't planned how, but I knew I'd figure that out; maybe open a couple windows for a few minutes, or burn her somewhere with a cirgarette... Bring her to, make her know in helpless terror just how weak, how powerless she was as she lay before me, about to be raped, to be brutally thrust out of innocence and purity, out of childhood with me...
I think these things now, in the words of now, because I can't precisely recapture what I thought then, if I was thinking at all in ways for which there are words. I know that I felt I was about to become a man. And I know that I was about to reach for the waistband of those glaring white pants, but looked up one last time at her face, before this ultimate unmasking...
That was when the bitch woke up ... still wearing the pants.
Her eyes were cold now, immediately aware and sharp, the needles of scorn I had cringed before so often in the past months. She still lay limp, except for those eyes, and her bloody mouth was now only a bloody mouth, as it formed and spoke:
"All right, Tommy. I'll help. It doesn't have to be rape."
I was seventeen. You've got to understand that! I didn't say a word; I couldn't, suddenly. But something in my mind said, Good, and somehow my face or my body communicated it.
Sandra smiled, and I could see the traces of blood discoloring her teeth, between the swollen, gluey lips. "Take your pants off, Tommy," she whispered. "Take everything off, if that's what you were planning to do, because when I get naked, you aren't going to want to waste any time."
I have wondered ever since if she was a virgin, because of the way she said that. But at a time later when she couldn't possibly have lied to me, she affirmed it, swore to it, screamed it so that I must believe it.
She just lay there, and I don't think her eyes ever fell from mine as I clumsily got out of my clothes, sitting by her feet, in the back of my mother's car. My cock stayed hard, though, it didn't ache now, and whenever I wasn't looking at what my hands were doing in getting the clothes off, I would look first at that darkening crease of cotton that masked her snatch, then return my eyes to the capture of hers, always waiting. I'm sure she never once looked at my cock then, nor until a moment before it went into her.
When I was naked I sat impaled by those eyes, and she showed her bloody teeth again and whispered drily, "Come kiss me, Tommy."
As I got on my hands and knees to move up beside her, I found myself saying what I had said a thousand times before, the pleading lie, "I love you, Sandra." It had never worked, and part of my resolution had been that I would never say it again. But suddenly, now, I meant it. "I'm sorryl ... "
"Kiss me, Tommy," she whispered, teeth gritted, drawing me down with brittle arms to the starched face, the gory lips ... her eyes closing as they drifted toward each other in the blurring foreground of my vision.
I kissed her, long, hard, gripping her waist chastely, never even thinking to open my lips as I had heard one did in sexy kissing.
It must have hurt her. She whimpered, but didn't try to turn her head aside, and when the pain in my own broken lip grew severe, I lifted my head.
"AH right, Tommy," she said, stabbing me with her eyes again. "Let's get it over with."
There was strain in her voice; a tone of... Condescension? Resignation? I don't know, even now. I never understood her more than was necessary to hate her.
I was braced on my left elbow, my cock straining forward in air, its tip an inch from her thigh, and I put my right hand back to, start pushing her pants down.
"Wait," she said. "Lie down and let me do it, Tommy. I don't want you to hurt me any more."
"Sandy, I won't-"
"Lie back, Tommy. Please."
There was no smile, no touch, but something in her tone made me want to let her. For a moment I knew she was truly afraid.
I lay back, wondering for a second how she knew you could do it this way. I'd heard about it from guys at school, bragging or telling dirty jokes, but Sandra wasn't... Could she have just figured it out? Or did girls talk about sex, too, in their locker rooms and bathrooms, and giggling on the street together?
I watched her tits, too tight to sway or jounce, jiggle slightly as she sat up, then got to her knees while turning to face me, her hands at the waistband of her panties.
"We can stop, Tommy," she said flatly. "I don't want to do this, but I can't... I won't let you rape me."
I was silent. I was scared, now, and thinking. I knew of at least four easy lays around school. Was it worth the risk of all this bitch could do to me?
If she'd only said Tom, as she did when she wanted to make me feel good... And if only those eyes hadn't been laughing at me, taunting me, saying, You're turning chicken, aren't you, little Tommy? ... I think I would have chickened out indeed. But her eyes saw the hate flare up in mine, and saw the strength that hate gave me. I didn't even have to say anything. "All right," Sandra sighed. It was then that she looked down at my cock for the first time, where it arched stiffly toward my navel.
"All right," she said again, louder, but still in that dry, emotionless voice. And she slid her panties down, baring the taut, cream-tinted belly, the dark patch of curls that veiled her mound... down to her knees and the cargo deck. Now she crouched back and worked them off her feet. This caused her thighs to part for a second, and I saw the dark, sparsely haired line of her cunt, tight-lipped and prim, not at all the wet, florid maw I had envisioned.
Silent now, her face frozen, she stepped forward, crouching awkwardly, then extended her left leg across my waist. Her tits loomed near my face as she held herself on stiff arms and bent legs above my torso.
My cock twitched, straining up toward her, and I reached for her shoulders but let my arms fall back when she whispered, "No. Let me do it alone. Please."
Her thighs were trembling, and as the angle of her body changed, I could see the slot again, a little wider than before, but in deeper shadow now too, so that no pinkish tinge of inner tissue was visible.
I watched intently, free of her eyes now, as the tip of my cock touched those primly pursed cuntlips. I couldn't feel the hair; only cool pressure, a little yielding as Sandra snugged my tool's head first to one side and then the other, wedging it between the stubborn folds. The sensation wasn't at all the joyous grip of bliss I had anticipated, yet the view of it stirred me, and involuntarily my hips surged up a little, my cock meeting firm resistance and bending a bit, hurting...
Her fingers still held it, and she tightened her grasp in response to my gainless thrust, hissing, "No! Let me. I just need ..."
She discovered that she could kneel without increasing my penetration, and thus relieve the strain on her arm and legs. In fact, as she swayed left and then right, in putting her knees where her feet had been, my cockhead was pulled from the groove entirely, and she had to scrunch down and back a little to re-position it.
"Are you ready, Tommy?"
Holy Mother of God, how could the bitch be so cool?
"Yeah. I'm ready. I'm gonna ... Aaaaagh!" Christ! It was like she'd picked up her knees and balanced her entire weight on the end of my prick, so perfectly positioned that it couldn't bend, but only bore down into my pelvis with a screaming, flooding ache. Yet her thighs were still tense; she had lowered herself only an inch or so, and most of my cock was still visible.
The head and top quarter of the shaft were out of sight within her clinging, still-pursed outer lips, and the tip felt like it was jammed against stainless steel armor.
I cringed down under the pressure, scraping my ass on the cargo deck, but it didn't help; her weight came with me.
Maidenhead. I heard about it, from locker-room boasters. And heard that it hurt the girl when it was broken.
Ignoring my own pain, I gathered tension, then reached up, grabbed Sandra's pert tits as if to claw them, wrench them clear off... and just as she opened her mouth to protest, bringing her arms up to fend me off... I rammed my hips upward, savagely, my ass coming clear off the deck...
She screamed, and I felt myself break through into a hot, dry sheath, grating the whole surface of my cock as I bored hilt-deep without a break in the surge, her ass smacking against my groin with a jolt that took her breath and cut off the scream.
She was trembling now, and whimpering, her hands making spastic patterns in the air, her eyes dazed, thighs slack, useless, so that as I settled back, her full weight came with me, her knees finding no traction.
I still held her tits, and as I lunged up a second time, I felt her lean into my grip, giving them up to me, the nipples heating and crinkling against my palms.
And on my second downstroke her knees closed on my waist, achieving an angle they could hold, and I felt my cock slide a little in the crushing clutch of her cunt flesh.
Again, again, again I surged up into her, battering, grating, jolting her spine and bringing little yelps of abject agony from her slack, blood-crusted lips.
Again. Again.
She was beginning to moisten. The tightness increased, if anything, yet now my strokes slid in her wringing snatchgrasp, the raw rub of her tissues subsiding.
And suddenly she was moving with me, snapping her hips forward a little as each new upstroke impaled her, creating an almost knife-edge pressure on the soft under-ridge of my plunging rod. And as I dropped back, pulling perhaps an inch of the shaft free, she swished her ass back and the ruddy suck of her inner lips clung and protruded a little, trying to pull me in again.
She was gasping now, her shoulders braced back, her head beginning to toss. Her tits grew hot in my hands, and her thighs somehow softened so that they embraced and caressed my hips.
My cock had begun to tingle and burn, an acid ecstasy spreading from the head downward, advancing with my every plunge into Sandra's spasming sheath, seeping toward my balls ... and I knew that when it reached them I would come.
She seemed to sense it, or at least to respond instinctively to the more ragged, double and triple-jerking tempo of my ascending thrusts, for now her hips began to circle and flutter, milking me toward climax.
I couldn't appreciate her devastating technique then, of course, but it has come back to haunt me endlessly ever since. She couldn't have been a virgin, and yet she had to be! Even then, as the blue flame of passion flowed to the very base of my cock and began to ignite my balls, I could see the blood of her shattered cherry bubbling in my crotch-hair, smearing her thighs, tinting the viscous seepage that coated my shaft and now oozed audibly with every heave of my loins into her flailing, flourishing cunt.
Then the blue flame turned white, seething back up the tube of my reaming tool, pulling my hips off the deck in an epileptic dance that shook and shuddered Sandra till even her frozen face vibrated, her breath coming like shots from a pellet gun. As I felt my cum boil into her, I froze, bridged up and quivering, branding the very core of her with the mark of my manhood. Now she slumped forward, limp against my hands on her swollen, sweat-glowed tits, and I let her fall against my chest, then closed my arms on her ribs in a crushing hug and jammed her down one last, jolting time, and I hooked my numb but rock-hard cock to the sodden depths of her, mashing and grinding her mound against my pelvic bone until she creamed and wept. Suddenly a new kind of energy washed through me like cold water.
"I'd done it. I'd fucked the bitch."
I dumped her off me, grabbed my clothes and swung over to the front seat, threw her clothes back to her and, without a word ... without even a look to see if we were still alone in the little park ... opened the door and stepped outside to dress.
I left the door open, and by the dome light I watched deep, ragged breaths heave Sandra's crumpled form. I could see shiny smears of ooze on her lower thigh, thrust forward as she slumped waist-twisted, breasts and right cheekbone against the cargo deck, hair-tangles veiling her empty eyes.
"Get dressed, Sandy," I said as I got back in.
She didn't move.
I closed the door, slid under the steering wheel and started the car, not looking back. And by the time I pulled up under the street light in front of her house, she was dressed, sitting with legs curled tightly under her in the same spot where she'd been when I'd looked at her last.
I reached back and opened the rear passenger door. "Happy New Year, Sandy," I said coldly. "And good-bye. You're a good piece, but not good enough for me to take any more shit from you. See you around, but I won't be calling any more, Bitch."
She slid out, then leaned back in, and those knowing eyes, that icy, condescending smile hit me again, full-strength:
"You'll call, Tommy. You'll call."
Chapter Three
"Sandra? Sandra, where the fuck are my black shoes?"
She was in the bathroom, and shouted back over the rasp of her little electric leg-shaver. "Tommy, they're probably in one of the boxes. I haven't unpacked anything but your work clothes yet."
"Shit," I muttered. There were at least ten boxes of junk still in the bedroom, and while most of them contained her stuff, there were pieces of her clothing, scrapbooks, souvenirs of travel and school days scattered over all the boxes equally. I felt like telling the bitch to get her ass out there and find 'em for me, but I decided not to risk a fight that could spoil our plans for the evening. We were, after all, going to dinner at her boss' house, and if he liked us both, saw us as the happy newly married couple that we damn well weren't, it could help her get her job back after the baby was born.
I had just found the shoes when she came from the bathroom, wearing pants and bra. She took a dress from the closet and turned to me, then spun posily around once, swinging the dress like a cape.
"Am I showing yet, Tommy?" she asked, throwing me a bump of her belly and that patronizing smile I hated so.
I didn't answer. She knew damn well she wasn't, and it was a particularly sore subject because she was using the pregnancy ... had been since the day we'd gotten married, a week after her second-missed period ... as an excuse to limit my sex quota to once every two weeks. "The doctor insists we shouldn't at all," she had told me, patting my bulging fly before we undressed for bed that first night in the apartment. "I'm just too delicate, he says. But if you'll promise to be gentle, Tommy, do everything..."
Three times, therefore, in the six weeks we'd been married, she had crouched over my straining cock, lowered herself onto it and begun the hip-whipping, pelvis-grinding process of bringing me to orgasm, while I fought so hard to lie frozen and passive beneath her, that when I came it was with more relief than positive pleasure.
The apartment was some six blocks down the hill from the view park where, not quite three and a half months ago, I had fucked myself into the whole mess. I had since quit school and taken a job delivering laundry, and Sandra had gotten on as a clerk in a small insurance brokerage. From the apartment, this night, we drove several blocks north along the hillside, then down two blocks to the expensive, elaborately landscaped corner lot where Mason Eldridge, Sandra's employer, lived with his wife and no kids in a rambling five-bedroom ranch-house.
The Eldridges were well known, Sandy had told me, for the frequent weekend-long house parties they threw, so I was surprised to see only two cars in the long sweeping driveway and turnaround area beside the house.
"Are we early?" I asked, as I opened Sandra's door and grudgingly helped her out of the car, now on long-term loan from my mother.
"No," she said blithely. "Why?"
"Well, you said it was going to be a party. I expected ... "
"A dinner party, Tommy. Just us and them. Cozy. But don't worry, Mrs. Eldridge is a very sexy female, from what I've heard ..." She paused as she rang the doorbell. "So you'll have at least one chick to ogle, if the conversation bores you."
Unfailingly, Sandra hit sore spots like this one ... which had grown up through the three or four parties we'd gone to together in our six months of dating ... at times when I didn't dare answer or show my anger. And sure enough, she had no sooner dropped the icicle smile that accompanied her crack than the door opened.
"Why, hello! You must be Sandy! And Tom. I'm Irene Eldridge. Come right in! Mason's just now mixing drinks. Follow me."
Irene Eldridge was indeed a very sexy female. She looked no more than twenty-two, though her voice and manner, her clothes and hairdo spoke of many years of being the perfect hostess at posh gatherings. She wore a sweeping, clinging hostess gown, silky jet black, with brilliant red dragons blazing at strategic places to accent a mouth-watering figure that moved like a cat through high grass. Her blonde hair was piled high and flawlessly over a dark-eyed, full-lipped face that made you want to call her Your Majesty; and when she smiled, she puckered. She had poured that kiss-me smile on me after only the briefest glance at Sandra, and now she turned and swept along a wide formal entry hall to a big living room facing a huge patio and swimming pool. I noticed no details of the house or the yard beyond. I was too busy noting every detail of the sway and slither of Irene Eldridge's full, firm, hypnotic ass.
"Hello, Sandy! And this would be Tommy, eh?"
I looked up, red-faced, knowing I'd done so a minute too late, at our host behind the bar. But he wasn't even looking at me. His eyes were crawling hungrily over Sandra's tits in the scoop-necked green cocktail dress she was wearing.
Then he was handing her a drink, and I still hadn't met his eyes, and then Irene moved in front of him to whisk two tall galsses of amber fluid from the bar and move toward me.
"Let's sit over here, Tom," she purred, leading me to a corner loveseat that faced away from the body of the room, toward the pool outside. "Those two are going to be gabbing about business, I don't doubt, and we'd just feel left out anyway. Till dinner, let's you and I get acquainted."
Putting our drinks on a low table, she motioned me to sit on the loveseat, then swung down beside me, just far enough away to turn her knees toward me. When she crossed her legs, the long skirt of her gown slipped away in a vee that bared her thigh almost to the top, and when I looked up from the golden column, beginning to blush, she threw me that kissy smile again and said simply, "You like? Mason bought it for me in Hong Kong last year. It's not my color, really, but it's so easy to slip in and out of..."
I stammered out that I sure did like the gown, and that I guessed any color would look good on her, and then as she questioned me ... casually, warmly, seeming really interested and not at all patronizing ... about my job and my plans to finish high school at night during the next two years, I sipped my drink and stammered my answers, completely enchanted by this beautiful, kind .. tantalizing woman.
Only twice did I glance back to where Mason Eldridge now stood close, close to Sandra as she leaned easily on the bar. Was his free hand ... the one nearer to me held his drink ... resting her hip? I couldn't really be sure. But if it was, Sandy obviously didn't mind, for she was talking animatedly to him, giggling, tossing her head flirtatiously. Good. Once his wife saw how he was rubbing up to the new girl at the office, maybe she'd decide to do a little rubbing up herself ... to me!
But then a rather ugly little Oriental maid appeared to announce that dinner was ready.
Eldridge did most of the talking during dinner.
He began with a story about an insurance client who held policies on the lives of his wife and two mistresses, none of whom knew the others existed, and went on to tell about several other business acquaintances ... no names mentioned, of course ... who were stepping out on their wives, or whose wives were notorious pushovers for any man who dropped in when hubby was away on business.
"They aren't happy people," he kept injecting as he told these tales. "Always sneaking around, worrying about divorce if they're caught..."
Sandra seemed to be finding a lot to laugh about in what he was saying, but I wasn't listening closely enough to catch the jokes. I was too busy pretending to listen, and pretending to enjoy the food, and seizing every opportunity to gaze across the table at Irene as she popped dainty forkfuls of sauteed beef between those pouty lips, or sipped wine, or simply smiled cozily back at me, wrinkling iier nose now and then as if to say, "Isn't it boring? But we'll get off alone again later."
And sure enough, after dessert, Eldridge dragged Sandra off to his study upstairs, to look at the plans for a new building he meant to move the business to soon.
"They're likely to be up there for hours!" Irene exclaimed. "So lets you and I have a little more wine in the living room, and then maybe we'll want to go up, too."
Carrying clean glasses and the wine bottle, I followed her back to the loveseat, and this time she sat much closer to me, our legs almost touching, and as we talked ... about her garden now, and how she spent almost every weekday puttering there, or sunbathing in the nude, so bored, what with Mason at work for long hours, and the maid to keep up the house ... As she told me this, she toyed with the dragon-tail loop and black button which closed the slit neck of her gown, just at the top of her breast cleavage. She had crossed her legs again, and my eyes flew nervously about from her moist lips to that sleek, deep-tanned thigh she had revealed again, and to the exciting glimpses of breast-slope and valley that her fingers kept offering.
Finally the conversation dwindled to a long, eye-locked pause, and I wondered if she was waiting for me to kiss her. Crazy, I decided. Don't be an ass! She's just. .. this way; with all men, probably."
"What do you suppose," Irene said suddenly, leaning toward me with that pouty smile, "your wife and my husband are doing upstairs?"
"Well, I..."
"Do you think they're fucking?"
"I... Are you... ?"
"Come on, Tom," she said, rising and taking my hand, pulling me to my feet. "Give Irene a nice hot kiss, and then let's go peek. But you've got to promise not to be naughty; not to make noise or break in on them, if I'm right. Well just sneak a little look, and then maybe..."
Her face said the rest, and then her body, as she flowed into my arms and squirmed her tits and pelvic swell against me, drawing my head down to a kiss that just about barbecued my tonsils.
When we broke at last, I had an aching hard-on that showed as plainly in my pants as if I'd had a county-fair cucumber stashed in my skivvies.
"Irene, do you re ... "
"Shhhh! No more talk now till we're ... in my bedroom. Okay?"
I could only nod, and follow obediently as she took my hand and led me back through the dining room and up a broad, carpeted staircase to the door of Eldridge's study.
The door was ajar an inch or two, and after a quick glance inside, Irene stepped aside, raised an admonishing finger to my lips, then pushed me into position to peer into the fully lighted room.
They weren't fucking.
Mason Eldridge, fully clothed, stood before a large painting of himself on the right-hand wall of the study. "Do you like it, Sandy?" he was saying.
Sandra was kneeling in front of him, totally naked, her head obscuring Eldridge's crotch as she moaned an unintelligible answer.
Was she... ? Could she... ?
Yes. For as I stared at them from the gloom of the hallway, Eldridge shifted his stance slightly, grasping Sandra's head to turn her with him, and I could see the shaft of his long cock going in and out of her circled lips. She clutched the backs of his thighs and moved her head slowly, tremulously forward and then back, sucking the spit-glistening rod.
Did Eldridge glance toward the door at that moment? I couldn't be sure, but as I backed away, afraid to be seen, I heard him say, "That's enough, darling. Undress me now, please."
Irene took my arm, pressing it to her breast and raising a finger to my lips again as she guided me down the hall to a door at its end. When she had closed it behind us, she turned to me, came into my arms again and asked, "Are you shocked, Tom? Didn't you know your wife had ... "
"Me shocked?" I interrupted her. "What about you? That's your husband back there, having his ... Having his cock sucked by my wife!"
"Are you jealous, Tom? I'm not. We do this kind of thing a lot, and love every minute of it. But if you're jealous, I'd be glad to suck your cock, if you insist on waiting that long before we fuck."
As she spoke, my eyes had focused on the canopied king-size bed across the room from where we stood, its head and one side flanked solidly by mirrors, its only covering a jet-black fitted sheet. "Uh . . . Well," I stammered, "maybe afterward."
"Good," said Irene, pulling me into another deep, scorching kiss.
Then she stepped back. "Let's not waste time playing love games, either, okay? You undress, and I will, and 111 meet you on the bed."
With that, she swung away from me, her hands immediately on the gown's front fastenings. Two steps toward the bed, and the black fabric slid from her shoulders, down her slim, nut-brown back, and drifted to the floor, unveiling that bewitching ass and her long, lithe legs.
Then she stopped, feet close together. "Tom?" she called teasingly. "Are you watching?"
So far, I had popped three buttons from my shirt, knotted my tie hopelessly and had to lift it off over my head. I was watching.
And now she turned, swinging her full yet pointy tits into view, and the half-invisible patch of golden fuzz that topped her limber thighs.
"Hurry, Tom. I'm getting all gooey."
She lay down on the bed, at an angle which permitted me to see the wet gleam of her cuntlips as she parted her legs a little, smiling up at me as I tore my shirt and T-shirt off and bent to get rid of my shoes.
Irene wasn't the best fuck I've ever had; she was a bit too wrapped up in her own kicks to be fully considerate of my needs, my sense of timing. But I know that only by hindsight. At that time, by contrast to my four experiences of sex with Sandra, this long, wild blonde animal seemed to be the very goddess of sexual ecstasy.
She didn't tell me what to do; she urged; she begged:
And; "Oh, such a big, hard cock, Tom! I can hardly wait till you ... Oh, but I can wait! Keep doing that with your thumb! Darling, my little clitty's just..."
While I mauled and sucked and tongued those tits with their tough, pinkish-brown nipple-spikes, my left hand tested the juicy depth of her box with two fingers, my thumb mashing and rolling the throbbing nub at the top of her slot.
She alternately stroked my cock and tickled the ridge around its head with her nails, as I jolted the underside of it rhythmically against her hip.
She was kissing my hair, my eyes slipping her tongue into my ear when it came within reach, and her free hand had already begun to rake passionate furrows across my shoulders when she cried, "I'm close to coming, Tom! Put it in now! All the way in, and hard and fast! Ohhh, fuck me!!"
She wasn't as tight, going in, as Sandra. But even while that fact was making its way from my cock to my brain, suddenly she clamped down with a grip of inner muscles such as I'd never imagined possible, then slung her legs up to lock ankles behind my back, and drove her rippling cunt up to meet me, taking me to the balls and pulling for more.
"Now fuck, Tom!" she gasped. "Screw me right through the mattress! Ohhh ... yesss!"
The grip and slack of her legs was timed perfectly to my thrusts, and as I lay braced on my elbows above her, she held her own breasts and rubbed the taut nipples against my chest, her tongue doing a solo pagan dance between her drawn-back lips.
When I could stand watching that no longer, I plunged down to crush her beneath me, driving my tongue into her mouth to wrestle with hers, shortening my cockstrokes and accelerating their tempo.
She began to switch her snatch from side to side a little now, on every other inward thrust of my aching, broiling prick. And when I let her spead, she whispered, "It's starting, darling! I'm coming! Ohhh, hurry!"
The demanding clutch of those slick, hot inner tissues couldn't be denied any longer. I braced up on stiff arms and began to batter her wildly, without rhythm, my pelvis crashing and grinding against her as liquid lightning seared the length of my rod and gushed maddeningly into Irene Eldridge's spasming cunt.
"You might as well know now," Sandra said, as we drove home. "I'm not really pregnant, Tommy."
"You..."
"Now that you've met the Eldridges, I can safely expect that you'll want to stay married to me ... because they're my friends, you know; they wouldn't look twice at you if I didn't work at the agency, or if you'd left me. And you can get plenty of sex through their swapping friends, and leave me alone."
I was too exhausted and too confused to be really angry. "Sandra, do you mean to say you lied to me about.. . about the baby, just to get married? And that you let Eldridge screw you and. .. Sandy, I don't get it! I knew you were a bitch, but I can't see what you get out of this!"
"I was sick of school, and of living at home, Tommy. You're my way out. Until somebody better comes along. And you won't leave me, till
I'm ready for you to. Not now that Irene Eldridge has opened your eyes to the possibilities in swapping."
"But, Sandy, if you don't want sex with me, why do you want it with Eldridge or all the men in this swap club he told us about? Now can you ... " "I don't, Tommy. I hate sex, thanks to you and your big, brave New Year's Resolution. But I've learned how to handle Mason. He didn't.. .penetrate me tonight. He wanted you and Irene to think so, just like he wants everybody at the office to think he's.. .screwing me and the other girls all the time in his office. But he always wants to be sucked first, and when he wants me to stop so he can... Well, when he says to stop, I just don't. I hate it, Tommy, but it's better than the other, and if it keeps me away from my folks, keeps me married and working, where someday I can hope to meet a man who won't always want... Oh, I even hate the words!"
I shook my head, feeling dazed. "You're nuts, Sandra," I said quietly. "You are just plain downright off your fuckin' gourd!"
"We'll see, little Tommy," she hissed back, glaring hatefully at me. "Next Friday, we'll just see if I am."
Chapter Four
We saw the gathering before we arrived.
Jack Deering, the number-two man in Eldridge's office, lived a few blocks down the hill from Mason and Irene, and the route there took us past a vacant lot, one street up, where we could look down into Deering's sprawling patio and pool area. I spotted Irene, though not Mason, among the eight or ten people standing and sitting around, drinks in hand.
"Looks like we're the last ones," Sandra said~a little bitchily, since I'd delayed our departure by hunting through the still-unpacked boxes for a particular pair of socks.
"I think Mason said there'd be six couples, including us," she went on. "And if you're lucky you'll either get Irene again, or Jack's sister. She's married to some guy in real estate, and they were the last couple to join before us. From what I hear, the other women coming tonight aren't anything very special."
"And what about you?" I asked. "If you're lucky, you'll get another guy you can just suck off and be done with, huh?"
She threw me one of those don't-be-stupid smiles. "Mason runs the club, Tommy, no matter where they get together. And Mason wants me. And as long as I can keep him from blowing his top when I... when I don't cooperate at the last minute..."
"Good luck, you frigid bitch," I snarled. "I hope tonight you screw it up, and he fucks you half to death!"
Things were still in the drink-and-flirt stage when Myra Deering ushered us through the house to the outdoor recreation area. And Myra was indeed not "anything very special." A rather mousy brunette, she appeared to be in her late thirties.
Of the others there, none appeared to be as young as Sandra and I, but none looked to be very far along in middle-age, either. Eldridge may have been the oldest; Sandra had told me he was forty-two.
Deering, our host, was a short, dark, tense-smiled man who waved a cigar as he talked briefly and pointlessly with Sandra and me, then began the introductions:
"Folks, this is Sandy Beck, from the office, and her husband Tom. You kids know Mason and Irene, and you've met Myra now... That's Rex Cahill over by the palm tree, feeling up Laurel Skowron." He pointed to a thin, intense-looking man who was indeed mauling the thinly covered tits of a tall, hatchet-faced redhead. They both smiled and nodded, but without interrupting their fun for even a second.
"My sister Alice, over here with Mason, is Rex's wife..." Alice Cahill was beautiful, in a dark-haired, pale-skinned, sensitive way. She and Eldridge were seated facing each other, just talking, but I wondered at once how he was managing to keep his hands off her moon-white tits, glowing in the low-necked lavender blouse she wore above skin-tight white bellbottoms. "... and that's Vic Skowron over there, sneaking up on Irene's pretty little ass."
Irene, standing near the pool, laughed happily as she glanced over her shoulder at Skowron, a tall, burly man in black slacks and T-shirt, who hac now moved up to grasp her hips from behind and grind his crotch against her with comic exaggeration, growling loudly, while he undressed Sandra with his dark eyes.
"That leaves Don Harvey," Deering went on, nodding toward a youngish but prematurely balding guy who stood by a portable bar with Myra Deering, mixing fresh drinks, "and his wife Sharon."
As he turned toward the poolside chair where she sat, Saron Harvey rose and moved into the curve of Deering's arm, smiling at me with open approval. I tried to return the look, but my heart wasn't in it, really. Or at least my cock wasn't. She was a plumpish, short-haired blonde with heavy glasses ... possibly quite attractive on her own, but by contrast with Alice Cahill and Irene Eldridge, she lost all appeal.
As Myra brought us drinks, Eldridge and Alice moved toward us, Eldridge slipping an arm casually around Sandra. Alice moved in so close to me that I could see clear down the cleavage between those snowy swells, and looked up at me with a smile that said she could hardly wait to show me more.
But then Deering began to speak again, in a quiet-on-the-set voice, and Alice turned to listen, leaning back against me easily, as if we'd been to bed together a dozen times already.
"As you all know, I guess," Deering announced, "this is an initiation meeting. So keep things sort of cool while you finish your drinks, and don't set up your own pairings once we go inside. The Mdridges are sponsoring Sandy and Tom, so Mason will start things off when it's time."
Sandra looked worried as she turned back to face Eldridge, the others beginning to converse among themselves in pairs or foursomes. "Mason, you didn't tell me about any initiation business! I thought we were just ... "
Eldridge's smile was flinty. "Drink your drink, dear, and stop worrying. You're going to enjoy every minute of it." He had both arms around her now, his hands locked at her waist, his forward arm snugged tightly between her tits. "You're not having second thoughts, are you, Sandy? It's much too late to back out, I'm afraid."
Sandra struggled helplessly in his embrace, slopping her drink, and looking about fearfully to see if anyone was watching. Her eyes, when they met mine, were narrowed and a little wet-looking. "Tom, I think we ought-" I turned abruptly away from her, slipped my arm around Alice's shoulders and strolled away along tiie pool, not once looking back.
"What's going to happen?" I asked, when we were out of earshot of Sandra and Eldridge.
"To her, or to you?" the dark-haired beauty teased, fluttering her lashes as she looked up at me and snuggled close.
"To her," I said, pausing to bend down and kiss her pert nose lightly. "Fm game for anything, myself; as long as you're involved in it."
Alice giggled. "Well see," she said. "But if you can't kiss any better than that..."
My lips were sore, and my cock a vibrant time bomb in my bulging fly, by the time we all moved inside, to a spacious rumpus room with broad, firm, armless couches lined up along three walls, except where a flagstone fireplace broke the pattern at one end. The fourth wall was solid windows, facing the pool, but now heavily draped. Indirect lighting imparted a hazy glow to the room, and to the faces of the swappers as they gathered there.
Alice steered me to a couch opposite the fireplace. Irene, Rex Cahill and the two other couples took places against the long wall ... silent, watchful, not touching one another now.
Eldridge and Sandra came in last, and he was still holding her tightly. She wasn't exactly fighting him, but her reluctance and fear were obvious.
He brought her to the center of the room, and Jack Deering got up quietly behind them to close and apparently lock the single door, then resumed his seat beside Sharon Harvey.
"Now, Sandy," Eldridge said, turning her to face him fully, "let's begin just as we have before. I've told these nice people about your technique, and they're all very interested in a demonstration." "Mason, I.... You can't..." "Undress, Sandy."
There was a sense of absolute power in Eldridge's voice as he spoke now, and Sandra trembled, her face crumpling. Did he have her hypnotized somehow? Or was he holding some secret knowledge over her head ... some form of blackmail that I couldn't even guess at?
Whatever it was, she began to undress. Her clothes, as she removed them, were taken from her by Irene, and piled neatly on a vacant couch by the fireplace.
Eldridge stood with his back to the draperies. Alice and I were on his right, and thus on Sandra's left as she faced him, her back toward the other couples.
There were murmured comments and one low whistle as Sandra took off her bra and panties, and Alice moved closer against me, her hand creeping up my thigh to stroke my swollen cock through my pants.
Sandra was kneeling in front of Eldridge now, using both hands to unzip his fly and work his long, rigid prick into the open. Now she held its base between thumb and fingers, her other hand trembling, even as she gripped the side of his trousers to prevent it.
"Suck it, Sandy," her employer said tightly. "Show everybody how you get me to blow my nuts before I'm ready to."
A shudder ran through Sandra's crouched form, jiggling her tits a little. But she moved her head forward, opening her lips to enclose the purplish head of Eldridge's slim, gristly prick. Her cheeks worked as she began to tongue it, and gradually to slide forward on its length, taking more and more in until he gripped the sides of her head and held her fast, his hips taking over the action.
Alice had my cock out now, and was stroking and teasing it with both hands. I had slipped an arm around her ... never taking my eyes from the scene of Sandra's humiliation ... and was fondling her breast through her blouse and bra when suddenly a new pair of hands interfered, taking my right one from Alice's tit and placing it on a larger, totally bare tit beyond.
It was Laurel Skowron. She had undressed completely, without my noticing, and now knelt on the couch on the far side of Alice, smiling hot-eyed at me as she fitted my fingers around a big, spongy nipple.
So I brought my left hand up to play with Alice's tits, and left the other to the naked redhead as I turned my eyes back to Sandra and Eldridge in the center of the room.
His hips were moving with a steady beat now, driving his cock into her mouth almost entirely, then pulling back till only the head was enclosed by her clinging lips, then shooting in again....
But then another naked body blocked my view, as Irene moved in front of me to sit on my left. She pulled my left hand from Alice's tit and placed it on her own ass as she bent over my lap and began to tongue the head of my cock.
Alice stood up, and as Irene's hands replaced hers, she began to undress, standing just to one side so I could watch her, and Sandra and Eldridge at the same time.
Eldridge's hips were beginning to jerk spastically now, breaking rhythm, and his face showed strain. And Sandra had stopped being passive; as his hands clenched and unclenched in her hair, she had begun to move her head, working a little twist into her suckstrokes. One of her hands kneaded his buttock, and the other was at his crotch, cupping and squeezing his balls through his trousers.
"Stop now, Sandy." Eldridge spoke clearly, and loud enough for all of us to hear. "Stop, so I can fuck you properly."
She went right on, her head beginning to move faster, and she began to emit passionate moans, though I was all but certain they were faked.
I saw that Vic Skowron had risen from the couch and was moving quietly, calmly toward the couple in the room's center. When he was directly behind Sandra, he smiled at Eldridge, who returned a slow nod.
"Sandy," Eldridge said now, "I'm going to give you five seconds to stop. One..." She only gripped his ass with both hands, her head moving even more fervently, her face straining with the pressure she was exerting on his cock.
"Two ... Three ..." His voice betrayed growing strain, and his hips began to twitch again in response to her avid suction.
"Four..."
"Fi-"WHAP!
Sandra's head was snapped viciously to her left by a full-swung blow, the flat of Skowron's hand against the side of her face. She toppled, falling toward me, to lie stunned at Eldridge's feet.
"Bring.some cushions." Eldridge said calmly to Myra Deering, his cock standing out stiff and gleaming before him. Myra had risen now, looking not a bit concerned for Sandra, and she produced four good-sized black scatter pillows from behind the couch where she'd been sitting with Don Harvey.
Sharon Harvey had risen, too, and was hastily undressing, her eyes on me and the three women already clustered around me. For Alice, who had paused to watch the abrupt discipline administered to Sandra, had now gotten fully naked and was squatting over one of my feet, kissing my leg as her hands guided my big toe back and forth in the slot of her loins, pressing it rhythmically against her clitoris.
Sandra had begun to blink and stir, but she didn't struggle or protest beyond a low whimper when Skowron bent over her, rolled her onto her back, then grasped her ankles and lifted her to a shoulder stand so that Eldridge could place two pillows beneath her hips, and the other two side by side for his knees.
Rising, Eldridge then began to undress, standing facing us, just past Sandra's splayed feet. I thought I saw her tense a little as her eyes focused and she, too, watched him pull the clothes from his lean, hard-muscled body.
But then my view was blocked by the paste-white, plump and jiggling body of Sharon as she moved past Alice to crouch beside Irene on my left, took her full-to-bursting tits in her hands and began to rub their broad-based, gumdrop-firm nipples tantalizingly along my left thigh.
Suddenly my attention to Sandra's plight was shattered, as for the first time I fully realized my own situation. Here I sat, surrounded by four naked women, all crowding in and cooperating to give me erotic ecstasy.
And now Myra Deering was naked, too, and moving across the room toward me. But where could she possibly fit in? My right hand was busily bobsledding over the snowy tits of Laurel Skowron as she peppered kisses and caresses on my shoulder, face and chest; my right leg and foot were the sensual domain of Alice Cahill, who seemed to be coming now as she squirmed wildly on my toes, holding my knee between her pert, hot breasts. On my left, Sharon was working up a case of fuck-fever against that leg, and my hand was thrust deep in the clutching, writhing asscrack of the golden Irene as she squeezed and rubbed my balls like a squaw making fire without matches, and her Hazing mouth enveloped my cock in rhythmic frenzy.
Where would Myra fit in? I soon found out. She paused directly in front of me, blocking my view jost as Eldridge went to his knees between my wife's wide-pressed thighs; she flipped her own knees apart, half-crouching, and thrust her pelvis forward, her hands parting the dark curls and puffy Sps of her petite snatch to show me the wet, berry-red slash of her cunt's interior.
Then she stood straight and stepped forward, setting one foot on the front edge of the couch between my legs, just below my balls in Irene's eager grasp. She toppled toward my face, raising her knee to rest it on the couch's backrest by my left ear, then brought the other leg up on my right, so that she knelt on the couch-back over my face, her simmering cunt pressed to my lips.
All I could see now were Myra's sleek, rounded belly, spasming torso-front and swaying breasts, the straining arch of her throat... I closed my eyes.,. and came. I'm quite sure Myra came, too, for she flooded my mouth with warm goo and nearly crushed my head as she writhed on me, her plump clit grinding against my nose. And I was flooding Irene's avid mouth with cum, my hips smashing up to her ... Laurel had just then pulled my right hand down to her crotch, and she, too, may have come before our little tableau broke apart, and Alice either came then or was still coming, her hips pumping wildly, my first two toes grasped in her tiny, tight hole. Maybe Sharon made it too; I couldn't tell, and was too overwhelmed to care.
From then on, while I watched Sandra's initiation, my own continued as a blur of erotic heat and motion. Some woman's mouth was on my cock at all times. My hands, my feet, my knees even my elbows were kept busy almost constant! by unidentified tits, asses and snatches. I came to or three more times, and I'd be surprised if the were less than thirty orgasms among the five women who swarmed over me.
Yet they were careful always to leave my view unobstructed, as their husbands taught Sandra what swapping was all about.
When Myra had descended from her catbird seat atop my face, I saw that Eldridge had had more left than I'd guessed. He was still hard, apparently, and lay braced above Sandra's flushed and vibrant tits on stiff arms, his hips battering her. Every impact brought a sharp moan from her slack mouth. He kept driving her forward'off the pillows piled under her ass, and would then pause in pushup position, his cock's head still lodged between her cuntlips, while Skowron and one of the other men grabbed her ankles or knees and dragged her back into proper position.
This happened three times in rapid succession as I watched, but just when a fourth adjustment seemed to be needed, Eldridge shook his head sharply, dropped his chest heavily onto Sandra's tits, brought his hands up to her sides to crush them in beneath him, and began a jackhammer beat with his loins that ended in a straining, grinding, gasping seizure of orgasm, followed by four or five wide-spaced but shattering blows of his pelvis. He must have sprayed a quart of cum into Sandra's ravished fuck hole!
"You're next, Vic," Eldridge said quietly but clearly as he sat back on his knees, then rose. "And then Jack, Sandy. And then Rex... Do you hear me, Sandy?"
She moaned affirmatively, then turned her head to one side, bringing a hand up to her mouth as if tr" rut off a scream. .,, ...
"Id then Don," Eldridge went on, the sound of sadistic relish in his tone now, and then... "Well, Sandy, we'll see."
Chapter Five
Eldridge went to a couch near the fireplace and lay down full-length, looking suddenly exhausted. But his eyes stayed open, and he watched intently, a tight but pleased smile on his lips as Vic Skowron stepped forward to stand over Sandra's limp form.
"Sandy." There was no interrogative note of courtesy in the tall, hard-eyed, man's tone. He spoke her name as a command, and when she failed to look up at him immediately, he drove a stiff-toed foot against her ribs in a vicious short kick.
"Look at me, Sandy."
She looked, wide-eyed, dropping her arms stiffly to her sides, straightening her legs ... assuming a position of military attention, horizontally.
Skowron hefted his half-stiff cock in one hand. "See how thick it is, Sandy? It's no longer than Mason's, but it's bigger around. It's going to hurt. I want to hear you scream when it goes in, Sandy. But don't fight it. If you resist, 111 only hurt you in others ways, too. Do you understand, little slut?"
Sandra nodded, almost imperceptibly, still holding her prone form rigid. "Good," said Skowron.
Now he moved around to stand at her feet, then bent and picked up her ankles, jack-knifing her legs back over her torso, her feet held close together until he parted them just enough to place them at either side of her head. Bent like a clothespin, her knees pressed into her breasts, Sandra lay silent with Skowron's burly form arched over her.
His cock still didn't appear to be fully hard; it hung at an angle, pointing at her upturned slot.
"What if I stuck it in your asshole, Sandra?" Skowron said threateningly. "Your cunt's all loosened up and ready now; there'll be pain when I jam it in, but nothing like what you'll feel if I decide to ream out your tailhole instead. It's winking at me, Sandra," he went on, looking back along her straining legs to the apex of her tortured form, below his swelling prick. "That tight, tender little hole is winking up at my big, fat nasty cock, and it's scared."
I realized then what Skowron was doing. He was a sadist; he had to inflict pain ... mental anguish at least, if not physical ... in order to get hard. This time, his threats seemed to be doing the job, but I wondered ... Was I hoping? I wondered if at some future time, when Sandra's newness had worn off, he might need to really make her bleed and scream before he could fuck her.
I looked quickly at Laurel, his wife, now writhing on the floor on my left as she worked my big toe in and out of her asshole, her cunt pouring goo onto my instep. Her body bore no physical evidence of past cruelties at Vic Skowron's hands. But still...
Skowron, when I looked back, had concluded his tirade of threats and was lowering himself now, holding Sandra's legs in place with his shoulders, reaching back with one hand to position the tip of his sturdy, vein-straining cock... Yes, against Sandra's asshole!
"Nooooo!" she croaked suddenly. "I can't... You'll kill me!"
"Maybe," Skowron gritted, tight-jawed. "Maybe I will, Sandra. But not yet, I guess. Wouldn't be fair to the others."
So saying, he braced up a little and repositioned the meaty purple head of his dick in the ooze of Sandra's fuckslot.
"This won't kill you, Sandy," he said tightly.
"But you may wish it would."
Sandra tensed visibly. Her eyes, which had been turning wildly in all directions as if seeking help, now closed tightly and she set her jaw.
"Are you ready, Sandra?" Skowron asked unctiously. "I'm going to count to three, and then push it in about an inch. Try to relax, baby, so it won't hurt so much. Ready now? One ... TWO!"
"Ahhggheeee!"
Christ! On two, he had smashed his full weight down on her, driving that thick tool to the balls in her tensed-up slot, and crushing her bent-double body so brutally that I swore I heard bones snap. But Sandra screamed no more, for now Skowron's open mouth slammed down on hers, enveloping, growling, as if he meant to devour her whole head, and he let her legs free to flop back alongside his as he began a blurring barrage of pelvic blows, slamming his cock into her viciously perhaps three times a second.
At first I thought he was coming, but he kept it up too long, and it became clear that he was still in full control of himself and of Sandra's agony.
When his jackhammer fucking had driven her off the pillows and along the floor a good two feet closer to where I sat surrounded by the other women, Skowron suddenly changed his tactics. Letting go of Sandra's tits, which he had been crushing in his grip, he slid his hands back under her ass, braced his hips up slightly on knees and forearms, then with his fingers' strength alone, began to lift Sandra's hips and butt off the floor a couple inches, only to slam her back with a resounding blow of his loins.
His rhythm now was perhaps one a second, and I found myself counting the strokes as Sandra's ass was smashed against the tile floor. Three... four ... five ... six ...
Seven! Now he was coming. He bowed his back, legs and shoulders rising so that his whole weight rode on the contact of his pelvic mass with Sandra's, and he squirmed from side to side thus, grinding into her, punctuating her long, whinnying moan with his grunts of completion.
When he collapsed upon her, her moan went on, but her arms came up to hold him, and I thought I saw her hips wriggle beneath him for a moment before she, too, went limp.
Jack Deering was next, and he was eager. Even before Skowron had gotten to his feet, our host for the evening was kneeling beside my wife's sweat-slick, reddened body.
He caressed her breasts for a few seconds, seemingly smoothing them back into shape after the mauling Skowron had given them. Then he rolled Sandra onto her stomach and pushed her thighs apart. He got between them on his knees, and lifted her by the hips until she knelt thus spraddled, her head cradled on her forearms.
Deering spent no time in talk. He tucked his slim, pointy cock into Sandra's wet crevice and straightened at the hips to slide it in fully, then grasped her waist and began to work her back and forth on it.
His body was plank-straight from knees to shoulders, his head bent as he watched his prick appear and disappear beneath Sandra's slowly pistoning ass. All the friction must have been along the top and sides of his rod, rather than the sensitive underside, yet it wasn't long before his hips began to twitch responsively, and soon he was holding her still while he took over the movement, accelerating, buffeting her harder and harder...
When his rhythm grew ragged, he fell forward on her back, pressed her down flat, then crabbed out with either leg to pull Sandra's legs in tight, closing her sheath and creating a downward angle of stroke that seemed to excite him tremendously.
His hands sought her tits again now, and* Sandra ... eyes closed, mouth working in grimaces that bespoke more passion than pain ... arched up a bit to help him get his hands beneath them.
Deering never did reach a jackhammer pace of thrusts; in fact, as his strokes became more forceful, they came farther apart, and he began to emit a little karate shout with each one. His feet hooked over Sandra's ankles now, his knees outside hers, pressing inward. He released her tits and braced up on straight arms for two final sharp lunges. He held the second at full depth for at least a minute, his face red and straining, then sprang suddenly back to a crouch, his prick jerking free of her cunt with an audible smack.
In the same motion, Deering dropped his chin between Sandra's asscheeks and sank his teeth into the flesh right at the base of her spine in a fierce, clinging bite.
I saw Sandra's eyes snap open, her jaw drop.
"Ooooooh!" she gasped. "Oh, God, I'm... I think I..." She looked around wildly, and there was need in her expression now.
Well, Deering was no longer what she needed; that was clear. As he got to his feet, his slim prick hung limp and drizzling, already half shriveled.
Sandra rolled onto her back, closed her eyes again as if in shame, and put both hands down between her thighs. Was she going to .. ?"
But before she had time, if masturbation was her intention, Rex Cahill was bending over her, taking her hands in his.
"These guys have been doing all the work, Sandy," he said silkily, "and it's got me tired, just watching 'em." He pulled her to her feet, and while he still held her hands, two of his fingers extended and began to play in the fuzzy crevice where her trembling thighs converged.
"I'm afraid you're going to have to do the work this time, little Sandyslut," Cahill went on, smiling mirthlessly.
Suddenly he stepped back from her, sat down on one of the pillows on the floor, then lay back, his stiff cock rising at a low angle above his belly. He held out his arms.
"Climb on, sugarcunt. Come get it while it's hot. Wrap that slimy natch around this turnip and let's see what you can squeeze out of it."
Sandra looked around for a moment, suddenly self-conscious. Her eyes lingered only a second or two on me, as I strained up near orgasm, with Alice Cahill now avidly sucking my cock while the other women rubbed their tits and cunts over all available parts of my body; there was no shock, no anger in her expression. She simply looked confused.
When her head turned back toward Cahill, I was watching Eldridge, who still lay on the couch beyond him, and I could tell by the rangy insurance man's expression that Sandra's eyes were locked with his. Gradually a thin, triumphant smile formed on his lips, and then he nodded, almost imperceptibly, as if to say to her, "Get on with it, bitch."
Sandra's head dropped forward, and she stepped up to straddle CahilPs prone form.
"Wait," Cahill ordered curtly while she still stood erect. "Open that nasty snatch for inspection first, you little pig. Let me see what kind of cesspool I'm getting my cock into."
Obediently, Sandra splayed her knees and reached down to part the lips of her cunt.
"Ugh!" Cahill gagged, almost convincingly. "Christ, I don't know if I want that filthy thing contaminating me. Let's see the shit-hole, whore. Maybe that's more appealing. I'll never be able to come in that flabby butcher's nightmare of a cunt, anyway."
When Sandra hesitated, tensing, "Come on!" Cahill barked. "Spread those scrawny asscheeks and pucker for me, you cocksucking bitch!"
Moving her hands around her thighs, Sandra pried the halves of her trembling butt apart, tipping her pelvis up to afford him a clear view.
"You wouldn't shit on me, would you, slut?" Cahill gritted. "If you do, I'll make you eat it, while I stuff a whole pineapple up your dirty cunt."
Sandy shook her head, still holding her asscheeks apart, her knees beginning to vibrate from the strain of her position.
"Answer me, you stupid piece of filth!" the little man beneath her shouted. "Are you going to crap on me?"
"No," Sandra moaned, just audibly.
"No, what?" Cahill snapped.
"I'm not going to ... I won't... sh-shit on you." It was spoken barely above a whisper, but the women around me had slowed their erotic activities and were silent, all straining to hear, to enjoy with me this fresh humiliation of my wife.
"All right," said Cahill, smiling like a knife thrower.
Then, as Sandra released her asscheeks and straightened her knees, apparently believing the insult phase was over, "Take the position!" Cahill barked. "Grab that ass and spread it! Get that cunt down here where I can smell it! Lower! Yeah. There. Now freeze, you piece of catshit!"
Her knees bent at an even sharper angle now, her loins gaping as they hovered perhaps eighteen inches above CahiU's throbbing erection and
Sandra froze.
"Are you watching, Mason?" Cahill called. "Have you got a good view of this worthless piece of diseased meat you call a secretary?"
"I'm with you, Rex," Eldridge replied, smiling.
"Do proceed."
"She's not the snot-nosed, snooty little prick-teaser she once was, is she, Mason? She's learning what she's good for now. And she's not much good even for that. Are you, you slack-snatched shrew?"
"I... I don't..."
Cahill's lips formed a snarl, but before he could speak:
"No!" Sandra blurted. "I. .. I'm no good! I'm a... a piece of ... of shit!"
"Right!" Cahill cheered. "You're good for just one thing, aren't you, cuntface? And what's that one thing? Tell me. Tell everybody, loud and clear."
Her legs were sending their shuddering pain through her whole body now, but Sandra managed to hold the impossible position as she said shrilly, "fucking! I'm only good for fucking!"
"Where?" Cahill pressed, leering up at her.
"In my ... In my cunt."
"And where else?"
"My... In ...My mouth?"
"NO!!" Cahill roared. "Not in your filthy, dirty-talking mouth, you worthless slut! Where else?"
"In ... In ... Ooohhhh . .."
She was sobbing now, and her arms jerked out frantically as she almost fell backward.
"Hold the position!" Cahill shouted angrily. And she held.
"Now, say it, you utter bitch!"
"In . .. my. .. My asshole!" Sandra screamed. "Ooooh, fuck me in my filthy asshole!"
There was a long, utterly silent pause while Cahill smiled triumphantly up at Sandra's pain-racked form. He breathed deeply, his cock looming upward stiffer than ever, his hands behind his head.
Then, smooth as honey: "Say please, Sandy."
"Please,"
"Please what?"
"Please ... fuck me in my asshole!"
Cahill was silent again, pursing his lips. Then, "No."
That was when Sandra collapsed. Her knees seemed to break like dry bread, and her ass smacked down on Cahill's calves almost before she could move her hands from their grip on her slayed asscheeks. She slumped to one side, sobbing and kicking spastically, her hands now covering her face.
Immediately, Cahill was up and swarming all over her, hitting her at random with both fists, driving a knee into her crotch, battering her with his shoulders and elbows as he swore and grunted in a frantic rage.
"Get up, you sonofabitching cocksucking shiteating cunt! Up! Take the position, you fucking bitch!"
She couldn't have, even if she'd had strength left, for he was full-weight on top of her now, one knee sunk in her belly as he pummeled her breasts with both fists.
"Rex!" Eldridge called from the couch, not really excited, merely stern. "Easy, Rex. Fuck her now, boy. Save the rest for later."
Cahill raised his head, and before he turned to look over his shoulder at Eldridge, I saw the vacant madness in his eyes. The guy had gone utterly off his nut for a minute. He really might have killed Sandra, if there'd been no one there to stop it!
But when he turned back, bracing up to remove his knee from the weeping girl's gut, the deadly madness in his face had been replaced by urgent lust.
He spoke no more. Getting to his knees beside her, he forced Sandra roughly over onto her belly, then thrust his thumbs into her asscrack to wrench the reddened swells apart. He brought his head down for one deep thrust of his tongue into the puckered ring of red-brown tissue, then got over her, one hand now flat in the small of her back, the other guiding his leading cock.
Eldridge sat up now, looking amused. "Rex, you're going to waste it. You won't be able to ... "
"The fuck I won't!" Cahill snapped. "Watch!"
Sandra's choking sobs grew louder as the small man on her back set his prick's tip against her squinted anal eye. "Ahhhggg!" she croaked, when he bore down, the tip of his cock sinking out of sight.
"It's in, bitch," Cahill grunted now. "The tip's in, but you don't know what pain is yet, you filthy prick-teaser. Are you ready to find out?"
Sandy's tortured lips couldn't form words, but she shook her head violently, banging a cheekbone against the floor, her arms crabbing forward in futile hope of escape.
"Here it comes, slut," Cahill gritted. "Now!" His downward lunge sent half his cock's length grinding into Sandra's writhing ass, and drove a long, wavering scream of agony from her lungs. And as it died and her mouth gaped to draw new breath, her tormentor lunged again, smashing his hips down to flatten her ass and drive her inches foward on the floor.
"Uhhhh!" It was all the sound she could produce, but her shoulders bucked in a spasm of searing pain that actually made me wince. Cahill was in to the balls.
Now he began a short, rapid stroke that never drew the base of his blunt prick visibly from Sandra's agonized rectum, yet lifted her hips enough on each upstroke that she was repeatedly slammed to the tile floor, her thighs and belly producing audible smacks.
Cahill now gripped her upper arms for leverage, his weight squashing her breasts to the floor, his thrusts driving her forward a little aach time, her legs dragging limply outside his braced knees.
"I'm fucking... your ... filthy ... shithole, you ... cocksucking... bitch!" Cahill croaked hoarsely. "I'm ... I'm ..."
Suddenly he doubled the rate of his hip-thrusts, his face contorting, and Sandra's head rose, her neck arching back in fresh agony.
"I'm ... comingggg!" Cahill screeched.
IBs hips, held fully forward, spasmed crazily from side to side, grinding his cum into Sandra's ravished asshole, and his hands became claws on her arms, the fingers sinking deep, making circles of whiteness that spread and merged on her flushed skin.
Then he collapsed, to lie spreadeagled atop her, his cock still held by the cling of her rectum. They both lay as if dead for a long breathless moment. Then new sobs began to shake Sandra's form, and Cahill drew breath, scrambled to his knees again, and wrenched his flaccid, chafed-red tool from the gaping wound of my wife's anus.
He rose, spat on her, then silently turned away and went to sit on the floor near Eldridge. He was exhausted and panting as he looked up at the older man for approval, like a faithful dog after the hunt.
"Good show, Rex," Eldridge said curtly. And then: "Can you top that, Don?"
Chapter Six
Don Harvey was still seated on a couch along the side wall. He was naked, but I hadn't noticed him as he undressed, so it was a considerable shock to me as he got lazily to his feet. His cock appeared to be about half-hard, angled down from his heavily haired, lean torso over a huge, swinging bag of balls. But even half-hard, that cock looked as thick as my wrist, and easily ten inches long!
Harvey was by no means a giant in any other sense. He stood a bit under six feet, I estimated, and though he was half bald, his facial freshness, slight build and easy gait seemed those of someone hardly older than I was.
His cock, I learned later, was actually only a bit over nine inches long in full erection, but in both length and girth, that put it nonetheless in a class that none of the rest of us even came close to.
Harvey stroked his prick absently as he strolled over to where Sandra lay on the floor, her body heaving with dry sobs and uncontrollable shudders. He stood over her, his face expressionless as he looked down at her splayed crotch. Then he turned toward where I sat.
"Sharon, how 'bout a little help? Come here and hold her in place; okay?"
His plump blonde wife relinquished my balls, which she had been rolling around her mouth while Myra Deering sucked my hard but now apparently cum-less cock. With a final rub of her nipples along my left thigh, she turned, rose, and went over to stand by Sandra's head.
"Get down on your knees, honey," Harvey instructed her. "Get the little girl's head up between your legs where she can give you a lick or two if she .feels like it, and then hold her shoulders in place against your thighs. Yeah. That's it."
Sandra lay on her back now, legs thrown wide, her shoulders propped on Sharon's lower thighs, her head lolling back beneath the kneeling blonde's swampy cunt. Sharon's hands lay flat on Sandra's shoulders, and I saw her exert pressure as Harvey grasped my wife's ankles and lifted them.
Placing her calves against his own shoulders, he knee-shuffled close, then leaned forward until his forehead settled between his wife's big, pasty-white tits, his weight held by Sandra's legs. His cock, like a small log now, twitched eagerly as its snout touched the sparse hair and profuse slime of Sandra's slack cuntlips.
His hands were on her tits, and he made a cone of one and pushed his face down to kiss and tongue its flattened tip, bringing it slowly to peaked firmness. Then, as his mouth went to work on the other nipple, he put one hand back and began to snug his cockhead into Sandra's upturned slot.
She moaned and switched her hips, but he stayed with her easily as perhaps two inches of his massive gristle sank into her, stretching her opening visibly. They lay at an angle to me, so that I could see past the tightening sack of Harvey's balls ... see the firthy length of his gigantic cock extending forward and down to where the taut ring of my wife's wet cuntmeat clung around it.
Slowly but steadily now, he pushed inward, the ring of scarlet tissue shrinking, compressing outward as he bored the increasing thickness of the great tool into her. Three inches ... four ... Halfway.
There was still enough cock in the open air to be any housewife's nightly pride and joy. Christ! I thought. He's gonna rip her from clit to asshole and puncture one of her lungs, if he gets that in all the way!
Harvey raised his head now, took his hands from Sandra's tits and placed his fists at either side of her torso, just in front of Sharon's knees. Propped on straight arms, he then straightened his legs, coming up on his toes. The angle of his cock in Sandra's stretched fuck-hole shifted slightly forward, and he was able to let his hips sink a little, squeezing another inch of the fantastic cudgel out of sight.
Sandra started to gag and gasp. Her arms, lying free at her sides, began to tense and tremble, her hands forming fists.
"Hold on now, Sharon," Harvey murmured. "Here goes."
Sandra's doubled form tensed visibly, and she brought her arms up toward the man's slim waist as if to fend him off.
But instead of pressing down, Harvey's hips rose, and perhaps.an inch and a half more of his burly cock slid free of Sandra's sucking tissues.
"Don't fight me, Sandy," he said gently. "Relax. I'm not going to surprise you, or hurt you any more than I have to. Just let everything go loose. Feel it going in, and try to fit yourself to it."
"I... I can't," came Sandra's muffled response from between Sharon's thighs. "I... Oh, I'll try. But don't..."
"Easy, girl," Harvey soothed. "This is the good part; really. Can't you feel that already? Isn't it getting to you a little?"
"I... Y-yes," Sandy whimpered. "I guess I-oooh!"
He had pushed downward, smoothly, gently, sinking the retracted inch and a half into her again. "Good, isn't it?" he asked now. "Ohhh, yes! But I can't-" "Yes, you can, Sandy! Relax, now. Let it happen, baby!"
He paused, moving his hips almost imperceptibly from side to side, still arched over her on tiptoes and stiff arms. Her legs against his chest and shoulders bore none of his weight now.
"Now I'm going to ... Easy, kid. Don't tighten up. I'm going to give you more now, and it's going to be good. Even better. Ready?" "I... All right, D-don."
I estimated that about half his cock's length was still in sight then ... perhaps four inches, give or take a half. But as I watched, seemingly without visible movement of his body or Sandra's, that length diminished. Slowly, oh, so slowly, like the motion of mercury in a thermometer, more and more of the thick stump disappeared in the concave ring of taut, white tissue gripping it so impossibly.
Harvey's muscular control was fantastic! He was like a fallen statue above her, never a muscle twitching as he sank like the setting sun, driving that massive penis into my bitch of a wife.
Suddenly I realized the motion had stopped, with about an inch of meat ... the great, brawny base of the thing ... still unsheathed. Harvey was working it from side to side again, and bringing Sandra's hips and lower torso with him, so tight was the fit.
Sandra's every breath was a crooning moan, but the sound seemed to express good pain, and no protest.
"See, Sandy? We've almost made it. And the best part's ... "
"Ahhh!" Sandra interrupted him, het head coming up a little, nose almost pressed to Sharon's pouting cuntlips. "Don't... Don't stop! I think I..."
Harvey drew back again, perhaps a half-inch, then let himself down steadily, smoothly, slowly ... though the motion was visible now ... sinking the gigantic tool completely out of sight in one slow-motion surge, until his tight, bulging ballsack rested firmly against my wife's squirming ass.
"You've got it all, Sandy," he sighed. "Right to the hilt. Is it good, baby?"
"Ohhh, God!" she groaned. "Yesss!"
Harvey let his knees go to the floor now, without losing a bit of depth or tension against Sandra's spitting torso. Then he lifted his arms, one at a time, freeing her legs. He guided them into a locked-ankles grip on his waist.
Next he sank forward, his head sliding on his wife's belly, tipping back. He got his elbows on the floor, and cupped Sandra's tits with his hands.
"Now stay loose, baby. It may hurt a little at first, but it'll be good too, and it can only get better. Sharon, keep her steady now."
"Are you .. ?" There was fear in Sandra's tone again. "Are you going to .. ?"
"Yeah, honeybox. I'm gonna fuck you now."
"Ohhh, Don, I don't-"
"Shhh, baby. Relax. No sweat. It can't go any deeper than it is right now, and you can't get any tighter. Help me, baby. It'll be good."
Even as he spoke, Harvey drew his hips back until I could see that inch of broad base once more, and around it a thin line of wet crimson cuntflesh, clinging tenaciously.
Then he slid it in ... faster than before, but still smoothly.
"Oooohhh!" Sandra breathed. "Oh, yesss, Don!"
Out again. This time a fraction of an inch farther.
"Oh, God! Don, I'm-Uhh!"
And in again, with a little grind as he reached full depth.
I saw Sandra's thighs tighten on his waist. "Oh, yesss!" she moaned. It's good! I..."
This time he drew back half his cock's length, and without a pause, drove forward again in a quick but even stroke that jolted Sandra a little and made his wife press down to hold her in place.
"Ahhhh!" Sandy called. "Oh, more!"
He repeated the half-length piston-stroke. And then again, and again, setting a rhythm that my wife punctuated with high-pitched yelps of pleasure.
The rhythm stayed steady through perhaps a dozen more thrusts, but with each one, the impact on Sandra's crotch was a little harder, the shock as their flesh collided a little louder. Then Harvey froze, at full depth.
"Okay, Sharon," he said, turning his head to kiss his wife's nipple as he braced up a little. "We can make it on our own now. Eh, Sandy? I want to get at that mouth of yours, ancVnot waste those sweet lips on my wife's snatch. Okay?"
As Sharon scootched backward and then got up, Sandra nodded and sighed her assent. She appeared about to speak, but before she could, Harvey had drawn his hips back to half his cock's length and driven it forward again, simultaneously bringing his mouth down on hers in an eveloping, carnivorous kiss.
That cheek-working, nostril-flaring kiss went on for a full eight minutes then, at the very least, while Don Harvey's hips rose and plunged, rose and plunged, ground inward and snapped back and roared forward again, stabbing and corkscrewing his huge cock in my bitchwife's gluttonous slot without pause, faster and faster ...
After no more than a minute of it, Sandra began making ecstatic animal noises in her throat, her legs' embrace straining tight and then kicking inward to the beat of Harvey's loins against her. Her nails raked his back for long seconds whenever her hands weren't beating tight-fisted on his shoulders or flailing spastically in the air.
"She's coming," Irene Eldridge whispered to me, about halfway through minute number two. "And it looks sure as shit like a chain orgasm! Does she have those often?"
She took her tit from my mouth so I could answer.
"Hell," I said honestly, "I don't think she's had any kind of orgasm before! Not with me, anyway."
"Well, good for Don!" Irene breathed. Then she giggled. "I always said that salami of his could make an ice maiden come, and I guess I was right!"
Harvey had begun a still more complex rhythm of strokes now, I noticed. On every third thrust he would grind his pelvis briefly but forcefully against Sandra's heaving mound, and after every second one of these strokes he would hunch back until all but the head of his long, gleaming rod was free of her clutching red cuntmaw, then drive it in with brutal force.
He was holding her shoulders now, hands hooked up from beneath, his forearms on the floor under her upper back, yet each of these superstrokes drove their locked bodies a couple inches forward on the floor, requiring him to bring his knees up for the next series.
He kept this up ... this veritable symphony of fuck, a fleshly composition worthy of the great jazz masters ... for the remaining five minutes or so that his mouth stayed locked on Sandra's, and it was evident that she continued coming the whole time.
Then they found themselves with their heads jammed against one of the empty couches along the side wall, and Harvey broke rhythm long enough to heave his chest up and swing Sandra to one side, her head toward Eldridge, her yawning cuntal grip on his gargantuan cock now visible to me from a more direct rearward angle. His balls now hung to the right of my focus of interest.
The shift of direction had required Harvey to raise his head, and even before he swung my wife's weight away from the couch before them, she had begun to screech in mindless ecstasy.
"AAAAAAAGHHH! OOOOOOH! GAAHGUGH! Ohhh, FUCK! God, Christ, my cunt, my wonderful.. . oh, fuck my cunt! Oooooh, I'm . .. I can't stop ... FUCK, Don! AHHH! Oh, Gaaawd!"
His strokes were now half-length again, and coming faster, increasingly more violent. He had pushed up on his toes again, legs straight, his hips now driving straight down on Sandra's voracious crotchslot, so that they moved no farther along the floor.
I noticed suddenly that Eldridge had risen and was walking toward the writhing, churning couple. Reaching them, he bent over and appeared to whisper a single word in Harvey's ear, which was turned up as he clung with his teeth to the side of Sandra's throat.
Harvey nodded jerkily, without relinquishing his lock-jaw hold, and went right on plunging his great rod faster and faster, harder and harder into the squirming grip of my wife's insatiable loins.
Eldridge turned away, smiling, and had resumed his seat near the crouched, fiery-eyed Cahill before the next phase of the action began.
Suddenly, then, Harvey began to breathe loudly through his mouth, and the breaths became sharp grunts. His hips began to move raggedly, switching left and right perhaps four times on each downward drive into Sandra's swampy cunt.
But this continued for only six or seven strokes, and then the slim superstud reared back abruptly, breaking Sandra's leglock and jerking his prick entirely free of her yawning box.
Before she could react, he had pinned her shoulders to the floor and was clambering upward along her thrashing body, until he sat over her tits, his knees now holding her shoulders down.
One hand was in her hair, keeping her face straight up, and his other hand grasped his cock at the head and stripped it back rapidly two ... three times,, then jerked wildly as his hips shot forward and thick ropes of ivory cum were hosed out, to splatter and ooze on Sandra's startled eyes, her nose, her cheeks, her haping lips ...
Her hips were still flailing, even as she screamed, "Noooo, Don! I want it in me! I want..."
Eldridge laughed loudly. "What you want, Sandy, is of little concern to us. What you're going to get, my dear, is a very long period of... shall we say, probation.... before you've earned full membership in our little club. This could have been the end of it, my dear ... the full initiation, over with in one night ... if you hadn't been such a clever little cock-teaser last week, and all those times in the office..."
Sandra had whimpered and struggled to turn her head aside from the continued spurts of slime from Harvey's cock, all the time Eldridge was speaking. But now the flow had apparently stopped, for the wiry stud gave up his grip on her head and stood up, grinning proudly.
"I'll... I won't..." Sandra sputtered, twisting back to turn her smeared face toward Eldridge. "I don't want to be in your horrid club! I'm never coming back here! And Fm not..."
Suddenly she was silent, her mouth gaping. Eldridge merely stared at her, through a long, heavy silence. Then:
"Yes, Sandy? Not going to work for me any more? Was that what you were about to say? And when the accountants come next time, Sandy ... ? When they find ..."
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jack Deering wince, and heard him draw a sharp breath. What was it that he feared his boss was about to reveal? "Come here, Sandy," Eldridge said now, his tone abruptly changed. "Let's you and I get cozy, little girl, and maybe you can still get another load in your cunt before the night's over. These other people have been very patient, and I think we'd better let them pair off and start enjoying themselves, eh?"
Already, it had been the most exciting, most magnificent night of my life, and my luck continued to run fantastically. As the swap club's members paired off and drifted off to other parts of the house, I found myself left with Alice Cahill, across the emptying room from where Eldridge sat with Sandra now beside him, in his arms.
Alice had been in control of my cock when Harvey's fantastic bout with Sandra had ended, and she had saved herself for me by the simple expedient of going right on sucking through the ensuing minutes.
Now, as Myra Deering and Harvey went arm in arm through the door, leaving the room to Eldridge and Sandra, Alice and myself, the luscious little brunette stood up and took my hand.
"Well, we're too late for a bedroom or the living-room sofa, I'm afraid, but maybe the kitchen table's still available, Tom. Shall we go see?"
I turned back, just as we went through the door, to see Sandra on her hands and knees on the floor, and Mason Eldridge behind her, grasping her hips.
It's funny, how the mind works. And how the cock works.
Alice Cahill, stark naked and game for anything, had been crawling all over me for the past hour and a half, had sucked my cock several times ... and I think it had been her mouth on it once when I'd come ... stuffed her tits in my mouth... I'd had fingers, toes, and even an elbow in her neat little cunt at various times during that period. There probably wasn't a square half-inch of her body I hadn't touched already.
But when all that had happened, she'd only been one of five naked females swarming erotically around me ... the most beautiful, to be sure-^-for while equally beautiful perhaps, Irene Eldridge was less my type than Alice ... but still, just one member of my sudden harem. And of course most of my visual attention had been focused on Sandra and her tormentor-lovers.
Anyway, once Alice spread herself out before me on the Deerings' kitchen table, it was like a whole new ballgame! It was as if I'd never seen her before, never touched her ... and never had a real piece of ass in my life!
Alice's dark, thick hair fell in alluring waves to an almost tubular final curl at shoulder level, framing her creamy, red-lipped, dark-eyed face magnificently. And it had that magical quality of staying just a little disheveled, but never really wild and snarly, no matter what physical mayhem she put it through. Yet it was so soft, so silky that I couldn't believe a single spritz of spray had ever sullied it.
Her whole body was the same creamy color and texture as her face ... baby-soft, silk-sleek; she must have avoided sunlight religiously, and bathed daily in exotic oils.
Her tits weren't big and they weren't small; they were just right for her tiny, compact frame, and they stood up proudly, no sag, no side-bulge, no matter what her position, topped by mouth-watering nipples that never seemed to shrink from their peaked excitement.
Her waist was tiny, her belly flat, marked by a deep, dark navel that just begged to be tongued a while before one felt compelled to move on to even better things.
Her trim, tantalizing hips, her sleekly tapering thighs... Well, it would take many more nights with Alice before I could spend any time finding the proper adjectives for their perfection, because my eyes could only study them peripherally, so magnetic was the jet-black puff of woolly curls that clothed her swelling pubic mound.
She lay with her trim little ass just at the edge of the oval oak table, legs hanging free, arms straight out to the sides, smiling up at me as my cock went into a deep trance of rigidity in response to that hypnotic black bush. Then, ever so slowly, she began to riase and part her thighs, knees coming up and out until she could set her heels on the table's edge, just outside the taut undercurves of her buttocks.
But I saw all that only peripherally too, of course, for my eyes were feasting on the tiny split pomegranate of her ripe, moist cunt.
Her clit was tiny ... barely perceptible even when Alice reached down and, with the slim forefingers of both hands, spread wide the juicy lips of that delicious gash to reveal its full splendor.
I went to my knees, and started by driving my tongue as deep as it would go in the tight hole near the bottom of her slot, my nose scrubbing over that swollen little clit. I tongued inward till the webbing that held my tongue's underside developed a fiery ache, then lapped up through the rich juice to clit-level. As I went to work there ... tonguing, sucking, gently nibbling ... Alice closed her thighs on my head, her calves moving excitingly on my back, and began to work her hips frantically.
She found my hands and pulled them up to her tits, but soon pulled the right one farther, and began to suck my middle finger. Wow! That trick alone could have got me rock-hard, if I hadn't been already!
Then she came.
Her cunt literally battered my face as her hips jittered and jolted up, her heels beating wild drumrolls on my back, and at the peak of it she sank her teeth into my finger inside the first knuckle, and damn near amputated it.
"Oh, Tom!" she crooned,- finally releasing my aching digit. "Fuck me now! Stick it in and screw me, baby!"
It never entered my mind that I might not be able to come again, after the earlier festivities. I was going to blow my balls and big, and soon, I was certain.
Carrying her legs upward with me, I stood straight, and grabbed my throbbing tool with both hands. I had to crouch just a little ... it was Deering's table, I realized, and he was several inches shorter than I, and had probably chosen it with this sort of action in mind for himself ... to fit it into her. But once lodged, I slid my hands under her butt and lifted, so I could stand straight while I drove my cock home in that snug, spasming tunnel again and again.
Almost immediately, I was close to coming. But I hovered there, my prick's tip scalding, yet the fire was unwilling to flow back and ignite my balls. No matter how hard and fast I fucked, no matter how wildly Alice writhed and cried out, or how tightly her inner muscles gripped and milked my tingling cock, it wouldn't go over the top.
Finally, when my hips began to ache from the strain, I leaned forward onto her tits and whispered, "Hold on. We're going for a ride."
She locked her arms around my neck, and I straightened up, lifting her. My cock lost depth at this angle, but her nimble cunt closed hard on the tip of it as I turned us away from the table.
I went to my knees with a thud that drove my prod a jolting two inches into her; then I toppled forward, taking one hand from her ass to break our fall.
Now I could really fuck, and she could set her heels and thrust her box up to me on each stroke. It took just four such strokes to send the fire coursing toward the base of my cock; on the fifth, I strained forward, holding it, writhing, crushing her shoulders in my hands as I jammed her down on it and ground out the most ecstatic orgasm I'd ever experienced.
"Oh, Christ, Alice!" I blurted. "You're... wonderful! I... I love you!"
She stiffened a little, and raised my head between her hands, frowning. "Uh-uh, Tom. That's against the rules. You don't mean it, and you can't say it any more, or you may start believing it. You can love sex, and if you decide I'm better at it than the other girls in the club, that's jolly good. But you don't love me, and you can't. We've got too good a thing going here to mess up. Understand?" "Yeah," I sighed, suddenly exhausted. "Sorry. I won't let myself... get confused again."
"Good," she said, kissing me on the forehead, then tickling my still-sheathed cock with a quick wiggle of her loins. "You're a damn good fucker, Tommy. And so am I, if I say so myself. But you're a big boy now; you don't need that love shit as an excuse to get your rocks off. And it's not that I love my husband, either; because I don't. I live with him because I like him to live with better than anyone else I've met so far. I don't like him best for sex, and frankly I don't like you best for sex, either. If I was allowed one last fuck before I died, it wouldn't be you or him that I'd do it with. But I'm not about to die, Tommy, and I do like variety, so you'll be having a piece of me now and then.
"Get off now, lover. Rex probably shot his wad long ago, if not with your wife before Laurel even got a crack at him. Hell be wanting to go home and rest up. So up you go."
Tommy, she'd called me. That, and the very school-teacherish little lecture just concluded, made me begin to realize where Rex Cahill might have gotten his sadistic tendencies. There was, I mused as I got to my feet and perfunctorily helped Alice up, a large helping of bitch in even a woman as sweet-looking as this one.
Chapter Seven
I practically had to carry Sandra to the car, and then into the apartment when we got back there about 4:30 a.m. On the drive home, she had alternated between minutes of exhausted sleep and fits of trembling, whimpering near-hysteria.
I left her pretty much alone, too tired myself to fully enjoy her condition. And when I asked the questions that were bugging me enough to be bothered with, I got no satisfaction, either.
"Sandra," I had asked, as we pulled out of the Derrings' driveway, "was I really the only guy who'd fucked you before tonight?"
Sobs, and she turned angrily away from me to huddle against the car door.
"I want to know, Sandra. Were you really a virgin that night I... almost raped you?"
"You ... You did rape me!" came her muffled, choking answer. "You ALL raped me! Then, and tonight! Oh, I hate you ALL!"
But you came tonight, didn't you, Sandy? Harvey made you come, and you loved it. Was that the first-"
"I hated it!" she screeched, turning to glare at me with swollen, red-ringed eyes. "I... Oh, never mind!" And she turned away again, weeping violently.
When I got her home and in bed, she seemed a little calmer, though still shuddering and choking back sobs between brief periods of restless half-sleep, and I tried again.
"Sandy, listen. What does Eldridge have on you? How can he make you stay ... "
"Why do YOU need to know?" she hissed, her eyes closed tightly, one fist clenched against her lips. "You don't want out, and you don't want to help me, either. He's... He's got me right where you BOTH want me, you dirty, evil. .. Oh, LEAVE ME ALONE!"
I never did learn exactly what hold Eldridge had on Sandy ... and probably on all of his employees ... but I figured out that it must be some kind of faked-up evidence of massive embezzlement, that could have put any of them in jail for life if he'd wanted to use it. And did he have ... did he need ... that kind of leverage with the club members who didn't work for him? I still don't know.
My own work then, as I mentioned before, consisted of delivering and picking up laundry, on a route that included the hilltop neighborhood where Sandy had lived before our marriage.
It was, in fact, just two houses down the street from Sandy's folks' house that the next major development in my life took place.
It was four days after the swap orgy at Deerings' ... a Tuesday ... and I'd had a minor breakdown during the morning; by the time the truck would run again, I was a good two hours behind on the route. It was full dark when I turned onto Sandy's old block and pulled up in front of a big white house that had cleaning to be picked up every week.
There were lights on all over the house, and the bag, which they usually left on the porch, was nowhere in sight; they must have taken it in, thinking I wouldn't come till the next day. I could hear voices inside, but they stopped abruptly when I rang the doorbell.
I waited. Nothing. But they must have heard, and it couldn't possibly have taken them this long to answer, even if they'd been ...
Stubbornly, tired and annoyed, I rang again. I sure as hell didn't want to screw up tomorrow's route by having to come back here.
Still nothing, and finally I rang a third time, leaning on it.
But even that brought no response, and I was just about to turn away when I heard running footsteps and the door was flung open. Before my eyes could adjust to the burst of light from inside, a slim figure flashed past me and ran toward the sidewalk, trailing a mane of flowing blonde hair. The door slammed closed behind her.
"Hey!" I called, starting after her on pure reflex. "I'm just here for the cleaning! What's the ... "
Still running, she turned her head to look back at me, and tripped, slamming down to the concrete sidewalk, out flat.
When I reached her and picked her up, she was crying, bending over to hold a bleeding knee, her long blonde hair fallen over her face.
"Come on," I said, holding her shoulders, and noting now that she wore only a dressing gown. Whether there was anything underneath it, I couldn't tell. "Let's get you in the house so you can clean that up and bandage it."
She fought free as I tried to turn her toward the house. "No! I can't go back there! My parents ..." She began to shiver, and sort of slumped into my arms.
"Look, kid," I insisted, tipping her face up and holding her chin, "you've got to get somewhere and get that scrape taken care of! Why can't you-"
She jerked her head away. "Could I...? Is that your truck?"
I nodded.
"Well, couldn't I just get in the truck for a minute till it stops bleeding? I'll be all right, really."
We got in the truck, and while the girl stopped the flow of blood from her knee with Kleenex I provided, I learned several things that turned my puzzlement into compelling fascination.
I learned first, as she scrootched around in the driver's seat to get at the knee, and I crouched beside her ... there was no passenger seat ... with a comforting hand on her shoulder, that she wasn't wearing anything under the thin dressing gown. Twice, I got brief glimpses of the tawny bush at the top of her slim white thighs; and the movement of her breasts as she mopped the drying blood from her calf made it apparent that no bra restrained them.
And as I questioned her gently and her sobbing subsided, I learned that her name was Denise, and that her parents were in the house with a neighbor couple ... not Sandra's folks; someone named Wilson, whom I'd never heard of ... stark naked in the living room, swapping mates!
Denise had been in her room, she told me, supposedly sound asleep, as she had to get up at three a.m. to go to work at a bakery. But she hadn't been able to sleep, and had come downstairs for a snack... to find her mother "wallowing all over that horrible man... and Daddy and Mrs. Wilson were right beside them, and she had his... Oh, God, don't make me talk about it! Please!"
"It's okay, Denise," I soothed, slipping my arm around her and pulling her close. I was really concerned; really feeling sorry for the poor kid and trying to help her get control of herself. But even so, I couldn't help sneaking a peek down the front of that dressing gown as she let herself slump toward me ... And between the clear view of her little white breast, right down to the tiny pink nipple, and the mental picture I had of what her folks were doing in the house ...
"Didn't you know they were... well, swingers, Denise? Did't you even suspect ... "
"Didn't I...! My God, if you knew how they've brought me up! Why, I hadn't even seen ..." She paused, looking up into my face as if lost.
"Tom," I said. "I'm Tom. Tom Beck."
"Tom, you may not believe this, but I'm nineteen years old, and not only am I still a virgin, but I'd never even seen my father undressed before tonight! I-"
Suddenly she looked down at herself, her gown's skirt open almost to the tops of her thighs, her right breast pressed against my ribs... She straightened up abruptly, pulled the gown closed to her knees and held it with one hand while she pressed the lapels to her throat with the other.
"I guess ... I suppose you can't believe me, the way I've been acting with you, Tom. I... I think I'm all right now," she went on, glancing quickly back toward my arm on her shoulders. "I should go now. I can walk over to this girlfriend's house in the next block, I guess. Her parents may be pretty nosy, but they'll let me stay there, I'm sure. Thank you, Tom, for ... "
"Now look. I'm not going to let you walk anywhere. You get over here and 111 drive you there. But..."
I knew there wasn't a chance, but I had to try, anyway:
"Denise, wouldn't you rather go to a motel, where you wouldn't have to answer all kinds of questions? I've got some money, and I know a place where they wouldn't care about no bags or ... I could check you in, and then just give you the key and... Well..."
"No, Tom." She smiled sweetly, and I thought she sort of snuggled against me as she began to move over so I could get in the driver's seat. "You've been just wonderful to me, but I couldn't let you spend money on me. Just turn around and take me down to Ann's house ... it's 477, in the next block ... and ... and write down my phone number. It's... Tom ... you aren't married, are you?"
"No!"
But she'd seen it in my face, I was sure.
"I mean yes, but we're... We aren't getting along. Do give me your number, Denise, and I promise I won't ask you out till... till we won't have to be sneaky about it. Till I'm free. Okay?"
Sandra was in a pretty good mood when I got home that night. She'd gotten over the emotional aftermath of the ordeal at Deerings' during the weekend, and over the worst of the soreness. And the past two days at work had apparently involved nothing to upset her again.
She even fixed my supper, whereas I'd expected to have to do that myself, even though she'd known since noon, when I'd called her at work, that I'd be late getting in, and why.
As I ate, with Sandy sitting across from me, reading some woman's magazine and looking up to smile at me every now and then, I committed Denise's phone number firmly to memory, knowing I'd have to dispose of the scrap of paper I'd written it on, before the next time Sandy had occasion to go through my wallet in search of money or a charge card or...
After supper, I told Sandy I was dead on my feet ... which was true ... and was going right to bed.
To my surprise, she decided to join me. Usually she sat up and read or watched TV at least until 11:30, whether I stayed up with her or not.
I got in bed naked, as usual, while Sandy was still in the bathroom. I closed my eyes, thinking of Denise, trying to envision her without the dressing gown or anything else... slim and white, that straight blonde hair falling well past her pink nipples, that tawny bush and the tight, untried slit it concealed ...
I heard Sandy emerge from the bathroom, and felt her weight shift the mattress. Why hadn't she turned out the light, as she always did before she got in bed:
And then she rolled over against me ... and she was naked! And she hadn't put her hair up, even!
"Tommy..."
"What's with you, Sandra? You've never ... "
"Tommy, I'm,... I'm hot. Make love to me, Tommy. Okay?"
If it hadn't been for Denise, it would have been no contest. I'd have been on top of her, in her, squirming all over her like a grateful puppydog before she'd even had the words out.
But as it seemed to me then, my bitch of a wife, with her uncanny instinct for frustrating me, had screwed up what I'd foreseen as a long, slow, delicious daydream romp with the most beautiful little virgin any stud could hope to meet. I might even have slipped into the bathroom a little later to jack off, as I pictured my soon-to-be-undertaken conquest of Denise. Yes, if the meat seemed sufficiently recovered to undergo such exercise, I might have.
But I was damned if I was going to feed the meat to my slut of a wife, ready and eager or net!
I rolled away. "Go to sleep, Sandy. I'm tired."
"Tommy, you can't..." She moved up behind me, pressing her hard-nippled tits against my back, her bush tickling my ass as she curled her legs into mine ... "I want you on top, Tom. I want you to really fuck me! I... I need it!"
Her hand slipped over my hip now, found my half-hard cock and began to tease and stroke it. "Tom, I... I don't know what's happening to me! I still hate sex, and I hate Mason and all those men in the clubhand their horrible, dirty wives, and ... But, Tom, I can't stop thinking about it ... how it was, and...
"Oh, Tom, you've got to fuck me! I've been burning up all day! Every time Mason or Jack would walk past my desk today, I'd start to ..."
I could feel her other hand wedging its way down past my ass, and then her wrist pressing rhythmically against me as she rubbed her clit frantically, her legs twitching against mine, her right hand jerking urgently on my cock, which wasn't responding at all.
She was ... well -... disgusting.
I brushed her hand away and lurched to my feet beside the bed. Even as I stood looking down at her, with all the lights on and the bedclothes thrown back, she went on jacking herself off, now with both hands, her eyes staring pathetically up at me.
"Tommy, please! Any way you want! I'll ... "
"Go fuck yourself, Sandra," I said in anger, and then laughed as I realized what I'd said.
"Better yet, stay here and fuck yourself. I'm going to sleep on the couch. And if you drag that horny ass out after me, I'll leave; and I won't be back to take you to the next swap club thing, either. I don't need you, you bitch, and you'd better be careful not to get me sick of this swapping shit any sooner than necessary, because when I've had my fill of that, we're through, baby. Do you understand?"
"Tommy, don't... Tom, I'm sorry! It's just that I've got to have ... I need a cock in me! Do you want me to suck you first? I'll make it hard, Tom, and then you can ... "
She had squirmed to the "edge of the bed, reaching for the meat again, when I spun away and slammed the door shut behind me. "Stay in there, you slut," I shouted through it. "Don't come out till I've gone to work in the morning, either, if you ever want to see me again. Maybe by tomorrow night I'll be able to stand the sight of you. Maybe I'll even feel like screwing you then, just for old times' sake!
"You hear me, bitch?"
I could hear her moaning and whimpering, but there was no answer, no sound of her coming toward the door, and I soon turned away and went to flop down on the couch.
Shit! If Denise hadn't been at that damn girlfriend's house, I would have called her right then. She was going to be a long, hard piece to put the make on, and the sooner I got started ...
Chapter Eight
I don't really know why I didn't call Denise the next day, except that when I stopped home at noon, there was a note from Sandra in the refrigerator with my lunch, full of profuse apologies, and adding the information that there was to be a swap session at the Skowrons' that Friday, and she guessed she could hold off till then, if I still didn't want her.
And I got to wondering then what Vic Skowron's place would be like ... some kind of torture chamber, maybe? ... and who I'd end up with, and what kind of new twists they'd have in mind for Sandra...
I thought a couple more times that day about calling Denise and again on Thursday and Friday, but I just never happened to think of it when a phone was handy and she'd be likely to be home. I guess I just wasn't ready to diversify my activities any more than they were already diversified.
As for Sandra, she slept on the couch Wednesday and Thursday night, because I made it amply clear that I hadn't the slightest interest in polluting my cock in any of her eager openings. And when I came out of the bedroom Friday morning and found her spread out naked on the couch with a big banana jammed halfway up her cunt, gasping and groaning as she wiggled it up against her fat clit.. .
I just forced a laugh, spat once ... a big gob right on her palpitating belly ... and went off to work early, without breakfast.
The Skowron place wasn't as big or as flashy as Eldridges' or Deerings', and it was low on the hillside, where there wasn't much view at all. It was a tract house, I guess; but it had a big glassed-in patio, with a high fence for privacy around the yard beyond, and it was here that the week's swap session got rolling.
"We have a request from one of our members, Sandy," Eldridge announced pompously when everyone was assembled.
Sandra forced a smile, then socked down her second drink of the evening in a single gulp, and smiled again, waiting.
"I think you'll recall that Rex got a bit. .. distracted from his original intentions toward you last week. Could we safely say that, Rex?"
Cahill, seated at one end of the room with Sharon Harvey, nodded his agreement, his eyes fixed hotly on Sandra's black minidress.
"So tonight Rex would like to start things off ... "
"Mason ...?" Sandra interrupted.
"Yes, my dear? Do speak right up. Don't worry about offending me with your rudeness."
"Well... Mason, I'm sorry, but... Well, I told you this morning that I thought my period might be starting, and ... "
"And it has, eh? Well, that's nice, Sandra. That way we all know you're not pregnant. I guess even Tom knows now that you aren't pregnant, eh? Thank you for sharing the good news with us, my dear."
"But, Mason.. ." Sandy looked down into her third drink, as if seeking courage. "Couldn't we... Couldn't I sort of... postpone the next part of my ... initiation and ... just sort of watch, tonight? I promise I won't ... "
Eldridge's loud laughter interrupted her, and she turned pale.
"Oh, my dear, that's terribly considerate of you!" he boomed sarcastically. "But I assure you, Rex doesn't mind a little blood on his cock whatsoever! In fact, I suspect it'll make him enjoy you just that much more!"
Sandra had begun to sob, and was shaking her head from side to side. Her hands ... still gripping the drink ... were held rigidly in front of her mound, as if this could somehow protect her.
"Now as I was saying before this bloody little tart so rudely interrupted me... You'll pay for that too, little bitch," he added in a fake undertone. "As I was saying: Rex had intended to sample your skills as a toprider, Sandra. And since he did get diverted, I feel that this should be the first order of business tonight."
Sandra spoke without raising her head. "Please, Mason, I ... "
Suddenly Eldridge's tone was that of the hypnotist again ... the puppet-master. "Undress, Sandy."
She stood frozen, trembling from ankles to hairdo, her drink slopping against her skirt as her hands clenched spastically. Then, with a bursting sob, she turned and ran through the open French doors to the interior of the house.
Cahill had been half undressed, and as he saw her bolt, he lurched forward in pursuit, forgetting that his pants were still around his ankles. He went down with a thud, screaming curses.
Vic Skowron had been nearest Sandra, but the big man proved to have slow reflexes. I'd been standing a good fifteen feet farther into the room, nuding up to his hatchet-faced wife, whom I'd selected as my new experience for the night. Yet I shot past Skowron while he still stood flat-footed, his mouth open.
Ludicrously, I thought of football as I pursued Sandra across the Skowrons' dining area and wide living room ... of my boastful confidence that I could make the team... and Sandra's open scom ... her smug sarcasm when I'd quit practice after three days of nothing but calisthenics...
She was reaching for the knob of the front door as I came within a step of her. I dropped a shoulder and drove full-force into the broad part of her back, slamming her brutally against the door, her head cracking loudly against the frame before my momentum carried her to the left, scraping along the wall as she fell, my whole weight on her back. I could hear the others gathering behind us, across the room. But without looking back, I flipped up to my knees beside Sandra's crumpled, silent form, grasped the fabric of her dress at either side of the zipper that ran down the back from the neckline, and ripped it open. A second, lower hold, and I opened it from the base of the torn-away zipper to the hemline.
Now I jerked her torso up by the bra straps, which broke easily, but not before I had hooked one hand under her and flipped her onto her back. I jerked the dress and bra to her waist, then caught the waistband of her panties and pulled these along as I stood up, lifting her almost to a shoulder-stand as I stripped all three garments over her hips and upward, her legs coming free of them as she fell back to the floor.
She still wore a low-slung black garter belt and sheer nylons; her shoes, I realized, had come off as she'd run toward the door. I was about to wrench the garter belt down, when Eldridge's voice stopped me.
"Tom, that's just fine, thank you. She'll do quite nicely just as she is, I'm sure. Right, Rex?"
Cahill, holding his unfastened pants up, nodded hastily, his ferret eyes locked on Sandra's apparently unconscious form.
"I'm afraid, however," Eldridge went on, "that she's in no condition for topriding now. Someone would have to hold her upright. And in any case she deserves something a little harsher than that, considering her uncooperative attitude."
He was still speaking as if Sandra could hear him, and I looked back at her, half expecting to find her eyes open. But she was still out, as far as I could tell. One of her knees had fallen to the side, and I could see the white tail of a tampon lying along the snug crease of her lower cuntlips.
Eldridge mused a moment. Then he turned to the other men. "Why don't you gentlemen arrange things for a little game of Quickies? It really works best at Jack's, with all the couches, but I'm sure we can make do with chairs and cushions."
Now he turned to his wife. "Irene, you see about reviving our little playmate somewhat, and then Tom can bring her in."
With this, the club's master of ceremonies turned away, following the others back to the glassed-in patio, from which I could now hear the scrape and shuffle of furniture being moved around.
Irene went to the Skowrons' kitchen and returned with a wet towel. Kneeling beside me, she began to bathe Sandra's face and neck, until my wife stirred, her eyelids fluttering.
"That's fine," Irene murmured, rising. "Shell come out of it soon enough. Pick her up and bring her along, please, Tom." But she moved into my arms first, for a long, deep kiss, and then whispered, "If you hate her as much as you seem to, darling, you're going to love tonight's little game."
When she turned away, I bent and scooped the still unconscious Sandra into my arms. Her body jerked once or twice in protest, and as I carried her back through the house, her eyes fluttered open again.
"What...? Tommy, where are you ta ... "
Then I stepped through the French doors and set her on her feet, and she stared silently at the tight circle of chairs, pillows, one long and one half-length sofa in the room's center.
All the men were naked now, and seated in this circle, staring back at Sandra. Now Irene and the tall, red-headed Laurel came and took Sandra's arms, supporting and restraining her, though she seemed incapable of more resistance.
"Get undressed and join the men, Tom," Irene said smoothly. "You're a full member now; and youll learn the game quickly enough."
Without hesitation, I shucked my clothes and joined the circle, plopping down on a pillow between Jack Deering and Don Harvey. Cahill sat on the long couch, stroking his erect cock absently as he twisted about to watch the trembling, whimpering Sandra being led toward us. Eldridge occupied the smaller couch, with Skowron on his left, in a big easy chair. Then came Deering and I, on pillows on the floor, and Harvey in a wide, armless overstuffed chair, completing the circle.
The woman members were beginning to undress now, and one by one they came to stand behind one or another of the men.
Eldridge rose and took Sandra from Laurel and Irene. He turned her to face us and held her shoulders. .
"We're going to play a little game called Quickies, my dear," he intoned silkily into her ear. "And you're it, so to speak.
"Gentlemen..."
In response, all the men stood up, and I followed suit.
Sandra was still dazed, and stood there in the black garter belt and dark-topped hose, looking utterly bewildered, utterly defeated. Then, suddenly, she appeared to see me in the circle for the first time, and a fresh wave of anguish crossed her face before she closed her eyes, teetering in
Eldridge's grasp.
"Squat down a moment, Sandra," Eldridge ordered. And when she complied, her eyes still clamped shut, he reached under her from behind, found the tampon's string and yanked the bloody plug of cotton free.
He tossed it carelessly over his shoulder, then pulled Sandra erect again. "And now..."
Abruptly, brutally, the rangy older man shoved Sandra forward across the circle. She reeled up against Jack Deering, and he caught her on flat palms against her breasts and immediately shoved back, snapping her head forward as she staggered backward toward Cahill.
The thin, wiry sadist was grinning ecstatically as he shot out his right fist, smashing it into Sandra's kidney, then drove her spinning toward Don Harvey with roundhouse swing that thudded his left forearm against her head.
Harvey caught her under the arms just as her knees touched the floor. He pulled her harshly up against him for a moment, grinding his huge erection into her belly. Then he grabbed her hair, jerked her about and raised a foot to the small of her back. With a thrust that sent him sprawling back into his chair, he drove her across the circle to Vic Skowron, who met her headlong rush with a perfectly timed backhand smash to the mouth.
Blood sprayed Skowron's face and chest, and Sandra's knees buckled, dropping her at his feet. But by her hair and one tit, he yanked her up again and literally threw her across the ring to me.
Again, blind reflex served me well. Completely without forethought, I snapped my knee up and caught the bitch on the fly, smack in the crotch, then grabbed her shoulders as she doubled forward and sent her staggering ass-foremost toward Eldridge.
"Round one, and perfect!" Eldridge crowed, catching Sandra's waist and holding her. "Now help us, ladies."
As he spoke, Myra Deering had stepped into the circle at his side, and now she grasped his rigid cock and held it level, and Eldridge jerked Sandra's slumped body back to himself, hitting the mark perfectly.
Sandra hung from his hands, her knees wobbly, blood still dripping from her lips as she moaned a feeble protest to the pain of his dry, rasping penetration.
Three times, the older man bucked his hips violently against my whimpering wife's ass before he swung her torso to his right, where Rex Cahill waited, hands clawed, face contorted with lethal lust.
Cahill flung Sandra onto the couch behind him. He got both hands in her hair, and twisted and pulled until she lay full-length on it, face down. Laurel was leaning over the couch's back, and as Cahill pulled Sandra's nearer leg aside and climbed up between her thighs, the tall redhead scooped a glob of jelly from a jar she held, and quickly greased his prick.
Almost before her hands left it, that prick was snubbed into the pinkish ring of Sandra's rectum, and Cahill drove forward, sinking half its length.
Sandra screamed, snapping her head up from the couch's seat, her eyes wide and suddenly fully aware again.
"Shut up and take it, cunt!" The voice was Skowron's, and as he spoke, he strode forward one step and sent a kick toward her head. His heel caught her cheekbone, driving her head against the backrest.
"There, you piece of shit!" Cahill shrieked, driving his prick fully into Sandra's tortured anus now. "And there, you filthy whore!" He wrenched his hips up and drove down again. "Whore." Another brutal thrust.
"Whore! Whore! Whore! Whore! Whore!"
Eldridge now stepped forward and laid a hand on CahilPs heaving back. "Enough, Rex. Save the rest, boy. The night's young."
The crazed man shook his head angrily, but after one last lashing stab into my wife's cringing ass, he jerked free of her and lurched to his feet beside the couch.
Quickly, he and Eldridge rolled Sandra to the floor, then lifted her to her feet.
Amazingly, she was still conscious, and able to keep her legs beneath her, though when Eldridge released her arm and backed away, she swayed forward off balance, and nearly fell at my feet. As she caught herself, Harvey reached out and grabbed her right arm. He swing her toward him. "On your knees, slut," he hissed.
She appeared not to comprehend. She stood facing him, teetering, her wet, staring eyes fixed on his. She seemed to be trying to speak, but no sound came from her gaping, blood-smeared mouth.
Impatiently, Irene stepped forward from her place behind me. With a neat, twisting kick, she caught the backs of both Sandra's knees, and Sandra dropped forward, her face slamming into Harvey's lean hip.
He took hold of her ears now, and moved her head back, while Sharon reached around him and guided the tip of his gigantic cock to Sandra's lips.
"Open, please," he said calmly. "Open wide."
Sandra obeyed, and I watched the bulbous head of his massive staff sink into her mouth.
Now he moved his hands down to take her nipples between thumb and forefinger. He pinched them, both together, and Sandra moaned and shook her torso violently.
"Now if you don't bite, sweety-slot," Harvey murmured gently, "I won't do that again. Just be nice with your little tongue, and well get along just fine, baby."
Sandy's cheeks bulged and worked, her throat spasming as Harvey slid perhaps an inch of his shaft into her mouth, then pulled back till her lips caught on the rim of his cockhead.
In again, a fraction deeper, and out to the tip's rim again. He repeated this several times, meanwhile pulling downward gently but firmly on Sandra's tits, so that she settled onto her haunches, tipping her head back, his thick tube taking a downward angle to her gaping mouth. Now he nodded once toward Alice Cahill, sho stood behind Deering, and she moved forward quietly and held her hands ready behind Sandra's head.
When Harvey nodded a second time, Alice grabbed Sandy's skull in a basket grip and lifted, while Harvey drove his meat down, suddenly cramming better than half its length into my shocked wife's mouth and throat.
He held that depth, while Sandra gagged twice, the sound muffled and dull. Then he moved his hands to her ears again, backed out perhaps an inch, and as Alice released Sandra's head and moved away, he thrust in again, and she took it without response.
Harvey caught my eye. "Want to try the other end, Tom, while I finish off this one?"
I nodded, fascinated, and eager to be involved in my wife's humiliation again.
"Stand up now, Sandy," Harvey said, his cock's head still jammed deep in her throat. And as she complied, back sloping down, keeping her head tipped back to maintain the angle of penetration, Harvey told me, "Pick your hole and have a ball, buddy."
As I stepped forward, I said, "Laurel, how 'bout some of that goo? I don't think I'm in the mood for this bitch's cunt right now."
Laurel sprang forward, jar in hand, and applied a quick grease job even as she positioned my tool. Looking down, I noticed that the flesh close to the reddened ring of Sandra's bung was smeared with brown; apparently Cahill's plunger had brought a bit of shit out with it.
And beneath that, fainter brown streaks of dried blood patterned the tops of her thighs and her buttocks' undercurves.
"God, what a dirty bitch you are, Sandra!" I gritted, driving my cock into her fantastically tight asshole about two inches.
My prick was both thicker and longer than Cahill's, and the likelihood that it would give Sandra greater pain excited me tremendously, lightening my grip on her hips, I looked at Harvey to get my timing right, and when he thrust forward, stuffing all he could into my wife's straining face, I slammed my hips toward her, gaining all but an inch of full depth in one tearing, burning stroke.
Sandra's belly spasmed in agony, and her legs shuddered, but I held her up, and before she could brace herself for more, I drove forward again, sinking that final inch, and jolting her at least an inch farther onto Harvey's strangling log.
Now we set up an alternating rhythm for several strokes ... Harvey thrusting as I withdrew, pulling her impossibly tight rectal sheath with me as she shuddered and writhed in pain, then I driving in again as Harvey allowed himself to be pushed back, and then drew out an inch or two of his fantastic length before his next thrust.
But we both knew what was next, and grinned excitedly at each other as Sandra began to adjust her muscular responses to the pattern. Harvey raised his eyebrows as if to say, "You call it, buddy," and when I nodded, just before my next forward lunge, he timed his own second-stage thrust to meet it.
A choking, gagging groan shook Sandra's whole torso, and her legs snapped up under her belly so that she hung between us. She would have broken my cock off with her weight if my hands hadn't been ready to support her there. I was sunk to the balls in her pain-torn ass, and not more than an inch of Harvey's great meat now protruded past Sandy's hugely circled lips, "Drop her!" I hissed. And, as I wrenched back, pulling my prick free with scalding friction, Harvey yanked his from her mouth and I let her drop.
Her knees and forehead hit the floor simultaneously, it seemed, and she was out without a whimper, slumping onto her side like a sack of dogfood.
"Tom," said Eldridge, his voice a bit hollow, "you will never cease to amaze me."
I turned to him, smiling, and saw that he had his prick in his hand, jacking it steadily, even as he went on speaking.
"I don't know when I've seen a finer innovation in Quickies! And the victim your own wife! You're going to be a fine addition to our club, my lad ... unless you remove yourself from membership by screwing this poor girl literally to death."
"Thank you, Mason," I quipped, flying high on the sheer joy of vengeance. "I thank you ... and Sandra thanks you."
Eldridge laughed heartily. "Oh, yes! She will! She most certainly will!" he chortled. Then: "Well, Jack, Vic ... Do you think you can top that?"
Deering, who was next in line for Sandy, shook his head. "I know damn well I can't," he admitted. "And that last action got me so hot that I think I'll just pass, if you don't mind, and get busy blowing my nuts off in Alice, here."
Eldridge smiled benignly, and as Deering and Alice Cahill hurried off to another part of the house, he turned to Skowron. "Well, Victor? Are you vanquished too?"
Skowron only smiled, and there was as much malice as lust in that smile.
But there was plenty of lust in his cock. It stood almost straight out, ruddy and trembling, a drop of fluid hanging at its broad-slitted, blunt tip.
Now his smile vanished, and he moved forward to stand over Sandra's still-unconscious form, looking down with hot eyes, his jaw set.
Bending over her, he grasped her knees and used them to turn her onto her back, then parted them and sank down, one hand wedging his raw-red cock into her slot. He hooked his legs out to each side, froglike, his thighs keeping Sandra's knees steepled. Her lower legs and feet flopped loose at either side of Skowron's taut buttocks.
Those masses of muscle contracted as the big man drove his pelvis forward, getting his cock into her fully. Then he laid his forearms upward across hers, his hands locking behind her head. His broad chest crushing her tits, he began a slow, hunching series of thrusts.
Sandra came to, her eyes opening wide as she tried to focus on the grimacing face so close to her own. And as soon as they opened, Skowron threw a particularly hard jolt into her crotch, driving her forward several inches over the scratchy indoor-outdoor carpet that floored the patio.
Sandra coughed out a groan of pain... which was broken into segments by a second jarring thrust of Skowron's cock.
Next the big man raised his hips straight up, then crashed them down, simultaneously pulling his knees forward again.
And this became his brutal pattern: two jarring forward lunges, driving Sandra skidding along the rough surface beneath her back, despite her own weight and most of Skowron's; then a crushing vertical thrust as-he brought his knees into position again, for two more fierce forward blows of his julting pelvis.
Eldridge moved Skowron's chair aside to clear a path, and Sandra's flesh-searing progress across the floor continued. She was silent now, except for the whoosh of her breath each time the big man's hips crashed into her.
They had gone halfway to the far wall when Sandra began to moan again ... a higher, tighter tone now ... and her legs came up to close over Skowron's hunched back, her ankles locking.
"More!" she gasped suddenly in a cracked, hysterical screech. "More cock! Ohhh, shit, fuck, cock, cunt... aaaagggh!"
I looked around and saw knowing smiles light the faces of the other women. All, that is, except Myra Deering, whose expression was a tight mask of lust as intense as any of the men wore.
"Oh, Christ! God! Hurt me! Yesss!" Sandy screamed on, as Skowron's steady battering drove her toward the glass wall. "Kill me with your cock, your dirty, awful, evil prick! Ohhh, FUCK! FUCK!!!"
They had nearly reached the wall when Skowron began to come. Straightening his legs, he launched a rapid staccato of short, jerky strokes, and Sandra's heels beat raggedly on his vibrating ass.
"Nooo!" she screamed. "Don't stop! More cock! Kill me!"
But Skowron was finished, and lay limp and panting atop her, his head fallen forward like a rock above her shoulder.
I had half expected Eldridge to declare a winner in the implied contest ... either Skowron, or Harvey and myself as a team. But apparently the cumulative excitement had been too much even for our leader's cool. No sooner had Skowron collapsed, than Eldridge swept Sharon Harvey into his arms and carried her from the room, calling back, "Pair off, my friends! Playtime's over!"
I looked around for Laurel Skowron, and found her looking for me. Don Harvey had her by the waist and was kissing the back of her neck, but she was busily prying his hands loose. "Maybe later, Don," she said easily. "But first I want Tom to loosen me up a little."
She met me in the middle of the room, as Harvey shrugged and turned away toward where Myra Deering stood looking down at my wife, who still writhed beneath Skowron's exhausted bulk. I held out open arms, but Laurel ducked under them, grabbing my hips and glomming immediately onto my half-erect cock.
It came fully to life after just three long, sucking strokes of her hot, seemingly bottomless mouth, and then she let it bob free long enough to say huskily, "Right here and right now, Tom Beck, I want a mouthful and then a cuntful. And if you're got anything left after that, I want it up my ass!"
She got the mouthful with about five more shuttles of her gripping lips along the tingling shaft. I sank my fingers into her dark red hair and pumped it to her, her tongue going wild around my spurting cockhead.
Then she pulled me down atop her, falling back, throwing her legs up and around me, popping my prick into her grasping gash before it had time to shrivel. I bridged up over her, content to let her do the work for a while, and she began a circular whipping whirl of her lean pelvis that set fire to every surface of my startled rod, swizzling it crazily in her copious juices and the milking clutch of that highly talented cunt.
After maybe a dozen circuits of my pricktip around her cervix, I couldn't stand to be passive any longer. I dropped onto her, and as her legs slid down to entwine with mine, I jackhammered straight in and out, panting, fucking her ears with the tips of my thumbs as I grasped her head and brought it up for a tonsil-diving deep kiss. Lanky and hatchet-faced she might be, but this broad knew how to fuck!
I don't know if she came. She may have been coming from the minute I stuck it in her; I just don't know. But I came, and that second coming was like the end of the motherhumping world! Behind my closed eyelids I saw an explosion of sparkling white, as the white fire streaked along my prick and spread through my spasming guts. Then I saw red ... and then black, and something hotter than the sun took hold of my head and pushed it straight down through my body to my balls...
The next thing I knew, I was on my back, and Laurel was across the room, locked in a tight sixty-nine with Don Harvey. And draped across his legs were those of Irene Eldridge, who was on top in a jerking, groaning sixty-nine with Rex Cahill.
I rolled over and checked the rest of the room. At the far end, Sandy still lay where Skowron had parked her, but he had rolled aside, and none other than Myra Deering was now crouched between my slut-wife's splayed and shaking thighs, her nose and mouth buried in Sandra's pumping crotch. One of Myra's hands clutched Sandy's buttock, and the other was flung out to the side, optimistically at work on Skowron's sagging cock.
As I watched this strange threesome, Jack Deering and Alice returned to the room, and they too were attracted by the scene. Deering jogged toward them, his cock flopping. He knelt behind his wife and began to lick her snatch and asshole. Alice, close behind him, squatted casually over one of Skowron's feet, placed his big toe carefully against her clit, and then just hovered there, squirming a little as she watched Sandra writhe and spasm and squeeze her own tits in response to Myra's tongue-work.
I was about to move closer myself, and perhaps offer Alice a chance to revive my shrunken cock, when Eldridge and Sharon rejoined the party.
Eldridge apparently had the same idea I did, and he got to Alice first. But the plushy, sickly-white billows of Sharon's body were obviously available, and she didn't even wait to be asked.
She was standing beside me, and as soon as I'd rolled onto my back again, she stepped across my face and squatted, pressing the plump, sopping folds of her black-fuzzed cunt to my mouth. Leaning forward, she went to work on my cock with both hands and her extended tongue.
I ate her feverishly for a while, not really enjoying it for its own sake, but hoping it would help me get hard again. And when it didn't, when Sharon's wet and wild attentions to my cock couldn't, I decided that maybe the problem was my being on the bottom.
Without warning, I flipped my hips up hard, poking Sharon in the eye with my soft stalk. I got a foot planted, grabbed her cushiony ass and rolled to the left, coming up on top, my nose still swimming in the warm goo of her excited snatch.
Yes; this was better. Now when I raised my head for a moment I could see the other swappers at play, and the motion of my hips as I tried to help Sharon whip me into shape was more natural.
The other members weren't lying down on the job, either, I noted. Laurel and Harvely had swapped with Irene and Cahill, and both couples were now fucking away like mad, side by side and occasionally bumping each other with flailing arms, spasming legs and writhing torsos, going at it like happy pigs in a mudhole.
Even Vic Skowron had been revived, and as I looked up from Sharon's seething chasm the next time, it was to see him drag Myra Deering roughly away from Sandra's crotch and Jack's mouth, lift her bodily over his upthrust cock, and spindle her neatly.
Beside them, Eldridge and Alice had progressed to a full-bore fuck, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist as he thumped his loose-slung balls against her fluttering asscrack his cock hilt-deep.
Deering had seemed a little dazed when his wife's delectable underside was so abruptly whisked out of reach of his tongue. He just stayed there on hands and knees, head tipped to one side like a lost puppy.
But Sandra soon came to his rescue. No sooner did she feel a draft on her snatch, with her Lesbian licker's sudden departure, than she began to hunch her way forward in a jerky, hip-and-shoulder snakewalk that soon brought her fuzzy hump in contact with Deering's chin. But when he scrunched down and sank his tongue into her needy hole, she began to babble again.
"Noooo! Cock, now! I need COCK!" Her arms shot straight up, open wide, as if she was hoping a whole paratroop division would miraculously" descend on her with pricks at the ready. "Oooooh, smash me! FUCK me!! Gaawd, please, I need your cock!"
Still looking dog-dumb, but also dog-eager, Deering raised his head, tongue lolling, and leaped forward to cover her thrashing body with his, driving his spiky prick into her heated slot.
Chapter Nine
I never did come again that night. I got hard, all right, watching my bitch of a wife fuck Jack Deering into a stupor and then go running for more to Don Harvey ... the only man left besides myself who could still raise a hard. The bitch backed up to him and got it dog-style, too.
By that time I had pulled Sharon around and was running my cock steadily in and out of her tireless twat while I watched, and the bouncing blonde went over the top two or three times at least, before my belly muscles started to ache from the strain and I gave it up as not worth further effort that night.
Maybe I was just fucked out, temporarily. But I think there was another factor, too; my mind wasn't really with it. Sandra's suddenly insatiable cock-hunger, plus Deering's dog-like response to it and the bitch position she was in then with Harvey ... It had set me thinking. And the more I thought about my bizarre notion, the more it fascinated me.
The next day, on my lunch break, I drove over to Max Gaston's place. He was a guy I'd known casually in school ... just one of the loud-mouthed locker-room bunch, but one day he'd told me something that now interested me extremely.
I found him mowing his next-door neighbors' front yard, and after the usual how's-it-going bullshit, I got down to business.
"Max, have you still got that dog you told me about once?"
"You mean Bruno?"
"I don't know his name. The one that was always trying to fuck everybody's leg, and sniffing around up under your sister's skirt and everything."
"Yeah! That's Bruno. Christ, that mutt's horny! Did I tell you about the time this little poodle down the block came in heat and Bru ... "
"Look, Max, what do you want for him? How much?"
"What? You mean you ...?"
"Yeah, I want to buy him. It's.. .Well, it's for sort of a gag, Max, but I do want a dog, too, and I can probably make it worth your while if you 11 sell him. Or if not, maybe I could just borrow him for a couple weeks, huh?"
It was really his parents' dog, as it turned out, but Max guessed he could just tell them Bruno had run off, and they probably wouldn't be too shook up. And he sure could use fifteen dollars right then. There was this girl in school...
I paid him on the spot and arranged to come back that night, when his folks would be out, to pick up the dog.
When I got back to work, the boss informed me there'd been a small fire that morning in the plant, and everything was all screwed up; there'd be no more deliveries that day. I could take the afternoon off, he said, but he wanted me to work the next afternoon, Sunday, to help them get caught up.
Well, I'd just blown all my beer money, so I guessed there was nothing to do but go home. Anyway, I'd had only two hours' sleep after the night's activity at Skowron's, so a nap was decidedly in order.
Sandy had been dead asleep when I'd left that morning. I decided not to risk waking her up and having her pester me for more cock, so I didn't even go into the bedroom when I got to the apartment; just flopped down on the couch, fully dressed. But I hadn't even had time to close my eyes when I heard it:
"Oh, wow! More, baby! Do it!"
It was a man's voice, coming from the bedroom.
And now that I'd really started to listen, I could hear thrashing sounds, springs squeaking, low moans and heavy breathing, too.
I got up and tiptoed to the bedroom door, eased it open an inch.
It took me maybe a full thirty seconds to sort out what I was seeing. The first thing apparent was a naked guy kneeling on the bed with his back to me, his shoulders wagging as he said again, "Oh, do it, baby! Yeah!" He had a big, bright tattoo on his upper arm, by which I recognized him as someone I'd seen around the apartment house several times ... lived a couple floors above us, I think.
But besides this guy there were two others, stretched out on the bed to his left, their heads out of sight beyond thefirst guy's legs and ass... and sandwiched between them was Sandra.
She was, obviously, sucking the tattooed guy's cock while the stud underneath her fucked her. And it seemed a safe assumption that the third guy, sprawled and squirming over her ass and back, had his meat stuffed up her shit chute.
What I did then was something I never could man's cock. She spun around, smacking a knee into his ribs in the process, and sprawling across his belly.
"Tom! You can't... My God, Tommy, I just had to-"
"Hold on a minute, Denise; okay?" I covered the mouthpiece. "Could one of you guys kindly shut her up so I can hear my girlfriend?"
Mister Underneath was propped up on his elbows now, a bewildered grimace on his face as he looked from me to his buddy on the floor, then up at Tattoo. "What the fuck's happ'nin', man? I thought you said ... "
Tattoo was cool. Just as Sandra started to squawk at me again, he grabbed her hair and one arm and dragged her off the bed on his side, kicked her legs apart and piled on, slamming his mouth down on hers and jabbing with his hips until he found the pocket.
"Denise? ... Sorry. I just thought to check my wallet, and I'm afraid I can't even swing a movie tonight, but maybe we could just ride around and talk, huh? I mean, I guess I sort of need somebody to tell my troubles to, and ... You would? Great! What time should I.,."
While we made the arrangements ... seven-thirty, at a drugstore a couple blocks down from her house ... Sandra's ass man got up and ambled around the bed to see what kind of action he could find opened, and she saw me. "T ... aaaagh!"
The guy on the bottom, suddenly relieved of his buddy's weight, had decided to give Sandra a real ride, and the first upward slash of his hips was what had interrupted her greeting.
I just smiled and went on dialing, as she stared back at me and her cunt fucker continued to iolt gasps of pleasure from her gaping mouth. Seven ... seven ... three .. . four ... one.
The guy on the floor was starting to laugh. And Tattoo had now come out of shock sufficiently to grab Sandra's ear and start stuffing his prick back in her mouth. But he was still a little puzzled.
"You aren't calling the cops, are you, buddy?" he asked, pulling Sandra's nose into his bush. "That wouldn't be smart, you know. She invited us down here, see, and ... "
I shook my head, smiling reassuringly, as the ring-buzz stopped.
"Hello. Denise?... Hi. This is Tom Beck. Remember? ... Yeah ...
"Oh, forget that. I was glad I could help .. . But look, Denise, I know it's pretty short notice, but I was wondering if you'd like to go out tonight. Maybe we could. .. What? ... Well, yeah. She and I... well, we aren't together any more. So would you-"
Sandy wrenched her head away from Tattoo and jerked her knees up under her, dislodging the cunt have done before my experiences with Eldridge's swap group, and I surprised the living hell out of myself even so. But it came to me so quickly, so simply, so right, that I was moving into the room before the thought was even fully formed.
The telephone was on a little table at the foot of the bed. I picked up the receiver, then turned to watch those three cocks going in and out of my wife's squirming, sweating body for a few seconds before I dialed.
The guy on his knees saw me immediately. His jaw dropped, and he started to grab for Sandra's head as if to push her away, but then I guess he realized I didn't look angry, didn't have a gun in my hand or anything, and he just sort of shrugged, and ... still staring at me ... started pumping his pud into Sandra's face again.
Her eyes were closed, and the other two guys had their feet toward me and apparently hadn't heard me come into the room, so it wasn't until I started dialing that I got more reaction.
Two clicks ... nine clicks ... five .. . The guy on top craned his head around and spotted me. "What the...?" He yanked his cock out of Sandra's gaping asshole, spinning off to catch the edge of the mattress in his asscrack before he thudded to the floor on the side opposite Tattoo.
Sandra pulled her mouth free. "Come back, you bastard! Put it back! I need ... " Then her eyes
He watched Tattoo pumping it to Sandra for a minute, then leaned over them and whispered to his buddy on the bed, and they appeared to reach an understanding.
He stood straight again, then got down and gently but firmly rolled the fucking couple over so that Sandra was on top, her ass jerking and waving wildly. His buddy now straddled her legs and sank forward, snubbing his cock into the still-stretched ring of her anus, and the former ass man knee-walked up to Sandra's head and began to pry her mouth free, his cock brushing her cheek as he turned her head to him.
I went back to the living room, leaving the door open. I flopped out on the couch again, and by God, their grunts and groans and the rhythmic slap of flesh soon lulled me to sleep!
When I woke up, about six p.m., all four of them were gone.
Sandy had left no note, and had taken no clothes along, as far as I could tell. Anyway, I was sure she'd be back in time to go to work on Monday.
I called Max and arranged to pick Bruno up on Sunday morning, while his folks were at church, and then I got ready for my date with Denise.
It went just like I'd said. We rose around, and I told her my troubles. And I surprised myself by telling her a story much closer to the truth than I'd planned to.
I left out the New Year's Eve thing, of course, but told her how Sandy had tricked me into marrying her by claiming to be pregnant... and I allowed as how she could have been, because we'd ... Denise didn't seem shocked, but I guess it made her a little nervous, and she sort of stiffened up as she sat beside me in the car, not close, but not right up against the door either. I kept both hands on the wheel, though we were on straight road on the far side of the lake, with no other cars in sight, and I went on talking.
I told her about quitting school, the job, and Sandy's job, and Eldridge... and the night we went to dinner there. When I got to the part where Irene and I went upstairs and saw Sandy on her knees in front of her boss, naked ... "Denise, I don't know how to say it in a way that won't shock you. It was like your mother that night, I guess. She was ... "
"Oh, God, Tom, you don't have to say any more! I know. But... But how could she? What kind of ...?"
She was shaking, her hands twisting in her lap. I pulled off the road and parked under a big tree, near the water. "Look, Denise, I don't have to tell you about it. Maybe we should just forget it and ... "
"No. I'll be all right, and I know how much you need to ... to get it out of your system. That night at Ann's, I finally told her all about my parents and the Wilsons. I even... I know all the words, Tom, and it won't shock me to hear them. It's just that for myself, I could never... I haven't even ... Oh, never mind. Tell it. Tell it all, Tom. I owe you that much, anyway. And I want to help, if I can."
So I told it. The bout with Irene, the swapping parties that followed ... Only of course I made it seem like Sandra had been all for it every step of the way, and I'd only cooperated because I loved her so much. I left out all the brutality, and invented a couple arguments at home where I'd begged Sandra to stop the swapping and she'd refused absolutely, insisting that I go along with it ... "And .... well, after last night, when she went so wild, screaming for more men, more cock ... I just couldn't take it any more, and I realized I didn't love her any more. I told her when we got home that she'd have to move out, go live with the Eldridges or somebody, and I gave her all the money I had this morning, and ... And then when she'd left... I called you."
I leaned toward her, looking very sad, very mixed-up, a little desperate. She took my face in her cool hands, and there were tears sparkling in her eyes as she looked deep into mine.
"I'm glad you did, Tom. I... I just don't know ... Well, I'm glad you told me, and I hope it helped to talk it out. I..."
Impulsively, she leaned forward and gave me a quick, chaste kiss, then backed away, still holding my face. "I guess you'd better take me home now, Tom. It's awful late, and ... But I do want to see you again, if you want to, Tom. I've never gone out with anyone before who was... who'd been married, but..."
She fell silent, smiling sweetly up at me, and that smile almost cracked my cool. For a minute I felt like grabbing her, pulling those pert little tits in the clinging jersey top up against me, driving my tongue past those sweet, rosy lips ...
But I'd gained more ground tonight than any stud could hope to with someone as innocent and cock-shy as Denise; to try for more so soon would be to blow it. I turned back and started the car, and drove silently back around the lake and up the hill to the end of her street, where she asked me to stop.
"My folks think I'm at Ann's," she said. "They won't let me date boys they haven't met. I'd better walk from here."
I pulled over, shut off the engine, and turned to her.
"Denise, I... Well, I guess it sounds pretty silly to say I had a good time tonight, but I did, and... Can I call you Monday?"
"Yes," she said, giving me that cock-swelling smile again. "Please do, Tom."
She just sat there, smiling, and it didn't fade when I slipped my arm around her and pulled her against me. I fought with everything I had to hold my tongue back, and to keep my other hand on her waist, though it itched like crazy to cup her sleek little ass or sneak ^up between us to one of those soft, virginal tits... And I kept my cool, though the kiss must have lasted a full two minutes.
Then I let her go, hopped out and went around to open the door for her, and caught a tantalizing glimpse of her slim white thighs as she slid out of the car. I took her hand in both of mine, and she put her other hand on top and squeezed. "Good night, Tom. Please do call."
She turned and walked down the sidewalk toward her house, and I stood there with an aching hard-on that didn't subside until long after she disappeared into her yard, and I'd started the drive back to the apartment.
Sandra was there, and alone, naked, sound asleep in the middle of the rumpled, cum-stained bed.
Well, I was damned if I was going to sleep on the couch again. I found clean sheets, then rolled her roughly off onto the floor, in the same spot where I'd left her early that afternoon.
She came awake and sat up while I was changing the bed, but neither of us spoke for a long time.
Finally I stripped and lay down, pulling the top sheet and blanket over me. "Back to the couch, Sandra," I said quietly. "Or back to your fucking friends upstairs, or wherever they are, if they've got any cock left."
She was breathing heavily, but still didn't speak, didn't move.
"How many more guys did your friends ring in before they wore you out... or threw you out?" I asked caustically.
"Tommy, I... Well, it's your fault! If you'd just..." She choked back a sob and sat up straighter, and I rolled away, turning my back on her.
"Tommy, listen!" She was pleading now, and she moved up to sit behind me on the edge of the bed. "I don't know what's wrong with me, Tommy, but I can't... I just have to have ... Oh, God, Tommy, I don't know! But I think if you'd just fuck me ... just for a while when I can't stand to wait any longer..."
She paused, sniffling, shaking the bed with her sobs. Then: "Are you going to leave me? Tommy? That girl you called when... If you don't come, Mason may not let me be in the club any more, and then..."
Suddenly she fell forward, grabbing my shoulder with clawlike fingers, and screaming, "Answer me, you bastard! Tell me!"
I rolled toward her, not even mad, just sick and disgusted, hating her more than ever, and I pushed her violently onto the floor again.
"No, Sandra, I'm not going to leave you. Yet. I want to see how much lower you'll go. I want to help! When you get to the bottom ... when you're dangling like a turd from the very asshole of existence ... I'll be there watching, Sandra, and I'll give you the final push."
Chapter Ten
She was asleep, there beside the bed, when I woke up Sunday morning.
It was near ten already, so I hurriedly dressed, grabbed some breakfast and headed for Max Gaston's place. And she was still asleep at eleven, when I returned with Bruno.
Bruno, according to Max, was mostly German Shepherd, but partly Labrador, partly Saint Bernard, and one hundred percent sex maniac. He looked sort of like a grizzly bear with skinny legs. He was a mottled, smeared black-brown, with a huge, droopy-eared head, a massive chest, and deceptively slim hips underneath the shaggy hair that made him look barrel-shaped. All the way home, as he sat on the front seat beside me, panting at passing women on the street, I kept trying to get a look at his cock. But there was just too much snarled, matted, frizzy, billowing, hanging hair in the way.
I could, when he stood up, see the gigantic black ball sack that dangled between his hind legs, and if its size was any indication, then Bruno had more than enough cock for my purposes.
When I took him in the bedroom, he went straight to Sandra's crotch, sniffing and snuffing like a locomotive, and then he reeled out a gigantic pink tongue and began to lick.
She lay sort of crumpled up on her side, her lower leg almost straight, and the other one forward, knee bent, in figure-four position. It didn't look like Bruno could get at much but the back of one thigh and the inside top of the other, and of course the swells and crack of her ass. But there he was, slurping happily away. And when she moaned and shuddered in her sleep, straightened her top leg and rolled onto her back, he just zeroed in on her pussyfuzz and kept on lapping.
Sandra groaned and whimpered, then opened her eyes ... and screamed.
Bruno, straddling her legs, looked up where the noise was coming from, a puzzled frown shaping his dark face.
"H-help!" Sandra yelped. "Get away, you!" She looked wildly around, and seemed to see me for the first time. "Tommy, get him off me! He'll... Tommy, pleeeease!"
I remembered then that Sandra had once told me she was scared shitless of dogs, and especially big ones. I'd forgotten that. Crap! Maybe she wouldn't let him screw her, then.
But it was a kick just seeing her so panicked, anyway, and I decided to make the best of that.
Sandra had realized by then that I'd brought the dog, and that I wasn't about to save her from it, and she'd gotten desperate enough to start slapping at it with her hands. Bruno backed off, still looking bewildered, and Sandra scrambled to her feet and ran to the bathroom. But I was right behind her, and got a foot in the door before she could close and lock it.
"Listen, bitch," I called through the opening, "this is my dog out here, and he's staying. If you ever hurt him one tiny bit, or if you let him get out when Im not here, I'll kill you. I mean that, Sandra; I'll damn well kill you, and you know I could. So you'd just tough-shit better plan on being nice to my dog, understand? His name's Bruno. He's staying, and you're staying, so you'd better make friends with him."
I paused, thinking fast. Then I yanked my foot out of the way, and the door slammed shut, Sandra's full weight against it. And as the lock clicked, I spoke again.
"That's right, Sandra. You just stay in there a while and get your guts together. Take a shower, too, you whore, and get all those guys' cum off your slutty body. Then you come out and get acquainted with Bruno. I'm going to work for a while, and when I get back I want you to be here, and I want Bruno to be here, and I want you two to be friends. Understand? Or 111 KILL YOU, Sandra."
I was pretty sure she didn't have any clothes in the bathroom. I grabbed the empty boxes, still piled in a corner of the room, and cleared all her clothes out of the closet, out of the dresser, jammed 'em in the boxes. I cleaned out the hamper, too, and as an afterthought I stuffed all my own clothes into boxes and began lugging the whole mess down to the car.
After four trips, I was done. But.. . Towels? Bedsheets? The cloth on the kitchen table? I doubted if she'd have that much guts, even if she didn't really believe I'd kill her if she left. And would I kill her ... if she left, or if she got rid of Bruno somehow? At that moment, I thought I would.
Bruno, all this time, had been exploring- the apartment; sniffing his way around the walls, checking out all the furniture, the kitchen appliances... When he came back to the bedroom and started making the rounds, I suddenly spotted the telephone.
What if she called the cops? Or some old boyfriend, maybe. Well, I'd just have to take my chances on that; I wasn't about to rip the phone out.
I patted Bruno on the head, got a grateful tail-wag for my trouble, and left, locking the apartment behind me, so nobody could get in unless Sandra opened the door for 'em.
I was a little late getting to work, but I broke records on the delivery route, and was completely caught up by quarter to four.
Back at the apartment, I listened a minute at the door before I unlocked it. There were whimpering sounds... from the living room, I decided. Was that Sandra? Crying? Or was it Bruno? Or was it...?
I unlocked the door and pushed it open. Wow!
Sandra was on her hands and knees on the floor, her head up against the couch. Bruno was hunched over her, his forelegs squeezing her waist, his hips vibrating like crazy against her squirming ass. And every once in a while I caught a flash of deep pink as the base of his carrot-thick cock came out of her clutching slot for a second.
She hadn't heard the door open. And if Bruno had, he was having too much fun to give a shit. His chin was pressed down on the small of her back, that mottled pink tongue lolling off to one side. And his bitch ... my bitch ... was making ecstatic faces at the rug and urging him on.
"Yesss, doggie! Ohhh, ram that cock in! Fuck me! Make me come again! Oooh, I'm... I'm gonna ... Aaaaaggh! Uuuh! More! Move it, you fucking dog! Don't... stop! More cock... more... ohhh, FUCK!"
Bruno was frozen now, his prick about halfway out, but apparently stuck fast. He raised his head and looked around, as if wondering where to go from there. But he slammed it down on Sandra's back again as she started slashing her hips from side to side, screaming, "More! FUCK ME, damn you! Gotta ... have more cock!"
She was hurting Bruno now. He yelped once, struggling to back off, and finally he made it, jerking from her snatch a pointy bulb of pink, shiny flesh that was half again as thick as what I'd seen before.
He lurched away from her about five steps, then flopped down on his side and began licking that long, gleaming pink torpedo as it slowly shrank and retracted into the hairy mat at the base of his balls.
Sandra had rolled onto her back and was going at herself with both hands now, gasping, eyes clenched shut. She still hadn't seen me. But watching Bruno prong her had given me a hard-on that wouldn't quit, and I decided maybe she'd earned a little reward, anyway, so ...
I unzipped and wrestled my rigid prick out of my skivvies, then took three strides and a flying leap that brought my crashing down full-length on top of Sandra, smashing her hands in against her snatch, banging her head on the floor as her eyes flew open.
I wrenched her arms out of the way, braced up a little and stabbed my cock into the slut's hot slot.
"Ohhh, Tommy, yesss! Fuck me!"
But she was all loose and sopping wet. It was like sinking my prick into a bag of lukewarm stew. I pulled out, grabbed her legs and whipped them up to rest against my shoulders, found her asshole by Braille and jammed my thumb up it a couple times, then grabbed my pud and popped the head in.
Tight. And she was squirming like mad, still screeching, "Fuck me, Tommy! Fuck meee!" and I couldn't get the angle right to push more of it in.
Angrily, I slammed both fists against the sides of her head simultaneously. "You want cock, you bitch? Then hold still, for Christ's sake!"
It was in, and I was coming almost immediately, smashing down against her like mad, machine-gunning my cum into her filthy guts... And when I'd ground out the last fiery spasm against her upthrust crotch, I got a foot under me and pulled out, going straight up, so that she flopped back to the floor from a shoulder-stand, her groan of protest cut off as the impact knocked the breath out of her.
Every night that week, Sandy was after Bruno for more cock, and the brute did his damnedest, but he couldn't satisfy her. She started waking up early in the mornings and going after him, too, but at that time of day he didn't seem interested at all. He'd go crouch under the kitchen table, and Sandra, naked, her slot already juiced by her own fingers, would scuttle under after him, grab his head and force his nose into her gap.
He'd lick her a little, most times, but he never got up and tried to mount her except at night, and by Thursday night he was pretty slow on the uptake even then.
I screwed her for a while after work on Wednesday, before she went after Bruno, but the rest of the times I just watched and told her what a corrupt, perverted bitch she was, and slapped her around a little when she'd worn the dog out and started panting after me. Then I'd take Bruno for his nightly walk, and Sandra was usually asleep when we got back.
Friday, she even managed to come home on her lunch hour. I was there, scratching Bruno behind the ears while I ate a sandwich, when she came in, unbuttoning her dress before the door was even closed behind her.
"Oh, no you don't, bitch," I said. "He's got to go for his walk, or he'll piss all over the wall this afternoon."
"I'll take him," she promised eagerly. "Just let me ..." She was down to pants and bra already. "I just need one little fuck, Tommy, and then 111 take him out and make sure he pees. Even if I'm late getting back to work. I promise. And Mason won't care; he's too busy planning nasty things for the party tonight at Cahills'."
She didn't even wait for an answer. And Bruno hadn't waited, either; he had his nose in her asscrack before she could step out of her panties, and when she dropped to her hands and knees, he was on her in a flash, humping to beat shit! It was almost like he knew he wasn't going to be getting any that evening.
Cahills' place was down by the lake, and it was an old-fashioned house with a huge, dark basement, two thirds of which was decked out like a medieval dungeon.
I found this out before Sandra did, because ... after a couple rounds of drinks in the living room upstairs, overlooking the lake ... Eldridge herded all the men down to the basement, leaving Alice Cahill in charge upstairs, to "get the women ready and await our summons," as he put it.
"The Chamber," as Eldridge called it, was a big, high-ceilinged rectangle with stone walls and floor. There were small, high-barred windows on three sides. The fourth wall, where the stairs came down, set off the furnace area and a small, well-lighted alcove containing a bar and a tiny bathroom.
One long wall of The Chamber was studded with iron rings, set in matched pairs of floor level and just below the high windows, and to each ring was attached a short length of thick chain. From two of the heavy beams overhead, more rings and chains were suspended.
In the end wall was a small fireplace in which a short, thick log blazed, and flanking this were two low, deep benches of rough-hewn dark wood. Four more such benches were set along the other long wall, and at the end of the room near the stairs was a huge, sturdy table of the same rough wood as the benches.
Several lengths of coarse rope lay coiled under the table, and to one side of it stood a tall, shallow, double-doored cabinet, which Cahill opened to reveal a frightening array of whips, steel pikes, leather and metal manacles and collars.
From this cabinet Cahill took six small bags . made of black fabric. He handed one to each of us, then showed us how to fit them on our heads, covering the ears and the face to the tip of the nose. With strips of black tape, we fixed them in place so that the eye holes wouldn't shift. They were like the executioner's caps I'd seen in movies.
Now we all undressed, stashing our clothes in the alcove, and then Eldridge lined us up at the room's far end before he shouted up the stairs, summoning the women.
They were naked too when they came down. First Alice, then Sharon Harvey, Myra Deering... and then Sandra, flanked one step beck by the two tallest women, Irene and Laurel, each holding one of her arms.
The first three went silently to benches on our right, where they sat with knees up and spread, their cunts blatantly exposed. Then Sandra's guards brought her to the center of the room, facing us.
Eldridge and I stood in the center, with Harvey and Cahill on my right, Deering and Skowron on his left. Deering had a full erection already, and Eldridge, Cahill and I were about half-hard. Skowron's raw-looking, wrinkled cock hung straight down, as did Harvey's massive roll of meat.
Sandy was biting her lower lip, and there was sheer terror in her eyes, even before Eldridge spoke.
"This will be the final stage of your initiation, my dear Sandra," he said silkily. "After tonight, you will be a full and equal member of the club." He paused, then added in a clipped, distinct tone, "If... you... live."
A shudder swept through Sandra's naked form, and she closed her eyes, her lips trembling.
"You may not speak tonight, Sandra. You may scream when necessary ... and it will be necessary, but if you speak one word, you will quickly regret it. You have nothing to say to us, anyway, except that you want cock, always more cock, filling you till it kills you ... And we all know that already, Sandra. Therefore you will not speak, and cock you shall have.
"Do you understand all I've said, my dear? If so, merely nod your head."
Sandra's eyes opened, fixing hungrily on Eldridge's downward-arching cock as she nodded.
"Good," her tormentor said. "Let's begin, then, with your husband's cock. You will get on your knees and come to him, Sandra. You have exactly four minutes to make him come, using your mouth alone. If you fail, you will then go on trying, but we will give you a rather painful sort of assistance in your efforts.
"All right, my dear. On your knees now, and come get the cock."
Alice and Laurel released her arms, and Sandra went to her knees and staggered forward a little before she dropped forward onto her hands. "No!" Eldridge barked. "Up on your knees! Come!"
She straightened and came on, arms dangling at her sides, desperate eyes fastened on my slowly stiffening prick, until she had its head in her mouth.
She gave it all she had, too ... tongue, tight lips, scraping teeth, now and then jamming forward till the knob snubbed into the top of her throat. I was fully hard now, and stayed that way, but I was nowhere near coming when Eldridge, who still wore his watch, intoned ominously, "One more minute, bitch."
Sandra tried to grab my ass for leaverage, but Eldridge leaned over and slashed her hands away. And so, wobbling and trembling, she did the best she could with just neck-action and balance, her clutching lips jerked up and down over two-thirds of my length, tongue coaxing on every upstroke...
Cahill had moved silently to the cabinet, and he returned now with a short-handled whip of several foot-long leather strips, each with a small black bead at its end ... a cat o' nine tails, I guess they're called. He positioned himself behind Sandra and to her left, watching Eldridge eagerly as the rangy older man peered down at the second hand of his watch.
Then, silently, Eldridge nodded, and Cahill swung his arm back and brought it slicing around, the beaded thongs spraying out to pepper Sandra's lower back and left buttock with pain.
Reflexively, she bit down on my cock. But Eldridge had apparently foreseen this, and before her teeth closed painfully, he had sent a jolting kick into her belly; her jaws snapped open in a grunting gasp, her head slamming forward against my belly.
"No teeth, Sandra," came Eldridge's syrupy command, "or we'll have to pull them. We have all the necessary equipment, my dear."
Sandra's hands were scrabbling over the scorched flesh of her back and ass now, my cock still in her mouth.
"You may hold onto him now, my dear," Eldridge went on. "And the whipping will continue until you make him come."
She began to sob as she flattened her hands against my thighs, her blubbering lips tickling my cock's shaft. Then Cahill's second stroke snapped across her shoulder blades and she clamped down hard, somehow keeping her teeth covered, and as she stripped those gripping lips back toward the head, I began to come, my hips socking forward of their own will.
Cahill got in two more slashes before I stopped pumping, and then Eldridge signaled him off.
"I'm next, my dear bitch," he said, taking a handful of her hair and drawing her toward him. "Four minutes again. You've done it in less, you know."
But this time it took her five, and during that last minute, she took at least a dozen cuts from Cahill's cat o' nine tails.
Deering was next, and this was a break for Sandy, since he was hot as hell from watching, and came in just under three minutes. Then Eldridge moved her on to Skowron, gave his watch to Deering, and took his own limp cock over to Alice, who set about reviving it while Sandra's vilification continued.
Skowron, when he had lasted nearly four minutes, reached out over my wife's bobbing head and took the whip from Cahill. At Deering's nod, he flicked it down and inward, several of the stinging leather strips wrapping themselves around her right buttock to bite into her crotch. She lurched fully erect, losing his cock for a moment as she let out a whinnying groan of agony.
Then Skowron concentrated on her thighs, reddening them solidly on the backs and sides before his balls broke his mental control and shot their load of cum into Sandra's throat.
Sandra looked faint as, in response to Eldridge's curt instructions, she knee-walked back past me to where Harvey waited, his lengthy, thick hose still pointing straight down.
Cahill took the whip back, and Skowron went over to the bench where Irene had perched, stuffed his half-hard cock into her skillful tunnel and proceeded to work it back to full rigidity therein while he watched Sandra's next ordeal.
Harvey took a full ten minutes to come. And long before he did ... perhaps two minutes into the whipping phase ... Cahill began to jack his own cock frantically with his left hand, while his right sent the wicked beaded strips whistling onto Sandra's back. After four or five such strokes, he dropped the whip and grabbed his balls, his spine arching monstrously, knees shaking, cum spurting from his bullet-shaped cock to spatter and ooze irfSandra's hair.
Skowron had leaped up, snarling scornfully at Cahill as the thin sadist's hips jerked spastically. Now he scooped up the whip and took a vicious backhand swipe across Sandra's ass, then got into position and began a series of wrist-flicking uppercuts into the ripe undercurves of her buttocks. On each of these, one or two of the slashing thongs curled into her crack, to bite the compressed lips of her cunt.
As Harvey came, finally, he toppled stiffly forward, bending Sandra back painfully over her lower legs and scraping feet. He caught himself on bent arms, in pushup position, but Sandra's head thonked down on the stone floor, unconciousness cutting off her choked scream.
Harvey still pumped his cum into her mouth, even as someone to my right began to clap, and the others joined in, applauding his inventive conclusion to the evening's first round of sensual savagery.
Chapter Eleven
Still unconscious, Sandra was lifted to her feet beneath the room's central beam. The women fastened leather cuffs to her wrists and ankles, and then I held her several inches off the floor while Skowron, who was the only one tall enough, hooked her wrist cuffs to the wide-set lengths of chain that hung from the beam.
When I let go, her toes barely scraped the stone floor. And now they were pulled out to either side by Irene and Sharon, and the ankle cuffs chained to plates set in the floor. She hung spreadeagled, her chin on her chest.
Alice Cahill was first to notice the thick moisture that had begun to ooze and drip from Sandra's cunt. "Jesus H. Christ!" she breathed, pointing. "She actually got hot!"
Nodding and laughing, the others gathered around my wife's suspended form. Myra Deering, blushing a little, even crouched and scooted in to lick at the flowing slime and to tongue Sandra's swollen little clit, parting the thinly haired lips with her thumbs. Either because of this stimulation or because of the strain on her shoulders and arms, Sandra came to then, her staring, insane eyes bulging as she perceived her new plight. Eldridge took charge again.
"That's enough, Myra. She hasn't earned such consideration yet. Try my wife's gash, if you're hungry, eh?
"Now, Sandra," he continued, as Myra slunk away, "we're going to give you a bit of a breather. We men are all rather depleted, thanks to your oral talents, and we need a breather too, so the ladies will... entertain you for a while, and then you'll have a chance to repay them for their kindness.
"Rex, we'll need a couple of those thin, springy little switches, and perhaps a bullwhip. Eh, Alice? You, at least, prefer the bullwhip, I believe. Right?"
But when Eldridge tore his eyes from my wife's stretched body to seek a reply from Alice, he found her turned away, looking back toward the fireplace. And there, crouched and holding a short, sharp steel pike in the white-hot coals, was Rex Cahill.
"Rex!" Eldridge barked angrily.
The wiry little man turned his head. His eyes, in the black mask, were glazed.
"No, Rex. I can't allow that. Snap out of it now, boy, and get us a couple switches and the bullwhip. Come on, now, Rex. I've told you before, that sort of thing won't go, with members."
Cahill still crouched by the fire, the pike's reddening point held in the coals. But now, sighing harshly, his wife strode over to him, pried the pike's shaft from his frozen hands, then slapped him sharply in the face, once... twice ... three times, before he shook his head and shrank back from her, blinking bewilderedly.
Alice now took his shoulders and helped him rise, guided him to a bench beside the fireplace and made him lie down.
"Rest, darling," she whispered, stroking his hand. "You'll be all right in a minute."
When she returned to the circle, and we all turned back to face Sandra, Eldridge himself had selected two thin, flexible wooden rods from the tall cabinet, and produced as well a coiled black bullwhip. Alice took the whip, and Irene and Laurel were first in line for the switches, which they brandished with delight, sizzling them through the air before Sandra's frightened eyes.
We men now backed off and took places on the benches, as the five women moved a little distance from their victim and conferred in whispers. Then Alice went to stand near the fireplace, toward which Sandra faced, while Irene and Laurel stood at either side behind her, still whisking their thin, springy rods through the air in practice strokes.
I noted with interest that Cahill, as he saw his wife move toward him with the coiled black lash in her hand, quickly sat up, then cowered back at the farther end of his bench, curled into a foetal ball and peered at her over his knees. But Alice took up a position on the opposite side of the hearth, near where I sat.
Now she uncoiled the whip, flipping its length loosely out on the floor before her, then advancing some four paces toward Sandra, so that she had room for backswing. "Proceed, ladies," she said calmly.
With a whirring swish that ended in a sharp slap and a pained yelp from Sandra, Irene sent the first cut into my wife's right buttock. And she had drawn her weapon back and stood at ease, holding it in both hands, before Laurel struck the left cheek, zzzzzzzzzap!
Irene waited until Laurel in her turn had assumed an at-ease position, then struck again in what appeared to be the exact same spot where her first stripe had been laid on; and this time Laurel was beginning her swing, even as Irene drew back.
Thus the cuts came in pairs now; zzzzzzzzap ... zzzzap, then a pause while Sandra's sharp whimper faded in the silent chamber; zzzzzzap ... zzzap, and another pause, zzzzzzzap ... zzzap! And suddenly, after perhaps a dozen such paired strokes, I saw the lash of Alice's bullwhip flash past me on backswing, then stroke sinuously forward, its nearly invisible tip making a slanting upward slash across Sandra's belly.
"Aaaiieeeee!" The sudden eut brought a shrill, startled scream from her, and her whole body wrenched violently, though the chains suspending her were so taut that her legs and arms hardly moved.
"Just six more, I think, ladies," said Alice. "And, Sandra, listen. It will be when they've stopped that the pain will be worst. You've hardly felt anything yet, compared to the fire that will come a minute or so after those last stripes.
"Six each, of course," she went on, addressing herself to Irene and Laurel again. "And do keep a tight pattern, please."
Even as she spoke the last word, Alice had snapped the birilwhip into a looping, flashing backswing again, and now it shot toward Sandra and cut downward across her belly, the red weal it left forming a perfect X with the previous one.
"Aaaai ... " zzzzzzzap ... zzzap!
"Eeeeee!" zzzzzzap ... zzzap!
"Uuuuuughh! Oh, God, I-"
"DON'T SPEAK!" Eldridge roared.
But Alice was ahead of him. She had sent a flicking backhand shot to Sandra's contorted face, the tip of the lash cutting upward across her right cheek, and drawing an ooze of blood.
Christ, she was good with that whip! zzzzzzzap ... zzzap!
"Aaaaggh!" zzzzzzzap ... zzzap!
It continued, and when the sixth pair of cuts landed, the long black lash was already in flight again, on a sweeping circular course that sent it swishing twice around Sandra's waist before the tip caught its own substance in a flashing flip, and held. And Alice stepped back, pulling it taut, straining Sandra's torso forward till the muscles of her thighs, her upper arms and shoulders stood out grotesquely.
Alice held her thus for long, silent seconds, and then a thin wail of death-throe agony welled up from Sandra's throat... and grew, swelled, filled the room with itself, crushing our ears from inside as the flaming teeth of utmost pain sank ever deeper into Sandra's tortured ass.
Then at last it choked off, and Sandra gasped for air, her breasts heaving desperately over her scorched lungs.
Irene and Laurel now gave their rods to Sharon and Myra. Sharon seemed a bit reluctant to take her turn, but after a little whispered urging from Laurel, she gave in, moving around behind Sandra, while the nervously eager Myra positioned herself in front and unwound the slackened bullwhip from the victim's still-heaving torso.
Coiling the whip again, Alice came forward to stand at Sandra's left.
"I think you must have been wanting to ask for some cock, a moment ago, Sandra. To help you bear the pain, I suppose. Well, perhaps I can help." So saying, she knelt, her bush pressing against Sandra's right calf, and began to insert the blunt, thick butt of the whip's handle into Sandra's cunt. "Have you tried black cock, Sandra?" Alice went on. "It's often this thick, and this hard, though it's seldom really this black."
My wife's pelvis was writhing in frantic response to the dry, tight intrusion, her mount popping forward in little jerks of pleasure. Then, zzzzzzzzikap! Myra's first cut sizzled upward, catching both tits just beneath the nipples. It seemed for a moment to cut them in half, so deep did the rod drive before it sprang back. "Oooheeee! No! I-"
WHAM! Alice drove the whip's handle straight up. I must have smashed or severely scraped Sandra's cervix and sent a bolt of fresh pain straight up through her guts. "No ... words!" Alice hissed. "I'm sorry! I won't ... Aaaaaagghh ... uuuh!" zzzzzzzzikap! zzzzzzzik! "Ooooooooohum!" Both Myra and Sharon had struck, the cuts to tits and small of back coming hard on Alice's second thrust of the whip's hilt to the cringing depths of my wife's cunt.
But now Alice withdrew the black probe and walked back to where Eldridge sat, a little to my right. "She's pretty far gone, Mason," she murmured. "I think we'd better take her down."
"Yes. In just a minute," he said tightly. "Let Myra get a few kicks, and then we will."
Myra was getting her kicks at that momen';. A gargoyle grimace of hate froze on her face as sne poured slash after slash of the spitting stick onto Sandra's reddened tits. She had moved to the side, and was using both hands and her whole body to burn the sizzling cuts in.
Sharon was stroking perhaps one blow to Myra's three, her jaw set and unsmiling, and she spaced them up and down Sandra's legs and back, never covering a former stripe with a fresh one.
But now Eldridge rose and called a halt to this phase of the proceedings, and while Skowron and I helped him take Sandra's sob-racked form down, the women prepared for the next ritual.
This consisted in all five of them lying on the huge plank table, three on one side, two on the other, their buttocks resting at its very edge, legs hanging down and spread wide. Eldridge half-carried Sandra to the nearer end of the table, placing her on her knees before Sharon's gaping, pulpy, sparse-haired gash.
"You want cock, Sandra; I know," he crooned, bending over her from behind as he held her shoulders. "And you'll have cock ... plenty of it. But first you must eat. A little Lesbian banquet, my dear, and then cock for dessert, eh?"
Sandra was now moaning and whimpering almost continually, but she nodded in immediate submission, then slumped forward, her face sinking straight into Sharon's swampy loins.
Eldridge lifted her hands to the table's edge, outside Sharon's thighs. "Don't fall asleep, my dear," he urged. "Keep that tongue moving, please."
Sandra's throat was working, and Sharon began to writhe and sigh, humping her hips up a little. But very soon, Eldridge pulled Sandra's head away and moved her along to the right, to. Laurel. As he did, Jack Deering stepped between Sharon's tensed thighs and drove his tool in.
"Rex, we'll need you," Eldridge called, while Sandra was rooting in the red-fuzzed mire of Laurels's slot. "And, gentlemen, please don't come. We want you all hard and loaded for the next activity, you know."
When Sandra was moved on to Alice, I stepped into the breach with Laurel, and when Eldridge again pulled Sandra back and led her around the table's end to where Irene's blonde pussy gaped open, Don Harvey appeared on my right, feeding his fantastic prong into Alice's well-lubricated hole. Cahill joined us in time to replace Sandra's tongue with his prick in Irene's cunt, and then for a long time I watched Myra Deering thrash and spasm, screeching joyously as Sandra tongued her close to climax. And at this point Sandra astonished me by reaching up to grasp and maul Myra's small breasts as she feasted in her furrow.
When Eldridge pulled her away at last, Skowron took over^ and drove Myra to a screaming, teeth-gnashing orgasm with perhaps six jarring thrusts of his thick marauder.
When I pulled abruptly out of Laurel, knowing I'd come if I let her grinding, gripping tissues hold ' me a second longer, I turned to find that Eldridge had already fastened Sandra's ankle cuffs to a pair of chains at the base of the long wall, and was just then attaching her wrists to the high pair, so that she stood spreadeagled against the rough stone, her back to the room's interior.
"Over here now, gentlemen," the older man called, tugging one edge of his black half-hood into place after his exertions. "The little lady had earned some cock!"
Sandra turned her head back sharply, and watched with hungry eyes as the five of us ... black-masked, naked, our pricks soaring before us like thick antennae ... moved toward her in a ragged group.
"I'm going to go first, gentlemen," Eldridge announced when we stood in a loose semicircle around Sandra's splayed form against the dark, ragged wall. "And, Vic, I'd like you to be last. The rest of you can work it out among yourselves. And, of course, use either hole, or both; and if you can come, in a reasonable amount of time, why, so much the better."
He turned to face Sandra. "You may talk now, my dear bitch. We'll want to hear you tell us how much you appreciate our cocks."
She couldn't turn her head far enough to meet Eldridge's eyes, and the chains held her so close to the wall that almost no movement of her torso was possible, so after trying to turn her face to him, Sandra merely tipped her head back, her chin pressed to the cold stone.
"Yes, Mason! Your cock! I need a cock in me! I can't... Uuhgh! Oh, thank you, Mason! Yessss! Oooooh, pump! Hurt me! My ... my tits are... ohhhugg! Smash them! Cut 'em! More!"
He was in her cunt, his knees bending slightly before each upward surge, and each one crashed Sandra audibly against the stone, scraping her shoulders and tits, her belly and hips against its rough surface.
His arms went out along hers, and he gripped her wrists, seeming to hang on her back for a second as he slumped down from each thrust, then snapping up to smash her once more against the thousands of tiny stone teeth that ate at her frontal flesh.
I stood farthest to the left in the waiting semicircle, and as Eldridge quickened and shortened his strokes in orgasmic frenzy, I could see blood-trickles flowing outward from Sandra's torn breasts and belly, under the pressure of his battering.
His pasping, coughing come was accompanied by shrill cries from my insatiable bitch of a wife. "More, Mason! Don't stop! Ohhh, hurt me! Cock me! More cock-fuck-smash-kill... FUCK, Mason!"
And when he dropped his arms and backed away.
"Oh! Oh, hurry! Somebody' give me cock! I can't-UHH!"
Cahill had leaped forward and flung himself flat against her, his head driving hers forward to smack against the stone wall. Now she was silent, dazed, and he stepped back a few inches, then drove his thumbs like talons into the crack of her ass, hooking the ruddy cheeks apart. There was stark madness in his face again, and when he had stabbed his pointy cock an inch or so into Sandra's stubborn tailhole, he began to pummel her high on the rib-cage, one fist and then the other, driving her from side to side, so that her tattered tits left smears of fresh gore on the stones.
CahilPs second lunge drove his cock hilt-deep, and he held there, his hips spasming from side to side as his fists continued to batter Sandra just beneath the armpits. He was coming already.
With one final fierce jerk and jam of his loins, he slammed his head forward, smashing his own forehead against the stone, to bite savagely into the taut muscle ridge joining Sandra's left shoulder to her neck. He had begun to shake his head, tearing viciously at the white flesh clamped between his teeth, when Skowron pulled him off, spun him easily around and pushed him headlong in the direction of Alice.
"Curb your dog before he kills the bitch!" Skowron snarled at the little brunette. "Put him to bed or something, for Christ's sake!"
Alice took Cahill in her arms, soothing him with whispers and caresses, Harvey stepped forward now, his huge cock arching up till it nearly touched his navel. He pried it forward, bent his knees and snubbed it up to Sandra's slot just as she regained her voice.
"Oh, yes! More cock! Pleeeeease! I need ... My cunt's. .. Ohhh! Who's ...? Yessss! All of it, Don! Ohhh, fuck me-eee!"
He had slid the first third in easily, then driven upward to sheathe the middle third, Sandra's straining cunt-rim compressing about it. But now, thrust as he might, her position seemed to prevent his driving the thick base into her.
Whether out of compassion or merely for better leverage, Harvey now reached around Sandra, wedging his hands up to cup her bloody breasts. Then, by pressing his chest to her back, he held her torso nearly still as he strove to propel his cock's broad base into her strained hole. Her hips and belly still grated against the wall with each looping forward jab of his loins, however, and little brooks of blood continued to spread across her thighs.
Sweat had begun to pour down Harvey's back, and Sandra's exhortations were sporatic now, her tone laced with pain, even as she urged him on.
"Oh, God! Yes! More! Ha-ugh-harder! Ohhhhh, good cock! Kill me!"
Harvey's thrusts still failed to sink the base of his massive meat out of sight. But the seven or so inches that he was able to work up and down in Sandra's clutching box were apparently enough, for now his rhythm broke, his back straightened, and, legs straining, he lifted Sandra as high as her leg-chains would allow, in a grinding, groaning frenzy of spurting delirium.
"Ohhhhh, I can feel it!" Sandra crowed. "Come, Don! Smash me ... fill me ... kill meeee ... ooohhhhyessss! Aaaahhgg ... COCK! MORE COCK!"
He had pulled out, and he nearly lost his balance and fell as he turned away from her, his hands and forearms smeared back and front with blood, both fresh and drying.
"Pleeeeease!" Sandy wailed, grinding her belly against the abrasive rock. "I need cock! Fuck me, somebody! Oh, hurry!"
Jack Deering, on my right, seemed to expect me to be next, but I shook my head, too revolted to want to approach this writhing, crazed bitch I'd been hoodwinked into marrying. I was hard, yes; but at that moment I'd sooner have stuck my aching cock into a garbage grinder than into the body of this screeching, spasming banshee.
Shrugging, Deering stepped up behind Sandra, pressed her buttocks apart and aimed his pointy tool at her anus.
"No!" she cried angrily. "My cunt! Cock in my cunt!"
"Shut up," Deering gritted, as he drove forward, sinking to the balls in one vicious stroke that smacked her belly against the stone. "Push back, and I'll take care of your cunt too."
Eagerly, and still begging for cock as if she couldn't even feel the solid intruder in her shit-hole, Sandra pushed her hips back from the wall, enabling Deering to cram both hands past the tops of her thighs, his fingers hooking into her bushy slot.
This grip proved even more effective than Harvey's at keeping Sandra's body in place. As her fucker whipped his meat in and out of her rectum, her breasts, shoulder-fronts and forehead were in contact with the ragged stone, but hardly moved at all; no new rivulets of blood appeared during the six or seven minutes it took Deering to empty his balls in the bitch's clutching bowel.
Throughout this period, Sandra kept up a hysterical tirade of instructions and pleas, alternately urging Deering to pinch and crush her clit; and screaming for a real cock in her cunt.
It was becoming more revolting by the minute, and when he came at last, I discovered that I'd lost my erection.
Deering stepped back, then moved away. Now only Skowron and myself stood close to Sandra, who was screaming for cock again as she battered herself against the unyielding wall she was chained to.
"Your turn, Tom," Skowron said, eyeing my shrunken, drooping prick. "Jack it up and stuff it in, kid. Come on!"
"Fuck you!" I spat back. "I live with this bitch!"
Then I calmed down a little, and smiled. "Look, I pass. I could get more kicks corn-holing the dog I bought to keep her supplied with cock."
Suddenly, on a vengeful impulse, I raised my voice, turning toward Eldridge and the others on the benches. "Hey, I'll bet she didn't tell you! I bought Sandra a big, horny dog named Bruno, and she's fucked him to a frazzle every night this week! Goes after him every morning, too, but even he can't stand that much of her! And tell 'em about this noon, Sandra. Tell 'em how you dashed home at noon for another go at Bruno's big prick!"
Suddenly Sandra was silent, her face pressed straight against the stone wall. Her body trembled.
"Tell 'em!" I raged. "They ought to know what a cock-crazy slut you really are! What a... What an animal! You'll never be a member of this club, Sandra! You'll be its mascot! All you are is one big, bloody, hungry cunt, walking around screaming for cock!"
She had begun to shudder violently, but still she spoke not a word. And as I spun away, still livid with anger, to sit by myself on the bench where Cahill had crouched earlier, Skowron moved up behind her.
"Here it comes, cunt," he said heavily. "Are you ready? Do you need it? When I'm through with you, there may not be much left but that hot slot of yours. But that's the only important part, anyway, isn't it, Sandy?"
She was still silent, her torso heaving now as she pulled in great gulps of air, her legs still shuddering.
Skowron slashed a flat-handed blow to the side of her head, breaking her cheek open against the stone. "ANSWER!" he roared. "When I ask a question, you ... "
"Yes!" Sandy shrieked. "Yes, yes, yes! Give me cock in my cunt! That's all that matters! Cock! More cock!"
"All right," said Skowron, butting his hips forward to drive Sandra's belly against the wall, his jutting cock still unsheathed. "I can beat your worthless brains out; right? Scrape your tits off, bore holes in your belly, cut your legs off for dogfood ..."
"Cock!" Sandra whimpered insanely. "Yes! Kill me with cock!"
"As long as you've got these two holes for cock," Skowron chanted, jamming his thumb abruptly into her anus and his fingers into her slot, to punctuate the word, "you'll be the same old Sandy. Right?"
"Yesss!" she screeched. "Anything! Just give me COCK!"
And then he gave it to her ... first in the cunt, for eight or ten. blistering explosions of his hips that drove her so forcefully against the jagged stones that blood sprayed out to both sides... And then, slamming his flat hands against her shoulders to wrench free, he drove his thick staff into her quivering ass and battered her even more fiercely, until thick rivers of her blood appeared on the wall between her widespread thighs, and made their jagged way down to form a spreading puddle on the floor.
Now Skowron slammed his black-hooded head brutally against the back of her neck as he dragged his prick from her bowels and drove it once more into the foaming chasm of her cunt.
WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! Fresh rivulets of blood blazed crimson trails down the wall, as Sandra's mindless chant went on.
I lost count of the times Skowron shifted his slashing attack from cunt to asshole, asshole to cunt. It may have gone on for five minutes or twenty-five, his every stroke so violent that when he came, there was n" perceptible difference in the action, except that his grunts of exertion increased in volume for perhaps the last dozen heaving jolts that ground my bitchwife's gory pulp against the smeared and drizzling stone.
Then he fell back suddenly, spinning to his knees, eyes staring, gaping mouth drooling.
And Sandra was silent again, her bloodied head lolling back grotesquely, her legs in total collapse, so that she hung limp from the wrist-chains. I might have thought her dead, had not her breathing continued to heave her back and buttocks out from the wall in ragged spasms.
Eldridge lifted his head from Myra Deering's crotch, where they lay locked in 69 on one of the benches. "Magnificent, Vic! A perfect climax ... if I may so use the word ... to our new member's initiation!"
Skowron shook his head and clambered to his feet, then staggered toward the bench where Irene awaited him. Now Eldridge addressed me:
"Would you take her down and clean her up, please, Tom? I do think she'd want it to be you."
I nodded assent, and began to rise, but he went on.
"The rest of us, I think, will go upstairs, where there are softer surfaces to play on; eh, Myra? Join us when you like, Tom and even if Sandra's had enough cock for tonight, we'll see that you find a place for your prick."
As I moved to Sandra and knelt to study the fastenings of her ankle chains, the other members rose and went two-by-two up the stairs, leaving us alone.
For a moment, staring into the pool of blood between her feet, I almost felt sorry for Sandra. But she changed that quickly enough;
With a sudden breathy moan, she came awake, snapping her head up, her legs straightening. And as I rose to turn her face to me and tell her it was over ... before she could possibly have known it was I who stood close to her ... she croaked out, "Cock! More cock! I need ... "
"Sandy, stop it! It's over! Let me get you loose and-"
"Nooo!" she screamed, her eyes fixing brightly on me as I reached up to free her right wrist. "I want cock, Tommy! If you're not man enough to fuck me, then don't touch me. I hate you, hate you!"
I would have slapped her face, but it was a mass of torn skin and drying blood, and I was loath to touch it. Gritting my teeth, I moved behind her and freed the other wrist, and as she staggered back a step, snapping both ankle chains taut before she had her balance, I went to my knees again, bent beneath her ravaged body to remove her right ankle cuff.
"Tommy," she panted, "you've got to fuck me. Now! I need cock!"
I dropped my weight onto an elbow, turning my head back sharply to look up past the tattered mass of gore that had been her belly and breasts.
"No, Sandra. Not now, and not ever, bitch!"
She was silent then, her whole body shuddering as I turned back to the business of the leg chains. Then:
"Here, Tommy," she gritted hatefully. "This is for you."
Before I could pause to wonder what she meant... splut! A warm, gooey blob hit my shoulder and spread oozily onto my upper arm.
I jerked back, but that only caused me to catch the second blob of slimy shit on the side of my face.
Roaring with rage, I slammed straight up, my back catching her in the crotch just as a third turd burst from her flaccid asshole. But as I lurched erect against the wall, Sandra cartwheeled off me to the left, and then the one remaining ankle chain snapped tight and brought her crashing to the floor in a crumpled heap.
I bent and ripped that cuff open, grabbed her ankle in both hands and dragged her across the floor toward the alcove, her back leaving streaks of new blood on the stones.
I remember that blood, and the good tug of my leg muscles as I dragged her into the tiny bathroom in the alcove. I remember that her head bounced loosely off the base of the doorframe. Then, somehow, I had her on her feet ... conscious or unconscious, I know not ... and bent over the toilet as I held her waist from behind.
My cock was hard, and I know I drove it into her sopping cunt without help from my hands. Her face lolled in the toilet bowl, making bursts of bubbles as my savage lunges drove the breath from her.
"You want cock, you piece of shit? Here! Here! Here! Here!..."
I know that I didn't come. But how long it was before I stopped trying, I have no idea.
When I let her fall, she was dead.
Chapter Twelve
It took some doing to get them all assembled in the Cahills' living room without explaining my purpose, but I did it. Every word, every inflection, as couple by couple I summoned them, was exactly, fantastically right ... like I was a hypnotist, with absolute power over all of them.
Even Eldridge, though he was the most persistent with questions, seemed unable to protest when I tore him away from Laurel Skowron's machine-gunning crotch and led them both in to join the assemblage.
I stood with my back to the heavy door at the head of the stairs to The Chamber.
"Gentlemen," I began. "And ladies... I don't suppose it could ever be determined just which of you is most to blame for my wife's... er, untimely demise."
Sharon Harvey gasped, and seemed about to speak, but I silenced her with a cold stare.
"Yes. She's dead. But then, I really don't see why the fault should ever have to be determined. For the club's sake, I intend to report to the police ... after a few days of course; perhaps two or three weeks... I shall report that she has apparently left me, and disappeared. And I'm sure I can entrust to you, Rex and Alice, as our hosts tonight, the details of making sure that she stays disappeared, eh? Yes.
"Now, this will mean, I believe, that it will be some time before I can legally remarry. However, I intend to keep the club together."
Eldridge's mouth was hanging open, but there was admiration in his eyes.
"You may have to go on without me for a few weeks," I continued, smiling condescendingly, "but then 111 be back, and with a lovely new partner for pur enjoyment, who will be my wife in every sense but the legal one. Just as these ladies, I might add, gentlemen, are your wives in every sense but the sexual."
"Now, if we understand one another, I think we should continue the evening's fun."
I paused, scanning their faces. Then:
"I believe I'll want Laurel, Mason, so perhaps you'll switch over to Sharon, while Rex goes downstairs and ... cleans things up a little. Yes, Rex. Run along now. Good show, boy."
"Tom I know it's silly, but I just can't... Well, if you could marry me, I mean really, legally, I guess it might be different. It's just that I always promised myself I'd... well, save it for my husband... for the wedding night. I mean even ... touching.
"And, Tom, even if we could get married, somehow, I... Well, Tommy, I don't mean to hurt your feelings, but your job doesn't pay much, and. .. Well, you don't even have your own car, for instance. I just can't understand how your mother lets you keep her car all the time when you never even..."
Denise talked on, now and then glancing with mild annoyance at my hand on her left shoulder, then turning back to feed me more shit about all the things that were wrong with me.
I looked at my watch, then raised my finger to her lips, shushing her.
