Dr. John Lamberson, professor of psychology at Brandon University, had a hard-on. Up to a few weeks ago, he would have called it an erection, but that was before he met Pamela Marsh, his new assistant, and began to discuss his project.
The hard-on was an annoyance. It was undeniable evidence that his scholarly mind might be diverted, and that simply would not do. The idea of his project had germinated in his mind two years ago. It had been nurtured and cultivated during months of discussion with his colleagues at Brandon, by correspondence with a dozen highly qualified scholars, and now it was a reality. But, this erection--hard-on, he quickly corrected himself--gave him his first twinge of doubt.
If a simple briefing on his project--and with the assistant who would be with him throughout its all-important field work--could cause an erection, how could he retain his objectivity throughout the demanding period when every word might be pivotal, when every action, every nuance of behavior would be relevant to the success of his lifework?
He went back over his most recent meeting with Pamela, for in that meeting, he believed, he might find the key.
She had brought him the color shots of herself, as he had ordered. They were not particularly extreme, as such intimate photos went. Indeed, the comparable shots mailed to him by the other three couples he had selected for his basic survey were much more detailed, much more explicit.
The Malones, Carol and Jim, who lived right in Sonar Beach, had sent pictures of themselves--well--fucking. He had called it copulating, and Pamela had courageously set him right on such usage. Directly, forcefully.
"For Christ's sake, Professor," she had said after a smothered laugh, "these people aren't scholars--they're swingers. Not only would they laugh at you, they'd call the whole deal off. The motivation behind sexual freedom is to get away from anti-sexual bondage--and euphemisms are the perfect symbol of the bullshit world they're fighting. Say balling, screwing, fucking--even laying would pass, although it's sort of old-fashioned. So come on--what are the Malones doing?"
Calmly, since a scholar's mind is free from embarrassment, he had said: "Fucking, of course, and thank you, Pamela. And let me say once more, I'm fortunate to have you as my assistant."
It had been the same with the photos sent by Del Fredericks and his small, generously built wife, Marina. They, too, were fucking, with complete unselfconsciousness, although some nude figures dimly seen in the background indicated that there were witnesses present--witnesses other than the photographer. And with considerable verve and imagination, he had noted.
In one superb shot, the small but curvaceous brunette was on her hands and knees, with Del standing at the edge of the bed, actually penetrating her, uh, cunt. So Pamela had called it. And she had been the very essence of tact, kindliness, and professional courtesy in setting him right.
"Really, John," she had said--by this time, they were on a first-name basis--"we're simply going to have to have a session on nomenclature. That is not a vagina, those are not labia minora and labia majora, and he is not 'inserting his penis' into the lady. That's a cunt, those are cuntlips, and he's shoving his cock into her! I don't give a damn what sort of descriptives you use in your learned paper--but when we're out there in the field, researching, you'd better watch it! I know how much this project means to you--don't blow it!"
Therefore, on the next series of pictures, the ones sent by Mr. and Mrs. Duke--Harley and Christine--he had "cooled it," to use Pamela's crisp colloquialism, blushingly glad that he had refrained from such terms as "fellatio", "cunnilingus", and "oral sex."
"Wow, get a load of this," Pamela had exclaimed. "She is really going down on the guy! Check that tension in her throat muscles, the cheeks all sunken in! What a blow job! He must not have much of a cock, though--none of it shows."
But Pamela had immediately corrected herself when she saw the next picture, in which Harley, a genial and chubby little man, had posed alone.
"Brother, was I wrong!" Pamela had declared admiringly. "What a roll of meat! Seven inches, maybe eight. And that fat blonde swallowed it all!" She turned back to the previous picture, shaking her head in open admiration. "It must be halfway down to her lungs," Pamela had said. "That woman really can suck a cock!"
Thus, by keeping his mouth shut and letting Pamela carry the ball, so to speak, he had gathered knowledge by osmosis, storing her earthy, pungent, extremely pictorial language away as a squirrel hoards nuts. But how had she, an earnest, hard-working graduate student, not far from her own Ph.D. in sociology, been able to learn these things? He wished he dared ask. It might hold the key to his own failure at marriage. There seemed so much gusto in sex as these people practiced it, and it seemed plausible that, as Pamela had said: "Fucking is a drag when you call it intercourse. To enjoy a good fuck, you need a strong desire, a strong back, a strong stomach, and a strong mind. I can't imagine a guy who called it intercourse really Harley?--or eating pussy with such evident relish!"
Of course he had balked, absolutely balked, when Pamela had demanded that he and she be photographed in similar poses.
"No, dear," he had said obstinately, "I'm explaining that we're new to this, uh, scene, and I'm sure they'll accept single photos. I'll just say that we ran out of film and that I wanted to get the pictures off at once." And nothing she could say had shaken him.
His own photos were, he thought, quite attractive. There was no way of taking comparative data, at least not in the definitive sense, but his penis--his cock, that is--seemed to be as long and as thick as any of the other fellows. Jim Malone, a big, hulking fellow who looked like a defensive tackle for a pro football team, had evoked some admiring comments from Pam, but then, after all, so had Harley Duke and that slim, intense-looking gentleman from Anaheim, Del Fredericks, He smiled fondly. To a sheltered, protected, scholarly girl like Pam, any man's cock would appear big and deliriously menacing.
The professor hadn't shown Pamela his own photos, so carefully taken by himself, with a remote control device on his Polaroid. If he did say so himself, his cock compared favorably with any of them. And his lean, hard, hairy body, a tribute to his good habits and regular exercise, would be a bait for the women. And they were the ones who counted, as far as his project was concerned.
He recalled with a slightly guilty grin, how he had prepared for his own photos. Ordinarily, he only masturbated when it was absolutely necessary--when his sexual cravings got beyond the limits of his endurance, and began to interfere with his work. Teaching in a coeducational university, with all that hot, tender, jiggling young flesh all about him, he reached these limits more often than he would have liked. But, after all, Dr. Reuben's masterful book had dispelled all those old wives' tales of damage by masturbation.
And it so happened that at least three young ladies in his classes had not worn panties on this particular day. So, having focused the camera, he had simply disrobed, thought of one of the girls--the blonde one who had deliberately, it seemed to him, sat with her thighs wide apart to show a shaded patch of blonde pubic hair--and begun to jerk his cock slowly and gently, rolling the pink and wrinkled foreskin back off the reddening knob.
He had even used some K.Y. jelly, left over from his marriage. It was slicker than spit, less messy than cold cream or Vaseline, and gave a wonderfully slick and shiny gleam to the purple-red head.
It had really been a most pleasurable session.
Between pulling out the exposed film, resetting the shutter, and getting back into place, he had kept it hard by a few strokes. He had several poses. The best, naturally, were profile views, showing his cock, so hard that it bent like a scimitar, jutting up at a forty-five-degree angle.
There was one, unfortunately, that he couldn't show to anyone. It was the last one he took, and he had stopped thinking of the blonde girl's pussy. Instead, for no reason that he could put his finger on, his thoughts had swerved back through the past three years. To Helen, the woman he had loved and married. And lost.
Helen, with her long, dark-brown hair, her lovely body, her tight and willing vagina, her full, gently rounded breasts. Damn it! Suppose he had known then what he was beginning only now to learn--that even gently bred women, college women like Pamela, loved the strong, earthy, free-wheeling words like cunt and cock and fuck. What had Pam said? "A guy who calls it intercourse can't enjoy it too much!" Maybe Helen couldn't enjoy it much, either--doing it with a man who, from old habit, called it intercourse.
In any case, feeling the pressing heat of semen too long contained, caught up in the primal pleasure of sex, enjoying the long, slow strokes of his warm hand along the full length of his prick, he had faltered as his toe reached for the carefully placed cable-release. And he had thought of the shell-pink inner lips, framed in crisp and curly hair, the warm and flowing lips of Helen's cunt.
And he had begun to come. The camera had caught it all--his face contorted with lust, his hand, slick with the K.Y. jelly, the long string of semen shooting out in a white arc almost directly at the camera. It was a damned shame that he couldn't show that picture. His cock was, naturally, larger, even if only a millimeter or so. And its colors were so brilliant, so lifelike. But it just wouldn't do. Not even to show the women, whose interest was, after all, a major factor in the premise of his study. A woman, especially a hot woman, wouldn't be interested in a man who beat his meat.
It had been a thrilling moment, however, to him. The loss of objectivity, even though it showed a weakness, a flaw in his devotion, had given him a new, richer feeling all through his reproductive system. He even felt real pride in the mass of gism--where in the world had Pamela picked up that word?--and the distance to which it had shot.
With his orderly mind brought back from this digression, Lamberson returned to the puzzle of his hard-on. It wasn't the pictures of herself which Pamela had brought him, although they were delightful. It had been difficult not to show some emotion as he viewed them for the first time. And even more difficult not to show surprise.
On campus, and in their previous meetings, Pamela's costume had seldom varied. Oversize sweat shirts of various colors and with numerous rather odd mottoes on their backs, and jeans. So, until his amazed eyes took in the Polaroid perfection of his assistant in all her naked richness, he had assumed that her body would have the same scholarly mediocrity of her general appearance--no make-up, straight blonde hair pulled back into an uncompromising bun, expressionless face made more so by heavy, horn-rimmed glasses.
But alone in her room--and she must have been alone, he believed--some new spirit had come to her along with nudity. With her hair flowing over her shoulders, with the heavy glasses gone and a pixieish smile replacing them, she expressed a personality that went with her body. Her surprising body.
Such fantastic lushness to keep concealed under sweat shirts and jeans! Not that her breasts were so large. They were just right for her slender body--pear-shaped, with large, pink nipples, and with enough weight and fullness to turn the nipples out at right angles to each other. Her belly was perfect. Smoothly and sweetly rounded, and decorated at its triangular base by a soft puff of blonde hair. The camera had been perfectly focused--every hair seemed to be visible, and parted so that a pink gleam showed where the cuntlips opened. Or perhaps that was just his imagination, the professor thought.
Her hips were small but beautifully molded; her thighs were larger than he would have expected, strong and richly curved. If he had had to describe her legs in one word, the word would have been "perfect".
And even so, the pictures had not given him a hard-on.
No, it was something unsubstantial, something he couldn't put his finger on. Was it the difference in dress? It didn't seem likely. She had worn a dress, rather than her usual garb. It was hardly more than a long crocheted shirt, as a matter of fact, but he was accustomed to seeing girls in micro-minis. He suspected that she had not had a stitch on under the dress, but that was such a common practice at Brandon that one assumed it, unconsciously.
If it had happened to him because of a meeting with another woman, he might have asked Pam about it--she was amazingly aware of what went on in people's minds.
John Lamberson sighed, stood up, and began to undress. The hard-on was still there, waiting, warm, throbbing. He would have to jerk off if he expected to get to sleep. But this time, he knew, it wouldn't be Helen he thought of in the last few exciting moments before he stroked the sperm out of his balls. Even if Helen's vagina--cunt, he reminded himself--was the only one with which he had had much experience. Not tonight.
Tonight he would think of that barely visible pinkness between the parted blonde cunt hairs in Pamela's pictures. The guessed-at tightness, the wishfully imagined flutter of lubricated cuntlips, the expectable surge of response as her girlishly rounded ass came spiraling up to meet his manly thrusts.
He thought of Pam, probably disrobed and ready for bed, and reached for the K.Y. jelly. She would be thinking of their project, the trip to Sonar Beach, the excitement of the survey.
The professor was right. Pamela was disrobed and ready for bed. Not quite ready, actually. She and the other three girls who shared the apartment were crowded together on one of the double beds in the big room, and Pam, sitting cross-legged with her sensitive twat picking up tiny messages of pleasure from its contact with the sheet, had not yet put on her nightie. Her arms were folded to support her breasts, which peeped out like pink-nosed pets. The tall brunette, Meg Gordon, had just leaned over and kissed one of them, so that the nipple was rising to hardness.
"What a crime that all this lovely stuff will be shacked up with a dull bastard like the prof," she giggled. "But of course, in this swap-scene survey, you'll be getting plenty, anyhow. Won't you, doll?"
Pam flushed slightly. "Don't sell Dr. Lamberson short," she replied. "I know he's never made a pass at anything female on this campus--at least, that's the story. But I swear on a Bible that he had a hard-on tonight!"
"You're kidding," said Nora Gregg, the redhead with the big tits. "I took his Goddamned classes for three years, and I did everything but rape him on his podium. No shit, Pam, I actually pretended to stumble, once, and fell right between his legs. I gave him a feel--two or three of them--and I might as well have been playing with a rag doll. A very small rag doll," she laughed. "And that's not all--for the whole three years, I leaned across his desk without a bra to hide my goodies--I rubbed against him at the door, and in the hall--I sat in that drafty room with no panties on and my legs spread open until I almost got pneumonia. And I'm not the only one. I'll bet there are fifty women here at Brandon, right now, who'd bet two to one that he can't even get a hard-on!"
Pam shook her blonde head, looking pleased and superior.
"Nevertheless, Nora, he had one tonight," she insisted.
Nancy Wheaton, a bleached blonde with a thick bush of dark hair in her crotch, rubbed a warm hand across Pam's firm belly, extending her fingers down to stroke the blonde patch at its bottom. "What'd you do--show him this cute little hot-spot?" she teased.
"No, I didn't, Nancy," Pam answered. "I did something simple and crude and old-fashioned, and I don't really know why I did." She looked around her at all the girls, her face serious.
"Ever since I knew for sure we were going--when good old John showed me the four-thousand-dollar check from the regents, and gave me a firm commitment on the job--I've asked myself if I really cared whether he and I got on a personal basis together. And I wasn't certain that I cared."
She thought for a minute and went on. "But the more we worked out the details, and I saw what a sweet, naive, generous person he was, the more I wanted to see him get more out of this project than just some dry-balled data."
"Making an in-depth study of a bunch of wife-swappers isn't exactly dry-balled action," Meg suggested seriously. "You know we've all wondered how he was going to get along in a free-wheeling scene like that." She laughed. "For a scholar, he's an attractive man. You know that those hot chicks are going to go after him. If he doesn't fuck them, how's he going to get any information out of them?" Her voice had become thicker with excitement, and she leaned closer to rub against Pam. Her face went down to the blonde's lap. "Oh, baby!" she groaned. "What's that fucky smell?"
Nancy leaned closer. "Did you say funky?" she asked.
"No, I said fucky," Meg replied firmly. "It smells good enough to eat!"
Pam pushed the big girl's head away, laughing. "That's what I did to the professor," she said.
"You know, I said it was something simple and old-fashioned? And you know that one hell of a lot of women have done everything except grab John's dong right out of his pants? Well, I made a wild guess."
She paused, and the other girls waited impatiently. "Go on, damn it," Nora said. "What did you do?"
"Well," said Pam, "I figured that, besides being a very complex man, who hadn't responded to any of the sophisticated approaches that have been tried on him, he was pretty much the same as any other man in one area of his personality. One place where he was the way nature made him. Like every other human, male or female, John Lamberson is an animal. Even with all the years of education, even with his years of non-experience, even with his years of failure and disappointment as a man--and believe me, that's what's wrong with him--he's still an animal. With an animal's instincts!"
There were quick looks of astonishment from all three of the girls, and a smothered laugh from Nora. "A very tame animal," the redhead observed.
"He hasn't been tamed--he's been ground down," Pam said with firm loyalty. "He never had a chance to learn what to do with a woman. Or what the right woman could do for him. I don't know in detail what loused up his marriage, and he's not the kind to talk--except that he has told me a lot by what he doesn't do and doesn't say. You know what I mean?"
Meg nodded, but Nora was determined. "What did you do to him?" she persisted.
"Did you ever wonder why boy dogs appear out of nowhere when a bitch comes in heat?" Pam asked. "And why they chase a hot bitch for hours on end, until they're lathered with sweat, panting, and weak-kneed? It's the female odor that gets them!" She nodded emphatically. "So that's what I did."
Her three listeners looked puzzled and waited.
"For the last three days, when I showered, I took special care not to wash my pussy," she declared. "And this afternoon, when I tested it with my finger and my nose, it was really ripe!" She hugged her breasts, rocking with silent laughter. "And I went to the dime-store and asked Lydia, you know, the real dark kid at the perfume counter, for some honest-to-God whorehouse perfume."
"You sure got it," observed Meg. "I've never been in a whorehouse, but that's the fuckiest smell I ever smelled. So you doused little pussy with it?"
"Oh, no!" Pam said firmly. "I did what those stupid woman-type magazines recommend. I dabbed a little bit in each armpit, a little behind each ear, another dab on each nipple. I even put a drop or two in my navel. But I figured my little snatch would do its own thing."
Nancy laughed. "And you mean to say that Square John, the original ironman of Brandon U., got his animal instincts aroused by that?" she demanded.
Meg looked up from Pamela's lap. "I believe it," she declared. "It's the wildest scent I ever sniffed. Come on, baby, let's go to bed. I want some of this myself!"
"No, by God!" Nora cried. "Not yet! What did you do?" She shook Pamela determinedly, the motion setting the slim blonde's breasts to quivering.
"I didn't really do anything," Pam laughed. "I sat as close to him as I could get--we had to look at pictures of the ones he'd set up for--I guess you'd call them swap dates. I leaned in close, so he couldn't miss the perfume. And I kept my legs open as wide as I could, so he couldn't miss this perfume." She gestured to her crotch. "You know how warm it's been all day. Even I could smell my pussy."
"Nasty old thing!" Meg murmured, forcing her hand between Pam's cuntlips. "And he really began to get it up?"
"Gradually," Pam said. "The sweet thing! He tried to move, tried to hide it. But I kept my place. You know his desk is placed against the wall."
"All this happened in his office?" Nora inquired.
"Sure, where else?" Pam answered. "He never, never has opened the door to where he sleeps. And it kept creeping along his thigh, getting bigger and harder. And when he started looking at my pictures, he started to stand up, and I guess it was just too hard. He just said something banal, like 'It's time you went home, Pamela,' and I figured there was no use pressing my luck. So I left."
The three girls looked at each other, their eyes full of interest, and Nora ran her pink tongue around her lips. "Jesus, I'm hot," she breathed. "How big was it, Pam?"
"Plenty big," Pam answered. "We just had the desk light on, and his crotch was in the shadows. It looked like it was bigger than average. Seven inches, at least. Maybe bigger."
"I never saw an eight-inch cock," Nancy said reverently. "Not that I remember, anyhow. And I'd remember!" She had her arm around Nora, her hand cupping one of the redhead's tits, pulling at the hardening nipple. She reached under Meg's nightgown with her other hand, enjoying the warm, smooth firmness of the tall girl's ass. Her fingers reached into the cleft between Meg's buttocks, and she drew in her breath sharply. "Meggie-baby," she whispered. "Your cunt's leaking!"
Meg, her head still buried in Pam's fragrant lap, hunched back at the seeking fingers. "What did you expect?" she asked. "My hard-on's not as big as the professor's, but I've got my own teeny-weeny version of it." She sat up, her short nightie pulled up around her hips so they all could see the dark sprouting of hair between her thighs. She put her arms around Pam, her forearm pressing against the blonde girl's breasts. "I've got an idea," she whispered.
"I've got several ideas," Nora said. "What's yours?"
"Well," Meg laughed, "since my bed partner, here, is going to be leaving us soon, and since she's got all this cheese-and-cream that she built up for the professor, let's all of us lick her--and then let's have a little daisy chain!"
They spread Pamela open at the edge of the bed, her feet braced against the carpet, the blonde girl pretending to resist, and Meg, claiming first rights by virtue of spawning the idea, knelt between Pam's widespread thighs.
"Hey, I'm not the only one who's hot!" she said. "Look, little Pammie's wide open!"
The other girls bent for a closer look. The thick outer lips actually were turning out by themselves, exposing the satin pinkness of the wet inner labia. A trickle of moisture was coming from the shadowed little hole where the girl's vagina began. The scent rolled up at all of them, a sweetly choking, gut-tingling aroma.
With the utmost care, Meg dipped her mouth down, sucking up a clutch of lips, her nose a fraction of an inch from Pam's clitoris. They all saw the little bud, showing pearly-white where its hardness had forced the blood away from its sheath of membrane. Deliberately, Meg went down to the hole, so that the tip of her nose ground against the excited clit.
Her taste buds, her sense of smell, reveling in this wealth of flavor, shot a sheet of warmth down to her belly. She sucked harder, getting a mouthful of the creamy essence that flowed so readily from Pam's cunt.
Pam moaned. "Somebody get up here and sit on my face," she begged. "Shove a pussy at me. I want some, too!"
Meg arose, her face shiny with the love juice so generously smeared on Pam's open twat. "Take a turn here, one of you," she said, her voice thick and husky. "It's so great!" She stood on the bed, her legs spread above Pam's head, so that the recumbent girl could see the dark-red slash between the fat, hairy cuntlips, and shucked off her gown.
As she went to her knees, opening her gash to Pam's seeking tongue, her hands ground and dug into the blonde's breasts, closing her eyes in ecstasy as Pam's tongue moved into her slit, lips locked against lips, the blonde girl's sucking mouth starting a wave of feeling deep inside her.
She was dimly aware that Nancy was now licking at Pam's squirming cleft, and suddenly felt the warmth of another body against hers. She turned her face to Nora's, their lips and tongues joining, the smooth heat of big tits against her arm and side. She felt Pam's tongue moving furiously, and a stab of pleasure-pain struck through her belly as the wet warmth of the blonde's mouth enveloped her bursting clitoris.
From the moans that vibrated against her cunt, from the wild heavings beneath her, she knew that Pam was coming. Her own orgasm, beginning deep in the dark heat of her cunt, swept her into a shaking, shuddering intensity of feeling, and she would have fallen on Pam's belly except for the support from Nora.
Much later, after a wild, sprawling orgy that saw every cunt licked to raw, red exhaustion, so tender that the mere rub of cuntlips brought a new trembling of lust, Meg and Pam lay together in the dark, holding each other gently, whispering and laughing softly.
"Will you miss these little girl-parties?" Meg asked softly. "Or do swappers ever wind up with girl-to-girl stuff?"
Pam giggled. "I'll let you know when we complete the survey," she said. "We'll have it all on tape by then."
"Is it the professor's idea to put women down?" Meg questioned. "To prove that we're the aggressors in sex?"
"Not really to put us down," Pam whispered. "He has this obsession, I guess you'd call it, about the changes in sexual motivation of men and women. He's read everything he could get his hands on about swapping. Everything from the wildest paperbacks to the soberest studies of other scholars. His working title is 'The de-emphasis of the male's sexual role in America.' How about that?"
"I'd like to aggress on that good-looking bastard," Meg groaned. "Do you think you can get him straightened out, Pam? What did you mean when you mentioned his failures as a man? Did he tell you that much about his marriage?"
Pam lay silent for a minute, and Meg, thinking her bed mate was drifting off to sleep, pinched one of her breasts.
"Stop that!" Pam whispered. "I'm thinking. My guess is that he got a bad start from his mother. She gave him the Sir Galahad bullshit, the chivalry, the woman-on-a-pedestal crap. So he always thought a woman was doing a man a big favor if she lay on her back for him, and that a man was a brutal, lustful, ravening wolf, cruelly sticking that dirty thing into some shrinking girl's twat. Can you imagine?"
"His mother ought to be chained in hell, fed on Spanish Fly, and kept just out of reach of thirty stiff pricks. It would serve her right," Meg said fiercely. "So he never could ball his wife without mother-guilt spoiling it. Right?"
"Yes," Pam replied. "And guessing some more, I think he only pushed for some pussy when his balls were about to burst. You know what would happen then--instead of a good, long, satisfying fuck, he no more than got it in before he began to come. Slam-bam, thank you, ma'am. You know."
Meg shivered at the thought of such torture. For both the man and his wife. "I don't blame her for pulling out," she murmured. "But why didn't the silly bitch tell him what to do?"
"I'm still guessing," Pam replied, "but I think she was as ignorant as he was. Anyhow, he's apparently been fucked up ever since. Or rather, unfucked up." She laughed, but without mirth.
"And you think you can change him?" Meg asked.
"I don't know," Pam answered honestly. "He really thinks, poor baby, that he can get close to those swingers he's picked out--close enough to milk them for information--and not 'get involved,' meaning, without actually fucking."
Meg whistled softly. "He's out of his gourd," she said. "His whole project will fall on its face!"
"I know," Pam answered. "I'm counting on that to shake him out of it. The project, right now, is his life. Maybe, if he sees it going out the window, he'll suddenly be glad to fuck in order to save it. You know, a real motivation for him."
Meg laughed softly and kissed Pam, pressing her warm belly and her soft breasts against the other girl's. Her hand went down to cup the fat, hairy mound between Pam's legs. "If this isn't enough motivation for him, baby," she whispered, "he really does need help."
She eased herself up and over, mounting Pam, whose legs spread wide to receive her. With the ease of long practice, each girl reached down, opening closed cuntlips, gently seeing to it that the opened lips joined wetly, that clitoris was pressed against clitoris. Pam's tongue, firm with new lust, went into Meg's mouth, and they began to rub together, softly and slowly, the joined pussies making tiny smacking sounds as the soft lips generated heat, and cunt juice began to flow.
Pam remembered the hard-on, strongly shaped under Professor Lamberson's slacks. At least it was a start. When a man could get a hard-on, just from a whiff of craving cunt, anything could happen.
The thought brought a tender surge of heat to where her pussy was blindly kissing Meg's pussy, and Meg, sensing the response, began to rotate her ass, giving a deeper rub to her own and Pam's slavering cunt. They heaved softly and fiercely, joined by love, and the small and tender noises of their coming did not awaken the other two girls.
Chapter 2
In the year nineteen twenty-nine, psychologists from the University of Michigan, querying hundreds of workers in the automotive industry, made the surprising discovery that being given credit for work done was more important to the human psyche than more money, shorter working hours, titles, or keys to the bosses' washrooms.
On this lovely, typical Southern California summer day, John Lamberson was bestowing this priceless--and costless--consideration on Pamela Marsh, secure in his scholarly belief that it would please her more than anything else he could offer. And, as scholars dealing with principles rather than personalities so often are, he was dead wrong.
What Pam would have appreciated more than anything else, not only at this moment but at any moment during their eight hours of steady traveling, was something to ease the divine itch in her cunt. A beautiful, hard, shiny, stiff prick, for instance. Failing that, a hot, sucking mouth, a tenderly probing tongue that would pull the juice out of her vagina and the nervous strain from her clitoris. Even a big finger, warmed by the summer sun and slicked from dabbling in the flowing lips of her pussy, plunging into the squirming tightness now covered by folded cuntlips while a gentle thumb knowledgeably and gently brought the joyous surge of released lust from her clit, would have been enough.
But all she was getting was words. Lovely words, true. Words of praise and recognition. But, while words of love and lust add to the intensity of fucking, they mean nothing except when they are backed up by something more solid.
"You know, of course, Pamela," the professor was saying, "that your part in this survey is just as important as mine." He was driving with unconscious skill, which Pam had mentally recorded as a plus in his favor--a truly masculine attribute, she considered it. But he was driving with both hands on the wheel. How much more masculine, she thought, if he could spare one hand to rest between her thighs, to open her zipper--no, she would gladly take care of that--to push and prod with friendly interest between the fat and hairy cuntlips, into the slick pinkness where her heartbeats seemed to meet as lip pressed against lip.
Her mind hazy with desire, she made the effort to come up with the trite response demanded by the trite statement.
"Oh, not really, John!" she protested. "I'm just along for the ride. You needed someone to be your wife--to pretend to be your wife," she revised, "just so your interviews will seem to spring naturally from the social context. And I was lucky enough to fill the bill."
She pulled her bare feet up on the front seat, locking her arms around her shins, pushing her ass further forward. Her lovely legs, bared up to the cuffs of her corduroy shorts, might as well have been encased in slacks, she mused rebelliously. She had chosen these abbreviated pants because they showed so much of her rounded ripeness, and left off her panties deliberately.
Peeping down to her crotch, she could even see a few blonde hairs straying out from what was now a mere strap of corduroy snugged tightly against her compressed outer lips. She thought bitterly of the Berkeleian theory--learned so long ago in Psych Two--that if no one sees a tangible phenomenon, it does not exist. My nonexistent pussy, she thought sadly. But her mind listened to John's rejoinder to her last remark.
"You have done so much more than just fill the bill, Pam," he was saying. "Without your courage, your knowledge, I might well have failed in this project of mine before it got off the ground. To think of myself, trying to gain the confidence of these people, using my own pedantic tools of communication!" He laughed at himself indulgently. Pam saw a ray of hope.
"You mean like saying vagina for cunt, penis for cock, and intercourse for fucking?" she smiled, noting that his hands clutched the wheel spasmodically as these lovely words came from her sweet mouth. "That's nice of you to give such importance to a contribution so small, John."
She resisted an impulse to move against him, since this overt act had been repelled emphatically earlier in the day.
"But you still haven't let me help you as much as I could," she said softly. "You still won't believe me when I say you can't possibly get at these people without getting, as you put it, personally involved."
She looked briefly at his profile, seeing actual distress in his set expression.
"You don't realize the power of the scholar's mind, Pam," he replied, ignoring the fact that his assistant was a scholar, too. "They will feel my sincerity, my zeal for the project," he insisted. His voice had the small-boy desperation of one who cannot yet admit he is defending a losing cause. "Don't you believe that?"
Pam laughed kindly. "If they so much as suspect they're fodder for a project, they'll put their clothes back on and run like jackrabbits," she said. "For God's sake, John, after you've given so much to this job, after you've contracted for an article with the Psycho Journal, you can't let a little thing like personal contact with a few strange women ruin it!"
"Please, Pam," John grasped at the proffered change of subject, "don't say the 'Psycho Journal.' Psycho means something entirely different from psychological. If I may say so," and John gave a prim little laugh, "your choice of words in my field is as far off the mark as my vocabulary in the swingers' field. My old vocabulary, that is," he corrected himself.
They rolled along in the later afternoon, nearing Sonar Beach and glad to have the long trip over. They had passed through Anaheim more than an hour ago, both mentioning that it was the home of one of the couples to be included in John's and Pam's field work. "The subjects," John had called them, and blushed as Pam had said, very forcefully, "The people, John, not the subjects!"
They had had some light conversation about the housekeeper selected for them by the real estate group which had arranged the lease of the home they would occupy.
"I'm sorry the budget wouldn't stand for a full-time housekeeper," John had apologized. "But there's a dishwasher, and I'll fix breakfast. You won't be a household drudge. The housekeeper will prepare lunch and clean house afterward. As I understand it, she'll do the shopping and make our dinner. All we do is clean up and put the dishes in the dishwasher."
The impulse to pat his hand was almost too much. Pam stifled it with an effort. "Don't worry, John," she smiled. "This isn't a for-real marriage, you know. You won't have to fix your own breakfast."
"Really, Pam," he said stiffly, "what makes you think--" and suddenly he laughed. "All right, Miss Smarty. So maybe I was henpecked. But actually, Helen did have those headaches."
They were looking now for the street sign which would be their turn-off for the real estate office, and Pam suddenly said: "Hey! That's Vickers Street--that's where the Malones live! They're close by. Right?"
Not only were the Malones close by the site of John Lamberson's proposed survey, they were close by each other.
Carol stretched her nude body warmly along her husband's massive frame, deeply appreciating the male fragrance of his sweat, and tenderly reached across his belly to finger his big cock, now slowly receding from its recent spectacular erection. Under its cloaking patch of fine red hair, her momentarily appeased pussy faintly echoed her orgasm of a few moments before.
Jim Malone, always happy after he had demonstrated his virility, laughed as he reached down to clasp his wife's hand tighter around his come-slick cock. He loved this intensely feminine woman whose thirty-eight years rested so lightly on her that he had often been accused of taking a child bride. , He loved her springy, athletic body, her bright face, by no means beautiful but so filled with the charm of her character that both men and women liked her on sight.
Best of all, he loved her warm, resilient cunt, so virginal in its dimensions that he often wondered how she could have borne a child, even eighteen years ago, and remained so incredibly tight, so youthfully muscular in that dark, delightfully fragrant place. And, being unquestionably a male chauvinist, he indulged himself with the belief that her femininity had a lot to do with the occasional binds into which her energies and ambitions got her.
Like right now.
"So, doesn't such a lovely fuck, even if it is with your same old husband, do something to solve your problem?" he asked teasingly. "Can't you pass up this chance to swing, and go ahead and be a housekeeper for ten weeks?"
Carol looked up from where she had been nuzzling his half-hard cock, her face beginning to find its usual smile. "You go to hell, Jim Malone!" she laughed. "Look at those pictures again! And don't you go using your reverse psychology on me. I know you're dying to get this--" and she gave a tender shake to his prick--"into that little blonde pussy!"
She picked up the Polaroid prints of Pam and John, the study of which, for perhaps the tenth time, had sent them into this matinee storm of heat, set them to stripping each other in laughing lechery, and plunged them headlong into a sensual feast of fucking.
She got up and moved to where the light was better, her eyes concentrated on the lean hardness of John Lamberson's body. Unconsciously, she wet her lips. Also unconsciously, her left hand moved down to press softly in the lush mat of pubic hair above her cleft, stroking the warm flesh.
"We don't really need the money, Jim," she said, as though convincing herself. "I said I'd take that damned housekeeping job just to do Ruth Gruner a favor. You know that!"
Jim laughed with friendly understanding. "Yeah, sure, baby," he responded. "And maybe to show off your gourmet cooking to a new audience. Right?"
She turned her naked body toward him, deliberately pushing her pubis out, the movement revealing the pink slit which still remained partly open from their lovely joining.
"How's this for a gourmet dish for the professor?" she asked, spreading the thick lips wider with her fingers. "With a side order of these?" She shook her long, full, deeply sculptured breasts at him. "Think he'll believe I'm only twenty-seven, like we said in the letters?"
Jim, his hands clasped behind his raised head, pretended to consider the question. "I think we should have said you were twenty-one," he replied. "That would be the average of your real age plus the mental age you showed when you said you'd take the job."
"Now you're being mean, Jim," she pouted. "Ruth Gruner just said they were summer people. She didn't even say where they were from. Asked me if I'd like to pick up seventy easy bucks a week for five half-days of cooking for some tourists. Ten weeks of it--that would be seven hundred bucks. And you know how I love to cook--it's the only creative thing I do."
"Oh, baby," Jim protested. "Cooking isn't even the best creative thing you do! There isn't a woman in America, hundred-dollar whores included, who can fuck like you! And like you say, how could you know that the people you were going to keep house for, and the people we were planning to swing with, would be the same?"
There was a sudden burst of automotive sound just outside their window, a squeal of brakes worn down to the rivets, the chatter of worn valves with a counterpoint of bad bearings, and a sudden sound of a car door slamming. The Malones looked at each other with understanding smiles.
Both said: "Melissa's home!" and Jim said: "Maybe I'd better help her bring in her stuff."
Carol kissed him. "No, you lie here and be comfortable. Let her bring in her own bags. She never brings much home from college. And you do so much for her--if she were your own daughter, you couldn't do more!"
Jim grinned. "Maybe if she were my own daughter, I wouldn't do as much," he observed. "So many narrow-minded bastards are prejudiced against incest."
Carol slapped at him, laughing. "If we hadn't had you, God knows how that girl would have turned out. All her girl friends were beginning to smoke pot, shacking up with surfers and hippies, getting knocked up, coming home with the clap." She knelt by him as he lay on the bed and picked up his limp cock, looked at it tenderly and gave its head a kiss. "Thank God there was enough of this for both of us! Oh, Jim, it was a lucky day for me and Melissa when you married me!" Her green eyes brimmed with unshed tears.
"Knock it off, old lady," Jim said with false gruffness. "It was just as lucky for me--I got two wonderful girls for the price of one marriage license, didn't I? And Melissa was always a good kid. Look, she had a maidenhead, and she was over fourteen when you suggested I have a sex talk with her."
There was the rush of footsteps in the hall, their door was flung open, and a hundred and twenty pounds of All-American girl, full of life and love and humor, burst into the room. Just short of her eighteenth birthday, fresh from her first year in UCLA, she had the red hair and green eyes of her mother, but nature had fashioned her body along more generous lines. But no baby fat! Her breasts, still jiggling from the force of her entry, thrust boldly out against the thin knit fabric of her blouse, unfettered by a bra, their big nipples leading the way. Her strong thighs and ample buttocks, compressed into stretch jeans, were all firmness and yielding warmth and welcoming grace.
Her mother, still kneeling at the bedside, still holding gently to the big prick, now beginning to show new life, turned a smile of welcome on her beloved daughter. The girl took in the scene at a glance, and dropped to her mother's side, hugging the older woman to her rapturously, reaching a hand to Jim's hairy belly.
"Oh, Mom!" she cried. "Oh, Jim! What a way to welcome me home!" She cupped her mother's firm buttocks in one hand and bent to suck the slowly hardening cock in her mouth. Her eyes were misty with happiness, but she let the prick slip out of her warm lips and eyed them both gaily.
"It wasn't just for me, you old swingers!" she said admiringly. "That's come juice, unless I've forgotten what it tastes like!" She rubbed her hand warmly in Jim's crotch, fingering his big balls, placing her thumb on the swelling tube on his cock's underside. "Mmmm!" she murmured. "It's so good to be back! Why the matinee?" she asked mischievously. "And what were you doing when I came in, Mom? Going back for seconds?"
Carol, sitting back on her heels, laughed happily. "We were talking about the time I asked Jim to have a sex talk with you," she admitted. "We were--oh, just talking about you and us--about how great it is to have a man like Jim around the house." Her voice was warm and soft; she leaned over and kissed her daughter lightly. The girl giggled.
"What a sex talk!" she said. "He came in my room when I was undressing, looked at my boobs like he couldn't believe 'em, and pulled this lovely thing out," and here the girl gave the now half-hard prick a stroke, "and asked me if I'd ever seen anything like it." She shivered in remembered delight.
Jim raised up, sitting on the edge of the bed between the two women. "I think I was as embarrassed as you were," he said, his voice husky.
"Oh, more so!" Melissa teased. "I wasn't embarrassed at all. The reason I was struck dumb, it just looked so beautiful and big and fierce!" She pulled Jim's hand down to feel her breasts, pressing his fingers deep into the soft firmness, closing her eyes as he squeezed hard. She looked at her mother, at Jim, her face eager.
"I'm so hot!" she whispered. "All that long drive home, wondering if this old thing was the same as ever."
Her mother smacked her hand. "Don't call it a thing," Carol said sharply. "And, if you want some of it, all you have to do is say so!" She got up in a lithe, simple movement, and reached for Melissa's hand, pulling her up. The girl giggled.
"I'll have my clothes off in a jiff, Jim," she said. "Mom, keep him interested for me, huh?"
She kicked her shoes off and stood first on one bare foot and then on the other, pulling the jeans down over her thighs and off, turning to hang them over a chair. The blouse came off over her head in one graceful movement, her big pink-tipped breasts jouncing as they were freed.
"Want to help with my panties, Jim?" she asked softly, moving close to him, pushing between his hard, hairy thighs.
Carol laughed and patted her daughters firm, plump ass. "You've been daydreaming, baby," she said. "There's a big wet spot on your seat." She touched a friendly hand to the darker patch on the white nylon briefs. "Is that all yours?" she asked, "or did you stop for a quickie?"
"Mom!" the girl protested. "I don't even want to hear the word 'quickie' around here! That's all you get from those dumb-assed college boys! When you get any," she added, and laughed. "No, that's all mine, and I'm all slicked up for Daddy Jim!" She moved her hips provocatively, and squealed as the big man leaned forward, taking a great mouthful of tender nipple into his warm mouth. His fierce suction bruising the tender flesh, his tongue strongly pushing at the nipple, gave her a sudden rise of warmth from navel to asshole. She hugged his head to her, mashing her big breast flat, enjoying the ecstatic pain of it.
She stepped away slightly, feeling a miniature orgasm rising in her guts, not wishing to spoil the big homecoming moment by anything premature. Jim's smile was lazy and loving, and she saw with pride that his big cock had come up hard and strong, the flaring head now shiny and red with engorgement.
She pointed to it, looking at her mother. "You don't think I can take that big monster into my poor little pussy, do you?" she asked in mock alarm.
Carol laughed. "That's just what I always think, baby doll, and I've been taking it for longer than you have," she said dryly. "It went into you all right in Easter vacation!" She ran her warm hand up from behind, between Melissa's smooth thighs, the skin at the back of her neck tightening as she touched the slick folds where her daughter's juices had soaked the red hairs and dribbled down an inch or two. "Do you want me to hold it open for him?" she whispered.
"Ooooh, Mom! Like you did that first time?" Melissa whispered. "Oh, would you? And kiss me when he starts it in?"
Her mother kissed her warmly.. "You big baby!" she said lovingly. "Of course I won't--you're a big girl now. Let me see you put it in, yourself!" She moved away toward the door.
"I'll unpack your bags and put your dirty clothes in the washer," she said. Jim, his eyes turned toward his wife, moved smilingly to the center of the bed, helping the hot-eyed girl to a position just even with his hips. His hands reached confidently toward her flame-haired crotch, spread wide for him.
There never could be a heaven any better than this, Melissa thought, her arms spread wide on the smooth sheet, her eyes on the ceiling. Jim's strong arms cradled her thighs, lifting her generously molded ass up, up, way up off the bed, her cunt pressed to his lips. She moved one hand languidly--the fire was smoldering deep inside her, now--and groped for his prick, pressing so hard against her back. The slick, living movements of his tongue and lips, sliding up and down in the weepingly sensitive convolutions of her labia, pressing into the hot hole below, slapping with painful pleasure around her throbbing clitoris, left her dazed but responsive. The flow of come juice from her vagina, which had been soaking into her panties and wetting her thighs, was being sucked up by her stepfather's mouth. She held the rigid bar of his cock in a firm grasp, feeling new slickness coming from the slit in the big red head, gently rolling the foreskin up and down, momentarily contented with Jim's expert licking and sucking, but eager for the splitting thrust of this long, hard prick.
The skin on her belly and under her arms felt unduly warm and tight; her breasts glowed with the heat that spread from her loins, and she used her other hand to squeeze them alternately, closing her eyes at the swooning heat which nearly blinded her. Raising her head, she stuffed the nipple into her mouth, biting down hard, much harder than any man would dare, the pain giving a sickening intensity to the hot spasms in her cunt.
In sudden alarm that she would whirl into orgasm before Jim got his fill of eating her pussy, pining for the throbbing feeling of the big tool slamming into her vagina, she released her hold on the big man's cock and spat the swollen pink nipple out of her mouth.
"Jim," she whispered. "Please! Fuck me, Jim! Put that big thing into me!" She thought of how it would look just now, if only she could see it--the head like a big plum, and just as slick and red--the moist, softly wrinkled foreskin pulled back, still showing the highlights of his and her mother's come fluids-the satin-soft skin loosely wrapping the big, ridged shaft, usually as white as milk, but now an angry, loving pink from his excitement.
"Oh, God, Jim!" she shrilled, as his tongue seemed to burrow into her clutched asshole. "Don't make me come this way! Fuck me, you big bastard! Let me have it! Fuck me!"
She rolled violently, as wild as an unbroken mustang, and he looked down at her, over her bush of bright pubic hair, his eyes warm with the fatherly love she had come to rely on.
Slowly, smiling at her lust-twisted face, he let her thighs slide down his strongly muscled arms, catching her knees in the crook of his elbows, holding her opened cunt just even with the jerking head of his cock.
Feeling the orgasm subside a bit, she smiled weakly.
"I didn't mean to yell so loud, Daddy Jim," she whispered, smiling and apologetic. "I love for you to eat me, honest, but I haven't climbed a cock like yours since last Easter! Put it in now, and fuck me real hard. I feel like I could come for fifteen minutes without stopping!"
He dropped her legs and fell on her, his wet mouth seeking hers, his tongue, carrying her own sex flavors, wrapping around hers. She felt even closer to coming as the sweet and musky scents from her own crotch came to her nostrils, and she opened her lips wider, sucking her own tantalizing slickness from his mouth.
His ass was raised high, keeping the head of his cock away from all contact with her or the sheets, since he would not risk losing any of this precious feeling anywhere except in the drooling young cunt under him.
"My baby!" he whispered against her smooth throat, remembering her delighted shock, her scream of pain and pleasure, as he had rammed this same thick cock into her virgin hole, binding him to her and her to him in a way which few stepfathers and stepdaughters could ever know.
He drew back now, smiling at her tenderly, and watched as she groped down blindly, finding the rigidity of his prick, rubbing the thick head up and down in her streaming lips, lubricating it for its stretching, thrusting entrance. She hung there, her lovely ass poised an inch or so above the mattress, feeling the quick rush of blood to her belly, the tensing, half fear, half wild delight, as the size of it, starting in, seemed to stretch her tiny opening far beyond its normal size.
He felt a welcoming flutter of strong young muscle as the first couple of inches pushed squeakingly into the warm tightness between her legs, a clip-clip of pre-come happiness, and he thrust with all the strength of his broad back, absorbing the tender shock as his prickhead hit her cervix.
Her eyes were closed, and he was close enough to see the minute throbbing of the tiny veins of her eyelids, imagining that he felt a corresponding throb of blood in the cunt which surrounded him so warmly, so wetly.
Careful to move his prick as little as possible, he bent his head to nuzzle at her breast, and was surprised as she sensed his movement and used her hand to bring the heavy tit to his mouth.
Sucking the nipple and the puffed aureola deep into the warmth of his cheeks, he prodded with his tongue at the tender surfaces, rewarded by her involuntary leap of pleasure. He kissed her again, as the breast rolled down against her ribcage, and her tongue was hard and muscular, eager, pushing.
Because she could no longer bear the hammering heat without answering, she rolled her hips from side to side, feeling the joy of his hard cock striking her inner walls, rolling against the softly padded rolls of sensitized tissue just inside her vaginal portal. The movement worked his cock against her cervix, and a sudden straining in her clitoris, as he ground against her, sent an uncontrollable wave of sensation rippling throughout her belly.
With a little scream of pleasure, she threw her arms up and around his neck, pulling his face close, and wrapped her strong young legs over his haunches, using all her strength to jam him into her, to push herself up to meet him.
In that indescribable moment of coming, she felt each hair of his chest and belly and thighs scrape her, underlining the increased life throughout her body as the wave of orgasm twisted in her cunt, tightening her buttock muscles into an agony of response, choking off her breath, expanding her mind into an insensate whirl of pink and misty dream, while each throb of her heart sent waves of almost fainting happiness shuddering through her crotch.
Coming fresh from a highly satisfactory fuck with his wife, Jim's surges of sperm lay a few heartbeats behind Melissa's enraptured coming, beginning only when her second wave of feeling twisted her cunt muscles around him like a tender fist. In a sense, it was better. Better for him, better for her. His pleasure in the wildness of her coming, his male pride at her response, helped trigger his own spurts, gave him a brief sense of spectatorship before his own orgasm shook him.
And for the girl, feeling her stepfather's dying gushes of semen in her relaxed cunt, there was a deeper kinship of feeling, a warm glow of contentment at his groaning pleasure.
They all helped with dinner, not bothering to dress.
"If there's a little come juice mixed into the omelet, it will just taste better to me," laughed Melissa. "I've lived with sterility at that Goddamned college for months."
Jim stroked a finger into each of the redheaded pussies, and sniffed at the shining slickness like a connoisseur. "Cheese omelet," he announced, to the dissenting squeals of laughter from mother and daughter. "You can give the professor a new treat, Carol!"
Melissa wanted to know what they were talking about, and, as they told her of the embarrassing bind, she held up a hand.
"Whoa, for just a minute," she demanded, as Carol was saying the hell with the money, she'd rather get a little strange cock. "Your daughter has an idea! Listen!"
She eyed them both. "You two would rather play house with some new swingers than make a million bucks, right?" she asked.
"The trouble is, I promised Ruth I'd do it," Carol said miserably. "And I'm supposed to start tomorrow. I can't let her down."
"Balls!" Melissa said. "I'll gamble they don't even know your name yet. I mean, they don't know the housekeeper's name. And I cook almost as well as you do, right, Mom? And if I'm not as good a housekeeper, I can try like hell. Am I getting through to you?"
Jim pounded the table in delight. "Hell, yes, baby!" he cried. "You go up there and announce yourself by your own name, say your mama's been run over by a truck, or captured by white slavers, and you're there to take her place! Great!" He looked at Carol, pleased to see her face clearing of worry.
"You won't mind, baby?" she inquired.
"Well, it's not altogether altruistic," Melissa admitted. "That old clunker of mine needs new valves and rings and God knows what else. I sure didn't want to hit you and Jim for it. But if I can pick up three hundred, maybe, being a housekeeper for a swinging professor and his wife--well--I can get the old heap practically rebuilt, down in Ensenada."
"Great," Jim responded. "I still think that, if they're the right sort, Carol could do both. But this way, it's sure."
"Maybe I could do it if I knew them better, or if I had more time to get used to the idea," Carol said. "But Jesus, honey, this is certainly big of you!" She patted Melissa on her bare and perfect ass. "You're a doll!"
"Nothing to it, Mom," Melissa answered airily. "Maybe I can get in on the swaperoo. I'm just kidding!" she said hastily as her mother turned a sort of family look on her. "But why not? I'm a big girl now!"
Carol laughed. "An extra man is generally more needed at a swap-fest than an extra girl," she observed. "But what's with you? Those college boys not exactly with it?"
"Shit!" Melissa said angrily. "I haven't had one good, long, solid fuck since I was here last Easter! Most of those kids live in dorms, so their idea of a big evening is a fast bang in the back seat of a car. And they act like they're doing a girl a big favor, at that!"
Jim shook his head in sympathy, and said to Carol: "She was really up for it when we did it just now." He turned to Melissa. "You like the old man better, eh?"
"You know it, Jim!" the girl cried. "You know Ben Reach?" she demanded. When they both nodded, she went on. "I thought that he might be better--being older, you know. And being from right here, and me knowing him since I was a little kid. But he's such a smart-ass!" Her angry look changed as she remembered something, and she began to laugh.
"You know what he did? He asked me for a date, and I said sure, of course, why not, and that bastard!" She stopped again, fighting her laughter. "He looked at me as calm as you please, and said: 'You fuck, of course,' not asking me, telling me."
This time she did laugh, loud and clear. "Well, I played it cool--or at least, I thought it was cool of me. I said maybe I did and maybe I didn't, acting very ladylike, just for a gag, but that my mother told me I should never fuck on a first date." She looked from her mother to Jim, enjoying the amusement in their faces.
"So he said--" and she had to laugh again. "He said, still in that superior way, 'I'm sure your mother didn't say that you shouldn't suck off on a first date, right?' And that came so close to breaking me up that I had to turn and walk away. I couldn't let him see me laughing, could I?"
Jim put his arm around her, pressing his hand up under one of her heavy breasts. "So he never asked you again?" he asked.
"No, but it was my fault," Melissa said forlornly. "Every time I saw him, I began to laugh--it was so funny, the serious way he said that ridiculous thing. Maybe I'll see him at the beach this summer, and we can get together."
Helen Ferguson, owner of the cliff side cottage now under lease to a couple she'd never seen, stopped in Ventura on her way to a summer in Oregon and called her real estate broker.
"Ruth Gruner," the pleasant voice said, and Helen said: "Oh, hi, Ruth--Helen Ferguson. Did my tenants pick up the key?"
"Why, yes, they did, Helen," Ruth answered. "They seemed like lovely people. The professor was shy and sweet. His wife stayed in the car. He handed me a check for a thousand dollars--plus another two hundred for a cleaning and damage deposit. Don't often get that kind. You know, don't you, that I could have gotten one-fifty a week for your house?"
"Yeah, sure, Ruth, I know," Helen sighed. "But I'd rather have quiet, reliable people there. You know that son of a bitch of a deputy sheriff--Sam Rovere? The one who makes all those so-called sex raids? Lives up above me, on the hill?"
"Why, yes, I know of him," Ruth said slowly. "What's he got to do with it?"
Helen laughed darkly. "That bastard watched me all one afternoon with a damned spyglass," she said. "I was innocently taking a sun bath on my patio--my own damned patio! He called me and threatened to arrest me for indecent exposure! And when I asked him who I'd exposed myself to, you know what he said?"
"Why, no, Helen, I don't," Ruth answered. "And this call is costing you money. Who was it that you exposed yourself to?"
"He said: 'Me, Mrs. Ferguson--you exposed yourself to me!' Can you tie that? The dirty-minded bastard!"
"With him for a neighbor, you're lucky to have any tenants at all!" Ruth laughed. "Have a nice vacation!"
Chapter 3
Pam, undressing, thought the professor, partly undressed himself in the room they had decided was for him. Pam, possibly nude this very moment, soft and smooth and warm. And her door wide open--at least, he had not heard it close. He looked in his attache case, finding one of her Polaroid shots which he had kept for himself. The one in which she knelt on the floor, facing the camera, knees wide apart. It was his favorite.
Not that it actually showed as much of the slick and inside pinkness as some of the others--the lights, flash or fixed, were at waist level, John judged. Therefore, at this level and in this position, her widely divided fleece was in shadow. But the fat lips were popped open, that was obvious, and his mind could supply the gooshy details, the wealth of hoarded juice now freed by the broken seal of moist lip against moist lip. For reasons unknown to him, he licked his lips.
Alone in his room, John Lamberson's mind raced, out of gear and almost out of his control. This simply would not do, he told himself sternly, burying the picture.
The entire day had been something of an ordeal, and he was bone-weary. Not from the long ride--that was simply a continued play of learned reflex--coordination of eye and hand and foot and small knowledge piled on small knowledge, all of which make up the skill of driving a car.
No, the strain came from ignoring the presence of Pam. Not ignoring her, or her conversation--response to them had also been reflexive, the ordinary social reflex which men call courtesy. But her presence, the insistent emanations which he had often felt as he tried to sleep next to Helen, his back turned, but knowing full well that she was on her back, her thighs apart--that was what he had wasted himself with, drained his energy, trying to ignore it.
His peripheral vision was too good. When, burdened by headaches, he had gone to be fitted for glasses, the doctor had told him so.
"Hell, you don't need glasses, Dr. Lamberson," the kind old gentleman had told him. "See your own family doctor. Your headaches don't originate with eyestrain." But he had already seen his family doctor. It was he who suggested having his eyes checked. Neither of them sent him to a psychiatrist. And a psychiatrist would not necessarily have asked him how often he fucked.
But it was about that time that John began to masturbate when he felt too tightly wound up. Because, every night before bedtime, often even before dinner, Helen would say: "Damn it, I've got one of those headaches of mine coming on again!"
And John, bringing home the lurching thought of Helen spread open on the bed, breasts luminous in the light from the opened window, crotch fragrance rising from the dark nest of hair triangled at the base of her smooth belly, would feel the nascent hard-on die unborn. And then, unless he masturbated, hands warm and slick and soapy and alert to his exact needs as Helen never seemed to be, her perfumes and known body scents around him in the locked bathroom, he could not sleep. And he would have a headache.
Strangely, his mind, logical as an adding machine in his own pursuits, knowing or sensing the basis of his headaches, had never suspected the basis of Helen's.
Well, if his hard-on persisted, he knew how to get to sleep.
His damned peripheral vision! And that presence of Pam, quite aside from the simple corporeal fact of being there.
He was conscious of her softly contoured legs, the curves which glided from her knees on a convex arc to the tightly drawn crotch of her damned shorts! When she had drawn her heels up on the seat, against the spreading firmness of her tanned thighs--good God! He knew that taste depends on the olfactory nerve for half, no, much more than half of its delights. He was aware of the woman fragrance that came from her body. He wondered what it would taste like.
Once, on a sweeping curve that took them, briefly, full against the sun in their jagged southbound journey, the dusty windshield became a mirror for her spread and sun-lighted thighs, their smoothness made more than humanly warm by the golden light. Did he see a patch of blonde hair?
Now that the long day was over, and John was removed by the width of a couple of walls, a bathroom, and a short hall, Pam felt that, by rights, the warmth she felt so itchingly, damply around her crotch would subside.
They had engaged in routine pursuits--picked up the key and a hand-sketched map so they might locate and enter their headquarters for their survey. They had dined well in a roadside restaurant just above Sonar Beach, and picked up some simple necessities for breakfast.
John had decided, over Pam's protests, that she should receive five hundred dollars for her ten weeks of assistance.
"There's plenty in the budget," he had said. "And you've already been worth that much." Very nice. But he had not looked straight at her, perhaps because her blouse, now unbuttoned almost to the waist, showed much too much of her soft tits.
Those tits, uncovered now, meant nothing if no man looked or felt or kissed or sucked them.
She heard John's door open, heard nothing from the bath between their rooms, and judged that he had gone into the living room or the den. She remembered, then, that she had not left a forwarding address with the university, and that she had not checked to see if the telephone had been left connected. It would be necessary to telephone the school--she had some books coming. She headed for the living room.
Since her door was open, there was no warning for John, now in his blue pajamas, now with his unruly cock protruding into the cool, blossom-scented California night--no click of door latch to stay his hand, which grasped the warm fullness of his hard shaft.
Lights on in the living room, so that he could see both the enchanting details of Pam's picture and the well known and well loved details of his prick, his eyes goggled as Pam, nude except for bikini panties so thin that he could see--or so he believed--every bright blonde hair on her snatch, came in to stand before him in all her warm, throbbing perfection.
His gasp of shock too plain to ignore, Pam acted from love and concern, ignoring his open and speechless mouth, his tense and cock-filled hand, his look of pain and fear. The swollen prick fell dead and slipped from his hand, and its place was filled by Pam's warm little paw.
"John, dear," she breathed, "don't worry so! And don't be afraid to be human! I won't hurt you. Not ever. But you must look at me while I talk to you! Really! Look at me!"
He was forced to look her in the eye, unless he chose to look above her head. Even so, his peripheral vision, which worked vertically as well as laterally, saw the splendid rise of her boobs, pink nipples hard and pointed, the partly shaded, gently creased roundness of her belly, with the blonde patch between her legs. But his voice returned.
"Pam, you mustn't show yourself like this," he grated. "The neighbors! Remember my project!"
"Oh, bosh, John," Pam answered. She waved at the clerestory windows high against the beamed ceiling. "Who is ten feet tall, to peep at us? There," and she pointed at the sliding glass door and the broad windows to the west, "is a steep hill, a patio wall, thick shrubs. No one can see. Except you."
They had traveled through some very warm weather, the folded and pressed lips of Pam's pussy acting as a hermetically sealed guard to her moisture-making interior, and now, with the thick lips opened and the result of the day's heat swirling toward John's nose in an invisible cloud of scent, he suddenly knew the source of his hard-on when Pam had brought her pictures.
With no dime-store perfume to confuse his alerted nose, with Pam's body a large, living vial of fragrance, he knew that a bait as old as time had snared the willing nerves in his reproductive system. In your cock, jerk, his mind snarled at him, and he jumped for fear that Pam would hear it, his mind seemed to speak so loud.
But she had been speaking. Saying what? Oh, yes--that only he could see her. He fought for coolness. And then he remembered that this sweet girl, ten years younger than himself, was in his care.
"Of course, my dear, I see you. I can't say I think it's a good thing. You should know better." He smiled primly. And she smiled back at him, leaning closer.
"You said I should think of your project, John. I do! Believe me, I do! I don't think you're thinking of it."
"I don't understand," he said helplessly, and Pam put one hand on the blonde pussy so clearly defined by the horribly thin panties, and one under "John," she whispered, her eyes searching his, "what will the subjects of your survey think if your wife is a prude? Don't you see--this is training! Be a scholar, John! The scholar's mind is objective. You must get used to me!"
The bath between their bedrooms had only a shower. The larger bath, tentatively referred to as "Pam's bath," had a tub. And John wanted a tub. Hot water just deep enough to make a thin film of water across his belly when he lay soaking. A bar of soap on his chest. His hard cock fully exposed, standing stiffly at an angle to his hairy belly.
He couldn't believe that such a few strokes had brought him no near the point of ejaculation. His hands were so well slicked by soap that they were as soft as--as soft and warm as--as smooth as--well, what? Helen's cunt? The space between Helen's soft breasts, where he had yearned to fuck and never had the nerve to ask? Or as slick and warm as the oozing pink slit at the base of Pam's belly?
He closed his eyes and groaned. He concentrated on holding back the threatened orgasm. The longer it lasted, he believed, the more complete it was, the more its hot gushes, its jerkingly glorious burst of sensation, relieved tension.
So fierce was his concentration, so loud was the pounding of blood in his head, that he did not hear the bathroom door open softly.
But as he lay there in the tub, striving to steer his thoughts to the multiplication tables, to the discovery of the Rosetta Stone, to anything far removed from his primal need to spout his seed through a swollen and anxious penis, something totally incredible happened.
Something unbelievably warm and slick and tender and alive closed on his throbbing cock. In its warmth and its softly muscled embrace, his startled cock leaped to a higher degree of hard sensitivity, and there was a quick downward movement so that the fabulous clutch seemed to take in most of the eight inches.
With his throat aching from a held back scream of protest, John opened frantic eyes to see Pam's blonde head just at his belly button, took in her rosy-nippled boob, swinging white and free between his hip and the tub's side, while her creamy-white ass, divided into its two luscious mounds of smooth flesh, topped the picture.
And he was getting--she was giving him--what he had read of, dreamed of, and never had--a blow job! In a sick-sweet burst of rejection and acceptance, unable to lift a hand to stop her, he simply became a vessel spouted at the center, through which his seed, pumped by needs greater than he ever knew, swirled up his beating, joyful cock, and into the warm and tender throat of this girl.
When his last reflex jerk, devoid of semen long since siphoned out, left his prick half-limp along her sucking tongue, Pam stood up in one lovely, flowing movement, standing tall above him, her face grave but her eyes merry, one bubbly track of lost come juice glistening down her chin.
And her aplomb shook John even more than this shockingly unexpected invading of his privacy, this uninvited gulping of a prick gone too far in lust for him to defend himself.
As best he could, considering his position and hers, he strove to chill her with the most stinging of rebukes. "You've gone too far!" he croaked, ashamed that it did not come out as he intended--as a roar of accusation. It was more like a small boy, tearfully threatening someone stronger.
"Get out!" he shouted--or croaked. "Get out of here! You've gone mad, mad!" He would have risen, but the soapy water now more or less covered his limbering dick--at least a bare semblance of modesty.
But Pam sat coolly on the bath stool, and smiled as though nothing had happened. And here he was, her boss, far outranking her scholastically, a full professor, a Ph.D. in psychology, unable to focus the simple word patterns that would activate her, move her, get her out of his outraged sight.
He gathered the strongest forces he could bring to bear. He lowered his voice to a scholarly level, a sadly muted timbre.
"Oh, Pam," he mourned, "can't you see what you've done?"
She laughed, not unkindly. "John, you silly," she said, as though he were the culprit, "you're the one who can't see what I've done."
At his surprised look, she said simply: "I can't be a human and not be aware of your need--your immediate need, this very instant. Why am I here? To look out for your welfare, to see that nothing comes between you and the successful completion of your project. I pledged myself to that, John. Isn't that true?"
Baffled, finding no words to answer, he nodded.
"So, then, John, if I could see--and I certainly did see it--that you were in a frame of mind far away from your proper vector of reasoning--no, let me put it in the kind of plain language to which we both must cleave all through the project. If I could see that a hard-on, a most insistent hard-on, was about to cheat you of a night's rest, leaving you unfit for the demands of tomorrow, what else was fitting for me to do? What more important area of my service than to relieve your obvious tensions?"
"I'm sorry I spoke so harshly, Pamela," he said slowly. "I only feared that our working relationship--scholar to scholar-might be impaired by overpersonalization of our roles. And you must remember--I am your employer. Further, I stand, in a sense, in loco parentis--I hold myself responsible for your well being."
"Oh, bosh, John," Pam said, shifting her haunches nervously on the padded bath stool as quivers of lust released a new stream of juices from her spasming cunt. "You're only ten years older than I--I've heard of ten-year-old girls getting pregnant, but not of ten-year-old boys getting them that way!"
Her humor was so free and human that John began to laugh.
"All the same," he said, "there's a very serious matter of protocol here, and I must comment on it. You must not, and I repeat, must not, place your superior in the negative position of being under obligation. That, my dear, I insist on!"
She helped him out of the tub, a man strangely unselfconscious, now that the act was over, and his position was clear. She had said: "Here, let me do this," and, to his surprise, toweled his privates with skill and care as great as his own.
And at last, on the broad couch in the living room, she had haltingly said--could Pam, the sure-minded, speak haltingly?--"John, about that matter of obligation."
In the incredible and mind-swirling events just passed, and with his heat abated, John had not noticed that Pam, as well as himself, was now stark naked. Until now. And she was showing signs of reason, for her left hand modestly covered as much as possible of her breasts, pressing their full softness against her ribs, while her other hand not only covered her pubis, it seemed to be partly out of sight in the tangle of blondeness.
His kind heart moved him, and he said softly: "Yes, Pam--what about obligation?"
She leaned against him, hiding her head on his shoulder, whispering softly.
"I know how important it is to our relationship that you maintain your position. I must never, never try to be more than a helper. Right?" He could barely hear her.
"My equal, Pam, believe me, my equal in all things," he said. "In case of a tie, naturally, I outrank you."
"So as matters stand, I must do something to equalize our positions. Isn't that true, John?" She felt his nod of assent and pulled away to look straight at him.
"Oh, John, it's so simple! You just go down on me--and then we'll be exactly equal!"
Under other circumstances, he reminded himself later on, just before he dropped off into a dreamless sleep, he would have rejected the idea, sure that he could find another, less personal way to erase the obligation. It was a giant step, and one he would never have taken without a great deal of thought. And, he had to admit to himself, a lot of persuasion.
He knew what it was called. Cunnilingus. Only Pam had called it "eating pussy," and tonight she had said. "You just go down on me."
He had thought about it often, wondering if he could ever bring himself to kiss, to lick, to eat that part of a woman's body. Somehow, it seemed indecent. But thrilling.
Once, in a moment of unruly passion, he had kissed Helen quite near that spot--low on her belly, with his nose buried in the crinkly bush of aromatic hair. Her thighs had snapped together and she had said: "John!" in a voice so frozen with disapproval that he had never tried it again.
Now, with his eyes, his nose, and his lips involved, and with his sense of taste overwhelmed with something new, something completely indescribable, he saw how easily a man could became addicted to such an act. Even the position was as natural as hugging, as though women and men had been constructed with such an oddity in mind.
He was between Pamela's knees, kneeling on the floor, and her strong, smooth thighs seemed to fit naturally over his shoulders, held there by her heels locked behind him.
The position opened her cuntlips wide, and the pearly-pink folds inside the puffed and hairy outer lips, made a broad target for his lips and tongue. He licked smoothly up and down, as though he had been doing this for years, and suddenly felt his head pushed down.
At the lower end of this pulsing clutch of soft lips, there it was--the dark little tunnel into which a man thrusts his erect penis--his hard cock, that is. He obeyed the thrust of Pamela's hand, and forced his tongue as deeply into the tightness as he could manage. To his surprise, there was an impulsive nip at his tongue. She had snapped her cunt on him, or tried to! Perhaps it was reflex. He thrust with his tongue again, leaving it deep in the hole, and felt the contraction of muscle, as though her pink cunt was actually trying to draw him inside!
Her thighs, so smooth and warm, now held his cheeks tightly, and without being told, he stretched his arms around them to feel for her breasts, leaping in pleasure at their soft resilience. His fingers found the nipples, hard as marbles, and it gave his tongue new stimulus to squeeze her springy globes into a sort of inverted cone, and press the tips of them, the nipples, down into the soft flesh with a fingertip. The quick jerk of her lower body indicated a definite nerve tie-up between breasts and pussy.
His chin was pressed into the firm cleft of her ass, just as his cheeks were engaged with her thighs, and his nose with the tangled blonde hair so thickly fleeced on her pubic mound. He moved his hands into her armpits, finding them amazingly warm and slightly damp--it had been a hot day--and down again to the swept-in concavity of her waist, and the swift outward curve of her hips. This was studying anatomy as it should be studied.
His mouth was full of her juices, and he realized that he had been busily sucking on that small, tender hole, tasting the delicately salty, indescribably rousing flavor from deep in her vagina. And there was an acrid bite, something he knew but could not place. Ammonia? He shuddered from an old taboo--it had to be urine--but his overly civilized mind could not compete with the primitive lust, and he sucked and lapped and probed with a new intensity.
In the dazing harmony of taste and texture and aroma, his face* slicked with the clear, heady juices which he found so deliriously exciting, he sensed a tautness, an expectancy, in the clenched asscheeks, the gripping thighs. And he remembered how woman was structured from some long-forgotten marriage manual--the authoritative knowledge that woman's sexual center of feeling was in a little dab of erectile tissue just at the apex of her cunt, partly hidden under the cape of springy flesh where the slit begins.
In a warm and human flow of compassion, to give this loving girl the same release that her lips and tongue had given him, he licked straight up, using his nose to root into the haired division, and found the hard little bud. He could feel its frenzy with lips and tongue, and instinct told him to suck it, to rasp it with his tongue, to nibble at it with careful pressures of his teeth. The effect was astounding.
Her thighs gripped his head convulsively, her entire bottom heaved and plunged, her hands locked in his hair so painfully that he cried out in anguish, but the sound was lost as his mouth was buried in the spasming softness of her cunt. Neither could he hear the moaning cry which burst from Pam's straining throat, but he was proudly aware that he had made her come. He, John Lamberson, so unskilled in the arts of love, had brought this bucking, leaping body to complete orgasm.
It was rather a shock to him that Pam, once she had gotten her muscles under control, kissed him so furiously, her lips closing over his while her tongue raced around his gums and teeth and lips. But it was wildly relevant that this scholarly woman should have such a deep desire to taste her own juices, so recently and warmly gushing from her pussy.
And a new dilemma faced him as he saw that his cock, appeased and softened only a few moments before by Pam's ready lips and kind mouth, was once more hard and rearing, demanding that it have its share of fun.
There had simply been no way to communicate during the wild frenzy of sucking--his tongue had had better things to do. And now, Pam was alternately burrowing her head on his shoulder and raising it to kiss him, but after this flurry, she pulled back and looked at him with shining eyes.
"John, dear!" she cried. "You were wonderful! Oh, you sucked me like an expert!"
Sweet praise, indeed, but there was his mutinous prick, thrusting up from between his thighs. To jerk off now, after experiencing that fantastically beautiful experience in Pam's mouth, would be a sort of desecration. But of course, he thought, he could not expect such grace again. This lovely and considerate assistant, thinking only to relieve his tensions and thus free his mind for clarity of thought, could hardly be expected to debase herself again, just for his selfish needs.
He forced a smile. "It was an unusual experience for me, Pamela," he said, grateful that his voice did not break. "And truly, I found it stimulating. It was thoughtful of you to contrive a way to, er, equalize our situation."
She leaned close to him, laughing and tender, and he felt this was a deeper form of relating than he had ever known. But she rolled him on his back, grasping his erect tool, and he knew a moment of fear as the pleasure rolled through his loins again. This was madness. It seemed to him that Dr. Reuben had written that man's reproductive organs went through a cycle of recession and resurrection that lasted thirty minutes in the average man. But Pam seemed to know more than Dr. Reuben.
"Oh, John, you superman!" she whispered, bending low to kiss him wetly and deeply. "Look at you--look at this wonderful monster!"
He smiled at her. "It just came up unexpectedly," he said sheepishly, "while I was, er, what you said--'going down on you'--is that what you call it?" He raised a hand to touch one of her breasts, and found himself clutching it fiercely, pulling it toward his mouth. He had craved this sweet fullness in his lips while he was eating her pussy, wishing he had two heads so that he could feast on both at once. He dropped it to moan: "Ohhh, Pam, that's not helping me here!" and placed his hand over hers where it gripped his cock.
"Silly man," Pam whispered, "don't worry. Your little assistant is right here to take care of it again!"
"But the obligation," he protested. "I can't let you--" and his voice funneled into a groan of delight as her slick mouth again took him warmly in again, deeply, sweetly in.
"You mustn't worry, professor, dear," she smiled up at him. "The solution is simple!"
The very mutuality of it was amazing to John. Pam's knees straddling his face, a small pillow under his head to give him sweet contact with her flowing lips, while she, now in a better arrangement to move her head--better than the awkward slant of her entire body across the unyielding chill of the bathtub's rim--bobbed joyfully up and down, swallowing his great roll of hard meat, the cushioned head under delightful pressures as it was forced into her throat.
Now, in this measured second act, not in craven bondage to an old idea of woman-debasing but knowing she, too, shared his squirming pleasures, he felt the grip and slide and caress of her tongue, the controlled and gentle scrape of her teeth.
The hairy slit above him, pinkly spread to give his tongue full play, seemed warmer, slicker, more savory than before. Gravity added a bonus--the clear, sweet juice flowed from the hole without his vacuuming sucks, its warmth gathering in his mouth until he had a full swallow to reward him.
In this position, he could see everything much better than before, when his face was buried deep in the draining slash, the softly crisp muff of hair. He saw her rosebud asshole, seeming to expand and contract as he licked, and on impulse, he locked his hands to spread her buttocks, seeing the little ring of puckered muscle open. Without hesitation, he raised his head and probed his tongue into the steaming crevice, the unexpected action bringing a muffled shout from his partner.
He relaxed and raised up again, this time to grasp a big mouthful of hairy lips, sucking as much of her into him as he could, and she responded by a wild wagging of her head, so that his cock felt the corduroyed surfaces of her teeth.
His storm of orgasm began to knot in his balls, and in a desire to encompass all the joys he could master, he gripped one of her breasts, which brushed softly against his belly, dabbed a finger of the other hand into her flowing slit for lubrication, and jammed it, without warning, clear to the last knuckle into Pam's sensitive asshole. At the same time, he fastened on her straining clitoris like a leech, letting the flow from her wildly spasming hole drip onto his face, closing his eyes against the syrupy baptism.
As his semen shot up his cock in tearing throbs, all feeling seeming to concentrate in his glans, he felt the girl's frenzied tongue and lips milking him, felt her belly gather in a rolling wave, and felt her anal sphincter contract almost painfully on his finger.
He would have moments of doubt about all of this, later on. Now, he felt a warming elation, a deep pride that he had been able to repeat in so short a time. Now also, he had the boldness to pull Pamela around, to look her directly in the face to see if, as she had promised, the obligation was evened up.
"My mind is cleared," he smiled at her, and was pleased at her laugh, for he had meant it as a joke.
She ran her pink, tongue around her lips and swallowed, but he pulled her head down for his kiss. If she enjoyed the savor of her cunt in his mouth, perhaps a vestige of his seed might do something for him. There was a new slickness in her mouth, a stronger salinity than he had drawn from her vagina. It was rich and warm, and he felt something new in his heart and mind--a vision of manliness such as he had never even considered and he owed it to Pam.
"Without the force of your reason, this could never have happened, Pamela," he whispered. And he believed it was so. Knowing the locks on his spirit, his fears of contact, of involvement. But she shook her head, smiling.
"The force of this lovely stuff in your balls, professor baby," she said, her voice low and tender. "That's what it took. And you almost blew my head off with that second wad! Wow! I begin to see success ahead for the project!"
Just a wee bit north and west, and higher, due to the hillside, a man stood rigid in the dark, his eyes glued to a mounted telescope. A woman, waiting impatiently, tugged at his arm.
"Give me a chance, damn you, Sam!" she whispered fiercely, although there was no need to whisper. "You've been on that thing for ten minutes! What are they doing?"
"They've done it," the man answered, his voice tense. "They were sixty-nineing, the dirty degenerates!" He moved aside, letting his wife have the final view through the clerestory windows--the sight of the naked, hairy professor lying on his back with cock beginning to fall, his face shining with cunt fluids, not more than a few inches away from the opened slit.
Sam's hands jerked angrily at his belt, and he pushed his slacks and shorts down in one motion, kicking off the slippers on his feet. He heard his wife gasp, and grinned in the dark. It took something like this to get them both really hot--hot beyond the demands of propriety and conscience, hot to the point of the sheer animalism he owned and feared.
The telescope brought every detail to the woman's greedy eye--even the big blue vein extending along the man's cock, the sticky and convoluted pinkness of the open twat. She whimpered as her husband's hands squeezed her breasts in a brutal grip, and felt come juice cooling on her inner thighs as it trickled down from her uncovered cunt.
In one great swirl of movement, he wrenched her around, down on the indoor-outdoor carpeting, and they both moaned a song of release as his enormous cock sank into her wet depths.
Chapter 4
If a man's spirits do not rise with the sun, it must surely be a weight on his mind that holds them down.
John Lamberson's amorphous guilt pressed in on him as he thought of the difficulty in facing Pamela this morning. Unlike his spirits, his cock had risen, and he looked at it dourly, blaming it for all that had happened the night before.
He had kicked the covers off, and this pole of manhood, stiffly angled toward the redwood beams above, seemed to point toward his face like an accusing finger. In his waking daze, the idea that Pam might have looked in on him, might have seen this unruly member of the group in its tempestuous display, added to his disturbance.
In spite of himself, he thought of his face buried in the ripe lips uncovered as their haired flaps had split with a sucking pop--he remembered that Pam's spread thighs had worked this little miracle. The thought of those lips, swollen with heat and blood, slicked by the stream from that clutching little hole, inevitably suggested that the taut prick, so grossly waving, might never fit that tender, tiny opening.
There was a muted mixture of sounds from the kitchen--the metallic clang of a pot, a shuffle of softly shod feet, the scrape of a chair. Another sense told him that coffee was brewing, that bacon was hissing and crackling its unheard invitation to appetite, spreading its smoky incense through the angled route that led from the stove to his nose.
He heard her soft voice. "Are you up, John? Breakfast's ready if you are!" He leaped up, fearing that her body might well follow her voice, snatching up his trousers, heading for the bath.
A good piss removed all but a token swelling from his cock, and he found it surprisingly easy to face Pam, since she obviously found it no strain to face him.
The eggs, scrambled with such skill, that they were neither dry nor runny, the buttered toast, the bacon not too crisp, inevitably reminded him of the breakfasts which he had had with Helen. Never like this, he thought, remembering the unimaginative meals she had served--when she had bothered at all. He ate with polite attention, beginning to feel better.
Helen must not have cared a damn for him, he thought, looking at Pam's interested and friendly face. This girl, only a colleague, at best only a friend, fed him as though she loved him, as though this were not an impersonal matter of research.
As the word "impersonal" flashed on the bulletin board of his mind, he blushed, recalling the depth and breadth and warmth of their communication on the living room couch. He realized that Pam was speaking, and said: "Hunh?"
The blonde girl laughed. "I only said that conversation before coffee is deadly," she said. "Unless, of course, it takes place in bed."
He noticed, for the first time, that she was wearing a blue robe of some very light material, and that it had no belt. Dimly, he remembered her laughing comment as she had gone to her bed the night before. "Well, thank God, all I have to do is brush my teeth--I sleep raw!"
If that were so, then that generous expanse of pink he saw in the opening of the robe was her own warm flesh. As she reached to pour more coffee in his cup, he realized the truth of this conjecture--a breast appeared momentarily, the nipple small and quiescent.
A question tinged with regret entered his mind. If he and Helen--Helen was not unlike Pam, except that she was as dark as Pam was fair--if he and Helen had been as he and Pam had been last night--they might still be together. But that was the same as saying if everything was different, everything would be different. Helen was Helen. And Pam was Pam.
He was not so sure that John was John. Or at least, that today's John was the same as yesterday's John. Some of his guilt had left him, just about the same time that he began his second cup of coffee. Which would mean, just about the same time as that firm and girlish tit had bloomed momentarily in the sagged opening of Pam's robe.
He decided to forget Helen. It was natural that he should have her on his mind--this very area was where she lived--or where she was living when she had filed for separation, a legal move which demanded support for herself, with nothing in exchange. His attorney had advised him to forget it. And he had.
Pam's voice called him back to now. "I'll clean up," she was saying. "You can recheck the microphones and the tape recorders if you want. I think we got them all right yesterday afternoon. I think we have our first meeting tonight--with the Malones--and you want everything to be right."
She was moving about, picking up dishes, all the time she was talking, and John's eyes were rewarded with glimpses of rounded belly and lush thigh and blonde crotch as her quick movements swirled the unbelted robe around her.
Pam felt a great deal better. She knew that John was a man. Last night had proved that. Her early surmise--that he had been, somehow, bullied into an unnatural hands-off attitude toward woman and her lively parts-seemed to have been correct. She hoped that the Malones would be easy to get along with. A wrong move, just now, would not only douse project, cheating her out of a simply marvelous ten-week vacation, but might jar John's scholarly and shrinking nature back so far that nothing would reach him.
She moved around the table and stood by him holding his head against her waist, his brow just touching the lower edge of her boob. His sudden tension alerted her, and she let go with a light laugh. "Don't be afraid, John," she teased. "I'm not going to apply any therapy like I did last night--unless I'm sure you need it!"
She was so gay, so sure of herself, that he laughed. "About last night," he began, and paused. He had to be careful.
Pam prompted him. "Go on," she said. "About last night. What were you going to say?" And then, as he remained silent but smiling faintly, she said: "I'll give you multiple choice, like college entrance exams. Horrible, satisfactory, fair, good, excellent. Which?" She winked at him, and suddenly he felt free, free as he never had been before in the presence of a woman. He would have risen and reached for her, but his hard-on had come back as he had watched her clear away the dishes, and embarrassment held him seated.
He was shaping his thoughts to tell her that she had left out the right choice, "delightful", when the door chimes sounded, and Pam said: "I'll bet it's the housekeeper--I didn't know it was so late!"
"I'm Melissa Darnell," the luscious redhead said, her face bathed in a smile of pure friendship. She liked the fact that Pam was obviously fresh from bed--certainly not dressed yet, anyhow--and hoped she hadn't interrupted a morning fuck. It could be so wonderful in the mornings! She had, in deference to her mother's needs, eaten her breakfast alone, and she yearned for Jim's big cock, thinking of it stretching her mother on this lovely day.
"I'm Pam Marsh--I mean Pam Lamberson," Pam said blushing furiously at her error. "I still get mixed up--we've been married long enough so I shouldn't--I guess I'm not really awake yet!"
The billowy girl--mighty young for a housekeeper, it seemed to Pam--was completely satisfied with the explanation.
She gave the older girl a quick and surprising hug, laughed at some thought of her own, and openly looked along Pam's belly and breasts, where the robe had swung open again. "You're beautiful," she said surprisingly, and kissed Pam on the cheek. "And a real blonde!" She patted her own crotch, a satisfied look on her face. "I'm a real redhead," she declared. "It never fails to get a little comment."
Pam, delighted at this easiness, said dryly: "A conversation piece," and Melissa hugged her sides in laughter.
"Come on Mrs. Lamberson," she said. "You're not paying me to do songs and patter--but I sure hope you people like me and like my cooking. I know, already, that I like you!"
As Melissa moved easily through the house, making the beds with professional speed and skill, turning on the dishwasher, discovering broom and dustpan, vacuum cleaner and dust cloths without help, she endeared herself to both John and Pam with her friendliness and frankness.
"My Mom found herself unable to take this happy little job for a few weeks," she said, avoiding the need for a lie. "But I've been winning prizes at the County Fair for cooking since I was eight--about the same time I started winning footraces with horny little boys--and if you don't like it, you won't have to fire me. I'll see the food left on your plates, and I'll just not come back, okay?"
She gave them a list of what to get at the store. "I'll do your shopping after today, if you want," she added.
Melissa's mind was as busy as her body. It wasn't that she was any snoopier than anyone else, she told herself, giggling--she liked the people, knew they would soon be swapping pussies and pricks with her folks--"among others," she muttered--and had a warm interest in them and she didn't neglect her work.
She noted the microphones and the tape recorders as she swept under the beds, and thought little or nothing of them. Everyone had his own quirks--if the Lambersons wanted to make tapes of their fucking conversations, it was nobody's business. It wouldn't hurt anyone. Nobody got in bed, opened their thighs and said: "My name is Carol Malone, and I live on Vickers Street in Sonar Beach." So, what difference did a few delighted squeals, a few admiring comments make?
The pictures were something else again. They must have fallen out of that little case of the professor's, since they were behind the low chest, against the wall. She had seen the ones her folks had, anyhow. Pretty much the same as these, she noted, and then, coming to the last one, she whistled, long and admiringly.
It wasn't so much the size, the shining colors of John's cock. True, it seemed to be bigger than Jim's, and his was by far the biggest she had ever seen. It was the white and curving stream of semen, the savage look of lust on the shy, quiet professor's face. It didn't add up. It troubled her.
She hastily replaced the photos exactly where she had found them as she heard the Lambersons' car, and helped Pam put the groceries away. But her obviously dampened spirits had their effect on Pam, who hated mysteries of temperament.
Because Pam was the person she was, Melissa quickly confessed her own puzzlement. "I did something wrong, Pam--" she had been ordered to forget the Mrs. Lamberson bit--"and I'm maybe not as smart as I might be--but I like you so much. I like John, too. At least, he certainly seems nice. But--oh! I guess I'll have to show you--I hope you won't hate me-or fire me!"
The girl was almost in tears, and Pam waited while the young redhead crouched to dig the white envelope out from its place. Her heart turned over---with those Polaroid shots, with a semihysterical small-town girl to spread the news, their project might turn into a nightmare.
She looked at the photos, fanned out in her hand, and said sharply: "Well, what's the matter with you, Melissa? What are you, some kind of censor? If my husband and I are nudists, how is it anyone's business? What's wrong with a few nude pictures?"
But the girl looked at her and said: "No, it's not them--look at that last picture--there, that one, where the professor is jerking off!" She mouthed the earthy phrase without hesitation, and Pam felt better. This was no prude, just a puzzled kid. And the picture gave her the shock of her life, plus a rending pain of compassion.
Poor John! That magnificent cock, that sweet and frightened spirit! To be reduced by whatever causes to the ignominy of beating himself off! When millions of women would drool at the chance to stroke it for him, to suck it, to fuck him.
She did not hear the footsteps in the hall, she was in such a strain of gathering her wits. She managed a laugh.
"Oh, for Christ's sake, Melissa," she said, not unkindly. "That's a little family secret. I guess I'll have to tell you."
The younger girl already looked relieved, and she smiled conspiratorially at Pam, who prayed for inspiration. And also for something to distract her mind from the painful spasm of need which kinked her vagina painfully. My God, to have that rampaging cock in her! Had she swallowed such streams of gism last night? Only one spurt looked like a mouthful--she had taken jet after jet. Twice. No wonder she hadn't needed a bedtime snack!
The thought of those two mighty hard-ons, those two copious comes so close together gave her the theme she needed.
"You see," Pam whispered, "John's just too much for me sometimes. He can--you don't mind earthy language, I hope--he can fuck all night. And I just get so tender!"
Melissa's eyes were shining. "You mean he jerks off to, well, spare you, Mrs. Lamberson? Pam, I mean. How about when you get the curse? It must drive him right up the curtains!"
"Oh, no," Pam replied easily. "We fuck then, of course. Right through it. What's a little blood between friends, John says. Mush less man and wife."
Warming to her fiction, she said: "After an hour or so, I usually have to suck it--my pussy just collapses."
The young redhead's eyes were moist, her lower lip sagging. "My God, Pam," she said, "I'd give you a whole week's work, free, for some of that!"
Pam looked for a brake pedal to halt this conversation.
"Hmm," she said, pulling at her lip. "John's rather tired--the long trip, you know. I'd have to ask him. Let's let it go for a few days."
Melissa gripped her arm and wailed. "Shit! Pam, listen to me! It's not fair! He's that kind of a stud, what's a trip? Anyhow, I can't stand it! You can't believe how hot I am! Here, feel me!"
She pulled her shift up and jerked Pam's hand down to the fat mound of haired flesh. "No, I mean really feel me! Push in a finger!"
The child was near hysteria, Pam saw. It was weird, but her finger had been in a hundred friendly cunts. She easily found the way to the streaming void, and gasped at the convulsive pressures. It was like a toothless mouth, wetly gnawing at her finger, Fantastic!
"Take it easy, baby," she admonished. "I'll see what I can do."
She heard a thunderous snort in the hall, just outside the bedroom door, and the angry stamp of feet. Melissa began to weep. "Oh, he heard us!" she cried. "He'll hate me!"
She faced a furious John in the kitchen. And for just a moment, considering that he and his saving of that weird picture had caused all this, she was equally angry.
To his query: "What in God's name got into you?" she gave him a frosty glance, so disapproving that he gasped.
"Keep your voice down, damn you!" she hissed. "You've got a make-or-break problem in there. It's not my problem, either--it's all yours! Why did you keep that stupid picture?"
She made her voice harsh, although her heart ached at his crumbling pride, and followed with a cut even more unkind. "It's bad enough to waste all that--that come power--in jerking off! But to leave pictures around! I think you've blown the entire project--and I must say, you deserve it!"
"Now, just a minute," John protested. "What's she got to do with the project? And anyhow, you told her I'd--fuck her!" His voice was shrill. "You know I don't want to get involved! I've got to stay objective!"
"You fool!" Pam said wearily. "You don't know small towns, I guess. If that kid goes out of here the way she is, it'll be all over town before tomorrow. They'll send sightseeing buses by here--'see the summer home of the jerk-off king'--we might as well call it off right now! And who are you to be so afraid of a kid? Involved, my ass! You're already involved with her--she's seen the picture! I gave you all the best of it--too much of a man for me, I said. Nuts! You're not enough of a man--or enough of a scholar--to make a sacrifice for your life's work! Honestly, John, I'm ashamed of you!"
He stood stock-still, staring at her with genuine fear.
"My God, Pam," he said huskily, "don't be so angry with me. I'll try it. If you say it's vital. But such involvement! And suppose I don't do it--well, as I should?"
Pam's breath came back, and with it, her sympathy. She noted with pride that his prick was straining at his slacks.
"Look at this," she said encouragingly, patting the bulging mass, feeling its warmth through the fabric. "You'll be great. And how can you be 'involved' with a housekeeper? One good fuck and she'll be our slave. Come on!"
It had to be the toughest chore she'd ever tackled, Pam felt. Helping Melissa unbutton and unzip and unclothe John. He stood it well, trying to smile, which came out more as a death-mask leer. She hoped Melissa took it as a grin of lust.
Thank God, his hard-on stayed put, and she saw the red-headed kid's eyes glaze as she looked at it. If it doesn't get out of sight soon, I'll eat it myself, Pam thought desperately, with a deep twinge of envy and want, thinking of where it would be placed out of sight.
And that gorgeous kid! She traveled light. No panties, no bra, and no need for one, either. Those bouncing jugs of hot, sweet meat, with the broad, pink aureoles, the big nipples already as taut and hard as tiny pricks! And that fine, crisp red hair on her cunt--deep pink, really, but dark-red underneath, where the creamy flow, now tracing zigzag patterns down the lush thighs, had soaked everything. Melissa was gorgeous!
Given a choice, Pam would have taken the prick. But my God, how she'd love to suck that overflowing flower of flesh! Or better yet, to have John rooting into her while she sucked Pam! Her guts ached, her mouth puckered.
"Here, you two," she said brightly. "Must I do everything for you?" She shoved Melissa backwards onto the bed, the young girl's heavy thighs opening in welcome, and pulled gently at John's cock, smiling at his dazed face.
"Come on, husband baby, look at the treat that our little housekeeper has cooked up for you! Health food, too," she said. "All natural! No preservatives!"
John seemed to topple forward, as though his cock had taken charge of him. He was on his knees, his cock reaching between the spread thighs, but far above the split target. For a moment, Pam remembered a day on her uncle's farm, a bull languidly mounting a willing cow, and her uncle's earthy help.
Groaning at the lust which shook her, she took the rigid cock in her hand and said: "Lift it up, baby!" to Melissa, who heaved her billowy ass a foot off the sheet, and shoved the broad red head of John's cock between the turned-out lips, into the slavering hole which was visibly writhing in need. That was all she needed to do.
John had been happily surprised at the nip he had gotten on his tongue as he had delved into Pam's little orifice. Now, reluctant but hot, he felt an electric thrill of action that seemed to pull his cock deep into a solid maelstrom of runaway suction.
Once committed, he stoically plunged in, not expecting the surge of pleasure which ran through him. His balls slapped and pressed into the deep cleavage of Melissa's buttocks, and her big breasts, flopping along her rib cage, drew his hands like magnets. Bigger than Pam's, and some male weakness made them seem, because of their size, better. But he had no time for analysis.
One thing he did feel--that he, not exactly experienced, seemed to be performing well. His cock, with hardly any help on his part, was coming out and slamming in, twisting, striking, coming in, coming out, banging against something slick and hard inside. Dimly, he was grateful to Pam for forcing him into this charade--it was what he needed before the real test came. Experience. If he fucked this well, his ego would not be scarred. And having the insight to see that this had been his real hang-up, and not fear of involvement, he relaxed and fucked into the incredibly slick, unbelievably powerful young cunt, as unselfconscious, for this moment, as the bull in Pam's memory.
Somehow, Pam found herself naked, too, and shivering with excitement at the perfection of the tableau on the bed. In her lust, she straddled John's writhing calf, rubbing her screaming slit up and down its hairy surface, pressing her aching boobs against his smooth back.
The itching heat in her clitoris and vagina loved the roughness of her cuntal contact, and she whooped in pleasure long before Melissa's first burst of orgasm.
One of her hands found its way down between the two under her, and she squeezed John's balls so hard that, in a quieter scene, he might have fainted from pain. But his towering lust made him impervious--he plunged in and out of the lush pussy wallowing in the hot feel of silken skin as her thighs clutched him, surging with pride at his held-back climax.
Pam's hand came up dripping from the stream of juices pumped from Melissa's flowing body, and she sucked her fingers in delight, returning for another generous helping. Her cunt, now partly calmed by two big orgasms, throbbed happily, and she thought of riding John's muscled back--some dim dream of opening her cuntlips so wide that his back would be an enormous cock, straining to get into her.
At this moment, a low, keening wail of intense feeling was forced out of the girl pumping herself back and forth, up and down, on John's cock, and Pam, bemused, dropped down to watch the interplay of cock and cunt.
She had heard of serial orgasms, and had often, in a blissful moment, had flown high into three, even four hard comes in a row.
But this upheaval in the tender heat of Melissa's cunt was awesome. There could be no mistaking the physical evidence. The terrible clench of muscle in the girl's buttocks, shaking for a moment and releasing, the clutch and quiver of the vaginal sphincter, holding John's prick prisoner, unable to push in or pull out, all these told their story. And more than these, the siren-like wail that accompanied each flow of released passion, the clenched fists, and the shuddering swell of the nipples on the big breasts--all were proof that one orgasm followed another like blasts from an automatic rifle. And Pam, her face now ducked between John's legs to see the driving prick and the clasping cunt, now up to study Melissa's tautly drawn face, locked in a blind smile of delight, was caught by a new heat as she saw the nearest nipple seem to grow before her very eyes.
It was the sight of that nipple that gave Pam her big idea.
John had never lain down on Melissa, never kissed her. Supported on his outstretched arms choosing to look at the juggling breasts, the rolling white belly, he left plenty of room between himself and his fucking partner.
With a little plea not to be banished, Pam turned on her hip, thrust her leg between John's chest and Melissa's, and used her hand to stuff the silken breast, especially the hardened nipple, between the streaming lips of her cunt.
The pressure of John's thigh between her asscheeks provided exactly the help she needed--her grip on Melissa's big tit, now slick with Pam's flow, might have slipped, but John's driving thrusts, piston-like in their force, and the heat of his hard muscled leg so tight in the sensitive crack of her ass, gathered the fire in her vagina so that, at one final scrape of the nipple against her clit, Pam soared off into a heaven of her own, falling limply on her side, her relaxed leg still on Melissa's quaking belly.
They had to lift Melissa up and support her in a sitting position after John at last fired the explosive charge from his nuts deep inside the barely moving belly.
Pam, her fires quenched, looked up at John, wondering how he would react to this fantastic scene. With intense joy, she saw maleness, good humor, easygoing confidence. And something else--pride. His chest was heaving, his body was bathed in sweat, but he showed no sign of anything but a happy workout.
"Oh, my," Melissa began to whisper. "Oh, my! What have I done? Oh, Pam," she wailed, with tears streaking her cheeks, "I'm such an animal! I made you do this! And John!" She stole a look up at the strong, kind face. "I heard you out there in the kitchen. I don't blame you, but I was so hot!"
Pam winked at John, who surprised her by returning the wink, and pulled the girl against her breast. "Tell me," she asked curiously, "do you always come like that, Melissa? It's a thing I've never seen before."
"Not really," the girl said, her voice gaining normality. "I tell you, I was dying-really dying--for a cock. And that picture--oooh! It nearly killed me!"
"Especially since it shocked you, right there at first," Pam insisted gently.
"Oh, it did!" gasped Melissa. "It seemed so weird! But I see what you mean. You could only take so much of that--then you'd go under! What happened to me?"
"You had what they call a serial orgasm," Pam replied. "One after the other, literally without stopping. And you say it never happened before?"
"Well, no," Melissa said after some thought. "Not exactly. Once, when I was younger, Daddy Jim--" and here she broke off, burying her face in her hands and blushing all over. "I never meant to say that!" she cried. "Anyhow, he was just an older fellow at high school--we used to tease him by calling him Daddy Jim!"
The girl's confusion told Pam that there was some deception inherent in the garbled statement, but she was still interested in the apparent change in John. Instead of a shamefaced retreat, instead of a hangdog look, or pitiful remorse, the cautious scholar seemed to enjoy his part as the principal member of a naked threesome.
Standing directly in front of the two women seated on the edge of the bed, his tool, come-slicked and still menacingly fat from his fuck with Melissa, drew Pam as instinct urges the spawning salmon.
Without a thought that she might be denied, she simply leaned forward, raised the still formidable cock to her lips, and sucked it in, all the way, clogging her throat with its bulk, enjoying the sweetly mixed tastes of man and woman.
Chapter 5
The impossible, so-called, happens every day. Confidence, killed by years of error and psychic torture, can sometimes be resurrected by the simplest treatment. So Pam reasoned, secretly filled with pride at the new John. He was so dominant, obviously unafraid of sex or involvement, easily accepting the responsibilities of initiative, yet cool and considerate.
In deference to some old habit, he and Pam had dressed, but only partially. He wore an Indian headband, a long-tailed blue shirt, sandals, and nothing else. His male appendages, swinging free, were a sort of badge of a deeper freedom, and Pam felt that decorations for courage were never more proudly earned nor artistically fitting. "The prettiest set of cock and balls in California," she said sincerely.
Pam's costume was far more conventional. She chose one of two bikinis she had packed for the vacation, the panties so scant that blonde pubic hairs pushed out at the top. But she added an original touch to the tiny halter, wearing it around her neck like a large bow tie, leaving her breasts unfettered.
Nowhere equal in quantity to Melissa's, they were superior in lovely shape, creamy texture, and jouncy firmness, and Melissa herself had said so, daring to give each titty a kiss as she said her warm good-byes. It had seemed a perfectly natural act, considering the close bonds which had been forged in John's bedroom. But there was a quick tension in Pam's loins as Melissa had put her arm around the older girl's naked shoulders and some extrasensory perception had made her nipple suddenly warm to hard and sensitive life. The kiss had been intense, a hard suck, really, and Melissa's tongue had rasped in a quick swirl around the sensitive flesh.
Now their girl-housekeeper had gone, but the warmth remained, deep in Pam's belly, and she carried a sweet image--of herself and Melissa alone, nakedly and hotly entangled. Later, she told herself. It's John I must think about, now.
"My project--our project, really--is underway," John said as they sat together on the big couch. "Even before our first real contact with our swinging group. And you know something, Pam?" He was teasingly superior. "It's already working out as I mentally projected--the male's role is becoming less dominant."
Pam laughed. "You're a long way from having enough material for a conclusion, John. You know it and I know it. Clinical studies demand thousands of tests. Even Gallup takes projections--inaccurately, in my opinion--from more than a thousand subjects. And what have you got? One girl--just one--and she has no connection whatever with what we're studying, which is the swap syndrome. So don't be silly!"
He laughed. "You're forgetting my other subject. Not one girl. Two. You and Melissa. And both of you are aggressors. Two out of two. Not conclusive, of course. But it's a trend!"
Pam looked at him seriously. "You're only half-joking," she said. To reassure herself of the validity of his change, she quietly reached over to rest her hand warmly on his thigh, letting her fingers barely touch his quiescent cock. The reaction was good, she decided. No flinching, no removal of her hand. He was coming along.
"You really can't count me, you know, even in fun," she said. "I acted objectively, as your assistant, to avert a sleepless night for you."
"Oh, quite," he answered with broad irony. "But it was still sex. And it was fun. And you started it.
"Oh, shut up, professor," she replied with great good humor. "Of course it was fun. But who was lying in the tub, with a double handful of hard-on, needing help? I wonder what Freud would say about who started it?"
It was John's turn to laugh. "Okay, you aggressed because I had an erection--I mean a hard-on! I aggressed by having it. I had it because you came in on me, half-naked. See, it's the woman who starts things!"
She gave his cock a sudden squeeze. She had never felt more at home with a man, nor in a better frame of mind.
"Sophistry!" she laughed. "And worse. You start with the wrong conclusion and then try to make the linking facts fit. You can't even include Melissa in your evaluation. She's simply a hot little kid. A very, very hot little kid!"
John suddenly looked stricken. "Maybe she's pathological," he said worriedly. "Do you think I did something wrong? Did I have a right to take advantage of her?"
Pam's heart twisted with the pain of sympathy. In spite of a brief move to pull back, he allowed her to draw his face to her breasts, where she held him firmly. Realizing that she had lost her detachment where John was concerned, and not feeling it was any loss, she let herself go for a moment in complete rage against whatever had warped and sickened a mind obviously capable of the best attitude toward sex.
When she felt the anger subside, she said softly: "John, I can't reach the people who've lied to you, but I can try to cure the sickness the lies created. Who told you such a stupid thing--that there's such a possibility as 'advantage' between a man and woman? Was it Helen?"
She felt him grow tense, ready for denial, but her soft and succulent breasts were mashed against him, their perfumed warmth opening his mind.
He said in a slow, wondering way: "I don't know. I don't think so. Farther back. Mother taught me, I think."
"Then, Goddamn your mother!" Pam cried. "Don't you know there's a latent incest in everything a mother teaches her son about sex? The dirty, jealous bitches!"
John jerked free, his face angry. "You're crazy!" he said. "My mother? Incest?" He laughed shortly. "Hell, she hated sex!"
"She never told you that, not in so many words, did she?" Pam asked quietly. "What was it? A sly little innuendo here and there? Deep sighs? 'My boy, only a woman can know'? That sort of shit? And Helen, being of the same breed, let you think she didn't like sex. It's true, isn't it?"
John looked at her with keen interest. "How could you know?" he asked. "Oh, I know, you're a woman, too--but baby, you're not the same kind of woman. What's the difference? You like sex. And aren't ashamed of it."
He reached between her thighs, wide open as she sat cross-legged, and tenderly pried between the furred cuntlips, touching her glowing core, wetting his fingers in the generosity of her fluids. The softness, the feel of the warm film of juice, sent scrambled messages through his brain and down to his crotch, so that his prick began to extend, to swell. But he still felt shame.
"Maybe it wasn't my mother's fault," he said. "Or Helen's. Nobody can help being what they are. Can they? Maybe man must feel guilty where sex is concerned. It seems to me that the Bible says so. Not that I'm enslaved by religion," he added hastily.
Pam had a soft grip on his rising cock. "John, you've been destroying yourself--taking your own life, or at least the best part of it. Why are you still screaming to be punished? Why do you think you've been a naughty boy? Don't you see--the weak woman, the woman cowardly enough to withdraw from life, is like the maharajah who wants his wives burned on his pyre! A woman too scared to live doesn't want those she loves to live, either. It's the Goddamnedest selfishness possible. With a mother, it's slavery. With a wife, it's murder!" She was jerking at his prick for emphasis, and his prick was enjoying it, getting harder, longer, thicker.
"Go back to the incest," John ordered.
Pam bent to kiss the swelling red head in her hand, looking up with a smile. "A mother plays with her little boy's tiny prick, sees it hard, like a stiff little finger; sees it soft, like a small acorn. At some point, she has the horrid thought: 'Some day, this tender little thing will go into some dirty vagina!' It sickens her. From then on, every girl her son likes becomes suspect, a tramp, a dirty, conniving whore. Think back--isn't that so?"
John grinned. "You're fantastic," he said. "But-incest?"
Pam tossed her head. "Oh, most mothers haven't the courage to admit it, let alone do it," she said. "But who are they saving their son's prick for? Away down in their subconscious minds, they see that pure little prick, now grown big--bigger than their husband's, and much too pure to be handled by some dirty, strange woman--they fantasize it in their own cunts. They're protecting their little boy. Mommy loves him, mommy won't ever let the real world get at him. Do I make sense?"
"You can't cram ten years of analysis into ten minutes of diatribe, Pam, dear," he said. "Let's say that I get the general idea. And that I believe it's true. I said, a while ago, that you like sex, and aren't ashamed of it. Melissa likes it, and isn't ashamed of it. I have the feeling that the women we're going to meet in the project are the same way. What's the difference--honesty?"
Pam felt disinclined to accept such purity of motive as the reason for her own urges. Besides, the conversation was becoming more personal than she liked. "Maybe it's a difference in nerve sensitivity," she laughed. "Every woman has the same body temperature. So, call it hot pants. Maybe the ability to have thunderous, gut-busting orgasm makes the difference. No, that's not it exactly. Every woman who isn't deformed has that ability. But some of them get frozen up--complete anesthesia of the cunt. Pitiful!"
John's fingers were still softly exploring the juicy pink depths beyond the padded outer lips. At each tiny movement, Pam involuntarily shoved forward. The urge to lie back, to spread herself, her labia, her legs and cunt, to draw his cock into her, was overwhelming. A steady, pulsing warmth extended all through her belly. The narrow strap of the bikini bottom, moved aside by John's hand, suddenly seemed intolerably enclosing, the top, around her neck, was a silly and banal symbol. But her hunger would last--her cock hunger, at least--and her first fuck with John would be better for waiting.
She squirmed away and swung her feet to the floor.
"From the smell, I think dinner's ready," she said.
John licked at his cunt-slick fingers. "It doesn't smell as good as this," he said. "But maybe I'll need some strength!"
They ate the simple, delicious meal that Melissa had put in the oven an hour or so before. "Creole steak" she called it. Strips of flank steak, browned in flour, fresh tomatoes, green pepper, onion rings and carrot strips, all simmered to tenderness in a red-brown gravy. Served on a bed of rice, it was superb, and the ripe pears and Liederkranz cheese made the perfect dessert.
John looked at the kitchen clock and sighed. "I guess the Malones will be here in an hour or so. Somehow, I feel a little less anxious to explore Mrs. Malone--exploring Mrs. Malone's mind, I mean." He looked meaningfully at Pam's breasts, then to where the minimal scrap of clinging cloth barely hid her pubis.
Pam grinned at him. "Don't worry," she said. "I'm afraid I took a liberty, just after Melissa, you might say." At his raised eyebrow, she continued. "I called them this afternoon, told Mrs. Malone that you were still tired from the long drive. Begged off, to cut it short. We see them in a few days, exact date not specified. Okay?"
John beamed at her and spread his arms. "I need some more training and guidance before I stick my sweet little prickie into the dirty vagina from the outside world. Eh, Mommy?"
Pam came toward him, thumbing down the bikini panties, her face lighted with an ancient, non-maternal smile.
"I have to say that that girl has more personality and sweetness in her voice than anyone I ever talked to," Carol said to Jim and Melissa. "Of course, I'm disappointed about tonight--especially if you're telling the truth about his cock, Lissa. Don't you think you just got carried away?"
Melissa's voice was sober, almost worshipful. "God is my judge, Mom," she said, "and Jim, you know I love you more than anyone, so don't get mad, but I will take oath that it's eight inches long and thick as a rolling pin! Of course I was hot, you understand why." She looked at them both, and they looked back with love and understanding.
"That lovely homecoming bout with Jim just barely kept me from taking to the streets," she clowned broadly. "And this morning, I knew Mom had prior rights, so I took my little hot, pink ass out of here, hoping that a little air, blowing on my little twat, would cool it."
She giggled reminiscently. "You're right, Mom, that girl is wonderful. And I like Dr. Lamberson, he's a nice guy. But that picture shook me up! Wow!" She shuddered as she remembered. "He must have shot a quart of come out, right at the camera."
"Trick photography?" asked Jim skeptically. - "No way," Melissa insisted. "But I didn't buy that shit about him being too much for Pam."
"Mrs. Lamberson, dear," Carol said automatically.
"Not after today, Mom," Melissa giggled. "We're sisters, or anyhow, sisters-in-law. We might be married or engaged or something, for all I know. I was kind of excited, but I'll swear she got mingled with us somehow, and I think she managed to stuff my boob in her crack."
Jim felt of her boob lovingly, and laughed. "No way," he said, mimicking his stepdaughter, and they all laughed.
"Well, I guess I can wait to see all that cock," Carol said, rolling her eyes, hamming it up. "But if he's all that hot and ready, it must be more than just the long trip that put him down for tonight."
"Maybe he needs to recover from our little girl," Jim chuckled. "We'll all stay home tonight and practice."
"I'm glad we decided to stay home, all by ourselves, and practice," John said. They were lying on his big bed, which was pushed against the wall, with all the lights on--"the better to see you with, my dear," he had clowned, spreading Pam's The king size bed was Hollywood style, so you couldn't say that Pam's feet were at the head, or that John's were at the foot. Certainly, they were pointed in opposite directions, and John's face, just level with Pamela's open pussy, was a study in concentration.
"All these goodies I read about, saw in pictures and diagrams, but never saw close-up until last night," he mourned. And then, impishly, "I wonder if Helen had a clitoris? Or my dear mommy?" He kissed the taut little bud in question, getting a convulsive leap from Pam.
"Not like mine, I'll bet," the girl giggled. "You're certainly feeling your oats, professor."
He leaned his face against the smooth warmth of her thigh, sniffing the wakening scents of her cunt. He clutched her firmly around the hips, pulling the pink lips against his sucking mouth. The taste and the slickness were aphrodisiac and wildly sweet, but the sudden warm feel of Pam's lips on his prick touched off a new ripple of lust.
He suddenly had an urge to test his new manhood in a meatier way, and pulled away, heaving up to kneel between her thighs. "Want the lights out?" he asked softly.
"Not me, baby," Pam laughed, reaching her body up, her swollen labia open and pinkly oozing. "I want to see your face when it goes in!"
The clerestory windows showed a jagged black outline against the moonlit summer sky, and somewhere in that shadow, the deputy sheriff clutched the eyepiece of his telescope, pushing his anxious wife away.
"Hold it, Helen," he said. "I know you want to look, and I want you to, later. But this is business-sheriff's business. Damn it, if I could only read lips! Or sneak a bug into that bedroom!"
"You'd have to bug the whole house," his wife quipped. "They were doing that perverted thing in the living room, last night. You should have arrested them right then!"
"No proof, no real evidence," he said, his eye still busy at the telescope. "Oooh!" he groaned, thrusting with his pelvis. "He's got it in her!"
"Big deal," the woman said sourly. "The silly, smirking fool! Unless he's changed a lot in the last three years, he'll shoot his wad on about the third poke!" Her voice was venomous, her hostility expressed in the thinned lips, the frown of disapproval.
"Helen, you're wrong about that," the deputy said. "He's pounding it into her--oh, Jesus, he must have made her come! She's pitching like a bucking bronco!"
"I told you it wouldn't last," his wife said, but he looked at her curiously.
"Don't bet on it, Helen," he said. "He's kneeling there, grinning and laughing, and it's as hard as ever!"
Pam, flushed with a bursting, spiraling orgasm, feeling, as she described it, as if her guts were dropping out, looked happily up at John with love and amazement.
"No wonder that redhead went right out of her tree!" she said admiringly, feeling the inner muscles of her vagina still slipping and gripping around the tremendous cock. "You're hitting places I never knew I had!" She held out her arms and he came down to press her breasts into her ribs with painful satisfaction. He kissed her warmly, pushing his tongue deep into the slickness of her mouth, probing the hard and soft places.
She spasmed again, deep inside, feeling the crawl of her pumped-out juices trickle into the crack of her ass, and let herself go into a smaller, quieter orgasm. John was awed.
"Did you come again?" he asked her. "Can you do it that soon?"
She clung to him, laughing softly. "That was just a little one," she whispered. "I feel like I could come a hundred times!"
"I wish I could," John said, feeling the itching warmth wriggle back, seemingly into his balls, as the gripping and lively vagina still licked around him. "I guess one is all I ought to do, so soon after that wild one with Melissa."
Pam gave him a shake, causing her boobs to quiver deliriously. "You don't have any idea how many times you can fuck, John!" she said. "Don't go back to mommy's knee for old wives' bullshit! The more you fuck, the more you're able to fuck!"
He raised again and grinned down at her, reaching to stroke a breast, its nipple hard with her pleasure. "And my mind will stay clear for the project, I'll have a deeper insight into my work, and no more premature ejaculation," he taunted her. "Send me a bill, Dr. Freud!"
His unconscious movement set up another rub of sweet friction as his big pole dragged her inner lips inside, straining the membrane over her clit, and she clutched his forearms, eyes closed, face happily tense.
Surprised, he leaned back, then pushed in again, feeling the vaginal strength nip at him again, clamping the top and bottom of his prick against the ridges of sheathed muscle, feeling a new flow of warmth around his blood-gorged glans.
"Oh, God!" Pam cried hoarsely. "Pump it into me! Oh! John! Fill me up!"
She writhed up at him, and he felt the solid bump as her open crotch slammed against his pubis, swallowing his prick in its entirety, so that the end of her sheath pinched the itching head against her hard cervix. He lifted her legs, his hands under her knees, freeing her body to spiral on his cock, watching in disbelief as her movements sawed his prick in and out, showing first a blossom of bunched pink lips as it came out, then closing as he rammed in again, with the thick folds of cuntlips clasping his root.
The spasmodic heaves slowly stilled, the tension of her face relaxing into dreamy sweetness, and she smiled at him from half-closed eyes. "Are you keeping count?" she whispered. "Is that five? Or six?"
"I don't know," he said, grinning his pleasure. "But one more like that, and I'll have to fall back to reload."
She reached up to him again. "Oh, John, do it!" she begged. "Fuck me, real hard, and shoot it all over my insides! Oh, that lovely, rich stuff! I want to eat it, but I want to sprayed inside of me, too! Why can't I have both?" she wailed.
John's smile was rich with love. "Let's fuck, Pam--and I'll show you what to do! Promise!"
He was conscious of the satin warmth of her thighs against his hairy flanks, and the softly muscled legs curving over his hard calves. The wet warmth from her cunt now seemed to hover in a wide area around both their bellies, and he shut his eyes, visualizing how her asshole had clasped and reopened under the shocks of orgasm last night.
With her breasts mashed between them, with his tongue probing for hers, he drew his cock out until he felt the vaginal sphincter lip his cockhead, and drove slowly in, twisting his hips to stretch the tight wall. As he pulled out, she drew back with careful timing, and as his cock started in again, some spring seemed to be released so that her clenched ass, driven by the gathered strength of her back and legs, met him with a jar that drove him deeper into her than before.
The hot grip milking his glans, he felt his load of sperm start bursting up his tubes, painfully hot, with a pressure almost too hotly delightful to bear, and he abandoned all thought of a timed and measured orgasm.
As the transcendent pangs seemed to turn his cock to fire, with jerking thuds deep in his rectum, Pam's body whipped from side to side, up and down, with her cunt sucking at him as if the draw his last drop into her womb. Her final fluttering grip, as the sensitivity of his glans built up and up, brought a gasping cry from his throat, and he rolled off her, gripping her ass, holding them joined so tightly that she could not move.
After their breathing became more normal, and Pam had opened her eyes, he rolled her over on her back, following, keeping his cock buried, still big enough to plug her opening. Without a word, he got to his knees, still gripping her buttocks and raising her bottom to his waist.
"What for?" she smiled, her eyelids heavy with languor.
"So you don't leak," he answered. "Remember my promise?"
Before she could protest, he eased his cock out abruptly, and quickly placed his mouth over her dark-shadowed hole. By motions and tugging, he got her to roll with him, keeping his mouth glued to her vagina, until he was on his back and she was squatting over his face. And then she remembered!
As he sucked, she worked her cunt muscles, forcing out his heavy load of sperm into his mouth, until she felt that, between them, they had emptied her of his gism.
Her face was the picture of gratitude as he came up to press his mouth to hers, and she opened her lips to receive the big mouthful of semen, still with her body warmth to enliven it.
She marched out into the kitchen, then, her mouth pursed, and he heard odd sounds, capped at last by the whir of a blender. When she returned, high-breasted, round-rumped, utterly beautiful, she brought two big beer schooners foaming over with a creamy head, brown-flecked with nutmeg.
They drank silently, and licked the "milk mustaches" from each other.
"Damn it, Pam, that was a sweet and thoughtful idea. Good, too--tremendous. What was in it?"
"Just simple stuff, all of it good for you," she laughed. "Milk, ice cream, a banana--and an idea of my own."
He remembered her pursed lips as she walked out, and with a burst of laughter, he pinned her on the bed, looking down at her with an admiring smile. "My semen!" he cried. "You put that in!"
She looked up at him, marveling at the tremendous changes in his choked-off, walled-in spirit, now soaring free in sex.
"It's very manly stuff," she said, smiling. "I figured it might sort of, you know, go back into the bank!"
Up on the dark terrace, the woman called Helen was now at the telescope, unconsciously rubbing at her crotch. "You can't arrest them for that, Sam," she was saying. "Two consenting adults, especially if they're man and wife--you'd just make a fool out of yourself."
"I know that, Helen," the deputy replied. "But with that kid, Melissa Darnell, working for them, that means that her mom and stepfather will be coming around. And that means swapping. And then, by God, I'll bust them! What's going on now?" he asked, as his wife's body began to weave, and it was obvious that she was pressing her hand deep between her legs.
"Ugh!" she cried, and her voice was thick. "They're back at that horrible, perverted thing they were doing last night!"
She was shaken more than she would admit, and her motives and thought both seemed incredible. There was a burning anger at her ex-husband--he had never been able to stay in the saddle for more than thirty seconds without ejaculation. That was an insult to her. It was a deprivation, too, she thought, knowing that sex, however sinful, was a rich pleasure. But, with her anger at the professor, there was also a maddening, sickening urge--she called it plain curiosity--to try for herself that act which she had just called 'that perverted thing.' With a sigh, she gave up the telescope to her husband.
From the juicy pinkness of Pam's pussy, John, rising on his elbow with cheeks shining from come juice, looked down to where Pam's mouth was stretched around his cock. Her eyes were closed, her face dreamily content, and her sunken cheeks and moving throat muscles showed the concentration of effort as she worked to restore his hard-on. It was miraculous, John decided, and wondered which was the prime ingredient--the flowing warmth, the moving thrust, the taste and smell of her pussy sending messages to his rising prick--or the heady application of her gulping mouth and busy tongue on the tender glans. Whichever it was--and he was aware that there might be still a third factor, the intangible one of their subtle communication of mind and spirit--he felt a swelling pride.
He turned back to the warm cleft and licked deeply, using his hands to pull her asscheeks wide apart, tonguing the deep and fragrant valley where her anus winked its signals of readiness. Remembering her delighted squeals when he had probed there the night before, he made his tongue as hard and pointed as he could, reaming it around the shuddering pink ring, jamming it in as far as it would go.
Her entire body tensed with the surprise of it, and his hidden mouth twisted in a grin as his cock took the wildness of her response. He was far from coming, but his prick, now hard, enjoyed her bobbing head, her clasping tongue and lips. Her groans of orgasm made an electric vibration around his glans, readying it still further for the sensational fuck he would give her in a minute or two. As soon as she stopped coming.
Helen, kneeling in the deeper shadows with her knees wide apart, her guilty hand working desperately between her dripping cuntlips, heard her husband's short oath, his moan of desire. Her eyes were used to the dark, and she saw the sharply defined mound where his cock pushed against his slacks.
Without any conscious thought, she knee-walked quickly to him and knelt, waiting, while he unzipped and brought his tool out into the night air.
She almost gagged at the rank scent of his steamy maleness, but an instinct as old as time shook all her inhibitions out of her mind. Her lips, opening wide to admit the huge cock, writhed around the foreskin, her teeth raking the throbbing glans. Her own fire burned higher, and she rocked her head back and forth in delight, moving her fingers quickly in and out of her sodden cunt, the fork of her hand touching the clitoris.
As his thick clots of hoarded sperm spewed hard against her palate, and her strong throat muscles stroked his jerking glans as she swallowed, the pent-up force of her orgasm blew off in a racking series of waves which would have felled her, except for her tight grasp around her husband's bucking hips.
Ever after his cock had subsided into a meekly limp cartoon of its previous bigness, even after she had let it fall from her come-lathered lips, she continued to clutch him around his thighs, her cheek buried in his crotch, feeling the warm dampness of his sated prick and balls.
Fighting a revulsion that fitted poorly with his recent elation, her husband patted her dark hair kindly, and spoke softly above her in the shimmering dark.
"Oh, Helen," his voice came brokenly, "it may be a dreadful perversion. But I wanted it so! Am I losing my mind?"
She tightened her grip and moved her head so that her lips brushed his cock, soft but still fat. "Sam," she whispered, "don't worry--it's all right! I wanted it just as much as you did!"
Chapter 6
Jim Malone, helping his wife out of the car in the shrub-fringed parking area just below the Lambersons' patio wall, gave an admiring whistle.
"That Ferguson dame has a nice piece of property here," he answered his wife's inquiring look. "Plenty of space, nobody can ever build out the view--and I can see a couple thousand bucks' worth of landscaping, just from here."
Carol smiled. "I just hope these folks won't think we're intruding, dropping by without a call. It just seemed like a friendly thing to do--just to see if the professor feels better now that he's rested." She was suddenly aware that Jim had stopped dead in his tracks, looking up the hill, and turned her eyes up to see what was arresting his attention.
She saw a woman, turning to go into her home from the porch, and saw the peculiar, three-legged object at the rail.
"What is it, Jim? What's the matter?" she asked.
Her husband shook his head, his face worried. "That telescope," he answered. "And that woman. Did you see her?"
"Not to recognize her," Carol replied. "Someone we know?"
"Sort of," Jim acknowledged. "You know who Sam Rovere is?"
"Sure," Carol giggled. "Old blue-nose Sam. The sex-hating deputy. The guy who's always arresting people for a little screw in their cars." Her voice was light.
"He's a one-man crusade against anything to do with sex," Jim spat disgustedly. "The damned snoop! I'd like to do something to put him on!"
He was still grumbling about it as Carol pushed the doorbell which was answered by Melissa. She greeted them with a conspiratorial wink, and was just informing them that Pamela and John had gone down to the highway to meet someone when the patio door opened, and John, Pam, and another couple came laughing up the two broad steps.
"We're the Malones," Carol said, recognizing John and Pam from the photographs. "Just stopped by to see how John was feeling. After his hard trip," she grinned. "I'm Carol, this is Jim. And I must say, John, you look all right today."
John was stammering, but Pam answered for them both. "He is all right, Carol--and it's wonderful of you to stop by. These two lovely people are Del Fredericks," and she put her hand on the arm of a tall, slender, bright-looking young man in elegantly styled establishment-type clothes, "and this cute thing is his wife, Marina," she added, patting the round rump of a small, cuddly brunette, whose soft little face expressed some concern, but who returned Carol's warm smile with interest.
Once inside--the Malones politely trying to leave, but stayed by Marina Fredericks' gentle insistence--the three couples found themselves warmed by instant compatibility. It was John's first acquaintance with the intuitive camaraderie of the swinger, and he was amazed. Marina's letters had been quite positive--"we do so want to meet you two, and to swing as high as you want. But--at least for the first time--let's just we four be together"--and this theme had been repeated in each exchange.
Now, to his befuddlement, as soon as he said: "The Fredericks are strangers here--they telephoned from down on the highway so we could show them the way up the hill," Carol and Jim had both laughed. And Carol, coming over to put her cheek against Marina's, and squeezing the little brunette's boldly outthrust tits, turned and said: "You certainly picked some lovely people for your parties!"
It was oddly shocking that these two women, complete strangers to one another, could relate so quickly and so tenderly. Or that, without explanation, everyone except himself understood the unspoken agreement that seemed to flash from body to body as well as from mind to mind.
For Marina looked at Pam delightedly, saying: "Consider the 'four-only' suggestion canceled, Pam--I'm going to love these people!"
And Del, his lean face warmed with a shy smile, got up and embraced Carol from behind, pressing his long-fingered hands boldly into her deeply carved breasts while he pressed his pelvis against her curving ass in a series of gentle bumps.
There was one brief drop into seriousness when Jim explained the nature of what he felt might be a mild threat--the deputy's home, the telescope, the lawman's reputation.
They had all partially undressed by now, and were diving into vast heaps of barbecued ribs left by Melissa, and Del, having smeared Pam's buttocks with barbecue sauce in a warm embrace, had spread her, face down, over the back of a chair while he carefully licked her clean.
In a final burst of efficiency, he had thumbed her twin globes apart and thrust his tongue into her oozing cuntlips, looking up to say: "Fire the chef--this chick tastes better without the sauce!" when Jim, looking up at the clerestory windows, spoke his piece about confounding Sam Rovere.
And again, John felt alone, for he was the only one who seemed even slightly worried about the deputy.
Marina, her full-blown boobs jiggling with her laughter, said: "Ooh, that dirty old man! I hope he gets his eyes full!"
She turned her back to the high windows, bending over to peer up from between her extended legs, exposing a fat, dark-haired little pussy which popped open with a kissing sound.
Pam, engrossed with the hot sight, moved quickly over, rubbing her hand deep into the flowering pink twat. As Pam's finger went out of sight in the smaller woman, Carol pushed her hand deep into John's shorts, its warmth closing strongly around his hardening prick. "We ought to be able to figure out something to stir that damned fool up a bit!" she laughed.
"Stir him up?" John echoed. "Shouldn't we, er, cool it?" He looked to Pam, hoping he had used the term correctly, and Jim Malone, feeling his host's trepidation, came over to put a comforting hand on John's shoulder.
"Look, John," he said, "even if this is Santa Vaca County, and the dumb bastards down here are shocked every time the Supreme Court upholds the Constitution, a guy like Sam Rovere can only go so far. He can't bust in without a warrant, for one thing. And a fellow can ball his own wife any time, anywhere, as long as it isn't in public."
He looked around and grinned. "Nudism is legal, too," he continued. "We can all walk around the house, bare-assed, so he can see and he can conjecture, but he can't do one fucking thing about it. Except bite his Goddamned nails," the big man said. "Or jerk off in frustration! Here, John, Pam, let's look around a bit."
Now that they knew what to look for, they discovered that the telescope commanded a perfect view of all the front patio, a partial view of the back yard, much of which was hidden by two ancient pepper trees.
"Hmm," Jim commented. "We can use these patios later. But now, let's check the inside."
It was to see that the deputy could check out the big couch in the living room, most of the kitchen, and the king size bed in John's bedroom. On this latter discovery, John looked at Pam, his face flaming as he remembered the picture they must have made the night before, but Pam winked at him.
"We gave the bastard a real show last night, dear, didn't we?" she laughed, and his courage returned, along with a burst of pride at Pam's coolness.
Under Jim's direction, they quickly transposed the furniture in John's bedroom--"our bedroom," Pam had boldly called it. The big bed went against the wall closest to the windows, completely out of sight of the telescope, but with the twin chests of drawers and a mirror in its place.
"He'll go nuts, trying to see some action in that mirror," Jim chuckled. "It's small, and with a lamp next to it, he can only get flashes. Goddamn!" the big man cried. "This will be perfect! I wish I could see his face!"
As they lounged in and out of the kitchen, picking at the ribs, eating the hot rolls baked by Melissa, taking a dab of the two salads the young girl had devised, their excitement and their anticipation grew.
All of them, by now, had shed their clothes, and it was obvious that Pam and Del would have no trouble forming an easy understanding, and that Jim was deeply interested in the small, deliriously rounded Marina Fredericks. John, excited and somewhat frightened at the prospect of playing a swap-master's role with the gorgeous Carol, got some satisfaction from observing that neither Jim Malone nor Del Fredericks had anything on him in the cock department--at least, if half-hard testimony could be trusted. And Carol liked him, he sensed right from the start.
At first contact, when she had boldly--no, John amended mentally, she hadn't been bold, just friendly--at any rate, when she had reached into his shorts to handle his cock, her eyes had been round with wonder and pleasure. She had started a sentence. "Wow! It's as big as Me--" and had stopped, blushing at how close she had come to spilling Melissa's secret, but had smoothly picked up on it, continuing with: "As big as my recollection of your picture!" Like so many other small pieces of this warming jigsaw picture of open lust combined with easy friendship, this minor overture had added to a growing treasure of pride and confidence.
Now, holding her against him as they stood in the door between the kitchen and the living room, his rising cock, held hard between her strongly rounded thighs, felt the wet heat from her opened cuntlips, the tickling and gentle scrape of her red pubic hair along its length. She turned her face up to kiss him, her tongue warmly daring his own to come out and play, and her long breasts, so full and heavy that she might have been a nursing mother, flattened their pneumatic firmness on his hairy chest.
Therefore, when Jim tapped him on the shoulder, saying: "Come on, champ, it's dark enough for our snoopy friend to begin seeing the light!" he was in perfect form--his big cock avidly nodding an invitation to all the girls, his heart beating strongly and rhythmically, his courage rising just as his prick had.
"Lie down here, Pam," Jim said. "I want this strong light to be on your body from the shoulders down, so that old Hawkeye can't be sure of your hair color. There, move up an inch or so. Good!" He had stayed away, in the shadow, with Marina's smooth, curvaceous little body close by.
Now that the lights were on, and John was standing as directed by Jim, in profile to the line of sight from the high windows, he had a momentary pang. He was absolutely certain he could make it with his laughing, beautiful assistant. The joke on the overly zealous deputy was, he could see, more or less a necessity, now that all had agreed. But--how well would he do when the switch was made?
For that was the idea--for the prying lawman to see him and Pamela, legally wed, as far as any of them knew, fucking. And then, simply for their own joy in hoodwinking the fuzz, Jim would switch out the lights for a second, and the gorgeous redhead and Pam would quickly change places, and he, John, would continue the fuck with Carol.
There was a moving thrust of headlamps against the dark sky, its brightness striking against the beamed ceiling as the deputy's car rolled up before his garage, and all of them had a moment of anticipation. And then, by prearrangement, they began their charade, calculated to draw the deputy's attention.
Casually walking from living room to kitchen to bedroom, all the sites which, by Jim's survey, they knew to be visible from the telescope's location, they paraded their nudity. The men were careful to turn profile views to show their hard-ons, careful also to display interest and affection--bending down to suck a warm tit, casually stroking a cunt, hamming up the show by waving sticky fingers under noses to inhale the pussy scents. Until at last, confident that their spying neighbor would certainly have succumbed to their bait, Jim, now back in the shadows, nodded and winked at John to begin the feature act.
Without Pamela's humorous boldness, John could never have made it, especially with the other two couples as voyeurs. But his cock was ready and so was he, and his pride flamed higher as Pam, with the fingers of one hand holding her cunt open, and with the other grasping his prick, wiped the head of it up and down between her moist lips, slathering it with lubricant before he rammed its hard length into her.
And all at once, with the hot and sticky friction of her cunt surrounding and loving his prick, with the knowledge that four pairs of friendly, lustful eyes were also enjoying his and Pam's joining, his self-consciousness left him.
His hands cupped under Pam's softly muscled ass as she met his first thrust with her own, spiraling her pelvis up to wrap the gloriously hot, gloriously slick cunt around his searching cock, once again giving him the sawing, milking motion of what he now recognized as instant heat.
The warm clasp of her thighs around his hips, the smoothness of her belly, the moving muscles that he felt with hands and cock and balls--all these raised him to a plateau of joy.
It was a shock when the main light went out, and he lay for a split second, stunned by its suddenness. But there was another warm body standing by him, tugging at him, a warm hand between his thighs, and he quickly rolled off, feeling Pam move away, hearing her giggle as she ran in the dark to join Del in the bedroom.
And it was also a shock--but one of pleasure--as another pair of smooth thighs flew up to clasp him, and another hand inserted his hard prick into a strange but fantastically welcoming hole.
As the light went on again, he had a momentary flash of the smiling green eyes of Carol Malone, of her lovely mouth in a tender smile, and he covered her face with his own, his mouth on hers as her tongue snaked into his ready mouth.
This almost subliminal flash had shown him the warm and cuddly little brunette, who had been laughing and writhing with lust every time Jim Malone had stroked a finger into her vagina, backed against Jim's crotch, and he saw the sweet little face, contorted in pleasure, as she wriggled her ass to take in the big man's violently jerking tool.
He was humbly and gratefully surprised that there was no feeling of strangeness, no awkward sense of transition as his throbbing prick, so recently sheathed in Pamela's familiar cunt, plunged itchingly into the churning heat of a new pussy. And this was, he realized, the enormous dividend of the swappers' bag--the immediate hospitality, non-discriminating, never-rejecting, ever-welcoming, of all of the three warm vaginas, the three sets of strong, warm, rounded thighs, the trio of sweet-breathing, sweet-sucking mouths and tongues.
Even the fact that the prying lawman, his lascivious eyes brought right to the crack of John's plunging ass by the telescope, could not confuse the professor's mind nor dim his pleasure. On the contrary, he reveled in the man's frustration, certain that an aching hard-on was just punishment for any son of a bitch who would spy on them.
His hands traveled from the crack of Carol's ass to her full breasts, sloped quakingly along her rib cage, and, as he transferred the slick fluids from her twat to the firm tits, he moved his mouth down, sucking each nipple in turn, enjoying the quietly vivid tastes of her juices as he licked around the puckered aureole, the turgid nipples.
For the first time in his life he was enjoying sex without guilt--except for the training and guidance and lessons with Pam--and each hot stroke into the clinging, sucking, convulsing cunt beneath him seemed to be a separate and distinct reward.
It would have been the height of folly to compare the cuntal embraces of the two women--a millimeter, more or less, in dimension, was of no consequence. Some difference in clutch of muscle, of expert movement, even of taste and aroma, added only to the piquancy of the experience.
There was a feeling of warmth between his belly and Carol's, a new sensation of smoothness, and the thrill of discovery struck him--the violence of their fucking, the generosity of Carol's flow, had pumped her juices up through their joined pubic hair to form a film of warm viscosity that was spreading each time his cock thudded into her.
A flow of heat warmed him all over, even to his armpits, and he bent his face to bite and lick in those fragrant pits of flesh under his partner's arms. A minute stubble of hair tickled his lips and nose, a sweet acridity from her sweat teased him. My fucking, he thought with savage pride, is getting her into a sweat.
An immense desire to pick and suck at the sweet lips into which his cock was so rabidly plunging swept over him, but he remembered Jim's warning--that his partner's identity should not be exposed to the deputy up the hill.
The thought of Jim caused him to open his eyes, and he saw the big man covering the tiny body like a dog, slamming his big, hard cock into the small woman's cunt from the rear, his big thighs slapping against the beautiful little rump.
He tried to picture Pam in the arms of Del Fredericks, her strong legs wrapped around the man's lean hardness, but a new and urgent movement from Carol cut every thought from his mind except the storm gathering in his balls. Her arms now gripped him in a way that gathered her rich, full breasts between them, mashing them into a warm cushion. Her lower body, which had been swinging both up and down and in simultaneous sideways arcs which gave her full play to ride his cock for its full length, now stayed closer to his, her legs locked behind his. His strokes were lessened to a couple of inches by the clutch of her heels against his back, and she seemed to suck him in deeper each time she ground her mons against him.
At each thrust, the head of his cock bumped against her cervix, and the tension in her freckled face, her eyes closed tightly, her lips in a grin of passion, showed the ferocity of the growing need in her belly.
All this throbbing information, passed from belly to belly, from heart to heart, from squeezing vagina to expanding and near-bursting cock, caused his seed to rise and flower in his balls without his volition. His cockhead seemed to melt into a showering nozzle that shot his semen into her in foaming jets, their power enough to swell his tubes to blow-out pressure, and he dropped onto her belly in his flailing intensity, both of them intoxicated with pleasure, her cunt continuing to suck and drink as his final jets throbbed through his sensitive and happy prick.
They lay that way for long seconds, drawing breath into their air-starved lungs, heart pounding on warm heart, her boobs gradually slipping out in their slippery weight, his balls feeling the slow quivering of her thighs and asscheeks, their mouths joined in a kiss of gratitude and love.
Jim, sitting back with his dripping cock at last sated and drained by the greedy cunt of the tiny Marina, grinned in satisfaction at the gasping couple on the couch. Marina had fallen sideways as she had shot her load, and her bountifully sculptured buttocks, drawn tight by her fetal position, let her dark-haired cuntlips protrude, Jim's gism and her juices joining in a slick, milk-white flow that trickled over the warm asscheek.
There was laughter and very quiet applause from the door to the hall, and Pam's excited voice cried: "Beautiful! Just beautiful!"
Jim reached for the light switch and darkness slapped John with an urgent reminder, and he rolled away from Carol, sensing her departure, feeling the light movement as Pam silently moved to sit beside him. Her warm hand, sticky from handling some juices other than his own, hugged John hard against her, and as the light struck them again, she turned a happy and satisfied face up to meet John's kiss.
Carol now stood by the kitchen door, her arm around Jim, and Del and Marina, giggling, were in the bedroom, where the little brunette played at smoothing her hair.
It was John's suggestion that they inform the watching deputy that his presence was known, and it pleased them all.
The night, turned chilly as Southern California June nights almost invariably do, was not enough to cool their blood or their spirits. Nor their humor.
With all the patio lights on, they strolled among the lush shrubbery arm in arm, loudly commenting on the beauty of the night and of friendship. The woman took good care to display their charms to the unseen audience. Carol stood full in the golden light of a lamp, raising her right boob for them all to contemplate, announcing that she believed it to be slightly smaller than the left, Marina, complaining of a non-existent pebble between her toes, bent over, her backside pointed up the hill, and put one foot on a low step to insure that her still-flowing pussy would be spread wide for the deputy's inspection.
And Pam topped them all by groaning that she felt a spasm in a very private part, and held her cuntlips open while all of them looked into the shaded pink depths of her vagina.
It was at this point that Carol, perhaps inspired by their joined presence, spread her arms wide, her tits pulled up and tautly thrusting, and exclaimed: "Oh, Pam, it's so marvelous to have all this lovely privacy--no prying eyes, no filthy minds, no snooping neighbors!"
They were rewarded by the angry slam of a door up the hill, and they fell on each other in helpless laughter, renewing desire as they embraced in the glow of patio lights.
Chapter 7
Wearing only their shorts--"my naked ass sticks to chair seats," Del had laughed--John and the strong, slender young man from Anaheim lounged at the kitchen table while Pam and Marina ran hot water over the breakfast dishes and slipped them into the dishwasher.
The Fredericks' decision to spend the night had been easily made--the six friends had played and laughed and sucked and fucked until two or three in the morning, and John's invitation, backed by Pam's warmth toward their new acquaintances, seemed much more reasonable than a ninety-mile drive. And something John had said carried weight.
"When I learned that John was a professor of psychology, and making a survey on sex habits, I just had to stay and talk to him," Marina confided to Pam, her heart-shaped little face serious. Her husband, nodding toward the two nude girls, gave John a smiling wink.
John smiled at all of them. "Right now," he said, picking words carefully, "I'm trying to relate to multiple sex, trying to gather firsthand knowledge that equates the sex drive with the concave or the convex. As a professional, I found that the disciplines of my work segregated me from the short end of the lever, not relating, actually, to the related disciplines of effect, and seeing cause through the eyes of others."
"That's certainly wonderful, John," the well-stacked little brunette said politely. "At least, I think it is. But after you do this relating, what happens?"
Her husband grinned at her. "John told us that he and Pam were new to swapping, doll," he said. "He's into it--'relating' is his word--to find out whether the man or the woman starts it. He says that an educator's work keeps him from being where the action is, forces him to read about it instead of doing it. Is that better?"
Marina laughed. "I'm concave, you're convex," she said. She came over and patted John's prick through his shorts. "And you want to know whether it was me or Del who decided to start swinging--right?"
John, embarrassed, nodded. "If you can recall," he said.
The visitors looked at each other, obviously puzzled.
"We started when we'd been married a year," Marina mused. "That would be--what--five years ago? A lot has happened since then, John," she smiled. "Del met a guy through his work--a fellow who seemed to be happy with his sex life. He came home all fired up and told me about swinging. But I don't know which one of us said 'okay, let's swing!' Do you remember, Del?"
The dark young man shook his head. "Can't remember."
"But you wrote the letters," John pressed, looking at Marina, who smiled and shrugged.
"I wrote the letters and sent the pictures to the swap magazines, too," she said. "But that's because Del simply hates to write. He's busy all day, working with straights--that's why he wears those fancy clothes," she grinned. "At heart, he's a long-haired, beard-wearing, barefooted hippie. Aren't you, love?" she demanded.
Her husband smiled patiently. "Maybe so," he admitted. "I'm more relaxed inside than I am on the streets. Got to make a living, you know."
Marina left John's cock, which had risen and poked its red head out from his fly, and moved around the kitchen table to hug Del's head against her full breasts. "He's so great," she said softly. "He busted his ass for years, trying to keep us eating, working for one-toilet, one-coffee pot radio stations. Now that he's got it made, we are enjoying it."
"And taking a little time off to rebuild our energies with new people--that's one of our enjoyments," Del laughed.
"I'm beginning to see that it works," John said. "I had some dumb ideas--taken from other people. Pam knows." He smiled at his blonde assistant, who leaned against the dishwasher, the soft flesh of her ass creased by it.
"John wouldn't believe he could do it twice on the same hard-on without physical or psychological damage," Pam smiled. "That's why I urged him to get out where it was happening."
Marina giggled. "I know how he could do it to two women on one hard-on," she said.
At his inquiring look, she told John: "Look, you showed last night that you could fuck forever, practically, without spilling it. Right?"
"Sure," John laughed. "But that was after I had already fucked a time or two. What's on your mind, innovator?"
"Well, if we can find a place where all four of us can lie down--comfortably, I mean--you and Del can rotate between me and Pam," Marina said earnestly. "I know you're both pretty well done up, after last night. But I'm ready, right now, and from what I saw of Pammie last night, she's a hot kid."
The miniature woman, all her curves moving and wiggling, moved over and slipped her hand, flat, thumb up, between Pam's legs, gently sawing it up to part the blonde-furred lips. She squealed happily and held her hand up. It was dripping.
"Pam's ready!" she cried. "Where do we do it?"
Pam, her eyes hot, pulled the smaller woman against her, bending her head to kiss the nipples on each of the round, firm breasts, almost too large for such a small frame. "Keep those goodies away from me," she threatened, "or I'll chew them right off you!"
From her five feet of stacked warmth, Marina's baby face glowed up at Pam's. "You try anything with me and I'll suck your ovaries right out of your guts!" she whispered, and she and Pam clung together in a quick burst of understanding love.
"Okay, we wait for our chance," Pam whispered. "But we ought to play some mother-and-father right now, maybe."
They frolicked out into the rear patio, for Pam had said she hadn't been fucked outdoors, in broad daylight, since she was a college freshman. There was a big pool of sun-flecked shade under the pepper trees, and they drew three chaise pads together, forming a bed of more than king size. There they rolled and tumbled like puppies, and Pam, plunging between Marina's legs, got a mouthful of fat and dark-haired lips, wet with the oozing flow from between them, biting down with playful sadism, making Marina squeal with joy.
But Pam's ass was up for grabs, and Del Fredericks, his cock like a red-tipped spear, plowed into her with a force that drove her clear across the tumbling curves of his wife, and the bi-sexual meal was over, for the moment. And John, surprised to find his buried interest so easily raised, pulled the small girl's chubby thighs apart, holding one leg high to spread the pink slit, and artfully screwed his big cock into her, pulling her against him like drawing a glove onto a thick finger.
Nobody counted how many times the girls made it, but when Del, unmistakably excited by the sight of his wife's twat twirling on John's heavy cock after their ninth or tenth shift of partners, blew his big load into Pam, their cries touched off a mutual explosion in the loins of the other two, and they lay laughing and spent, closing their eyes against the pinpoints of sunlight which move as the wind moved the tree limbs.
Del was the first to move. "It's close to noon," he said, "and I've got to get our car serviced. I'd stay another night, but I've got an appointment at three--big advertiser."
The bedroom was cool and quiet and dark after the brightness outdoors, and Pam and Marina lay companionably on the dark-blue spread, with Marina's left knee drawn up over Pam's face, her hands clenched as the blonde's tongue dipped lovingly into her opened cunt.
"There's a lot of juice in here," Pam whispered, and Marina giggled: "Take it, it's yours by law--your husband shot it up there!"
"I love it so," Pam answered. "Roll over and squat just above me," Pam coaxed. "That way, I won't miss a drop."
"Suck real hard, baby," Marina urged, once her fat little cunt was in place. She pulled at the two firm breasts below her, smiling as Pam's groans made good vibes in her vagina. "Get right on the hole and try to turn me inside out. I love that pulled-out feeling. I may come before you even get to my clit!" She reached for the other girl's cunt, almost falling from her strained position, and Pam gave her a fierce pinch on her taut rump to correct her. "Lay off, Pammie," Marina begged. "I don't dig the pain bit!"
She shuddered as she felt the walls of her cunt pulled together by Pam's suction, and fell forward on her hands, pushing the opened twat back so Pam's tongue wrapped around her bud.
"Ooh, God!" she groaned, feeling the rising spasm shake her. In her lust, she spread Pam's cuntlips apart with nothing more than her face, getting a thick wash of goo across cheeks and lips, forming her tongue into an imitation prick to prong into Pam's quivering hole. She fell and rolled, bringing Pam with her, and moved down to suck the semen out of the darkness of Pam's vagina.
She squirmed around, then, pointing to her puffed-out cheeks, and Pam's mouth went open, receiving the slickness and warmth of Del's sperm, pushed into her greedy, drooling mouth by Marina's tongue.
They lay silent and adoring in each others arms, tit on tit, the soaked twats together, rubbing gently.
"When did you turn bi-sexual?" Marina whispered, and Pam, laughing, said: "I'm only about sixty-forty, but I've been that way ever since my older sister snowed me the way. I like men the most, at least I think so. But I like anything that feels good, and a girl that knows what to do can be better than a man in some ways. How about you?"
Marina humped her ass closer to Pam's mouth, and moaned as the blonde's tongue swirled around her clit. "I was straight all the way until our first swinging date," she whispered into the steamy, aromatic gap between Pam's thighs. She sucked briefly and raised her streaming mouth, laughing. "I guess I never had noticed how lovely my own pussy was," she said, "until I saw another woman's in action. Wow! How I dug it!" She pushed Pam's knees so far apart that the big tendons up the thighs stood out like cables, and plunged her mouth down into the pink nest of squirming lips. She sucked hard on Pam's clit, and jumped in response as her own bud was nipped between the blonde girl's gentle teeth.
They rolled in spiraling passion, mouths glued to cunts, and lay quietly, their lust receding.
Pam patted and rubbed tenderly on the firm thighs near her face, kissing the soft, smooth flesh, then biting it in gentle savagery. "We're lucky that John went along with Del," she murmured, and Marina laughed.
"I suggested it," the small girl said. "I even gave him a list--I said it was what you needed. Oil, tomato paste, mushrooms, spaghetti, French bread. You can always eat that stuff--you don't mind, do you?"
Pam gently pulled the fat cuntlips wide open, laughing at the clustered pinkness, the twitching dark hole, with its clear leakage of moisture.
"And I don't always get a chance to eat stuff like this," she said, pressing her hot mouth down into the crimson hole.
John, slowly making his unaccustomed way along the aisles of the supermarket, panning his gaze from shopping list to shelf, turned an apologetic look up as his cart bumped into another. And got the shock of his life.
It was his life turned around, a false face scaring him from across a fence three years tall, a face as angry as it used to be, but, he flashed a thought, beautiful in anger.
Helen! Helen a wee bit more mature. Had her breasts always had that full convexity on their upper slopes? Had her waist always nipped in to spread so widely into flared hips? His eyes took in the outward curve of warm belly, the swinging down toward the pubic triangle, where remembered thickness of dark-curled hair puffed with lying invitation above a cunt he knew was cold.
But her eyes drew his, and they were not cold. Hot, but not with love. "Watch where you're going!" her lips formed words too quiet to hear. But a few words were ready.
"Helen!" he mouthed automatically. "Sorry! Forgive me--it was clumsy." He laughed apologetically, automatically angered that this flush of apology should superimpose itself on a new-found sexual independence. "Nice to see you--I'm here for the summer, you know." Despising himself for this meaningless courtesy, offered, he well knew, only as a sop to meaningless anger.
He still was numbed by the coincidence more than by her reaction, but animal wariness sharpened his senses so that he heard the breathed words as though they had been shouted.
"Here for your filthy orgies," she hissed. "You and your hot pants tramps!"
She whirled away, and he could not help registering the full beauty of her divided rump, crowding her shopping costume of stretch pants, halter top, and sandals. Even in his dwindling shock, he saw what he had missed before--the animal herded into the cramped walls of censored emotions.
But her last reply? Orgies? That meant she had seen--what? And with whom?
He checked out his two big bags of staples and found a phone. Both Carol and Jim were home. He framed a question.
"Why, yes," Carol answered. "Rovere's wife is named Helen, come to think of it. She's in the local news once in a while. Yeah, she's been here about three years, I guess. They got married, it seems to me, right after she moved here. Why?"
Suddenly all of John's blood, retarded by the shocking confrontation, sang through his body. "Nothing much, Carol," he laughed. "An old enemy. I'll tell you about it later."
He could not credit his own senses! Helen, married almost three years ago! That meant--it had to mean--that she had contracted a bigamous marriage! He had her by the balls--figuratively speaking, of course.
Confidence and courage are not inherent--they are often the by-product of another happening, the removal of fear. In spite of the aplomb of Jim and the others, and although his lust had carried him above fear last night, John had inherited a staunch and upright fear of the police and the law. But now, secretly fortified with this knowledge of Helen's apparent lawlessness, his fears of the deputy were gone.
He had not told Pamela--he could not have said just why. He thought of Helen's action in terms of sex--living with a man would have to be on a sexual basis. He found this oddly touching, amusing, and, somehow, thrilling that Helen, of all people, would be moved by sex. She had always been as uptight about it as he had. And here she was, illicitly living with this dumb, prying, censorious, crusading deputy.
But he found the courage to banter with Pam. After the Fredericks had left. This morning, he might not have had the savoir-faire to mention it.
"You aren't using a new lipstick, are you, Pam?" he asked, obviously teasing. "There was a completely new--what can I say?--flavor, scent, taste on your lips when Del and I got back from the market."
Pam cocked a merry eye at him. "Can you give me a clue?" she asked. "You know I don't wear lipstick. With your cool, scholarly mind, couldn't you identify it?"
He forced himself to say it, not at all certain that it could be true. "It was something like--well, pussy!" he said.
"Fancy your being so sharp!" the girl exclaimed. "Professor, you've come a long way! And you're so right! I found--Marina and I both found--that we craved a bit of girl fun. So we had it!"
John, having learned a great truth about himself--that a lot of what would have shocked him before had turned out to be enormous fun, struggled inwardly at accepting bi-sexuality. And won the struggle, his victory being heralded by a quick stirring of his cock.
"I wish I could have seen it," he declared. "Pam, I vote for voyeurism as one of the strongest aphrodisiac factors in multiple sex!"
She rubbed against him joyously. "And you wouldn't mind your assistant's assistance in the study?" she inquired. "Okay, John, maybe I can work something out. Melissa's about due. Between the two of us, we have enough of a cast for a circus!"
That part of John's gathering of material came easily.
Pam greeted Melissa with a long, tonguing kiss, warmly squeezing the young girl's boobs, so that the redhead clung to her rapturously, her breathing suddenly much faster.
"Take it easy, Pam," Melissa gasped, "or we'll have to call John in for help!"
"Pooh!" Pam laughed. "Who needs him?" She rolled her eyes suggestively. "Any fire that I start, I can put out!"
Melissa looked at her curiously. "Oh, come on, Pam," she protested. "You're no Lez. I'm not knocking it, you understand," the girl said hastily. "It's just that you--well, you seem so normal! Or is that the wrong thing to say?"
Pam gave her a painfully pleasant pinch on her muscled rump. "You amaze me, cutie," she said. "I thought you modern kids were with it. Haven't you ever wished you were an acrobat, so you could lick yourself? Honestly?"
Melissa flushed, but laughed with Pam. "I've wished more that that," she whispered, nestling closer to Pam. "But I've been--well--more of a home girl than you might think. And to tell you the truth, much as I've wished for it--you know what I mean--I've been sort of, maybe scared." She pressed her body against Pam's, and suddenly ground her belly hotly against the blonde's exposed crotch.
Pam kissed the redhead. "Come on in here," she whispered, moving toward the door to the bedroom. "I'll show you why we don't need John!"
Once Melissa was stripped, her lovely young body laid open to Pam's hot and appreciative eyes and hands, the older woman moved with care, anxious that this introduction to girl-to-girl sex should leave nothing but pleasant memories.
Sitting beside the redhead, who lay on her back, Pam slid loving hands up and down Melissa's belly, her ribs, her flanks, missing her quaking boobs, her bright bush of red hair, although it demanded all her will power. Melissa's eyes were closed, her hands clenched, and she remained rigid, thighs clamped closely.
As the warm, soft caresses continued, with nothing more overt happening, the younger girl felt an odd sort of warmth growing somewhere near the base of her spine. Gradually, her hands opened and lay inert on the bedspread, and her breathing, which had been ragged and shallow, returned to normal. She turned her hips very slightly from side to side, which Pam noted with anticipation, and the blonde now began stroking down from the ridge of Melissa's pelvic bone, following the crease, the gently contoured valley, which led to the redhead's crotch.
As her heat built, Melissa's thighs relaxed completely, and Pam whispered: "You're doing fine, baby--open up a little for Pammie's finger!"
Melissa sighed deeply, moving her thighs wider apart, and a wave of hot perfume came up in Pam's face. She kept one hand pressed on the younger girl's mons, still not touching the opening slit, and used the other to lift one of the big white tits up on Melissa's chest, where she rolled it with the palm of her hand, increasing the pressure, giving pain, she knew, but sensing the pain's part in creating desire. The nipple hardened against her palm, and she spread her fingers, catching the sensitive nub between two of them, holding it tightly, including it in her pressing circular movement.
Melissa's growing inner flush moved her ass and hips to bob softly up and down, and she slipped slowly into a sort of feverish dimension in which her suddenly flowing cunt seemed to be turning out, as though reaching for something firm and solid.
Pam's breathing, too, was faster, and she moved her hand so that just the middle finger entered the younger girl's humid crack, stroking the delicately moistened texture of the inner lips. At this touch, Melissa's mouth opened, her lower lip seeming to become larger, turned out, and Pam changed her position so she could rest her own boob against the one she had been manipulating, and she placed her mouth over the other girl's, not surprised when a hard, thick tongue threshed against her own.
With a deep sigh, she began to rotate her belly against Melissa's hip, and her searching finger went down fiercely into the red-fringed cunt, pressing up strongly against the sensitive pad of tissue lying an inch inside, on the upper part of the vaginal portal.
As Melissa responded with two rapid bumps, Pam moved her body completely, lying at right angles, her breasts against Melissa's hip, with her streaming pussy a few inches from the redhead's relaxed hand. She took the hand in her own and moved it between her thighs, and smiled as the girl's fingers immediately began their search.
When Melissa, by now twisting from the heat in her groin, had two fingers lodged in her cunt, not reaching for anything in particular, but simply probing and twisting, Pam used her left hand to lift Melissa's left leg, the knee up and turned outward, showing the deep, wet pink of the girl's inner folds. She now wiped her right hand softly up and down the sodden slit, lubricating two fingers and her thumb, and pushed the fingers as deep into the dripping pussy as she could. At the same time, she touched her thumb gently to the swollen clit, moved it in a semicircle, and removed it.
Almost instantly, there was a moan of protest, and Melissa, conscious that she was being deprived of a climax, responded by taking more care with her own probing. Her fingers moved with precision copied from Pam, and her thumb touched the same spot where she had felt such pleasure.
As though this were a signal, both girls began a rhythmic and perfect masturbation, each of the other, a muted but fierce instrumentation of lust that increased in intensity until Melissa felt that she had never been brought to such a height of feeling. Deep inside her, she felt that even her ovaries and womb had been drawn into the cycle of demanding heat, and she began to hump up and down in an increasing tempo that made the bed heave and quake, and she began to moan in time with it.
At just this moment, Pam whispered: "Now!" and, pulling Melissa's left leg flat, she struck with her open mouth at the writhing lips, the jumping clitoris, spreading her own thighs wide in mute invitation.
As she felt Melissa's upper body twist, she had a fraction of a second for satisfaction at her success, but then there was the sucking warmth of the younger girl's mouth and tongue on her own clit, and she gave herself completely to the joy of sucking and being sucked.
It took real muscle and real will power for each of the girls to keep mouths joined with cunts as their twin orgasms released them and sent them into a whining, crying, leaping tangle of lust. Pam returned from her ride into another world with her determination intact, and, although she still writhed against the unresponsive face of the young girl, she moved again to the sensitive target.
At the first touch of her tongue on the painfully sensitized bud, now gone slack, Melissa bucked in pain, but the blonde's strong arms hung onto the two warm thighs, digging her fingers into the smooth-skinned rump, squeezing her lips around the straining membrane while her tongue caressed it with hard, slick moves. In a couple of seconds, she felt Melissa's mouth at her own core of sensation, and they settled into each other like the two parts of a simple puzzle.
After the second orgasm, Melissa reached down to grasp Pam's arms, and by their combined efforts, they managed to come face to face. They lay in each other's arms, kissing in unrestrained pleasure, each enjoying her own fluids so generously smeared on the other's lips and cheeks.
Melissa at last slid her face against Pam's breasts, whispering: "Oh, Pam, that was just heaven! But listen--does this make me a Lesbian?"
Pam gave the bouncy redhead a hard tweak on one of her deep-pink nipples. "Only if you get so hung up on it that you don't like men any more. Does that seem likely?"
Melissa drew a deep breath and looked at Pam seriously. "No way!" she said firmly. "It's wonderful, but it's still a substitute. Much as I loved it--and I'm so glad you taught me what it was all about--I'd crawl over a hundred cunts to get to a big, hard prick! You don't mind?"
Pam kissed her and said: "That may well be the smartest thing you ever said!"
She was aware that Melissa's mouth had come open, a wild look of alarm on her face, and Pam, knowing who it was, said: "Hi, John! Come on in!"
She was proud of the picture he made. Tall, straight, hard-muscled, hairy, his big cock riding proudly up at a forty-five degree angle to his belly. Best of all, he was smiling confidently, and Pam rose.
"You heard what the young lady said, John," Pam said, winking broadly. "I'm getting out of here before she begins crawling across me!"
During the wild fuck which followed, Pam, getting into her coolest bikini, moved about the house, laughing to herself as John and Melissa, growing more athletic as time went on, finally came squirming and fucking off the bed and into the hall.
The chime of the doorbell caused her to be glad of the bikini, and, while she thought it might only be the Malones, she cast a glance back at the hall. John and Melissa were not visible, so she opened the door wide, a smile of welcome on her face.
The dark and handsome woman, her face drawn in what seemed permanent lines of pain, eyed Pam suspiciously.
"Is Professor Lamberson available?" she asked harshly.
Pam giggled, thinking of the unavailability of John.
"No, I'm sorry. I'm Mrs. Lamberson. May I help you?"
The woman stiffened. "I'm an, uh, old acquaintance of your husband's," she said coldly. "We met in the supermarket today. Quite by accident. It occurred to me later that the surprise of it caused me to be, well, overly abrupt. Would you tell the professor that I called to apologize?"
In her moment of surprise, Pam's training and nature, warring with the fact of John and Melissa, screwing in the hall, led her to say: "I wish I could ask you to come in, but the house is such a mess."
At that moment, there was a cry of unmistakable female joy, a series of thuds, and Pam turned her startled eyes to see Melissa's head and shoulders, her big boobs rolling, out of the hall, with John, his fierce joy only too apparent, riding above the girl. The slope of his back left no doubt of what they were doing.
There was a loud hiss of anger, a choked cry, and the dark woman was off, not through the patio gate, as Pam would have expected, but around the house. She hastened to the back door to see the woman hurrying up the hill, then turning to her left to disappear behind the pepper trees.
Helen was mouthing soundless phrases. "The dirty criminal fucker! The dirty fucking bastard. The lying monster!" In self-righteousness and self-pity, she scrambled up the dim path with her cursing turning to dry sobs.
Chapter 8
The pictures sent by Mr. and Mrs. Harley Duke, first-class mail and registered, return receipt requested, were superior to the clear but small Polaroid color shots of the Malones and the Fredericks. Obviously taken with professional skill and equipment, they were beautiful eight-by-tens, showing great depth of focus, excellent if simple composition, and the most meticulous detail. "What beats me," John said, "is how he ever found someone--some professional photographer--to print these up."
Even without John's magnifying glass, it was abundantly clear that Christine's cunt was as devoid of hair as if she were only nine years old. And that wasn't all. Pam had seen some crotch-shots in the magazines known as "split beavers," in which the subject's twat had been shaven. But on a mature pussy, shaving, or even the use of a depilatory, leaves the surface of the puffy flesh coarse, puckered in appearance almost like a mature nipple, not Christine Duke's pussy!
Pam sighed as she studied the shots, a delightfully bothering sort of itch-heat teasing her pussy. She ran her pink tongue out unconsciously, licking her lips. The bald cunt was as pinkly smooth as if it had never worn a hair. The similarity to extreme youth came back to haunt Pam's mind. And, as if to compensate for it, or complement it, the lushness of the body that harbored the hairless cunt! Those strongly rounded thighs, the wide flare of the hips, the gorgeously jutting breasts!
She turned to John, leaning over her shoulder, his cock touching her bare arm. He had a happy, dog-like grin on his face.
"Sort of gets you way down here, doesn't it?" he asked, reaching down to touch Pam's crotch.
"And here," she giggled, clamping her hand on his prick. "I'm hot to meet them. Why don't we set that date with the two kids from Anaheim, and Carol and Jim, and call the Dukes?"
John sat down beside her. He picked up a letter from the kitchen table, where better light had made the pictures more enjoyable. "Listen to this," he said. "You've heard it before, read it before. It scares me. What does he say? 'I'm in a hard knot waiting to fuck your wife--fuck, fuck, fuck her! Hope she's game for all my games--I like to shove it anywhere it will go--and I hope her asshole can take it!' And then he says: 'My wife digs that cock of yours, prof. She's been going around the house, drawing circles around the dates on the calendar, and drawing cunt hairs on the circles. And shouting FUCK, SUCK, BUGGER, like a crazy woman. We dig to fuck, baby, and if you don't dig it like we do, now's the time to find it out!' You can see," John added in understatement, "he's very frank."
Pamela smiled. "It's funny how you run into social obstacles even in the swapping scene," she said. "We have reason to know that Carol and Jim and Del and Marina are pretty far out. And they aren't exactly prissy with their language. But we're in a flutter over this guy's earthiness. Well, I like his looks, and his wife's looks, and I even like the things he says." She turned and looked at John's cock, rearing so redly at her side. "He's the only one that can match equipment with you, dear. Look!"
She showed the chubby little man, innocent-looking, going bald on top, holding his cock with finger and thumb. His smile was cherubic, the size of his prick terrific.
"Okay, Pam, let's put them on top of the list. If we like them, the others will. Look up their number--I'll make the call."
But their telephone rang as Pam was searching the Santa Vaca directory, and she listened in anguish as she took in the nature of the call.
"They want it for their October issue?" John was saying. "I don't think it's possible! Oh, they'll hold the forms open until late August. Oh, sure. You know, Dr. Witter, that I need more time than that. I'm just beginning to gather facts--haven't done any evaluation at all! Let me do some thinking--talk to Mrs. Lam--I mean, Miss Marsh! Yes, haha! A Freudian slip. If you say so, Dean Witter. Okay, I'll call you back."
His face was a study in pleasure and annoyance.
"That was Dean Witter," he said unnecessarily. "The Journal wants my article for October--want to feature it, put my name on the front cover. They have some new art director who's already bought some art--four naked people in a revolving door, reflected in a sidewalk made of mirrors. But I can't go to press this early! Oh, Pam, this is terrible!"
Pam's heart went dead, or seemed to. "Does this mean we have to leave here?" she asked. Her voice was like a child's, just informed that Christmas had been canceled. "All our plans shot? How can they ask this of you? How do they expect you to finish the article?"
John knew the depth of her disappointment. He took her hand. "I have to cheat a little on the conclusions," he said shamefacedly. "They'll give me a battery of secretaries, unlimited use of the school's computers, their collating equipment. I know it hurts you, Pam. It hurts me, too!"
She tried not to think about the lovely seaside vacation gone, the planned trips, the fun of knowing new people. After all, it was John's project.
"But what about you, John?" she asked. "What about your integrity--the essential values of your study. You need--you must have--more facts. That is, if you want your work to have genuinely scholarly meaning." She dropped her face into her hands and began to cry, the warm tears dropping off onto her naked thighs, into her blonde pubic hair.
She rose angrily, turning into the living room and sitting on the big couch. John followed, standing between her thighs, his cock gone down into a fat, warm, limp mass. Without thinking, her hand closed around it, squeezing gently as she fought for words.
"John, I'm being selfish," she said, giving his cock a squeeze. "But I'm thinking of you, the human being, rather than of you, the scholar." Another gentle squeeze--his cock was, somehow, a major symbol of this conflict.
"You've changed so much!" she cried. "You've become a--a real man! A living, breathing man!" She began to sob again, and John, bursting with sympathy but mute, placed a big hand on her head. Somehow, it forced her face against his prick, and she opened her mouth absent-mindedly, acting as blindly as Pavlov's dog, her saliva flowing at the beloved rankness.
She sucked him gently, releasing his cock with a sigh as it raised again to full erection. She nuzzled it again, her cheek against his balls, her arms around his muscular buttocks.
"Just as you're growing away from fear and guilt, dear," she whispered. "Just as you've become truly wonderful in sex!" She thought of all the wonderful fucking they had already enjoyed, the group-factor making it even more wild and pleasing, and she turned again to pull his cock down to mouth level, closing her warm, moist mouth on it, rocking back and forth, sobbing again.
Whether Pam pulled or John pushed, neither of them could say afterwards, but there was some magic in their movements. For, as she fell back, he fell forward. Her legs, already parted as he stood between her thighs, flew up in the air.
Without either of them looking, aiming, guiding, or touching, the head of his cock struck directly into the slick opening of her vagina, and all feeling in her body concentrated in the narrow space from the top of her pubis to her asshole, a spear thrust of painful ecstasy.
His weight drove John into Pam just as her buttocks rose as a counterweight, and the cushiony glans, made tender and itchy by her mouth and tongue, drove against the hard ring of her cervix. It glanced off and lunged against the closed sleeve of membrane, and they chorused twin howls of love and agonized pleasure.
For a moment they lay close together, and then Pam, feeling an involuntary throb throughout the hard length of John's heavy prick, hugged him to her tightly, so that no movement, either by herself or John, would launch him into premature orbit. To divert his attention, and because she had a twinge of conscience at having so selfishly opposed what might, after all, be better for him, she began a breathless, whispered monologue.
"We'll do whatever is best for you and your project, John," she said, close to his ear. She moved her face as he sought to kiss her--the warm slide of her tongue against his would surely bring a spasmodic quiver to her cunt muscles, possibly igniting his hair-trigger orgasm.
"We'll stay here only long enough to fulfill our last obligations--with Carol and Jim and Del and Marina." A fly lit on her right thigh as it clutched, with her left, against John's hips. She caught herself before she could make the automatic move to chase it, feeling that even a movement of her hand, or her leg, might provide the friction which would make John come. She was aware that he was laughing and released him so he could pull his head back to look at her. "What's so funny?" she asked.
He kissed her warmly before answering. "You're so sweet, Pam, darling," he said softly, giving his loins a sharp thrust that sent his cock deeper into her slippery, clutching vagina. "It's all right--I'm not about to come. Really!"
He reached under her thigh with one hand, moving his fingers up and down in the crack of her ass, where her leaking juices lay warm and sticky in a wide area.
He touched and prodded at the strong ring of muscle which held so throbbingly against the base of his buried cock, at the smooth inch of living flesh between her vaginal and anal sphincters. In an excess of love, he pushed his long finger into her rectum, laughing again at her squeal of surprise and delight.
He rolled over, placing her on top, and the slipping friction as they changed positions was all she needed. A wet wave of heat rolled in her belly, deeply, almost sickeningly intense, and she closed her eyes and beat her fists on the couch in time to the staccato pounding of her mons against his.
His cock, raised to a controlled heat, felt the spasms in her cunt recede, and he kissed her tenderly, feeling the fat slackness of her tongue indicating the completeness of her orgasm.
"Oh, John," she said brokenly, "I'm still coming!" Her tongue was hard again as he kissed her, and the kissing sensation around his cock was mounting. "Let me try something new! Don't move, darling--I just want to turn around."
She sat up straight, causing her vagina to bend his cock sharply against her cervix, and he raised his hands to grasp her swollen tits, pinching the hard nipples. The pain and pleasure sent warming ripples through her belly, and she raised one bent leg across his chest, contriving somehow to turn her body so that her back was to him, her knees outside of his, the open cleft of her ass inviting his caresses.
But the friction and twisting inside her cunt, the sudden pressure of the bottom of his cock against her excited clit, were all too much for her, and she collapsed, her arms around his hard and hairy shanks, her face between his feet.
Her position bent his cock painfully, and he could watch the stretched opening of her cunt as it throbbed and quivered around his strained stem, the clear, slick juice running down it in a pulsating stream as the rolling waves in her vagina pumped it out. On each side of the thick base of his cock, her puffy cuntlips looked like a fur collar, and the spasmodic movements as she came caused her asshole to open and close, showing the pink-brown interior of the first half-inch of her rectum.
To relieve the strain on his bent prick, he got the upper part of his body up on his elbows, feeling his shins rasp along her boobs, and she cried out in ecstasy at this new sensation, licking between his toes, nipping at the tender skin on his insteps. In a burst of strength, he rolled them both a half-turn, and, in this position, he seemed to be fucking her almost in a dog-fashion posture, except that he could still observe the throbbing lips of her pussy slip up and down his tool. She seemed never to have stopped coming completely, and her body was moving in steady, small jerks, while her inner muscles continued to grip and ride softly up and down every sensitive inch of his prick.
At last, after one final burst of trembling, she let her body go limp and his cock, now swollen almost to bursting, popped out, riding up and down in the come-slicked crack of her ass.
He was so close to coming that a hair's weight of rub would have sent the semen spurting up and out in hot jets along her smooth back, so he lay still, repeating the multiplication tables in his mind, closing his eyes against the hot sight of her open cunt, which still moved with a life of its own.
They both came to quick life as a happy voice said: "Beautiful! Beautiful!" and the sharp clapping of a pair of hands accompanied the words.
Laughing, they rolled over to see Melissa, two bags of groceries at her feet, pulling her shift over her head, a wet trickle of juice just visible along her inner thigh.
Pam squeezed the younger woman enthusiastically, pulling her down and spreading her big, softly muscled thighs apart as she and John each seized and massaged one of the big tits.
"You got here at just the right time, baby," Pam whispered. "This guy is ruining me! Take him on for a while--I've got to pee!"
She watched with tender amusement as John, laughing and hot, took his time inserting the head of his cock between the red-furred lips.
"Two chicks speared with the same hard-on!" John boasted, putting his mouth up for Pam to kiss. "Go on and do it, baby, and come on back--I've got an idea!"
"And don't wipe it too clean, Pam," Melissa said blushingly. "I've got a craving for the flavor of piss!" She laughed nervously. "No matter what that makes me!" she added.
The wildness of the young fires in Melissa's girlish cunt, the lubricated grasp of her inner muscles, and the clean sweetness of her youthful body gave John a compelling sense of the values in his maleness. Unable at any time to divorce his mind from his body--except in the semiconscious trance of orgasm--the many facets of his study swept through the young professor's mind as lust swept through his body.
The woman-child's zest for life, her forthrightness, the movements in her throat as she sucked on Pam's wide-open cunt--she had insisted that Pam kneel above her face so the three could form a pyramid--made an interesting problem for his logical presentation on the male's role, John knew.
As he fucked deeply and carefully into the hot and writhing young pussy, looking down to see the darker brown of his pubic hairs twined with the red, as he caressed the soft and rolling mounds of girlish tit flesh, with their aroused nipples glowing in red-brown response to his fingers, and especially when he looked full into the warm blue eyes of his fantastic assistant, his thinking changed.
"Pam," he whispered, drawing the blonde's torso closer to him, "don't worry about my research. I realized just this afternoon--your cunt on my cock, in so many ways--each woman is many women. You and I--here or at the university--playing all the roles--can create new routes to research!"
She crowded his throat with her tongue, humping desperately as she came in and on Melissa's lips and tongue and mouth, feeling the girl's wildness as John's pumping jerks brought them to a climax of love and feeling.
And later, softly content, she smiled at John as he called the Dukes. Their appointment was okay. Tomorrow night.
Chapter 9
At Sonar Beach, the mid-June sun is still bright at eight in the evening. So that John, naturally a bit tense at welcoming friends known only by correspondence, leaped nervously at the sight of the big blonde woman as she came through their patio gate from the parking area.
She had shed her dress as she got out of the big black Cadillac, tossing it to the chubby, pink-faced man in the loud sports shirt and beautiful slacks.
Her strong and lavishly sculptured body seemed to flow in constant movement as she came through the gate, followed by her husband, and she shucked her bra--surely a thirty-eight double-D, Pam thought as the big, firm tits bounced out--and dropped it as she looked up and saw John and Pam.
Her voice matched the rest of her--big, rich, smooth. And loud. "Hello, you wonderful fuckers!" she shouted. "I'm Chris! This," pointing to the chubby man who was picking up her discarded bra, "is good old Harley!"
She wiggled her hips as she thumbed her panties down, exposing the smooth, hairless cunt they had studied in the photos, and kicked her final undergarment high in the air for Harley to catch. The kick seemed to open the bottom of her body, a wide slash of wet pink flesh.
Mechanically, John followed Pam out to greet this incredible display of lusty beauty, of loud-mouthed good humor, and he glanced guiltily up to the house on the hill above them, shocked at the sight of his ex-wife staring with open mouth. In spite of himself, he put out a pleading hand, his face twisted in disapproval, and said: "For God's sake, hold it down a little!"
The blonde woman, her face changing to that of a scolded child, stood still, but her husband angrily said: "What the hell's with you, brother? What kind of a shit are you, some Goddamned puritan?"
Pam moved quickly to put her arms around Christine, one hand going down to have her first feel of that unbelievable cunt, smiling over the woman's shoulder at Harley. And John, forcing his gaze away from the deputy's home on the hill, said desperately: "I'm sorry, but there's a snooping deputy sheriff who lives up there--and he's been watching us!" His voice was placating, his face miserable, but chubby Harley, deliberately dropping his slacks--revealing that he wore no shorts--and pulling the wild shirt over his head, looked brazenly up toward the house John pointed out.
"Fuck the deputy!" Harley shouted. "Fuck him! I've got more clout at the courthouse than a dozen shit-ass flunkies!" He stomped around the patio, his big cock and balls swinging, until Pam, giggling in spite of her shock, took him in hand.
"Don't let these goodies hang out and get sunburned, Harley," she laughed, squeezing his balls gently. "Bring them in, while I fix you and Chris a drink!"
He submitted to being led into the house by his cock, which by now was growing in Pam's warm clasp, but he continued to regard John with something less than friendship.
"I have to say that this was a chickenshit welcome," he said, ignoring his wife's signals to pipe down. "By God, I do the tax work for half the big shots in this county. I save 'em money, I've kept most of 'em out of jail--and you better believe I don't take any shit off of any meat-headed, half-assed deputy! Nor any jerk of a professor," he said. "For two cents, I'd put on my clothes and get out of here!"
The heavy but beautifully made woman, who had been sitting on the couch while Pam, standing, let her hand stray warmly between the big boobs, spoke sharply. "Shut up, Harley! And don't be stupid--the professor had every right to shush me. I know I come on strong." She smiled up at Pam. "It's my nature. And Harley's, too. He works too hard, and gets all wound up, and fucking's the only thing that relaxes him. And the little bastard can certainly fuck!" she said proudly. "Now, Harley, say you're sorry!"
To John's surprise, the chubby little man with the big cock burst into a natural, pleasant laugh, and squeezed John's hand. "Christine's right," he said. "I do get wound up. And I do talk out of turn. But you can really quit worrying about that turd up the hill," he said earnestly. "I mean it. As long as you're a pal of mine--and you're going to be," he said, giving Pam a full-hand pinch on the rump that made her leap and squeal, "no fucking pig of a deputy sheriff can push you around."
He gestured at John's crotch. "Take off your britches, prof," he said. "Let's see your cock. Christine said she didn't believe it. And don't think I'm trying to make up. I didn't say I was sorry, did I?"
He turned truculently toward his wife and Pam, and the bogus Mrs. Lamberson, by now freed from the bikini which had become her dress-up clothes--she preferred nudity most of the time--stuck out her tongue at him and said, mimicking the little man's wife: "Shut up, Harley! And come outdoors--I want to show you something!"
Christine Duke looked calculatingly at John as he finished undressing, still shocked out of his normal pattern.
"Come here, doll," she smiled, and John, without a word, walked over and boldly stuck his limp prick against her face, reaching down to fondle and squeeze both of the big tits.
They were firm in spite of their size, firm and smooth and warm, and the nipples thrust out proudly, further and further, until they seemed as large as his little finger.
He bent to her merry face, and got a healthy start as she bit down on his tongue. "Watch it!" he said. "You're a rough customer!" He was laughing, though, and he quickly fell to his knees, unable to resist the impulse to suck those long, hard nipples. As he mouthed and licked them, trying to gather a big mouthful of her tit, she lay backward, spreading her legs, and he lost the breast, finding his mouth nearer to the hairless cunt than to the big boobs. And somehow, the heavy thighs were wrapped around his neck, across his shoulders, and he thrust his face boldly between the smooth cuntlips.
It was a shivery feeling, his cheeks warmed on each side without the tickle of crisp cunt hair, but the warm and aromatic rosette of softly pulsing inner lips, the clear and sweetly saline flow from the dark little hole, was every bit as pleasing to his smell and taste as Pam's or Melissa's.
They both tensed as they heard a wild cry from the rear patio, and John, his cheeks shining from contact with Christine's active cunt, ran out with the big woman behind him. It was a magnificently shocking sight.
Pam, knowing they would be gone soon, and angry at the woman up above, whose identity she knew only too well by now, had boldly pulled the chaise pads out from under the pepper trees and was riding Harley's cock, in plain view from the terrace above them.
Her ass, spread wide open by her position, seemed to mesmerize Christine, who dropped on her knees between her husband's shins. She turned a frantic face up to John and asked huskily: "Is your wife bi?" At his puzzled look, she framed the question more plainly: "Is your wife bi-sexual?" but John, casting his eyes from the sight of Harley's cock appearing and disappearing with machine-like regularity in Pam, up to the unoccupied terrace, still did not answer...
He was suddenly aware that Pam, her mouth clamped on that of the man beneath her, had gestured toward the crack of her ass, and the bounteous woman., her big tits falling against the back of Pam's thighs, began to lick up and down on Pam's cunt and asshole as the girl bobbed up and down.
As the saliva and her sensations grew, Pam felt an old instinct crowding her guts and sat up in spite of Harley's loud protests. With a grin of pure animal desire, she arose just enough to make a quick turn as she had with John the day before, but with another purpose.
Squatting as she was, with her cunt facing Christine, she said: "Help me get it in my ass--then you can lick me better!"
Grimly attentive, her mouth partly open and drooling with excitement, the larger woman carefully aimed her husband's prick at Pam's stretched anus. The younger blonde, her thighs strained with her position until the big tendons stood out like cables, felt the big, blunt head slip into her rectum with a crowding sensation that caused her to giggle in near-hysteria.
Her asshole was slick with Christine's spit, and Harley's tool was slick with the flow from her cunt, but the sphincter muscle gripped in momentary alarm.
Not since she was ten years old, and two neighbor boys had persuaded her to undress with them in the basement of her old home, had anything larger than a finger shoved into Pam's bowels. Now, balanced between fear of and desire for the unknown, she hung suspended until Harley, with a quick thrust, crammed another two inches of the stretching monster into her. And Christine, impatient at the delay, pulled one of Pam's feet out, so that the girl, with a shrill, wild scream, went plunging down, feeling as though her guts would split under the pressure. But not for long.
Amazingly, the pain was not really pain at all--simply a matter of an easily bearable discomfort. And, as she slowly squirmed on the rock-hard cock, she felt an entirely different sensation--a spreading warmth that flushed all through her lower body, insistently washing over her exposed cuntlips, her trembling clitoris. With a gasping moan, she relaxed on Harley's broad, smooth chest, hearing his breath whistle out as he took her full weight, murmuring: "Great, baby! Great!"
Now that she could feel the juice drying on her sensitive cunt, Pam kicked out urgently, trying to hook one of her feet around Christine to draw the expert lips to her. But she felt a shadow cross her closed eyes, and opened them to see the bald cunt, its inner lips gaping redly, slowly descending as the big woman braced her hands on Pam's thighs.
"Oh, God, Christine!" Pam cried, "bring it to me, baby! Shove it down! Let me eat it!" She felt the moist heat, the lovely texture, the thrillingly female taste as the weird pussy came down on her, and would have screamed again as a vast sensation of being sucked inside struck at her guts. But the pressing cunt muffled her voice, and she sucked greedily, catching the warm flow of Christine's juice, her body jerking and writhing as Harley's cock in her rectum, and Christine's knowing mouth on her cunt poured a wild delight into her, deep into her, until she almost burst from pleasure.
There was another shadow crossing above her, and she opened her eyes, suffering a pang of regret as she saw John's big cock against the bright sky, his hand slowly pulling the foreskin back and forth. She remembered how, only a few days before, when they had first sucked one another, she had told him solemnly: "You'll never have to waste this lovely stuff on masturbation as long as I'm around!" Now, in her selfishness, she had left John out!
Unable to speak with the soft, smooth cunt plastered on her mouth, she raised a hand that had been caressing one of Christine's big, warm tits, and beckoned frantically, pointing at the stretched slit between the big woman's haunches.
Far above her, inverted in her peculiar position, she saw the light come into John's face. With his longer legs, and with Christine's thighs spread to keep cuntal contact with Pam's busy mouth, the professor's long cock was aimed exactly at the dark opening just below the winking asshole of the big woman, and Pam gratefully saw it slide in, feeling Christine's leap of joyous surprise as the big cock went home.
John's balls moved rhythmically back and forth on Pam's forehead, and she breathed carefully through her nose, enjoying the sweetly rank scents which arose all around her.
She had rolled and flamed with orgasm three times in a brief space--when she had first slid stretchingly down Harley's whopping big pole, when his cock had thundered deep into her guts, and, in a twisting spiral of released fury, when Christine's wide, warm mouth had first settled on her strained cunt. Now, with the sounds of the feels and smells of hot sex enveloping her, she helplessly felt her entire body shaken by an orgasm which seemed to expand, to burn, to twist until she felt she would blow open--a soaring spasm which seemed to spread through every body in the pile.
There was a hoarse shout from Harley, and Christine's moans hummed vibrantly in Pam's cunt walls, but the wildest cry of all came from John.
As he pumped furiously above her, hot gouts of his seed rolled down into Pam's face, trickled off her cheeks to descend on Harley. And, as the grip of pleasure relaxed and released them, their limbs going nerveless from the thudding spasms, they slowly tumbled to their left, still joined.
Christine's tongue continued to lick weakly at Pam's cunt, just as the younger woman did at the quivering bald slit, and Pam moved sharply and groaned as Harley's diminishing cock slipped out of her softened asshole. But John, on the outside and with his eyes closed in exhausted delight, felt a wonderful, warm mouth enclose his shrinking cockhead. He enjoyed it for a moment and then sat up, to meet Harley's knowing eyes. They were in shadow now, the sun having gone down, and John shivered. Why, he did not know.
All of them thoroughly enjoyed the magnificent feast which had stayed warm in the oven. "It's only some old stuffed pork chops and scalloped potatoes," the young redhead had protested as John and Pam had exclaimed over the teasing aromas of cooking. But there was also hot French bread, sliced and buttered, and lemon tarts and a dish of garlic-flavored almonds, as well as a big pot of coffee.
Harley pulled the slit in one of the stuffed chops apart and licked at it, grinning. "It's just like a cunt," he said. "Remember last Thanksgiving, old lady, when I used the leftover stuffing to stuff your twat?"
Statuesque Christine roared with laughter. "My piss smelled like sage and onions for three days after," she said. "But Harley said it was the best dressing he ever tasted!"
"Everything reminds me of cunt," Harley explained, and John said: "Sure. Why not? Last night on the telly, they had one of those detergent commercials--you know, a stack of soft, thick towels, folded. I thought then, all they needed was some hair peeping out, and those long slits would have looked like cunts!" He laughed, pushing his hand down between the massive thighs to probe in the hairless lips which Christine automatically thrust to meet his finger. "If I had known about this," he said, pressing warmly in her slit to make certain she knew which "this" he meant, "I think I would have gotten up and fucked the tube!"
Pam laughed richly. "Over my dying corpse," she said.
They discussed such things later, on the carpet, as John humped Christine and Harley did the same loving chore for Pam, all dog-fashion. At John's suggestion, they were as close as possible, the girls facing in opposite directions, so that John could squeeze Pam's titties and Harley could tug at Christine's. There was a great deal of giggling, and Harley's lascivious descriptions of cunt-like rock formations, or the hot lips of a toothless lion kept them all hot and happy.
"This is a great idea, John," Christine said over her shoulder. "It's not as* wild as that four-decker sandwich, but it's sort of warm and home-like."
"When I was sucking your cock out there," Harley said, and laughed as Pam tensed under him, "I was thinking: 'This guy may be new at swapping, but he's a genius at improvising!' "
Later, as they lay together on the floor, Harley ran a hand along John's belly. "Don't worry about me being queer, kid," he said amiably. "It's all a part of life. Part of sex, and sex is life!" And John said softly: "Yeah. I dig."
Chapter 10
Long before that sweet little book, Happiness is a Warm Puppy, was published, Harley Duke had decided--and stated--that happiness was a warm pussy. "And I don't have any copyright on the idea," he stated modestly to the various members of the party at the Lambersons.
Having decided that the marvelously earthy pair would be as asset at any party, and aware that their time for enjoying their new friends was limited, John and Pam wasted no time in scheduling a get-together that included the three couples they had originally contacted. And everyone, men and women alike, loved the roly-poly little accountant with the big dong and the trenchant humor.
John, listening with the others as Harley stated his personal philosophy, had decided that happiness could be a lot of things. Like no longer taking notes or worrying about tape recorders. Who could ever forget any of these memorable experiences? Happiness, for a fellow so far removed from this type of reality--as John had been when he contemplated this scholarly project--was on-the-job training. And a shifting of balance in methods of evaluation.
"Seriously, folks," Harley was saying, "the cunt is not only mankind's chief joy, it is woman's chief asset. And anyone who knows me will tell you I am no bigot where little side trips are concerned."
Pam's rectum tingled, remembering her experience of a few days before, and John, who had had the amazingly pleasant experience of having his cock briefly in Harley's mouth, inwardly applauded the likeable little hedonist.
"Look at this," Harley said, flipping pages in an old issue of Cosmophile magazine. "Here's an article by a lady named Carolyn See--it's all sex. And it's all straight--man-on-woman, no blow jobs, even, no butt-fucking. Maybe that's editorial policy--probably is--but it proves my point. Writers, editors, even dumb-shit publishers, place cunt first."
His wife, her magnificent ass spread comfortably on the floor as she leaned her blonde head against the voluptuously spread thighs of Marina Fredericks--"So I can be just a tongue's length from this little goody jar," Christine had said, pressing her fingers into the little brunette's dark-fringed cunt--looked admiringly at her husband.
"But he sees cunts everywhere," she said. "Remember that picture in Playboy, Harley? The lady sitting sideways in the big chair? You saw fourteen places where she could be fucked. Remember?"
"I saw seventeen places," Harley corrected her sternly.
Everyone laughed, but the women looked curiously at each other, and John, his scholar's mind intrigued, said: "How about running down the list?"
"Well," Harley grinned, basking in the attention, "take the standard places, that's three. I should say that this lady was sitting with her face up on one chair arm, her hands around her knees, in a sort of fetal position, and she was what the Jewish people call zaftig--you know, a lot of woman."
"Overweight?" ventured Pam, but Harley shook his head.
"No. Just right," Harley insisted. Melissa passed through the room, getting dinner ready and wearing only a frilly apron across the lower part of her belly. "Like Melissa," he said. "Come here, Melissa," he requested. "Put your arms down at your sides. Now," he said, pointing to the sweet, triangular puff of flesh at her armpit, "see how that's creased? Just like a tiny cunt, right? And the armpit's the warmest spot on the outside of the body. So, right straight under that little cunt-like spot, into the armpit. That makes five. Sit down here, Melissa."
He arranged the girl as he wanted her, her tits in plain view under her arms, which held the big globes up on her chest.
"Now," he said, a lecturer deep in his favorite subject, "under the arm and across the top of the tit. Beautiful! Two of them--that makes seven. And then, under each boob, where they lie on the ribs--nine--and between the boobs, pushing forward, toward the face, or the other way--that's eleven."
"But your ass would be right in my face," Melissa protested, making a disapproving expression. "Heading south, that is."
Carol Malone, sitting on the floor in a position not too unlike that of her daughter, and mentally following Harley's discourse with interest, felt small ripples of warmth run all through her. Even lacking Melissa's curves, some of which were, unquestionably, baby fat, she could handle these assignments.
She thought of this neat little man's smooth asscheeks at her chin, and licked her lips, picturing how his asshole would open slightly as he fucked between her full breasts, held tightly together by her own hands. She felt a tremor of muscle in her vagina, and rocked on the shag carpet, tickling her exposed inner lips. I'll have some of that, she vowed mentally.
"See this crease here?" Harley asked, sawing his finger into the warm fold where the girl's abdomen telescoped into her rib cage. "Lovely! One on each side. Thirteen. Her navel--not much, really, but a warm, deep navel is fun, sometimes. Fourteen."
He paused, thinking, and Jim Mai one said: "Harley's running out of places. Maybe Chris was right."
"Not at all," Harley said. "I hate to admit it, but it was I who overlooked something. It's eighteen."
He got up and stood behind Melissa's head. "Put your head down on your shoulders, dear," he said, laying his prick, now getting hard, at the base of the girl's neck. Melissa's head came down, her soft jawline, her pink ear, pressed against the top of it. "That's warm and soft and close--and a girl's ear makes wonderful friction," he said wistfully, pumping back and forth, the by* glans coming right out along the corner of Melissa's mouth. "And just as you start to pop your nuts, the girl, if she's thinking right, can grab it and lip it--Jesus!" he exclaimed, as a small, clear drop leaked from the slitted eye in the glans. "Leggo, Melissa--or get ready to suck!"
The laughing girl raised her head. "Two sides to that question," she remarked. "That makes sixteen. How about the other two?"
Harley helped her out of the chair. "Lie down here, baby," he instructed. "Pull your legs away up, close together. That's it! Oh, wow! Lovely! Lovely!"
The girl's ass looked much bigger than its normally generous size, due to the spread as the top of her thighs met her belly. The creases under the buttocks disappeared. There was simply a gorgeously wide expanse of smooth, pink-white flesh, divided by the deep crease of her ass, her fat, red-furred cuntlips, drawn into a long, purse-lipped closure, creating a mouthwatering bull's-eye.
Harley pushed a pillow under Melissa's back, and held her ankles together with one hand, pushing them back, emphasizing the length of the stretched pussy.
He knee-walked up to his warm area, silently pointing to the thin stream of juice which trickled through the clamped cuntlips. "Melissa is with it," he chuckled, and she answered: "Hell, yes--and I think I've got a little action coming to me. For being a guinea pig," she giggled.
"Watch this," Harley demanded. "I lay my cock right here, and I push right up the slot. Not into the hole--that's been counted already. But just inside the lips, shoving hard to get through the thighs. Boy!" he whispered. "This is great--looking at all this stuff," and he gently touched the area of the asshole and the entrance to her vagina, pinching the soft, fat outer lips gently together. "And shoving in between those warm, smooth thighs!" He rocked gently. There was a responsive trembling in the firm thighs, and Melissa made a long, sighing sound, rocking as well as she could with Harley holding her ankles.
"Does that feel good, chickie?" he asked, and, as she nodded her ass in affirmation, he cried: "Look! She's ready to come!" But no one answered.
There had been a stir of action, a rustle of quietly moving bodies, from the time Harley had gotten to numbers six and seven.
John, sitting with legs spread wide and braced on his outstretched arms, was watching, entranced, as Carol, her red hair gathered in a pony tail, crouched on hands and knees, rubbing her long, full boobs warmly up and down his prick. He listened to her fast, shallow breathing for a few seconds and then, unwilling to see her heat go to waste, tumbled her on her back, moving between her strong white thighs.
"I'll go along with numero uno," he whispered. He reached a hand to part her tangle of red pubic hair, but she forestalled him, taking the length of his cock in her hand, rubbing it up and down to open the cuntlips and pick up lubrication, so that he sank into her all in one motion, their sighs simultaneous.
Del and Pam were balling an arm's length away. Christine had her wonderful thighs across big Jim Malone's loins, riding happily up and down on his cock, and little Marina, her wet and open cunt pasted against Jim's foot, was hunching back and forth, bracing her left arm against Christine's moving rump, licking at the bald cunt, and gently squeezing Jim's balls with her right hand.
The plowing underside of Harley's cock was giving an indescribably beautiful sensation to Melissa's pink inner lips, just as the closeness of her generous thighs was putting a loving demand on the entire length of his tool. And, at each forward push, his glans was stopped by the end of her split, to the blazing pleasure of her leaping clit.
Her mind was far up in the clouds, waiting for the wave of heat to focus and burst in orgasm, and she suddenly clamped her thighs even closer together, broke his hold on her ankles, and squirmed up, keeping the warm friction of his glans on her clit. Engulfed in the hot, enclosing darkness of pleasure, she lifted her ass even higher, and luck or instinct pulled his cock out from between her thighs and lips, and caught it in the spasming opening to her vagina, all in a split second.
He had been on the thin edge of coming ever since he began to assess her voluptuous young body, and now he fell all over her, sweeping her big tits up between his arms, sinking his face into them and biting, licking, sucking as they slithered this way and that. Her pussy, hot and slick and craving, was tight enough to lick his foreskin back and grind the exposed glans between writhing young muscle and her hard and girlish cervix, and the leaping bundle of hot, lusting flesh milked him of his sperm as his big cock jerked in tremendous spasms, jetting the overheated fluids into her in throbs that exactly matched her own.
She lay quiet and relaxed, in a kind of delirium, and suddenly cried: "Oh, Daddy Jim! Thank you! Thank you!"
The others, finished and watching in awe, looked at each other inquiringly, and Melissa, still half out of it but realizing her slip, turned to Carol and cried: "Oh, Mom--I'm sorry! But it was just the same way that Jim fucked me my first time! Honest! Wasn't it, Jim?"
It was obvious that Jim and Carol were putting their wagons in a circle, as it were, with both looking uneasy and defiant. Carol moved to help her daughter up to a sitting position, putting a motherly hand across her child's red-haired delta, getting her fingers smeared with Harley's semen.
"All right," Carol said sharply. "I'm the person Ruth Gruner hired to be your housekeeper! But I couldn't very well cook for you, take your money, and carouse with you! Could I? So I sent Melissa. Don't worry, baby!" she comforted the sobbing Melissa. "You didn't do anything wrong. Where's your dress? I think maybe we'd better go!"
John stumbled over Jim Malone to get to his wife. "Whoa, Carol!" he said, going down to his knees to put an arm around her shoulders. "What's all the shooting about? How in hell could you think any of us would judge you harshly? You and Jim--Melissa, too--you've all been so wonderful and warm and kind to Pam and me--strangers until a few days ago! You're only wrong about one thing. Of course you could cook for us and fuck, too!" He laughed kindly. "Fuck the money--it's not even ours. It's school money, put up for a worthy cause." He thought for a moment of explaining the worthy cause, but ducked the issue.
"What could be worthier than fine food and fucking?" he asked, his face in a wide smile. "But Melissa has been a wonderful substitute." He looked at Pam.
"If you're as good a cook as your daughter, you have to be great," Pam teased. "And John, with that dumb analytical mind of his, has been rating all of us. And he says Melissa's as good a screw as any of us old bags!" She laughed, patting Melissa on one of her smooth thighs. "As a matter of fact, he has you and Melissa exactly even--right down to the last decimal!" She winked at big Jim, who grinned sheepishly.
"He's dead right," Jim acknowledged. "I've been fucking them both for four years, and one's as good as the other."
After that, the ice was not only broken--as Del and Marina said--it was completely thawed. "And turned to steam," Del laughed, his fingers straying along Carol's breasts.
It had become quite dark, and they played games in the brightly lighted kitchen for the benefit of the watchers up above. For only one, really, since Harley, using his pull at the courthouse, had had Deputy Sam Rovere sent on a wild goose chase to a far comer of the county. "And the dispatcher won't send him any calls, either," Harley laughed.
So each of the men, after Carol and Melissa had been placed on the heavy kitchen table, shoved their pricks into mother and daughter, and all of them vowed there was no difference in dimension, heat, juice, or muscular control. Harley professed to find slightly more grip in Carol's twat, but, with an accountant's passion for accuracy, said that it was offset by Melissa's cuntlips wrapping around his cock. Nobody took him seriously.
They played another game for the benefit of the lonely woman who, they were sure, was watching.
One of the gourmet dishes Melissa had devised was a big bowl of small, soft, delicious fish dumplings, swimming in a rich white sauce flavored with grated cheese and sherry.
They turned the young chef front side up on the table, stuffed her pleased pussy full of the little slick fishballs, and one by one, everyone taking part, they sucked them out again. And Melissa, touched and grateful because she was, after all, the extra woman, came time and time again, with screams and struggles adding to the fun.
After he had sucked out four of the delightful little treats, John slipped out into the dark patio, turning his binoculars toward the dim outlines of the Rovere house. He had felt a mild regret at the frustration they were putting his ex-wife through, but, as the powerful glasses showed her figure glued to the telescope, some devil of retribution caught him up.
Without looking up toward the Rovere place, he turned a big floodlamp on, standing in its full brightness, stroking his hardening cock, making a spotlighted picture for Helen.
And his triumph was complete when Christine, curious about his absence, brought her big, lovely body out to add more spice to the tableau. John's imagination was inflamed.
First, whispering to Christine the reasons for his miming, he turned her in various positions to display her noteworthy pussy in all its bald lushness, fingering it, laying his cock alongside it as though measuring, and finally dropping to his knees to push his mouth into its hairless folds.
As a finale, she stood facing toward the darkness of the hillside, putting one foot up to rest on a redwood planter box, while John, more interested now in the cunt before him than in the lonely one on the hill, fucked her standing up.
Chapter 11
It was hilarious, the way Christine recounted her contribution to John's taunting of the unseen watcher in the dark. At John's urging, none of them looked out the kitchen window. "I don't want her to know it was solely for her benefit," he said, and then blushed as he looked at Christine.
"It didn't really turn out that way, did it, doll?" he asked, and Chris, tugging at one thigh, showed them the shining slickness of the professor's sperm, warming her leg.
As mischievous as children, they basked in the fancied torment of the frustrated lady in the dark. "Five will get you fifty," Harley exclaimed, "she's knocking herself out trying to get her husband on the telephone."
They called Rovere's number three times, getting a busy signal on each try, but on a fourth call, there was no answer.
But the quiet outside was suddenly broken by the sounds of a struggle, an angry exclamation or two, and Melissa's voice calling from under the kitchen window: "Help me, somebody--this bitch is really wild!"
"I had an idea she was sneaking down here when nobody answered on that final call," Carol said as the nine of them stood in a circle around an angry and disheveled Helen. "That's why Melissa went out. What was she doing, Lissa?"
The young redhead was gorgeous in her triumph. "Taking notes, right under the window. I've got them here!"
John glanced at the scrawl Melissa handed him. "Shorthand," he laughed. "I can't read it, but we can guess what it is." He turned to Helen, his expression mocking. "You ought to find a publisher for this, Helen," he taunted. And then, turning to the grinning faces around him, he asked: "What do we do with her?"
"Strip her," came the automatic answer, chorused by all four of the women. "And give her a good fucking!" Harley exclaimed. "All of us!"
There were whoops of excitement as the four women closed in, smothering the raging Helen's struggles easily.
"I've left a message for my husband!" the outnumbered victim screamed. "I told that damned dispatcher the house was burning! STOP IT! There are LAWS against this!"
John was amused. "By George! Laws against what? Punishing a prowler? A trespasser?"
She stood in the center of the circle, nude, her clothes strewed like pennants of victory over the shrubbery. Her hands were deployed in shocked modesty, one covering the dark triangle of hair at her cunt, the other across her tits. Even in this victory, John felt an odd twinge.
It wasn't possible, he told himself. He had had no idea her figure was so perfect. Of course, she had always undressed in the dark, and insisted on at least a sheet covering them both, even in their infrequent, confused, unsatisfactory mating. She would be how old? Thirty-two. But her body, seen clearly in the bright blaze of the floodlight, was as perfect as Pam's. More voluptuous. Tits bigger, ass bigger, the brown-tipped boobs riding high and proud on her rib cage. He licked his lips, moving in with brutal confidence, and jerked the protective hand away from her pussy.
"I claim first rights on this," he said to the ring of expectantly lustful faces. "I never had a good fuck out of her in three years of married life. But I'll give her one to remember!" He felt the woman flinch.
"You'll get one to fifteen--maybe more!" she shouted. "Forcible rape!" But she stood still, not moving as John pressed his hairy maleness against her, placing his warm hands on her asscheeks, pulling her belly against his rising cock.
"But this won't be forcible, Helen--because you're going to agree to it," he whispered. "You're a bigamist--and I'm the only one who knows it." He bent his head and sucked one of her nipples deep into his mouth, mauling it with tongue and teeth, delighted to give her pain. He looked up at her, grinning. "How'd you like your righteous husband to know that?" he taunted.
To everyone's amazement, the captive woman seemed to relax, and turned an enigmatic smile on them all. "In that case," she said, her voice low, "what can I say? Let's get on with it." With a graceful movement, crossing her ankles and letting herself down in a cross-legged position, she sank to the chaise pads and lay back, one hand over her eyes, and, to John's complete unbelief, spread her thighs wide apart.
In everything she had done, there seemed to be elements that, in John's view, were contrary to her nature. But now, he piled on the pressure, hoping to crack her composure.
She lay unmoving, still smiling, and John said sharply: "Come here, Melissa." The young redhead moved close to him, shivering a little, licking her lips. "Somebody's got to warm her up for me," he said. "Shove a pillow under her ass and dive into her--give her a good licking!"
Panting, eyes bright with lust and playful cruelty, the young girl looked up at all of those in the circle. She ran her hands slowly up Helen's inner thighs, her eyes on the calm face. She wrinkled her nose in pleasure as the musky odor of pussy drifted up, bent to plant a resounding smack against the dry and springy cushion of hair, and went to work.
At her first touch, Helen's legs drew up sharply, so that Melissa lay between Helen's knees and tensed thighs, and the younger girl, now emitting eager little cries of pleasure, locked her arms around the brunette's legs, her hands coming all the way around, rooting in the mesh of pubic hair.
Prying the cuntlips open, she dug her lips and tongue into the moist gap, reaching the clitoris immediately. The victim moaned now, and bumped up sharply, twisting from side to side. There was a chorus of heavy breathing in the silent circle, and John shook his head. The girl's mouth went burrowing in again, and they could see how her arms gripped the straining thighs, holding her mouth in the pink gap. Melissa's eager mouth sucked up a copious welling of warm juice, and she clung with all her strength against a flurry of movement.
She arose, her lips sticky and reflecting the patio light, licking all around her lips with a smile of accomplishment. "She's as hot as a firecracker," the girl whispered. "She came like a runaway train!"
John held his hard cock in one hand and dropped to his knees. "I don't believe it," he said flatly. "This is Miss Ice Maiden of the year."
But Pam leaned down and pushed her hand between the furred lips, bringing it up dripping with juice. The brief contact brought the helpless woman spiraling up off the pads, a thin yell bursting from between clenched lips. "Go on, John," Pamela said excitedly. "She's as sensitive as a sort thumb. Ram it into her right now--she'll go right out of her tree!"
Still not convinced, John did the only thing left to him. In a matter-of-fact way, really wanting to confirm his beliefs as much as to heap injury on insult, he roughly pushed the head of his cock against the slick walls that sloped down to the vagina's portal, and dropped his body onto his ex-wife, slamming into her so deeply that his cock ached at the jar.
And then his disbelief dissolved, washed away by the heat, the lithe and powerful movement that almost tossed him from the saddle, and the fierce clutch of vaginal muscles around his startled prick. There was a shrill scream tearing at his eardrums, and a sudden quiet that was broken only by a series of moans that were, without a doubt, of passion.
Her breasts, so youthfully firm, pushed their hard spires of erected nipples against his chest, and his loins ached in response to the wetly sliding grip on his cock. He put one hand under a buttock, prying in to touch the hidden asshole, and it slipped in the sticky flow that, so soon, had pumped out of her.
He looked at her face, and it was a happy mask of lust, her mouth open, her eyes closed, her breath sweet. In a rare surge of childishness, wishing to disgust his victim still more, he covered her mouth with his, shooting his tongue in against Helen's. Another shock--her tongue lashed back, long, muscular, desiring, seeking. And suddenly, he knew that, whatever had made Helen frigid, she was now flaming with lust.
He fucked now with more pleasure and more purpose. He felt the smooth warmth of her belly working against his, and the muscular tremors which shook her periodically. Could these quakes be orgasms? He plowed into her sharply, holding his stroke as the tremor began again, and knew it was so. Her inner muscles softly relaxed after the tremor was over, but closed questioningly after a second or two.
His cock was rising in its feelings, the head seeming about to burst. He was panting. He had been performing a ritual, stabbing a punishing instrument into a conquered foe. No more. Now he was fucking a warm and gladly yielding woman, a woman he knew and did not know. Their mouths and tongues were locked together, her cunt was clamping and holding his prick in a loving, responsive clasp.
As he felt another, larger flurry of bumps and squeezes, he no longer held back, and he gratefully pumped his sperm into that deeply rewarding hole, letting the soft kiss of her muscles draw every last drop from him.
He became dimly aware that someone was shaking his arm, talking urgently into his ear, and looked up. It was Harley, his face in a delighted grin.
"Her old man's home," the little man was saying. "He's been on and off that telescope for the last five minutes--shouting and yelling for his wife!"
John's fogged mind, coming back to reality, struggled to realize the situation. "Can he see us?" he gasped.
"Sure," Harley laughed. "But he can only see his wife's body from the waist down. He watches for a few seconds, and then runs around the house and yard, yelling for the old lady!"
"So now, what do we do?" John asked.
"All we do is wait a minute," Harley chortled. "We sent little old hot-assed Melissa up to rape him!"
Nobody had ever accused Melissa of being chicken. Home girl or not, she carried a full charge of adventurous spirit in her gorgeous body. Standing in the Roveres' living room, she saw the profiled hardness of the big man's cock in the light that shone dimly from the room she was in. Roused to a point of automatic orgasm as she watched the professor sink his big cock into their enemy, she now stood poised on the balls of her feet, her pussy awake and seeking, lusting for anything to fill it. Anything hard, hot, and living.
As the big man bent his head again to the telescope, his breath loud and rasping, she ran across the porch, wrapped her naked arms around him, and reached around his muscular body to grasp the engorged pole of flesh and gristle. She heard and felt the long sigh as the man relaxed, slowly pumping his loins back and forth, so that he was fucking against the grasp of her hand, inside his shorts.
Some intuition informed her that he thought she was his wife, playing "guess who?", and quickly, wanting him to be beyond the point of no return when he discovered the deception, she worked first at his belt, loosening that, and then at his zipper, sliding his slacks and shorts down around his ankles, being careful to keep up a warm and gentle pressure on his stiff cock. On her knees behind him, her face was now pressed into his ass, and she not only licked wetly up and down his crack, but gave him a series of sharp little love bites which must have pleased him, for he pumped back and forth in her hand, keeping his eye glued to the spyglass.
"They're fucking that same broad again, baby," he said huskily. "A big guy that looks like--yeah, it is--that Goddamned Malone! Oh, baby, we've got them now!"
Melissa felt a hard trembling in the big deputy's buttocks, an increase in the dimensions and rigidity of his cock, and tugged him backward, using his shirt for a handle.
As he slid, laughing and lusting, to the carpeted terrace, she moved back, eased his torso down so that his back was flat on the deck, and swung on thigh over his face. Before he could do more than gasp out an angry expletive, she had her hot and dripping cunt plastered to his mouth, opened her lips to take in his massive column, and went down on it so hard and fast that its cushioned purple head thudded against the back of her throat.
"This woman has me puzzled just a little," Carol Malone whispered to Pam. "You'd think that such a mealy-mouth would be screaming her head off, but look at her--fucking like a mink! First the professor, now Jim. And if you ask me, she's having more fun than the men!" She and her hostess were both down on knees and elbows, one on each side of the straining bodies, their eyes only a few inches from where the heavy cock was plunging into the open red slash of Helen's pussy.
They were both far gone in personal heat, not only from the lascivious sight so near their faces. The warm, smooth belly of chubby little Harley was locked against Carol's rump, his hips rotating as he massaged her cunt walls with his long cock, and Christine, on her back between Pam's knees, kept her hard-working tongue in contact with the blonde pussy above her by strong arms wrapped up and over Pam's back.
"Jesus," groaned Harley, leaning forward to rest his face on Carol's back, "I'm about to spill it, baby!" He pinched one of Carol's breasts yearningly. "Can you make it?"
The flash of pleasure-pain from tit to belly sent the redhead into a spiraling, shuddering orgasm. "I'm making it!" she groaned, collapsing with her head against Helen's thigh.
Del tapped Harley on the shoulder. "I think our little girl scored, up there on the hill," he said excitedly. "I just heard a guy yell, like he was getting his cock caught in a wringer! Look!"
There was enough light coming from the Roveres' living room to silhouette the buxom contours of Melissa. They could not see her face, but there was no mistaking that lovely body standing triumphantly on the broad rail of the terrace above. Nor was there any doubt about the garment she waved like a banner. It was a man's trousers.
"Okay, Del," Harley laughed. "Douse the big light. No use in him seeing that we've been balling his old lady." The little man helped Jim up from the still moving body of the interloper. Snoop or not, Harley thought, she was a beauty. Her eyes were closed, her face peaceful, with just the hint of a smile. The dark nipples on her gently heaving breasts were hard, tautly erect, and her gently rounded belly, shining with sweat, was apparently still affected by the flash of orgasm. Her thick bush of cunt hair was now wetly matted by sperm and her own juices, and these mingled fluids bathed her inner thighs and had gathered in a small pool under her ass.
"Let's send her home, now," Harley advised. "Unless you want to fuck her, Del?" Del, standing in the small glow of an insect-repellent lamp, his cock standing out and up from the brown hair at the base of his belly, shook his head.
"I think she's just about had it, for a while, at least," the slim dandy laughed. He looked about him. John was crouched over the billowy little body of Marina, licking her boobs. Jim and Carol sat on one of the pads, whispering together. Big Christine and Pamela, arms around each other, were exchanging wet and clinging kisses on a padded bench in the shadows under the trees. Del put a big hand around his hard-on and pointed it vaguely up the hill. "I think I'll save this one for Melissa," he smiled.
Harley escorted the silent Helen to the redwood gate of the rear patio. "You fooled me, baby," he said, giving her an appreciative pinch on her firm bottom, now encased again in her black dress.
"You didn't do too bad!"
He gripped one of her arms and turned her to face him. "But you and that husband better get one thing straight! Listen to me real good, unless you want him to spend the rest of his life on a lousy desk job, answering phones and filing complaints!" His voice was not less threatening because he kept it light and easy.
"You tell him that he's fucking around with friends of Harley Duke," the little man said. "And if he doesn't know who Harley Duke is, he can ask his boss, Sheriff Boyles, or any county official. Tell him I double-dare him to come down here and make a pinch."
Harley's cock, now recovered from his blasting orgasm in Carol Malone's cunt, was beginning to stand out on a fat, hanging slant from his belly. To his utter surprise, the dark girl patted it softly, and smiled calmly.
"Okay, Mr. Duke," she whispered. "Thanks for the information. And tell John--Professor Lamberson, that is--that I said thanks for everything." She went through the gate and into the darkness, leaving Harley to ponder her last words.
There was a burst of laughter from the patio behind him, and he turned back, his face lighting in a smile of anticipation, and ambled back, slowly stroking his rising prick.
Chapter 12
Farewell parties, both John and Pam were realizing, certainly don't have to be sad affairs. The news that their plans were changed, mentioned at the orgiastic climax of their smashing party a few nights before, had brought every one of their new friends back to enjoy a final bash.
Even Harley had taken the day off, and he and Christine, the latter a little tearful as she eyed Pam's pinkly glistening slit, popped open by the blonde's cross-legged position as she sat on the living room carpet, were gently protesting the fact that Pam and the professor had to leave.
John, lounging on the big couch, with the curvaceous little Marina leaning back between his thighs, the professor's big cock rising, half-hard, in the crook of her arm, came to a decision.
"Okay, you guys," he said with a smile, "I guess I owe it to all of you to explain exactly why I came here, and why Pam and I have to go back."
Jim, who had been amusing himself with occasional strokings between Christine's thighs as she lay on her belly near Pam, called: "Hey, Carol! Melissa! Quit fooling around with the food and come in here! John's got news for us!" The big man grinned as Carol came into the living room, holding a big ceramic bowl against her bare belly, stirring at some sort of mixture. He winked at Del, whose face showed over Melissa's bare shoulder.
"And tell that skinny son of a bitch from Anaheim to take his cock out of the cooking!" he added.
"Hell, I haven't got it in the cooking," Del protested, all good nature. "I can't even get it into the cook!"
It was a sight that tugged at Pam's heart, and she was close to tears as she thought of the good times they would soon be leaving.
And all of them listened as John told them, honestly and in detail, the exact reasons why he had contacted them all, the article he planned to write, the whole bit, as Pam looked around anxiously, wondering if John's confession would spoil the party.
"So, you see," John finished at last. "I'm being--and I hate to admit it--not entirely honest with the magazine. Or, what's worse, with myself. Because honestly, I don't have enough facts. I'll have to fake much of it, based on projections of known data."
His voice was sad, and it was obvious that he was deeply moved by his sacrifice of scholarly thoroughness to the crass demands of his own ego and the publisher's deadline. There was a silence for almost a minute, and Harley broke it by laughing. "You mean we're going to be in a book?" he shouted. "Will you be sure to spell my name right?" He slapped John on the shoulder, and Pam, who had been expecting, at the very least, angry charges of confidence betrayed, breathed easier.
These warm, wonderful people,
she thought.
But it was Carol who turned what could have been a wake into a carnival.
Waving a big spoon covered with yellow dough before her, she came and sat down by John. She gestured at Melissa. "Send that silly boy friend of yours in here," she directed. "He's been trying to slip his little-boy prick up my ass all the time I've been trying to get this cake done," she said with pretended disapproval. "Now, for once, he can help me help John!"
Melissa tugged and hauled a grinning, hulking youth out of the kitchen. His "little-boy prick," to use Carol's joking description, began to wilt as he came into the living room, but was still a monster. Ben Reach, the boy Melissa had cited to her mother and Jim as a very cool cat, and invited to the party by the young redhead--"to sort of even things up," she had said--had already endeared himself to every one of the original group. His manner, an intelligent blend of easy respect to the men and lascivious admiration for the women, had earned him a welcome, but everyone except Carol wondered what help he could offer.
"Look," Carol said. "As I understand it, you need a wide collection of experience. Right? And someone to help you get it all together. Isn't that so?"
At John's hod, she continued. "Just for kicks, I've kept a diary of every last dab of swinging experience that Jim and I have had. It's pretty complete. Fills more than twenty-five steno notebooks. This young Lochinvar, here," and she waved the spoon at Ben, "has the reputation of having fucked half the women and girls in this area. Right?"
Ben grinned and answered: "Only the good-looking ones. And nobody under twelve or over sixty!"
Melissa slipped her arm around Ben, smiling radiantly. "I've got a lot of dope on kids my age," she said. "Real groovy material. Would that help?" She drew herself up proudly. "I can type, too, and Jim's a whiz at figures."
"What about me?" demanded Harley. "That's my profession. And I've got two small computers--shit, John, we can give you everything you need!"
John's heart leaped with pleasure. His cock, wilting as he had told his long and, to him, shameful story, began to come up, and the gentle little Marina turned her rosy lips to give the darkening head a long kiss. He looked down at Pam, seeing the big tears of joy rolling down her cheeks as Christine ardently kissed her on the belly, and was opening his mouth in a whoop of joy when a hesitant knock, repeated insistently, sounded at the back door.
They were all too jubilant to worry, but Pam, who went to check on the visitor, had a rather peculiar look on her face as she came back in, leading Helen Rovere. But not the same Helen Rovere they had seen last week. Here was, it seemed, ah entirely different woman.
No longer breathing fire and threats, no longer snake-mean in her denunciations, the tall and graceful brunette stood calmly, accepting their stares.
She was clad in a see-through dress, crocheted from off-white yarns, and it was obviously more holes than thread. The color matched her skin, but the black patch of hair at the juncture of her thighs and belly, and the light-brown aureole and dark, hard nipples, made it plain that she was not burdened with underwear of any kind.
She breathed in deeply, and a smile touched her calm face. The aromas of lust mingled with the rich smells of good cooking from the kitchen. For, as Carol had said: "As long as my daughter has helped out with the fucking, it's only right that I get a chance to help with the cooking."
There was something about her that John had never seen in his three years of married life--warmth, friendliness, shyness--and his heart, so hard toward Helen before, was touched. He got up from the couch, murmuring an apology to little Marina, and went to take his ex-wife's hand.
"Helen," he began, and stopped, not sure of what to say. After all, she had met these people. Except for Ben Reach. And under circumstances that made introductions unnecessary. So he hedged. "Won't you join us?" he asked, conscious that his hardening prick seemed to be keeping at it.
"I came to ask a favor," Helen said, looking down. "First, I want to ask all of you wonderful human beings to forgive me for the other night--and for some other things. You know what I mean," she said, her voice low. "I was--well--excited."
Christine got up and put a big arm around the dark girl.
"You sort of excite me, right now, baby," the big blonde said. "Why don't you get with it, and take that dress off. Before one of these guys--or one of us gals--tears it off you."
Helen blushed, and there was a ripple of laughter. "I have another favor," she said, blushing deeper. "If I didn't feel I know all of you, I wouldn't dare. I have to ask John, though--and John's wife."
Pam had risen from the floor and stood next to their former antagonist. There was a rising warmth in her cunt, a catch of sympathy in her throat. Nothing like adding a new element to warm up an affair--even one as warm as this.
"What can John and I do to help?" the blonde girl asked. She ran a friendly hand down Helen's back, over her rump. She felt the girl tremble like an eager pony. "Come on, say it."
"Please," Helen whispered, placing her hand on John's cock, now reaching to her waist. "My husband heard from Mrs. Gruner that you folks are leaving here. I'm so sorry!" she cried, and there was no doubting her sincerity. "Just when I've begun to--know you!"
Pam eyed the dark girl shrewdly. "Let me guess," she said. "Before we go, you want John to fuck you again. Isn't that it?"
Helen's face was crimson and she sucked at her under lip. She nodded mutely, and there was a chorus of encouragement from everyone in the circle.
"If John doesn't feel up to it, how about me?" asked Harley, and the girl looked at him, now smiling. She murmured something and Harley, leaning forward, said: "What?"
"I said I didn't want to intrude," the girl answered, and Christine hugged the girl to her big breasts.
They all went out under the pepper trees, and made a little ceremony of undressing her. It was quite different from a few nights before. Not much to take off, for one thing. And everyone was quite gentle.
Melissa dug John in the ribs. "Want me to lick her up a bit for you, prof?" the girl asked, and Helen, her sweet face serious, said: "No, dear, but there is something you could do for me--for Sam, rather," she added shyly. "He's really a good man," she said defensively, running her gaze around the circle of lustfully expectant faces. "He did what he thought was right." She reached for Melissa's arm.
"He feels so terrible about the other night," Helen said. "He knows you're under eighteen--he thinks he did something really horrible. After all, he's been in law enforcement for so long. If you could just go up there, and--well, talk to him. Comfort him. He's up there all alone, and he knows why I'm down here. He's all torn up. Would you--go see him?"
Melissa looked at Helen wide-eyed. "Wow! To get that big thing inside of me!" The young redhead stuck out her tongue at her mother's disapproving look. "Yeah, Mom, I know I called it a thing instead of a cock," she said pertly. "I'm on my way!" The rounded globes of her ass quivered as she trotted toward the redwood gate.
Helen turned to John. "I don't think I need any preparation, John," she whispered. "Feel me!"
John laughed with easy confidence, pulling his ex-wife down to the springy pads. His hand went automatically between her spread legs, his fingers slipping easily into the slick lips. This past half-hour had confused him to all things except one--that his cock suddenly craved more of this perfectly marvelous cunt he had so stretched and reamed not long ago.
He leaned down to take a hard, extended nipple into his mouth, tasting the acrid sweetness of summer sweat on the lovely breasts, his own heat rising at the moaning response. Helen's thighs pressed against his hand, holding his fingers inside her, and he almost lost his grip on the rolling softness of the warm titty as her cunt muscles gripped his probing fingers. Well, anybody can be wrong, he thought, but how can you be wrong for three years?
It was an enigma he did not care to pursue. He twisted his fingers up inside the moving sheath of her vagina, and drove them down, feeling the tight-lipped closure of Helen's cervix. The flow of juice was oozing out and dripping from his other two fingers, and the hot incense of a woman in heat rolled along her belly and into his nostrils. His guts were knotted in passion, and the soft touch of her hand on his cock made him aware of his own hard needs.
He had forgotten the others until he heard Helen's voice above him. "Oh, please don't go," she was saying. "You were all here the other night. I think that's why I--at least it's one of the reasons--I mean--" and her voice trailed off.
John looked to see Pam's face, sweetly concerned, looking into Helen's eyes. And behind her, Del Fredericks, his face bright as he rubbed his cock in the crack of Pam's ass.
"Don't worry, Helen," Pam whispered. "We'll be here. I know what you mean. The sight of others, fucking--it's just a wonderful treat. Isn't that right?"
The dark girl sighed gratefully. John had moved between her legs and pushed the head of his cock, slick with lubricant, against the clutching lips. "Ooh, God!" she cried. "Put it in! Fuck me!" She opened her eyes again, begging Pam for understanding. "Could there be some sucking, too?" she asked, her voice rising almost to a yell as John's cock struck deep inside the soft, warm, writhing folds of her pussy. She drew John's head down to hers. "I've got so much to learn," she whispered. "Can you take on another graduate student, professor?" She giggled, holding his head tightly. "I'm short on credits, but you always did grade on willingness."
She seemed to wrap her entire, warm self around John's plunging cock, and they both gave themselves wordlessly to the engulfing pleasure of lust. Her ass seemed to come off the pad as though her back was a spring, meeting John's descending loins in a warm and gentle grind of hair-covered flesh.
His big cock seemed to gather the folds of her inner lips and pushed them inside her, and the tautness of the pulled membrane, teasing her jumping clit, seemed also to bring new heat into her cunt, where a hard fire was already glowing.
The frictions of soft skin, mounted on the hard shaft like a loosely fitting glove, made every millimeter of her sensitive cunt quiver, and the warm, slick juice that pumped out with each stroke, crawling through the hairs and on down to tickle her asshole, brought her to the edge of orgasm.
There is a communication between nerve and nerve, flesh and flesh, which transcends words. Her cuntlips, her clitoris, all of the dark and embracing muscles inside her felt the extra swell of John's cock as the boiling semen burst through his tubes.
As the hot stream jetted its slick way into her stretched sheath, she began to come, her legs wrapped around John's, holding him closely against her, while the bursting shock of her orgasm drew a long, shrill scream of joy from her throat.
Much later, after a sheepish but happy Sam had come down the hill with Melissa, they busied themselves in the house.
All constraint had gone. They chatted with the freedom of old friends and lovers. It was: "Oh, Christine, your boobs are so great," or, "Del, darling, your cock tastes so good," from Helen, and Sam, a quiet man normally, had let his cock take care of the communication between himself and the girls.
At last, the big deputy said: "Helen, you remember that thing these folks were doing, not long ago?" he waved a hand at Harley and Christine, John and Pam. "You know--the dog-fashion thing, with the girls headed in opposite directions? Golly, I sure would like to try that!"
As Christine explained it, giving all credit to John as its originator, all of them began taking positions, moving furniture to make room, the girls all moving laterally together on hands and knees. There were numerous little cries of satisfaction as the six cocks sank in, and giggles as the men, fucking with ease and precision, reached down to pinch and fondle the boobs of the next girl.
The parted globes of Helen's ass, a richly sensual sight which John had never seen--and never expected to see--was so delightful, so inviting, that he repeatedly withdrew his cock until the corona of his glans, shining with the slick exudation from his ex-wife's warm interior, appeared at the entrance.
In this position, his appreciative eyes could see the movement of muscle as her vaginal sphincter nipped at the escaping prick, the few dark hairs which straggled down to encircle her brown and puckered asshole. As he continued this gambit, Helen's twat, too greedy for the sensation of fullness to be denied, began to push back, to grasp and pull at him, until she was, in effect, sitting on his lap as he came teasingly back to sit on his heels. In this ultimate exaggeration, they were, in a very real way, out of the line. The others, too, in establishing their own individual enjoyments, were moving from their positions, and moans of pleasure, snatches of conversation, and occasional smothered cries of lust indicated that the painfully joyful release of orgasm was not far away.
Of the many things which John had learned in these past days, he had found none sweeter than the communion of mind as well as flesh in the swirling heat of fucking. To punctuate penile thrust and vaginal flutter with words of love and understanding--to compress the pneumatic warmth of breast or buttock, to command attention for the whispered word of love and pleasure--had brought him a deeper comprehension of the difference between man and beast.
Now, back on his heels, with Helen's ass pressed into his lap like the two parts of a mold, with his arms crossed so his right hand caressed her left breast, and the fullness of her right breast was in his left hand, he felt her inner muscles clip his prick insistently, and heard her moan in a long sigh of fulfillment.
And, as she wriggled against his thighs, expressing more enjoyment in her orgasm, she laughed and turned to kiss him on the cheek. In response, he pressed his face to hers and asked the whispered question: "When did you learn to laugh in lust? During a fuck? What changed you so?"
There was an immediate upheaval in her guts, a concentration of muscular rhythm in her cunt, and her gyrations, heralding an orgasm that shook her entire body, overbalanced them so that they fell together on their sides, John's clasping arms holding Helen's back tightly to his chest, while her pussy, gone wild in a fiery explosion of heat, held his loins against her quivering rump.
When the last hot spurt of his semen had sprayed her womb, and her final flutters of cunt muscle had milked his happy cock of its last sensation, they came back to reality to find the floor littered with relaxed, happy people.
And Helen, turning to face John, lying close to him, her belly against his, answered his question. "I laughed in sex for the first time the other night--when you raped me. Remember?"
John, smiling but puzzled, replied: "I remember a lot--but I don't recall that you laughed."
The dark girl flashed a dimpled smile all around. "John threatened me," she said. "He said I was a bigamist. Oh, John, dear!" she exclaimed, kissing him, "you're such a silly!"
"Granted," John answered. "But where's the joke?" The others were intent, smiling, sensing a new and unexpected rapport between these two former mates.
Helen, now sitting between John and her husband, winked at Sam and said: "John thinks we got married without my bothering to divorce him, so he thinks I'm a criminal."
A smile spread over the deputy's big face. "I guess he never heard of Mexican divorces," he said. "Didn't you ever write him about it?"
The dark and smiling beauty tossed her head. "No," she answered. "We weren't exactly friendly then."
There was a little hush around the room, and John, still puzzled, asked: "If that's the case, why did you give in?" He turned to the others, letting his eyes rest on Carol. "She just stopped fighting, right?"
"You darling dummy!" Carol exclaimed. "She loves you! Something--I'm not sure what, and I don't think Helen knows, either, just happened when you touched her. And when you got so pompous, so sure of yourself, I'll bet that's when she laughed. Right, Helen?"
Helen leaned over to kiss John on the cheek, but her hand went into her husband's lap, stroking his big cock.
"Maybe it was a laugh on the inside," she smiled. "And maybe it was love. Not that I love Sam any the less, either. You know that," she said, looking at her husband. "It's just that there's a--well, a sort of sweet nostalgia in--this is a bit tough to say just right--but a woman who has been a sexual failure--and I was, too," she said, as both John and Sam opened their mouths to protest. "Well, what I mean is, I just wanted to show this smart-ass that I had learned something about fucking!"
Her blush swept all over her beautiful body, and John reached out to shake hands with Sam. "You sure as hell taught her!" the professor said, and Sam, his face sober, replied: "No, I can't take credit--I guess she always knew!"
"And now," Helen said, her voice low, "it's so sad that you two are leaving."
The shouts of laughter that followed required an explanation, and John let the others supply the details for Helen and Sam. There was a release of animal spirits as the pair who had been mortal enemies a few days before, but who were now fast friends, learned that the swapping circle would remain complete--at least until the end of summer.
"And the entire slant and scope of my work has changed," John announced, somewhat pedantically.
Even Pam--especially Pam--was surprised, and showed it, but John went on. "I had some uninstructed idea that there was a source of initiative, a provable shift of sex drive from male to female." He laughed apologetically. "I was so smart. And so dumb." He looked around him at the interested faces, the warmth and beauty of the naked riches all around.
"I thought that women had become the aggressors." He smiled at Pam. "Now I see--it's leadership, when the male forgets, or doesn't know how, to be the leader, the female supplies the initiative. Isn't that wonderful?"
There was a rich laugh from Carol and Christine, and Pam, looking at Melissa, gave the younger girl a covert wink.
"John," boomed little Harley, "you've just discovered that two and two make four. And six couples makes a lot of fun." He moved over and crouched by Melissa, his rising cock, finding a rich inspiration in the sight and smell of, as he put it, "half an acre of cunt," pressing under the buxom young redhead's arm.
She gently moved the burgeoning hard-on into her armpit and flashed a smile around at the eager little man. "Speaking of mathematics, Harley," she said seriously, "you talked about eighteen ways to fuck me, but you only showed seventeen. You wouldn't deprive a young girl of her human rights, would you?"
He moved sharply against her, pitching her forward, face down on the tickling shag carpet.
"Hey, Tarzan," Melissa protested, as the others closed in, laughing, "you don't have to rape me!"
Harley, kneeling between her legs, moved a hand down between her cuntlips, picking up a slick handful of juice, wiping it up and down the deep, warm cleft of her ass. To a cry of: "That's a repeat on the number three method!" he gave a superior smirk.
"Watch the old master," he boasted. "It's a variation of number seventeen!"
He pulled the girl's big asscheeks apart and laid his cock, now completely hard, in the deep valley, and all of them, now watching from close up, could see heat expressed in the faintly twitching pink asshole. But he made no attempt to penetrate it.
Instead, he used his hands to push the globes of her ass together, so that his prick, almost entirely covered by the softly muscled flesh, moved gently back and forth.
"Now," he proclaimed, laying all his body on Melissa, "I get the real compression." He fucked slowly back and forth. "Mmm!" he said. "Tight, hot, delicious!"
Melissa squirmed under him and turned a bright look of surprise toward her mother. "Wow!" she breathed. "This is kind of sexy! But I don't think I can come this way."
"Hush, doll," Harley said sternly. "I didn't say you could get it eighteen ways. I said that I could!"
As others joined the experiment, and some of the girls echoed Melissa's complaint, Harley raised and helped the youngster to turn on her back. As she had lain prone, the gathered juices in her cunt had obeyed Newton's Law, and her big bush of pink cunt hair was matted and darkened with the slick flow. His mouth went down to meet her crotch as it thrust up at him, and he carefully, lovingly, licked between the thick lips, to Melissa's vocal gratitude.
There was a rustle of movement as all the couples began to follow suit, and suddenly, in a great outpouring of friendship and lust, the six couples were fucking, as Melissa said afterwards, "like a bunch of straights."
Again, John found that communication in group fucking brought a new kind of love. His prick buried in the slickly bald cunt of Christine, facing toward Sam Rovere, whose happy member was plunging deep into the tight warmth of Carol Malone, he said, in all sincerity: "We'll have time for a lot more of these parties, Sam. We want you and Helen to be here every time we ball!"
"Oh, yes!" echoed Pam, pumping her ass up and down on the lunging prick of Del Fredericks. "We want all of you!"
Her voice rose into a warm shout as she began to come, and she cried: "Lots of parties! For everybody! YOU ALL COME!"
"Oh, Pam, we will! We will!" Helen screamed, her lovely ass pounding the carpet as her cunt clamped furiously around young Ben Reach's jerking cock.
And Sam, relaxed and happy, resting his weight on Carol's warm and sated body, said: "I just did!"