Frank Weston was slightly drunk and thoroughly discouraged when he wandered out of the hot glare of sunlight on the boardwalk and into the damp gloom of the Venezia Theater. He'd known for months that the Press was going out of business, but that knowledge hadn't softened the shock of seeing the fact confirmed on the teletype this morning.
Frank had lost more than a Job. His whole way of life had come to an end. For ten years, he'd been the Press's bureau chief in Wesley Grove, N.J., a seashore resort. The job had been undemanding, to say the least. He'd fallen into the habit of coming to work at ten, rewriting a few publicity releases, and going out for a two-hour lunch. In the afternoons, he would rewrite a news story from one of the local weeklies, updating it with a few phone calls.
Periodically, someone in the main office would notice what a shoddy job he was doing and send him a rocket He would receive a sarcastic memo or an invitation to lunch with the State Editor. A few days' activity would smooth over the trouble because Frank, when he applied himself, was a pretty good newspaperman. But he had always lapsed back into his old habits until the next memo came.
The paper was grossly overstaffed, and nobody really gave a damn what anybody did. "Cover your own ass" was the motto of every employee, from copy boy to managing editor. Frank's laziness got him in trouble only when it embarrassed one of his equally lazy superiors.
For nearly fifty years, the paper had been owned by the eccentric Sculthorpe family. They knew little about business and less about journalism. Teddy Sculthorpe, the publisher, had been more interested in running a junkyard on his palatial estate in Riverview Township than he had been in the day-to-day details of putting out a paper. Nevertheless, the profits rolled in. More than a quarter of a million people read the Press through habit, and they probably would have continued to buy it if it had been printed in Chinese. Advertisers were attracted by the size of the readership and not the quality of the product.
Under the Sculthorpe ownership, nobody ever got fired. Although they paid slave wages, nobody kept accurate track of expense accounts or overtime. Frank had curled up in his comfortable niche at the seashore, expecting it to be permanent; but it wasn't.
Without warning, the Sculthorpes sold out to a conglomerate. The new management trimmed the staff to the bone-Frank had avoided that trimming because of hair-thin seniority-cut expenses, and ran the paper for a year on a strict austerity policy before selling it to its competition, the Sun-Journal. This morning, the new owners had announced that publication of the Press would be terminated. The Sun-Journal, owned by a newspaper chain, had only a skeleton staff. It depended heavily on wire service copy and canned features. It wouldn't absorb the staff of the Press.
So, at age thirty-three, with two kids and a mortgage to support, Frank Weston was faced with the bleak prospect of finding a real job for the first time: a job that would probably require forty hours' work for forty hours' pay. He wasn't entirely sure he could do it.
After receiving the memo on the teletype, Frank had pinned it to the bulletin board and gone for a walk on the boardwalk. He'd stopped at a couple of bars, drinking only beer; but at the third bar, and then at the fourth, he'd added shots of rye to the beer.
He was feeling no less bitter, and slightly aggressive, when he came to the Venezia Theater, just off the boardwalk. Wesley Grove had four other movie-houses, and films hadn't been shown at the Venezia for years. During the summer, it was sometimes used by revivalists.
When Frank saw the posters outside the theater, he thought a revivalist must be using it now: THE SEXUAL REVOLUTION said the biggest print on the signs. That stopped him. He'd heard about the Sexual Revolution, but he hadn't gotten any of it. Not long after he'd been safely married at the age of twenty-one, girls had started taking the Pill and stopped wearing bras. His extramarital experience had been limited to a few clumsy and hurtful affairs that had smacked of the pre-liberated era. He chuckled bitterly.
He came closer to the entrance of the theater. The posters bore a picture of a woman who could only be described as stunning. She had golden hair, and her lips were parted and her eyes half-closed as if she were in the grip of an orgasm. Frank wondered briefly if the Venezia had taken to showing X-rated movies, but he saw that the posters were advertising a lecture, not a film.
"Wanda Fleurette," said the caption under the beautiful girl's picture, "a student of Wilhelm Reich."
Frank frowned. He'd heard of Reich. He was a psychiatrist who'd believed that frequent and uninhibited sexual activity, starting before puberty, was necessary for mental health. He'd become interested in cancer-cures involving boxes full of vegetable matter that radiated invisible energy, and he'd eventually been judged insane. The Food and Drug Administration had seized and burned his books, ostensibly to stamp out medical quackery. Some people saw the book-burning as a government effort to stamp out his sexual and political ideas.
Slightly muddled by his drinking, Frank still believed that Wanda Fleurette must be some kind of Bible-belting evangelist, speaking against the sexual revolution. Then, in small print at the bottom of the poster, he saw the words: "Let Wanda Fleurette show you how to liberate your repressed sexual impulses." In even smaller print, so small he had to bend close to read it, were the words: "Free yourself by fucking."
Frank snorted with amused shock as he straightened up. The sexual revolution had bypassed Wesley Grove. Movies could still be busted here; songs with "suggestive" lyrics were banned by the local radio station; and just the other day, the cops had arrested a bunch of kids on the boardwalk for wearing T-shirts inscribed: "69-Breakfast of Champions!" If the cops ever got around to reading the small print on this sign, Wanda Fleurette would be ridden out of town on a rail.
The sign noted that a lecture would be given at two o'clock, and it was now two-fifteen, yet the ticket booth was empty. Frank went back to check the poster and saw that admission was free. He went into the theater.
The dismal interior smelled of urine and stale cigarettes and moldy upholstery that had been rotting too long in the sea air, but Frank didn't notice it. The minute he walked in, his attention was gripped by the girl standing in the glow of a spotlight behind a lectern.
Frank knew that any woman looked good when he was drunk enough, but no amount of drinking could have accounted for the impact that Wanda Fleurette had on him. Despite her picture and despite the message on the posters, he'd half-expected a grim-lipped lesbian who carried a spring-loaded dildo and a tear gas canister in her handbag: some kind of liberated womanoid with an axe to grind. At very least, he'd expected her to be about twenty years older than the stunning girl on the poster. But neither expectation was correct.
"Why don't you take a seat?" asked the faintly husky, musical voice that had been enrapturing him.
It took Frank a moment to grasp that this vision, this angel come to earth, was addressing him personally. He realized that he was standing in the center aisle and staring at her with his jaw agape. Flustered, he looked around for a seat and saw that the theater was almost empty. He slid quickly into the nearest seat.
He knew that he should make allowances for stage lighting and makeup, but he couldn't believe that Wanda Fleurette was much older than twenty; and he was sitting close enough to realize that she didn't seem to be wearing any makeup at all. She wore a simple white gown that might have been modeled from an ancient Greek vase. It bared her arms, and it was cut drastically to the waist in front, revealing most of her big, firm breasts. Her skin glowed a honey-golden shade and her waist-long blonde hair was like spun sunshine.
She stood straight and proud as an empress, but there was a glow of warmth in her husky voice. He couldn't shake the idea that she was addressing all her words directly to him-which didn't seem that unlikely, considering the sparsity of the audience.
It was getting sparser, too. During the course of her speech, a few people got up and walked out, making enough noise to suggest they were demonstrating their disapproval. One woman even shouted: "You're nothing but a dirty whore!"
Frank could understand these reactions. Wanda's speech seemed intelligent, well-reasoned, and persuasive: but every other word, it seemed, was "fuck." She never said "sexual intercourse," or "making love," when another speaker might have; she said "fuck." He'd never heard anything quite like it.
"We have tried to convince ourselves that we are not animals, but gods," Wanda said. "This is wrong and dangerous. It has forced us out of touch with ourselves, out of touch with the cycles and rhythms of the universe. The only way remaining open to us to achieve oneness with Nature is by fucking. When everyone subscribes to the heresy that we are not animals, it becomes a religious obligation to fuck, with as much passion and intensity and frequency as we can muster."
Frank chuckled, wondering what his wife Mary would think of that position. Once a week was, her speed.
"The world might be compared to a burning building that we are all trapped in," Wanda said. "We cannot escape. Some of us will be consumed sooner than others, but all of us will die. The best and noblest thing we can do is to reach out to as many of the other victims as we can and touch them, with love and understanding, with the only communications system available to us: the cock and the cunt."
"Yeah," Frank shouted. "Hear, hear!"
Wanda paused, staring at him. Her eyes were green, deep green. He could drown in them. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and muttered: "Sorry."
She smiled slightly and went on. Frank realized that something odd was happening to him. Not since high school had he experienced the blend of physical symptoms that came with falling in love: the inner emptiness, the foot-tangling clumsiness, the lightheaded dizziness. He hadn't thought he was capable any longer of experiencing such adolescent symptoms. But he was feeling them now. He was falling in love with Wanda Fleurette.
Those weren't the only effects she produced in him. It was impossible to hear her talk about fucking so freely and openly without thinking of fucking her. He pictured her with all her honey-golden skin bared to his hands, with her thighs circling his back as he probed deep into her pussy. As he thought, his cock got stiffer, until it pressed painfully against his trousers and tried to burst out and reach her.
"Desires must be gratified," Wanda was saying. "Repression is sickness and death. If you want to fuck someone, want to fuck them with all your heart and soul, if you know it deep in the tingling of your body-then do it, even if it means raping them."
"Jesus Christ," Frank murmured, shifting to ease the aching pressure of his prick. He doubted that the police would consider her speech an excuse of his behavior, if he acted on what she said and raped her.
"I'm not preaching violence," Wanda said. "I'm not suggesting that you should lurk in alleys and knock women over the head. But all of you men have known instances where a girl said 'no' without much conviction, when she resisted-without much force, when all your instincts told you that she really wanted to fuck, but she was being held back by indecision and fear and the scars of her upbringing. On such occasions, go ahead! We are all parts of the universal Whole. No one has an inalienable right to physical privacy, a right to withhold pleasure from another. Pleasure is life."
Something in the back of Frank's mind told him that her ideas were bullshit, but he willfully suspended his disbelief in what she said. She had the power to convince people-to convince him, anyway. He would have accepted almost anything she said, simply because she was saying it. Her beauty was like an ache in his soul, and she seemed to get more beautiful by the minute.
He realized that she had finished. Her face was lowered, mostly hidden by the veil of her hair as she sorted her notes at the lectern. There had been no applause, no reaction whatever. He turned to scan the theater. It was empty. Perhaps ten or twelve people had been present when he'd entered, but they'd all walked out on her speech. He turned back to her and began clapping loudly.
"Bravo!" he shouted.
She glanced up with a wry smile. Then she looked back at her notes. She'd apparently mistaken his reaction for sarcasm. He rose, and surreptitiously slipped his hand into his pocket to minimize the thrusting bulge of his cock. Then he walked down to the stage and stood beneath her.
"I meant that," he said. "I thought you were great"
"You're in a minority," she murmured, not even glancing at him.
Maybe he wouldn't have said it if he hadn't been drinking, but he would have wanted to say it. Now it just tumbled out: "Do you practice what you preach?"
She glanced at him again. She'd put on round, rimless glasses to sort her notes. Now she removed them and tossed back her hair with a gesture that took his breath away. He wanted her as he'd never wanted any woman before.
"Are you a cop?"
"Where'd you get that idea?"
"Come off it," she said, and her smile was slightly mocking. "You're big and strong-looking, you're reasonably young. Everybody else in my afternoon audiences is on Social Security. You have a short haircut. You're wearing a tie and a jacket, and you're probably the only man on the boardwalk who is. Besides, you look Irish."
"Don't you fuck cops? You should have mentioned that in your speech." '
She sighed. "Sometimes I have no choice. They feel free to take liberties with a woman who talks dirty. When the choice is up to me, though, I tell them to fuck off. So, do it, unless this is a bust."
"I think you're a hypocrite," he said. "Aren't cops animals, too?"
She laughed, but she didn't look at him. She put her glasses back on.
"I'm not, honest. I'm a newspaperman. I have to dress funny, to earn the confidence of politicians. And cops."
"They're just as bad," she murmured. "Are you going to write me up?"
"I would, except that the paper went out of business this morning. I wish it had lasted another day. It would have been fun trying to suggest what you said for a family newspaper."
"It's been tried. You can look at my press clippings, if you want to."
"You didn't answer my question."
"I forget what it was."
"I asked you if you practiced what you preach."
She removed her glasses again and tapped her notes, written on index cards, into a neat stack. She looked at him for a moment before smiling and saying: "Yes, I do."
"Well," he said, and he found it impossible to force out the words he wanted to say. He was afraid that this all might turn out to be some kind of joke at his expense. "How about it?"
"Mr.--?"
"Weston. Please call me Frank."
"Please be frank," she laughed. "If you listened to my speech at all, you must realize what I think of pussyfooting and hypocrisy."
"All right," he sighed. "Can I fuck you?"
"Sure," she said. "Come on back to my dressing room."
Frank stood where he was, momentarily flabbergasted. Without a backward glance, Wanda turned and walked offstage. He followed her golden shoulders with his eyes, the firm, shapely ripple of her delicious ass, outlined by the flow of her gown.
He was alone in the dingy old theater for a moment, and he would almost have been willing to believe that he'd hallucinated the whole experience. It seemed impossible.
And then, from the wings, he heard her husky, sexy voice: "Frank? Aren't you coming?"
Without another thought, he sprang up onto the stage and followed her into the darkness.
II
"Let me suck on it first," said Wanda, kneeling on the bed between Frank's legs and wrapping her fingers gently around the throbbing thickness of his cock. "I want to kiss it and see what it tastes like before you fuck me."
"I bet it doesn't taste much different from anybody else's," he said. He had grown almost impatient with her foreplay. He wanted nothing more than to grab her shapely ass in both his itching hands and slide his prick into her pussy.
"Don't be silly," Wanda said, and she sent a little shiver through his whole body as her fingers pulled on his foreskin and fully exposed the swollen red knob at the end of his prick. "Each one tastes different. Some of them taste fishy, and others taste like ripe cheese-but there are all kinds of fish, and all kinds of cheese. You have to explore the delights of all the senses, and the sense of taste is one of them."
Frank was almost tempted to tell her that he'd heard the lecture already and that this was no time for a second one, but he held back. Everything about her-even her words-excited him.
"Besides," she added, "without getting intellectual about it, I just love to suck."
Before he could say a word, she bent forward-her big, golden breasts looked even bigger when they hung down like that-her blonde hair, long and straight, cascading over his thighs. Her velvety lips glistened slightly as she parted them and brought them closer and closer to the head of his superheated phallus.
Frank knew and regretted that it wouldn't take very much at all to make him come. They had already spent an hour in her dressing-room, kissing and feeling each other up, while his cock got harder and harder. It had seemed like an eternity before she'd finally taken off her clothes, revealing that her body was even more luscious than he'd imagined, and she'd stripped in a slow, sexy way, piece by piece, trying to tantalize him even further.
At last she was nude, though, and so was he. Her tongue peeked out between her lips and flicked off a little bead of crystal dew that had formed at the head of his cock in its greedy anticipation of fucking her.
She kept working with her tongue, polishing the pink ball of his cockhead all over its pliant surface, licking down further to run her tongue around the flared, purplish ridge at the base of the head. She was torturing him by dragging it out like this, and Frank groaned as he lifted his hips from the bed and tried to shove his cock between her lips.
"Come on and suck it if you're going to suck it-take it inside your mouth," he urged, but she eluded him skillfully and his cock only slid around her lips and rubbed across her soft cheek.
Wanda giggled as she pushed him down gently with her hands and began licking his prick like a lollipop in long, sweeping licks that started down in his coarse red pubic curls and ended up at the swollen, trembling crown of his prick. She licked it all over, obviously delighted with the taste and the goosepimply texture of his agonizingly swollen tool.
"Wow, it really tastes good!" Wanda said, pausing for a moment to lick her full, pink lips, then leaning forward again and puckering her lips to kiss the tip of his cock, teasing him even more, before continuing: "I bet you don't wash it too often. They taste like nothing when men do, but yours is all salty and smelly-I just love it"
It was an odd compliment, but Frank was willing to accept it. He was glad of anything about himself that might please her.
Before he could urge her to do it again, she opened her pretty mouth and slid his prick right into it, then closed her lips and sucked it deeper into the wet cave. Her cheeks hollowed slightly as she sucked harder, and her lips pouted out as she began sliding them up and down the thick shaft
At first the touch of her mouth was cool, but Frank's rigid phallus was so hot that it soon warmed up the saliva flowing around his flesh as she licked it inside her mouth, artfully skinning it and nibbling it with her teeth and pumping her lips up and down on it He'd never dreamed that a blowjob could be this good. He forgot all about "his disappointment that he wasn't actually fucking her. He wasn't content just to be a passive recipient of her skills, however.
"Bring your pussy up here, Wanda," he murmured. "I want to look at it nice and close, and maybe I can do something for you while you're doing that for me."
She didn't need coaxing. Her mouth twisted around on his cock while she moved her ass toward his face, straddling his shoulders with her knees and wiggling around until her pussy was right over his mouth.
Frank felt his lips going dry, and he licked them hungrily as he feasted his eyes on the delicious sight of her dimpled, rosy-hued buttocks over his face. His eyes followed the deep crease between the smooth cheeks, downward to her little pink ass-hole and the beginning of the golden hair that glinted inside the moist pinkness of her crotch.
Her cunt was long and leaf-shaped, the lips a beautiful shade of pink. It wasn't fully aroused yet and the clitoris that peeked out at him like a long third hp in the middle was only slightly swollen. He reached up to take her lovely ass in his hands and pulled her cunt down against his mouth, pushing against the pliant softness of her pussy and feeling her delicate hair tickling his chin.
"Mmmmmm," Wwnda murmured when she felt the first touch of his sucking mouth against her quim, and she pressed it down harder and squirmed around to massage it against his lips. At the same time, she pulled his hot cock even deeper into her mouth to show him how pleased she was and to give him the best of her cock-sucking skills in return.
Frank had never been especially excited by the thought of eating pussy, except as a sometimes essential preliminary to building up a girl's excitement for a fuck. Something about Wanda's delicious cunt aroused him, though. It made him desperately hungry to lick it and suck it, as if he were dying of thirst and it were a crystal fountain. It wasn't at all loose and sloppy, as were most of the cunts he'd ever seen-including his wife Mary's. It was almost like the cunt of a young virgin, although the way his tongue was able to slide so easily upward into the salty wet depths of her vagina told him that she wasn't, even if the words of her lecture hadn't already reassured him on that point
As his tongue probed deeper, the lovely blonde spread her legs even wider, pushing her cunt down on his mouth, anxious to have him flick his tongue around in the humid plasticity of her pussy and give her the kind of thrill she was giving him with her tongue on his cock. Her pussy was oozing salty juices now as she got more and more excited, and the soft flesh against Frank's lips and tongue was almost scalding as the juice got hotter and hotter.
He pulled his tongue out of her hole and slid it upward, slipping it between the loosening lips of her pussy to lick her hot little love-button. It was more than just a button now in its tight swollen state, and it gave him a real mouthful to work on as he sucked it between his lips and flicked his tongue all over its slick surface. Wanda groaned around her own mouthful of pulsing male meat as the work of his tongue sent little shivers of pleasure through her body.
Frank started licking her in long, sweeping strokes, the way she'd licked his cock, starting at the top of her cunt and sliding his tongue all the way down to the bottom. He even went a little beyond it, to stick his tongue into her ass-hole. Then he went back the way he'd come, slurping all along the moist, pliable surface of her cunt and pausing to stick his tongue here and there into the creases and folds of the juicy pinkness.
His cock got harder and hotter inside her mouth as he worked on her cunt, and she redoubled her own efforts to pump her mouth on his prick. She pulled it between her lips until her chin was pressed right against the curly bush of his pubic hair and she couldn't possibly fit another inch into her mouth.
Frank groaned and sucked on her cunt, pulling all the juicy flesh that he could between his lips and flailing his tongue on it. Her work was having a devastating effect on him, and his prick felt as if it were on a hair-trigger, ready to go off at any second as his electrified excitement mounted. He began pushing his ass up and down against the thin mattress of the rickety bed to slide his cock in and out of her lips and fuck her in the mouth.
Wanda sucked even harder. She used her tongue even more freely as she rubbed it all over his prick and laved it in the soft, moist embrace of her mouth. She twisted tighter against him when he cupped her big tits in his hands and his fingers began playing with her nipples.
Her body tensed. Frank knew that she was coming. She was sucking his cock so hard now that it almost hurt. Her teeth were holding it firmly and almost biting into the hard flesh. Her pussy was so wet and loose and smelling so strongly of her hot excitement that for a second he was tempted to pull his prick out of her mouth and shove it into her delicious cunt at the moment of his own climax. But in the next second, he was coming, too, his cock tingling and throbbing as hot juice pumped out of it and spattered into her sucking mouth.
Wanda sucked every last droplet that she could out of his prick and swallowed the sticky fluid greedily, moaning with delight as the hot, slimy stuff slid down her throat. When she'd gotten every last bit that she could, when his cock gave its last, agonizingly delightful throb, she rolled away and lay in a daze of gratified lust.
Frank looked down at her on the bed, contrasting the way she looked now with the way he'd first seen her. It seemed like months ago, but it had been little more than an hour. Despite her shocking words from the stage, she'd seemed chaste and aloof, perhaps a little cold. She'd looked elegant, and aristocratic, with her high cheekbones and finely shaped features and the keen intelligence in her ice-green eyes. Her eyes weren't at all like ice now. They were soft and vulnerable as she looked up at him, with her lips parted, just waiting for him to do anything he wanted with her. He saw a little glitter of his semen trickling down her full lower hp. She licked it off and swallowed it, smiling.
"Bet you thought I was a phony," she murmured, then she giggled.
"I don't know," he said slyly. "You were talking about fucking. You didn't say anything about blowing. I still don't know for sure that you practice what you preach."
"There's one sure way to find out," she said, sliding her hand up his thigh to tickle his prick. She frowned prettily when she saw how soft it was now. "Think you can do it?"
"How much time do you have?" he asked, rising from the bed and stretching.
"Till eight. I hope it won't take that long!"
He got up and poked abstractedly around the room. He hadn't noticed before what a grubby place it was. His attention had been completely wrapped up in Wanda Fleurette. The Venezia had been built as a movie theater, without provision for dressing rooms. This was little more than a windowless storage closet, with exposed heating pipes. Much of the silvering had come off the mirror over the dressing table, exposing the black backing. Light came from a bare electric bulb hanging from the ceiling. The mattress was a thin, stained pad on an iron bedstead. Wanda lay on it, naked, and that more than made up for any deficiencies in the decor.
"What are you laughing at?" she asked.
"A couple of things. I was thinking of the revivalists who mostly use this theater, this dressing room."
"They have cocks, too," Wanda said. "And they don't just use them to pee out of. I could tell you some stories-"
He surprised himself by saying: "Don't."
"You aren't jealous, are you? My God! Didn't you hear the beginning of my speech."
"I came in late."
"So you did. I thought it was a bust, when I saw you coming down the aisle."
She dropped the subject of jealousy, and he was glad. He didn't want to examine his feelings too closely. If he'd read of this happening to someone else, he would have laughed: falling in love with a girl who made it an article of religious faith to fuck every man she could, then being jealous of her affections. He couldn't laugh, because it was so painfully, personally true.
"Did your newspaper really collapse this morning?" she asked.
He frowned. That subject was equally unpleasant. He hadn't thought of it for some time. "Yes," he said. "What paper."
"The Press."
"I thought that was up north."
"It was a statewide paper. I ran the local bureau." She surprised him by whooping with laughter. "What's so damned funny?"
"They did an article on me once. It was really awful.
They made me sound like a nut. I'm sorry you're out of a job, but I'm glad they're out of business."
"That's how I feel about it," he chuckled.
"Would you like to be my public relations man?"
Frank was startled. Ten years as a reasonably ethical journalist had made him look on PR men as the lowest kind of scum. He hadn't even thought of looking for that sort of job. But Wanda could make him forget everything, even his high opinion of his own ethics.
The only objection that came to his mind was practical: "There can't be much money in free admissions."
"When people become converts, they make contributions. Some of them sign everything they own over to my Foundation."
It took him a moment to digest that. Then he snorted with unbelieving laughter. "You mean this is a racket? Jesus Christ!"
Most of the dishonest people he'd met would have taken this as a mortal insult. She didn't, and that went a long way toward convincing him of her honesty as she said: "No, it isn't a racket. I just keep my expenses, and they aren't much. I'm staying in this crummy dressing room, you'll notice, not in some imagine hotel.
"Part of it goes to my tours, and to publications and so forth. Then there's the Natural Meditation Center. That's like a sort of commune, where people can go to live and behave the way people ought to behave."
"You mean, a lot of fucking goes on?"
She sighed. "It used to. But the Center was a rented house, and when things got a little bit out of control, we were evicted. Right now I'm saving up money in the hope of buying a secluded farmhouse. I never stop hoping that some really rich person will become converted and donate a suitable estate-"
"I can just see it," he interrupted. "You convert a bunch of young girls to free love, and then rich old guys give you all their money so they can go and romp with them."
She looked uncomfortable, and she avoided his eyes. "Sometimes it works out that way, sort of. You make it sound nasty, though."
"It sounds like the world's most expensive live-in whorehouse. And you not only pander to their sexual urges, but to their desire for self-improvement. They think they're doing something spiritual and meaningful while they're screwing."
"Forget the job," she said sharply. "You have a very creepy outlook on things."
"I was just trying to look at it the way your detractors probably do, so I could understand what kind of a PR problem you have."
Her momentary coolness thawed. She smiled at him. "That's just about how they do see it," she admitted. "Do you think you could help me deal with cops and reporters? Sometimes the relatives get very upset when a person is converted. I've been accused of kidnapping more than once, although the charges never got very far."
"It's odd that I don't remember reading about your group."
"That's because the people who get the most upset by my teachings are the ones who are ashamed of sex, fortunately. It's one thing to scream to the papers that your daughter has run away to join the Jesus Freaks. It's another to publicize the fact that she's run away to live in a whorehouse-as you called it-or, even worse, that your father or mother has. You want the job?"
He smiled. "Will I get to examine the Meditation Center?"
"You haven't finished examining me yet," she pouted. "Come over here and give me some cock."
III
Frank came back to the bed and sat beside Wanda. She looked up into his eyes with an intensity that was almost scary. He felt himself beginning to drown again in their green depths. His land slipped up to cup one of her big breasts and trace the contour of its rounded firmness. Their mouths met in an open, tongue-tangling kiss.
He felt an electric thrill as her fingertips stroked his bare cock. Just kissing her and feeling her breast had given him another erection.
"Did anybody ever tell you how good your cock tastes?"
He smiled wryly as he thought of Mary ever saying a thing like that. "Not until you did," he said.
She smiled, stretching her lithe body back on the bed. She slowly spread her thighs until he could see once again the pink lips of her pussy through the fine spun gold of her pubic curls.
"Let's see if it feels as good as it tastes," she murmured, writhing her hips slowly on the tattered mattress.
Frank knelt between her legs and reached down to smooth his hands over the taut, golden skin of her hips. It was obvious that she'd exposed all of her nude body to the summer sun's rays. Her eyes were fixed in hungry fascination on his cock, sticking out over her like a boom, and on the big sac of his hanging balls.
She raised her knees to expose the deliciously moist lips of her cunt even more as she let her thighs droop apart. Her eyes left his prick for a moment to look into his eyes, and he saw pure lust glowing in their green depths. He'd never even believed that a woman was capable of such desire. Mary certainly wasn't, that was certain.
Made clumsy by his own desire, his hands fumbled down to slide under her ass and Cup the firm cheeks in his hands, pulling her up a little as he lay on top of her and felt his cock sliding into the wet clasp of her clinging pussy.
"Oh, my God!" she cried, biting her lower lip. "Hurry up and stick it all the way in! I'm just dying for it-I want all of your great big tasty prick inside me. Come on, Frank-fuck me, fuck me, FUCK!"
Frank quieted her by putting his mouth down on hers, sucking the air right out of her lungs as he pressed hard against her silky-soft lips and thrust his eager tongue inside her mouth. He didn't want her completely in control of things, telling him just what and when to do and how to do it. She was probably in the habit of using her beauty to dazzle men and cripple their will. She'd gotten off to a flying start with him in those directions, but he resolved to resist as much as he could.
He wanted to relish every inch of the soft, inward slide into the slushy firmness of her cunt, to take it slow and easy and enjoy the bath his cock was getting in the scalding juices of her hot pussy. No matter how much she wiggled and bucked, trying to speed up the action, he held her with his hard hands on her ass and with his mouth pressed down against hers.
He pushed his cock inward, deeper and deeper, pulling her lush ass upward to make sure he was getting into her as far as he possibly could. She lifted her supple legs, pulling them around his back, lifting her pussy even more to his inward thrust. He was all the way in, now. His coarse pubic hair was mixed with hers in an indistinguishable tangle, his balls pressed right against her ass-hole, and there wasn't another fraction of an inch of his thick root that he could possibly stick into her slithery quim.
He released her mouth at last. She gasped for air, looking up at him in a dazed way.
"Do it your way," she said, when she got her breath. "Do it any way you want, I don't care. I just want to fuck and fuck and fuck-"
He didn't resist now when she began humping her hips up and down on the bed, pushing her cunt up and down around his hard cock, making the bedsprings squeal as she picked up the tempo and he went along with it. He fitted the rhythm of his inward and outward thrusts to her frenzied humping. He couldn't hold back a groan of pleasure as he felt the soft walls of her pussy pressing against his cock. Her cunt shaped itself to his hard prick like a soft, wet glove around a finger.
The feel of her flesh against his hands and against his hairy body was driving him wild. He bent his head down and touched his lips to the pink halo of her up-thrusting nipple, licking around it with the tip of his tongue in a slow, circular motion that seemed to make her even hotter and sexier.
"Get it all inside your mouth-all of it! Suck it in!" she moaned, flinging her head back in an ecstasy of cock-crazed lust and arching her spine like a bow to jam her big tit against his mouth.
He was still reluctant to let her call all of the shots. He teased her by just pressing his lips around the tight nipple and feeling it grow even tighter and harder as her passion built up to a feverish pitch. She seemed to be writhing and squirming in six different directions at once in an effort to ream every bit of her pussy on his cock and rub her delicious boob against his mouth.
At last he did as she'd told him. He sucked her breast in, trying to get all of the firm, rubbery meat inside his mouth, but her tit was just too big. There was still some left over after he had pulled in all that he could.
He nicked her hard nipple with his tongue at the back of his mouth while he grasped her other breast with his hand, squeezing it and feeling it and kneading it as his excitement mounted higher and he started to feel a tingling, glowing sensitivity in his prick that told him he was once more on the brink of coming.
Wanda's cries had escalated to screams of unadulterated, animalistic rutting: "Come on, come on, don't slow it up! Fuck me, come on and stick it in and out and give it to me, screw me, come on and do it, do it!"
She wrapped her thighs even more firmly around his back and squeezed his cock tightly with the clasping muscles of her squishy cunt as he speeded up the action with his plunging hips.
Her exuberant cries delighted him, but he really needed no encouragement at this point. He had no other thought than to fuck her. All of his body and mind were wrapped up in the rhythm they were developing between them, and nothing at all seemed to exist but his cock enfolded in her cunt, sliding in and out at a faster and faster pace, seeming to go deeper than ever as their sweating flesh slapped together and his hands roamed all over the magnificence of her golden body, feeling and squeezing and stroking while her hands did the same to him.
He was lost in her cunt, drowned in it. He seemed to be burrowing deeper into a hot, red cave, wandering in its depths eternally, feeling its dripping walls breathing and sighing and squeezing in on him. The salt tang of her sweat was on his tongue, the perfume of her golden hair was a dizzying cloud in his eyes, her green gaze glowed through it in dazed surrender as he felt her succumbing completely to the strokes of his hammering cock.
"Now, now," she whispered, "come! Now! I ... ohh ... I...."
She could no longer speak. She babbled wordlessly, letting the delicious fuck drive her right over the edge as she sank into a wave of pleasure that spread outward from her cunt, all over her body. The hot spurts of his gism pumped again and again into her pussy with hard, pulsing throbs.
Frank had never come like this before. Her cunt seemed to have a life of its own. It seemed to be pulling and sucking the juice out of his balls with the same kind of suction she'd demonstrated with her mouth. She was making his come pour out in torrents. He thought that his cock would never stop pumping, and each throb sent a fresh tingle of pleasure that was almost an agony throughout his body. He slipped his hands beneath her and grabbed her luscious ass to pull it up against him. He sank the knob of his cock further yet into her secret depths.
"Oh, your cock, your cock, I've never had-oh-I've never had one so deep-I-I" babbled Wanda, feeling a new surge of pleasure, an even deeper wave that threatened to sweep her away. She was going off like a string of firecrackers into one shattering orgasm after another, until they all seemed to blend into one big, explosive glow.
Frank hugged her harder, trying to grind their bones together, trying to pull his whole body into her after his cock, trying-but it was all over. The last spurt had been wrenched out of his balls. He went limp on top of her, sweating and gasping for breath. She groaned with pleasure beneath him.
He reached down to the junction of his cock and her pussy and was amazed to feel how soaked her pubic hair was with the copious flood of their juices. He felt as if he'd shot a quart of come into her, and she must have been juicing like a torrent herself. He felt his prick going a little soft inside her, but he kept it where it was, hoping he'd be able to get it up again and give her some more of what she'd asked for in that crazy lecture.
It was crazy, after all-her lecture, her "Natural Meditation Center," her offer that he become her PR man. Mary, frigid and repressed, would scream bloody murder if he even told her he was considering a job like that. His kids would be harassed by their schoolmates and probably by their teachers, too-if it became known that he was employed by an organization devoted to sexual liberation.
He wondered if she would require that he and his family become converts, as a condition for employment. She claimed to be a disciple of Wilhelm Reich, and he wondered how far she followed her mentor. He had advocated sex for everybody, as soon in life as possible, citing the customs of the Triobriand Islanders as a model for all people. They deflowered babes in arms. The idea of encouraging his children, Jack, aged twelve, and Franny, aged ten, in advanced sex-play, made him a little bit sick.
He sighed. Maybe he was experiencing a post-coital reaction to the head-over-heels infatuation he'd felt from the moment he'd seen her. Looking at her, he realized that it would be difficult to deny her anything. If she told him to bring his family, or leave them behind, he might do either on impulse.
She seemed to be asleep or out cold beneath him. His fingertips traced the delicate line of her jaw, and he noticed that she had a spray of freckles across the smooth skin of her cheeks and nose. Her eyelashes were long, and darker than her hair. The dark frame made her green eyes hit like a zap of electricity when he looked straight into them.
She wasn't asleep, though. At least her cunt wasn't. He could feel it moving around his cock, sliding and slithering around it in an undulating motion such as he'd never felt before. Her cunt could float around him like a warm fog, or it could gobble him like the mouth of a hungry animal. It was as if she had muscles in her vagina that other women just didn't have, or perhaps she'd trained the ones that every girl was born with in a way that no other girl had ever thought of doing. Mary had certainly never thought of doing it.
He felt something a little like despair as he contrasted the way Wanda fucked with the cold, joyless way that Mary did it. Mary merely submitted; Wanda put out. Now that he knew what a really hot piece of ass was like, he wondered if he'd ever again be satisfied with Mary's feeble efforts. He had to take the job: it was his Only chance to keep Wanda Fleurette from drifting out of his life as casually as she'd drifted into it.
"What's the matter, Frank? Can't you get it up again? When somebody asks me to fuck, I expect them to be able to do it," said Wanda, giving her hips an extra wiggle beneath him.
He almost expected his cock to come sliding out of her, the way she was squeezing it with her cunt and moving her hips around. To his surprise, it stayed inside her. It was even swelling and growing harder in the moist clasp of her pussy.
"That's the way I like it," Wanda sighed as she stretched back and relaxed, feeling the hardening meat beginning to fill her up and push against the firm resilience of her pussy.
Frank gripped her ass in his hands again and pushed in deeper. His prick was good and stiff now, brought right up to a fine pitch of excitement by the expert rub-down she was giving him. Wanda smiled and pulled her legs up even higher than before, pushing her cunt right up to make sure he got every last inch of his big cock inside her.
He was all the way in now, and he rested for a moment, just feeling the warm bath of her pressing pussy around the full length of his stiff prick. He let it stay inside and immobile for what must have been a full minute, restraining her efforts to wiggle around with his hands clutching her buttocks. Then, at long last, he slowly pulled out, until only the knob of his cock was held lightly between the lips of her steaming quim.
"Don't tease me like this, Frank," she protested, trying to slide her pussy over his hard cock once again. "I've got to have it. I just can't stand you doing that."
Frank smiled, pleased that he was able to get some control over her and have some power over this sexy beast who seemed so self-composed and self-sufficient when she talked about fucking. He couldn't figure her out, and he despaired of ever doing so, but in this position, with his cock in her pussy, he didn't need to. He slid it in once again, just as deep as before, making her groan with delight as she felt the thick rod sliding into her and the tip touching some depth that pleased her.
He felt her hand sliding over his buttocks, but he didn't think about it-not until he felt her finger lightly tickling his ass-hole. He was about to speak, but at that minute she shoved her finger into his rectum, shoved it in deeply, and started wiggling it around inside him.
"Ouch! Hey, what the hell do you think you're doing?" he demanded, but he wasn't able to evade her while they were joined together so tightly and deliciously at their loins.
"Just relax and enjoy it," she murmured. "Doesn't it feel good when you get used to it?"
"Well..." said Frank, not wanting to come out and admit that he enjoyed the unusual experience. The pressure of her finger inside his tight rectum seemed to be having some effect on his prick. It seemed to have gotten suddenly harder. His excitement was mounting. He was almost on the edge of another orgasm.
"Such a big, strong man-what you'd really like is to have another man's cock up your ass while you're fucking me, wouldn't you?" said Wanda with a mischievous smile.
"Hey, wait a minute!" cried Frank, horrified. "My finger feels like a cock, doesn't it? We could arrange little scenes like that at the Center, if it turns you on."
The idea scared him. The way she was shoving her finger in and out of his ass was an unmistakable duplication of the way he was fucking her; and whatever it felt like, he liked it.
"Sure," he said, deciding to defend himself by attacking. "And just like when I was eating you, you really wanted another girl putting her tongue in your pussy, right?"
Wanda giggled. "Why not? It's all just skin, isn't it? The touch of one body against another-I mean, that's all we've got in life. What difference does it really make, the sex of the person inside the skin?"
"You're nuts," said Frank, annoyed by his inability to think of a more clever answer.
It made no difference whether she was crazy or not, though, now that he forgot about her words and her ideas and concentrated on the slipping, sliding friction of his cock going in and out of her pussy once more; now that he felt the indescribable tickle of her finger up his ass, building him to a new orgasm by some mysterious process he'd never experienced before.
He just relaxed and enjoyed it all, fucking her at a faster and faster pace and making her moan with delight as his cock shuttled in and out of her. The springs of the rickety iron bedstead screamed in protest, louder and louder, the thumping of the iron legs on the floor sounded like God's own heartbeat. Wanda's cunt gripped him and surged around him in lapping wavelets, like a living sea.
"Deeper, Frank, deeper," she groaned, moving her sweat-slicked thighs higher on his back, digging her little heels into him.
His fingers dug deep into the crease of her buttocks, running with sweat and with the come of their previous orgasms. He drove deeper than he'd thought possible, until the knob at the end of his cock seemed to be tickling the hp of her womb. Suddenly he was coming again, splashing sizzling juice into her cunt, and she was coming, too, locking her lithe legs around his back and pulling him into her sucking cunt.
IV
Frank's experience with public relations men had taught him the contradiction implicit in their work. A PR man had to attract all the attention he could to his client while hiding the truth about him. It was a job that called for sleight of hand, camouflage, and evasion, all conducted in the fullest possible glare of publicity. His experience as a newsman had taught him how to cut through such subterfuge, but not how to create it. A hound all his life, he was taking up a new career as a fox.
Being Wanda Fleurette's PR man was especially difficult. Attracting attention to her was simple. Editors tripped over their tongues to snatch at publicity pictures of Wanda in a skimpy bikini. In each group would be a few shots of Wanda completely nude. The editors wouldn't print the nude pictures, but they accepted them and kept them in their desks for reference.
Accompanying the photos, Frank would issue carefully worded releases that outlined her message. He would soft-pedal the shocking nature of her theme and try to make her sound respectable, scholarly, and dull. Crowds came, though, drawn by her beauty and by the fact that she was going to talk about sex.
Attracting attention was only half of his job, however; hiding the truth was impossible. Uncharitably presented, the truth was simply that Wanda Fleurette, charming and intelligent though she might be, was a foulmouthed screwball and a nymphomaniac.
Wanda refused to moderate her message for mass consumption. She refused even to moderate her language: fucking was fucking, and that's what she called it. Dozens of outraged people would storm out of her lectures every afternoon and night. Pickets tried to block the entrance to the theater. Fistfights broke out in the audience. Her most controversial talk was a lecture on fellatio-which, of course, she called "cocksucking"-with graphic demonstrations involving a banana. She scandalized some of the older female auditors, heavy users of lipstick, by tracing the history of that cosmetic back to ancient Egypt, where women used it to make their mouths resemble cunts.
The police lusted to arrest her, but they were hesitant to bring an obscenity charge. Screwball or not, Wanda's academic credentials were impressive, and she had successfully beaten such charges in other places." They arrested her for inciting a riot after the cocksucking lecture, but the complaint was thrown out of court.
After that incident, a horde of inspectors descended on the Venezia Theater to check the electrical wiring, the plumbing, and the fire precautions, but they proved to be more interested in bribes than in violations. It troubled Frank's conscience that his duties included dispensing these bribes. If he didn't do it, somebody else would, he told himself; and he drew further consolation from the thought that he was bribing people in the noble cause of bringing Wanda's message to the public. "If Christ came back and tried to pass out loaves and fishes," he told Mary, "somebody would have to bribe the Board of Health to let Him do it."
Mary had been pleased when he'd told her about his new job. In announcing it, he hadn't said much about Wanda or her teachings, but he'd emphasized the fact that he would be making nearly twice his former salary with the Press. The job would involve real work for a change, he would have to spend longer hours at his new office, but he was willing to make these sacrifices for her sake and the children's. His new office, he neglected to mention, was Wanda's dressing room, equipped with a typewriter and a telephone.
When Mary subsequently saw Wanda's picture in the papers and read about the disruptions of her lectures, her pleasure in his new career noticeably faded. She said nothing, however. Mary had always been withdrawn, uncomplaining, and uncommunicative. Whenever he tried to tell her an amusing he about her job, thinking he ought to say something about it, she would change the subject. Her attitude began to irk him.
He buried himself in his work. The part of the job he liked most was interviewing Seekers, as Wanda called potential converts. After each lecture, two or three people would always drift backstage to ask questions about the Foundation for Natural Meditation. They would be urged to contribute to the Foundation. The larger contributors would be invited to visit the Natural Meditation Center, as soon as Wanda found a suitable place to reestablish it. Young and attractive Seekers who had no money were eligible for scholarships that enabled them to visit the center for nothing. Frank didn't publicize these scholarships, knowing that Wanda's detractors would twist the facts and make them look like bait for a white slavery operation.
Frank was assigned to interview the female Seekers. Most of them, unfortunately, weren't scholarship material. A profile of the average female Seeker would have shown her to be a thirty-five-year-old housewife who had married at eighteen and given birth to a child within the first year of marriage. Her husband, a blue collar worker, earned between ten and fifteen thousand dollars a year and fucked her infrequently. She was looking for something more out of life, but she didn't know what it was; she only knew that her husband didn't know what it was, either, nor could it be found in any of the conventional churches.
Because of these interviews, Frank's extramarital love-life experienced a fantastic boom. Driven by a craving for love or simple recognition of their identities, softened up by Wanda's lectures, these housewives were pushovers. Eight out of ten submitted to his advances. During his first month on the job, Frank screwed a total of fifty-six different women. His previous lifetime score had been seven, and that had included Mary.
He tried to convince himself that he was doing more than just having fun. After all, he was making converts, bringing happiness to others, and living up to Wanda's teachings. But his own conversion was slow in coming. He would have liked to believe in Wanda's philosophy, and he worked hard at accepting it, but it was like trying to believe in Santa Claus. His own jealousy, the worst sin in her decalogue, proved he was no convert. It galled him bitterly that Wanda interviewed the male Seekers, and that her interviewing techniques were much the same as his.
Tonight was the occasion of a special interview. After Wanda's lecture, the most promising Seeker yet had come backstage. Her name was Kathi Palmer. She was only sixteen, but she already had a build like Gina Lollobrigida, and her face was even prettier. Her uncle didn't understand her, she said, and she believed in love. Wanda insisted on helping Frank interview her.
Kathi wore nothing but a lacy black bra and bikini panties as she sat at the table in Wanda's dressing room with them. Frank couldn't take his eyes off her tanned skin, so soft-looking and glowing with her exuberantly healthy youth. Even though Wanda was already nude to the waist and her plump, pink nipples were bare under his eyes, his glance kept drifting back to Kathi. He caught his breath every time she leaned forward slightly to reveal more of the delicious swell of her breasts.
The gold of her skin shaded to pale ivory near her bra-her crotch must be like that, too, he thought, where the sun hadn't touched it. He felt his throat growing dry. Unbelievably, she'd told them that she was a virgin. The prospect of busting her cherry was driving him crazy with anticipation.
Wanda, who believed in using odd methods to calm nervous Seekers, had suggested they play strip poker. Frank couldn't concentrate on the cards in his hand. He sat there in only his undershorts, and they were already soaking wet from the juice that had been oozing out of his cock ever since Kathi had started taking her clothes off.
He forced himself to concentrate. He had three kings in his hand, plus the Queen of Hearts and the Deuce of Diamonds. He ought to be able to do something with that.
He put his cards face-down as he stood up and slid his shorts down over his stiff prick. "I open for these," he said, dropping his shorts on the table.
It was a terrific release to get his cock out in the cool air. Just the pressure of his shorts on his throbbing cock had been unbearable. He breathed a deep sigh. He saw the pink tip of Kathi's tongue slide over her full lower hp as she looked covertly at his naked cock. Her eyes were lowered, and she pretended to study her own cards, but he knew she was studying his prick and wondering what it would feel like when it got inside her.
Her eyes met his for a moment, and then she averted them in confusion. They were deep, smoky-gray eyes, with amber flecks. Her hair was dark brown, almost black, but in the lamplight he could see reddish highlights in it.
"This is the kind of poker I like, Kathi," said Wanda, reaching over and running her fingers lightly over the surface of Frank's cock. Kathi giggled; a blush suffused her cheeks and even spread down to her luscious breasts, but she didn't look up.
"Cut it out," Frank said. "You're going to make me come all over my cards."
"It's about time you did something with them," Wanda murmured. She glanced down at her hand, then said: "I'll see your pants and raise you a pair of stockings."
She stood up and slid her hands down under the elastic of her panties, posing with one hip outthrust, enjoying their interest. She rolled them slowly down over her belly, exposing the fine line of golden hairs that led down from her navel to the fluffy scrub on her cunt. She peeled off her black mesh stockings, one by one, taking her time about rolling them down her lithe legs, until she stood before them without a stitch of clothing on.
Kathi gaped at her, her lips parted, her eyes wide. It was obvious she'd never met anyone quite like Wanda before, or had even imagined that a girl could act like that.
She noticed Frank's eyes on her. Confused, she looked down at her cards, and blurted: "But-I don't have any stockings."
"You still have your bra," Frank observed mildly.
"I don't know-I don't know if I should really be doing this at all," Kathi said. "I mean, it was sort of like a game at first, but when it gets right down to taking our clothes off..."
Gently but firmly, Wanda said: "I thought you believed in what I said in my lecture."
"But ... believing it, when you talk About it in a speech like that, you know, you say, Tiooray, outtasight,' but like that's a speech ... and, I mean, actually doing it..."
Despite the general drift of her objections, Kathi was rising from her chair as if impelled by Wanda's steady gaze. Frank had seen her twist people around her finger before: including himself. Wanda's eyes had a hypnotic intensity that few could resist.
Frank's eyes were on Kathi, though, and he felt his teeth grind together as his gaze roved down over her belly and saw the little wisps of dark red-brown hair peeping from the edges of her panties at the crotch.
Kathi nibbled her pink lower hp as she reached back to unhook her bra. The action made her big tits thrust out even more-and then they were free, quivering slightly in their big, bare fullness as they bounced from the restraint of the lacy black bra. Gold shaded to ivory, then to pink at the delicious crowns of her boobs. Frank's hand went down almost of its own accord to stroke his cock lightly. Realizing what he was doing, he jerked his fingertips away from his trembling meat before he could make himself come.
"Well, there's the bra," she sighed, blowing a vagrant strand of her long hair away from her face. She dropped the garment to the table. The color drained from her face for a moment as if the full, shocking impact of what she was doing had suddenly hit her. Then she smiled shyly and reached down to pull her panties off with a couple of quick, spasmodic jerks. She mumbled: "I did believe what you said. There's nothing wrong with this at all. Right?"
"Yeah, right," Frank said absently, studying his cards as if the stripping of a voluptuous teenage virgin were something too ordinary to comment on.
Kathi sat down quickly. From the corners of his eyes, Frank had been unable to sneak a good look at her cunt. She had held her thighs close together, and she had a lush growth, of pubic hair that effectively hid her cunt-lips. He knew that he'd see her pussy eventually, but he wondered if he could stand waiting much longer.
It was up to him now. "Well, I'll see your raise with my wristwatch-but that's all I've got left," he said, pulling it off and throwing it on top of the pile of garments in the center of the table.
"Bullshit, that's all you've got left," Wanda said. "Now we can get down to the really interesting bets."
"like what?" Frank asked, puzzled. This strip poker game had been one of Wanda's nutty ideas. He'd never played it before, and he was just following her lead. He seemed to be doing that more and more lately.
"If you want to raise me," Wanda said, with a hint of mischievous smile playing at the corners of her full mouth, "you can raise me a blowjob, or a fuck."
"Oh!" cried Kathi. Her hand shot up to her lips. She was blushing again.
Frank succeeded in repressing a smile. He frowned thoughtfully. He decided to give her time to get used to the idea. "I'll just call you," he said.
"Cards?" Wanda asked, smiling.
Kathi studied her hand. "May I please have five?" she asked. "Why not?" said Wanda, and she dealt them out.
"One for me," Frank said, discarding his deuce.
"And none for the dealer," murmured Wanda.
"Christ," said Frank. He picked up the card that she'd given him and saw that it was another queen, the Queen of Spades: he had a full house. It was his privilege to bet, but he said: "I'll check to the last raise."
"All right," said Wanda, and her tongue flickered lightly across her lips before she said: I'll bet a blowjob."
Kathi slid down in her seat. Her cards covered her face, her forearms concealed her breasts.
"Yes," she whispered in a very small voice.
I'll see you," said Frank, and he spread his cards face up on the table.
"Oh, my. I only have two pairs," said Wanda. She paused, then fanned out her cards and said: "Two pairs of aces."
"Wh-what's a blowjob?" asked Kathi, clutching her cards.
"It means kissing someone in a very special way, on the sex organs," Wanda said gently. "I've beaten Frank already, and he has to do that to me. If I've beaten your hand, it means you have to kiss my cunt, too. Unless you really don't dig the idea at all. If you really didn't know what it meant, we can't hold you to it. Although I'd like it very much."
"Oh," said Kathi. "You mean, you won-and if Frank had won, I'd have to kiss him on his-his thing."
"Mmmmm," Wanda said. "But what do you have."
"Well, before I had all clubs except for the Joker, and that didn't seem like it would beat anything, and now I've got this junk-an eight and a six and a five and a four and a seven of diamonds."
Frank stared at Wanda in awed amazement for a moment before he said: "How in God's name can you deal like that when you're not even wearing sleeves."
"Are you suggesting my deal wasn't on the level."
"But, I mean, now do I have to kiss your cunt? Or do we wait till after the game?" asked Kathi.
"You won. That's a straight flush," said Wanda, getting up from the chair and moving with the lithe grace of a cat toward the succulent youngster.
"You mean, I win two blowjobs?" asked Kathi, pushing her chair back from the table and keeping her knees pressed tight together.
Wanda sank to her knees in front of her. "That's right. Do you mind if I do it first?"
"Well," said Kathi, biting her lower lip again and then showing just a glint of mischief in her smoky eyes, "could I have them both at once?"
"Of course," Wanda said. "If you don't mind lying down on the bed."
"'Could I have them both at once," Frank murmured, shaking his head. "You're not the only wise-ass around here tonight, Wanda, for a refreshing change."
V
Now that Wanda was conducting so many interviews in her dressing room, she had replaced the iron cot with a comfortable double bed, the largest that she could fit into her cramped quarters. She'd been reluctant to do it. She never seemed to spend a penny on her personal comfort. Despite the fact that her Foundation gave every appearance of being a racket, Frank was sure that it wasn't. With this and other little things, she daily convinced him anew that she believed her own ideas.
Kathi got up from the table and walked the few short steps to the bed. Frank's cock felt so hot, the skin of it was stretched so tight, that he was barely able to control himself as he watched her rise and turn, giving him a glimpse of her beautifully firm, well rounded ass, before she lay down on the red satin bedspread.
The teenager seemed stiff, and her shapely legs were still held close together. He still couldn't get a really good look at her cunt. He was itching to see if she were really a virgin, or if she were just playing games with them for her own amusement.
He hungered to fuck her, too, but Wanda had taken charge of the girl's seduction. He hadn't lost anything yet by going along with Wanda's ideas, and he resolved to do so now, even though it cost him an effort.
Kathi gasped when Frank sat on the red coverlet beside her. She acted as if she'd never seen a man's erect phallus before. The sight seemed to exert a terrific fascination over her. She tried to avert her eyes, but they kept wandering back to the stiff white thickness rising from its bush of red curls. Her hand crept up his thigh, then stopped before her fingers actually touched the hard organ that interested her so much.
"Can I touch it?" she asked, smiling slightly to hide her shyness and embarrassment.
"Don't be ashamed of anything," Frank said. "That's what Wanda's lecture was all about, wasn't it?"
"I guess so," she said uncertainly.
She sat up beside him to get a better look at his prick. Her long chestnut hair fell down to brush lightly against the upright rod and send a shiver of pleasure through his body as she bent her head to look at it.
She clasped his cock in her fingertips and began peeling the skin back. Then she peeled it forward, giggling at how it worked. She didn't seem to be aware that Wanda, kneeling on the floor at her feet, had pressed her thighs apart and was enjoying a look at her pussy. She let out a gasp of surprise and pleasure when she felt the other girl's fingertip tracing the outlines of her sex organs. She spread her legs wider without any more urging.
She bent over closer to get a better look at Frank's cock. It seemed to him that she might be debating with herself about actually kissing it. She leaned even closer, parting her moist lips. She was still jerking his foreskin back and forth, though, and he'd underestimated his own excitement: she was jerking him off. Before he could warn her or pull her hand away, a gout of semen shot out of his hard cock and splashed against her face.
"Oh!" Kathi cried as the hot juice spattered against her nose and ran down her lips and chin. "Oh, my God--! "
"Don't stop now, keep jerking me off!" groaned Frank, agonized by the sudden cessation of her rubbing fingers.
"But it's getting me all-all icky!" said Kathi, wrinkling her nose and squeezing her eyes shut
"It's beautiful stuff," Wanda said. "You'll see. Keep rubbing his prick. See if you like the way it tastes."
Kathi licked some of the slimy goo from her lips. She shrugged, smiling, apparently unable to decide what she thought of it. But she began jerking the foreskin of Frank's cock again. When she saw that it wasn't squirting high enough to splash her face any more, she bent over and touched her lips against the knob, letting it squirt right into her mouth. The muscles of her throat worked sinuously as she swallowed his erupting gism.
"Oh, that's the way, baby, suck on it, take it right into your lovely mouth," sighed Frank, lying back and relishing her tentative, amateurish efforts to suck him off.
'We've got a real live one," said Wanda, delighted with the sight of the voluptuous teenager slurping at Frank's hard prick. "There's going to be no stopping her, once she finds out what it's all about."
Kathi seemed to realize that she wasn't going to get anymore come to eat for a while, no matter how hard she sucked. She released Frank's prick from her mouth and wiped the semen from her face with her fingers. She licked her fingers clean daintily.
"It's good," she murmured. "It's like it's alive, sort of, so warm and all. It's land of like hot Jell-O."
Kathi was still savoring her last sensation when she was suddenly subjected to some brand new ones. Wanda was leaning forward to lick her pussy from one end to the other, pressing her wet tongue right against it and sending shivers of excitement through her body. Frank was feeling both of her breasts, kneading and fondling them with his hands and leaning forward to touch the nipples with his lips and tongue.
She lay back on the bed, spreading her thighs even wider and enjoying everything that was happening to her. She giggled as she remembered something, and she whispered to Frank: "I beat you, too, at cards, and you're supposed-to be giving me a blowjob, not playing with my breasts."
"Come on down," said Wanda, momentarily lifting her face from Kathi's crotch.
Frank reluctantly took his mouth away from Kathi's succulent tits and turned around to join Wanda in working on her cunt. He was delighted with his first sight of it. Kathi's cunt lips were plump and pink, with only the finest wisps of reddish-brown hair. They were pressed tightly together at the bottom, but at the top her swollen clitoris was peeping between them, red and hot with sexy excitement.
Wanda's tongue was slipping up and down one side of Kathi's cunt, between one lip and her clit. Frank inserted the tip of his tongue on the other side. As he did it, he heard Kathi gasp and moan with pleasure at their combined efforts.
This was a delicious experience for Frank, and one that he had never even imagined before: being this close to Wanda's lovely face, so close that their lips and tongues met occasionally in an accidental kiss, while they licked Kathi's cunt together.
"Somebody stick your tongue inside the hole. It's itching like crazy!" Kathi groaned.
Wanda obliged, going down to squeeze her tongue between the lips and as far as she could get it into the girl's vagina, flicking the tip in and out and making Kathi shudder all over. Now Frank had her clit all to himself, and he sucked it right between his lips, pulling it in deeply and flicking all over the swollen surface with the tip of his tongue.
Kathi didn't object when Frank reached back to cup one of her big breasts in his hand and squeezed the firm, youthful meat while he fingered her nipple. The bud of her tit had shriveled right up with sexy excitation, and its tip became stiff and rubbery as he stroked it. He didn't want to lift his face from her muff to see what she was doing, but he could feel her touching his cock and balls all over with her exploring fingertips. His cock began to swell and stiffen in her cool hand.
"Ahhh!" gasped Wanda, coming up for air. "Get down here and taste her hole, Frank. She's not kidding about being a virgin."
Wanda rose to her feet and looked down for a place to crawl onto the bed amid the tangle of arms and legs. Frank made room for her by pulling Kathi around until she was lying lengthwise on the bed. He slid his head beneath Kathi's thigh so he could work on her cunt from below. Wanda lay with her own cunt near Kathi's face. The teenager couldn't resist reaching out to feel Wanda's pussy with her free hand while she continued to stroke Frank's cock and balls.
"Stick your fingers inside it," said Wanda. "See if you can get me off with your hand while I eat you."
"Okay," Kathi giggled.
Frank wanted to concentrate all his attention on Kathi's virginal pussy, but he couldn't help watching her reactions to the developing orgy. Wanda's cunt was on her right, and Frank's cock was on her left, and she couldn't seem to make up her mind which interested her the most. She must have come from a terribly strict, repressive background, he reasoned, because her eagerness and curiosity were intense. She was acting like a kid given a license to steal from a candy store. All her previous shyness had evaporated.
Frank was developing another hard-on from the stroking of Kathi's eager fingertips. He'd been amazed by his own sexual potency during the past month. He'd never come more than two or three times with Mary, but he'd been able to put on some performances that he found incredible during his stint as Wanda's PR man. Wanda's bag of tricks, coupled with the endless variety of women available to him, seemed to have brought out hidden talents.
Kathi's tongue fluttered around the tip of his cock like a butterfly sipping at a flower. Just that final touch was enough to stiffen his prick to full rigidiy. He twisted his hips, trying to stick it into her mouth again, but she giggled and turned to Wanda's pussy. She began slipping two fingers in and out of the blonde's cunt. They gleamed with the hot, odorous juices of Wanda's excitement. Kathi pulled them free for a moment and licked them, frowning critically as she sampled Wanda's juice.
Frank returned his attention to the girl's cunt. It was a tight squeeze for his tongue. His cock was a lot bigger than his tongue, and he hesitated to imagine what that would feel like. He really had no idea what it would feel like. Mary, for all her frigid squeamishness during the years of their marriage, hadn't been a virgin when he'd met her. He didn't hold that against her, but he'd always felt that he'd missed something by not having busted her cherry.
He didn't want to admit it to Wanda, but Kathi was the first virgin he'd ever had-the first one he'd ever examined, unless he wanted to count juvenile episodes of playing Doctor. It was a deliciously exciting sensation to shove his tongue in as deeply as he could and feel it crowded by the tough membrane he'd never encountered in a cunt before.
Frank couldn't help smiling as he remembered a recent lecture that Wanda had given. On most subjects, she seemed calm and reasonable. She projected an air of quiet persuasiveness. It made her message seem even more plausible when contrasted with the convulsions of rage that seized some of her more puritanical listeners.
On some subjects, though, she was a bit of a fanatic. She had certain quirks, and when she touched on one of them, she would come perilously close to ranting-especially if someone in the audience heckled her or laughed at her opinions.
Whenever she started talking about sexual tastes and odors, for instance, she would sometimes get carried away. To her, female deodorant sprays were evil incarnate. She maintained that a pussy should smell like a pussy, and not like a rose garden or a primrose path. No chemical concoction, she maintained, could possibly taste or smell as good to a man as a ripe, natural cunt, simmering in its own juices.
She wasn't, against bathing, fortunately, and sometimes she would even enhance the taste and odor of her own pussy with aloes or musk oil, but she used these natural products sparingly. She would sometimes rage against products designed to obliterate the God-given odor of her pussy with the fervor of an Old Testament prophet.
Frank smiled because he knew that Kathi's quim smelled and tasted just the way Wanda said it should. It tasted like a plain, unadorned cunt, with no hint of perfumes or bitter chemical sprays. It was delicious and warm, slightly sweet and salty. It reminded him in its taste and texture of raw oysters. Wanda knew why he was smiling, and she winked at him as she continued to lap Kathi's clit while he worked on her hole.
"Shove your fingers into my cunt, too!" Kathi cried suddenly, twisting on the bed in an agony of lust. "I just can't stand being a virgin anymore-open up my hole and tickle my itch!"
"We've got something better than fingers for you," Wanda said, lifting her tongue momentarily from the sticky jelly of Kathi's quim.
"Oh!" cried Kathi. "You mean-"
Her grip on Frank's cock tightened convulsively as it dawned on her what Wanda meant. She seemed suddenly scared as she tottered on the edge of the irrevocable step.
"We have to get you really good and hot first," said Wanda. "We don't want it to hurt at all when he fucks you."
"It doesn't matter!" squealed Kathi, twisting and writhing between them in a spasm of frustrated lust. "I don't care if it hurts! I just want it so much-come on and fuck me, Frank, stick your cock in my pussy and screw me!"
"Suck his cock first, Kathi," Wanda urged. "Get it good and hard and stiff before he does it. He won't be able to do it unless he's just as hard as he can possibly be."
"Oh, yes, yes-mmmm," she said, pausing to press her lips around Frank's cock, "but hurry up and shove it in my cunt-mmm-it's-oh, I like it!"
Kathi seemed to forget momentarily about getting laid in her sudden enthusiasm for sucking his cock. She sucked his prick into her mouth and began really blowing him for the first time, and she seemed to love it Frank groaned, twisting his hips to drive his cock even deeper into her luscious mouth. Despite what Wanda said, he knew that his cock was as rigid as it ever got He was ready to bust her cherry.
He ducked his head down and shoved his tongue into her vagina, trying to stretch it as much as he could before the moment of truth came. She squealed' around her mouthful of cock as he apparently touched a nerve, and he eased off the pressure slightly: he didn't want to bust her with his tongue. He worked more slowly, lapping her hole in widening concentric circles.
He heard a rhythmic, squishing noise that he couldn't immediately identify. He glanced up and say that it was the suctive friction of Kathi's fingers in the slushy pudding of Wanda's cunt. The younger girl was jamming three fingers into Wanda's hole, and Wanda was writhing with pleasure and excitement. Her golden skin glowed with a sheen of sweat, and her cheeks were flushed as sticky juice oozed from her pussy to coat Kathi's fingers.
Kathi's fingers were working busily, but she didn't forget to suck his cock while she finger-fucked Wanda. She continued to slurp at his hot meat while she worked the blonde's juices up into a sizzling lather. Her fingers flailed faster as she slipped them in and out of the slithery tube.
Groaning with desire, Wanda slid her hand down Kathi's belly and opened her cunt as wide as she could with two fingers. It was red and inflamed, and the little hole seemed no bigger in diameter than a dime. A clear trickle of pussy-juice oozed from its depths to glitter and sparkle in her pubic curls.
"You'd better fuck her, Frank," Wanda murmured. "If you don't do it soon, I'll jump on your cock myself."
Frank kissed her. His chin rubbed against Kathi's pussy as his tongue tangled with Wanda's. He sighed as his lips disengaged from hers. It was Wanda he really wanted to fuck. He was still crazy about this eccentric, exasperating woman.
VI
Frank turned his attention back to Kathi. He slipped his head from beneath her thigh and propped himself on his elbow. He felt slightly dizzy as he took in the sight of the beautiful teenager sucking on his prick, her cheeks hollowed and her full lips pouted out around the white root as she pulled it back into her mouth as far as she could and made little moaning noises around it.
"I bet you were at Wanda's banana-lecture," he laughed.
Kathi released his cock, wet and red, from her mouth. She looked at him, puzzled. "What?" she asked.
"I gave a lecture on how to suck cocks," Wanda explained, "using a banana for a prop. Did you see it?"
"Nope," Kathi said. "Tonight was the first time I ever heard you speak."
"Where did you leam how to do that, then?" Frank asked. "You blow like an expert"
Kathi shrugged, giggling. "This is the first time. Honest. I just do what comes naturally."
"Dynamite," Wanda breathed. "Her scholarship is sewed up."
Kathi waited for an explanation, but Wanda didn't give one. They hadn't told her yet about the Natural Meditation Center. Wanda's troubles with the law had made her extremely cautious. Frank had never known her to send a girl who was beneath the age of consent to the Center unless she had written, parental permission.
Surprisingly, such permission was often obtained from parents who were converted by Wanda's teachings or who despaired of controlling their daughters and were willing to try anything.
Perhaps timid about taking the final plunge, Kathi had started sucking his cock again. He pulled it gently from her mouth, and her lips made a little plopping noise as she released it reluctantly from her sweet suction. Her eyes were glazed and unfocused, her lips slack. He doubted that he'd ever seen a girl as hot to fuck as this delicious piece of ass was now.
He lay back on the bed. Kathi was limp and unresisting when he pulled her toward him. He held the taut skin of her big, shapely ass and guided her until she was squatting over his up-thrust pole.
"Just sit down on it, Kathi. Take your own time, so you don't hurt yourself," he said, holding his prick directly upright with his fingers to receive her virginal pussy.
"Don't stop playing with my cunt now," Wanda moaned. "Don't forget about me."
Kathi ignored Wanda's plea. She was too absorbed in what was about to happen to her own cunt. She stared down at the hot knob of Frank's cock, glowing an angry, purple shade with its load of lust, and slowly began lowering her pussy toward it.
Frank couldn't leave Wanda out, though. He kept staring at the slow convergence of his cock and Kathi's pussy, but he reached down and began feeling Wanda's cunt. She sighed with satisfaction and lay back as he probed its wet depths with his finger. Her cunt had incredible elasticity. She could squeeze his finger so tight that it hurt, or she could open up, as she did now, to receive three of them with ease.
Frank licked his dry lips as he feasted his eyes on the nude girl straddling his body. Her face was slightly flushed with her sexual heat and her exertions, her lovely chestnut hair in disarray, with wisps of it falltag carelessly across her forehead. Her long lashes were lowered on her cheeks as she looked down to watch her crotch come slowly into contact with the big, upright cock beneath it.
His eyes wandered down over the lovely curves of her body, noticing how her golden skin shaded to ivory at the outline of the brief bikini she'd been wearing at the beach. The whiteness of her skin contrasted sharply with the darkness of the fluffy bush on her cunt. Looking down beneath the curly shrub, he could see her clit peeking out like a saucy tongue, just as red and swollen as it could possibly be.
He held her ass in his hands, guiding her down until the lips of her cunt pressed the tip of his cock. He pulled her down a little more, feeling the resistance of her virginity as his cock nudged the lips apart and began to slip inside.
"Pull me right down on it!" Kathi squealed impatiently, pushing down and biting her lip as she felt the first twinge of pain. "I don't care if it hurts! I want to fuck!"
He'd forgotten all about Wanda, he realized. He'd let go of her pussy to grab Kathi's ass with both hands. Wanda hadn't complained, though. She'd started working on herself with her own hand. She pumped her fingers in and out of her cunt and writhed beside them in a positive frenzy of lust as she built her excitement closer and closer to the brink of orgasm.
"Ow!" Frank yelled, as his attention was drawn forcibly back to the action at his own loins.
He'd been so concerned about hurting Kathi when he busted her cherry that he'd forgotten that it was going to be a tight squeeze for him, too. It was almost an agony to feel her tight pussy skinning his cock back as she pushed it further and further down, inch by slow inch. Watching her do it was almost enough to make him forget about the pain, however.
"Is there any more?" asked Kathi. She reached back anxiously to rumble around the point of junction. She gave a little gasp as she felt how much of his thick root still had to be immersed in her cunt.
"You haven't even started yet," Frank said.
"I don't see how I can take any more of it-it's already filling me up."
"Try," he groaned.
Frank had exerted almost superhuman patience and restraint up until now, he thought, but the tickling of her fingertips on his superheated cock was the final straw. He. could no longer bear to tease himself, to flirt with the act he hungered for. He pulled her ass down, hard, ramming his cock up into her pussy and ripping the last obstacle as he shoved inward as far as he could. Kathi squealed with shock and pain, but it was obvious that her enjoyment wasn't entirely spoiled by it. She wiggled, urging him on.
At that moment Wanda's groans rose to a higher pitch. She writhed against Frank, still shoving her fingers in and out of her pussy. Her movements were erratic now. She couldn't seem to control the rhythm of her hand as she stroked herself right over the brink of a climax.
"Come on!" said Kathi. "She's already getting off. I want to catch up with her. Hurry up and fuck me!"
Without waiting for him to respond, Kathi began moving up and down on his hard cock, gritting her teeth as the pain of her freshly reamed cunt mounted. She didn't seem to care how much it hurt, though. She humped up and down faster, slapping her ass against his thighs every time she came down hard on his stiff rod.
He pulled her forward, his mouth watering as he eyed the pendulous sway and quiver of her big breasts. He drew her toward him until he could reach one of them with his mouth. He sucked in just as much of it as he could and went to work on the pink nipple with his tongue. Meanwhile, he ground his hips around in slow rotations while she pumped herself up and down on the hot pillar of flesh that impaled her.
Her cunt was still tight, even though she had learned to relax it slightly so that its grip was no longer painful. It fit him like a condom, and it Was a real effort to pull his cock out of its clasping depths and shove it in each time. Kathi helped as much as she could, but her humping had slowed down. She wasn't used to this delicious exercise, and the first burst of energy had apparently wearied her luscious legs.
He kept switching his attentions from one of her big tits to the other. She arched her back to shove them right out and present them for his licking and sucking. She flipped her hard nipples back and forth against his face, giggling.
Wanda sighed. She sat up on the edge of the bed and stretched lazily. Frank was afraid that she would become bored and feel left out of things; and even though he knew her philosophical position on jealousy, he was afraid that she might start feeling it. He needn't have worried. Wanda didn't intend to be left out.
The blonde crawled down on the bed behind Kathi and he suddenly felt a new and entirely different kind of touch on his prick. He realized that Wanda was licking it whenever it appeared from the depths of the teenager's cunt. When it was buried inside Kathi's pussy, she devoted her attention to his balls, licking them all over and kissing them.
"Eek!" cried Kathi, wiggling suddenly and turning to look over her shoulder. "She's got her tongue in my ass-hole!"
Frank released one of her big tits from his mouth and laughed. "She's got a thing about that," he said. "I hope you don't mind it too much."
"No-well, not really. It tickles, kind of, and it gets sort of all mixed up with the feelings I get from you fucking me ... I like it ... oh, but she went in so far that time!"
"You're a virgin in more ways than one," Wanda murmured. "I'm just getting you in shape for the next round."
Kathi frowned, puzzled, but she didn't want to waste time on conversation. Frank knew what Wanda was talking about, and his erection quivered up to an unbelievable new notch of rigidity as he thought of it. In her lectures, she maintained that a girl should use every hole she had to please her lovers. She advocated butt-fucking as an amusing hovelity and an effective, natural method of birth control.
Although he'd been wanting to bugger Wanda for a long time, he'd never gotten around to doing it. He'd never done it to anyone, as a matter-of-fact. The prospect of doing it to Kathi and opening both her holes in one session was tantalizing.
If Kathi really had any objections to what Wanda was doing to her ass-hole, she forgot about them as she got back to the job of pumping her cunt up and down on Frank's cock. She seemed to have gotten her second wind, and she was bouncing on his thighs even harder and faster than she had been at first. Frank found it hard to believe that this was the same shy girl who'd approached Wanda so timidly after the lecture to ask a few questions about the things she'd heard.
Kathi was apparently moving too fast for Wanda to lick her ass-hole, so she transferred her attention to Frank's balls while the succulent nymphet humped herself up and down on his cock. The combined sensation was almost unbearably exciting. He felt himself losing control of his rampaging erection, even though he was eager to draw this fuck out to the absolute limit of his endurance. A tingling sensation began to spread through his prick.
"Wanda! I'm coming!" he shouted. "Don't let it-ahhh!"
Wanda responded instantly. When he'd first started fucking Wanda, the intense excitement produced by her beauty and by her talented cunt had often made him come sooner than she liked. She would squeeze his prick in a special way to keep him from coming until she had derived enough satisfaction.
Later, through constant practice, he'd learned how to control his cock so that she no longer needed to grip it to keep him from coming. He'd become expert at withholding his orgasms. Some of the married Seekers told him that he was fantastic, compared to their own husbands.
Kathi presented a special problem, though. Her cunt was so tight and tingly that there was no way on earth he could have held back his erupting gism through will power. Wanda was needed, and she sprang to the rescue. She encircled the root of his cock in her thumb and forefinger and held it tightly. The come boiled painfully in his balls, but she kept it from discharging into Kathi's clinging cunt with her expert pressure.
"What are you doing?" Kathi cried, squirming impatiently. "Get your hand out of there-I want all of his cock inside me."
"Enjoy what you've got," Wanda said. "It was going to explode."
Kathi was obviously dissatisfied with this explanation, but she said nothing more. She seemed to have developed a puppyish devotion to the other girl, an implicit trust in everything she did. Wanda had the power to inspire such trust in all sorts of people without even trying. He had observed many politicians at close range, and Wanda had more charisma than all of them put together. If she hadn't been such an unredeemable eccentric, he'd often thought, she might one day have become the first woman president. She might do it yet, if she succeeded in converting everybody. He laughed at the imagine.
Kathi leaned forward, drowning him in the cloud of her hair, and whispered in his ear: "Is she tickling you, too? She's licking my ass-hole again, and it just feels ... oh ... so good this time ... everything feels so ... good
Her words inspired Frank to fuck her faster. He wouldn't have believed that a girl could come the very first time she was fucked, but Kathi seemed to be doing it. The pressure that was building up in his balls became unbearable, though. They felt as if they were going to burst.
"Let it go!" he groaned. "For God's sake, let it go!"
Wanda released his cock, and it went off like a bomb. He shouted inarticulately in the grip of the most devastating orgasm he'd yet experienced. Now that Wanda had pulled her fingers away, he could shove his prick to its absolute limit into Kathi's cunt. She gasped and moaned as the streaming, shooting column of flesh thrust upward into her pussy and filled her with its splurging gism.
Wanda buried her face into the unctuous junction of their crotches and licked them wildly, sucking up the excess of juice that squeezed out of Kathi's pussy from Frank's erupting prick. At just the right moment, she insinuated her hand into the sqm'rming, rocking mass of soft flesh and wet pubic hair and clasped the teenager's swollen clit between two fingers. She gave it a rub that sent Kathi right over the edge to dissolve in the grip of her first climax.
"I don't know ... what's happening," Kathi moaned. "I-oh-I feel so fucking good, I've never felt so good ... keep fucking me, come on, keep fucking me!"
Frank's cock was going off like the unfurling banners of a conquering army, each torrent of come streaming out longer and more violently than the last. He couldn't believe that his balls could store so much come. Some crazy physiological chain reaction must have been set off that was converting his skin and his blood and his bones into pumping gism, and he would keep shooting until his body was completely absorbed in the sucking clutch of Kathi's cunt.
They both wanted to keep hammering their bones against each other, but neither of them had any muscular coordination in the grip of their orgasms. Wanda had to grab the other girl by her shapely ass and pull her up and down on Frank's hot cock to keep the rhythm going. When at last she was certain that Kathi had drained every last bit of enjoyment from the fuck, she pushed her gently aside and lowered her hungry mouth to Frank's cock, steaming with its delicious coat of male and female juices.
"Now it's my turn," Wanda said, slurping it into her mouth.
VII
When Kathi Palmer looked at herself in her bathroom mirror the next morning, she expected to see a radical change. She expected to look mysterious, and sophisticated, and a little bit evil-in short, to look something like the beautiful Wanda Fleurette.
She was sorely disappointed. She looked healthy and wholesome and dismayingly young. Her sins, as Uncle Teddy would have referred to them, had left no mark on her perfectly smooth skin. Her eyes looked slightly puffy from lack of sleep, but that didn't count.
Later in the day, at the beach, she kept expecting one of her girlfriends to study her suspiciously and then exclaim: "You're not a virgin anymore!" But that didn't happen. Nobody even noticed how nervous and guilty she felt.. After a while, she forgot about feeling that way. She didn't even get the chance to tell anybody about the wonderful new ideas she'd learned from Wanda. The girls only wanted to talk about records, and clothes, and boys.
She grew bored with them. They seemed childish and silly. They wouldn't have understood her conversion, even if they'd given her a chance to talk about it. Nobody understood her or really knew her.
She decided to put her new ideas into practice by convincing Donny Emmons to take the afternoon off and come home with her. Donny didn't need any coaxing, even though she didn't give him a hint of what she planned to let him do. He'd been trying to get into her pants for a long time. She now saw no reason on earth why he shouldn't.
She felt guilty toward Donny. She liked him a lot, and she believed. that he was genuinely in love with her. Despite this, she hadn't let him get very far with her; but she'd let a couple of complete strangers feel her and fuck her and eat her last night. She wished that he'd managed to catch her in just the right mood, or that he hadn't been so clumsy and inexperienced, before she'd given her virginity to someone she didn't even know.
As they sat together on the couch in her living room, she decided not to make things too easy for him. If she got him excited enough, he might not notice that she was no longer a virgin. She'd been telling him that she was, using that as her ultimate reason for not letting him go too far, and she didn't want to get involved in a. complicated explanation of why she wasn't.
She knew she had to put up some token resistance, but it was hard to do it when he held her thigh in his big, muscular hand and moved it slowly upward as he talked to her and leaned forward from time to time to kiss her. Now his other hand was cupping her breast, something she seldom submitted to, but she couldn't work up any resistance at all.
"Gee, Kath," he said, his voice choked, "you're not wearing-anything-under your sweater, are you?"
"You'd be surprised what I'm not wearing, Donny," she giggled. She could hardly wait to see the look on his face when his fingers finally worked their timid way up to the point where her panties ought to be and he encountered nothing but hair and bare, moist flesh.
He didn't understand her remark, so he ignored it. "It's like almost actually touching your breast ... I mean, through your sweater," he whispered, fondling her tit under the material and moving his hand another inch higher on her thigh.
Donny was eighteen, but from the way he talked and acted, she was sure that he was as much of a virgin as she'd been until last night. He spent all his spare time fooling around with sports, and she was the only girl he seemed interested in. Even though she was two years younger than he was, she felt incalculably older and wiser.
They'd met last summer at the beach, where he was a lifeguard. She'd known from his uncertain, fumbling way with the girls and older women who flocked around him that he'd never had much experience with sex.
It seemed impossible, because he was built like a Greek god, with sunbleached hair and pale blue eyes and skin that was so tan it was like dark, polished wood. He wore a pair of khaki shorts now. She slid her hand up his muscular leg, feeling the tickle of the golden hairs on his thigh, as her eyes drifted down to the hard bulge at his crotch.
Donny gave a gasp of surprise as her fingertips just lightly touched his prick, pressing the stretched material of his shorts against it and slowly tracing its outlines through the taut material."
Donny couldn't understand what had so suddenly come over Kathi. She'd never done that before. In the past, if she ever touched his cock by accident, she would draw her hand away as if she'd touched a hot stove. Maybe he'd caught her at just the right time of month or something: he didn't know very much about such things.
"That must be very uncomfortable for you, Donny," she said, her hand moving slowly and deliberately to the buckle of his belt. "I mean, to have to keep it in your pants when it wants so much to get out."
"Well-I-" Donny mumbled, but he could only gape in amazement when she unbuckled his belt and slowly began unzipping his fly. He was embarrassed to see how his hard cock made a tent of his underpants. They were wet, too, and almost transparent where the cotton pressed so tightly against the oozing head.
To cover his embarrassment, Donny leaned forward and kissed her again. Her mouth opened. He could feel her tongue pressing wetly against his as she flicked it around inside his mouth. He felt dizzy and weak, and then a new sensation like an electric shock ran through him when she slid her hand under the elastic of his undershorts and her fingers touched the hot, bare skin of his swollen cock.
He couldn't believe it: she was pulling his shorts and his underpants down. He lifted his ass from the couch to let her do it. She pulled them down over his knees, and he pushed them all the way off with his sneakered feet.
He'd imagined doing this very thing to her so many times. He'd imagined rolling her panties down and feeling her cunt every time he jerked off. Instead, she'd pulled his pants off and was feeling his cock. He was terrified at the thought that it would just turn out to be another dream, and that he would wake up any minute to find himself in his own bed, be-slimed with cooling semen.
He opened his eyes. It was all real. There sat Kathi, looking down at his bare cock. She slowly moved her fingers up and down its hot surface. She couldn't seem to take her eyes off it. She continued to run her fingers down to cup his heavy balls. The pebbly skin shriveled with excitement under her touch.
"It's so big, Donny!" she said. "I never dreamed that a man's thing was so big."
Kathi smiled to herself as Donny blushed. It really was a big cock-bigger even than Frank's, but she didn't want Donny to know that she'd ever seen another one.
Donny was so overwhelmed by all this that he was forgetting to try to feel her up the way he always did without any success. Now, with more confidence, he slid his hand further up the cool, smooth skin of her thigh until it was beneath her miniskirt. His jaw dropped as his fingers were tickled by the moist, curly hair of her pussy.
Not quite knowing how to follow up his fantastic success, Donny said: "I feel sort of naked, sticking out like this while you have all your clothes on. Could you-or, I mean-"
"Don't say another word, Donny," said Kathi, taking her hand from his prick but keeping her eyes fixed on it in greedy fascination as she fiddled with the fastening of her skirt and then slid it right down, revealing herself nude except for her sweater.
Donny gasped as she spread her thighs wantonly wide, encouraging him to look at her pussy. He'd never seen a pussy before, and the sight was almost more than he could stand. He reached out gingerly to touch it, tracing its moist outlines and pressing it lightly with his fingers.
Kathi shivered as she felt the delicious touch of his fingers on her cunt. He obviously didn't know a thing about it. She squirmed forward to rub it against his hand and make him get a good feel of her steaming box.
"Donny, I have the craziest feeling. There's something I really want to do more than anything else, but I'm afraid that you're going to think I'm weird, or bad, or something," Kathi whispered.
"Gee, no, I wouldn't. What is it?"
"Well ... I just don't know how to say it, but let me do it, all right? And don't think I'm bad or anything if I'm doing something wrong, 'cause it just seems like the only right thing to do, somehow."
Donny couldn't imagine what she was talking about. He was a little scared by her words and by the way she was acting, so different from the way he'd always known her. She was acting like the imaginary Kathi of his jerk-off fantasies, not like the real one who had always fought off his groping hands.
She leaned forward, lowering her face to his crotch. Her lovely chestnut hair flowed and swirled on his thighs like a dark waterfall. Unthinkable though it seemed, there was only one thing she could have in mind: she was going to blow him.
"Kathi-do you really want to--?"
"Donny, I want to do it," she said, and she was so close to his prick that he could feel her warm breath kissing it with each word she spoke. "It's so big and handsome and-oh, it smells so good!"
He didn't know what to say. But he didn't want to say anything as her full, red lips parted slightly, glistening, and they came right down to press the swollen knob of his cock.
Wanda had told Kathi all about blowjobs last night. She'd given her an abbreviated, personalized version of the lecture that had gotten her in so much trouble, using Frank's cock instead of the banana. Then Kathi had blown him, too, with Wanda watching and giving her helpful pointers on technique. But so many things had happened last night, and she'd done so much, that it had all blended together in a blur of orgiastic enjoyment. Now she could really concentrate on sucking a cock, with no distractions.
She was delighted with the smooth, pliant feel of the big knob at the end, sort of like a pink mushroom with an eye-like hole in the middle. She was even more delighted with the sweet, sticky liquid oozing out of that hole. It trickled out at an even faster rate as she lolled her tongue all over its hot, spongy surface.
She could have spent all afternoon licking the head of Donny's cock, but she wanted it all, every last inch of it, inside her mouth. She ran her tongue downward over the rough skin. It was stretched over the hard meat as tightly as the skin of a sausage about to burst on a hot griddle.
Her lips moved lower, too, caressing each inch of the pebbly surface as it slid into her mouth to be bathed by her moist tongue. Now she was breathing in the heady aroma of his crotch, ripe and cheesy. It blended deliriously with the salty flavor of his swollen phallus. It was every bit as good as Wanda claimed.
Donny groaned with lust as he felt the slick, slurping licks of her tongue and the sucking of her silky lips on his hypersensitive cock. He'd never even dared to imagine her doing this to him. He was crazy about her, and he thought it was wicked even to imagine fucking her: but he did, all the time.
He reached down to slide her sweater up over the smooth, golden skin of her back, and he reached beneath to cup her big breasts in his hands. He relished their soft, taut feel, their heaviness, their nakedness. He gasped with a pleasure that was almost like pain as he began squeezing them and feeling them and exploring their ripe, swelling surface with his hands.
"Mmmmm," Kathi moaned, trying to encourage him without taking her mouth away from his delicious prick for even an instant.
She was making incredible headway. She'd never believed that she would be able to get this much of his huge tool inside her mouth, but now her nose was pressing into the crinkly tickle of his blonde pubic hair. When she pushed her tongue out, its tip could touch the loose skin of his balls and feel the coarse hair on it.
The swollen head of his cock was somewhere back in her throat, but she found that she could relax the muscles of her throat easily enough to take it in without gagging. She was proud of herself for learning such a skill, under Wanda's expert guidance.
She wished that Donny, without any prompting, would think of kissing her pussy, or even touching it. She couldn't figure out how to suggest it without compromising the illusion of virginity that she hoped to maintain. But she'd probably destroyed it already with her performance. She hoped that Donny wouldn't believe that she'd been teasing him and mocking him all this time, that she was nothing but a teenage whore. She would have to take him to one of Wanda's brilliant lectures and let him learn for himself what life was really all about.
It was Wanda's contention that all evil stemmed from man's constant effort to hide his animal nature. He tried to hide it with clothing, with abstract ideas, with religions, with plastic and metal extensions of his ego. To admit that he was an animal, with the sexual and excretory functions of an animal, would be to admit that he would one day die. Death was the unspeakable secret underlying censorship and repression.
The deniers of life, the censors of art, the repressors of sex-they were the same ones who supported wars, applauded violence, clamored for executions. They walked, they talked, and in the darkened privacy of their bedrooms they even fucked, but they were dead. Fear had already killed them, the fear of showing pain or pleasure, the fear of exhibiting anything to the world but a buttoned-down, plasticized facade of unfeeling self-containment.
It was easy for these naysayers to turn the machine guns on their fellow creatures, because they saw themselves and their fellow creatures as odorless, sexless, plastic manikins, mere embodiments of a variety of abstractions. Whatever unsettled this view of things had to be suppressed.
That was Wanda's message: not dirt for its own sake, but dirt as the only medium in which life grows, the medium to which all life returns. Kathi had been converted to her teachings.
"I don't care what you're going to think of me, Donny," Kathi said, taking courage from her convictions, "but you've just got to kiss my cunt-pleaser'
Donny was shocked. He hadn't even suspected that Kathi knew words like "cunt." That she should even say the word was bad enough; but that she should suggest he kiss her there was unthinkable. It seemed to him a dirty and thoroughly unpleasant idea.
But Kathi was looking up at him, her wide gray eyes soft and full of lust. Little amber flecks in her eyes caught the sunlight filtering through the window curtains behind the couch. Her lips were slack and moist and vulnerable. Her cheek was pressed against his throbbing cock, her hair was a liquid shadow on his thighs. His throat felt dry. He didn't trust himself to speak. He nodded once, quickly and jerkily.
Kathi squirmed around until she lay on her back. She beckoned him, then guided him. He straddled her shoulders with his knees. She slipped his cock back into her mouth, sucking it in deep.
Donny rested on his elbows, his face directly above her hot, wet, hairy box. He slipped his hands beneath her ass and pulled it closer to his face. He was still hesitant, but the knowledge that she wanted him to do it drove him on.
He licked his dry lips with his even drier tongue. He could feel the warmth of her pussy on his face. He could smell its fishy odor. The red-brown hair glistened with little beads of dew, like a spider web at dawn. The lips were pink and moist. It resembled a vertical mouth, with the tip of the tongue peeking between the lips. He was fascinated by it, his mind seemed to be drowning in the sight and smell of it, and he realized that he was actually getting closer to it as if it were a magnet that attracted his lips.
Almost savagely, as his last qualms were submerged by his boiling lust, Donny pressed his mouth down against her juicy quim and started sucking it, pulling it into his mouth the Way she was pulling his cock into hers.
Kathi squirmed under the violence of his kiss. He didn't know how to do it, but that didn't matter: any touch was better than no touch at all, and something about his eager spontaneity excited her more than skill and artfulness might have. She spread her legs even wider as he pulled her ass up like a thirsty man lifting a brimming bowl to his lips, and buried his face in her crotch; She sucked him harder, trying to please him as much as he was pleasing her.
Donny wallowed in sensation as he tested the different textures and shapes, the surfaces and crevices and folds, the hairiness and slickness of this incredible confection. Part of it was soft and part of it was rigid, part of it was wet and part of it was dry, but he licked it all.
The more he tongued it, the wetter it got. It oozed hot stickiness, a clear fluid that made it mushy and moist. He stuck his tongue into it, deeper and deeper, seeking the source of that crystalline flow. . Once Donny started working on her hole, Kathi grew fearful that he would suck her inside out. Now that he'd tasted her juice, he was eager to suck out as much as he could and swallow it. She could hardly keep from giggling as she realized that part of what he liked so much must be the taste of Frank's cock. He'd fucked her four times last night, and her cunt must have retained some of the flavor.
The more eagerly he ate her, the stiffer his cock grew. He began fucking her in the mouth, pumping his hips up and down over her pretty face while she pursed her lips and tried to avoid nicking his cock with her teeth.
Kathi's lips were getting tired of maintaining their pressure. She was just about to remove his cock from her mouth and suggest that he fuck her when it exploded like a fire hose. It shot from his cock and blasted into her mouth as if it were under incredible pressure. It splashed back into her throat and threatened to drown her unless she swallowed it as fast as it pulsed out.
VIII
Donny was shaken in the grip of emotions such as he'd never experienced from jerking off. He'd never shot off such a flood in his life. It was all gushing into Kathi's mouth. He thought for a moment of moving aside, pulling his prick from her lips, in case she found the experience unpleasant; but she seemed to be enjoying it. She was actually sucking his cock for more and swallowing it right down.
He wanted to keep licking her pussy, but he'd lost control of his lips and tongue. His lips were drawn back from his teeth in a silent scream of ecstasy. It was all he could do just to writhe his cock around inside her mouth to tickle it against her lips and tongue and help her get every last drop of come from it.
He found himself gripping her beautiful firm ass a Utile harder than he intended to. He eased his grip and groaned aloud with lascivious pleasure as the very last spurts pumped out of his prick and Kathi gulped them down.
At last she slipped his prick out of her mouth. She was disappointed to see that it had gone soft, even though it seemed as big as ever. Donny seemed content just to lie on top of her like a dead body. He was heavy, and his bones and muscles were hard, but she didn't really mind.
She amused herself by running her fingertips over his hairy balls and examining them up close, then leaning forward to plant a little lass on the prim, pink bud of his ass-hole. He squirmed at the unexpected intrusion, but then he lay still and submitted to her exploration.
Wanda had told her last night that a girl could take a cock in the ass, but they hadn't tried it. All the normal fucking had made her sore enough. She wondered if Donny would do it to her. She wanted to ask him, but she knew she had to be careful. The best plan would be to let him attend one of Wanda's lectures before she tried to push him further along the path of sexual experimentation.
She pulled his cock back to examine it; noting how shriveled the skin had become behind the plump head. Before, it had been stretched so tight over the swollen meat that it had been red and glossy. She began pulling the skin slowly back and forth to see if she could get any action out of it. Her pussy hadn't been satisfied by Donny's amateurish licks and sucks. She wanted to fuck.
"How long will it take you to get it up again, Donny? We don't have all day."
"Oh, God-I forgot! Suppose your uncle walks in on us like this?" he said, roused from his lethargy. He rolled away from her to search desperately for his shorts and underwear.
"Don't be such a chicken. He won't be back for at least an hour. And why don't you take off your T-shirt? You look kind of silly, just wearing that."
"You shouldn't talk," he laughed nervously. "You're still wearing your sweater. Maybe if you took it off and let me-let me feel your breasts..."
He surprised himself with the audacity of that remark, but she was pleased. She rolled her sweater up over the gorgeous, fleshy moons, and he feasted his eyes on them as they quivered and jiggled while she pulled the sweater away from her shoulders and arms. Now she was completely nude, and he almost tore off his T-shirt in his haste to get beside her and feel her luscious tits.
He leaned forward and sucked one of her big boobs into his mouth. She ran her hands down the hard muscles of his bare, bronzed shoulders, down his body to his thighs. She was filled with a surge of sexy joy when she saw that his cock was getting stiff again. She reached down and folded her fingers around it and felt it actually swelling against her fingers and the palm of her hand, stiffening and pulsing and getting hot.
"Lick my nipple," she sighed as Donny mumbled around on her breast with his sucking mouth, "that's the part that I feel the most-oh, that's the way, lick it and make it hard!"
Kathi squirmed her buttocks down on the couch and lay back, pulling Donny with her. He was still working on her breasts, going from one pillowy beauty to the other with his lips and tongue, working with his fingers on whichever one happened to be out of his mouth at the time, but he followed her lead and lay on top of her, fishing around with one hand to bring his cock in contact with her hot pussy.
He released her breast. It was wet and red from the action of his sucking mouth. He looked up into her eyes as the knob of his cock nudged the wet threshold.
"Won't this hurt you?" he murmured.
"I don't care, Donny. I want you to do it. Just ... push it in," she said, closing her eyes.
Donny was wild with lust again. His cock was burning, and only the wetness of her cunt could extinguish the fire. Her invitation was more than enough to sweep away his last qualms about busting her cherry. He pushed his prick into her. She sighed with joy.
It did hurt her, but only because she was still sore from her first experience with a man's cock. Donny's was even bigger than Frank's, too. Even though it was a tight, sore squeeze, the sheer delight of it outweighed the pain entirely.
Donny hadn't been prepared for this experience by anything he'd ever done before: certainly not by jerking off, and not even by the blowjob Kathi had just given him. He had imagined a million times what it would be like, but his imagination just hadn't been vivid enough to give him the faintest, palest suggestion of this sensation.
He felt some resistance, but she was relaxing. He was able to keep his cock moving into her pussy, slowly but surely. It felt like a liquid substance around his prick, liquid but firm. It clasped his meat and slithered around it. It was more exciting to him than sticking it in her mouth, and he could fit more of it into her pussy than he could between her lips. Her cunt was stroking parts of it that hadn't even been touched by her lips. He sank deeper into the fluid squeeze.
If his pleasure had been limited strictly to the sensory stimuli that came from bathing his prick in her pussy, that would have been pleasure enough; but there was more to it than that. There was the silky smooth skin of her ass, the heavy firmness of her buttocks cupped in his hands as he pulled her up against him; the pressure of her lithe young legs coiling around his back until he could feel her heels digging into his ribs; the firm push of her breasts against his chest; the sight of her beautiful face, the eyes wide and vacant with lust, the lips parted and glistening slightly.
Even those random impressions didn't sum up the total, all-consuming joy of fucking her. Beyond the sensations of his body, overwhelming though they were, was the triumphant, transfiguring knowledge that at last, at long, lonely last, he was. finally screwing a girl. Nor was it just any girl: it was beautiful Kathi herself, who could make his heart leap with a glance, who could make his knees quiver with a touch, who could make his mind swim with a kiss.
Bach at the keyboard, Van Gogh at the canvas-the joy these men felt when ideas flowed unimpeded through acts must have been shadows seen in dreams compared to the exultation that filled Donny. It was more emotion than he could stand. It rattled his mind's cage. Barely had the last inch of his prick buried itself in her mysterious depths and tides when it gave a sudden, uncontrollable wrench and he realized he was coming again.
He gritted his teeth and groaned with pleasure and pain and despair as he felt the hard spurts pumping into her. He began thrusting in and out as fast as he could, trying to get the most out of the fuck even though it was almost over.
"Oh, Donny, you jerk!" cried Kathi viciously, rolling . her head from side to side in an agony of frustration.
"I'm sorry-I-I guess I love you too much," Donny mumbled, unable to meet her eyes.
Kathi felt like screaming. She'd felt herself dissolving by slow degrees as Donny had pushed his cock into her. She'd known that this was going to be the greatest thing that had ever happened to her. Now it was all over, before it had even started. Maybe Frank's cock wasn't as big, and maybe he couldn't shoot his come out as hard as Donny could, but at least he had more self-control. She found herself wishing that he were here, too.
"Don't worry. I can get it up again, and-"
"Eat me, Donny," Kathi interrupted. "Please!"
Donny scrambled to obey her without even thinking about it. He slipped his limp cock out of her cunt and moved down the couch until he was kneeling between her legs. She spread her thighs as wide as she could spread them and thrust her crotch up impatiently toward his face.
"And don't waste your time fooling around with it. Play with that stiff part in the middle that's all swollen up," she said. She remembered how inept his last attempt at cunnilingus had been.
She grunted with joy as she felt the first touch of his lips on her achingly swollen clitoris. He was doing just what she told him, sucking it between his lips and working on it with his tongue at the same time, but even that wasn't enough to please her. She thrust her cunt up harder, rubbing its furry wetness against his mouth, swabbing his lips with it, squealing with passion as she felt the hardness of his teeth rubbing her clit. It felt as if it were going to burst, it had swollen so much, and each touch of Donny's lips and tongue sent a wave of liquid fire through her body.
Donny suddenly realized that the sticky wetness on his lips was partly composed of his own semen. He almost gagged. But he was so anxious to please this beautiful, raging furnace of feminine lust that he shoved the thought forcibly aside. His tongue quivered around her slick clit in quick vibrations.
Eating Kathi wasn't on the same level of experience as screwing her, but it was a hell of a lot of fun. He began to enjoy himself immensely. Her clit was as rigid and tight as the skin of a cherry, and almost as red in its excited inflammation. Every lick he gave it made her groan and writhe.
She wrapped her legs around his neck and buried his mouth in her muff, bucking against him as if they were actually fucking. Donny responded by alternating his licks on her love-button with cock-like thrusts of his tongue into the slimy depths of her vagina.
Donny had been so wrapped up in his efforts to please the demanding witch that he hadn't even noticed what was going on at his own crotch: the excitement of eating her had given him another hard-on. A new surge of fucking fever swept over him. Before she could resist, he disentangled her supple legs from her neck and pulled his smeared mouth away from her hot cunt.
"Oh, Donny ... what...?" Kathi moaned, dazed by the successive waves of delight that had been cresting through her body from the glowing center of her sex.
He rolled her over on her belly. Her ass stuck up toward him in all its swelling, dimpled glory, its tan curves blazoned with the imprint of her bikini. He wasn't completely sure that he could get at her this way, but he just followed his instincts and shoved his cock into her from behind, sliding it down the deep crease of her ass, over the wrinkled hp of her ass-hole, and down, down into the depths of her hot and squishy pussy.
"Oh, God, Donny, yes, YES!" Kathi yelled, shoving her ass back and upward to present him with an even better target for his rigid penetration, aching for every inch of his swollen meat.
They were clutching and shifting and wiggling so eagerly in their efforts to consummate their lust that they both fell off the couch, but that didn't even slow them down. Kathi rested on the rug with her face on her folded hands as Donny knelt behind her and began whipping his cock in and out of her. She began bucking back against it.
"It feels even better this way, Donny-only do it faster, give it to me, oh God!" she moaned as she felt his big prick reaming out her cunt, working its juices to a foam and spattering sizzling droplets down her thighs.
Donny liked this position better, too. He found that he could reach beneath her and cup her pendulous breasts in his hands while he screwed her, giving himself "an extra thrill as he fondled her firm young tits. He also had a delicious view of the white, swelling hemispheres of her ass. He could even lean back and watch his own thick cock sliding in and out of her hairy hole. The white rod gleamed with her glistening juice as he unsheathed it from its deep hiding place below the crease of her ass.
Kathi sighed, spreading her knees wider on the rug and thrusting her ass upward. She could hear his belly slapping rhythmically against it on each inward thrust, as his big cock reamed so deep that it seemed to be filling her completely. Each thrust drove her to a new level of pleasure and made the glow inside her spread wider.
Donny slipped his hand under her thigh and found that he could touch her clit with his fingertips. He knew how much she liked that touch. He began rubbing it, even while he speeded up the pace of his deep thrusts.
He leaned forward over her back, his other hand clutching one of her big boobs and fumbling with its hard-pointed nipple.
They were both coming now. Kathi's skin gleamed with a coating of sweat. It glowed pinkly beneath her golden tan as hot flushes of excitement flooded her. Donny could feel the tingling surges in his balls build as his own excitement reached the breaking point and he exploded once more inside her box. Kathi had no complaints this time. She began babbling incoherently as she felt the first hot pumps of Donny s superheated cock inside the grip of her pussy.
They were lying in an exhausted pile of flesh on the living room floor, murmuring sexy noises to each other in the afterglow of their orgasms, when Mrs. Ermold, the elderly housekeeper, walked through the front door and screamed with horror.
IX
Wanda Fleurette was capable of wild inconsistencies. She preached love and human contact, yet she was contemptuous of those she dismissed as "straight people." That term had been used by others before her, by homosexuals to describe heterosexuals, by drug users to describe nonusers; to Wanda, it meant those who weren't predisposed to accept her ideas. It meant professed Christians or Jews or Communists, men with short haircuts, women who wore girdles, anyone content with keeping house or holding a nine-to-five job, or anyone else whose attitudes or habits irked her.
"You look like a straight person, Frank," was one of the first things she'd told him when he'd agreed to handle her public relations. "You'll have to do something about it."
He tried to do something about it by leaving his jacket and tie at home when he reported for work. Wanda acknowledged this as a step in the right direction, but she was still far from satisfied. She took charge of unstraightening his appearance.
She bought him a pair of sandals first. Then she found a pair of frayed, faded jeans for him. Next came dashikis, tank tops, Mexican wedding shirts, velvet vests with bells on them, and a headband. These outfits, taken with his clean-shaven, Celtic face and short hair, made him look like an ingenuous narcotics agent. Groups of young people on the boardwalk confirmed this by yelling at him: "Hey, narc!"
He protested his embarrassment to Wanda, and she suggested that he stop shaving. He did. His children found excuses not to be seen in public with him. He was forced to leave and return to his house stealthily, because one of his wise-guy neighbors persisted in waylaying him and hailing him as Jesus Christ. When he wasn't at work, Frank spent as much time as he could indoors.
"Now you're beginning to look like something," Wanda told him after his beard and hair had grown for a month or so. Uncomfortably, he could only agree.
Mary, as always, withheld comment.
His appearance bothered him only when Wanda wasn't around. She liked it, and that was more than enough for him, when she was near. If she had told him to shave his head and put a ring through his nose and walk naked down Main Street at high noon, he probably would have done it, but only if she had come along to watch him do it.
His new style made his job more difficult. He had to see newspapermen from time to time, and they would laugh at him, having known him in his prior incarnation. The editor of the Wesley Grove Constitution, a paper whose editorial stand fell just short of advocating concentration camps for men with long hair and whiskers, barred him from the office.
Gradually Frank grew accustomed to his wooly red beard, even if his children didn't. He began to feel comfortable in his informal clothes. Now that he no longer worked for the Press, he found that he didn't have to get drunk every day, and he lost weight. He believed that he looked better than he had in years.
The Seekers found his appearance intriguing. Many of them told him that he looked like a truly liberated person, unlike their dull husbands. Some of them depressed him, because they reminded him so much of Mary. She fell roughly within the limits of their personality profile.
He would recognize his own faults of inattention and neglect in the litanies they recited against their husbands. One of these days, he told himself jokingly, Mary would surprise him by turning up for an interview.
Comment wasn't the only thing that Mary withheld as his new life unfolded. More and more frequently she would weasel out of sex with headaches and unexpected menstrual periods, which she seemed to have three or four times a month. He began to wonder if she suspected him of infidelity; or, worse yet, if she was being unfaithful to him, perhaps with the chuckling neighbor who called him Jesus Christ.
He realized that he was a long way from being perfect by the standard of Wanda's beliefs: he was jealous even of Mary.
When he examined his motives closely, he knew that he hadn't accepted Wanda's teachings and probably never could. He wanted Wanda, and her beliefs were irrelevant. He knew that his desire wouldn't last forever, either. As a child he had loved the roller-coaster, but he wouldn't have wanted to ride it to and from school every day. At the moment he was passionately enmeshed with Wanda, though he knew that he would inevitably return all his attention to Mary: but not just yet. He tried to live with his hypocrisy, and he found that it was easy.
July passed. August came. Crowds surged back and forth on the boardwalk, but it seemed that Wanda's drawing power as a tourist attraction was dwindling when even the police lost interest. She had acquired a following of twenty or thirty devoted disciples, misfits and weirdos and bored housewives, whose contributions met her operating expenses in Wesley Grove, but she still had no prospect of finding what Frank called-to her annoyance-the Big Score: a millionaire convert who would provide her with a big house and plenty of money to establish a Natural Meditation Center.
She was thinking of moving to another town. She talked much of Florida. She bought him a patch with a picture of a palm tree on it and the legend, "NUEVA VIDA," to cover a hole in his jeans. He got Mary to sew it on. He wondered if he should go with Wanda. He wondered if he should take Mary and the kids.
Frank was surprised to learn, as he got to know Wanda better, that a shy and somewhat bookish person lurked beneath the fire-eating exterior. Her basic instincts were conservative, and her life could be explained as a reaction against those instincts. She was a Phi Beta Kappa from Wellesley and held a Ph.D. from the University of Chicago. Having learned all about western civilization, she had concluded that it was useless, and she seemed determined to destroy it by leading the world back to a natural existence that had probably never existed at any point in human history. But the methods she chose to do it were those of the classroom.
She thought of her appearances as lectures, and that's what they were. Once the initial shock value had worn off, they were dull. She had beauty and she had stage presence, but she had no knowledge of showmanship, no flair for drama. That time she'd used the banana as a prop and nearly brought the house down had been a lucky accident, an uncharacteristic bit of theater in her generally dry approach to her juicy subject.
Frank was no expert in these matters, but he tried to coach her toward a looser style. He took her to see a few freewheeling, glory-stomping, Bible-belting revivalists. She had never seen these evangelists in action, and she was impressed by their style and the effect it had on their audience. He took her to rock concerts where she saw how music and lights and visual projections could be used to excite an audience. He showed her how carnival barkers used accomplices called shills in their audience to get the action going. She learned fast, and her lectures became shows that started drawing crowds again.
But one night it rained so hard that not even her disciples showed up for the eight o'clock lecture. Frank went out by the ticket booth and watched the rain fall for a while.
He walked back into the darkened theater. The disciples had been pressed into cleaning it, and it didn't smell quite so bad anymore. She stood at the lectern, sorting her index cards. She no longer consulted them during her performance, but she would use them to refresh her memory beforehand.
"The sky is falling," he said, slumping into a front-row seat. "Even the police informers won't show tonight."
It was Frank's contention that a couple of the disciples who looked and talked and acted even more strangely than the others were actually policewomen. Wanda disagreed.
He reflected that they differed on several things, mostly subjects of no particular consequence, just like a married couple. He wondered if the honeymoon was over. A mischievous impulse to arouse the jealousy she preached against made him say: "I wonder what happened to Kathi what's-her-name."
Wanda frowned as if trying hard to place her. "The virgin, you mean?"
"Yeah. I was sure she'd be back for more. It's been almost a week."
"You never can tell about Seekers."
"I thought I could tell about her," he mused. "She believed everything you said. She thought you were great. And she sure as hell loved to fuck, once she got used to it."
"She probably regretted it the next day and entered a convent," Wanda said, her interest in the subject obviously fading.
Frank was nettled. He hadn't aroused her jealousy, but he'd revived his own interest in Kathi. She'd dropped completely out of sight, and he supposed that was his fault. He'd conducted a brief, preliminary interview with her, and that was when he should have obtained her full name and address and telephone number. He'd been too busy trying to roll his tongue back into his mouth, on first seeing her, to think of such details.
"Start the lecture," he said. "Your audience is turning nasty."
"You don't need any lecturing, you shit-head," she said with affection.
"How about a demonstration, then?"
She looked up and scanned the rear rows, seeing if anyone had slipped into the theater unnoticed. Not that it would have stopped her, probably; once she'd absorbed his lessons about showmanship, she was eager to put on live sex shows. He had dissuaded her with difficulty, arguing that it was probably the only thing that would unquestionably get her thrown in jail.
Smiling down at him, she stepped to the edge of the stage.
"How do you like my dress?" she asked.
"Shockingly modest," he said. It seemed to be. It was a colorful sari that covered her from throat to toe.
She laughed and pirouetted. He blinked. The back was bare. It was cut so low that it revealed half the golden hemispheres of her buttocks. He'd never seen the dress before, but she had a huge collection of costumes, most of them designed to shock the straight people.
He shifted in his seat, easing the pressure of the erection that had grown at his brief glimpse of her flesh. "Shall we go backstage?" he asked.
"Why? We have the whole place to ourselves tonight."
He couldn't read her face. She stood in front of the circle of light around the lectern. Her gold hair made a halo around her darkened face, a halo of fire. She moved quickly to undo the fastenings and dropped her dress to the floor. She wore nothing but a pair of gold sandals with straps that crisscrossed her legs to her knees.
He stood up. Her beauty was heartbreaking. He knew then that if she moved on to another town, he would go with her, and it didn't matter what he left behind him.
She dropped from the stage and strutted toward him, conscious of her beauty and its effect on him, happy that it pleased him. Her hips swung slightly with her deliberately sexy walk.
The door to the lobby creaked and banged, and two people hurried down the aisle toward them.
"Shit," Wanda said. "Oh, shit!"
The newcomers were a boy and a girl. Neither of them wore raingear, and their clothes were plastered to their bodies. The girl was grinning ecstatically for no apparent reason, and something about the gleam in her eye made Frank wonder if she was insane. She didn't seem at all embarrassed or even surprised by Wanda's nakedness, but the boy was. A fearful battle raged on his face as he tried to avert his eyes modestly and get a good look at the same time.
"Frank!" the girl cried. "Wanda! I escaped!"
"From what?" Frank asked, believing that his suspicion had been confirmed.
"From my uncle's house. He was holding me like a prisoner, ever since Mrs. Ermold caught me and Donny fucking, and so Donny came and rescued me."
He recognized her voice before he recognized her face, altered by the rain-darkened hair plastered close around her head. He felt a touch of pleasure at the thought that he was now fucking so many girls that he couldn't even remember what they looked like.
Donny tried to sound grim and matter-of-fact, but he couldn't hide the happy excitement in his voice when he said: "Her uncle will probably come after me and try to loll me. I've got to find a place to hide out for a while."
Wanda seemed to have forgotten she was naked. She frowned, thinking, then said, "I suppose we could find room for one of you here."
Frank saw her eyes flicker toward Donny, and he noticed for the first time how big and handsome the boy was, and how he was now eyeing Wanda with undisguised interest Kathi apparently noticed what was going, on, too, because she said: That's great, Wanda, thanks. But where can Donny go,"
"I can put him up at my place," Frank said. "I'm sure my wife won't mind."
Tm sure she won't," Wanda agreed, with a feather-light touch of sarcasm in her tone.
Frank struggled to repress a laugh at the thought of his frigid wife taking a teenage lover.
Considering that Donny had rescued her from a bloodthirsty uncle, Frank thought that Kathi was almost rude in her eagerness to see him on his way once he'd been given the address of Frank's house. When he was gone, she blew a stray strand of wet hair noisily out of her eyes and said, "What a creepl I had to hang around. the house for like almost a week, waiting for him to come and rescue me."
"You'd better get out of those wet clothes," Frank said.
"Whatever you say, Frank," Kathi said with a sly smile, beginning to unbutton her shirt. "I haven't gotten laid since the last time Donny did it, and he sucks, compared to you."
Wanda seemed more concerned with Kathi's problem than Kathi was. She said, "You don't really suppose your uncle will get violent, do you, Could he trace you here?"
"Oh, he's crazy, but he wouldn't hurt anybody. His problem is that he's hot to get into my pants, only he won't admit it, and then Donny beat him to it, and that really freaked him out. But I never mentioned your name to him, and he'd have no way of knowing I came here."
"Who is he?" Frank asked, only mildly curious. "Teddy Sculthorpe."
Frank was profoundly jolted. He didn't really hate anyone, but few names could arouse as much distaste as that one. Teddy Sculthorpe, former Publisher of the Press, had made himself a constant nuisance to everyone who worked for the paper; and his decision to sell it had led to its dissolution, putting them all out of work.
Frank couldn't understand why Wanda seemed as surprised as he was by the mention of the name. She laughed, but she gave no explanation when he looked questioningly at her.
Frank got another surprise when Wanda laid a hand on Kathi's arm, restraining her from removing her shirt, and said something that was totally alien to her character and her teachings: "Try to forget about sex for a while, Kathi. I want to have a long talk with you."
X
If anyone had told Mary Weston this morning that she was going to spend the afternoon making love to a black man she'd picked up in the street, she would have thought them insane.
Now she wondered if she herself was crazy, because here she sat on the edge of her bed-of Frank's bed, too-while a strange Negro without a stitch of clothes on hugged her and slid his hand up her dress and unzipped her zippers and fooled with the catch of her bra.
"Why you so stiff, honey? You said you wanted it," he said in a bass rumble, a gentle voice that made her feel warm and soft inside.
"Please ... have a little patience with me," Mary said, almost too embarrassed to speak. "This is the first time I've ever done anything like this, and ... well, it takes some getting used to."
She lowered her eyes, but that didn't help-she found herself looking down at his cock, thrusting brown tool that seemed to be as big as a banana.
She tried to retrace the steps that had led her to this position, but her memories were a confusing tangle of heartbreak and anger and jealousy. She'd been angry with Frank for a long time, ever since he'd gotten a job that apparently required him to stay out all night and dress like a hippie. She had controlled her anger, though. Frank was making good money, and she didn't feel she should criticize his way of making it
The anger had been simmering inside her, though, and then it was intensified by jealousy when she began seeing pictures of Frank's boss in the newspapers. The heartbreak had come today, when she'd disguised herself with a red wig and dark glasses and slipped into a rear row of the Venezia Theater to hear Wanda Fleurette's afternoon lecture. Just seeing Wanda had confirmed her suspicions. She hadn't needed the conclusive evidence of the obscene lecture to know that this woman was a whore and a home-wrecker, nor had she needed the added confirmation of Frank's behavior: fawning over her, jumping to fill the water glass on her lectern, scowling at hecklers, and applauding more loudly than anyone else when she was finished.
No conscious process of thought had led her to her present situation. She hadn't said to herself: "Since this woman says that people should act like rabbits in heat, and since Frank so obviously believes her, then I'll give him a dose of his own medicine." But that thought must have been brewing somewhere in her subconscious when, numb with shock, she'd left the theater and picked up the first man she met in the street and brought him home with her.
Len Gray noted her preoccupation and hesitancy. He'd thought there was something funny about this woman from the start. White women had invited him to their bedrooms before, but never with such bluntness. He began to suspect that she had some ulterior motive. Maybe this was her crazy way of getting even with her husband for something. Maybe she expected her husband to walk in at any moment and find them like this. Well, if that's what she was planning, he had news for her: he was going to fuck the stuffing out of her, even if he had to knock her husband out or tie him up to do it.
She sure wore a lot of clothes, he noted with annoyance. Now that she'd pulled her green sheath off and fluffed back her long, black hair, he saw that she still wore a bra and a half-slip with pantyhose under that.
"You figure well get you unwrapped sometime before Christmas?" Len asked with heavy sarcasm, reaching back to start fumbling again with the tricky catch of her bra.
Tm sorry. I want you to ... make love to me, I really do, but I feel ... nervous..."
Mary's voice trailed off. She didn't know how to explain herself. She wished she could think of an excuse to get rid of him but it was far too late for that. She reached back and unhooked her bra.
She hesitated a moment before pulling it off. He stared at her big breasts, making her even more nervous, but she was pleased at the obvious appreciation in his eyes. She looked down to see that his cock had grown bigger. A bead of dew glittered at its shockingly pink tip. Frank was always after her to blow him, but she'd never enjoyed doing it. Now she resolved to do everything.
Len noticed the direction of Mary's covert glances. She wore nothing now but the sheer half-slip and her pantyhose. He ran his hands over the lush swells of her breast, white and pink and sprayed across the top with freckles. He played with the heavy blackness of her hair. It was rich and thick and, when it was unbound, it flowed to her waist. He slipped his fingers through it to touch the nape of her neck and tug her gently toward his prick.
Mary slipped her dainty fist around his upright cock. The skin was stretched so tight over the thick meat that it had a satiny brown sheen. She played her fingers down the length of it, down to the wooly black curls at the base, then stroked his balls until the skin shriveled around them. She wondered if his cock would taste different from a white man's.
Len pulled her down, but he didn't have to: his big tool exercised an irresistible fascination for her. She wanted to kiss it. She'd never actually wanted to kiss Frank's.
The closer her face got to it, the bigger his prick seemed to get. He could no longer see her blue eyes. They were hidden by her long lashes as she looked down at his cock. He was almost bursting with lust by the time she finally lowered her puckered lips, moist and velvety, to the head of his juicing phallus.
Mary tingled with excitement. She concentrated at first on kissing just his swollen cockhead, kissing off the crystal juice oozing from it. Then, slowly, consciously teasing him, she kissed her way down the shaft in a series of quick pecks. She opened her mouth wide and began licking Len's brown prick like a lollipop, with long, flowing sweeps of her tongue.
Len stroked her shoulders, then clasped the firm flesh of her arms and reached lower to touch the moist warmth of her armpits, before sliding his hands further down to weigh the heavy loveliness of her breasts. He wanted to feel every inch of her body, but he was suddenly struck with the fear that this was too good to be true, that it would turn out to be a mistake or a joke or a trap. He'd never had a woman, white or black, as beautiful as this one. Women like this just didn't walk up to him in the street as this one had and say. "Do you want to fuck me?"
Her slow, slurping licks on his tingling cock banished his fears. He struggled to keep his excitement from strangling his words as he said, "You're licking it real good, baby, real good ... but why don't you put it in your mouth and suck on it?"
If Frank had come right out and said something like that, it would have turned her off. She'd always believed that words could sour intimate acts. But when Len spoke those words in his soft, deep, honeyed tones, they only increased her excitement. She smiled shyly at him as she said: "Let me take off my clothes first."
She stood up, watching him as she slid out of her half-slip. Frank never watched her the way Len was watching her: she had his total attention. She wiggled out of her panty-hose and rolled them down over her long, white legs. She wore a black bikini under them. She started to roll it down over her hips.
"Why stick it in my mouth? Why don't you fuck me now?" she asked, shocking herself with her unaccustomed directness. She immediately rejected the notion that she was unconsciously aping Wanda Fleurette's style.
Len wanted her now. He couldn't even wait for her to take her panties off. He pulled her down and kissed her. Their tongues touched as their lips met in a soft collision. He wanted to fuck her, and he would; but first he wanted to make her kneel between his thighs and suck him off. It always gave him a special thrill to see a white woman kneeling in front of him and kissing his cock.
"You got to suck me off first," he said, pushing her to her knees.
Mary was disappointed. She was hungry to have him make love to her. She wanted to feel his body on top of her as he thrust his big brown cock between her thighs and into her itching cunt. She wouldn't resist his desires, though. She was so excited that any way at ah of touching him and loving him was all right with her.
Len held her firmly by the shoulders and guided her forward. She opened her mouth and wet her lips with her tongue. She closed her lips around his cock and pulled on it with gentle suction as he pushed his hips upward to slide more and more of his meat into her mouth.
"Suck me, baby, suck me!" he groaned as his excitement mounted higher and his cock swelled even stiffer in the liquid vortex of her suck.
The feel of the soft suction as she pumped her lips on his pulsing prick was almost overpowering. Not only could he feel it, but he could also see it: a beautiful white woman with her lips pouted out around his thick cock, with the black flame of her hair spread on his brown thighs. The sight was almost as good as the feel. He groaned in ecstasy, writing his ass on the bed to shove even more of his prick into her mouth.
She couldn't slurp all of his cock into her mouth: it was just too big. She clutched the base of the shaft in her dainty fingers, sliding the skin up and down while she pumped on it with her mouth. Her other hand tickled his balls, cupping and weighing the heavy; hairy sac, sometimes flicking underneath to tickle the rim of his ass-hole and increase his passion even more.
Damn Wanda Fleurette! Memories of her obscene speech kept trickling back into Mary's mind, and she couldn't keep them out. Only now did she recall that Wanda had spoken this afternoon about racial prejudice. According to Wanda, abstract love for all people, or for any group of people, was either meaningless or harmful. Love had meaning only when it led to physical contact Abstract love, the passionate urge to help people by making the world a more orderly place to live in, was the force behind pogroms, inquisitions, purges, and wars. The best way to help humanity, Wanda had said, was to make love to another human being; the only way to help a minority was to take one of its members to bed.
Mary rejected her ideas. They were pernicious nonsense. Worse yet, they mocked and behttled the good things she'd done in her life: the sit-ins she'd attended as a teenager, the marches she'd participated in, the donations she'd sent, the ballots she'd cast. Nevertheless, she couldn't shake the idea that Wand's words, by some circuitous route, had led to her choice of Len Gray as a sex partner.
It was easy to forget about foul-mouthed, dirty-minded Wanda Fleurette by concentrating every last bit of her attention on the firm, rubbery meat in her mouth, all hot and moist with the juices that seeped from its pulsing tip. The more she sucked it, the more easily she found she could fit its length into her mouth. The pliable knob tickled her throat now and her nose brushed his pubic curls. She breathed in the rich aroma of his sweaty crotch. She kept sucking and licking, delighting in the texture of the tight skin and feeling his big prick actually growing bigger as she did it.
Mary was enjoying herself so much that she hardly gave a thought to the effect that all her eager tonguing and sucking would produce. Suddenly she found that her mouth was filling up with sticky, hot paste.
"Come on, keep sucking, blow me, eat me!" Len grunted when Mary's shock made her stop. He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her down more firmly into his crotch.
She started to gulp the thick flood of semen. Her mouth was full of it. It had started to dribble from her lips and run down her chin, he was blasting so much into her mouth. She was annoyed with herself for wasting any of it. She began sucking his cock as hard as she could to make sure she got all the rest.
"Do it to it." shouted Len, bucking up and down on the bed to fuck her pretty face, stamping one foot rhythmically on the floor, as he felt her suction increase until she seemed to be pulling the hot juice right up out of the depths of his balls.
Mary didn't stop sucking, even though her lips were tiring from the unprecedented effort. She'd never given Frank a blowjob like this one. She didn't like Frank to come in her mouth, and she usually finished him off with her jerking hand. She supposed that lascivious blonde bitch would blow a man as soon as look at him, and that's what Frank saw in her.
She felt a touch of disappointment as she realized that this blowjob was over. She'd sucked out every last bit of juice that she possibly could. His cock was going limp and soft inside her mouth. Reluctantly, she slipped it from her mouth. She wiped the excess semen from her lips and chin with her fingers, then looked for something to wipe her fingers on.
"Lick it off," he suggested, chuckling. "You afraid it's fattening?"
She laughed, sufficiently confident in the trimness of her figure to know that his words weren't intended as a sly jibe. Her figure hadn't changed much since she was eighteen, except to fill out slightly in the breasts and hips and make it even more desirable. She felt that it was more than a match for Frank's skinny blonde.
On impulse, she took Len's advice and licked the smears of excess gism from her fingers. She saw that a few last dribbles had oozed from his soft cock, and she leaned forward to lick them off, too. It had never tasted so good before. She didn't believe that Len's variety was any tastier than Frank's. She supposed that her excitement had enhanced the pleasures of all her senses.
He lay back on the bed in a satisfied euphoria. She rose and sat beside him. "That was so good, Len," she said.
"Not bad," he murmured, staring at the ceiling.
She was slightly nettled by the way he seemed to forget that she had yet to be satisfied. He was as bad as Frank. She took his hand and slid it inside the elastic of her panties, making him touch her soft, moist pussy in an effort to remind him that he hadn't fucked her yet. His touch excited her even more.
"Cool out, honey," he murmured. He wanted only to lie back and enjoy the afterglow of her avid cocksucking. Thinking of his earlier fears, he began to chuckle.
Mary glared at him. "What are you laughing at?" she demanded. "You are going to fuck me, aren't you?"
"Sure. I was laughing at what I thought before. I thought this was some kind of game, where you had it set up so your old man would bust in on us."
"You don't have to worry about that," she sighed, and then she glanced at the clock. "I sent the kids to the beach with a neighbor, and they're eating out, so we have a couple of hours left. I hope you'll be able to fill them."
She tried to put a challenge in her last words, but he didn't take it. She tried to arouse him by getting up and stretching, displaying the lithe length of her body before his eyes. She began to peel her panties off slowly. She saw that she'd succeeded in getting his attention again.
XI
As Mary came closer to the black man on the bed, she realized that her earlier confusion and embarrassment and haste had prevented her from getting a really good look at him. She had barely glanced at his face when she'd picked him up. She was lucky that he hadn't turned out to be repulsive. All she could remember of their first meeting were his red, white, and blue shoes with their stacked heels: she must have been staring down at them during their first exchange of words.
She blushed as she remembered how she'd done it, walking up to him and running her words together in a mumble as she asked: "Do you want to fuck me?"
Compounding her embarrassment, almost giving her an opportunity to change her mind and run,, he'd asked: "What?"
She had brazened it out, though, repeating the words, submitting when he took her arm and led her to his car. She'd stared out the side window all the way home, she remembered, giving directions in a small, weak voice.
He'd worn a big, floppy, green hat, a green, exaggeratedly Edwardian suit, and a ruffled shirt. He looked a lot better with his clothes off. She ran her fingers over his massive shoulders. The muscles rippled under his smooth brown skin as he responded by reaching up to knead two handfuls of her delicious ass. His hair was cut very short, and it emphasized the brutal look of his jutting brow-ridges and his heavy jaw. She thought he was handsome, but in an almost scary way.
He cupped her cunt in his hand. The pinkness of his hand, like that of his cockhead, was a surprise. She realized that she'd never looked closely at a black man before, naked or clothed. He smiled as he inspected her pussy. He stroked it and pried it apart slightly with his fingers. She wondered if he'd ever seen a naked white woman before, but she didn't know how to ask the question tactfully. She shivered at his touch, but she forced herself to relax and enjoy it. She spread her legs a little wider to let him get a better look.
Len was delighted with her cunt. The hair was so thin that it could almost be called hairless, enabling him to study the moist delicacy carefully. He indented the rubbery flesh only slightly as he traced the outline of her pussylips, then more firmly as he pushed them apart with two fingers and examined her swelling clitoris and the wet, red cave that would soon receive his cock.
The more Len toyed with her pussy, the fatter and stiller her clitoris got. The sight of it made his mouth water. He grabbed the firm, fleshy cheeks of her ass more tightly and pulled her toward his mouth. He planted her squishy cunt firmly against his lips.
An involuntary cry of surprise and pleasure tore itself free from Mary's throat as he began licking and slurping at her pussy. Her cunt had been getting itchier by the minute, and this was the sort of tickle she'd been aching for. She felt as if she might start coming immediately from the rubbing of his lips against her wet cunt.
Len moaned with pleasure as he ran his tongue around the inner surfaces of her cunt lips, a red flower of pliant flesh. He thrust it up into her vagina while she spread her bare feet on the floor and threw her head back, shoving her crotch down on his face and moving her pelvis in slow rotations.
"Suck my pussy, Len," she groaned, "suck it till I corne!"
Len was happy to do that while he gave his cock a rest for the fucking he planned to do. Her pussy was especially mushy and delicious, hot and slimy and slightly tart. He guzzled greedily at the hot juice trickling down his throat.
Mary kept pushing her cunt forward, and Len kept easing back, until he was finally lying on the bed and she had to scramble up to squat over him. She rubbed her cunt even harder against his sucking lips. She realized with some disappointment that she wasn't going to come this way, though, no matter how hard she swabbed her muff against him, no matter how eagerly he, sucked and licked. She was trying to scratch an itch that only his cock could reach.
Looking back over her shoulder, she saw that his prick was in no condition for the demands she would make of it. She turned, twisting her cunt around on his mouth so that she faced his crotch, then leaned forward and rested on her elbows to study it more closely.
She rested with her face just over his prick. She was so close that she could smell it. She licked her lips as she recalled the fun she'd had sucking him off. She took some strands of her long, black hair and trailed them lightly over the skin of his big prick, tickling it as gently as she possibly could. She knew that he felt it, though, because his prick began to swell up just a little bit as she was touching him with her hair.
Len was delighted with the shift in position. Looking up, he could see the big, gorgeous white moons of her ass over his face. His eyes followed the deep crease of her buttocks down to the pink mouth of her ass-hole and fuzzy peach of her cunt. It was more fun to eat it than to look at it, though, and before very long he stopped looking and pulled it right down on his mouth again, sucking it and slurping it for all he was worth.
Mary loved what he was doing to her. She swung her breasts against his cock and balls. She jiggled them against his sensitive crotch and massaged him with their pillowy softness. She got nearly as much pleasure from this as he did, from the delicious touch of his skin and crinkly hair against her achingly tight nipples.
Len redoubled his efforts on her quim, shoving his tongue into her hole and then flicking it up to rub her clitoris, then bringing it back to rub the rim of her ass-hole. When he began sucking her clit between his lips and nibbling it lightly with his teeth, it was almost more than her overheated pussy could stand. She felt warm waves of lust cresting inside her, building up and surging back and forth through her until she wanted to scream aloud with sheer sexy delight.
Len knew that she was on the verge of an explosion. Her clit had become rigid with passion, and she writhed like a smooth, bare eel on a hook every time he flicked his tongue over its slick surface. The massage of her big tits had sparked an equal fire in his own body. He knew that his prick was swelling and getting stiffer by the second. He hoped that she would soon put it back in her mouth. He didn't want to free his lips from her pussy to catch his breath and tell her. Even if he'd wanted to get his mouth out of her crotch, he probably couldn't have, because she was pressing her cunt down against him hard, grinding the wet goodies against his lips and burying his nose in her ass-hole.
Mary had been keeping a close watch on the progress of Len's erection, though. His cock thrust up now next to her face, stiff and thick as it had ever been, reeking even more strongly of male lust than before. The big, brown cock with its pink tip filled her vision. She sucked it greedily into her mouth again, pressing her lips around it and letting the dark shaft slide inward as far as it would go. She sucked it and pumped it and loved it while Len went wild with his kisses on her crotch.
Suddenly, Mary realized that she'd been wrong: she didn't need Len's prick in her pussy to make her come. It was happening to her, just from the hot work he was doing with his mouth. She felt a sudden release, a soaring upward, an indescribable glow that seemed to be dissolving her from the waist down.
She pulled her mouth from his cock and groaned with delight She felt him wiggling beneath her, struggling to get out but she didn't resist; she couldn't. She felt his hands on her hips, and she knew that he was kneeling behind her. She spread her knees and thrust her ass up, wiggling it slightly, trying to let him know without using words that she was aware of his presence behind her and that she wanted him to use that big, hard cock on her.
He guided it with his hand, down the delicious pink cleavage of her ass. A smile crossed his lips as its big bulb nudged against the little red berry of her ass-hole. It was obvious from its prim tightness that no man had ever used it as an alternate entrance to her voluptuous body. He nudged his prick harder against the puckered hole. Mary squirmed.
"You're in the wrong place, Len," she said, languidly, still dazed by the orgasm he'd given her with his tongue.
"That's what you think, honey," he said with a throaty chuckle, pushing his phallus harder against her ass-hole.
"No! It hurts! Len, stop! Don't!" Mary cried desperately as she realized what he planned to do and began to feel the pain of the unprecedented incursion.
"Just you stick your ass right up and enjoy it, honey," said Len, shoving her face down firmly against the bed as she tried to scramble away from the pain of his thrust. "You didn't expect to stay a virgin all your life, did you?"
Len frowned. He had thought she was hot enough to let him do anything he wanted, but apparently he'd been wrong. She still tried to cry out even though her cries were muffled by the bedclothes.
"Relax," he said, somewhat sharply. "That's the only way we can make it happen."
He looked down at the cheeks of her lovely ass, jiggling as she tried to writhe away from him. Only the head of his cock had disappeared into the distended ring of her anus. The sight of his brown cock violating her lush white ass made his prick get even harder. Her struggles only increased his lust to bugger her.
Mary squeezed hard, resisting every inch of the way. She did her best to squeeze his cock back out of her ass. Nobody had ever tried to do this to her before. She'd never even imagined anyone trying to do it. It bad never occurred to her that a man could be interested in a woman for the one thing they had in common, rather than for the differences.
She began to believe that her resistance was succeeding. She hadn't squeezed him out, but she'd stopped his inward progress. Just as she was preparing herself for a supreme effort to drive him out, he grabbed her arm and twisted it. The shock and the pain were so great that she momentarily forgot to keep her ass-hole tight. In that unguarded moment he managed to slide a couple more inches of the thick brown shaft into her rectum.
He had stopped pushing her face into the mattress in order to get a good grip on her arm. She could plead with him now, but her words did her no good. He responded with chuckles to all her pleas and squeals and threats. All the while she pleaded and he laughed, his cock never eased its insistent pressure against her anus.
"Don't you want to fuck me, Len?" she whimpered. "Please do that. I want to fuck. Please get it in my cunt-ow!"
"This hurts me more than it does you, baby," he laughed, giving his hips a vicious twist that sent another hard-won inch up her ass.
Len realized that he was speaking the truth. The squeeze of her unplumbed rectum against his sensitive cock was painful. It seemed to be pulling his foreskin back and threatening to rip it at any moment. It was almost enough to make him quit, to make him give in to her pleas and fuck her in the more acceptable way. But he couldn't quit now. It was so much hotter than any cunt he'd ever probed with his big prick, so much tighter, that he was willing to endure the discomfort in return for the pleasure it gave him.
He struggled to get every inch that he possibly could into the luscious depths of her big, white, jiggly ass, and at last it seemed to him that he had gone as far as he could possibly go. Half of his cock was still out in the cold, however. He gave her arm another twist as he increased the driving pressure of his inward-thrusting prick.
"Relax, honey," he whispered between clenched teeth. "Ease it up and let me in there, or I'll break your arm off."
Mary tried to cooperate. She struggled desperately to lift her ass a little higher, to ease the involuntary muscular constriction of her sphincter and admit his hard meat. She was willing to do anything now, anything that would ease the pain in her arm.
"Give, baby, give!" Len grunted, shifting his weight on his knees to drive even more of his cock into her ass-hole. Mary groaned with pain as the new spasm hit her, searing some nerve that hadn't yet been touched by his earlier efforts to bugger her.
"Isn't that far enough?" she wailed. "Can't you just pull it in and out there-do you have to shove it in all the way?"
"Yassum," Len replied with bitter sarcasm. "I'se got to shub it in all de way."
Mary winced, and not just because of the extra inch that Len had somehow managed to ram up her tortured ass-hole. His words hurt. They made her wonder whether she had somehow, unguardedly, betrayed some hidden streak of prejudice that she didn't consciously know about. It made her feel guilty, and reluctant to protest any treatment she might receive at his hands.
"Come on, honey," he said in a normal tone of voice, "all you got to do is relax. Just let it all hang loose. It won't hurt you nearly as much. And it won't hurt me, either."
That voice of his-so deep and rich and smooth-made her go all squirmy inside, despite the pain he was inflicting on her. She found that it was getting easier to relax. Somehow, she'd learned the little trick that it took to relax her reluctant ass-hole. Suddenly she felt him sliding in, going right into her without any more pain or effort, just filling her up until she could feel his coarse pubic curls pressing the crease of her ass and his big brown balls squeezing against her hot cunt
"Oh, you-you've done it!" she gasped.
"See? It wasn't so bad, was it?" Len murmured, pausing to wipe the sweat from his forehead.
"No-it's-it feels different, but it feels ... good!" Mary sighed.
Len smiled. If she had resisted him for a few seconds longer, he would have given up the idea of buggering her. He was glad that he hadn't. She had a sweet, hot ass-hole, with a stinging tightness that fit his cock deliriously and sent special tingles up and down its buried length. He dug his fingers into the fleshy hemispheres of her ass and slipped his prick out slightly. It was dark, almost purplish, from the irritation of jamming it into her secret depths, and he got a special thrill from seeing the contrast of its darkness against the rosy whiteness of her ass.
He slipped it in, and it seemed to go even easier this time, lubricated by the fluid that was juicing freely from his hot cockhead as his excitement mounted. He slipped it deeper, then pulled it out further, and Mary closed her eyes and began moaning softly in time to the inward and outward slides of his big, hard prick.
"Faster, Len, go faster," she murmured. "Fuck me harder-fuck me up the ass!"
Her words built his excitement even more as he leaned forward over her sweating back and slid his hand beneath her thigh to play with her cunt. It was sopping wet, oozing a flood of hot woman-juice into her furry muff. He stirred it like warm pudding, slipping his fingers inside her pussy while he eased his cock in and out of her ass-hole at a faster and faster pace.
Mary began sliding into a glowing groove of sensuous delight. It didn't seem possible, but the sensation was similar to the infrequent orgasms that Frank had given her. She wondered-but her wondering was cut savagely short as the door of the bedroom opened and someone she had never seen before shouted: "Hold it right there, you dirty black bastard!"
XII
Donny Emmons was addicted to the novels of Edgar Rice Burroughs: especially to the adventure-fantasies set on the planet Mars, where earthman John Carter, steely-eyed master swordsman, two hundred pounds of bone and muscle, devotes all his energies to rescuing helpless maidens from the evil clutches of inhuman monsters. When Kathi's Uncle Teddy had decided to hold her against her will in his big, brooding mansion, a place not unlike the fearsome castles that John Carter was constantly breaking and entering, it had been like a red flag to a bull to Donny's imagination. He could probably have slipped into the Sculthorpe house by the back door, but he'd chosen instead to risk breaking his neck by climbing the ivy and precarious stonework to Kathi's window, then lowering both of them to the lawn with a rope that he'd bought.
He was thoroughly satisfied with himself for that escapade. All his daydreams had come true. He'd proven himself to be just as chivalrous and swashbuckling as he'd always imagined.
He was just a little sad when it was over, though, when Kathi had been rescued and brought to a place of safety, because he realized that he'd never get a chance to do something like that again as long as he lived. In the hard reality of life, beautiful girls just don't seem to need very much rescuing. They are generally able to take remarkably good care of themselves. It occurred to him that the lonely daydreamers who waste their time buried in Edgar Rice Burroughs' novels are more apt to be in need of being rescued.
His thoughts were bitter because he felt that she hadn't been as impressed as she might have been with his heroic performance. She had seemed more interested in going to see those weird characters at the old movie-house than in giving him proper thanks for rescuing her. Once he'd brought her there, Kathi and her two new friends had seemed eager to get rid of him.
Kathi had seemed concerned for his safety, though, that was some consolation. She was convinced that her Uncle Teddy would come after him with a shotgun. Donny had tried to laugh away her fears, but they had made him uneasy. Teddy Sculthorpe had a local reputation for eccentricity. If he wasn't so rich, people in Wesley Grove used to say, he would have been locked up long ago.
So, when Frank Weston had suggested that Donny hole up at his place for a few days, Donny had agreed. "Just tell Mary you're a friend of mine," Frank had said. "She won't mind."
Frank lived in the kind of house that was typical of Wesley Grove: a former summer cottage, to which central heating and extra bedrooms had been added as clumsy afterthoughts. It was a long drop on the economic ladder from the mansion where Kathi's uncle lived, and even from the neat split-level where Donny lived. It seemed in keeping with the sleazy old movie-house where he worked at whatever it was he did. Kathi hadn't told him precisely what Frank and Wanda did, or how she had become connected with them.
Nobody answered when he pressed the button at the door, but it looked like the kind of place where the doorbell might be out of order. He rapped on the glass of the storm-door. Frank hadn't replaced it with a screen door yet, and the summer was almost over.
He rapped again, harder. Still no one came to the door. Donny was on the verge of turning away and going home when a mental picture flashed into his head, a clear picture of Teddy Sculthorpe waiting for him with a shotgun. Teddy didn't know that he'd rescued Kathi, but he knew that he was the one who'd "ruined"-that was the word he'd used, according to Kathi-his niece, and Donny's house was probably the first place he would look for her. Donny managed to convince himself that he really wasn't afraid of Uncle Teddy. Nevertheless, he tried Frank's door. It was unlocked.
"Anybody home?" Donny called, not too loudly, but no one answered as he stepped into the living room.
Donny shrugged as he closed the door behind him and took a seat on the edge of the couch to await Mary's or Frank's return. Frank had told him that Mary never complained about unexpected guests, but still Donny felt uneasy about meeting her like this. He inspected the room, noting with approval that the shelves were loaded with books. He had just gotten up to inspect the titles when he heard the first of the screams from upstairs.
It wasn't a very loud scream, but it was definitely a scream. Donny froze, not knowing what to do. Mary Weston was supposed to be home, and the door was unlocked. Maybe someone had forced his way in.
Donny started up the stairs. The thought of interfering, of going to the rescue, hadn't really crossed his mind yet. His main concern was to make sure he'd heard what he thought he'd heard, to find out what was going on. As he eased his way up the stairs, he began to hear a woman's voice, whimpering, pleading: "Don't ... please...." He thought he heard the grumbling bass of a man's voice, too, but he couldn't be sure.
Suddenly he heard her words clearly, a piercing agonized wail: "Do you have to shove it in all the way?"
"Jesus!" Donny exclaimed under his breath. He couldn't be mistaken about the words he'd heard, and he couldn't deny that the woman was in pain. Someone was being tortured in the bedroom at the head of the stairs.
He went up the last few steps more quickly, and he hesitated for a long time at the door, trying to make his breathing quiet as he waited for some further confirmation, some word that would fully justify his bursting into the bedroom. Common sense told him that he ought to rap sharply on the door and call out: "Mrs. Weston! Are you all right?" But that isn't the way John Carter of Mars would have done it. If he announced himself like that, the sadistic fiend who had surprised Frank's wife in her home would get the drop on him.
He couldn't help smiling nervously. He was scared, there was no question about that, but he was also elated. This would be the second time in one day that he would be able to come to the rescue of a woman in distressand this one was in genuine distress. He could hear her whimpering now, loudly, pitifully, with no attempt even to form words. He lacked the door open.
He didn't know what he expected to see, but the scene on the bed was a complete shock. It took his brain a moment to sort out the information being sent to it by his eyes: a black man and a white woman on the bed, both naked, obviously fucking. They both stared at him, more surprised perhaps than even he was.
It crossed Donny's mind that he might have made a horrible mistake, but he rejected that thought immediately. He couldn't forget the screams he'd heard, the pleas, the whimpers. This woman was being raped. Without making any conscious decision to do it, he moved forward and gripped the black rapist by the shoulder.
"Get out of there, you!" he said, cursing his voice for breaking squeakily.
"Who's this?" asked Len.
Mary shook her head. "I'll be damned if I know."
"Never mind who I am," said Donny. "Stop it, like the lady told you."
"Whatever you say, chief," said Len, with a vicious smile, slowly withdrawing his cock from Mary's ass-hole.
Donny had been trying hard to keep his eyes from straying to the nude brunette on the bed, but it was a losing battle. He let his eyes run over her voluptuous curves in a quick survey-and his gaze stopped cold when he saw that the big Negro had been fucking her up the ass. He watched in horrified amazement as the full length of the black man's cock appeared from her inflamed ass-hole.
"Hey, I was just getting to like it!" Mary protested. "Do it some more."
"No, I got to do like the man says," Len chuckled, as he pulled his prick all the may out of Mary's rectum. Then he grabbed Donny and threw him down on the bed as if he were a rag doll.
"What do you think you're doing?" Donny demanded, struggling as Len ripped his shorts off, but he found that his strength was no use at all against the bigger, more muscular black man.
"You thought I was hurting her," Len laughed. "I just want to show you that it don't hurt at all."
Mary watched with a mixture of horror and curiosity. She wondered if Len could possibly be thinking of doing what she suspected he was thinking of doing. Len had pushed the youth flat on the bed now and was twisting his arm up the same way he'd twisted hers. She saw that her black lover's cock was swollen up as big as ever, and the head of it was an angry purplish color from the irritation it had received in the tight squeeze of her rectum. She was pretty sore herself, but she was amazed that he'd been able to fuck her that way at all. Looking at his monstrous cock, she wouldn't have believed that he could have stuffed it so deep into her.
Len had shoved his knees between Donny's legs as he knelt behind him on the bed. He spread the muscular cheeks of the young man's ass with his big black hand.
"This is going to be even worse than yours was," he said, shaking his head at the tightly pursed rim of Donny's ass-hole, framed with a light sprinkle of blonde hairs. "You got any Vaseline, honey?"
"You're not ... really ... ?" Mary choked.
"Just find me something to grease up my cock with, baby, and I'll show you what I'm going to do," Len said, flashing his white teeth in a big, broad smile.
Mary looked around the room uncomprehendingly. She felt that she ought to find out who Donny was and how he'd gotten here and what the consequences of all this would be. Things were moving too fast for her. Len just took everything in stride in a way that was utterly alien to her. A strange man burst in to interrupt his fucking, so he just dragged the man into bed and fucked him, too. It seemed like the kind of craziness that Wanda Fleurette would approve of-and, as far as she knew, Len hadn't even heard her lecture. He certainly followed his natural impulses, as she told people to do.
"If you ain't got .nothing, use spit," Len said, a touch of impatience entering his tone. "Get your tongue down here and slick me all up."
Confused, not knowing what to do or say, Mary did instantly as she was told. She leaned forward over the stranger's prostrate form and pursed her lips down over Len's hard, up-thrust cock. She worked her tongue around in her mouth to make the saliva flow freely around the rigid knob, then slipped her wet tongue up and down its length.
"Ahhh," Len sighed with relief. "Felt like it was on fire, after what you did to it with your ass, sugar. Get it good and wet, now."
"What the hell's going on?" Donny demanded, his voice muffled by bedclothes.
"You'll know when it happens," Len said.
Mary giggled around her hot mouthful of cock. She felt an exhilarating sense of freedom as she let herself slide into the freewheeling craziness of Len's attitude. This intruder was going to get just what he deserved for spying on them and bursting in on them the way he'd done. She was glad to help give him his just deserts. She gave Len's cock a final lick and leaned back. She gave his foreskin a couple of quick jerks with her dainty fingertips to build up the stiff rigidity of his prick even more.
Len pushed Donny's knees up so that his ass was sticking up and out. Mary noted how white his ass was in comparison with the rest of his body. Except for his loins, his body was very nearly as brown as Len's was, but his hair was almost white from the sun.
Donny struggled more violently, and Len made a quick gesture with his hand. Mary knew that he wanted her to help hold the intruder down. She wiggled forward on her knees and sat on Donny's head, giggling at his muffled cries.
Donny hadn't known what to expect next, but he certainly hadn't expected to feel a hot, wet pussy pressing his neck, nor to feel the cheeks of the brunette's ass pressing his head down into the bed. Despite his fear and embarrassment, the touch was exciting. He wished that he could turn over and see the cunt that he could feel pressing so wet and warm against his flesh.
He had no idea why they were holding him in this position, and he didn't begin to suspect what they had in store for him until he felt something hot and hard pressing against his ass. It slid right down between his buttocks. The black man spread his cheeks wider. Before he could twist out of the way or lash out with his feet or even voice a muffled protest, he felt something slipping right into his ass-hole, stretching it painfully, filling it up, and still thrusting inward, deeper and deeper.
"Relax," Mary crooned, with a touch of mockery in her voice. "It won't hurt unless you fight it. I found that out the hard-way."
Donny growled with shame and frustrated rage. His anger was directed at Mary as much as at his assailant. The last thing he wanted was advice from the naked woman sitting on his head while the colored man sodomized him
Len gripped Donny's thigh firmly with one of his big hands to keep the youth from jerking away from him. He smiled his approval as he saw that the big, plum-like knob of his cock was out of sight, buried in the handsome lifeguard's ass-hole. The shaft still remained to be shoved inside, and it would be no easy job, even though his phallus was liberally smeared with Mary's saliva.
As she held Donny down, Mary watched Len's progress with lustful fascination, occasionally looking up from the center of the action to exchange amused glances with the black man. Her cunt began itching unbearably as she watched. She began rubbing her pussy with lazy sensuality against Donny's neck to relieve some of the almost painful excitement she felt as she watched Len bugger him. She wouldn't have believed that such a sight could arouse her. If someone had described it to her in cold, clinical terms, it probably would have disgusted her. But now everything seemed to excite her, since-she struggled not to admit it, but she had to-since she'd followed Wanda Fleurette's impassioned advice to cast aside all inhibitions.
"Come on, white boy! Open up!" barked Len, swatting Donny on the ass with a resonant smack and straining to push some more of his hard meat inside.
Donny refused to give an inch without a struggle, but the slick wetness of Len's prick, thanks to Mary's slobbery cocksucking, made resistance futile. No matter how hard Donny struggled to keep a tight ass-hole, Len's big cock kept sliding into him with the slow, steady majesty of a zeppelin moving into its hangar or an ocean liner easing into its berth.
Sweat dripped from Len's brow, and he had to shake his head to clear it from his eyes. He had to fight for every inch he gained, and he still had at least half the length of his thick brown shaft to shove up Donny's ass. An idea struck him, and he reached beneath the tight passage he was probing to fondle Donny's balls and run his fingertips up the length of the white youth's prick.
"Now, just look at that!" he laughed, easing up his pressure for the first time and letting his own cock just rest, pulsing, inside the violated flesh of Donny's ass. "He fights and squirms and lacks like a motherfucking virgin, but it gives him a hard-on, just the same."
"Wow!" exclaimed Mary, reaching down to get a feel for herself and shocked by the size of Donny's erect rod. She had always heard that black men were without equal in respect to the size of their sexual apparatus, but Donny actually had Len beat in this department. It was bigger than she'd imagined a man's prick could be. She had thought that nothing on earth could shock her now, but she was shocked by her own thought: to entice this stranger into fucking her after Len had finished with him.
"Don't jerk him off!" Mary protested, trying to brush Len's hand away from Donny's prick. "I want him to fuck me, too."
"But I want him to relax," Len said, continuing to tickle Donny's cock with his fingertips. "Maybe he will if I jerk him off, just a little bit."
Donny was so embarrassed that he could hardly think. They were both feeling and fondling his prick. They both knew, despite his protests, that he was sexually aroused. He desperately tried to tell himself that it was the sight of the nude brunette and the massage of her warm pussy on his neck that had excited him, but he knew that wasn't all that was turning him on. Their tickles made the situation even worse, making his cock swell up bigger and stiffer. Against his will he felt his rectum relaxing as Len slid more and more of his prick into his ass.
Mary had trouble believing the evidence of her own eyes. Len had managed to get almost all of his big cock into Donny's ass-hole. Only a couple of inches were left out in the cold, "How does it feel?" she asked. "Does it feel as good as a pussy?"
"Depends on the girl," said Len thoughtfully. "Some old saggy broads ain't nearly as good as this. But you can't beat a young, fresh pussy, especially if the girl knows how to use it."
His words annoyed Mary. She didn't think of herself as "an old, saggy broad," but the fact that Len seemed to prefer Donny to her made her take the words personally. The whole situation was beginning to vex her. She had two men in bed with her, they both had stiff, hard erections, and she wasn't getting anything out of it. She resolved to push her way into the action. She eased away from Donny's head and began to squirm beneath him.
Donny was puzzled. He couldn't imagine why the succulent brunette had rolled over and was trying to work her way beneath him on the bed. At last he could breathe, though, and that was all that mattered to him at the moment.
"Looks like the lady plans to suck you off while I fuck you," ten observed. "Bet it ain't everyday you get that kind of imagine treatment."
"God," Donny groaned, too ashamed to say anything more, now that he could.
"Wiggle your ass a little, white boy," said Len, clasping Donny's hips tighter and thrusting forward more firmly. "We all know you like it, so you might's well take it all."
Donny gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn't do what he'd been told to do. But he did it. He felt the hard rod thrusting even further up his rectum, until he was sure he'd taken every inch.
At the same time he felt a new sensation, one that almost took his mind off the pain and shame he'd experienced. It was the gentle touch of Mary's lips on his hot prick, pressing lightly as the tip of her tongue rolled lasciviously around the swollen knob. She lay beneath him, the slight swell of, her creamy belly right beneath his eyes. His gaze wandered down below the cup of her navel to the tempting vee of her crotch as she spread her thighs to give him a good, closeup look at her secret treasures.
"Eat me," she mumbled around his prick. "Come on and eat me. Get right in there and suck! And I'll give you the kind of blowjob you never even dreamed of before. I'll just lick your big cock and balls until you want to scream."
Donny moistened his lips nervously. The invitation was unbearably tempting. Mary had a beautiful mouth, with full, petulant lips that seemed to have been made for blowing, and he lusted to feel their sucking pressure. He wanted to kiss the cunt that had been pressed so tightly against his neck, too. Kathi had taught him how much fun such games could be.
He hadn't thought of Kathi for a long time, and he wondered what she was doing now. Having seen Frank's wife in action, he began to suspect that Kathi had somehow fallen in with a gang of sex fiends. It would explain her abrupt reversal of behavior the other night, when she'd suddenly let him do everything he'd been trying to do for so long without success. It would explain the look of sly, secretive pleasure he'd seen on Frank's face at seeing Kathi again-and on Wanda's face, too, for that matter. Maybe he didn't know all the reasons why her Uncle Teddy had locked her up; maybe they were good ones.
He realized that it was foolish to feel jealous of Frank while Frank's wife was blowing him. He turned his suspicions off and tried to lose himself in the sensations of the moment. He put his hands under Mary's big, firm ass and pulled it toward him. She spread her legs wider as her pussy came closer to his face. He licked his lips in anticipation as he smelled its wet warmth.
Len found that Donny's ass-hole had relaxed remarkably. Although it was still hot and tight, he found that he could slide his prick in and out of it with comparative ease. He began building up the tempo of his fucking, and Donny no longer resisted or objected.
As Len fucked him in the ass, Donny's cock was thrust forward to slide in and out of Mary's sucking mouth. It swelled even bigger and harder between her loving lips. He twisted his hips to fuck her in the mouth, and that action syncopated the rhythm of Len's work.
Donny had been saving one delicious sensation for last, though, holding off until he could no longer tease himself; and now, opening his mouth, he pulled Mary's creamy pussy up against his lips and sucked on it. She seemed to explode with sexy delight. She writhed her supple legs around and twisted her hips under his face to get the full benefit of his lipping and tonguing on her slippery quim. Donny brought all his youthful enthusiasm and delight in the brand-new pastime to the job he was doing on Mary's pussy, and it felt so good to her that she could hardly bear it.
When Mary regained control of herself, she resolved to give Donny every bit as good as she was getting herself. She went to work on his cock with more tongue-twisting, lip-smacking energy than she'd ever used in a blowjob before. She heard Donny moan with delight around his mouthful of cunt as she outdid herself in her efforts to suck him off, and that redoubled her lustful eagerness to please him.
Mary sucked his cock as far as she could into her mouth, pumped her lips up and down on the tight skin, and held the thick root between her fingertips to give him a rubdown on that part of the monster that just wouldn't fit inside, no matter how hard she tried to slurp it in. She'd never seen a cock as big as Donny's, and it seemed to be getting impossibly bigger and harder by the minute. She quivered with excitement as she imagined what it would be like to feel that enormous prick squeezing its way into her cunt. She thought of twisting around and trying, somehow, to get him to slip it into her pussy; but be was doing such a superb job of eating her that she didn't want to interrupt his hungry cun-nilingus for a moment.
Donny felt Len ramming his big tool up his ass with more and more urgency, whipping it in and out as fast as the tight dryness of the tunnel would permit, and Donny tried consciously to relax for the first time and let Len fuck him as fast as he wanted. He redoubled his efforts on Mary's box, meanwhile, sucking the lips and the clitoris into his mouth and threatening to turn her inside out with his enthusiasm while she squirmed and writhed beneath him in an excess of sexy joy.
"Oh, whitey, you got it, you got it!" Len babbled as his motions became jerky and convulsive.
Donny gasped, then cried out with shock and alarm as he felt the scalding juice squirting up his ass in hammering spurts. He didn't concentrate long on the novel sensation, because he was coming himself, blasting juice into Mary's mouth while she sucked and swallowed for all she was worth. He could hear her slurping and gobbling beneath him, trying to swallow the copious flood before it could choke her.
Kathi's anger when he'd come too soon had made him sensitive to women's demands, and he resolved not to leave Mary out of the fun. He wanted to hold still and relish the delicious glow that flooded his body as his cock exploded in her mouth, but he forced himself to keep lapping at her cunt.
Mary grunted and mumbled around the spurting rod in her mouth as her fingernails clawed into Donny's back. He knew by the way she was gripping his head with her lovely thighs and pulling his face down hard against her juicing cunt that she was coming, too, a final link in the explosive chain reaction of sexual delight that Len had started with his hammering climax.
XIII
Slowly and reluctantly, the three orgiasts disentangled themselves from each other on Mary's rumpled bed. Donny touched his ass-hole gingerly, checking for blood, after Len pulled his softening cock out of it. Len smiled broadly in the afterglow of his blasting climax. Mary just lay in a happy daze with a trickle of Donny's semen glistening on her full lips.
"You dug that, white boy," Len said. "Admit it."
Donny cleared his throat, covering his embarrassment, and wondered with bitter irony what John Carter of Mars would say in a situation like this. He didn't want to admit that he'd enjoyed it, but they already knew that he had.
"It was all right," he said.
"You don't know what fun is. Just wait till you give me a blowjob," Len said.
"For Christ's sake!" Mary exploded, sitting up. "Don't tell me that I get into bed with two guys for the first time in my life and they turn out to be queer! If you can get that big, black cock up again, there's only one place it's going, and that's right into my ever-loving cunt!"
"Aw, don't get all uptight about it," Len murmured as he began to pull his foreskin back and forth gently in an effort to get his prick stiff again. "There's plenty for both of you."
"Forget it," Donny said, edging nervously away.
"By the way, what the hell are you doing in my bedroom?" Mary asked, turning her attention to Donny.
"Mr. Weston-Frank-he said I could stay here for a while."
"He did, huh? Well, I don't mind, if he doesn't mind sharing me a little bit," said Mary, stretching her nude body on the bed and smiling as Donny's lustful interest showed plainly on his face.
"You're his wife?"
"Mary. And this is Len."
"I'se just de old family retainer," Len chuckled.
Donny wondered if he should give his right name to these lunatics, but he decided he had no secrets to hide from them now. "Donny Emmons," he said.
"Never mind that shit, man," Len said. "How about my blowjob?"
"You big black fairy!" cried Mary. "Cut that out! I told you once, if anybody gets your cock, it's going to be me. And this time I want it where I can really feel it."
"And I told you there's enough to go around," said Len, lazily turning toward her on the bed and cupping her pussy in his pink palm. "I got used to slipping it to white dudes in the slams, and I like it once in a while. To change my luck."
"Oh," said Mary, then adding, as she felt his fingers pushing at the petals of her cunt and pushing inside, "ooohhh!"
Donny noticed that Len's cock was stirring sluggishly again as he played with Mary's cunt. It hadn't lost any of its size since his last orgasm, although it wasn't as stiff as it had been. It lay on his brown thigh like a limp length of hose. Now, as he slowly finger-fucked the luscious brunette, his prick began to pick itself up and throb visibly.
Donny wasn't lagging far behind. His own cock was beginning to swell as he watched Len sliding one of his brown fingers in and out of Mary's pussy. It gleamed with her sweet juice.
"First one up is the first one in," laughed Donny, reaching over to grab one of Mary's big breasts.
Mary started to pull back, startled by his sudden exuberance, but she soon smiled and fell into the spirit of the game. "Oh, boy, a race!" she cried. "Come on, fellas-let's see which one of you wins the prize."
"No contest," Len murmured.
Mary's excitement was soon built back to a feverish pitch as the Negro worked on her pussy with his probing fingers and the white youth fondled and stroked her sensitive breasts. She arched her back, thrusting her boobs up higher and more provocatively under Donny's kneading hands.
Donny was delighted with the feel of her firm, smooth tits. He had more than two handfuls to play with, and he leaned forward to get his mouth into the action. He sucked one of her big breasts into his mouth and lashed her nipple with tickling strokes of his tongue.
"That's the way, honey, that's the way," Mary groaned. "Now suck the other one for a change, suck it-suck it!"
Donny did as he was told and began working his way back and forth between her big breasts. He showed no favoritism in his efforts as he sucked on one and then the other. They were equally perfect, equally huge, equally exciting.
Her cunt was heating up as Len worked on it, and its rich, ripe aroma rose to his nostrils. Drawn by the heady aroma, he leaned forward and planted a hot kiss on her red, swollen clitoris. She groaned with pleasure. He lapped her clit while he continued to shove a finger in and out of her oozing hole.
Never had so much attention been lavished on Mary's cunt before, and she was enjoying every second of it; but she wished desperately that one of the two men would get his cock up and add the final touch to the orgy. She reached out and groped around, brushing her fingers along Len's smooth thigh and, with her other hand, along Donny's somewhat hairier leg, until she was able to grab a big, fat cock in each hand. She sighed aloud as she pulled and pushed on each of them, feeling them all over with her fingers and running her fingertips down below to tickle each man's balls.
Donny's cock was still bigger, even at rest, but she noted that Len's was stiffer. She was slightly disappointed. She had been looking forward to trying Donny's monstrous rod on for size, and now it seemed that he was losing the race. But her disappointment was minor. She would be satisfied with either one of them.
"Come on, Len," she moaned impatiently, "isn't it stiff enough? Come on and fuck me. Give it to me!"
Len pulled his lips away from her cunt with a resonant smack. "The Fastest Cock in the East, that's what they call me," he laughed, flapping his big organ up and down with his fingers, displaying its size and stiffness under Mary's fascinated gaze.
Donny struggled not to smile. He had exerted all his willpower in an effort to lose the race. Winning the contest and fucking the succulent brunette would mean exposing his ass to Len while the Negro had an erection. Under those circumstances, he would be satisfied with sloppy seconds.
It wouldn't have mattered whether he showed his feelings or not, because neither Len nor Mary was paying any attention to him. Len lay on top of her as she stretched up her long, creamy legs and folded them over his muscular back.
"Oh, God, I can't stand it!" she cried as she at last felt the hard, thick meat sliding into the aching hollow between her legs, filling her up and stretching her out and giving her the kick she'd been wanting so desperately for what seemed like ages.
Len was enjoying it just as much as she was. He could hardly believe the evidence of his senses, because he'd never slipped his prick inside a cunt like this one before. It was like dipping his superheated cock into a sticky, warm, clinging pot of honey that washed all over the sensitive skin and clasped his tool and sucked it and slithered around it with an almost confusing series of complicated internal motions.
"Man, I been wasting my time!" he groaned, sliding his cock deeper into her incredible quim. "Why didn't you tell me you had a cunt like this?"
"I never knew it before," Mary said, "It's that way because you got me so excited ... you've both been teasing me and playing with me for so long ... it feels like I'm all melted inside, and your cock-oh, I can feel every inch of your big cock inside me!"
As Donny watched her wrapping her thighs tighter around the black man's back, responding to the slow insertion of his big prick, he realized that he was once more as stiff as ever. Mary knew it, too, because she was still holding his prick lightly in her fingertips while Len screwed her.
"Stick your cock in my mouth while he's fucking me, Donny," she sighed, making provocative pouts with her luscious lips. "I can take care of both of you at once."
Donny held back. She'd sucked him off once, and he wanted to try something different, this time. Len's praise of her pussy had interested him, and he wanted to see if it could possibly feel better than Kathi's. He was almost certain that nothing could equal the mind-blowing experience of his first fuck.
Len rolled over on his side, pulling Mary with him. Now the brunette's firm, full buttocks were facing Donny. He pressed the head of his cock against her cheeks, sliding it over the creamy skin and leaving a glistening trail of the juice that was oozing from the tip.
Unknown to Mary, Len winked at Donny and pointed down the crack of the white woman's ass. Donny didn't understand at first. Then he realized that Len was suggesting that he bugger her while he fucked her. The suggestion intrigued him. He'd never even dreamed of such a combination, and he doubted that it could be done-but it would be fun trying.
Donny knew from painful experience that butt-fucking was a tight, dry business, and he didn't want a sore cock to go with his sore ass-hole. He slipped off the bed and went quietly to Mary's dressing-table, where he found a jar of cold cream. He scooped out a big gob of it and rubbed it thoroughly into his hot prick. The massage made his big tool even bigger and stiffer.
When he'd greased himself thoroughly, he lay down behind Mary and moved his throbbing rod closer to the center of the action. Looking down, he could see Len's big brown prick, shining with Mary's sticky juices, sliding in and out of the distended lips of her pussy. Near it was the rim of her ass-hole, reddened from Len's previous incursion. He nudged the head of his cock against it.
"Donny? Hey, Donny-eek!" squealed Mary as she realized that he actually intended to stick his cock up her ass while Len was fucking her.
She tried to resist. She didn't want to spoil the delicious fuck she'd waited so long to get with a distraction like this. Besides, it might prove more than a distraction: she was half-afraid that two such huge cocks, pushing into her body at once, would rip her open. She tried to struggle, but Len held her tight. When she attempted to pull her leg down from its position around his body and clench the cheeks of her ass, he grabbed it and refused to let her close up the inviting passage that Donny was trying to explore.
"Len, don't! He'll bust me wide open! Didn't you see how big his cock is?" Mary cried, twisting desperately to get away from the steady pressure against her anus.
Len just laughed. He held her tight in his muscular arms and refused to let her take the tempting target away from Donny.
"Just let it happen, baby," Len chuckled. "Just open up and give."
Mary continued to plead and protest, but Donny was too excited to pay any heed to her objections. Once he felt his prick pressing inside her ass-hole, burrowing into her, nothing on earth could have persuaded him to stop.
It was a tight squeeze, but Len had already reamed out the channel, and the grease all over Donny's cock was the final touch needed to permit the slow, steady, inexorable thrust.
That's the way to do it, man," Len said as he felt the big cock squeezing into Mary's body. "Just ease up a little bit, not-yeah, now stick it in all the way-now!"
Len had apparently enjoyed some experience in this type of sandwich before. He knew just when to slide his cock part of the way out of Mary's cunt, at j'ust the right angle, to ease the pressure and permit Donny to push his prick deep into her ass.
"God, no! No!" screamed Mary as she still strove to get away from the thick, hard rod that seemed to be splitting her open-but her best efforts to get away from Donny only drove her harder against Len's cock, driving that deeper into her pussy and impaling her firmly.
Len smiled as he felt Donny's cock rubbing against his, pressing him with the soft membrane that separated the two entrances into Mary's hot depths. The new pressure increased his fun immensely. It was as if Mary's pussy, incredibly good as it had been before, had developed a whole new set of muscles, or an entirely different shape, more pleasingly calculated to rub down his cock.
For Donny, who bad never before slipped his cock into anyone's ass, it was a revelation. The passage was much hotter and dryer that Kathi's cunt had been. It was tighter, too, giving him less freedom of movement than a pussy would. It was altogether new and different, and he couldn't decide yet whether he preferred an ass-hole to a cunt.
Suddenly the experience assumed a whole new dimension as he felt the big ball at the end of Len's cock slipping and sliding into the adjacent passage and giving him a rubdown all along the sensitive length of his prick. Both men had their cocks sheathed to the hilt in Mary's body. Their balls were pressed together in the expanded archway of her thighs.
Donny abruptly remembered that he had started doing this against Mary's will. The thought made him ashamed of himself. He never would have believed himself capable of forcing a woman into a sexual act. He certainly would never have believed himself capable of forcing one into an act like this; but he couldn't deny that he'd done it, carried away by his own excitement and perhaps influenced by their strange code of behavior.
"How does it feel?" he asked Mary timidly, trying to ease his own conscience.
She only groaned. Her ass twitched slightly. She seemed incapable of any other movement as she lay impaled between the two men.
"Don't ask her, man, she's out of it," said Len. "She loves every minute of it now. It just took her a while to get used to. Now she just wouldn't have it any other way. It takes a heap of experience before you get to understand women as good as I do."
This seemed to Donny further evidence of Len's insanity, and he was profoundly shocked when Mary nodded in agreement to his words. It eased his conscience somewhat, but it seemed to prove that both of these people were out of their minds. He thought of Kathi again, and wondered what she was doing now with this crazy woman's husband. Perhaps it would have been far better to have left her in the care of her Uncle Teddy, who now seemed a model of reasonable behavior by comparison.
Mary, concentrating on the strange sensations filling her body, was unable to speak. It was painful, she couldn't deny that-but even the pain itself had become delightful as she felt herself being used by the two men at the same time. She wondered now why she'd ever tried to stop them from doing this to her, or why she'd been so dead set against accepting the wonderful message preached by Wanda Fleurette; Wanda was right, of course, right about everything. She hadn't known it because she'd never before known total abandonment to sex. Even her jealousy toward Frank had evaporated, and she felt a flood of kindliness toward him. She hoped that he'd really been converted by Wanda's teachings, and that he just wasn't in it for the money, or through some foolish infatuation with Wanda as a person. She began twitching again, trying to get both men going at once so they could build her quivering excitement up beyond the boiling point it had almost reached.
"Fuck-come on, fuck, fuck!" she groaned, and both men responded eagerly, sliding their cocks in and out of her pussy and her ass in more and more rapid rhythms.
Each one was doing it differently, with a slightly different tempo, and the result was a sexy syncopation that was driving her wild with pleasure. She tried to add to the movement, to do something on her own that would increase the lubricious friction of her body against the two men, but she could hardly move at all. She was pinned tightly between them by their hard, thrusting sex organs.
In her speech this afternoon, Wanda had mentioned a Natural Meditation Center, where dedicated individuals could go to explore their sexual potential to its depths and become utterly liberated. She wondered if she could qualify to go there. She would have to see Wanda, to thank her for what she'd done and to inquire about the Center. She would have to keep it a secret from Frank, of course. She strongly suspected that he wasn't a truly liberated person, that he wouldn't understand. But once she returned from the Center, clothed in the awesome radiance of sexual transfiguration, he would have to accept her conversion and perhaps plunge wholeheartedly into Wanda's philosophy himself.
But these were just thoughts, Mary knew, and thoughts were distractions from feeling and being. She brushed them aside and concentrated on feeling the two hard cocks that were plunging into her, the strong arms that were wrapped around her body. By the time she felt Len's cock beginning to pound like a pump inside her cunt as it sent hot jets of semen into her-and right after it, Donny's, squirting a hot load of come right up her ass-by that time she was too far gone in her ecstasy to think of anything as she moaned with almost unbearable pleasure.
XIV
If someone had asked Teddy Sculthorpe the secret of his success, he would have said something like, "Be sure you always land the first punch-and make sure it's the last," or, "Never screw anybody more than twice as bad as you figure he'd like to screw you." He liked to think of himself as a dynamic capitalist whose energy, acumen, and aggressiveness marked him as a member of the elite ten percent of the human race who Got Things Done. The other ninety percent were parasites who owed their salaries or their welfare checks to the profits generated or the taxes paid by men like Teddy Sculthorpe.
The principal success in Teddy's life, however, had been his birth into a family that owned a paper company, a newspaper, a radio station, and several million dollars' worth of real estate. He had increased the value of these enterprises by leaving them in the hands of experts skilled in hiring other experts skilled in hiring personnel who wouldn't actively sabotage the Sculthorpe holdings or rob them into bankruptcy.
Once or twice a year, when he had owned the Press, Teddy would dabble in journalism by suggesting a possibility for a story to the managing editor. The stories would involve some wealthy friend or neighbor or old college chum of Teddy's whose cat had just given birth to cute kittens, or whose daughter had recently been listed on her school's honor roll for three almost-consecutive times. As they filtered down to the lowest echelons of the paper, these suggestions would assume the urgency of top priority assignments. Known as "Sculthorpe Specials" by the staff, they would be given to any luckless reporter who hadn't mastered the essential art of looking busy while doing a crossword puzzle or staring out a window. No matter how pointless and dull the story proved to be, it would appear prominently on the front page, accompanied by numerous pictures. The appearance of these stories would reinforce Teddy's image of himself as not only a brilliant capitalist but also as a two-fisted journalist who could have been another William Randolph Hearst if his time hadn't been taken up by so many other interests.
The interest that consumed most of his time was collecting old cars and trying to make them run. These were not classic cars or antique cars, just old cars that could be bought for less than a hundred dollars each. He had become interested in this hobby when he was twelve, and he had been pursuing it for twenty-five years. As word of his hobby got around, more and more people would go to the Sculthorpe mansion to look for automotive parts or to sell old cars. Teddy didn't advertise what he was doing, nor did he even think of his hobby as a business, but he had managed to convert his palatial estate into the largest automobile junkyard in Marlborough County. His neighbors, mollified by front-page publicity extravaganzas about their cute cats or smart daughters, never complained. They would have viewed a couple of junked cars in the yard of a working-class home as an intolerable eyesore or an environmental threat, but they accepted Teddy's acres of mangled wrecks as a pardonable eccentricity.
On some dark mornings when the clock was empty and the bourbon bottle said three A.M., Teddy would look at himself and know that he wasn't a dynamic capitalist or a hardnosed newspaperman. Without his inherited wealth, and maybe even with his Harvard education, he might have been a marginally successful junkman or second-rate auto mechanic. He tried hard not to look at himself very often.
For the past four years, his interest in the Press and even in the junkyard had been declining. When his experts had advised him to sell the paper, he'd agreed to the sale almost absentmindedly. Since then, he often caught himself mentally composing memos about interesting people who ought to be written up in the paper, then checking himself regretfully when he realized that he no longer owned a paper.
Teddy could easily trace that declining interest back to the arrival of Kathi Palmer, his niece, at the Sculthorpe mansion. She had come unannounced, bearing a characteristically brief note from his sister Julia: "Please take good care of my child, Teddy. I can no longer cope."
An odd introduction to his niece, whom he'd never even heard of before, but the Sculthorpes were known for doing the unexpected; and Julia had always been unpredictable even to the other Sculthorpes. Questioning had determined that the girl's name was Kathi Palmer, that she'd never known her father, and that her mother now lived in California and drank a lot.
Teddy would have done anything for Julia. She was wild and free and unconventional, always doing the things that he had been too clumsy or timid to do, like climbing trees or shoplifting or burning down the garage with Uncle Dick's new Cadillac in it. Married at seventeen to a "suitable" young man, she'd ditched him within six months to run away to Cuba with a junkie jazz-musician. Later the family had recognized her beaming face in news pictures of Fidel Castro's triumphal entry into Havana. She'd been dressed in fatigues, with a machine gun propped against her shapely hip.
She was more than a long lost sister, though, more than a beloved fixture of his childhood: much more. Seared into his brain forever was the memory of that long, rainy afternoon when Julia, bored with a game of Pick-Up
Sticks, had asked: "Teddy, do you know what 'fuck' means?"
Although he was thirteen years old, Teddy didn't know. He'd been educated by private tutors, and his circle of playmates had been chosen carefully to exclude the sort of children who knew what such words meant Julia, although only a year older, had already rebelled against her cloistered upbringing. She had recently returned from one of her many youthful experiments in running away from home.
"Well, do you?" she insisted.
Absorbed in the game, Teddy didn't even want to speculate. "No," he said shortly.
"It means when a man sticks his thing into a lady's slit and moves it in and out ... and in and out..."
Teddy looked up, startled. Julia, smiling maliciously, was demonstrating her words by slipping the thumb of her right hand in and out of the tightly circled thumb and forefinger of her left.
He laughed, trying to appear uninterested as he returned his attention to the game; but his hand betrayed him, twitching nervously and disrupting the entire nest of sticks as he tried to pull one free. Without knowing for certain, he had suspected that something like that took place. He knew what a slit was because Julia had always been eager to show him hers-until a year or so ago, when she'd suddenly decided that she was "too old for that sort of thing." She'd made this decision just when Teddy was starting to get genuinely interested in their physical differences.
"Why would they do that?" he asked.
"Because it feels good, dope, that's why. Doesn't it feel good when you rub your dick until sticky stuff squirts out of it?"
"You-you've been spying on me!" Teddy cried, leaping to his feet and clenching his fists as his cheeks burned.
Julia fell back on the floor, giving way to whoops of uncontrollable laughter. Through accident or design, her skirt had fallen above her thighs. Teddy's eyes skittered nervously to the plump little mound outlined by the pressure of her white panties against her crotch. Even in his anger and embarrassment, he felt his cock pushing hard against his pants.
Despite his affection for Julia, Teddy often felt like knocking her teeth down her throat, and this was one of those times; but even more than that, he wanted to see that mysterious little pink purse between her legs, and something about her mood led him to believe that he might get to see it again, if he played his cards right. He unclenched his fists and stifled his anger with a powerful effort.
"You couldn't have seen me," he said. "It was always dark."
"The Shadow knows, heh heh heh heh," she said, imitating the weird voice and laughter on their favorite radio program; then she added, in a matter-of-fact tone: "Boys all do it, silly. You'd be weird if you didn't. So do girls."
He didn't want to give her the satisfaction of knowing what an agony of doubt and guilt and fear she'd taken from him with her words. The painful swelling and itchy throbbing of his cock, night after sleepless night, relieved only by the expulsion of pus-like fluid-knowing nothing about it, he'd suspected that these were the symptoms of a loathsome disease, maybe even of a fatal one. He'd been ashamed of his affliction because his mother, without ever being specific, was constantly advising him to avoid "dirty" thoughts, words, and acts. By intuition, he knew that she meant any thoughts, words, or acts involving the human body. The swelling and ejaculation, so closely connected with dirty thoughts about naked girls with big behinds, must have been a punishment for them. He could never question his mother about it, because he would have had to use dirty words, like "penis." As for his father, who was sometimes seen around the house with his nose in a book, there was simply no communication with him; talking to his father would have been like trying to contact Mars. As he was later able to quip to his elegant friends at Harvard's Porcellian Club, verbalizing a thought that he felt now as only a vague emotion: "If the family agreed to stop believing in Dad, he'd cease to exist."
"Girls do it, too?" he asked, as that surprising detail finally registered on his mind.
"Sure. Everybody does it, when they can't fuck. It's a substitute."
"How?" he asked, not entirely believing her. "How can girls do it?"
"Lock the door, so Mrs. Ermold doesn't walk in on us" Julia said, "and I'll show you how girls do it."
The children had been playing their game in their father's library, a lofty room that occupied two stories of the east wing. The windows, streaked with rain and admitting a gray, glowing light, were set high in the wall: no one could observe them from the garden outside. Once Teddy's numb, fumbling fingers had turned the key in the heavy oak door, no one could surprise them. The--likeliest intruder would have been Mrs. Ermold, the housekeeper, who had an evil mind and a remarkable talent for catching them in unauthorized acts. After locking the door, Teddy glanced up at the gallery which circled the upper part of the room, just to make sure that his father, unnoticed, hadn't been there reading all the while; but the gallery was empty.
Turning back to Julia, Teddy was startled to see that she had removed all of her clothes. They lay beside her in a careless pile as she sat on the rug and stared at him with a pleased smile. She was pleased, he guessed, by his unashamed interest in the sight of her naked body. Julia was astoundingly well developed for a girl of fourteen, and most of that development had occurred since the last time he'd seen her with her clothes off. Her hips, almost boyish in his memory, had rounded to womanly curves. The little mounds of her breasts had pushed out to become big hemispheres of firm flesh. The peach-fuzz on the delta of her crotch had darkened and thickened to a bush of curly hair.
"Do you have hair on your thing now, Teddy?" she asked, noting the direction of his chief interest.
"Sure," he said, but he felt embarrassment to note that her pubic hair was luxuriantly thick, compared to his.
"Come here," she said, patting the floor beside her, "and I'll show you how girls play with themselves."
Teddy thought his sister was beautiful. Nobody would have denied that she had a fantastic body, but someone less susceptible to her charms than Teddy might have noted that her wide-set blue eyes were slightly protuberant, giving her a too-intense, almost manic look. This intensity was even heightened by the way she wore her long, chestnut hair, in bands that fell over her eyebrows. She gave some people the impression of a very dangerous wild animal, lurking under a bush. Her face was round and somewhat flat, but her teeth were very white and regular. Even those who didn't think she was especially pretty could be dazzled by her smile. It always had a devastating effect on Teddy. She could twist him around her finger most of the time, and she knew it.
He knelt where she had indicated, resting back on his heels and pressing his palms on his thighs. He saw no reason to conceal his fascination with her cunt and its new growth of hair, and she encouraged his inspection. She turned, swiveling on her ass, and stretched a leg on either side of him, so that he knelt in the angle, staring directly down at her crotch. She lay back on one elbow and slid her hand down her flat stomach. Her fingertips began creeping into the little forest at the bottom of her belly.
She extended her forefinger and slipped it into the cleavage of her plump cunt lips, prying them apart and revealing the slick pinkness within. She slid her finger slowly tip and down, and soon it glistened with a coat of transparent slime.
"I like to do it in the shower," she said. "The warm water sort of cuts out the whole rest of the world and makes me feel all soft inside."
"Do you think about-" Teddy paused, annoyed that his voice had become an inarticulate croak. "Do you think about fucking when you do it?"
"Sometimes," she said. "But most of the time I don't think about anything, not especially, I just do it and feel it. Sometimes I do it down one side, and sometimes I do it down the other side."
Teddy didn't know what she meant, at first; but then he saw that a flap of flesh between her cunt-lips had swelled slightly as she rubbed her finger in the groove beside it. She began rubbing the other side, and it swelled even more.
"I always think about naked women," Teddy said. "I think about tying them up and spanking them."
"That's a dumb thing to think about."
"I don't know what to do with them," he admitted. "I think of them taking their clothes off, and then I don't know what to do next, only it seems right to spank them for giving me dirty thoughts. Now maybe I'll think about fucking them."
"You could think about fucking them in the mouth, too," Julia suggested, and she thrust her lips out in a lascivious pucker that excited him even more than her words.
She was using two fingers on her pussy now, forking the swollen flap of flesh on either side. Her fingertips pushed her inner lips open on each downward stroke, revealing the wet, red hole that Teddy lusted to stuff with his aching prick. It seemed like an awfully small hole, considering the size of his cock, but he believed what she had told him. He assumed it would stretch to form a nice, tight fit.
She asked suddenly: "Would you like to do it?"
Fucking his sister was the only thought in his head, and he naturally assumed that's what she meant by "it." He jerked his belt open and pushed his pants down in one hasty, convulsive motion. Julia seemed alarmed by the sudden appearance of his prick, stiff and red and quivering above her.
"I didn't mean that," she cried. "I meant, would you like to play with my cunt?"
"Aw, come on, Julia," he begged. "Let me fuck you. Please?"
Without consciously planning to do it, he had stretched himself above her, pinning her shoulders down on the floor. His hand, gripping his inflamed prick, pushed and prodded its head against the slippery entrance to her body.
She stared up at him. The intensity of her maniacal blue gaze seemed to increase as her face went pale. It was the first time he could remember ever seeing a look of doubt, even of fear, on Julia's face. "It's wrong, Teddy, it's really wrong," she whispered. "Brothers and sisters just aren't supposed to do that."
This reason sounded so oddly unlike Julia that it startled him: it sounded more like something he himself might say. But it didn't startle him enough to stop him.
"We've got to," he said, because it was already happening.
In the light of the experience, Teddy believed that Julia had intended merely to drive him out of his mind with lust and then fob him off with a quick hand-job. She later became an accomplished and unscrupulous cock-teaser. JBut on that rainy afternoon, she hadn't yet perfected her genius for frustrating and torturing men. The single-minded urgency of his lust had overwhelmed her, and before she entirely realized what was happening, she found herself getting laid.
Julia had always been a good sport. Now that their incestuous union was an accomplished fact, she didn't struggle or argue, but submitted and began to enjoy it.
She wiggled, letting him sink his cock deeper into the buttery softness between her legs. She clutched his shoulders and pulled him closer, pressing her cheek into his neck.
"Fuck me, Teddy," she whispered, letting him know that her doubts and fears were gone.
The thought didn't cross his mind at the time, but, again in the light of later experience, he knew that Julia was no virgin. She was already behaving less like the daughter of the family than like its pet tomcat, disappearing for days or weeks at a time and turning up again, without explanation, when it suited her. Their mother was outraged, of course, but she found the subject too unpleasant to speak about. Upon Julia's return, she would twist her chalky fingers together and choke something about "unclean ... tramps...." and then take to her bed for a couple of days with a headache; after that, she would act as if nothing unusual had taken place. Their father, if he was present on Julia's return would murmur what sounded like an amiable greeting, then grow dim around the edges and disappear. Teddy supposed that Julia had acquired a tremendous amount of experience on those junkets.
Teddy wasn't wondering then who had preceded him into the depths of his sister's lovely body. He only knew that her cunt fit him with a smooth, soft clasp that surprised him when he remembered how tiny her hole had seemed. His progress had been so smooth, so easy, that he doubted for a moment that he was really inside her. He groped with his fingers at the junction of their loins and was surprised to find that his cock had disappeared completely. He ran his fingers over his balls and discovered that they were all that remained outside.
Julia guessed his thoughts and laughed at him. Then she confirmed what he'd discovered by constricting her cunt and surrounding his buried cock with an oily slither that made him gasp with delight. He felt her little heels dig into the small of his back as she embraced him with her legs and began to twist her hips.
"Move, Teddy, move!" she urged. "That's how you fuck."
He moved, stiffly and clumsily, but he moved, bucking harder and harder against the delicate angle of her thighs. She sighed with pleasure, rolling her hips against him in long, sensuous surges, like the waves of the sea. The hard, decisive movements of his body reminded him, in a distorted way, of his daydreams of smacking plump, naked behinds. He knew that he would never again dream of tying women up and spanking them, now that he knew what was properly supposed to be done with them.
It was over far too soon for Teddy, but Julia didn't seem disappointed. She giggled when he cried out, groaning in the grip of pleasure he'd never even dreamed of before, as the liquid friction of her delicious cunt milked the hot, spurting semen of his tingling cock.
XV
Incest: it was a long time, long after his sexual relationship with his sister was finished, before the full implications of that word penetrated Teddy Sculthorpe's soul and made him feel sticky and unclean. It was a shameful sin, the sort of vileness committed by degenerate hillbillies in sleazy novels: not by wealthy people with tennis-tans whose ancestors had all but won the American Revolution single-handed. He excused himself on the grounds that it was all over, that he'd been very young at the time, and that his sex education had been ludicrously neglected. Besides, it had been Julia's idea.
Even though Teddy was repelled by the shabbiness of the word, he treasured the memory of the acts. The sin might be unclean, but Julia's body had been clean, her eyes had been clear, her image had kindled a bonfire in his loins through one long spring and summer as they explored their new game with the exuberant, unbounded lechery of youth. It was difficult to repent a sin whose memory still gave him a hard-on whenever he thought of it.
Julia surprised him by running away from home again at the end of that summer and shocked him, when she returned two weeks later, by telling him firmly that their games were ended. She never gave an explanation that satisfied him, but nothing he did or said could change her mind. Grown addicted to her body, desperate to feel its silken secrets again, he tried to force himself on her once. She resisted, threatening to stab him with a pair of scissors. Something in her eyes told him that she meant business, and he desisted.
A couple of strained, unhappy years passed. Julia flitted back and forth as the spirit moved her. Teddy applied himself to his books and his automobiles. Their mother took permanently to her bed. Their father became even more unobtrusive. Julia went off to Smith College and dropped out after a few months to marry a Princeton man named Rhinelander. Their parents were upset by this decision, but they at least found her husband acceptable, and they consoled themselves with the idea that she might "settle down." Teddy behaved correctly at her wedding but then cried himself to sleep. He rejoiced in Rhinelander s discomfiture when she ran away with the musician, even though he derived no benefit from it.
Julia became independently wealthy on her twenty-first birthday, and the checks from her trust fund were forwarded to odd places. Every now and then the family would receive a breezy postcard from some even odder place, but no card or letter, no matter how hard he wished for one, was ever addressed individually to Teddy. He never saw his sister again.
Despite his illusions and his tough talk, the mainspring of Teddy's character-and he knew it himself, in those rare moments of self-analysis-was a desperate desire to please. The neurotic example and erratic guidance provided by their parents had produced, in Julia, a self-destructive exhibitionist, and Teddy, sharing that upbringing, might easily have become another Jack the Ripper. Instead, allowing for his quirks, be became a model citizen. He tried hard to learn what his parents expected of him, even though this involved a sort of mind-reading, and he always tried to act in such a way as not to hurt their feelings.
Teddy hated to hurt anyone's feelings: his lips were physically incapable of framing the word "no," and this is why his junkyard never did more than break even. After his graduation from college with a "C" average, his round-the-world tour-interrupted by many fruitless side trips to check on rumors of Julia-and his stint in the Army, where he served as a second lieutenant in a motor pool on Okinawa, he decided that his parents' feelings would be hurt if he just sat around being rich and didn't "do" something, so he arranged to become publisher of the Press: a vaguely defined job his Uncle Dick had held until his death a few years earlier.
Teddy installed himself in an office on the eighth floor. Fearing that people might make demands on him that he couldn't refuse, he made sure his office was equipped with a back stairway that enabled him to slip in and out of the building without being seen. His secretary informed all employees that they must not speak to Mr. Sculthorpe under any circumstances, or even acknowledge his existence if they happened to catch a glimpse of him. Apart from this secretary, whom he rarely spoke to, the only employee with whom he had any contact was Mickey Kinsella, the managing editor, and this contact was effected entirely by memos. Teddy would spend three hours a day in his office, reading the successive editions of the paper as they came off the presses and composing one or two memos for Kinsella. The memos rarely had anything to do with editorial policy. Typically, they would suggest that the back stairs he swept, that the washroom be cleaned, or that an obnoxious drunk be removed from the street in front of the building.
Except when these memos suggested some silly "Sculthorpe Special," Kinsella never showed them to anyone or revealed their contents; but whenever the managing editor made an announcement that he knew would be unpopular, or whenever he felt like bullying someone, he would first made an elaborate show of thoughtfully studying one of the blue pieces of memo-paper that, everyone knew, came from the eighth floor. Kinsella was liked and admired by the staff, but they all regarded Teddy as a capricious and tyrannical son of a bitch.
Thanks to his strict isolation, Teddy's sensitive feelings were spared when the Press was sold and dismembered and two hundred people were thrown out on the street. The decision to sell had been reached through a comfortably confusing maze of balance sheets and productivity graphs and legal documents, and it's doubtful that Teddy ever suspected he might be inflicting hardship on anyone. If it had been necessary for him to fire two hundred people in individual confrontations in order to sell the paper, he couldn't have sold it; he probably would have kept everyone on the staff at double their former salaries. Nobody knew this, however, not even Kinsella, and so nobody even suggested that a personal appeal be made to Teddy to reconsider the sale.
Teddy was handsome in an elegant, boneless, aristocratic way. He dated many girls he thought his parents would approve of, but his manner with them was cool and distant. Some girls came from dates with Teddy believing that he must be queer. He wasn't, though. While still at Harvard, he made the acquaintance of a Mr. Rocco Bonafido, whose profession was providing wealthy undergraduates with the telephone numbers of complaisant young ladies. Mr. Bonafido specialized in providing women who matched his clients' specifications, but he'd never before seen such a detailed list of specifications as the ones Teddy submitted. The girl must have dark brown hair, worn in bangs; protuberant blue eyes; a largish mouth, with even, white teeth; a roundish face; a straight, classical nose, a vivacious--
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Mr. Bonafido had snorted-disposition; very large breasts; a copious growth of pubic hair; and she must be no more than sixteen or, at the very most, seventeen years old. Above all. she must not object to being tied up ("Loosely, a merely symbolic act, Mr. Bonafido") and spanked
"Gently, you understand, I'm not the Marquis de Sade."
"Who?".
Incredibly, Mr. Bonafido was able to find girls who fit this description in every particular at the rate of two or three a month. These girls would never have accused Teddy of being queer: weird, yes, but not queer. He was able to fuck them all night long, exhausting every imaginable possibility and position and angle of penetration. When it would seem to them impossible that he could ever get another erection, he would tie them up and spank them and then fuck them some more. The next day he would feel terrible. He had deluded himself: she wasn't Julia.
At last he grew weary of these games and renounced sex altogether. At the back of his mind was a hope, a hope he didn't dare examine or even put in words, that someday Julia would return to him and resume their former relationship. But she didn't, and the hope flickered out.
Teddy's celibacy lasted until his twenty-eighth birthday, when he decided that he would be a disappointment to his parents if he didn't marry and provide them with grandchildren. Consequently he courted Miss Felicia Bromley-Killington, of the Vermont Bromley-Killing-tons, who was beautiful and intelligent and rich.
Felicia was tall and thin and always stood up very straight. She had high, prominent cheekbones, a long face, and silver-blonde hair. She glided when she walked and perched rather than sat. Her throaty, well-modulated Vassar accents could make, her speech seem refined and reasonable even when she was using words like "mother-fucker," as she often did. She looked stunning in clothes. Unhappily, she looked like a skeleton without them. She wasn't the least bit like Julia in any respect.
Felicia liked sex, but she didn't like to participate actively in it. She liked to lie back, stiff and cool, her eyes closed, while Teddy labored over her. With her waxy-white skin and bony body, she would have been a necrophile's delight. Sometimes she would squeak happily and pretend that she was coming, but Teddy knew she was only doing that to make him feel good.
Felicia was brighter than Teddy, but he had a good heart, and they got along well together. They each had enough outside interests to keep them out of the other's hair. Teddy played with his newspaper and his automobiles, and Felicia played her lute and painted triptychs and worked for worthwhile charities. Their sex life became gradually better. At least, Felicia began to respond more fully, and she began to experience orgasms that, Teddy was certain, weren't faked.
Then, suddenly and inexplicably, Teddy was stricken with seemingly incurable impotence. He thought he loved Felicia; he thought he desired her; but he simply couldn't get one up for her. He was ashamed of himself, and he used every ruse he could think of to avoid confessing the truth to her. He would feign a burning interest in some book or late-night television show when bedtime would approach and Felicia would drift near him, exuding aristocratically horny vibrations. He would begin laying the groundwork early in the day for later disinterest by pleading fatigue or indigestion or a headache. He assumed that his disability was only temporary, but he wished it would clear up soon; but the harder his wish, the softer his cock.
Then one morning, as Teddy sipped his orange juice and studied a catalog of auto parts, Felicia brought the subject into the open.
"I really hate to mention this, Teddy, honestly I do," she said, "but I simply must know: why don't you fuck me anymore?"
Teddy coughed, spattering his catalog with orange juice, then said: "Why, Felicia ... it's been only...."
"It's been exactly six weeks, Teddy. To the day"
The paper, you know. Things have been ... well, I've been working rather-"
That's bullshit, Teddy, and you know it," she interrupted. "If you find that your duties on the paper interfere with the exercise of your conjugal privileges, then take a month off. Or five years. Either way, I'm sure you wouldn't be missed."
They had been married only two years, but Felicia already knew what a sham his occupation was. She saw through most of his self-deceptions, but she was normally too considerate to display her knowledge. The fact that she was speaking so bluntly indicated how deeply she felt about the gap in her sex-life.
Teddy glanced at his watch. Tet's plan on discussing it this evening, dear, when-"
"Very well. But I suggest you go back to bed now, Teddy, and rest up for our ... discussion. I shall call your office and inform them that you are indisposed."
Teddy felt foolish, returning to his bedroom at ten in the morning and hanging up his business suit. He sincerely doubted, too, that lying in "bed all day and resting in preparation for an erection was the best way of insuring one. But he couldn't argue with Felicia.
The bed had been freshly made, but he was surprised to see that it was littered with books. At first he was puzzled and annoyed by the carelessness of the maid, but then he realized that the books had been selected and left there on purpose by his wife. He examined some of them: Sex Secrets of Suburban Stockholm; Jumamosi, the Bantu Night of Love; Confessions of a Eurasian Girl of Pleasure, by Mai Tuot FitzHugh; Hahtpudenda, Queen of the Nile-there were novels, autobiographies, works of medicine, anthropology, self-improvement, all of them profusely illustrated with clear, close-up pictures of men and women engaging in uninhibited sex. Teddy was appalled by the image of Felicia going into the city and buying out one of the bookstores that specialized in these things. Even more appalling was the--likely possibility that she'd sent one of the servants with instructions to buy them.
With a shrug of resignation, he slid between the sheets and picked up, at random, a book entitled: The Future of Virginity, by Dr. Leo F. Mooney. This purported to be a series of case histories, with women recalling their earliest sexual experiences in their own words: "I knelt in the dust between his glossily booted feet, an adoring votary at the altar of his rampant maleness, until he spent his delicious seed in my hungry mouth...." The accompanying photographs, depicting models engaging in all sorts of sexual acts, seemed unrelated to the text. Dr. Mooney's thesis, presented in the introduction, seemed to be that virginity was on its way out, although his prose was so labored and so studded with Latin Quotations that it was difficult for Teddy to tell for certain what he was talking about.
Teddy decided to ignore the text and study the pictures. Most of the men sported tattoos, and the women were prone to bruises on their thighs and pimples on their tits. The close-up pictures of cunts were alarming: viewed from the bottom, most of the female models looked as if they'd been in bad accidents. He sighed. Felicia was beautiful and desirable, and if she couldn't excite him with her warm, living presence, then no picture of a crude slop spreading her fat thighs before a camera was--likely to do it.
Nevertheless, Teddy looked dutifully at all the pictures. He was certain that the same people kept turning up, in different combinations, from book to book. After a while, they all began to look alike. His cock remained a shriveled little bud, unmoved by the images flooding through his eyes.
He wished many times in later years that he could have stopped after examining a few representative books and then ignored the rest of the pile, but he didn't. He was a compulsive browser. If a book was put in front of him, he was forced to open it. Perhaps he inherited this trait from his father, who carried the vice even further by reading everything he opened.
Two thirds of the way through the heap of books, he came upon one that was titled, simply: JULIA. This annoyed him. He always felt a twinge of vexation when he heard the name applied to some other woman, someone who wasn't the real Julia, and it was especially vexing to see the name plastered on a dirty book. In shape and size it was like the gift-books displayed on coffee-tables, although Teddy was sure before he looked at it that it would never be found on the coffee-tables of any of the homes he frequented. He picked it up. He shouldn't have been annoyed. This was the real Julia.
She stared at him from the cover, more than ten years older than when he'd seen her last, but still with the same bangs over her eyebrows and the same look of manic intensity in her eyes. Inside was a photographic essay about a typical day in the life of "Julia S., a fashionable young American in Paris." Accompanying the photos were captions that embodied an elephantine wit. "Julia always starts the day with a hearty breakfast" was the caption on a photo that showed her kneeling in front of two men and trying to fit both their cocks in her mouth at the same time. "Julia plunges into a busy social whir!" depicted her accommodating no less then eight men at once, with her cunt, her mouth, her hands, her toes, and her armpits.
The sight of each successive picture was like a separate nail being driven into his heart, but he kept turning the pages. Shock and anger and jealousy had numbed his hands and his feet and turned his insides to an empty, cold pit, but these emotions hadn't overcome his hungry, hopeless fascination with his sister's image. His vision blurred and his throat constricted. He hadn't cried since her wedding, when he was fifteen years old, but he was crying now. His mixed and violent emotions were even further muddled by the pulsing erection that had begun to rise at the very first picture of Julia's naked body.
When Felicia glided into the bedroom that evening to resume their discussion of his recent impotence, Teddy grabbed her and fucked the stuffing out of her. Several hours later, she was forced to beg him to stop.
XVI
Through careful and seemingly nonchalant questioning, Teddy determined that Felicia hadn't selected Julia on purpose and didn't know that this bombshell had been among the books she'd bought. She had simply gone to an "Adult" bookstore and asked the proprietor for "$200 worth of profusely illustrated dirty books, to be delivered at the Sculthorpe residence." She hadn't inspected her purchases, but had just opened the package and dumped it on the bed for Teddy's edification.
Teddy denied that the books had anything to do with the sudden and alarming resurgence of his potency. He attributed it to the day's rest in bed, and he suggested that she dispose of the books-all except Julia, which he had already concealed from her in his private bathroom.
Julia was like a powerful drug that must be taken in increasingly larger doses to produce a gradually diminishing effect. At first, Teddy needed only to think about the pictures to develop an erection at will. Later, he was forced to spend a few minutes in the bathroom, leafing through the book and studying his favorites, before his cock began to rise. Even this method became ineffective after a while, because he would sometimes lose his erection as he hurried from Julia's picture in the bathroom to Felicia's body in the bedroom.
It wasn't long before he found it impossible to maintain a stiff cock while fucking Felicia unless he was actually staring at a picture of Julia. Managing this feat would have been impossible with any woman but Felicia, who would close her eyes and lie with corpse-like passivity whenever Teddy started making love to her. It was easy for him to slide the book from under the bed and go through the mechanical motions of his foreplay while he stared down at it.
He tried to break away from his drug, but he couldn't. It was no use trying to lay Felicia without the book. Her body no longer interested him. It was nothing more than a convenient place to stick his cock while masturbating over pictures of his sister. He still liked Felicia, though, and he didn't want to hurt her feelings, so he persisted in the deception despite his certainty that it couldn't go on forever.
One night the inevitable happened. Tipsy from a party they'd attended together, Teddy riffled the pages of the book noisily while searching for one of his favorites. Felicia opened her eyes, then squirmed from beneath him and seized the book before he could stop her. She ignored his babbled protests and ludicrous attempts at explanation as she sat in a chair and studied each picture in the book. Her face was white and without expression, and her fingers shook as she turned the pages.
Felicia had never met his sister, but her portrait hung above the fireplace in Teddy's study. She had also seen her picture in the family photo albums. She knew whose pictures she was looking at now.
When she had examined the last of the pictures, she closed the book and stared at her husband with unconcealed loathing. "I made a study of abnormal psychology at Vassar, Teddy. I am conversant with the works of de Sade, Sacher-Masoch, and Krafft-Ebing-" here she held up her hand to check him when it seemed he might interrupt-"and in the course of my charity work, I have met unfortunates who have told me real-life tales of degeneracy that made me, literally and physically, ill. But never in all my studies or experiences have I encountered a perversion as repulsive as yours. In a way I'm glad, because I had concluded that I was married to a man who could excel in nothing whatsoever. But as a pervert, Teddy, you're in a class by yourself."
Those were the last words she ever spoke to him. She took her nightgown and left their bedroom, and the next day she left their house. She thwarted his halfhearted attempts to communicate with her, and eventually a divorce was arranged. The last he heard of her, she was living on the Riviera with a succession of Latin types who presumably didn't need to look at obscene pictures of their sisters in order to become aroused.
When she left, he relieved his shame and frustration by ripping the hateful book to shreds; but within a week he had repented this act and was searching the "Adult" bookstores for another copy, which he ultimately found. He found that jerking off while studying the pictures was more enjoyable than it had been with a superfluous woman cluttering up the relationship.
This was the way things still stood when Kathi Palmer made her unexpected appearance at his door. He had been wishing that Julia would return; and when he wished for Julia, he wasn't wishing for the unknown woman of thirty-five she now was, nor for the woman in her mid-twenties who'd posed for those obscene pictures, nor for the woman who'd run away to Cuba when she was eighteen, but for the wickedly carefree companion of his childhood: and here she was.
Her eyes weren't blue, they were gray, and they didn't have that same crazy look. In every other respect she looked the same, though, especially after Teddy had arranged to have her hair fixed the way her mother wore it. The greatest difference lay in her personality: she was quiet and demure and well-behaved, and Julia had never been any of those things.
He began devoting most of his time and attention to her. He bought her ten times more clothing and candy and toys and books and pets than any child could have handled. He took her to zoos and parks and movies and amusement piers. He lay awake nights, racking his brain for fresh ways of amusing her. She didn't mind, as her mother had never paid her any attention at all.
Teddy's self-confidence, never very great, had been battered by Felicia's departure. Her parting words had convinced him that he was an unspeakably vile person. As he continued to play his new role of doting uncle, however, he revised his estimate of himself upward: he couldn't be as bad as he'd thought he was, because Kathi didn't tempt him sexually.
Still, he mistrusted his subconscious. Lurking deep down inside it might be some beast that lusted for her. He could never free himself from the fear that it might suddenly break out of its cage. As a precaution, he destroyed his second copy of Julia, and this time he didn't look for a replacement copy when he began to miss it. He scrupulously avoided touching Kathi, beyond an occasional pat on the head, and he found it hard to conceal his nervous confusion whenever she gave him a sudden, spontaneous kiss. As she grew older, he insisted that she wear more modest clothes than she wanted to; this led to some friction, but Kathi was invariably able to get her own way. He would talk to her from time to time about sin and express, without quite knowing what he was talking about, the hope that she would be a good girl. He realized that he must sound like his mother used to sound in her lectures hinting darkly of the horrors of passion.
Teddy sometimes reflected bitterly that his mother had been dead right. Sex had blighted his life. At long last, however, he believed that he had risen to a serene plane of contemplation beyond its torments. Just when he was congratulating himself, Kathi's body, like a bomb that had been ticking in his home for four years, exploded into womanhood.
The beast in Teddy's subconscious broke out of its cage. He was tempted as he had feared he would be tempted. The maids sometimes looked at him strangely, wondering why he tore his blankets and chewed his pillow in his troubled sleep. He had never in his life felt such lust as he now felt for his sixteen-year-old niece. Incredibly, it was even greater than the lust he'd felt for his sister.
Kathi had Julia's face, Julia's voice, even some of Julia's facial expressions and mannerisms-but she was more beautiful, more shapely, more desirable. Worst of all, she was an infinitely nicer person.
Teddy's lectures about sin had been at first merely confusing, but now they began to become totally incoherent. She would sometimes interrupt one of his little speeches on the subject to ask him, with genuine concern in her eyes, if he was feeling well. He bought a game of Pick-Up Sticks, and even though she obviously considered herself too old for it, she humored him by playing it almost every day. But she never interrupted the game to ask him if he knew what "fuck" meant. He knew that he was deluding himself by trying to raise the past from its grave with sympathetic magic.
Then Mrs. Ermold, the same Mrs. Ermold who used to spy on him and Julia when they were children-without ever catching them fucking, fortunately-came to him and announced what she had seen Kathi and Donny doing. He ordered Kathi to her room and told her to stay there. Then, to everyone's astonishment, including his own, he fired Mrs. Ermold. Not knowing what else to do, he took to his bed and sulked.
He emerged from his bedroom after a few sleepless days and nights with the intention of asking Kathi's forgiveness. He had come to the conclusion that it was unfair to punish her for his own jealousy. But he learned that she had disappeared. He was utterly baffled to find a rope hanging from the window of her room to the lawn. Apparently she had used it to make her exit, but he couldn't understand why she hadn't just walked out the front door, as she usually did on the rare occasions when he told her to go to her room.
Teddy went to his study and stared for a long time at the portrait of Julia over the fireplace. He was wondering whether to kill himself with a pistol or with an overdose of sleeping pills when the phone rang.
He answered the phone by saying, "Sculthorpe," in a listless way, and a woman's voice said: "Mr. Sculthorpe, .this is Wanda Fleurette, of the Foundation for Natural Meditation. You don't know me, but-"
This was intolerable: that someone should intrude upon his last moments on earth with an appeal for money. As a man already dead, he no longer cared whose feelings he hurt, and he shouted: "Fuck off!" and slammed down the receiver.
He regretted it as soon as he'd done it. Somewhere in the happy outer world, a good woman who'd donated her time to raise money for some charitable foundation had probably been reduced to tears by his vicious, unthinking snarl: Teddy Sculthorpe's last words.
He tried to remember the name of the foundation, so he could call back and apologize, but it escaped him. It must be familiar to him, otherwise she wouldn't have known the unlisted number of the private line in his study. He hoped she would call back. If she did, he would shock her by pledging a million dollars, and he would write that check before putting an end to his life. He scowled, remembering that he never carried more than a few hundred dollars in his personal checking account. He would have to make special arrangements, involving meetings with brokers and accountants and tax-lawyers, if he wanted to give someone a million dollars. It would take weeks, and all of those people would give him elaborate arguments against doing it. Life's complicated tangle was reaching out to clutch him even in his grave.
The phone rang. He seized it, and the same woman said: "Mr. Sculthorpe?"
"I can't give you a million dollars, goddammit!" Teddy cried, still lost in his train of thought. "Don't you understand?"
"That's all right. I only need a few hundred thousand to see me through till the weekend," she said, and her ironic laugh brought Teddy back to himself.
"Oh. I'm sorry. I was thinking of something else. I'm sorry I hung up on you the way I did. Forgive me."
"I thought that being rich meant never having to say you're sorry," she said.
Teddy was annoyed. Her irony had turned to sarcasm, pointedly directed at him. He supposed he deserved this for having snapped at her, but he didn't feel like doing penance just now. He felt that it might be difficult to recapture the bittersweet mood of self-indulgence required for suicide.
"Please tell me why you called," Teddy said. "My time is limited."
"I wanted to assure you that your niece is all right. We thought you might be worried about her."
Her words jolted him into sudden guilt. He hadn't been the least worried about Kathi. He had failed Julia's trust, and her request that he take good care of her daughter. The rope at the bedroom window suddenly assumed ominous significance.
"Who's 'we'?" he demanded. "Who are you anyway?"
"Wanda Fleurette, of the Foundation for Natural Meditation."
He thought hard, but this meant nothing to him. "And where is my niece?"
"I'm at the Venezia Theater in Wesley Grove," she said, ignoring his actual question. "I'll be more than happy to discuss your problems with you if you'll drop by there at nine-thirty. If you'd care to hear my lecture first-and I believe you'll find it helpful-you can come at eight."
"Are you insane?" Teddy demanded. "I don't have any problems. I have nothing to discuss with you, and I don't want to hear your lousy lecture. What have you done with Kathi?"
There was a pause, and then her voice was a honeyed purr when she said: "A more interesting question is, what would you like to do with Kathi?"
She waited, but when he could think of no immediate reply to this painfully embarrassing question, she continued: "The problem we might discuss first is your frustrated desire to fuck your niece. We might even be able to solve that problem for you, in a way you would hardly believe possible. Anything is possible, Mr. Sculthorpe, once you surrender yourself utterly to my system of Natural Meditation. I hope to see you in the audience at eight."
The phone clicked in Teddy's ear, and he hung it up slowly. He didn't know whether Kathi had fallen into the hands of religious freaks or kidnappers or blackmailers, or perhaps some new kind of entrepreneur who combined the techniques of all three. Ingrained snobbery kept him from fearing the worst, though, because the woman had spoken with the accents of his and Felicia's own class.
He stared up at Julia's picture. It stared back at him.
"Please take good care of my child, Teddy," she had asked him in that last message she'd sent him. She had destroyed his youth and ruined his marriage; she had sent her daughter as a proxy demon to torment him in his middle years. She wouldn't even let him kill himself.
XVII
When Frank Weston learned who Kathi's uncle was, he was almost sorry that he'd ever fucked her. Frank believed that Teddy Sculthorpe had taken a personal and malevolent interest in his career when he worked for the Press. Dozens of times he had been called up to the managing editor's office and chewed out by Mickey Kinsella for some shortcoming apparently noted in one of those blue memos from the eighth floor. Dozens of other times he had been subjected to the agony of trying to make something from nothing, thanks to those idiotic "Sculthorpe Specials." Friends of his, men and women who had given ten or twenty years of their lives to the Press, were still out of work because of the lust for profit that had led Sculthorpe to sell the paper. The one consolation that Frank drew from losing his own job was the hope that he'd never have to hear the name Sculthorpe again; but he was wrong.
"Can't you find another sucker, Wanda?" he protested when she'd informed him of her plans for Teddy.
"The word is 'Seeker,' Frank," she murmured abstractedly as she jotted down notes for the evening's lecture.
"You won't get anything out of him. He's kept every cent he ever made. He even converted his family estate into a junkyard, just so the land wouldn't go to waste."
Wanda put down her pen and removed her glasses She turned to look directly at him. He knew that the argument was at an end, because his thoughts would grow fuzzy and his knees would turn to gelatin when she did that.
, "I hadn't intended to tell you this," she said, "but I know what makes Teddy Sculthorpe tick. Two years ago, on my European tour, I met and converted his ex-wife Felicia. She told me a story about their marriage that ... well, I honestly thought I'd heard everything, until I heard Felicia Sculthorpe's story."
Frank brightened. "What was it?"
"I don't think I should give you that kind of personal information about someone you know."
Wanda had a flair for inventing ethical scruples on the spur of the moment to explain her most arbitrary behavior. She didn't want to tell him about Sculthorpe, and he knew it would be useless to press her. Nevertheless he made a halfhearted try at it, grumbling: "I don't actually know him. Nobody does. I've just hated him from afar, like everyone else."
Wanda was unmoved and persisted in speaking of her plans. "When Kathi told me who she was, I realized that the financial difficulties of the Foundation were at an end. Once we have all those old cars towed away, the Sculthorpe estate will make an ideal center, and-"
Frank's laughter made it impossible for her to continue.
Wanda advised him to take the evening off, and he accepted her advice. She was afraid that Teddy might recognize him and grow suspicious of their operation. Frank knew this was unlikely. Teddy had never set eyes on him, as far as he knew, but he didn't want to see Teddy.
Back at Frank's home, Donny Emmons was ensconced in Frank's favorite easy chair, watching a cops and robbers show on Frank's TV with Frank's kids.
"The bad guy is a dirty hippie, like Daddy," laughed Franny, his ten-year-old daughter. It was the closest he got to a greeting from any of them.
Donny had made himself part of the family during the past couple of days and showed no inclination ever to leave. Frank didn't mind, but just now it struck him as odd that the boy never asked him about Kathi. For just a moment he entertained the speculation that Donny and Mary might be carrying on behind his back. Knowing Mary as well as he did, he rejected the idea without examining it.
He had thought that Mary would be happy to have him home during the evening for a change, but she was on her way out: to a PTA meeting, she explained, adding that she would probably be late coming home. She didn't seem surprised to see him and neither pleased nor displeased by his unexpected arrival. She offered her cheek for a kiss as she left.
Frank felt neglected and abused on all fronts. He got a beer from the icebox and went to watch TV with Donny and the children.
Teddy Sculthorpe drove to the Venezia Theater in a 1955 Plymouth, the only car in his collection that currently worked, and chose a seat in the almost-empty balcony. He didn't want to mingle too closely with the adherents of Natural Meditation whatever that might be. He was afraid that it would prove to be an extremist excrescence of encounter therapy, with people tearing their clothes off and groping each other. He first suspected this when he saw the advertising posters invoking the name of Wilhelm Reich. Teddy had a nodding acquaintance with his theories, and he considered them a repugnant form of emotional masturbation.
His suspicions darkened when he observed the high proportion of weird people in the crowd that milled in the street and the lobby waiting for the lecture to start. There were more bearded, long-haired men than one might expect to find in any Wesley Grove gathering; the women favored see-through blouses or fishnet tops without bras, garments uncommon in this part of the world.
Teddy was too sophisticated to be surprised by these fashions, but one girl's costume did succeed in making him stare: except for her dangling hoop earrings and thick platform sandals, she wore nothing that couldn't be classified as underwear. Her outfit consisted of black mesh stockings and a flouncy black garter belt, black panties and bra, and that was all. Her hair was done in a frizzy, upshooting style reminiscent of Elsa Lanchester's in The Bride of Frankenstein. When she caught him staring at her, she favored him with a bold, unnerving smile.
Teddy slid around the edges of the crowd, uncomfortably out of place in his Brooks Brothers suit and horn rimmed glasses. Others were dressed with equal conservatism, but they formed a minority. Marijuana fumes hung heavily over the lobby.
Settled at last in the secure isolation of the balcony, Teddy observed that the weirdest people had gravitated to the first three or four rows of the orchestra, forming a solid bloc of what he presumed to be Wanda Fleurette's groupies. A high percentage of these were women a few years younger than he was, in their early thirties, and they especially favored outfits that were daringly revealing for Wesley Grove.
At Frank's suggestion, Wanda had abandoned her dry, somewhat schoolmarmish approach to her shocking subjects and was leaning more and more heavily toward showmanship. Instead of a bare curtain, her background was now a semicircle of rear-projection screens. Subdued but heavily rhythmic music played over the sound-system while she spoke. She no longer stayed at the lectern but prowled about the stage with a hand-mike, sometimes coordinating the fluidly graceful movements of her body with the sensuous music and the lascivious message until her total performance became a species of dance.
The houselights dimmed, and Teddy was startled by his first sight of her. He had expected someone who was dedicated and dull, perhaps someone compensating for her own lovelessness by embracing a cultish obsession. He wasn't prepared for the stunning woman who strode on stage and favored her audience with a thousand-watt Hollywood smile. Her outfit was stunning, too, for she had done her followers in their see-through blouses one better: her floor-length gown was topless.
"Exclusion," she declared, when the noisy cheers of her groupies had moderated, "is the curse of existence."
Teddy listened inattentively. He was distracted by the projection screen, displaying an abstract pattern of what seemed to be multicolored amoebae in heat. They struggled to divide and regroup in continuously shifting combinations.
"Make your choice, they say, and live with it. Take this course, this career, this life, and exclude forever the alternatives. Take this man or this woman to the exclusion of all others."
Wanda moved around the stage, sometimes a black silhouette against the seethe and surge of protozoan pornography, sometimes a blazing radiance of blonde womanhood as the spotlights caught her. Teddy found his attention wandering to her tits whenever the light hit them. They were big and smooth and they jiggled deliriously when she moved.
"To choose is to exclude, to deny, to say no to the wonderful heritage of life. This man or woman whose embraces you deny will not come again in this life, and there is no other."
A gasp and a murmur in the audience confirmed Teddy's suspicion that an incredible sight had just flashed on the screen so quickly that it was gone before it could register on his mind: a woman sucking a man's phallus into her mouth.
"Yet we choose one person, we persist in fixing all our desires on one person, because we fear to reach out and touch others, because we fear they will touch us in return and make demands on us."
Her long skirt was slit all the way to her waist on either side, and it bared her lithe legs at times. Sometimes it even bared one deliciously rounded hemisphere of her ass. As some gowns give the illusion of revealing flesh, hers gave the illusion of covering it.
"Life is a fire, catching, spreading, strong when it is concentrated, weak when it is isolated," she almost chanted, prowling forward with suggestive rhythms of her willowy hips.
No question about it now: on the screen behind her, a red, engorged cock was slipping into a wet, hairy quim, magnified until each droplet of sexual seepage seemed as large as a baseball. Someone in the audience shouted: "Go back to Russia with your dirty pictures, you whore!"
Teddy couldn't help laughing aloud. He had once scandalized the puritanical Russians on a Moscow bus by letting the cuff of his trousers ride above his sock, displaying an inch of his bare leg. The audience didn't take his disinterestedly cosmopolitan view. An angry mutter rose among Wanda's supporters.
"If someone hates you, make love to him!" she cried impatiently, as if reminding her fans of an elementary rule they had forgotten.
Teddy smiled. She was preaching a souped-up version of Christianity, the gospel with the gloves off. Perhaps America was ready for it. Despite what the heckler had said, it seemed as typically American in its excess as Walt Whitman or Los Angeles or the Cadillac.
"I hate your guts, Wanta!" cried the heckler, and coarse laughter percolated through the ranks of the unconverted as the implication of his words sank in.
Wanda paused for a few beats with her motor running. Teddy noted that the music had built slightly in volume and insistence, that the blobs on the screen were fusing and fissioning with more intense abandon as she lowered her dimpled chin and fixed her sultry gaze on her tormentor. Either some unseen director was adept at improvising these effects, or else the light show had been programmed in advance and the heckler was a shill.
An actor would have called this a live audience. The groupies cheered like a bunch of kids watching John Wayne lead the cavalry over the hill when Wanda reached down to unhook her nominal dress and let it float to a white pile at her feet. A few spectators made a noisy show of leaving, and others shouted loud denunciations. Some of the men tried to outdo each other in humorously telling Wanda how much they hated her. Even Teddy, dispassionate, isolated, above it all, found that he had inched forward to the edge of his seat.
Wanda stood spotlighted on the stage, a naked white flame, proud and erect. She tossed back her hair, a cloud of light, and extended her arm toward the heckler as she cried out: "Come here, then, and fuck me!"
She held them in the extended palm of her hand. A silence that Teddy could feel like an electric current had descended on the theater. "Juiceless, dry, hollow man, spouting hate in the darkness, come forward into the light and let me fill you and restore you with the pleasures of love."
Whoever was responsible for Wanda's imagine style hadn't provided her heckler with very good lines. As attention slowly and inexorably swiveled on him, as every eye in the theater turned to him, all he could do was grumble: "Aw, go on!"
"Do it-do it-DO IT!" the groupies began to chant, stamping their feet in unison. On the screen behind Wanda, the blobs had dissolved and a film of herself was projected. It showed only her head and shoulders, lying on green grass, with a hint of a man's shoulder in the foreground. Although no sexual conjunction was shown, she was obviously getting laid and enjoying every inch of it.
The spotlight followed the real Wanda as she slid gracefully from the stage and began to walk up the aisle with the deliberate stateliness of an empress on her way to her coronation. Nearly everyone in the theater seemed to have taken up the foot-stamping chant, and Teddy wondered how much vibration this sleazy old flea trap of a theater could take. He checked himself, annoyed, as he found that he had been drumming his fingers on the arm of his seat in time to it.
When Wanda was only a few rows away from her would be tormentor, a spotlight found him, increasing his discomfiture. He was bald and fat and sweating, and in the light he seemed to blush. He heaved himself from his chair and began struggling through the knees of his uncooperative neighbors to reach the aisle furthest from Wanda.
"Go away, damn you! Go away!" he cried, although Wanda didn't pursue him.
She had retained her microphone, and her voice filled the theater as she said, 'What are you afraid of? Love? Sex? The touch of another human being?"
At least "he had a good exit line. As he slammed through the door of the theater, he shouted triumphantly: "I'm afraid of catching something!"
There was some laughter, but Wanda had won over the audience with the force of her presence. Her hold on them was impervious to mere wit. Her sad smile expressed forgiveness, understanding, and a faint touch of sanctimonious superiority. She turned and walked back to the stage, where the film of her orgasm had given way to a panorama of the expanding universe, a wilderness of receding stars.
Teddy sat back, trying to analyze what he'd witnessed up until now. He was unimpressed by her message. He had no patience with mystical ways to knowledge and their teachers, and he was growing bored with this pseudo-religious burlesque show. But he was impressed with Wanda, and he wasn't bored with her. She had a power and a presence and a vitality that reached out and grabbed people by the collar.
He frowned as he suddenly remembered his reason for coming here. Charming and talented though she might be, this woman was possibly a kidnapper and potentially an extortionist. He wished that he had called the police instead of coming here and exposing his underdeveloped sales resistance to her pitch, whatever it might prove to be. But that had been unthinkable, and it still was: the situation was too messy for outside help.
He was shocked out of his abstraction by what he thought, at first, must be an hallucination. He thought that the screen had flashed an almost subliminal image of the first picture in Julia, the one where his sister was shown trying to suck two cocks at once. The pictures in that book had been black-and-white, but this-if he'd really seen it-had been in full color.
He had just succeeded in convincing himself that he'd imagined it when Wanda's words seized his attention: "...of a man who carried exclusion to such a ridiculous extreme that he preferred pictures of the woman he loved to the actual, physical presence of the woman he'd married. His lost love had once posed for a series of erotic pictures, and he found it impossible to sustain an erection while fucking his wife unless he could simultaneously gaze at these pictures.
No question about it now: the bangs, the long, chestnut hair, the fantastic body-it was Julia. The frozen tableaus had come alive as a movie, however. She knelt, holding a man's prick in either hand, sucking first one and then the other, sometimes trying to get both of them at once into her ample mouth.
"Fearing contact, he convinced himself that only one woman on earth, the one woman he couldn't have, could arouse his sexuality."
It was like turning the pages of the book he hadn't seen in four years to witness Julia fucking, Julia sucking, Julia giving her luscious body to a succession of men and women in imaginative combinations. It was different, though. It took him a while to realize that the other actors in these scenes weren't the same people who had been pictured in the book. It took him a little longer to realize that the girl wasn't Julia, either.
XVIII
Teddy tried to rouse himself. He couldn't remember when the other members of the audience had left, but they were gone. The theater was dark.
He started as the screen abruptly came to life. Amorphous shapes in several shades of red billowed and contracted like a Wurlitzer vision of hellfire. Wanda stood etched in black against the lurid glow.
"Mr. Sculthorpe?"
Replying to the amplified voice gave him an eerie feeling of insignificance, but he said: "Yes."
"Come down now, and we'll talk."
Teddy managed to shake off the numbing vestiges of shock and pain, but he could inject little force into his tone as he said: "You can go to jail for this. I'll make sure that you do."
"And then what will you do with your niece? Put her in a convent? Send her back to her mother? Come down and talk, Mr. Sculthorpe. You don't mind if I call you Teddy, do you?"
He feared this woman who could unaccountably see his most secret fantasies and turn them into a movie starring his niece. He wanted to flee, but he fought the urge. The example of that ridiculous heckler was too fresh in his memory. A Sculthorpe may hide, he reflected bitterly, but he won't run. He got up and walked stiffly to the stairs.
He stood in the aisle before her, looking up. He squinted, trying to read her features. A flicker in the background caught his eye. He saw the silhouettes of three other women. He couldn't determine if they were part of the projection, or if they were present on the stage behind her.
"What do you want?" he demanded.
"To help you," she said, speaking without the microphone now. "I want to make you happy. Your life has been unhappy, hasn't it?"
Teddy was annoyed by such questions. He liked working with impersonal problems that presented a limited number of variables, like automobile engines. Speculations about life and death and happiness confused and irritated him. He surprised himself by responding to the warmth of her voice and the apparently genuine interest in her tone by saying: "Yes, it has."
"Come here, Teddy," she said, stretching her hand out.
He hesitated, afraid of making a fool of himself, afraid of succumbing to her beauty and the power of her personality.
"Don't be afraid of pleasure, Teddy," she said, confusing the issue in his mind.
He took her hand and she assisted him to the stage. One of the silhouettes behind her suddenly took form and substance in the glow of a spotlight. He found himself staring at a petite redhead who smiled at him as if she were really glad to see him. She wore nothing.
He turned, blinding himself as he looked into the light and tried to see who was controlling it. "What the devil is going on?" he asked.
"I want you to meet Yvette," Wanda said, ignoring his question.
Teddy's well-bred reflexes forced him to face the girl and acknowledge the introduction with a polite smile. Her narrow face and perpetually amused eyes gave her a sly, foxy look. Embarrassment prevented his lowering his eyes to the white smoothness of her naked body.
He would have turned back to Wanda after exchanging glances with Yvette, but the redhead padded toward him purposefully. She raised herself on tiptoe before him, obviously expecting a kiss of greeting. He touched her naked hips gingerly to steady her and to maintain a little space between their bodies as he kissed her. The yielding warmth of her lips convinced him that she expected something more than the quick, perfunctory peck he had given her.
"Don't you like me?" she asked, pouting.
"I don't know you," he said.
"I'll make you like me," she promised.
Teddy turned to Wanda and began to say: "Can't we--?"
"This is Leila," she interrupted.
Again he turned as another spotlight revealed the second girl. She had silver-blonde hair, parted in the middle, that fell all the way to her waist. Her eyes held a look of sullen challenge that was reinforced by her heavy, sensuous lips. He tried to give her an even briefer, more impersonal kiss, but she surprised him by pushing against him and rubbing her bare tits lasciviously against his chest before she stepped back, laughing at him.
Impatient to finish these introductions so that Wanda might come to the point of this meeting, he said nothing and turned to the third girl. The spotlight revealed a brunette somewhat older than the other two, who appeared to be in their mid-twenties. This time Teddy couldn't keep his eyes from straying lower, to the flamboyantly womanly fullness of her ripe body.
Unlike the other two, she seemed nervous, and his gaze made her more so. He was surprised to note that her dimpled knees shook.
"This is Mary," Wanda said, "who's new to us and not quite used to our freedom. Don't be shy, Mary."
Teddy was uncertain whether he acted from a desire to reassure Mary, or whether some mischievous impulse made him want to increase her uneasiness, but he slipped his arm around her waist and kissed her with an imitation of desire. He pulled back when the warm contact of her nude body made the imitation become unexpectedly genuine. He was developing a hard-on.
"I was afraid you didn't like girls," Leila said. "Won't you kiss me like that, now that you're warmed up?"
Teddy laughed, trying to treat her suggestion as a joke, but she refused to be that easily shunted off. She embraced him, gluing her nakedness to him and raising her moist, slightly parted lips. He let his hands rest lightly on her ass as he gave her the kind of kiss he'd given Mary. Her tongue thrust inward on a search-and-destroy mission for his composure. She rubbed her thigh against him, and she murmured with pleasure when it encountered his hard cock.
Leila's hands were accounted for: one of them held his neck and the other was tickling his prick through the tightly stretched cloth of his pants. But other hands stroked him, rumpling his hair, creeping up his thighs. He pulled back before the witchery of Leila's kiss could work its full effect.
"You haven't greeted me properly, Teddy."
He saw that Wanda now stood revealed in the light. like everything else he'd seen this evening, this seemed to have been calculated deliberately for its dramatic effect. The girls, as she'd introduced them, had been progressively more beautiful, progressively sexier. She had saved her own appearance for last, and her beauty and desirability overshadowed the three of them.
This time it was Teddy who took the few steps necessary to bring them together. Wanda flowed into his arms when he touched her. His touch was no longer hesitant. He pressed her bare back firmly as he slid his hands down to the rounded perfection of her ass, and he clutched her tight as their lips met.
While he kissed Wanda, he felt himself being guided backward by other hands. Off balance, he was forced to break the embrace.
"Take off your clothes, Teddy," she urged. "You don't want to come in your pants, do you?"
He supposed that he hadn't really believed her speech. He had assumed that there would be a catch somewhere, that some land of collection-plate would be passed before the free love was forthcoming. He was surprised to find that she'd apparently meant what she'd said. He grinned foolishly, not knowing what to do. He was out of practice with women, and he'd never had any practice in dealing with four of them at once.
"Don't be uptight," Wanda said. "Nothing is expected of you, except that you enjoy yourself."
Her remark underlined the exciting novelty of this situation. Being a gentleman, he had always considered his own pleasure of secondary importance as he tried to please women, even hired prostitutes. It was difficult to forget his previous experience and relax fully. But he noted that the brunette called Mary seemed even more ill at ease than he was.
Just to make polite conversation, he asked: "Mary what?"
"Weston," she murmured shyly. The name was unfamiliar to him.
"Last names are unimportant," Wanda asserted quickly. "They might tell where you came from, but they don't tell who you are."
Wanda had been undoing his necktie while Yvette helped him off with his coat. Mary giggled, apparently at the fact that he wore suspenders, but she slipped them from his shoulders. Leila, who seemed the most forward of Wanda's disciples, had claimed the job of unzipping his fly and was kneeling in front of him to do it. He slipped his shoes off and wondered if Mary would be amused by his garters. As he evaded Leila's tickles and stepped out of his pants, the thought occurred to him that he ought to keep an eye on his wallet; but he had given them ample opportunity to take it before this, and he found himself wanting to trust them.
Yvette disappeared momentarily with the clothes he'd already removed, and Mary, as he suspected she would, got a giggle out of his garters.
"Doesn't your husband wear them?" he asked.
He'd assumed without examining the assumption that an attractive woman of Mary's age would have a husband, but when he noted her reaction of surprise, perhaps even of shock, he realized how tactless he'd been to mention the subject at a time like this.
Tour husband, her boyfriend, his wife," Wanda said disapprovingly. "Weren't you paying attention to my lecture, Teddy? Words like that imply ownership, exclusion. You can't own another person."
He took this to be evidence of doctrinaire fanaticism, and Teddy came from a generation that considered it bad form to take anything quite so seriously. He was on the verge of telling her that she was stuck with the English language, whether she liked it or not, when he realized that her remark had probably been just an attempt to relieve Mary's uneasiness.
"But we can discuss my philosophy some other time, Teddy," Wanda purred, sliding closer. "Right now I'm only interested in your cock."
He took an involuntary step backward when Wanda reached out to touch the hard bulge in his undershorts, and it brought him unexpectedly into contact with Mary. She didn't move. She held him and leaned forward to press her luscious tits against his back. Leila peeled his socks off while Wanda rolled his underpants down, pulling them outward to free his stiff, throbbing rod.
"Such a nice, big one," Leila murmured, looking up at it and licking her lips suggestively.
"I can just feel it inside me," Wanda sighed.
He supposed that such remarks were part of their act, part of their effort to please him, but that knowledge didn't stop him from being pleased. Mary, grown unexpectedly bold, slipped her hand around his hip to clasp his prick in her hand, and that pleased him even more.
Leila, finished removing his socks, knelt up straight in front of him and took the head of his prick between her thumb and forefinger. She used it to trace the contours of her parted lips as if she were applying lipstick. She made her lips gleam with the juice oozing from the tip of his cock.
"Can I kiss it, too?" Wanda asked, dropping to her knees beside the silver blonde.
Before he could urge her to go ahead, Mary spoke: "Hey, I picked the wrong endl Let me get some of the action!"
"Give him a rimjob," Leila suggested. "There's plenty of room for all of us."
Teddy didn't know what a rimjob was, but Mary rapidly cleared up his ignorance. She crouched beside him. Soon he felt her face pressing his buttocks and her tongue flickering against his ass-hole. Startled by this unexpected touch, he bucked forward. Wanda had been toying with his prick, licking just the head of it, but his motion drove the inflamed rod deep into her mouth. It obviously surprised her, but she didn't object. She closed her lips firmly around his prick and began sucking it.
Yvette returned, raising her eyebrow when she saw that the other girls had busied themselves while she'd been hanging up Teddy's clothes. He had gone beyond the point of being embarrassed by anything that took place, and for the first time he studied the little redhead's nude body with open appreciation. Her tits were smaller than those of any other girl in the group, but they stuck up with the pert firmness of little rubber balls.
"Don't hog it all, Wanda," she protested after studying the situation for a moment. "Let me have some of his cock, too."
Wanda glanced at Yvette as the redhead knelt beside her, but she didn't want to let Teddy's cock out of her mouth long enough to speak even a word. She unsheathed some of its saliva-slicked length from her lips, however, until she was clasping only the knob at the end of it in her lovely mouth. He was on the brink of shoving it right back in when Leila and Yvette both got into the act. From either side they began licking the shaft of his prick while Wanda held the head in her mouth and rolled her tongue around on it.
Meanwhile Mary continued to slip her quivering tongue in and out of his ass-hole in a slow, tickling rhythm. Each tingling thrust of her wet flesh seemed to go deeper than the last. Teddy had at first been uncertain whether he liked what she was doing or not, but at last he decided that he did. The unprecedented tickle made his cock swell up even harder than before.
He had sometimes daydreamed himself into situations where more than one girl was sucking his cock, but his imagination had never been bold enough to picture them as four such voluptuous charmers. In those daydreams, too, he had always imagined the girls taking turns sucking him off, not working on his engorged meat from all sides at once. Now Yvette's tongue tickled its way up one side of his cock while Leila's worked its way down the other, and Wanda sucked the head while Mary slipped her tongue in and out of his ass-hole. It was delightful, but it was almost too much of a good thing. He feared that all this highly concentrated attention would make him come long before he wanted to.
"Why don't you take turns?" he suggested, his voice a tight-throated gasp of lust.
"Far out," Mary said. "I still feel left out of things, back here."
Wanda pulled her mouth reluctantly from his cock, planning to say something; but before she could speak, Leila slipped forward and tried to seize the head of Teddy's swollen prick in her mouth. Yvette shoved her out of the way, and it was she who slurped the swollen prize between her lips. She sucked his cock in deeper than he thought possible, until his balls were pressing against her chin.
"Girls!" Wanda cried, when Leila seemed about to reopen the battle for Teddy's cock. "You don't want to get rough with that thing. Suppose you broke it off?"
He supposed she was making a.joke, but he found it a disquieting one. Chastened, Yvette slipped his prick out of her mouth and pushed it to point toward Leila, politely offering it to her. The heavy-lipped blonde opened her mouth wide and moaned as she took his prick deep inside. She jerked the root lightly with her fingertips while she licked and sucked eagerly.
"Just stick it wherever you want to, Teddy," Wanda urged, than puckered her lips invitingly.
He wanted to make sure that he sampled all of them, and Leila's blowjob was already bringing him dangerously close to the breaking point. He pulled his cock out of the wet clasp of Leila's lips. Wanda expected to get it next, and she leaned slightly forward in anticipation, but he turned away from her to face Mary, who hadn't even tasted it yet. Holding his cock in his hand, he pointed it down toward her pretty face.
She was surprised and flustered by his sudden offering. She actually blushed. "Go on," he urged.
The brunette needed no more encouragement. She balanced herself with her hands on his thighs and leaned forward to slip her puckered lips over the head of his prick. She didn't take it nearly as deeply as Yvette had, but she exercised a swirling, rotary motion of her tongue that none of the other girls had used. He began moving slightly, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, to fuck her in the mouth.
"Let's see how many rounds you can squeeze in before you come," Yvette said. "I bet you won't be able to stand more than one."
Teddy believed she was probably right, but he took up her teasing challenge. He pulled his prick out of
Mary's mouth and half-turned to face the cute redhead. She slicked him just as deeply as she had before, until her slightly upturned nose was tickled by his pubic hair. She must have learned a trick that enabled her to half-swallow a cock into her throat. Even when he thrust it a little deeper, she didn't resist, but proved herself able to take everything he could give her.
He hadn't yet sampled Wanda's cocksucking to the fullest, and he wanted to make sure he did so before this phase of the party ended. It took every ounce of willpower he could muster to remove his cock from the deep, tingly cave of Yvette's mouth, but he did so and presented the wet, red organ to Wanda.
A fleeting smile crossed Wanda's full lips as she moistened them with the pink tip of her tongue and leaned forward. The smile seemed a dismissal of the other girls' best efforts, as assertion of her superiority in any contest of this kind. If her smile was meant for a boast, she lived up to it. Teddy gasped as the soft delights of her lips and tongue enfolded his prick and began working on its hard length. He sank deeper and deeper into a swirling sexual vortex that seemed capable of sucking his soul out.
"Leila's turn," he muttered breathlessly. "Not-yet!"
He couldn't bear now to keep his cock out in the cold ah instant longer than he had to. He was certain that the next girl who sucked his cock would eat his come. His stiff meat was so inflamed by their lascivious teasing that he wasn't even sure he could keep himself from coming in the empty air. He turned hastily and plunged it between the next pair of provocatively upraised lips. He had slipped half the length of his prick inward before he realized that the girl he was fucking in the mouth wasn't Leila. It took another instant before the full impact of recognition hit him like a blast of freezing air on his spine.
"Kathi!" he cried, his voice a strangled scream.
"Mmmmm," she murmured, rolling her eyes up to stare at him with gleeful malice as she sucked harder. "You can't! No-stop!" he groaned, striving to step back or push her away. But he could do nothing to evade this incestuous union, or so he told himself. The other girls surrounded him, holding him, pressing him in place with their naked flesh, and he could summon up no energy to resist them. His mind and his will had drained away into the rigid column of flesh thrust deep into his lovely niece's mouth. His prick was making its own decisions, and he could only follow its lead.
He hardly noticed her technique. He couldn't have said whether she was as skillful as Wanda or Yvette or Leila or Mary. Skill had nothing to do with it. This was by far the best, because it was Kathi who was doing it: Kathi, who had usurped Julia's place as the great love of his life, who was more desirable than Julia had ever been. He could stand only a few seconds of her swirling, sucking mouth-love. He writhed erratically as his cock began to pump its load into her mouth. He would have fallen to the floor if the girls hadn't held him up. The sinuous muscles of Kathi's throat writhed under her ivory skin as she swallowed and sucked for more and swallowed again.
XIX
Someone had provided a chair for Teddy. He needed one. He sat staring at the floor between his bare toes, avoiding Kathi's gaze as she rested her chin on his thigh. He tried to sort out the insane commingling of emotions that tore him first one way and then the other.
"...so, you see, you can't punish me for being, um, promiscuous, you know, if you're, you know, the same way," said Kathi, apparently concluding a long and involved argument that he hadn't been listening to. "Especially when the real reason you punish me is because you want me for yourself."
"You've made your point," he said unhappily. "You don't have to keep hammering it into my head."
"But you can't really be happy unless you love everyone, not just Kathi, and unless you're willing to share her love with others," said Wanda, who had been providing a running commentary on Kathi's argument.
"I guess I have no choice," he said, remembering that horrible film, remembering especially the scene where Kathi had taken on eight men at once, just as her mother had done. It was impossible for him to complain about that, now that she'd been a part of his orgy with five girls.
Kathi stood up before him and said: "But if I get Wanda's message right, it's that arguments and words are just a lot of bullshit. Feeling is what counts, and being, and doing."
Teddy knew his limitations, and he knew that these two persuasive women, having joined forces, would control every decision he made in his life from now on. His resistance was already demolished. But he felt obliged to protest, if only to ease his conscience. "That's anti-intellectualism," he said. "Following your instincts can lead you to murder just as easily as it can lead you to love."
"Oh, sure, just put a label on something, and put it down, and everything's cool," Kathi sighed wearily. "If that kind of linking is right, how come you're such a fucked-up mess?"
Kathi stepped forward, straddling his knees, and looked down at him with an expression of lecherous anticipation. It was obvious that she meant to reinforce her argument by abandoning words and stating her case with her body. Directly on a level with his eyes was the wedge of dark curls leading down between her legs. His hands slid up the taut skin of her legs to cup her ass and pull her closer.
"Go ahead and eat me," she murmured. "I did it to you."
She spread her bare feet wider, pushing her pelvis forward slightly. Now the red slipperiness of her slit was revealed in its nest of reddish brown fluff. Surprisingly, she was already aroused, hot and ready for his tongue. Beads of juice glittered in the swirls of her damp pubic hair. Previous experience had taught him that women don't generally become sexually stimulated by talking about sex. He wondered if Kathi's excitability was due to her conditioning at Wanda's hands or to a bad case of hereditary nymphomania.
As he pulled her closer, he began to feel the warmth and smell the musk of her tender young pussy. Simmering in its own juice, it exuded an odor that was a little like strong cheese or some tempting seafood delicacy. Teddy hadn't heard Wanda's lecture about sexual odors yet, but he knew that he liked what he smelled.
He tormented himself by withholding the delicious morsel he wanted so much to kiss. He caressed her belly and thighs with his lips while he kneaded the flesh of her buttocks with probing fingers. He kissed his way downward from the prim cup of her navel, and the hair on her pubic mound tickled his chin.
"Kiss my cunt," she murmured, burying her fingers in his hair and gently forcing him down. "Stop fucking around and get your tongue in my cunt ... please!"
His forehead pressed her firm, flat belly as he kissed his way into the forest on the bump that crowned her pussy. The hair felt damp on his tongue as he licked his way steadily lower. The hair gave way to soft, slick flesh. The tip of his tongue nudged between the slimy folds. The smell became stronger as he began to taste the salty slush, and the smell and the taste made his cock quiver upward once again to swollen rigidity.
She wriggled closer, groaning. Sweat trickled down her ass and made it slippery beneath his hands. His tongue at last began its exploration of the valleys beside her tight, rubbery clitoris, and her groans changed to deep-throated grunts of unashamed lust. He worked his way lower, raising his face and plastering his lips against the quivering warmth. She clutched his hair until her grip hurt.
"Eat it, you mother fucker, you dirty mother ... fucker!" she grunted, and he winced at what seemed to be a reference to his old secret.
Everyone seemed to know his secrets. He was afraid to ask them how they knew, lest they trot out a few more of his secrets for inspection. It reinforced the awe that he felt for Wanda Fleurette. He stopped thinking about Wanda and let his mind drift away on a misty sea of Kathi's odorous pink flesh. The only reality left in the world was the cleft between her cunt lips, the dripping cavern that he struggled to probe to its ultimate depths with his tongue. She bent her knees and squatted over him to jam her cunt harder against his mouth. She writhed and twisted, swabbing his nose and lips and chin with the sopping mat of her pubic hair.
Kathi's stance was awkward. She had to struggle to keep her balance, bracing herself with one hand on his shoulder and the other tangled in his hair. She shifted from side to side as she tried to solidify the tight weld of her cunt and his mouth. As she twisted, the silken skin of her thigh rubbed from time to time against his hard cock. The friction delighted him, and it built his excitement up to explosive force.
He began deliberately seeking the touch. He twisted his hips to rub his prick against her shapely calves. She moaned a complaint when he pulled his mouth out of her sweating crotch for a moment.
"I...", he started to say, but sudden guilt made it impossible for him to find the right words.
"You're not going to come on my leg, are you?" she demanded, pulling back. "Come over here, and let's fuck."
Kathi turned and took a few steps away from him, injecting a deliberate sexiness into her walk, exaggerating the swing and quiver of her rosy buttocks. His eyes were glued to her. He saw that her inner thighs were smeared with the juice that had oozed from her cunt. She turned her head and smiled at him over her shoulder, delighted with his lustful fascination.
She turned to face him and lay on the bare stage, spreading her legs in a plainly lascivious invitation that displayed the wide-open juiciness of her hairy cunt.
"Come here," she murmured, beckoning. "Get it while it's hot."
He didn't dare think about what he was doing or what he had already done. For months now he had been tottering precariously on the brink of temptation, lusting for his niece's ripening body, and Wanda and Kathi had conspired to shove him right over the edge. Perhaps he would hate himself, tomorrow; but now was all that mattered. He rose from his chair.
He glanced around the stage and was surprised to see that he and Kathi were alone. He would have liked to deepen his acquaintance with Wanda, to say nothing of Yvette and Leila and Mary, but they had slipped away. Perhaps they wanted Kathi to have all the credit for his conversion. Against his better judgment, he was well on his way to becoming a convert: he needed some justification for his behavior, and Wanda's philosophy conveniently provided it.
He approached her with the intention of eating her cunt some more, but he was distracted by her voluptuous tits. He hungered to sample those big, bare delights with his mouth. Her golden-tan flesh undulated as she shifted to stretch out at full length. He lay beside her and captured one of her creamy boobs in his mouth while he fondled the other with his groping hand. Her fingernails tickled his prick with calculated care.
Kathi pushed tight against him, thrusting her tit deeper into his sucking mouth and locking him in the lithe embrace of her thighs. She tightened her hold on his prick and pushed it downward. She rubbed its head against the damp curls of her cunt.
"Stick it in," she whispered in his ear.
He gave a choking sob of ecstasy and despair as he rolled to lie on top of her. She moaned, twisting her hips to make his cock slide across the slush of her cunt. He eased downward and felt his prick beginning to slip into her pussy.
"Do it," she sighed, even though such encouragement was unnecessary now, "do it!"
She rubbed her thighs against his flanks, pulling her knees higher so he could give her every last inch of his thrusting meat. His hands slid beneath her ass to lift her and join them closer as he drove his hot prong even deeper into the sucking jelly between her legs.
He would have liked to start off slowly and prolong his excitement while he built hers up, but she didn't want to wait. She needed no more buildup. She vibrated her hips, flinging herself against him and slapping her ass against the floor. Their bones collided hard with the force of their fucking.
"Oh, God, it feels so good I can't stand it!" she cried, bucking even harder and faster against him as she massaged his cock with the clinging juices of her turbulent cunt.
He clutched her tighter, digging his fingers into her firm young ass. His prick plowed deeper on each stroke as he adapted his rhythm to the hip-pounding tempo of her vibrations. Her bare tits rubbed his chest and her lust-hardened nipples grazed him excitingly as she twisted from side to side in their sweaty embrace. He had never triggered such an explosion of lust in a woman before. Not even prostitutes, in their sham transports, could match the ardor of Kathi's lust to fuck. Her enthusiasm was contagious. He held her harder and fucked her deeper, trying to burst free from his body's cage and blend their bones together.
The itching in his cock became a shimmery tingle that warned him he would soon be evicted from this paradise. He struggled to hold her body motionless and regain his self-control by pulling her ass up harder, but she refused to slow the insane gyrations of her hammering hips. The clutch of her legs locked harder on him as she strove to milk his prick with her engulfing cunt.
She shrieked, and her voice cracked as her nails sliced into the flesh of his back. He knew that he had succeeded in making her come, and he no longer felt any need to delay his climax. He abandoned himself to his pleasure, humping her at a speed that matched even her wildest efforts.
He hardly noticed her nails tearing into his back. All of his senses, all of his feelings were concentrated in the cock that impaled her as he jammed it in and out, faster and faster, driving her to fresh screams and babbles of pleasure. She slipped and bucked and wiggled against him in a renewed frenzy.
He cried out, too as he felt a sudden, explosive release of the delectable tensions that had been building up to an unbearable pitch in his hard-driving cock. He slipped it even deeper as he felt his sizzling load of come erupt into the clutching depths of her cunt. He kept shoving it into her for as long as he could, blasting her up to newer crests of pleasure, before he felt his prick beginning to go soft. He collapsed on the lush pillow of her sweating tits, gulping for air.
As Teddy disengaged himself from Kathi's embrace, he was surrounded by a prolonged crashing noise that he couldn't immediately identify. His hazy euphoria prevented him from being startled or alarmed. He felt only a mild curiosity about the source of the noise. Even when he turned and discovered that the sound was loud applause, that Wanda's groupies had returned unnoticed to infiltrate the first three or four rows of the theater, he felt neither anger nor embarrassment.
He felt that he ought to say something. Without reflecting, he blurted out the only words that came to mind: "Goddammit, I've been saved!"
The applause escalated to cheers.
Teddy's parents had died long ago. At least, his mother had died; his father had faded or evaporated, and Teddy, if asked, would have been hard put to remember the date or circumstances of that event. The estate was Teddy's, to do with as he wished. His aunts and uncles and cousins weren't surprised when he donated the estate and much of his money to Wanda's Foundation. They had always suspected that he was the sort of Sculthorpe who would one day get religion. Considering his sister's lifestyle, they weren't even surprised by his choice of creeds.
His character wasn't altered by his conversion. Elected chairman of the Foundation's board of trustees, he installed himself in a small suite of rooms, convenient to a back staircase, on the top floor of his former home. A secretary was given strict orders to discourage those he didn't wish to see, a category of persons including nearly everyone except Wanda Fleurette and his niece.
Most of the wrecked cars were towed away at Wanda's insistence, but she permitted him to retain a dozen choice relics behind the main house. One day while staring out the window at these cars and absent-mindedly scratching his new beard, Teddy got a bright idea. He decided to put it in the form of a memo to the Foundation's public relations director, a man whose name perpetually escaped his memory.
Teddy's message, written on one of the several thousand sheets of blue memo paper that he had retained from the sale of the Press, read as follows:
"Suggest that the erotic potential of old automobiles, circa 1955, might be exploited in a form of sexual therapy that would attract public interest in the Foundation. People in their 30's who now have sexual hang-ups might be cured if they were permitted to relive their earliest sexual experiences, i.e. making out in the back seats of such automobiles. I do not presume to suggest that this type of therapy would really work, but since nostalgia for such things seems to be running high at this point in time, it might made a clever peg on which to hang a human interest story that you could try to plant in the N.Y. Times, or possibly in the Village Voice, or, failing that, in Screw. Use whichever automobiles you need for pix, etc., making sure that the models do not mess up the upholstery. Do not repeat not query me on this memo."
The oversized black man whom Wanda had hired as jack-of-all-trades around the estate brought the memo to Frank Weston's desk. "Message fum de Big Bwana, Mas-suh Frank," he said, and he retreated from the office, laughing.
Frank scowled after him. He didn't know why Len Gray always talked to him like that, or what he found so amusing about him, but Len seemed barely able to control his mirth whenever Frank appeared. like everyone else at the Foundation-not even excluding WandaLen was beginning to get .on Frank's nerves.
Frank read the memo. Then he picked up his phone and asked the switchboard for Teddy's line.
"Mr. Sculthorpe's office," said his secretary.
"This is Frank Weston. Let me speak to Mr. Sculthorpe."
"Mr. Sculthorpe is not in," said the secretary, as she always did, "May I take a message?"
"Yes. Please tell Mr. Sculthorpe to come down and get his memo and shove it up his ass," Frank said, and he hung up.
Frank drove home, feeling like a man going home from prison. Wanda hadn't converted him; she had entrapped him and enslaved him with her beauty and temporarily dazzled him with the apparent freedom of her licentious ideas. But the freedom had been an illusion, leading back in a circle to the "Sculthorpe Specials" that used to be the principal torment of his life.
He resolved to get a shave and a haircut and a proper job. The first thing he would do though, would be to try to bridge the gap that had been steadily widening between himself and Mary. He would talk to her and get to know her again. Perhaps he would even tell her just a little about what he had been doing all these months and tell her how he had finally seen the light.
"What is the answer, O Maharishi?" his wise-guy neighbor cackled at him, but Frank ignored him as he hurried up the path to the front door.
The house was empty. Donny Emmons had reluctantly gone home some time ago, when Frank had convinced him that Teddy Sculthorpe wasn't lusting for his blood. Unaccountably, he still hung around a lot. He wasn't here now, though, and the children were presumably in school. He had expected Mary to be home, but she wasn't. It was some time before he discovered the note on the kitchen table:
Dear Frank, Love! Be! Rejoice in your body! Wanda and I thought it best to hide my conversion from you for a while, but now I have progressed to a plane of enlightenment where it is impossible to hide anything.
I have received a grant from the Foundation to go and spread the Good News to Cincinnati, Ohio, and I thought it best to leave before you could raise tiresome objections. I know that your commitment to the Message is not total, Frank, and I grieve for you. Follow me if you must, but do not try to place obstacles in the path of Truth!
I love you, Frank. Please believe that. But I love everybody else, too, and I cannot withhold my love from them. I have taken the children with me, hoping that my efforts can spare them from the kind of warped upbringing that we enjoyed. The story that Wanda told me about Mr. Sculthorpe and his sister, supplemented by selected readings in the works of Wilhelm Reich, has given me a shining example by which to raise Franny and Jack. I know that you will have misgivings about this, but you must trust me. Achieving happiness is not always fun.
I remain, not your loving wife, but a loving woman, my own person, Mary.
