Heads turned as Iris Fuller's firm, compact body came out of the water and ran up onto the sandy beach, where she and Dirk Norman had left their big striped umbrella, blanket, towels and other paraphernalia, swishing her long, wet, golden-red hair behind her. She glanced neither right nor left, her head held proudly as a girl well aware of her long, superbly rounded legs, slight waist, well-defined buttocks and vibrant, juicy young breasts.
Iris tried to pay no attention to the chorus of gasps and murmurs that followed her as she hurried back over the hot sand in a bright emerald-green bikini. She fought desperately against the full blush that threatened to come; although she couldn't really blame anyone for staring. The water had shrunk the clinging top to little more than a concession to propriety, barely covering her water-swollen nipples, making it a sort of contest whether or not one of her breasts would pop out of her halter with each step she took. The bottom covered even less territory. Following the line of her groin where it joined her thighs, it left little to the imagination except the coloring of her pubic hair.
The spot she and Dirk had staked out for themselves was up against a bluff that shielded them against the wind and blowing sand and prying eyes. When she got there, Iris threw herself face down upon the big blanket. Dirk was only a few steps behind her.
Tall and darkly handsome with a well-tanned, wide-shouldered physique, Dirk himself rated more than a fair share of attention from the distaff members spread out along the stretch of beach. As he dropped to his knees on the blanket beside Iris, he asked, "How's about turning over, darling?"
Iris shook her head. "Uh-uh."
"Why not?"
"My suit shrank too much, darling. I don't want you to get excited," she whispered.
"What do you think lying that way does?" Dirk wanted to know as he placed a hand on her bare, wet buttocks, the bottom of her bikini covering little more than the crease between them.
"Darling!" Iris reproved with a little gasp as she felt her cheeks tighten and her anus tingle under his hand. "What will people think?"
"If you're talking about the men," Dirk replied with a half-smile, "they'll wish they were me. So if you don't want to start a full-scale stampede, you'd better turn over."
Grabbing up one of the large beach towels and clutching it in front of her shyly, Iris moved back further under the widespread umbrella, where they were pretty much hidden from the eyes of voyeurs in the area. Then she turned over on her back.
Dirk leaned over her, his face close to hers. She moistened her lips invitingly.
He kissed her, covering her near-nakedness with his wet body, and she could feel a sticky moisture settling in her vagina, mingling with the dampness of the salt water.
She wished they were somewhere else besides here at the beach. Some place where they'd be alone and no one could see them. Then she could have slid a hand down inside his trunks and handled his cock, the way he'd showed her.
She remembered how terribly shy and afraid she was the first time. He practically had to force her to put her hand there. But after a couple of times, she got used to it. Now she liked to handle him. She liked to watch the expression in his eyes, see how excited he always got. It gave her a thrill to think she was able to make him feel that way, bring him so much pleasure.
The same way he brought her pleasure when he fondled the inside of her thighs and delicately caressed her pussy with his fingertips.
That was as far as they had gone in the couple of months they'd known each other. Not because she had the slightest doubt in her mind that she loved Dirk, nor because of the fact that he was past thirty and she was just twenty. There was much more to it than that.
Iris had been brought up in an atmosphere of religion and probity. Her father was a lay preacher in the Bible Belt, who quoted the gospels at the slightest provocation. His lifelong ambition was to have a son who would become an ordained minister. But he had no son. So Iris changed his mind about male-oriented theology and pointed her future toward the ministry.
After her graduation from high school, Iris left the rigid confines of her home to continue her study for the ministry at one of Southern California's theological seminaries. She was well on her way toward ordination when Dirk Norman came into her life to scramble her thinking, turn her world completely around.
It was Dirk who pointed out to her what a wasteful thing it was to hide a fabulously formed, God-given young body like hers. Dirk, who convinced her to wear clothes that would show off her beautiful figure to full advantage, like the bikini she was wearing now. Dirk, who taught her how to kiss, put her warm little tongue in his mouth while his hands touched the most intimate parts of her body and brought her thrills she'd never known before. But this was as far as she would allow him to go with her. The rest would have to wait, Iris insisted, until after they were married. Which brought everything to a stalemate-because Dirk already had a wife!
"But I'm divorcing her," Dirk had told Iris repeatedly. "I started proceedings before I knew anyone like you even existed. In another few weeks the decree will be final, then I'll be free to marry you."
Iris remained adamant. They should still wait, she asserted. But now, during the past week, a situation had arisen that called for a sharp reappraisal of her plans. A situation that prompted Dirk's next question. A pressing, all-important question that he had waited until now to put to her.
"Made up your mind yet, darling?" he asked against her mouth as he continued to kiss her, his hand working beneath the towel that covered her. Slowly it moved upward over her warm, damp, flat stomach to gently squeeze her breasts through the wet material of her halter.
Her nipples, already puckered and aroused from the water, began to itch for relief. "Please, Dirk...don't make me decide now...."
He slid his hand beneath her bikini top and found one of her nipples, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. "I've got to know."
What Dirk had to know was the answer to a proposal he had made to her a week before. Since that time, Iris had lived with the problem, taken it to class with her at the seminary, slept with it at night. Because her answer would affect her whole life.
Dirk wanted Iris to go with him on a cross-country trek that would take at least a month to complete. Not alone. They would be part of a caravan that would leave California and travel eastward to New York, visiting most of the important cities on the way.
It was all part of a publicity gimmick to promote Gloria Green's latest film, Camper, that she had made for an independent movie company called Rollo Styles Productions. Gloria and Rollo would go along for the ride, too, with everyone traveling in super-deluxe campers. Five couples in all.
As publicist for Rollo Styles Productions, Dirk had dreamed up the idea of the caravan to sell the film, which meant that he had to make the trip, too, and he wanted Iris to accompany him...share his camper with him, as the other four couples would share theirs.
"It'll be like a honeymoon," was the way Dirk presented it to Iris. "The two of us together for more than a month."
"Except that it won't really be a honeymoon, because we won't be married," Iris modified.
"But we will be as soon as the trip ends," Dirk reassured her. "Maybe even before that, if my final decree comes through."
"But the others will know we aren't married, Dirk," Iris pointed out to him. "What will they think?"
"Think?" Dirk laughed disarmingly. "Darling, this isn't the turn of the century. You're living in the jet age. People don't worry about marriage today. Especially not those in the smart set we'll be traveling with. In fact, they'd think a couple pretty stupid if they didn't find out whether or not they're compatible before they got married. Besides, if it'll make you feel any better, only two of the other couples are married. So that'll put us in the majority."
Which only made Iris' problem that much more complicated. She wanted to go along. More than anything in the world, she wanted to be one of the couples who would make the trip. Not only because she loved Dirk and knew that what he said was true-that it could be the most wonderful experience she'd had in all her twenty years-but she had never really had an opportunity to know people like Gloria Green and Rollo Styles and all the other important, exciting, "beautiful people," who would be going along. People she had read and heard about, had seen on TV and in the movies.
Iris was thrilled just to think that they would be willing to accept her, allow her to accompany them. But at the same time that old devil conscience plus the strict surroundings she'd been brought up in, the moralistic teachings that had been a tangible part of her upbringing, were still there to haunt her, to remind her that "nice young girls" do not share campers with men to whom they aren't married, no matter how extenuating the circumstances.
Without her being fully aware of it, Dirk's hand, still beneath the towel, had moved down from her breasts to find its way between her thighs. The bottom of her bikini offered little protection and she could feel his knowledgeable fingers against her raw, open cuntlips pushing into the warm wetness of her hole.
"Oh, no, darling...no," she breathed into his mouth. "I can't take it...you're...you're going to make me come...."
Two short months ago "come" was a word Iris never would have dreamed of using, even if it had been included in her vocabulary. But along with a lot of other choice words, Dirk had taught her to say and think nothing of it when they were alone together, making love as they were now. But somehow "now" was different. She could never remember being so hot before in her life. Her loins felt as if they were in flames. Her breasts ached with wanting.
Maybe it was the water that had made her so supersensitive, especially down there. No one had ever fingered her pussy, stroked her clit immediately after she had come out of the water, the way Dirk was doing now.
Or maybe the fact that she knew if she didn't make the trip with him this could very well be the last time she'd see him for more than a month. Perhaps for good.
Maybe it was all these things and more that brought everything to a head and started her hips moving involuntarily as she rubbed her pussy against his fingers and wailed, "Oh, Dirk, darling. I want you...want you so much."
Dirk took it as his cue to pull back from her slightly, slide his slippery, wet fingers out of her cunt and withdraw his hand from between her thighs. Obviously, he didn't want to finish her for fear of breaking her mood.
"And I want you, darling," he whispered, then hesitated a moment before asking, "Shall we go to my place?"
She gasped for breath as her fingers, suddenly fierce and demanding, reached up for his face and brought him down to meet her mouth and the scalding touch of her tongue that darted serpent-like into his mouth to engage his tongue in passionate eroticism.
He broke the kiss and pulled away, breathing heavily, his cock beneath the thin material of his trunks hard and throbbing against her naked thigh. He searched her blue-green eyes and repeated his question. "Shall we go there, darling?"
Her breasts moved spasmodically against his naked chest, her eyes wet and shimmering with passion as she met his gaze. She had never been to his apartment, even though he had invited her there repeatedly. Not because she didn't want to go. She did. But she was afraid. Not of him. Of herself. Because she knew full well what would happen if ever she went there.
Maybe that was the answer. Maybe if she went there with him and she let him have his way with her, it would soften the blow of her not going on the trip with him. It would prove to him how much she loved him and maybe he would understand and come back to her when the trip was over. Of course, being separated from him for more than a month would be maddening. But if she knew he was coming back to her....
Reaching up again, she brought his mouth down to hers for another scorching kiss as she heard him repeat his question for the third time. "My place, darling?"
With a sudden outburst of passion, she kissed his mouth, his eyes, his cheeks, his nose and then his mouth again as she clung to him and whispered, "If that's what you want, my darling...yes...."
He returned her kiss with a new enthusiasm and intensity that made her insides churn and the ends of her toes curl under. Then he disentwined himself from her arms and got to his feet, the bulge in his crotch area more pronounced than she had ever seen it before.
She watched him start to hurriedly take down the umbrella and fold it away. Then with fever threatening to consume her body, she tossed aside the towel that had been covering her so properly and arose. Together they folded the blanket and gathered up the rest of their belongings.
No longer was she concerned about the skimpiness of her bikini, or how much he could or couldn't see of her body. She knew that in a very little while he'd see all of her, every intimate part.
2
With the possible exception of the view, there was little to distinguish Dirk's apartment from most of the other male pads in the area. Located on an upper floor of one of Santa Monica's tall apartment buildings, overlooking the ocean, it consisted of three rooms plus a kitchen and John. According to Dirk's attempt at humor: "On a clear day you can see halfway to China from the bedroom. But when the smog rolls in, you're lucky to be able to make out the pigeons coughing on the sill right outside the window."
So far the day had been crystal clear. But now as Iris and Dirk stood at the bedroom window nursing a couple of martinis that he had mixed, they could see the fog rolling in off the ocean with the gathering darkness. Of more immediate concern to Iris was the fact that as Dirk stood close behind her, through the thinness of her summer dress she could feel the heat and hardness of his cock against her buttocks. She made no attempt to move away from him. Instead, she shifted her cheeks until his tool was fitted vertically into the crease between them.
Placing his empty glass on a table near the window, he encircled her waist with both arms and while she finished her drink, his hands moved up to cup and massage her tits through her dress and bra.
Turning her head, Iris looked up at him over her shoulder with heavy-lidded eyes. Breathing heavily, she asked, "Do...do you know how you're making me feel, Mister Norman?"
"Maybe you'll feel better over on the bed," he suggested.
She didn't offer any argument as he took her more than half-empty glass in one hand, her hand in the other and walked her across the room to the king-sized bed. He sat her down on the edge of it and left her there while he freshened her drink and fixed another for himself. He brought the two glasses back to the bed, where she was still sitting, waiting for him.
She kicked off her shoes. Her tight skirt was hiked more than halfway up her white, stocking-less thighs.
He proffered one of the glasses to her. "If you think it's too much, don't drink it," he said. "For all the world, I wouldn't want either of us to get drunk-not tonight."
She took the glass and smiled up at him. "I don't think a few sips will hurt. I'm so terribly thirsty after the beach."
They sat there in silence for a long time, nursing their drinks, while staring out the window at the darkening sky. Finally he placed his empty glass on the night table beside the bed, and turning to face her he said, "You made one terribly big concession today, darling. You finally agreed to come here with me. And I'm very grateful. Now if you'd make just one more and say you'll come along on the trip, I'd be the happiest guy alive."
She put her empty glass beside his on the table, then took his face in her hands and kissed him, open-mouthed. "Don't ask me to do that, Dirk. Please don't."
"But why not? If it's your job you're worried about, I'll find you another. If it's school, you'll be back home by the end of September. All you've got to lose are a few weeks."
She shook her head. "That's just it, darling. You don't understand. If I went away with you, I couldn't go back to school."
He frowned. "Why not?"
"There'd be no point in it. I couldn't possibly continue to aim for a religious career and know in my heart that I'd done something wrong."
"Wrong to be with somebody you love?" he asked testily.
"No. Wrong to live with someone as his wife, do all the things that I'd want to do-and you'd expect of me," she tried to explain to him.
"And what about right now?" he wanted to know as he pushed her gently backward onto the bed and hovered over her.
"Once might be excusable," she rationalized. "Because I want to prove to you how much I love you. But to live with you, darling, to keep on doing it, knowing it was wrong, I could never hope to justify that in my own mind."
He kissed her fervently, running his hands over her body. Iris made no attempt to stop him, or fight against the first stirrings of real passion that began inside her. Maybe it was the thought of actually being in bed with him in his apartment, or the anticipation of what was inevitable, but the fever continued to rise in her loins, in her belly, causing her to writhe and pant beneath him.
"Ohh, Dirk, darling," she quaked. "I feel so funny...so wonderfully funny and weak. Why do I feel that way whenever I'm with you, darling?"
"Maybe it's love?"
"It's more than love, darling! It's you! It's needing you. Wanting to be a part of you."
She felt his hand on her thigh now, pushing upward under her skirt and onto her gossamer panties. She kept her thighs pressed closely together.
"Open up, darling," he whispered.
"I'm so...so wet."
"You've been wet before."
"Not like this."
"That's good. That's how you're supposed to be."
"Are you wet down there, too."
"See for yourself."
Iris needed no second invitation. She slid her hand down inside the waistband of his trousers and through the fly of his shorts to grope between his legs for his cock. He'd made a slimy mess of himself all right.
"You...you didn't come...did you?" she asked with concern.
"I wouldn't be this hard if I had," he informed her.
Satisfied that he, too, was wet, Iris slowly parted her legs so that he could get his hand between them. It lifted her when his fingertips brushed lightly over her cuntlips through her drenched panties. She squeezed his cock and sighed ardently as he kissed her, his lips grinding against hers, inviting her tongue into his mouth so he could lick and suck on it.
Suddenly she took her hand from his cock and drew away from him, both her hands reaching behind her to try to reach the zipper at the back of her dress.
"My breasts," she panted. "They feel all floaty. Like balloons."
"Alcohol does that sometimes."
"Ooh, they want you to touch them, darling. Kiss them," she wailed as a paroxysm of lust shook her. "Help me with my zipper. Help me get my dress off."
He reached behind her and stripped down the zipper and together they removed her dress. She wore no slip, just a bra and spider-web panties through which he could see the crop of golden-red hair that covered her mons, shades darker than the hair atop her pretty head.
He seemed to get some unexplainable satisfaction out of putting a hand down inside her bra, gently squeezing her breasts and fingering her hypersensitive nipples. Then as the bra came off, he stared down at her fabulous breasts. Not so much for their size, although they certainly were big enough, but because they were perfectly shaped somewhere between hemispherical and conical.
Even as their hands combined to pull down her passion-drenched panties, so wet that they adhered to her pussy lips like wet tissue, Dirk leaned into her and fastened his lips to her left nipple. Iris gasped, tingling head to toe as she felt his lips enclose the pap, draw it into his mouth and suckle it avidly.
"Ooh, Dirk," she swooned, as her hands went to the back of his brown-thatched head and forced his mouth into a deeper embrace. "I never knew...I never dreamed...anything could feel so wonderful. Ooh, darling, it's making me all hot and prickly between my legs. It's making me feel like I never felt before in my whole life...wonderful and delicious and terrible...like I want you to...."
"Want me to do what?" he prodded as his tongue tormented one nipple and his fingers plucked at the other. "Tell me what it is you want me to do?"
"You...you know," she panted, trying to control the writhing of her totally naked body.
"I want you to say it, darling," he insisted. "I want you to say the word."
"But it's such a dirty word."
"That's the only way to fully enjoy it...feel dirty, derangingly sexy," he tantalized as he moved his hand down from the right tit and threaded a finger into her tight virgin cunt, wiggling it in the warm, wet, glutinous flesh. "Say it-what is it you want me to do to you?"
Slowly, helplessly, she began to gyrate her hips, moving up and down against his finger.
"Say it," he coaxed.
"Fuck me," she breathed, her voice thick with passion. "Oh, Dirk, darling, I want you to...to fuck me."
"My sweetheart, my own sweet little cherry," he whispered as he kissed each nipple and dug his tongue deep into her mouth. "Oh, I'm going to fuck you all right. Nothing in the world could stop me from doing that. I'm going to fuck you like no man ever fucked a girl before in his life. But first.. . "
As if delirious with the mere thought of what it was going to be like, breaking in her exquisite young body, reaming her virgin cunt, spilling his sperm into her lovely belly, he began sliding his lips downward over her tits then lower to her belly, tonguing her navel.
"Oh, my darling," she mewled. "What are you doing to me? I'm so hot down there. It's like all on fire. I can't stand any more teasing. I'll go stark-raving mad if-if you don't put it in me!"
"Time, baby," he whispered against her undulating stomach. "We've got the whole night to be together...all tomorrow, too."
She hadn't quite figured on that. One time and then she'd go home, she had deluded herself into thinking. But she was in no mood right now to argue, even if she had the mind to.
"Never had your pussy kissed?" she heard him ask her.
She shook her head with her answer. "Never."
His lips began moving back and forth across her taut, slab-flat belly, skimming through the abundance of silky golden-red hair that covered her mons, gradually sneaking his tongue into the hot, wet flesh of her vagina. The musky feminine odor of her cunt plus the knowledge that he was the first to do this to her seemed to incite him further. For this was indeed virgin territory.
Iris moaned, quivered and began to thrash beneath his tongue. She tried desperately to push his face away from between her legs. "Oh, no, Dirk...please, no! It's degenerate. Please stop, darling."
He hesitated to look up at her, his lips smeared and glistening with her juices. "You like it, don't you? It feels good, doesn't it?"
"Oh, yes, yes! It feels too good. It makes me want to scream, cry out. I'm not sure if I want to live or die. Oh, Dirk...darling...help me...help me...."
He was back at her cunt again, his artful tongue strumming her clit, digging into her narrow tunnel with his lips inside her lips, licking on the membrane that was her hymen. He fastened his pursed lips onto her clitty and sucked hard, as if he were trying to draw it loose from its moorings.
Iris made no attempt to hold back any longer. Sobbing, whining, she spread her legs apart as wide as they would go, opening her cunt to his mouthing. Her hands at the back of his head again, drawing him ever deeper into her boiling twat, imprisoning his face between her hot, perspiring thighs, she welcomed his torturous tongue.
"Oh, Dirk...Dirk, my darling...my dear heart...my wonderful lover," she sobbed louder and louder, her voice pleading now. "Don't stop...not ever. Please, my adorable sweetheart. . . make me...make me come...."
And come she did! Moments later with the flat of his tongue sawing against the right side of her clit, Iris achieved the first full-scale orgasm in all her twenty years, with other than fingers.
Head thrown back, eyes closed and her back arched stiffly off the bed, it was as if a volcano had erupted somewhere deep in her entrails to spew its molten lava through her spasming body.
"Oh, God...Oh, God!" she kept echoing, the first time that she could remember ever having used the name of the Diety to express her emotion, as she held him suffocatingly between her legs, thighs clamped viselike against his head. She begged him frantically to continue licking her, sucking at her cunt, until finally she found satisfaction. Then she lifted his head and brought him up to cover her still-throbbing body and kiss his lips, still wet with the residue from her cunt. "I love you, darling. I never knew how much until this moment." She sighed deliriously. "So beautiful...so heavenly. Oh, Dirk. What would I do, what would I ever do, if you left me-and you never did that to me again?" She kissed him fiercely, threatening to devour his tongue. "Someday-if you want me to, I'll make you feel that way-you'll see, darling. I promise."
"It can wait," he said. "There'll be time. I don't need it right now. I don't need anything, except to fuck you."
3
Iris heard the metallic slide of a zipper as Dirk opened his fly and took out his cock. Without waiting to be asked, she put her hand down and wrapped her fingers around his member, cupping it in the palm. Then she shifted just enough so she could look down at it. It was the first time she had actually seen his cock. In spite of the several times she had held him, masturbated him, it had always been inside his trousers. A mental block perhaps, but as curious as she may have been, she had never been able to take his cock out and look at it-until now.
"Oh, Dirk!" she gushed delightfully as she moved her hand down his shaft so she could view the bulging, purple-red head. "He's-he's darling. Simply darling!"
"What did you expect?"
"The way the girls at school talked, I imagined a man's thing would be ugly, frightening."
Dirk frowned. "Girls at the seminary talked about men's cocks?"
It seemed not so unusual to Iris and she said, "They're just like any other girls, darling. Besides, if they hope to go out into the world as spiritual leaders, they've got to know about all sorts of things-else how could they possibly hope to communicate, to intelligently advise anyone?" She returned her attention to admiring his cock, unmindful of the pearly fluid that dribbled down over her fingers from the drooling head. "He's so big. So long and fat. I know I've handled him, but I never dreamed he'd be such a size." She squeezed the swollen flesh in her hand possessively, then began stroking it very slowly.
Dirk suddenly grasped her wrist, staying her hand. "You'd better quit while you're ahead."
He got off the bed, Iris' eyes never leaving his cock, still fascinated by its size and how obscene and arrogant it looked poking out of his fly.
"Where are you going, darling?" she asked anxiously.
He didn't go anywhere. He simply reached for a pile of towels from a chair near the bathroom door. "We'll need these." He paused as if there might be some small element of doubt in his mind, then added, "Won't we?"
She smiled. In this age of permissiveness, she couldn't blame him for wondering. Even in a place as cloistered as the seminary, virgins were a rarity. If the girls were to be believed, she was one of the very few remaining.
"There's been no one before you, darling," she assured him.
"I'm glad," he replied as he placed several of the towels beneath her buttocks so the bed sheets wouldn't be stained.
She continued to stare at his cock, bobbing up and down with each movement of his body, coming within inches of her face. Iris didn't know why, but she suddenly was seized with a fierce desire to put it to her lips, take it into her mouth, suck on it. Never before had she even dreamed she'd want to do such a thing. Perhaps with any other man she still wouldn't. But all Dirk would have to do, would be to ask her and she would have gladly let him fuck her that way. But that wasn't his intention.
She watched as he dropped his trousers and shorts and stepped out of them. His cock seemed even bigger curving up out of the clump of dark hair that covered his groin, his huge testicles hanging down in their wrinkled, hair-flecked bags between his legs.
He kicked off his shoes and unbuttoned his shirt and got onto the bed, his prick still throbbing hard and gushing like a geyser.
From the stories she had heard about first unions, about the bestiality and inconsideration of some men who make it a brutal sex experience, turning the woman against sex for the rest of her life, Iris had imagined that she would be frightened when this moment came for her. But there wasn't even the slightest hint of fear in her mind. Perhaps because she had acquired confidence in him during the two months they'd known each other, handling him, letting him touch her. Or maybe it was simply that she loved him so much, that she didn't really care if he hurt her, knew that he wouldn't do it intentionally. If he did cause her pain, she would never let him know. Because that might spoil his pleasure and she wanted him to enjoy her to the fullest.
His fingers were at her cunt again, strumming her clit with a slow rhythm, while he nuzzled her tits with his lips.
"You're going to make me come again, darling," she panted.
It was his cue to reach over and open the drawer of the night table. From inside he took a small plastic syringe.
She raised her carrot-topped head off the pillow. "What's that?"
"A gel, darling," he told her. "We don't want you to get caught first crack, do we?"
She swallowed. "No...."
He rubbed the heel of his left hand against her pubis. "Open up, baby."
Iris splayed her legs widely so that he could insert the syringe into her slit, back upon the cervix. She tensed a little as she felt the cool, jellylike, anti-spermicidal solution flooding her cunt, melting almost at once in the intense heat, and flowing down the insides of her thighs.
Putting aside the syringe, he covered her naked form with his body. She could feel his hand between their bellies, guiding his rock-hard prick toward her pussy, the puffy lips of which were separated and pointing outward to welcome the entrance of his phallus.
She mewled and twisted with anticipation as he kissed her labia with the head of his cock, then waited poised for a split second in her flooded foyer as he whispered, "Ready?"
"Oh, yes, darling," she breathed. "Yes. . . yes! Put it in me! Fuck me! Oh, Dirk!"
He took a deep breath and held it as he pressed into her cunt. Iris groaned, gasped and tried to move back away from the burning kiss of his cock, that felt like a white-hot stake being driven into her belly. But he grasped his hips and held her so site couldn't move, as he continued to push between the pink walls of her vaginal orifice.
She was excruciatingly tight and he was abnormally big and the hurt seemed to grow worse and worse the further he drove into her. She wanted to scream with the pain. But instead, she filled her lungs with air, grasped a handful of sheet at each side of her and picked a point on the ceiling on which to focus her vision.
Her only sound was a deep, strangled groan that came from the very depths of her being as the searing head of his phallus distended her dilatable hymen for several excruciating inches. Then with an almost audible implosion the stubborn tissue gave and she could feel the tiny flecks of blood sprinkle the insides of her thighs and dampen the towels beneath her buttocks.
There was a slight painful release as he pressed through the rupture and fed her the full eight inches of his cock. He lay quietly atop her for several moments, whispering, kissing her neck and shoulders and ears, her breasts squashed against his smooth chest.
"The worst part is over, darling," he murmured. He kissed her mouth. "Now you can relax and enjoy it."
Slowly and with masterful adroitness, Dirk began to move against her, withdrawing his cock until all but the glans was out of her. Then pushing into her again until he had achieved the deepest possible penetration, his balls slapping against her buttocks.
As Iris felt the pain gradually fading and was able to relax, Dirk showed her how to receive maximum stimulation by pressing her mons up against him as he fitted the base of his cock tightly against her clit and continued to move in and out of her, guiding her into his rhythm.
As Iris felt herself approach her first coitus-induced orgasm, it was everything she'd dreamed it would be-and more! Every nerve and fiber in her entire body tingled with excitement as the whole pace of her being quickened. She could feel her heart pounding, driving the blood through her veins while her breathing gave way to panting and moaning. Down below, her genitals went wild. She thought surely every tiny blood vessel in the vicinity of her cunt would burst. Her cunt itself throbbed wildly as if trying to chew and swallow up the length of male flesh that kept boring in and out of her. She could feel herself losing all conception of the things around her as her whole consciousness centered on the vital area between her thighs.
Then suddenly and beautifully it happened! Incredible, indescribable sensations shot from her clit, her cunt and the entire area around it through her body and into her brain.
"Oh, Dirk!" she cried out as she arched her back and thrust her mons upward, the nerves and muscles surrounding her vulva expanding and contracting and continuing to send shock waves of the most intense feeling over her entire being.
He held still against her, waiting for her pelvic veins to empty, allowing her to enjoy her orgasm to its fullest. Then as a sense of relaxation began to flow through her, he resumed humping her.
How many climaxes she had after that, she had no way of really knowing. All she knew was that another first great thrill was hers a few moments later when she felt Dirk's cock swell to alarming proportions, hold still against the mouth of her womb-and then begin to buck uncontrollably as he shot round after round of his sperm into her belly. Hot, almost torrid, it was, yet it felt cool and soothing to the raw-edged white-hot walls of her cunt as she lay there and sucked out every drop of his life-giving male juice with her hungry pussy lips.
Only then did she allow herself to completely relax and drift away into a never-never land of ecstasy and serenity. A land that she knew she would want to return to with him, again and again.
4
It was a night that Iris was not likely to soon forget. A night of love that, as Dirk had promised, continued on into the next day. How many times Dirk had laid her, how many orgasms they both enjoyed, she never rightly knew. As the song says, "At a time like this, who keeps score?" Rather, it was something that might happen in the natural, normal course of events to any two people in love.
All Iris could remember, wanted to remember, were the many different ways they did it. But there was one time that Iris remembered most of all. It was late Saturday night or some time early Sunday morning. Dirk lay sprawled out naked on his back on the bed, his inflamed, shriveled penis hanging lifelessly between his legs. He told her that he was completely drained, that for neither love nor money could he get it up again.
"May I try, darling?" she whispered, her head resting on his belly, her long hair swirling over his limbs and body.
"Waste of time," he breathed exhaustedly.
"Mind if I try?"
He shrugged. "Enjoy yourself. But you'll only be disappointed."
Brushing back her hair behind her ears, Iris leaned over him, so that her face was directly above his limp cock. She slid her right hand between his thighs and lifted his cock and balls together and held them in her palm. Gently she stroked the wrinkled head of his cock, without even a flicker of response.
With the tips of her thumb and first two fingers, she lifted the lifeless morsel toward her mouth. She moistened her lips with her tongue, then let her tongue dart out and touch the purple-red head of his cock, tasting the crystallized residue from her cunt and his sperm that had formed there. Except for a mild saltiness there was no taste to it. But she did receive some encouragement, when his thighs jumped. Round and round the head of his cock her tongue went, then up and down the limp length of it, cleaning it as a mother cat might clean its kitten, bathing it in her saliva.
Then she shifted her position and got between his legs and did what she had promised him she'd do. She made an O of her lips and took him into her mouth, drawing him in deeper and deeper until she felt the head of his cock resting against her esophagus.
As she began to suck on him, she ran her tongue slowly and gently along the underside of his penis, mainly concentrating on the delicate vertical membrane about two inches below the head. It was then that Iris experienced the most wonderful feeling of conquest she had ever known. It was as if she were breathing life into it, as she felt his cock begin to stretch and swell out and harden.
Whether or not she could ever make him believe it, she was doing it purely by instinct plus the things he'd told her about the more sensitive parts of his highly responsive organ. Finally the cock grew to such a size that she had to pull back from him, because she couldn't take all of him in her mouth.
When she heard the tiny sounds of pleasure he was emitting and saw the way he was groveling his buttocks against the mattress and bending and unbending his legs at each side of her, she knew she'd found the key to driving him to ecstasy. Tightening her lips around his stem, she began a slow, steady in-and-out stroke, her mouth going up and down his length like a well-lubricated cunt. All the while she kept sucking and flicking her tongue back and forth over the underside of his glans.
She felt his fingers entwining themselves in her long hair, which was fanned out over his belly, as he gasped, "Don't stop! Oh, Christ! Whatever you do-don't stop now! Especially when I start to come. Don't pull off me. Just keep sucking...sucking...sucking...." His voice trailed off into incoherent babbling and he lifted his ass off the mattress as if trying to cram all his cock down her throat. "Oh...Christ!"
As prepared as she may have been for him, his first blast surprised her and drove her back from his cock. She saw the pearly droplets splatter on his belly, the excess running from the open tip. She remembered the last thing he told her and she captured his spurting tool in her mouth again and sucked on it hard, the taste of his semen driving her wild with a strange animalistic desire. She swallowed the sperm without being fully aware of what she was doing and kept swallowing it thirstily until he was drained and she felt his penis return to its original helpless, wrinkled, shrunken size.
It was shortly after five o'clock Sunday evening when the doorbell rang, interrupting what had been a seemingly never-ending round of sex. Of course, they had stopped for breakfast and lunch, but like the number of orgasms they'd exchanged, meals and even drinks were lost in the overall pleasures they had enjoyed.
Dirk said he had no idea who could be calling at this hour on Sunday. But when the ringing persisted, he threw on a bathrobe and leaving Iris in bed, went to the front door and answered it. When he returned to the bedroom, he told Iris no one had been there. But he showed her the large manila envelope that had been left at the door.
He tore open the flap and from inside the envelope he withdrew about a dozen glossy photographs. He studied each one carefully, the frown in his face deepening. But he didn't show them to Iris until after he had read the accompanying note to her:
Looks as if that divorce suit you filed against me has taken a sudden switch. Instead of YOU divorcing ME for infidelity and not paying me any alimony, according to these photos, you're the one who has violated our marriage covenant and committed adultery. They should make very interesting evidence at our divorce trial, darling.
Amy
Iris swallowed. "Your...your wife?"
"My wife," Dirk confirmed flatly, as at Iris' insistence he showed her the photographs.
If Iris had had any trouble remembering the events of the night before, these pictures would've helped her recall very vividly every sex act she and Dirk had committed.
There was Dirk atop her, with her legs wrapped around his middle.
There was she in the female-dominant position riding his cock.
There she was again on her face, her haunches gathered under her, while Dirk fucked her from behind, dog-style, and played with her dangling tits.
There she was being fucked standing, one foot on the floor, a knee on the bed.
There was she lying prone on the bed, with the most ecstatic expression on her face while his face was buried between her legs.
And there, most of all, was she with a face full of cock as he started to blow off.
There were others, equally condemning, but Iris had seen enough. She threw the pile of photographs to the foot of the bed and looked up at him tearfully.
"How...how did anyone possibly take these horrible pictures?" Iris wanted to know.
Dirk shrugged. "This used to be Amy's apartment as well as mine, so she had a key to it and the photographer probably slipped in and out while we were absorbed in making love."
"And will. . . will your wife really show these pictures to anyone?" Iris asked fearfully.
"You can make book on it."
"Isn't there some way to stop her?"
"Not a chance. She hates my guts, has just been waiting for something like this to happen. A million dollars couldn't pry the negatives from her," Dirk explained hopelessly. "I'm only sorry that you had to get mixed up in it, that you'll be subjected to all the unfavorable publicity that will come out of it."
"Publicity?" Iris echoed, horrified, as her heart seemed to stop for a couple of beats.
"Of course. That's what Amy wants. Publicity. She's an actress and she'll milk this thing to the last drop."
Iris buried her face in her hands, because she knew full well what it would mean to her future. In the face of something like this, she'd have to leave school. She couldn't even begin to hope of pursuing a religious career with something like this hanging over her head.
It would also mean alienating her parents. Living in the kind of strait-laced world, they would never begin to forgive her, she knew. Not only for what she did, for disgracing herself and them, but it would mean she had failed them, that she could never reach her goal, never satisfy her father's own frustrated ambitions to become an ordained minister.
"I...I don't know what I'm going to do," she sobbed. "I'll even be ashamed to stay here in town and go on working."
"You can still come along on the trip with me," Dirk pointed out to her. "And when the trip is over and we're married-who gives a damn what anybody says or thinks? You'll be Mrs. Dirk Norman."
She looked up at him, then threw her arms around his neck and pulled him down onto the bed atop her and kissed him wildly.
"Oh, darling!" she cried out emotionally. "I love you right at this very moment, more than I ever dreamed it was possible to love anyone."
It was a perfect lead for him to ask, "Does that mean you'll make the trip with me?"
"If you still want me to," she said in a small voice against his mouth.
Moments later his cock, miraculously hard again, was back in her cush, but her feelings were mixed.
While it might be true that she was thrilled with the thought of accompanying him on the month-long trip across country to New York, at the prospects of the exciting new life that would open up for her, she still wished her decision had come about by something other than those degrading photographs.
Too, it wasn't easy for her to close the book on twenty years of her life, to know that her parents would no longer consider her their daughter, that all the things to which she had aspired, all the things she had worked so hard to achieve had been wiped out.
Still, she was determined that she would never let Dirk know how she felt about giving up all these things, as she accepted his invasion of her body and gave him one hundred percent.
5
The caravan that would exploit Gloria Green's latest film was scheduled to leave Rollo Styles' studios at three o'clock Monday afternoon, the day following Iris' weekend of sex with Dirk in his apartment. To make sure there were no last-minute hitches that would delay the start of the trip, Dirk got to the studio shortly after one o'clock.
After a busy morning of notifying those at the seminary that she wouldn't be starting the fall term, quitting her job at the restaurant where she had been working, and giving up her one-room apartment, Iris accompanied Dirk to the studio.
The caravan, she learned, would consist of five brand-new, white-and-gold, twenty-two-foot campers, the sides of which were emblazoned with Gloria Green's name and the title of the movie they were promoting. In addition to the campers were several work trucks and trailers that would carry wardrobes, camera and sound equipment to record the trip, plus whatever else they might need in the way of supplies.
As Dirk told Iris, the campers would be occupied by four couples besides themselves. They could include: Gloria Green and her fifth husband, of less than a year, Bryan...Producer Rollo
Styles and his long-time wife Debra...Gloria's aging, but still-handsome, leading man, Paul Tyronne, and his latest teen-age "prot�g�"...and Otis Ames, Rollo's legal advisor and trouble-shooter, and Ames' "traveling secretary." From Iris' point of view, a very important group of people.
Since she had never been inside a camper, let alone faced the prospect of traveling cross-country in one, Iris was equally impressed when she entered the mobile home she would share with Dirk for more than a month. She was amazed to discover that it was an air-conditioned, fully contained unit, beautifully and tastefully decorated even to deep fuck rugs and lacy curtains at the windows, which would permit them to see out but allow no one to look in. There was a galley with a four-burner butane stove for cooking, a miniature refrigerator, a bath complete with shower, tub and bowl, a roomy dinette, plenty of wardrobe space, a well-stocked built-in bar, a portable color TV and in the rear of the cabin, twin beds that could be moved and joined together to make a regular-sized bed.
It was while Dirk was demonstrating the twin beds that he grabbed Iris and pulled her down onto one of the beds. He began kissing her and she could feel his hand beneath her short skirt moving off her nylon hose onto her bare thigh to follow one of her black satin garters up under her scanty lace panties.
"Let's get these things off and christen our new home for the next month," he whispered as he brushed aside her hair with his cheek so he could kiss her ear.
Iris shivered delightfully and squashed her breasts against his chest. "Right now, darling."
"Why not?"
She kissed him. "I thought maybe we could wait until tonight, especially with everybody walking around right outside."
It was true. The area where the campers and trailers were parked was alive with people: maintenance men making last-minute checks of the vehicles, those who would be traveling with the caravan carrying aboard the things they'd need for the trip, studio workers who came to have a last chat or look-see with their friends who would be leaving, and the usual run of curiosity seekers hoping for a look at Gloria Green or Paul Tyronne, or one of the other studio names who might be on hand. But, as Dirk told Iris, "Door's locked and nobody can look in. Besides-we might not spend tonight here in the camper."
Iris didn't get the chance to ask him what he meant, where they might spend the night, because he had her panties down past her knees and was fingering her pussy to eager wetness.
"Get up, darling," he whispered as with her help, he completed the job of removing her panties. "Now-stand over me."
Normally, Iris would have been embarrassed. But not with him. She followed his instructions to the letter because she wanted to please him. She stood over him facing the wall, one foot planted on the bed at each side of him. Then leaning forward, her head almost touching the ceiling, she supported herself with one arm against the wall, her free hand holding her skirt up above her hips.
Sandwiched as he was between her widespread legs, he simply had to tilt his head backward for a clear view of her red-bushed sex, the puffy lips open and glistening wet.
Iris squealed as she felt his tongue trace the bare flesh of her thighs just above the top of her silk stockings and lick slowly upward along the sensitive insides.
"Oh, Dirk!" she sighed with a slight lurch as his lips moved quickly and lightly over her pussy lips, his tongue slipping inside. He parted the lust-bloated lips with his fingers, peeled them back and slashed at the reddened pearl of her clit with the tip of his tongue. "Oh, Dirk...Oh, darling...I feel all crazy down there again...Oh, my love...Oh, I'm starting to come...."
Her moaning became more desperate and she jammed his face up between her burning thighs, holding him there imprisoned in her liquid pergola as she muffled a scream of pure ecstasy, timed with the orgasm that raged through her body.
She held still for several long moments, enjoying her climax to the fullest. Then she pressed her cunt down hard on his face, rubbing the soft, wet, still-pulsing flesh into his mouth, silently entreating him to lick and suck and chew her to another mind-shattering summit of completion.
When it was over, Iris slid down to kneel astride his lap. To her pleasant surprise, she discovered that somewhere along the line he had opened his fly and withdrawn his rock-hard cock. She greeted it with the wide-open lips of her cunt and lowered herself gently to him, letting his prick ease slowly between them and slide deeper and deeper up into the scalding heat of her belly.
"Sit still, darling," she purred as she ran her tongue over his ear. "Sit still and let me-fuck you."
"Enjoy yourself," he told her as he reached behind her and opened the zipper at the back of her dress. As she sat there straddling him, the full length of his cock shoved up into her guts, he pulled her dress off over her head, then removed her bra. Cupping her breasts, he lifted first one and then the other to his mouth, suckling the swollen pink nipples as she began to pump against him. She moved up and down very slowly, taking as much time as possible, so they could both enjoy it to the absolute maximum. Instead, this slow pace proved to be their undoing. Before he even began to reach his climax, a loud banging on the door interrupted them.
"Who the hell can that be?" he grumbled against Iris' tits. The answer came to him at once, with another round of door-pounding.
"Open up, Dirk, darling," a strong feminine voice said through the portal. "I know you're in there."
"Just a minute," Dirk called back. Then to Iris with a disgruntled sigh. "That would be Gloria!"
"Gloria Green?" Iris gulped as she felt her heart beating faster. After all, she had never met a full-fledged movie star. Understandably, she was excited. But with Dirk's cock throbbing inside her, she was torn between the two emotions, as the banging at the door continued.
"I'd better let her in," Dirk breathed reluctantly.
"Let me relieve you first, darling," Iris panted as she began to hump faster, rubbing her swollen lips against the hairy base of his prick with each downward thrust, trying to bring him on.
"Not a chance," Dirk breathed as he started to lift Iris off his tool. Obviously not the easiest thing in the world for him to do with his sperm tamping at the back of his scrotum begging for release.
Iris slid to the floor between Dirk's legs, her face only inches from the shiny, slippery-wet head of his prick. "Maybe if I sucked it?"
"Ooh, baby, don't tempt me," he muttered laboriously. "I feel like there's a white-hot ramrod stuck in my asshole...."
She knew how much he must want relief. He had told her how painful it could be for a man if he went this far and then was denied coming. How sometimes it made a man feel as if he had been kicked in the balls. Above all, she didn't want him to feel that way, especially not after the wonderful sensations he'd just brought her. Without awaiting further argument, Ms grasped his cock halfway down the stem, leaned into him and caught it in her mouth. She could feel his whole body tense as he lifted his rump off the bed.
"What the hell are you doing in there, Dirk Norman?" Gloria's voice shrilled from outside. "I want to talk to you-do you hear me? You open up this goddamn door, or I'll have it hammered in!"
It seemed to pull Dirk right down out of the clouds and he moaned to Iris, "She will, too!" He tried to move Iris' face away. But she wouldn't budge. She didn't know Gloria's temper. Unfortunately, Dirk did. Apparently he knew, too, that with Gloria interrupting, it was going to take him twice as long to ejaculate. There was nothing for him to do but grab a handful of Iris' hair and pull her lips, still open and grasping, from his swollen penis.
"Let me finish you," she panted.
"Christ, don't you think I want you to?" he groaned above the continued hammering on the door.
Iris sobbed with the desire to get back at his body, grasp his cock within her panting lips, but the hands kept her far enough away so that not even the tip of her tongue could lap at him.
"We'll have to wait 'til she goes," Dirk explained with obvious reluctance as he fought to keep his voice normal and free of passion. "Right now...you'd better get dressed."
Disappointedly, more for him than for herself, Iris got up, reached her dress and pulled it on over her head. She didn't have time to put on her bra or panties. So she hid them under one of the bedspreads.
Meanwhile, Dirk had gotten off the bed, and taken a moment to stuff his still-hard cock inside his trousers and zip up his fly. Then in an unsuccessful attempt to hide the bulge with the tail of his sports shirt, he hurried to the door, unlocked it and swung it open.
Gloria Green came up the two tall steps into the camper, and Iris got her first glimpse of the actress who, until this moment, had been simply a vision that moved across the silver screen at some movie theater or on the boob tube of a TV set.
There were conflicting reports as to Gloria's age. The studio said she was no more than twenty-five, but her critics insisted she was well past thirty. Whatever, thanks to a rigid diet, a carefully-adhered-to figure-control program, the right kind of clothes and make-up and a recent silicone operation of her boobs, she still managed to look like a gal not too long out of her teens.
Right now, she was wearing a button-down-the-front, sugarplum-colored body shirt of soft, supple nylon that fitted her curves snugly and showed off her long, shapely bare legs and bountiful breasts that even before their remodeling job were the symbol of her "acting". Except for a slash of vermilion lipstick that outlined her sensuous mouth and a pair of false lashes that fringed her violet-black eyes, Gloria was wearing no make-up. While her long, sleek black hair, pulled back into a tight ponytail, accentuated her slightly Oriental-looking, photogenic features.
Iris just stood there staring open-mouthed at the actress, duly impressed, because Gloria Green was all the things that Iris believed she would be-and more.
Gloria returned her gaze with studied indifference and asked Dirk, "Is she the reason you kept me waiting?"
"Yes." Dirk introduced them.
Iris enthusiastically told the woman how thrilled she was to meet her-and it was true. But Gloria continued to appraise her critically, head to toe. Then almost begrudgingly, she conceded, "She's got nice tits. But then you always did go for big knockers, didn't you, Dirk, darling?"
She smoothed down the front of her body shirt significantly, showing off her plus thirty-eight's.
Dirk shifted uneasily, conscious of Iris' gaze. He quickly changed the subject and said to Gloria, "I'm glad you're here. Soon as Rollo and his wife and the others arrive, we can be on our way."
"I thought you knew, darling. Rollo won't be leaving with us," Gloria said as she threw herself down across one of the beds.
Dirk frowned his surprise. "How come?"
"He's got a nag entered this afternoon at Del Mar," Gloria replied wearily. "And you know ol' Rollo. He'd never let one of his oat-burners run without being there to hold its hoof, or its balls, or whatever else you hold on a horse." She leaned back and cradled her black-thatched head in her interlaced hands. "Y'know-sometimes I think ol' Rollo's queer for horses. I wouldn't be surprised if once in a while at night he visits the stables and slips it to one of his goddamn mares. He's sure got the right tool for it."
Iris was taken aback to hear the way Gloria was speaking. True, Gloria Green had never been the personification of purity and innocence in any of her screen roles. But to actually hear her talk this way came as a shock to Iris. Also, she could see that the top buttons on Gloria's body shirt had become undone and her braless breasts showed almost in their entirety.
"When and where's Rollo going to meet us?" Dirk asked.
"Tonight in Vegas," Gloria told him. Then her eyes went to the swelling in the right leg of Dirk's slacks and his fly, that he hadn't completely closed. She sat up and with embarrassing frankness said, "If you were just putting that away on my account, darling, you needn't have bothered-and if you were just going to take it out, I'll be glad to help."
She made a quick grab for his fly from the bed. But Dirk moved back nimbly and closed his zipper all the way.
Again he changed the subject. "Long as we don't have to wait for Rollo, I may as well round up the rest of the crew and start rolling," Dirk said. "We've got a good one hundred eighty miles to cover before tonight."
"Okay, darling," Gloria said agreeably as she got off the bed and stood facing him, so close that their bodies were almost touching. "But if you think for one moment that I'm going to ride all the way to Vegas alone in my lousy camper, you've just been standing out in the sun too long."
Iris could feel the talons of the green-eyed monster dig in cruelly as it came to perch on her shoulder, close-up where it could whisper jealous thoughts into her ear.
"Bryan will be riding with you," Dirk reminded Gloria in answer to her statement. Bryan Axelstrom was Gloria's husband of less than a year. Husband number five, to keep the record straight.
"Bryan?" she echoed shrilly. "You've gotta be kidding! He couldn't keep me entertained from here to the freeway, let alone all the way to Vegas."
She moved still closer to Dirk, pushing her lightly covered, overly prominent mons against the continuing lump in Dirk's groin area, as she put both arms around his neck and kissed him, open-mouthed, fervently.
Dirk was visually embarrassed to have this happen in front of Iris, who continued to stand there, staring blankly, confusedly. Dirk had told her that she was going to have to get used to doing things the way they did in his branch of the entertainment world. That people were much more demonstrative, more friendly, closer together. But she never dreamed he meant this close.
When Gloria stepped back from Dirk, she was breathing just a little abnormally, the tight thrust of her rigid nipples outlined through the thin material of her body shirt. She put a fingertip to her lips, kissed it, then touched it to his lips.
"See you in my camper, darling, and don't take too long. You know how I dislike being kept waiting," she said in her sexiest voice. Then she turned and opened the door. She hesitated a moment in the open doorway to look at Iris. Then she smiled faintly and tossed Iris her damp panties that she'd found under the bedspread.
"May as well put these on again, doll," she said with mild sarcasm. "At least until we get to Vegas."
Then she went out.
6
Dirk waited several moments after the door had closed behind Gloria before he finally shifted his gaze to Iris, who was still standing across the room fuming with jealousy and humiliation. It looked for a moment as if he were going to try to explain, maybe even apologize. But apparently he thought better of it.
"I...I think maybe I'd better see if I can get everybody together, so we can get started before it gets too late," was all he said as he started toward the door.
"Are...are you really going to ride in her camper...with her?" Iris managed to get out.
He hesitated and shrugged, chin and eyes down. "I've got to."
"Got to? Why?" Iris asked confusedly.
"Because she's the whole damn trip," Dirk tried to make her understand. "Without her aboard, the whole promotion would be for nothing. She's a name. Maybe not Raquel Welch, or Streisand, or Liz Taylor. But she's still box office. She's the one that the yokels along the way will want to see."
"But why you?"
"Because the whole setup is my idea," Dirk went on explaining. "The campers, the caravan, where we'll show on the road. The whole works. At first, Gloria wouldn't have any part of it. But I finally talked her into it and she agreed to make the trip...for me! Which is why I've got to do what she says and keep her happy. Because if she walked out now, with all the money invested in the caravan, all the publicity that's been arranged, it would be my neck-maybe my job." He came back to Iris and took her in his arms and held her tightly. "And my job right now is as important to you as it is to me. Because it means our future." He kissed her. "Try to understand, baby-please."
She returned his kiss and clung to him desperately. "I'll try, darling. I'll try awfully hard. If...if you'll hurry back."
"I will, baby. I promise," he whispered, kissed her again and then was gone.
She waited until the door closed behind him; then she slumped down onto the bed, in a kind of daze, as thoughts bombarded her totally confused brain. Was this an example of what the trip was going to be like? Was Dirk going to run off at the slightest provocation, leaving her alone? Was she maybe going to have to share him with Gloria Green?
At one time that thought might have thrilled her. To think of sharing someone with a glamorous, sought-after sex symbol like her. But not now. Not when it came to Dirk. He belonged to her and she wasn't about to share him with anyone.
As she continued to sit there, Iris didn't know whether to cry or not. Everything was so mixed up. So different from the way she had imagined it would be. She remembered Dirk telling her, warning her almost, about the many differences she'd find in the way she'd live and how she'd have to adjust to his way of life. Of course, he told her these things over the past weekend, when they were in bed. When he was atop her, nestled between her thighs, her breasts burning from his sucklings, her belly filled with his male milk.
She remembered, too, the argument he just gave her about keeping Gloria happy. How important she was to the success of this promotional caravan upon which they were about to embark, to his job and perhaps to their future together.
She had promised that she'd understand. But right now in her befuddled state of mind, it was impossible for her to find logic in anything. All she knew was that for the next six or seven hours, he was going to be with Gloria in her camper-and she, like Gloria's husband, was going to be alone. But maybe Gloria's husband was used to such goings on. Iris was not.
Only one thing, she knew for sure. She was not going to leave. Not only because she had done a pretty thorough job of slamming all the doors tightly closed behind her; but to think of leaving Dirk, not seeing him again would be more than she could bear. Nothing, not even the heartache she was experiencing now, could be worse than the thought of trying to exist without Dirk.
Getting up from the bed, Iris went into the bathroom. She filled the basin with water and washed her face. It seemed to help her think a little more rationally. Maybe, she told herself, she was making mountains out of nothing. Worrying about problems that didn't exist.
As Dirk said, Gloria was of vital importance to the success of the caravan. Without her, there wouldn't even be one. It was understandable that he should do as Gloria asked and try to make her happy. Humor her might be better words. Probably, once he had quieted Gloria down, Dirk would come back to their camper and the rest of the trip would go along as beautifully as she had imagined it would.
A knock on the door interrupted her musings. She could feel the butterflies in her stomach, and her blood pumped faster as she hurried to the door. Maybe it was Dirk come back to stay with her as she had hoped. She unlocked and opened the door and felt her hopes deflate like a punctured balloon at the sight of the young giant standing before her at the foot of the two steps. He was wearing rough workpants and a T-shirt that showed the tremendous breadth of his muscled shoulders and in spite of his grimy face and a couple of days' growth of beard, there was evidence of his strong-jawed features.
His dark eyes frankly admired her braless breasts, lusciously outlined through the lightweight material of her dress. "My name's Morgan, Miss Fuller," he murmured. "Carl Morgan. I'm in charge of the work crew."
Iris nodded perfunctorily. She knew who he was. Dirk had pointed Morgan out to her on the way to their camper. He told her that Morgan was like a wagonmaster, or trail boss, who was in charge of the caravan while it was on the road.
"We'll be rolling in about five minutes, the big guy with the stubbly jaw informed her. "Mister Norman asked me to stop by and see if you're all set. If there's anything you need."
She swallowed and inched modestly behind the door, unable to explain to herself why his eyes on her breasts seemed to unnerve her. By this time she should have been used to having her boobs stared at. She said, "Everything's fine, thank you." She hesitated, then asked, "Won't Mister Norman be riding with me?"
Morgan shook his head, continuing his slow perusal of her charms. "No. I'm having one of my men drive the camper for you."
She could feel her hopes that Dirk might change his mind and ride with her suddenly sink. But she made no comment as she continued to look down the two steps at Morgan. On closer inspection, she could see that his nose appeared to have been broken and never properly set and that just above and below his eyes there was a patchwork of faint scars that attested to what must have been a violent background. But strangely, instead of marring his good looks, they made him look more masculine.
"You ever ride in a camper before?" he asked her.
"No," Iris replied.
"In that case you might want to ride up front in the cab."
"Why?"
"First time out, you could find yourself getting pretty seasick."
Iris thanked him for his consideration, but she said she'd prefer to ride in back.
He didn't argue. He simply shrugged his powerful shoulders and said, "If you change your mind, just tap on the partition and George'll stop so you can move up front with him."
Then without further ado, he turned and walked away.
Iris closed the door slowly and flopped down onto the bed once more, disappointedly. A few minutes later she heard the cab door open, and the relief driver climbed into the front seat. He tapped lightly on the window that separated the cab from the back of the camper. Iris drew back the ruffled curtain and slid open the window.
"I'm George," he told her. "You sure you're gonna be okay back there?"
"Yes, thanks."
He eyed her loosely contained boobs with even more interest than Morgan as he said, "I'd advise you to sit down and hold onto something real tight. It's going to be pretty bumpy going until we get to the freeway."
She nodded, thanked him again, closed the curtain and the window. She heard him start the engine and felt the camper begin to vibrate. Then the caravan began to roll. She sat down quickly in the dinette and grasped the stationary table. She could see now what both George and Morgan meant by its being rough riding, as the camper bumped over the rough ground cn its way out of the studio lot.
She opened the curtain at the side window near the dinette and looked out. Studio employees and visitors were lined up at each side of the caravan, waving and shouting good-byes and wishing them good luck. All that was missing, Iris thought, was a brass band.
Once they were through the studio gates, going was a little smoother, but there was a steady motion to the camper, like the rolling of a ship at sea. She understood what Carl Morgan meant about seasickness, although she didn't feel that way yet. However, just in case she did start to feel queasy and had to go up front and ride with George, she decided she'd better put on her bra.
She got up from the dinette and walked unsteadily toward the rear of the camper, where she found her bra on the bed. She took it into the John, stood before the mirror above the basin, unzipped her dress and bared herself to the waist. She cupped her breasts in both hands and squeezed them together, trying to ease the ache in them, wishing that Dirk were there to hold them for her.
She couldn't help but mentally compare them with Gloria Green's breasts-and at the same time wonder what was happening up forward in Gloria's camper. She tortured herself with all sorts of fantasies. Maybe right now Dirk was handling Gloria's tits...toying with her big nipples. Or maybe they were in bed together....
She remembered how Dirk had been hurting, suffering from -what was it he called them-"lover's nuts?" Maybe Gloria was relieving him, or getting ready to. Like anyone else who had attended the movies regularly and caught any of Gloria's modified "skin flicks," Iris had seen the black-haired, big-titted actress in varying stages of undress, enough to know exactly what she'd look like stripped. It was as if the mirror were a screen, and Iris, thanks to her overly vivid imagination, could see Dirk sprawled out naked in bed. Gloria, just as naked, was kneeling over him. Gloria impressed Iris as a woman who would always take the initiative, always insist on the "above position."
Of course, Iris had never seen Gloria's vagina. Gloria's films hadn't been quite that explicit. But she could very easily visualize what it must be like-big enough to accommodate a stud bull. She could see Gloria's wet, black, cavernous cunt poised momentarily above Dirk's rigid cock, and then descend to make it disappear in one quick swallow.
Iris turned her face away from the mirror disgustedly. Never before in her life had she known such depraved thoughts, conjured such horrible images. What had gotten into her? Was this what love did to a person? Is this how jealousy made someone think? It seemed incredible that a girl like herself, who just a few short weeks before had only the purest of thoughts, could be so completely turned around as to picture immoral things such as she'd just visualized in the mirror.
Quickly she put on her bra, hooked it in back and then pulled up her dress. She washed her face once more, repaired her make-up and ran a comb through her fiery locks. Maybe she was imagining it, but the motion of the camper seemed to have gotten worse. She could feel herself getting more and more nauseous and knew that if she stayed here in back she'd surely be sick. So she staggered forward through the camper, opened the glass partition and asked George if he would stop so she could move up front with him.
Even though he obviously was a little disappointed to see she had put on a bra and that her breasts no longer swung as freely, he grinned and pulled the camper to a halt, so that she could get up front in the cab with him. Which is how they traveled for the remainder of the first leg of their trip to Vegas, alleviating the sickness in her stomach-but not in her heart.
7
It was well past nine o'clock that night when the caravan pulled into Las Vegas. This was Iris' first visit to Nevada's famous city of chance. She sat on the front seat of the camper with George, in silent wonderment, taking in the kaleidoscopic light show as they drove slowly along the fabulous Strip and then Fremont Street on their way to the mobile park where they'd stay overnight.
It was like floating past a string of glittering island palaces separated by a canal of leisurely moving traffic. Iris read each garish, glowing sign that flanked the Strip as they rode past. Names she'd read and heard about and now was seeing in breathless reality. The Castaways...the Golden Nugget...the Desert Inn...the Frontier...the Silver Slipper...the Sahara...the Flamingo...Caesar's Palace...the Tropicana....
So absorbed did Iris become in this fantasy of radiant color that for a few moments she even forgot the disappointment and frustration she'd felt during all the miles she'd traveled without Dirk. Not that George hadn't done his best to keep her entertained. Having traveled this route more times than he had fingers and toes, George knew every point of interest along the way and in an almost endless line of chatter, explained them to her like a personal guide.
If it hadn't been for the fact that it meant she would soon be reunited with Dirk, it was almost with regret on Iris' part that the caravan turned off Fremont Street with its high and continuous facades of dazzling illumination and headed out along Boulder Highway, where the mobile park was located. Except for the blaze of multicolored light that brightened the sky to the west, the park seemed like another world as the campers and trailers pulled into the spaces reserved for them. As the vehicles came to a halt, their occupants began piling out, stretching cramped limbs and bodies as the park soon became alive with a cacophony of sound.
George climbed out of the cab and helped Iris down. Then he went about making the proper connections for water and electricity. Iris thanked him for trying to make the trip as pleasant as possible, then waited until he left before starting to get into the back of the camper to wait for Dirk.
"Everything okay, Miss Fuller?" a voice asked as she started to open the side door.
She turned and looked up into the bewhiskered face of Carl Morgan. She smiled faintly. "A little tired. Otherwise everything's fine."
"Good," he said and walked away.
She went inside the camper and closed and locked the door. She didn't know whether it was the long ride, the thoughts of Dirk alone with Gloria, or the coitus that Gloria had interrupted just before starting the trip. But she never felt hornier, or wanted anyone as much as she wanted Dirk right now.
While waiting for him to come back to her, she berried into the bathroom, stripped off her clothes and stepped under the shower that George had connected for her. She scrubbed the dirt and grime from the highway out of her pores, then dried herself in a fluffy towel. She doused herself with perfume and dusted herself with powder. Then she selected her sexiest nightie, a see-through shortie with a plunging neckline. She wanted to make sure she was all ready for Dirk when he came in.
She didn't have long to wait. She barely got into her nightie when she heard his knock. She hurried to the door and opened it, then stepped back to let him enter.
Dirk came up the two steps quickly and halted in the doorway to stare with surprise at Iris' abbreviated costume. He was carrying a green chiffon gown draped across a hanger in one hand, a pair of gold-colored high heels in the other.
Iris took it to be a "peace offering," his way of saying he was sorry for leaving her alone. For her part, it was unnecessary. All she wanted was for him to hold her close to him, make love to her. She ran forward and threw both arms around his neck, lifting herself on tiptoes so she could kiss him.
"Oh, darling. I missed you so much!" she wailed as she darted her tongue into his mouth and pressed her aching mons against his groin. She expected to feel his cock stiffen into that beautiful big erection he had when he'd left her, and she was disappointed when it did not. In spite of all her previous imaginings, Iris refused to let herself believe that he had left that big bone, which he had sported earlier, in Gloria's camper. He simply needed a little encouragement, she told herself. When grinding her belly against him didn't work, she began opening his fly with the idea of getting down on her knees and bringing him back to hardness with the warm wetness of her mouth, the way she'd done that first night in his apartment. But as she started to take out his cock, Dirk, still holding onto the gown and the heels, pulled back away from her.
"Whoa, take it easy, baby," he discouraged. "It's going to be a long night." He held out the gown and heels to her. "You'd better get out of that nightie and into these."
She took them from him, appraised them briefly, then looked at him quizzically. "I don't understand, darling. Aren't we going to stay here in the camper-just you and I?"
He shook his head. "We've got to meet Rollo and the others at the hotel."
"Hotel?"
"The Desert Mirage. We'll have dinner there and you'll get to meet the rest of the party," Dirk explained.
"And then can we come back here...and be alone?"
"I'm afraid not, baby. Rollo has reserved rooms for everybody at the hotel." He saw her frown of confusion and added, "You didn't think people like Rollo and Gloria and the others were going to spend their nights in campers, when there are hotels available, did you?" He reached behind and gave her a playful pat on the tokus. "Better start getting dressed, and make yourself look as attractive as possible. I want Rollo to be real impressed with you."
Disappointed as she may have been, Iris asked no further questions. Still hopeful that she may be able to entice him, she didn't bother to go into the bathroom. She pulled her nightie off over her head and stood there before him stark-naked.
He looked at her spiked nipples, at her golden bush and at the way her stomach was undulating. But for the moment, it apparently had no effect on him. Because he made not the slightest attempt to come toward her as he, too, began pulling off his clothes until he was as nude as she, his penis hanging down limp and lifeless between his strong legs.
He took a pair of clean shorts and socks from the drawer and went into the John. Iris could hear him showering as she fastened a lacy white garter belt around her middle, then sat on the bed and pulled on a pair of sheer nylons. After the garters were fastened, she put on the golden heels, then got up and stepped into a pair of wispy panties. She was starting to hook her bra when Dirk came out of the bathroom in his shorts, socks and shoes.
"Hold it," he told her. "No bra."
She frowned. "But, Dirk, you can see right through the gown."
"That's good. You're not back in that seminary, you know. You're in Vegas."
"But I didn't think you'd want anybody else to see."
"I want everybody to eat his heart out," he said as he yanked off her bra, then bent forward and kissed each of her tingling nipples.
Her whole body began to quiver and she could feel the moisture settling in her vagina. Impulsively, she dropped a hand and grasped his cock. It was still pathetically soft.
"Can't we maybe just have a quickie?" she whispered wantonly as she reached up and nibbled the lobe of his ear.
He held off. "Not now."
"If it's because you're so soft, I'll make you big and hard," she offered.
He smiled and continued to hold her away from him. "I'm sure you could, darling. But there isn't time. Everybody will be waiting for us. Besides, I told you, there'll be plenty of time later."
She argued no further. She took the gown from the bed and went into the bathroom. She pulled down her panties and washed and dried her pussy. Then she sprayed herself with perfume, adjusted her panties and put on the gown.
After repairing her make-up and combing her hair, she looked at herself in the mirror. She had to admit that Dirk had made a sensational selection in the gown he had chosen for her. The color complemented her golden-red hair, and with only one strap the top of the gown bared her left shoulder and the rising swell of her left breast, the material sheer enough to show the impression of her pink nipples and aureoles.
When she came out of the John, she found Dirk dressed and waiting for her. The smartly cut dark silk suit and white shirt and striped tie he was wearing seemed as much of a part of him as his brown dry-look hair.
For a moment, by the way he looked at her, she hoped he might change his mind and take time out to make love to her. Instead he said, "You look terrific. You'll be the queen of the ball."
Then he took her arm and together they left the camper. Arrangements had been made with one of the rent-a-car places in town to furnish them with transportation to drive to the hotel about five miles away.
The Desert Mirage was one of the newest and most exclusive hotels on the Strip, with more than 600 rooms, a 700-seat theater-restaurant that featured some of the top names in show business, a lavish lounge and a casino that was open twenty-four hours a day.
Rollo Styles and his wife, and Otis Ames and his secretary were in the theater-restaurant having dinner when Iris and Dirk arrived. A girl trio was singing on stage as part of the continuous performance that the hotel advertised. No one was paying much attention to the trio, as Iris and Dirk sat down and joined the party. Dirk introduced Iris to the others.
Iris was not at all impressed with Otis Ames, in spite of the fact that Dirk insisted that the guy was a brain. He was of average size, rather obnoxious-looking with a bald head, pale, bloated face and wide, black-rimmed glasses that made him look like a fat owl. His secretary, Angela, was a dark-haired woman with a body that was full and lush and nicely proportioned. Her breasts were large and held high by an uplift bra that caused them to swell over the top of her low-cut gown.
She looked as if she could offer a man a lot of comfort in bed on a cold night.
On the other hand, Iris couldn't help but be impressed with Rollo Styles and his wife. Not only because Dirk had told her that Rollo was no second or third generation buttonhole maker, but a man who knew all the angles of the movie business so well that he had taken a bankrupt film company and turned it into a moneymaker.
Rollo was shorter than Dirk and somewhat overweight, especially through the middle. He was rather good-looking in a baggy-eyed, dissipated sort of way. Although he kept a healthy glow to his face with a sunlamp when he couldn't get outdoors.
When she was younger, Debra Duggan had been a promising Hollywood starlet, a real sex-throb. She had appeared in more than twenty-five films, starring in a series of beach-blanket romps that made a bundle of money. She gave it all up to become Mrs. Rollo Styles. In spite of fifteen years of marriage, plus the fact that she was thundering down on forty, Debra with her carefully coiffured ash-blonde hair and artful make-up, was still more than passingly pretty with a trim, young-looking body that rated a fair share of wolf whistles. Only her derriere was out of whack. Iris remembered that even in her earlier films, Debra was never shot full-length profile, because her behind photographed as if she were wearing a bustle.
Iris found the woman to be very sociable, in spite of the fact that Debra was not overly pleased with the way her husband kept eyeing Iris' voluptuous breasts, which were almost visible through her chiffon gown.
Introductions scarcely were over when Paul Tyronne came along with his latest "prot�g�". Iris couldn't help but be thrilled at meeting the tall, straight-backed actor. She'd seen him in almost every film he'd made, and although he looked considerably older in person, there was no mistaking his handsome he-man profile, his wavy black hair silvered at the temples and his deep, resonant voice.
Pam, the girl who was with him, was a tiny thing with long platinum-blonde hair and an immature conical-breasted body. She looked, and probably was, young enough to be his daughter, maybe even his granddaughter. But it didn't seem to faze either of them.
Dirk had ordered dinner for Iris and himself and they were about halfway through with eating when Gloria Green made her grand entrance. Any place else but Vegas Gloria might have made a considerable splash. But here, where celebrities were a dime a dozen, not more than a few heads turned to look at her as she walked through the sprawling restaurant to the table where Iris and Dirk and the others were waiting.
Those few who did look at her mainly ogled her monstrous tits, which swung freely back and forth under her slinky black satin gown, the bare back of which dipped clear down to the crevice that separated her well-defined buttocks.
Bryan, her husband, walked a couple of steps behind her, as if he were there to pull up her gown if it slid down any further off her ass. Or he might have been there to kiss her ass it if became bared.
From the stories that had circulated throughout the film industry, it certainly wouldn't have been out of character.
A former choreographer with admitted latent homosexual tendencies, who had tried to teach Gloria to dance in a couple of her films, Bryan had eventually become her fifth husband. A lot of people said that she married him and kept him around the way some women keep Chihuahuas, or French poodles, or even pet monkeys. Made him wait on her hand and foot and even perform embarrassing tricks when the mood hit her. He wasn't much of a man, from Iris' point of view.
During dinner, they all talked, told dirty stories and related personal anecdotes, all of them about sex. Gloria pretty much monopolized the conversation, never using a nice word when it could be spiked up with a four-letter one.
8
Several times during dinner, Iris was aware of a hand on her thighs working up under her skirt to make delicate caresses on her gossamer panties. Flanked by Dirk on one side and Rollo on the other, she could never be quite sure exactly whose hand it was. Not wishing to cause a scene, she kept her thighs clenched together protectively and said nothing, trying not to feel the fingertips, or think of what they were doing to her.
Suddenly Gloria spoke up and said, "All this goddamn sex talk's got me feeling horny." She turned to Bryan and added, "You know what to do when Mommy feels like that."
Bryan looked around sheepishly at the others; then under his breath he whispered, "Do I have to, darling?"
"If you want to keep Mommy happy you do." Gloria replied.
He didn't argue further, but slid off his chair and under the table. Gloria closed her eyes and ran her tongue over her lips feverishly. It was perfectly obvious by the look of mounting pleasure in her face and the way her breasts were starting to rise and fall with her quickened breathing what Bryan was doing to her under the table.
Iris could feel a slight blush come into her cheeks. She turned to Dirk very slowly and with embarrassment whispered, "He...he isn't really...is he?"
Dirk wagged his head. "He is-really! She's not that good an actress. His tongue's really up in there working on her.
Iris felt a little ill. "How terrible."
Dirk frowned. "How do you figure that? That's what she keeps him around for and he loves it."
After Gloria got her relief and Bryan resumed his place at the table instead of under it, they finished dinner. Then over a couple of rounds of drinks, they all watched the midnight show. When the show was over, Rollo announced, "Now it's time for a little action."
"What've you got lined up for tonight, Rollo?" Tyronne wanted to know, sonorously, as he took his long arm from around his doll's shoulders and leaned into the producer.
"How about some cards?" Rollo asked. "A little stud poker upstairs?"
Everybody seemed in accord, except Iris. As the others got up from the table and began to follow Rollo and his wife toward the self-service elevator that would take them up to one of the top floors where the game would be held, Iris held back and whispered to Dirk, "Do we have to go, darling?"
Dirk nodded and said emphatically, "We have to go!"
"But I know so little about cards," Iris said.
He smiled. "For this game you don't need to know much. In fact, I'll explain the rules as the game goes along."
She could see there was no getting out of it, so she went with him to the elevator, got aboard and rode up to the seventeenth floor with the rest of the party. Then they walked along the corridor and entered a long, narrow room. It was only sparsely furnished with a row of ten or twelve comfortable-looking chairs facing a blank wall. As Iris had told Dirk, she didn't know very much about cards. But this certainly didn't look like a setup for any poker game. No cards. No tables.
As soon as everyone was seated, a couple of waiters came in. They served a round of drinks and set up a temporary bar at one end of the room where everyone could help himself to more ice, more mix and a wide variety of liquors. Then the waiters left.
It wasn't until the waiters were gone that Iris got her first inkling of what was going to happen-when the entire wall that the group was facing suddenly lighted up and became a one-way glass with a room at the other side. The room was much larger than the average room in the hotel and was furnished with a king-sized bed, a sprawling divan, a well-stocked bar and a large round table.
It was the four players seated at the table, however, that left Iris aghast and drew a mild round of applause from the rest of the group with her. The players consisted of two men and two girls, each of them absolutely nude. One of the man and one of the girls had been shaved of every hair on their heads and their bodies, leaving their anatomies with a polished glow.
The other couple was a study in contrast. The man looked like a male ape, with a black beard, long black hair that hung below his ear lobes, crisp black hair covering his chest, shoulders, limbs and belly. The girl, too, had black hair that reached almost to her waist and a dense black muff between her legs that extended all the way up to her bellybutton.
"As I said," Dirk explained to Iris as he sat beside her and looked into the adjoining room through the glass wall. "You don't have to know anything about poker to enjoy this game. You'll know who wins as soon as the hand ends, which is the only important thing. Because the other three will go to work on the 'winner' for one minute after each hand."
Iris said she wasn't sure she understood.
"You'll learn quick enough," Dirk said with a smile as he pointed to a huge wall clock above the heads of the four contestants in the next room. It wasn't going. "That's 'cause it works on the same principle as a stopwatch. Soon as a winner is declared, the clock starts and when sixty seconds are up, a bell rings and the round is over. Watch."
Iris did as Dirk told her. Like the others around her, she focused her attention on the action at the other side of the glass wall as the hand was dealt-five cards face up on the table to each of the four players. The gal with the shaved head and body won it with three nines.
Immediately, she got up, brushed aside the cards and sprawled atop the table on her back, legs dangling. She lay there in such a way that when she parted her legs, her shaved cunt was in full view of her audience.
Iris had never seen a shaved pussy before and had to admit that with the outer lips open and the fleshy, rooster comb-like inner lips hanging out, it looked even more obscene than a cunt with hair around it. Somebody started the clock, and as Dirk said, the three others went to work on the girl on the table.
The guy with the beard got between her legs, rubbed his black whiskers over her shaved mons and box, then began eating her. The other man chewed on her left tit while he massaged her right one. The girl with the hair started kissing the other girl's ears, shoulders, neck and lips, digging her tongue in and out of her mouth like a penis, until they had the girl so hot, she began bucking and writhing around on the tabletop.
They didn't bring her to orgasm. As soon as the sweep of the hand hit the sixty-second mark, the bell sounded and the trio stepped back and left her alone. The girl got down from the table bleary-eyed, panting, obviously aching for relief.
The four sat down at the table and one of the guys dealt the cards. This time the man with the beard took the hand with two pairs. He got on the table, the same as the girl had. His nine inches of fat cock stood up arrogantly out of the forest of hair that covered his groin.
Again the clock was started and the gal with the hair grasped his cock, pulled the foreskin back as far as it would go and held it that way while she licked and sucked and nibbled the straining red head of it. Meanwhile, the other man found the hairy guy's asshole with a finger and began poking it in and out of the puckered cavity. As this was going on, the girl with the shaved head and body, still visually aroused, rubbed her tits in his bearded face, letting him suck the nipples. Then she put her lips to his and filled his mouth with her breath, her tongue and her saliva.
The guy was on the verge of coming when the bell rang. The bald man and bald girl drew back from him. But he was so close to orgasm that the girl with the hair kept her mouth glued to his prick until he began spurting. Only then did she pull her mouth off him to watch along with the others as the sperm shot out of him like an erupting Vesuvius to fall back on his belly and thighs.
For this infringement of the rules, the gal with the hair had to lie on the table and have her tits rubbed and sucked, her cunt licked and chewed by each of the trio, until her body spasmed in violent orgasm.
Only then did the four again sit at the table and resume playing cards. By a strange quirk of fate, the girl with the long black locks and the hairy bush started off on a streak and continued to win hand after hand. Which meant that each time she won she had to get on the table, or the bed, or the divan, or even the floor and let the others do anything they wanted to her breasts, her cunt, her anus, or any part of her body. Unfortunately, now that she was sufficiently aroused, she was quick. It no longer took her the prescribed three minutes, or even two. All she needed was one full sweep of the second hand on the big clock to achieve orgasm.
It was impossible to say how many climaxes the girl reached. Iris lost track after about a dozen and the girl had several more after that. Finally, with her cuntlips raw-red and bloated to almost twice their normal size from sucking and fucking and her tits a bright pink from mauling and chewing, the girl cried out, "No more! PleaseI can't take any more."
They brought her on one more time, then let her go. Which left only three of them to compete. But not for long.
Always the exhibitionist, always wanting a piece of the action, Gloria jumped to her feet and exclaimed, "Three-hand stud's no damn good!"
The next moment, she was through the door that led into the next room, where Iris and the others could see her on the other side of the glass wall. The first thing Gloria did was peel her backless dress down to the waist, showing off her colossal breasts. Silicone-treated or not, they were things of rare beauty, stretching the tape at forty-four inches, high and firm and outthrust boldly from her slender body.
She sat down at the table with the naked trio and watched as the guy with the hair dealt the pasteboards. Everybody in the room with Iris began cheering Gloria on, wanting to see her win so they could watch her get the works. Everybody that is, except Iris.
Already shocked beyond words by what she had seen go on in the adjoining room, Iris was now stunned and mortified that anyone of Gloria's stature, sex symbol or not, could become a part of such a blatant display of outright sexual depravity.
Iris had seen enough. She leaned across and whispered to Dirk that she'd like to leave. But he patted her hand and said, "Not a chance. Things are just starting to warm up."
They were, too. On the other side of the glass partition, by accident or design, Gloria had just been dealt the "winning hand." She got to her feet and without hesitation let her black satin gown inch its way off her hips and drop to the floor as she did a hula that made Bryan, her choreographer husband, proud.
Except for a black satin garter belt, a pair of black fishnet hose and black spike heels, Gloria was naked. Together with her glistening black pubic hair and the long dark hair that swirled over her shoulders, she was a symphony in black and white that made her pale flesh look even paler and her long, shapely legs longer.
Modesty obviously was not one of Gloria's standards, because without delay she climbed up onto the table and assumed the same position that the first girl with the shaved head and body had assumed. She lay on her back, legs spread apart so those on the other side of the glass wall could view her entire vulva.
Maybe it was with some distorted sense of curiosity that, in spite of her embarrassment and disgust, Iris found herself staring at Gloria's exposed snatch, right along with the others. As she had guessed, Gloria's cunt, buried in a nest of wet, sticky black hair, was cavernous. The open, puffy lips looked as if they had been rouged in anticipation that sooner or later during the evening she'd be called upon to show them.
Somebody made a move to start the clock. But Gloria's voice boomed out in interruption. "Fuck the clock!" she cried out. "Let's get down to the goddamn meat and potatoes!"
None of the other three offered any argument. Sufficiently aroused by this time, they were just as agreeable as she to dispense with the clock and the cards and get on with it.
The guy without the hair pushed his bald head between Gloria's widespread legs. As if he were trying to cram his noggin into her hole, or was under the illusion that her cunt juice might grow hair on his head as rich and abundant as that which rimmed her pussy, he began rubbing his naked pate against her swamp until it resembled a polished billiard ball. Then he got a mouthful of labia and clit and sucked on them like a human vacuum cleaner. Up above, the depilated girl was gently munching Gloria's fabulous breasts. While the shaggy man stood straight-backed and stiff-legged pumping his tireless nine inches of cock in and out of Gloria's artfully rouged mouth.
If Gloria was acting, it was a far better bit of histrionics that she had ever shown in any of her films. She moaned and screamed and wiggled around on the top of the table like a scalded snake as she rode out her first orgasm. Which prompted Rollo Styles to jump up and cry out, "What the hell're we waiting for? Let's everybody get into the act."
It wasn't until then that Iris discovered that the activities of those in the next room had affected those in the room with her. Like a dutiful secretary, Angela had Otis Ames' fly open, playing with his cock. While Paul Tyronne had the bottom of his prot�g�'s skirt up around her hips and a hand down inside her bikini-like panties.
It was as if they'd all been waiting for Rollo's word to get up and make a mad dash for the adjoining room, pulling off their clothes as they went along. Again, only Iris held back.
"I...I couldn't, Dirk!" she murmured. "I just couldn't."
"You've got to, baby. This is a command performance," Dirk told her as he pulled her up out of the chair and took her to the bar. He poured a double brandy and handed it to her. "This'll make you forget all your inhibitions."
"It isn't that, Dirk," she tried to make him understand. "I...I just couldn't take part in anything like that."
"Drink it," he insisted.
Iris had already had one stiff brandy. She'd almost been brought up on brandy. Not that her mother and father were drinkers. Just the opposite. But her mother always kept a bottle of brandy on the kitchen shelf for cooking purposes and at the first sign of the sniffles, Iris got a couple of spoonfuls of the stuff. Iris hadn't really cultivated a taste for brandy; it was simply that brandy had become more palatable. So at Dirk's persistence, she took the glass and emptied it.
It didn't take long for the liquor to warm Iris' belly and dull her brain. The next thing she knew she was in the adjoining room with the rest of the party.
She felt somebody pull down the zipper at the back of her gown and brush the single strap from her shoulder. With nothing to hold up the top of the gown, it slid down to her waist, baring her beautiful white breasts. She heard the several compliments that were made about their size and shape. Embarrassed in spite of the dizziness she felt, Iris tried to pull up the dress and cover her boobs. But somebody grabbed her arms from behind and held her that way, while someone else worked the snug-fitting chiffon gown down over her hips and tossed it aside.
Perhaps she shouldn't have felt so shocked, because she at least still had on her panties, whereas everyone else milling around her was nude. But she couldn't help feeling that way. At the moment, she wasn't interested in anyone else-not the men with their arrogant erections, nor the women with their spiked nipples and exposed mons. She could feel herself blushing all over her perspiration-drenched body.
"Let's get her on the table," Iris heard someone say and didn't realize they were talking about her, until she felt herself lifted bodily off the floor and being placed on her back atop the table.
She struggled desperately, kicking her legs and flailing her arms as she cried out to Dirk to make them stop, leave her alone. When he didn't answer, she realized that he had been drinking steadily since they sat down to dinner and she guessed he must be too drunk even to hear her, else surely he never would have let them treat her this way. So with no hope of him helping her and seeing that her own efforts to try to get away were in vain, she gradually stopped fighting. Besides, the brandy she'd consumed seemed to have paralyzed her limbs as well as dulled her brain and she lay there atop the table, offering no further resistance, as someone pulled off her panties and removed her gerter belt and hose.
"Let's give her a bath," someone suggested.
At first, Iris expected they'd take her into the adjoining room and dunk her in the tub. But that wasn't the kind of bath they had in mind as she soon discovered when she felt a warm, wet tongue glide off her left hip, onto her belly and down over her groin. Another tongue licked her shoulders, her ears, under her armpits, then her armpits, and her breasts. While still a third tongue bathed her toes, the soles of her feet and worked slowly up along the insides of her legs, lifting her legs to lick over her perineum and finally dip into her tight, sensitive anus.
Iris had never known what it was to be tongue-bathed before, never had any idea people did such things, or could get any enjoyment out of it, the way the three were going at her. As for herself, the sensations they brought her as then-tongues explored each erogenous zone of her body were so new and different that she had to bite down hard on her lower lip to keep from crying out.
As the thrills continued to mount and surge through her body in molten waves, Iris opened her eyes slowly, trying to see who these three past masters of sex were that were doing these voluptuous things to her. But through the glaze of overwhelming pleasure before her eyes coupled with the alcohol that had now taken complete command of her brain, she could make out only that there were three of them. The one at her belly and cunt looked strangely like Debra Styles, the one licking her tits definitely was Otis Ames, and the third member of the trio working on her lower limbs and anus was one of the bald couple. Whether it was the man or the girl, Iris couldn't tell.
In fact, it was only seconds later that everything around her blurred out as she felt her orgasm catch on, sending her soaring to a new plateau of ecstasy-one that she had never shared before, not even with Dirk. And then-then her insides seemed to explode and she went rocketing off into oblivion....
9
It was mid-morning of the next day when Iris awakened to find Dirk sleeping soundly beside her on a big bed. She had no recollection of how they got there. In fact, it took her several moments to figure out where she was. Then she remembered Dirk telling her that they wouldn't be returning to the camper after the party, that they would spend the night at the hotel.
Careful not to arouse Dirk, she shook her head and flexed her fingers and toes to make sure the numbness had gone out of them. She tried to remember the party. But aside from the mind-shattering tongue bath she had received, her mind seemed to reject every thought, as if it had all been just part of a sordid nightmare that never really happened. Yet she knew it had happened. Her limbs and body were caked sticky with seminal fluid and her vagina felt as if it were filled with the stuff. How thankful she was that she had taken that pill Dirk gave her just before they left the camper.
Also, someone must have brought her here, undressed her and put her to bed. She wanted to think it had been Dirk. But from the looks of him this morning, lying naked beside her on the bed, and the last fleeting glances of how inebriated he had been the night before, she knew he couldn't possibly have brought her here.
Without disturbing him, Iris got off the bed, padded barefoot into the bathroom and got under the shower, washing away the filth from her body, using the douche that the hotel very thoughtfully supplied to cleanse her vagina.
When she came out of the John, she found Dirk still sleeping. She walked to the side of the bed and studied him carefully, taking in the silky fineness of his dark brown hair, which he wore bushy over his ears and long in back. His jaw and nose were cut along the lines of a Greek god, and his body, which was bare to the waist where the top sheet didn't cover, was tanned and muscled and nicely proportioned. It was small wonder that she was so much in love with him and in spite of all that had happened the previous night, even to him insisting that she join the mild orgy that the party turned into, she didn't blame him. She knew he'd had too much to drink, or he never would have let her take part in such depravities. When he woke up, she'd try to make him understand that she didn't want to be a part of such things as went on the night before. Even though when she was alone with him, she'd gladly do anything he asked her to do, no matter how perverted. Because after all, wasn't she going to be his wife?
She tingled all over with the thought of the time when his divorce would become final and they could be married. Although she wondered if even that could make her feel any closer to him. Why, she kept asking herself, did he stir her so easily?
Why did she want him so desperately?
No other male had ever come even close to making her feel the way she felt now, just standing beside the bed looking down at him. She could remember going out on dates with other young men and when they kissed her, or tried to feel her, her only reaction had been disgust. Most of the time she couldn't wait until they brought her home and she could say good night and be rid of them. But it had never been that way with Dirk.
Even now, after all the intimacies they'd shared, the mere thought of him holding her, kissing her, feeling his hard flesh against her flesh made her feel warm all over, caused her breasts to ache and her vagina to grow moist.
Stealthily, as if she were about to inspect some rare, carefully guarded treasure, Iris reached down and peeled the top sheet off Dirk. He squirmed and murmured, but didn't wake up. Her eyes swept over his trim, muscular body hungrily, settling on his penis, which lay against his right thigh. It wasn't hard and it wasn't soft. It was at that lazy in-between stage of semi-repose that gave a hint to its size and fatness, but had not enough starch to stand on its own.
Dirk's cock may not have been quite as big as that man's with all the hair. But to Iris, it was so much prettier, with no foreskin to hide its bulbous, purplish-red head.
She suddenly was seized with a desire to take it into her mouth. The idea of performing fellatio on anyone else would have appalled her, perhaps made her ill. But not Dirk. She asked herself why. Was it because she herself got some strange pleasure out of it, or because she loved him so much and knew what great joy it brought him?
This desire, however, was not the only question that puzzled her. It was her entirely new attitude toward sex. Before she met Dirk, sex had been something she rarely thought about. Now it seemed to dominate her entire life. It was as if some sensuous Dybbuk had taken possession of her mind and body, controlling her every thought and deed.
The thought of performing oral intercourse on him quickly grew into a fierce craving. What a delightful way to awaken him, she thought. She left the side of the bed and hurried into the John. She returned with a warm, wet washcloth with which she tenderly bathed his penis, still careful not to rouse him.
When he was clean, she put aside the cloth, got onto the bed and took his slack tool in her hand. She held it so that the slick knob stuck out of her fist between thumb and forefinger. She leaned forward and lowered her moist lips to the tip of his cock. She felt his legs jump and his prod stir to life.
Gently, painstakingly, she let her tongue shoot forth, applying it to the glistening, hardening knob, moving it round and round in super-gentle spirals. With ultimate finesse, not wanting to wake Dirk just yet, she feathered her tongue over the ultra-sensitive underside of his continually growing cock.
She heard him emit a little moan and wondered what his dreams were, as she swirled her tongue around his corona, daggering it into his pisshole, then taking the whole head into her mouth.
"Oh, Christ!" she heard him cry out, and looking up at him over his belly, with her mouth full of cock, her cheeks puffing in and out as she sucked on him, she saw he was awake.
She lifted her mouth off and smiled gently at him. "Good morning, darling!"
He raised his head off the pillow so he could see her. Wide-awake and apparently suffering no ill effects from the previous night, he said, "And it is a good morning. Jeez, what a way to wake up!"
"I hoped you'd like it," she said, her voice clogged with desire.
His cock was hard and full size now as she leaned into him again and lifted it between her breasts, pressing them together with the palms of her hands so that she could hold him there. With the heat of his flesh burning her tits and the excitement hardening her nipples, she looked down and let a little of her spittle drop on the sizzling head of his prick. Then she met his gaze again.
"Want me to finish you, darling?" she whispered, pinching him tighter between her breasts as she moved up and down the length of his dick very slowly.
"Umm," he moaned. I
"It won't hurt you?" she asked. "I mean after last night?"
"I couldn't think of a nicer way to die," he murmured.
She smiled. "Lie back and close your eyes."
As she watched his head drop back onto the pillow and he threw an arm across his face to cover his eyes, Iris let her tits release his cock, now big and strong enough to stand on its own. She wedged a hand in between his thighs and exerted just enough pressure so that he moved his legs apart, allowing her to position herself between them.
She looked at his firm, pink, heavy-veined flesh standing up rigidly from his belly. In her wildest imaginings she never dreamed that she would ever want to suck a cock so much. But, of course, this wasn't just an ordinary cock. This was Dirk's cock and therefore belonged to her, because Dirk was going to be her husband, which made what she was about to do perfectly justifiable.
Slipping a hand under his balls, she lifted them and slid one of them into her mouth. She could feel the testicle sliding around on her tongue like a ball of quicksilver as she sucked on it gently, ever so gently. There was a sensitive little area just back of his balls and in front of his anus, which she didn't overlook after she got through nibbling his nuts. All the while, he kept squirming and making crazy, inaudible sounds of passion.
All this foreplay brought him closer and closer to ejaculating, so that once she took him into her mouth and began sucking on him he was ready to erupt. But she didn't let him do it, not too quickly. She was enjoying the throbbing of his cock against her tongue, the gentle scraping of the fiery head against the roof of her mouth, savoring his male taste. Several times she brought him to the point of climax and each time she slowed down, so that when he finally came it was a far more intense orgasm.
She, of course, let him come in her mouth, swallowing what seemed like quarts and quarts of his warm jism. She let him do it, because he had told her that a man gets a much bigger kick out of it that way.
"Besides," he explained. "It's a perfectly normal sex act, just like coming in a woman's vagina, instead of pulling out."
When finally he stopped pumping his juice down her gullet and she released him, he lay very quietly with his eyes closed, bathed in the afterglow of his orgasm. Then he opened first one eye, then the other and looked at her, sprawled out beside him on the bed in all her naked loveliness. He edged over to her and kissed her.
"Y'know what you are?" he whispered. "You're a natural-born cocksucker."
If anyone else but Dirk had said that to her, she would have felt insulted, totally debased and degenerate. But from him, she took it as the loftiest compliment. Same as she never minded how dirty he talked to her, what obscene names he called her. Because she knew that it was his way of telling her how much he loved her, how much he enjoyed whatever she did to him.
"You taught me how," she told him as she returned his kiss, rubbing her velvet tongue over his tongue.
"Just don't let me ever catch you going down on anybody else," he warned her teasingly. "Not unless I give the okay."
"And you never would, would you?" she replied confidently.
He didn't answer her; instead, he turned himself completely around on the bed so that he could pry apart her legs and wedge his face between them. He hovered over her slightly musky snatch, then lowered his mouth to the slickness. He began licking her, lapping the flesh that surrounded her clit, working his way forward toward the pink pearl, flattening it with soft, rhythmic tonguings that threatened to snap her mind.
She saw his withered cock only inches from her face and wriggled and squirmed beneath him until she caught it in her mouth again. She liked to think there was magic in her mouth-just for him. Because as she continued to suck on his shrunken pod, she could feel it begin to raise its weary head with a spontaneous rebirth of lust. She kept sucking, using her tongue expertly, until he once again was full size. Then she let go of him and panted, "Put it in me, darling...please...before it gets soft...put that beautiful big thing into my cunt...and fuck me for real.. . "
He did as she asked him. He kept his hard-on and mounted her and drove it deep into her entrails. Then he rode her the way a bronc buster would ride an unbroken bucking horse. All over the bed she took him, arching her back like a "high roller," meeting him thrust for thrust until the supreme moment when he came inside her and triggered her mechanism for a glorious simultaneous orgasm.
After they had showered and dressed and had room service serve them breakfast, Iris expected they would go to the mobile park on Boulder Highway, where the caravan was parked. But as they started to leave the hotel, Dirk laughed and told her the caravan left early this morning on its way to Phoenix."
"What about us? Our camper?" Iris was curious to know.
"Our camper is being driven by one of the relief drivers, same as the other campers," Dirk explained. "We'll drive the rented car and join the caravan before it reaches Phoenix, where they'll wait for us, same as they'll do for Rollo and Gloria and the rest of the party."
Iris frowned confusedly. "And is that how we'll travel for the entire trip?"
Dirk shook his head. "No. Once in a while when we have to make time we'll ride the campers. But as I told you last night, you can't expect important people like Rollo and Gloria and the others to spend a whole month roughing it in a camper."
They were in the parking lot now, where the rent-a-car was waiting for them. They climbed in and minutes later were rolling along Highway 93, that knifed southward across the State of Arizona toward Phoenix, where they would pick up the caravan, at a designated spot. Whether or not Rollo and his wife, or Gloria and her husband or the rest of the party had left Vegas yet, Iris didn't know. She was thankful only that she didn't have to ride with them, that she could be all alone, all day long, with Dirk.
Somewhere along the way, Iris said, "Didn't you tell me that you once worked for a newspaper?"
He wagged his head as he followed the double white line of the highway straight ahead. "Half a dozen of them. From New York to L.A."
"Didn't you like being a newspaperman?"
"Loved it."
"Couldn't you go back to being one?"
Dirk took his eyes off the road only long enough to glance at her quizzically. "Sure, I could-if I wanted to take a two-thirds to three-quarters cut in salary."
"But you wouldn't have to take orders from people like Rollo Styles and Gloria Green, would you?" Iris asked.
"No. But I'd have to take orders from some editor, or publisher, who might be just as bad," he retorted.
"But they wouldn't ask you to...to go to parties...like last night?" Iris exacted.
Again Dirk looked at her, studying her a moment longer. "I didn't see anything so bad about last night's party."
"That's maybe because you had so much to drink," she said. "You maybe don't know what they did to me."
He slowed the car to a crawl, pulled over onto the shoulder of the road and came to a halt. He let the motor idle, as he took hold of Iris' shoulders and turned her to face him on the front seat.
"Look, Iris-baby," he said intently. "I told you before and I'm telling you again now, you're going to have to change your thinking an awful lot if you hope to travel in the fast company I'm in. You're going to have to conform, make up your mind that the things you once thought were so terrible are today's way of life, that it's a whole new world."
"I've tried, Dirk," she told him earnestly. "I've tried hard, because I want so much to be the kind of wife you want me to be."
His face seemed to cloud over a little.
She studied his expression a moment, than asked, "Nothing's wrong, is there, darling? You haven't changed your mind about wanting to marry me? Nothing's happened to your divorce?"
He laughed unconvincingly and said, "Of course not, baby. It's just that. . . wellI'm thinking of you. I want you to enjoy this new life as much as I do."
She kept staring at him hard, searching his eyes. "If it's because you think it won't work out, that we won't be compatible, you're wrong, darling. You'll see; I'll learn to like the things you do. And become the kind of wife you want me to be. Just be patient and give me a little more time."
He hugged her to him and kissed her lips firmly. Then he let her go and went back to driving the car.
Iris sat beside him in stony silence, her eyes staring straight ahead through the windshield without really seeing the passing scenes. She'd made a promise, to him and she intended to keep it. No matter what it was he asked her to do, she'd do it-even if it killed her. Because even the prospects of death would be mild compared to the thoughts of living without him. Becoming his wife was the most important thing in the whole world to her.
10
As Dirk had said, he and Iris picked up the caravan about twenty miles outside of Phoenix, where it was waiting for them at the side of the road. Tyronne and Pam and Ames and Angela had already arrived. But it was another half-hour before Gloria and her husband and Rollo and his wife came along in the producer's chauffeur-driven Caddy. With everyone accounted for, they all got aboard their respective campers and the caravan continued on toward Phoenix.
It was after dark when they got to the city and as they rolled along Grand Avenue and then into Van Buren Street on their way to the hotel where they'd be spending the night, Iris could see how important it was to the project that Gloria and Tyronne and the rest of the party were aboard. The advance men had done a good job and a lot of movie fans were out on the sidewalks to catch a glimpse of the black-haired sex symbol and her good-looking leading man. Which proved that even though a lot of requiems may have been said for Hollywood, it was far from buried and a considerable number of fans still were very much interested in movies and the people who made them.
The Grand Phoenix Hotel, although probably not as large, or crowded, or exciting as the Desert Mirage in Vegas, still had plenty to offer in the way of comfort, food and service. As far as the project's purpose was concerned, it was much better. While in Vegas, Gloria and Tyronne had been lost in the glitter of an overabundance of names; here they were treated as real celebrities. Especially since it had been timed for their new picture to open simultaneously with their arrival in town, so that they could make personal appearances at the several theaters it was playing. This pretty much set the pattern for the rest of the trip.
Dirk took Iris along to each of the personal appearances that Gloria and Tyronne made. Even after the things she'd seen Gloria do the night before at the "card game" in Vegas, she couldn't help but be thrilled to be considered a member of her party. Of course, Dirk had made sure that Iris looked her most glamorous. He first went with her to wardrobe to select a gown of gold lame that was cut so low in front that it barely contained her luscious breasts and had a slit in the side of the skirt clear up to her hip.
After completing their round of personal appearances, and sitting through a couple of showings of Camper, which Iris personally thought was a dog and would need all the publicity it could get to put it over, the party returned to the hotel for dinner. Iris and Dirk didn't get a chance to be alone together until the late meal was over; then he took her aside and said, "Did anybody tell you what a hit you made with the audiences tonight, baby? I was real proud of you. Damn near every place we went, people asked the same question: 'Who's the redhead with the beautiful boobs?' "
"I'm glad I pleased you, darling," Iris replied. "But do you think that's going to make me very popular with Gloria?"
"Gloria?" He laughed amusedly. "Baby, when Gloria's in a crowd she sees nobody but herself. She probably didn't even know you were there. That's what makes her a star. Self-assurance. To her, nobody could steal her thunder." He paused to look down at Iris' deep, intriguing cleavage. "But I know somebody who did know you were there."
She smiled warmly. "You?"
"Yeah-me and Rollo." He glanced around as if to make sure no one was eavesdropping. "You play your cards right, baby, and I wouldn't be surprised if Rollo offers you a contract when we get back to Hollywood."
"But I'm not sure I want a contract, Dirk," Iris said.
"Sure, you do," he insisted. "Every girl in the world wants to be in the movies. Just think of the money you'd make, how famous you'd be."
She kept shaking her golden-red head. "No, darling. All I ever want to be is Mrs. Dirk Norman."
He looked at her sternly and reminded her, "You said you'd do whatever I wanted you to do, didn't you?"
"Yes...."
"Well, I want you to be nice to Rollo."
"I will, darling. I'll be extra nice," Iris promised.
"Good," Dirk said flatly. "Because he wants you to spend the night with him."
"Spend the night?" she echoed quizzically. "I don't understand."
"He's waiting for you upstairs in his room," Dirk informed her.
Iris went back as if struck full in the face. "Where's-where's his wife going to be?"
"With Tyronne."
"And you? I suppose you'll be with Gloria." He nodded.
Iris was horrified. She could feel her stomach crawling with a kind of nausea as if she might be going to retch.
Dirk watched her changing expression and made an exasperated sound. "Oh, for Christ's sake, Iris-don't go into that goddamned Miss Purity act again. You promise to do one thing-and with the next breath you start to back off. How the hell can we possibly accomplish anything that way."
She looked up into his face, fighting hard to keep her chin from quivering, from showing how deeply hurt she was inside. "Do-do you really want me to spend the night with him, Dirk?"
He sighed wearily. "It isn't what I want. It's what Rollo wants. And Rollo's my boss. If he asks for you, and I can't deliver, that's a black mark against me-and believe me, baby, you don't get many black marks in his book before you find yourself standing out on the sidewalk with your hat in your hand. I told you before-my job, my whole goddamn future and maybe yours, too, depends on keeping Rollo on our side." He put his hands on her shoulders and drew her close to him. She tried to squirm away, but he held her fast. "I know how you feel, baby...."
She met his gaze unblinkingly. "Do you, Dirk?"
"Of course," he tossed off. "I never told you, baby. But I once had old-fashioned, puritanical ideas same as you have. I thought that being in love with somebody meant you were that person's exclusive property. And maybe at one time that was true. But not today. Being in love with one person doesn't mean you can't make out with somebody else. As a matter-of-fact, you'll see that it makes you appreciate that person even more. Because you've had a chance to compare them with somebody else." He kissed her without any response on her part. "Come on, baby, don't be like that. Rollo isn't so bad. In fact, I can think of a whole telephone directory full of girls who would give a slice of their left tit to spend the night with him. And in the morning, you'll see it hasn't changed your feelings toward me one damn bit. If anything, you'll find the bond between us even stronger. That's why they have swap clubs, Iris-darling. To make couples appreciate each other more." He kissed her again, then held her at arm's length and eyed her anxiously. "You're not going to give me a hard time, are you? Now, go upstairs to Rollo's room and make me proud of you-just as proud as I was tonight when aU those people were admiring you. Right?"
In a voice that sounded as if all life had been drained from her body, she said impassionately, "If that's what you want, Dirk."
He kissed her once more, appreciatively, trying to pry open her mouth to accept his tongue. But Iris kept her lips and her teeth tightly closed until he let her go. Then she stepped back and without another word, turned and walked toward the bank of elevators that would take her up to Rollo Styles' suite. She appreciated how Joan of Arc must have felt on her way to the stake.
As she stepped aboard one of the elevator cars, watched the door slide closed and felt the car give a little lurch and then begin to rise, Iris was aware of the tension spiraling in her brain until she thought her skull would split wide open from the pressure. The dinner she had just consumed had curdled in her stomach and her heart felt as if a knife had been driven through it and twisted cruelly.
She wished that the car would never stop, that it would zoom right up through the roof of the shaft and keep on going-until she woke up. Because she was sure this couldn't be real. This had to be part of a horrible dream. A nightmare. It wasn't possible that any man could ask the girl he really and truly loved to spend the night with another man. But then she remembered all the things that Dirk had told her.
Could it be that she was living back in another era, cherishing thoughts that were not compatible with this modern jet age of free love? She had read and heard all about swinging couples, about husbands and wives who exchanged partners, as Dirk had said. She was aware, too, that a number of psychologists and psychiatrists prescribed this free love as a cure-all against divorce. Even some so-called religious leaders of far-out sects, in defiance of the Seventh Commandment, condoned mate-switching as a means of greatly diminishing the frustrations of society and maintaining connubial bliss.
Since most of these people knew a great deal more about human nature than she did, she conceded that maybe they were right-that maybe Dirk was right-and she was wrong. One thing she did know and that was, right or wrong, she loved Dirk. If this was what he wanted her to do, if this was what becoming his wife would entail, then it was up to her to do her best to try to conform to his wishes. Even if it meant sleeping with someone like Rollo Styles.
The elevator was at the tenth floor. The door slid open and she stepped out of the car. Slowly, shoulders back, chin high, she walked with screwed-up courage along the deep-napped carpet to the door of Rollo's suite. She took a final, deep breath of resignation, balled her fist and bounced it against the door.
There was a pause. Then the door opened. Rollo Styles stood before her, a Cheshire cat grin on his baggy-eyed, dissipated-looking face. He was in shirt sleeves; otherwise he was fully dressed, for which Iris, at least, was thankful.
"Come in, my dear," he invited in a voice that Iris was sure the spider must have used on the fly.
She entered and as he closed the door, she felt him step up behind her. His arms encircled from behind, his hands cupping her unharnessed breasts and squeezing them gently as he put his moist lips to the nape of her neck and gave her a sort of half-kiss, half-hickey. She felt his cock hardening against her buttocks and was alarmed at its size. She remembered what Gloria had said about him having a tool big enough to accommodate a horse.
"I've been waiting for a chance to do this since the first time I laid eyes on you," he confessed close to her ear as he gave her tits another squeeze. Then he let go of her and walked toward the portable bar in one corner of the sitting room.
In spite of all the false courage she had mustered in an attempt to do as Dirk wanted, understandably Iris was terrorized at what might be in store for her. After all, Dirk was the only man with whom she'd ever had intercourse, the only man she'd ever allowed to really make love to her. What it would be like with Rollo she couldn't begin to conceive, didn't even want to think about-even though she knew that was why she was here.
"What'll you have to drink?" she heard the movie producer ask her from across the room.
A drink! That might be the answer. Maybe if she had enough to drink, she wouldn't care what he did to her. Like last night, after a while she might mercifully lose consciousness and not even be aware of what happened.
Rollo rephrased his question. "What're you drinking?"
"Brandy, please."
He poured three fingers of brandy into a glass and handed it to her as she stepped up to the bar. She took the glass and waited until he poured a straight Scotch for himself.
"Here's to you and me getting to know each other real well," he said. Then they touched glasses and as they sipped their drinks, they made small talk. He asked her what she thought of the trip so far. She said it was "very exciting." He asked her what she thought of the film they were exploiting. She diplomatically told him she thought it was "interesting". Finally he got around to asking her exactly what her relationship was with Dirk.
"We're going to be married, soon as his divorce is final," was her reply.
His bushy eyebrows went up as if with mild surprise.
"You don't say!" he declared but didn't pursue the subject any further.
By now she was ready for another drink, hoping to get as basted as she could, as fast as she could. But as he took her glass, he shook his head and said, "Sorry. No more to drink. There's no kick in putting the boots to a drunken broad."
Iris felt the blood drain from her face. He wasn't even going to let her lose herself in drink. She was going to have to stay cold sober and submit to him.
"Let's sit down and be comfortable," Rollo suggested and as he walked her across the room to the couch, he put a hand along her slight waist, his fingers feeling along her hips as if to ascertain whether she had on panties or a garter belt. She was wearing both. They sat down and he said, "I suppose you're a girl with a lot of ambition."
"Not really," she replied. "Getting married, having a nice home and a couple of children-pretty much sums it up."
Rollo smiled. "Not a bad hunk of ambition. But somehow Dirk never impressed me as a guy who would go in for those things. He's always been a guy who likes to try out strange beds. Somehow I can't picture him hurrying home to the same broad every night, or bouncing a couple of kids on his knee."
"Men change," she said with a hint of resentment.
"True," Rollo agreed as he edged a little closer on the sofa. From his point of vantage, he could see far down the low-cut neckline of her dress. "Speaking of kids. They're gonna be awful lucky."
"Lucky?" she echoed gullibly.
"Yeah," he replied, still ogling her cleavage. "It's not every kid gets a pair of knockers like yours to suck on."
She recoiled a little at his crudeness and tried to move away as he slipped an arm around her shoulders. But he hugged her to him and brushed aside one of her shoulder straps, his fingers crawling down inside the neckline of her gown.
Iris fought not to gag as his lips closed over hers and his fingers brushed over her right nipple. Her lack of response didn't seem to faze Rollo any, as he sought the tip of her tongue with his own.
The next moment she felt him lifting her right tit out of her dress and saw the passion burning in his dark eyes as he bent forward and fastened his teeth on the nipple. He caught it tight and pulled strongly. To her utter amazement, desire began rising in her and she grew frightened. She pushed his face away and quickly covered her breast. She was breathing more heavily than she wanted to.
He laughed. "Dirk said you were a hot little cat."
She scowled at him but said nothing. She knew he was lying. Dirk would never tell anybody anything like that.
Iris felt a wave of disgust sweep over her as Rollo's rough hands began pawing her hips, moving forward over her thinly covered belly. She tried to squirm free but Rollo was too aroused to stop now. Defenselessly, she allowed him to stroke her mons and along the insides of her thighs, outside her gown.
"Let's go into the bedroom," Rollo said, his voice noticeably thickened with desire.
She didn't want to go. She was afraid, because even though she despised him, his mouth at her breast and his hand stroking her body had aroused her and she didn't want to be aroused. Whatever he might do to her, she didn't want to enjoy it. She didn't want to get any pleasure out of it with anyone except Dirk. But she remembered her promise to Dirk, that she'd be "nice" to Rollo, try to please him by doing what he wanted.
ll
Obediently, if not overenthusiastically, Iris got up from the divan and went with Rollo into the bedroom. Like most of the rooms in the hotel, it was furnished with a big king-sized bed and all the other comforts of a bedroom away from home.
"The bed had a water mattress on it," Rollo said as he unbuttoned the front of his shirt and threw it open to bare his hairy chest. "I made 'em take it out. Goddamn things spoil a guy's rhythm, and can give you the bends." He threw back the covers to show the white silk sheets and fell onto the bed. "This is more like it. Come on; make yourself comfortable."
Iris hesitated a moment to look down at him lying on his back on the bed, making no attempt to hide the enormous protrusion that was ready and waiting for her inside his sharply creased trousers. She kicked off her heels and sat primly on the edge of the mattress. Even though inside she was trembling and could feel a little trickle of perspiration between her breasts, she told herself she mustn't show fear, let him see that she was afraid of him. It wasn't necessary for her to go all out and respond to everything he did to her, but she must not let him think she disliked him, or disapproved of anything he might do to her. To do that would defeat her very reason for being here.
A strong arm reaching around her waist and pulling her backward down onto the bed interrupted her thinking. She quivered as his eager hand slid down beneath the neckline of her gown again and grasped the softness of her left tit.
"Why don't you make yourself comfortable?" Rollo asked as he searched for the talon of her zipper at the back of her gown.
"I'm perfectly comfortable as I am," Iris replied. If he was going to take her, there wasn't very much she could do about it. But she didn't have to help.
"Okay, if you're one of those broads who like having somebody to undress you," he said agreeably.
She felt him open her zipper and slide the material of her gown down over her arms. It was a strange feeling to have someone undress her and in spite of herself, she was aware of a mild excitement. There was a small electric clock on the nightstand beside the bed and she tried to concentrate on the sweep of the second hand as her breasts became bared and she felt the cool breeze from the air-conditioner tickle at her warm flesh and cause her nipples to point. She looked down at them in embarrassment and her first impulse was to cover them with her hands. Instead, she kept her arms stiffly at her sides as he worked the dress down to her waist.
"Juicy!" Rollo emphasized his point by fondling the firm softness of her breasts and nodding his head approvingly. "Like I said, booze and sex don't mix any better for men than for women. If I hadn't guzzled so damn much last night, I never would've Jet a pair of knockers like these get away." He continued to pluck and massage and toy with the points until Iris began to shiver and pant. "Stand up a minute, sweetheart; let's get the rest of these things off."
It was one of the very last things that Iris wanted to do. But she knew it was part of the promise she'd made to Dirk. If she was going to be the kind of swinging wife that Dirk wanted her to be, she must get over this terrible aversion she had. She must learn what it was like to engage in sex with another man, let him see her body.
Slowly, miserably, she got up and stood facing the film producer as he sat at the edge of the bed. She stood motionless, jaw set, eyes focused on the wall at the far side of the bed, pulse beating rapidly, as she felt his fingers creep up the outside of her thighs and over her tight black lace panties to knead the flesh along her hips. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties and pulled them down.
Iris fought back the embarrassment she was suffering as he ran a palm over her flat, satiny-smooth belly, then through the sunset-red hair that covered her mons.
"Nice," he said, as he rubbed harder over her pubic area. "I like a girl with a lot of hair on her snatch. That broad last night in Vegas with the shaved cunt tried to get me to screw her and I got so sick just looking at her that I puked all over her tits and belly." He unhooked her nylons and peeled them down her long, exquisitely shaped legs and tossed them aside with her panties. Her garter belt came off next and she was completely naked.
Iris was mortified beyond the power of words to describe as he put his knees between her legs and spread them apart so he could look at her cunt. It was moist and slightly open and she hadn't wanted him to find it like that. She didn't want to feel the way he was making her feel, either.
"Lovely. So young and fresh," he said.
Iris blushed.
Rollo gently thrust a finger between Iris' spread lips. It slid up her cunt easily.
"So nice and warm," he added as he rubbed his free hand over her mons.
It was impossible for her to ignore the experienced finger poking around in her cunt, and despite herself, she began to undulate her hips in sensual, rhythmic motion.
"That's my girl," Rollo crooned, instigating a rhythm of his own. "Dirk said you fucked like a mink. I believe it."
She wished he'd stop saying that. She knew Dirk wouldn't tell him such things. She wished, too, that he'd stop with his finger before she came completely apart.
As if he heard her wish, Rollo took his finger out of her cunt and placed both hands on her hips and turned her around. "Let's have a look at your kiester."
"Beautiful!" he extolled as he studied her well-defined buttocks. "Now that's what I call an ass!" He grabbed her cheeks, one in each hand, and joggled them delightfully, squeezing them together. Then he spread them apart and poked a long, fat finger into her anus all the way to the third knuckle, making her lurch forward and squirm uncomfortably. "Kind of tight. But we'll take care of that." He pulled his finger out of her rectum, then turned her to face him once more. He pulled her so that she straddled his thighs. He kissed over her belly and her hips; then he had her lean into him so he could munch her dangling tits.
She looked sort of wild with her eyes heavy-lidded, her mouth partly open and gasping air, and her long hair tousled and half-hiding her drawn face.
"Okay, sweetheart," he told her, his voice grown even heavier with desire. "Get on the bed."
She obeyed him. Not necessarily because she wanted to. But she knew it had to happen and wanted it over with as quickly as possible.
She didn't turn from his kiss as he captured her lips with savage fury and drove his fat tongue deep into her mouth. Then he moved down to her breasts to suckle her nipples as she felt his hands moving along the sensitive flesh at her sides. She knew by his touch and the way he was moaning that he was having a good time, no matter what she was feeling. Which, after all, was the important thing at the moment. Dirk told her to be nice to Rollo, please him, that it could very well be the key to his future-and his future was her future, too.
Still, the more Rollo touched her, the dirtier Iris felt. It seemed as if his lips and his fingers were leaving a trail of slime behind them, corroding her flesh, covering it with disgrace. She guessed this must be how a prostitute felt. Not one that was a nympho. But a whore who did it for the money, not because she got any particular enjoyment out of it. Iris couldn't help but feel there was a parallel. Not that she was going to get any actual cash out of it. Her remuneration would come from what it would mean to Dirk.
When the movie producer finally rolled away from her and got off the bed to undress, Iris felt thankful for his absence, even though she knew that the worst part was only moments away.
As much as she tried not to, it was impossible for Iris to move or look away as he pulled off his clothes. As soon as he knew she was watching, he undressed slowly and deliberately, his eyes never leaving her face.
Her senses whirled as she watched his hairy body become bared. He had a barrel-shaped chest and a belly that showed lots of good eating and drinking and one which hadn't looked nearly as big and flabby with his clothes on. But it was his lustily formed tool that made her gasp and keep staring with both fright and fascination. It was inches bigger-longer and fatter-than even the cock on the guy with all the hair the night before at the party. It stood out from his hairy groin hard and straight and intimidatingly pointing at her like a hungry serpent.
She actually trembled at the mere thought of trying to accept anything so big and menacing, as he got onto the bed and knelt beside her. He moved closer to her so she could have a better look at his monstrous prick, which held her gaze as if she were mesmerized. Up close this way, she could see the heavy blue veins running up from the base to the bulging head, slimy, glistening wet with his re-come drool that leaked from his meatus. Like a thing alive it seemed to be breathing, inhaling and exhaling through the piss-hole.
He let her gaze at it fixedly for several long moments; then he grinned proudly and said, "You look at it all you want, sweetheart. You want to suck on it awhile, go right ahead. Nobody's going to blame you. I've seen some broads go clear off their goddamn rockers, seeing ol' Pete for the first time." He took a deep breath. "Yes, siree, by the time I get through screwing your pretty ass off, you're going to forget all about Dirk Norman."
Iris said nothing. She merely lay on her back quietly, her heart pounding, as she awaited the inevitable.
But instead of mounting her in the conventional fashion, he said, "Okay, turn over."
She frowned up at him. "Turn...over?...."
He nodded. "Lay on your belly."
Her frown deepened and she could feel her mouth getting cottony as she rolled over, her bottom facing up at him.
He pushed a couple of pillows under her belly, raising her rump. "You ever been fucked in the ass?"
She swallowed. "No."
He seemed surprised. "You mean Dirk never tried getting in the back door?"
She shook her head, appalled, as she felt his hand glide over her upturned buttocks, his fingers flirting tentatively with her puckered rear hole. "Please...you...you aren't going to do it to me that way...are you?"
"Unless I was as cockeyed drunk as I was last night, I'd never think of sticking my cock into a strange cunt; not the first time out," he replied. "In the ass is the only safe way. No chance you getting knocked up."
"I'm on the Pill," Iris tried to tell him.
"The Pill? Pills are the bullshit," he disparaged. "One broad I fucked in the cunt-big-name dancer, you'd know her if I told you her name-she took a whole carload of pills and what happened? Six months after I banged her, her goddamn belly started to swell up like a balloon. Know what it cost me in a frigging paternity suit? One-quarter of a million bucks! If you think any screw in the world is worth that, you got another think coming. So you're getting it, sweetheart, right in your cute little ass."
Iris shivered and tried to crawl away from him. But he grasped her hips and held her tightly. When he said he was going to screw her ass off, she had taken him literally. She never dreamed he actually planned to do her that way.
"No...please," she begged him. "I don't want it that way."
"How do you know, if you never tried it?" he demanded. "Some women prefer it to regular intercourse. Same as some broads would rather blow a guy than have his tool stuck in their belly. So play nice and spread your legs and give me room."
There was nothing else for Iris to do but obey him, as she knelt there on the bed before him, her head bowed, her tits hanging down and her buttocks lifted toward him. Of all the ways he might have taken her, this to her mind was the worst. This was perversion of the lowest kind.
She jumped with the shock of something cool and slippery against her sensitive anus. At first she thought it might be the tip of his drooling cock. Then she realized it was his finger again. She hadn't been aware of him dipping his fingers into the jar of petroleum jelly that stood on the night table alongside the bed. She could feel him juicing her, anointing and stretching her hole to hopefully accommodate his outsized tool.
She felt that she had reached the depths of degradation when he placed his cock in the deep crevice between her asscheeks. Even the size and heat of it burning her flesh was secondary to the disgust and debasement she felt.
He dragged his rock-hard cock up and down along the crease, then aimed the swollen head of it at her hole. Every nerve and muscle in her body grew taut as he pressed the slimy, rubbery snoot of his greased cock to her opening, stretching her.
Iris held her breath bunched in her throat, her fists clenched tightly. She didn't dare ask him if it was going to hurt. She knew it would. She could just wonder how much and hope she could endure it.
He didn't alleviate her fears when he reached for another pillow, put it beneath her head and pushed a corner to her mouth and told her, "If you have to scream, push your face into the pillow and sink your teeth into it. Okay?"
She wagged her head mechanically.
Rollo adjusted her legs for a last time, placed his cockhead against the warm velvet of her asshole and gave it one more final swipe. She could feel that she was drenched back there from the jelly, his pre-seminal fluid and her own sweat.
Carefully, he fitted the tip of his prick into her anus, moved a little higher on her back and with a hand clamped firmly at each side of her pelvis, he muttered, "Here goes!"
He applied a firm, steady pressure as he moved past the puckered flesh at the opening; then he commenced squeezing into her. Iris let out a sickening gasp and lurched forward, trying to escape the excruciating pain. But he held her fast and continued to maintain the pressure.
Iris began to yell and sob. Her buttocks shook violently in an attempt to dislodge him. But masterful bugger that he was, he showed her no quarter. For one panicky moment, she was sure she was going to die. She had heard of the pain of giving birth. But she was sure it could be no worse than this, if as bad.
"I'm too tight," she screamed hysterically. "I'm too small. You're killing me."
But then, suddenly, she felt her anal sphincter yield to admit his searing, gargantuan cock into her bowels, which seemed to expand once it got up inside her. The pain was still there but it was gradually diminishing in its intensity as he held her still for several moments and then began pumping against her.
At this point, Iris couldn't help thinking once more about what Gloria Green had said about him banging his mares. That was what this reminded her of. This was the way animals did it. She couldn't help but think of him as a stud horse and her as a mare. She couldn't help remembering his wife's big ass at that moment, either, and like the "chicken and the egg," she wondered which came first: was she married with an oversized can, or had it gotten that way from being done this way?
She could feel his cock throb and ooze in her bowels as he began a slow cadence, going in and out of her, each new stroke making her cavity looser, dulling her pain. Iris was sobbing, without being fully aware of it.
Her body shivered in great, earth-shaking spasms, her thighs closing and opening, closing and opening in time with his humping. She lifted her head from the pillow and pushed it aside. She didn't need it any more.
It still hurt. But it was a strange kind of hurt. It made her feel proud of herself. She wasn't sure why she should feel that way, unless it was because she felt she had scored a victory over his male chauvinism by being able to accept him. Strangely, too, doing it this way didn't seem nearly as bad as it had before. Begrudgingly, she had to admit to herself that she might even be enjoying the novelty, might even be able to come.
Admittedly, Rollo had been over this course before, knew that when a girl stopped yelling and struggling and began pushing her buttocks to and fro against his belly that she was asking to come-one way or another.
Without telling her what he was going to do, he sneaked a hand under her belly and began honing her clitoris. His other hand he moved up to cup one of her dangling tits and gently massage it for a three-point thrill.
"Nice, sweetheart?" he asked.
"Umm," she hummed, then lapsed into instant ecstasy, trying to establish a rhythm with her cunt and her ass.
"Let's see if we can make it together," he breathed.
She nodded, even as she felt her first orgasm catch hold. But it didn't matter. She rode it out and knew she'd be ready for another by the time he was ready to come.
Iris made no attempt to try to even think of anything else except the succession of shattering thrills raging throughout her body. She churned and moaned with heathen-like abandon as she ground her butt against his hairy pelvis, pushing back hard and holding there to feel his huge balls flop against the backs of her thighs.
"Oh, God!" she cried out as orgasm after orgasm tore through her ass, her box, her entire anatomy. Finally her gyrations shook his cock to a climax. A demolishing charge shot out of him, deep into her guts, the sensation intensified a hundredfold by her own tumultuous orgasm. She stiffened her limbs and body with each new throb of his mighty prick, squirming against him almost obscenely.
She could have continued. Now that she was heated up and there was little worse that he could do to her, she could have gone on letting him fuck her this way for the rest of the night. It would have made little difference to her. But as she felt his cock lose its size and then slip from her hole, she knew that he was finished-at least for the moment.
Perhaps as before, she should have felt some womanly pride, some sense of female superiority. us
But she didn't. As she rolled over on her back and lay beside him on the bed, Iris thought only that she had kept her promise to Dirk, that Rollo certainly could have no complaints about her cooperation, that as difficult as she knew it was going to be to conform, she at least had completed the first step toward becoming the kind of a wife that Dirk would want her to be.
12
Morning found Iris returned to normalcy and with it a profound disgust for herself and what had happened the night before. She was thoroughly ashamed of the way she had acted, the things she had allowed Rollo to do and heartbroken and disappointed to think that Dirk had let her spend the night with such a man.
She didn't join Dirk until after breakfast. He had sent word for her to meet him in the trailer camp behind the hotel, where the caravan had put up for the night. Again the main contingent had already left by the time she got there, which meant that she and Dirk and the others would catch up with the caravan before it got to Tucson, the next stop on the itinerary.
Dirk seemed in particularly high spirits when she found him waiting for her in the trailer camp, in another rented car. She could attribute his effervescence to only one thing: he had spent a highly successful night in bed with Gloria. Which meant that an acute case of jealousy was added to all the other disagreeable thoughts bottled up inside her. But she said nothing to deflate him, even though she herself felt miserable.
Except for her silence, she gave him no reason to suspect anything was wrong. After all, she had agreed to do the things he asked her to do, which she figured made her equally as guilty for what had happened the previous night. She only hoped that it wouldn't happen again-at least not soon.
Dirk kept up an almost constant line of. chatter as they followed Route 70 southeast from Phoenix toward the city of Tucson. But it wasn't until they were fairly well along the way that he first mentioned Rollo. Then it came in the form of a surprise question.
"What the hell did you do to ol' Rollo last night, baby?" he asked her.
Iris took her eyes from the road ahead to look at Dirk with a frown. "I don't know what you mean."
He grinned. "He called me right after you left his room, and the son of a bitch did nothing but rave about you. What the hell did you do?"
Iris shuddered at the thoughts of what she actually did, or rather let him do. But she didn't let Dirk know about her aversion. She simply shrugged her shoulders under the light sweater she had put on with a pair of hotpants for traveling, and returned her gaze to the roadway ahead. "You told me to be nice to him."
"I know. But I never expected you to make the guy do nip-ups and that's what his voice was doing on the phone," Dirk informed her. "C'mon, baby, tell me what happened."
A brief, expressionless glance. "I don't think you'd really want to know, Dirk."
"But I would," he insisted. "Did he bugger you?"
Iris tightened. Since he was so eager to know, she'd tell him and let him know what she'd gone through, what perversions he had subjected her to.
"Yes, he did," she said, trying to hide her anger and humiliation. Her anus was still a little sore from his reaming.
"The ol' sodomist bastard!" Dirk said almost amusedly. "And that was it? He didn't do it the orthodox way? Right?"
Iris swallowed. "Wrong."
Dirk turned his head to look at her with amazement. "You're kidding."
"But I'm not," she said. And it was true. Before Rollo let her get out of bed that morning, he broke his hard-fast rule. He mounted her, shoved his gigantic tool into her pussy and dropped his load into her belly.
"Well, I'll be goddamned! You really must have got to him," Dirk remarked as he leaned toward her sideways and kissed her cheek. "I'm real proud of you, baby!"
Then he resumed his driving.
Iris sat very quietly for a long time until everything that had been seething inside her suddenly bubbled over. She turned to face Dirk and asked, "How could you ask me to tell you all the things that Rollo did to me? The very last thing in the world I'd want you to tell me is what you and Gloria did together last night. If you really and truly love me, Dirk, how could you possibly want to know?"
"Jesus Christ!" Dirk exploded as he slammed on the brakes and pulled the car to a skidding halt at the side of the road. "Are we going through that goddamn routine again?" He looked at her with exasperation. "How many times do I have to spell it out for you, Iris? Of course, I love you. If I didn't love you, you wouldn't be sitting here with me right now. I've tried to make you understand that love has nothing to do with it. This is how I live. This is how the people I travel with live. Look at the facts. Rollo and his wife have been married for fifteen years. Do you think they could have stayed married all that time if they didn't love each other? Otis Ames and Angela have known each other for a good five years. Do you think they could have gone on together if they didn't feel something toward each other? Even Gloria. Sure, she's had five husbands. But every one of them lasted a least a year, one of them hung on for four years. There had to be some kind of love there some place. Yet in every case, Rollo and Debra, Otis and Angela, Gloria and her husbands-they didn't think anything of sharing mates."
Iris said nothing. She just continued to sit there looking at him, wanting to believe him, hoping that his arguments would convince her.
"I didn't tell you this before, baby," Dirk went on, softening his voice. "But this is a very exclusive, very closed little group. I don't have to tell you-Rollo, Gloria, Otis and Tyronne-they're all important people, with lots of contacts, lots of influence. I consider it an honor and a privilege for them even to consider me a member of their group. You should be just as thankful, feel just as proud. Because as I told you, with a group like this, we can really go places, have ourselves a future that's guaranteed. But you can't keep on questioning whether or not I love you. You can't keep on thinking that what you're doing is wrong. It would be wrong if you did it without me knowing. I mean, if you just sneaked off some place and did it with some guy behind my back. Then you'd be cheating. But this way, as long as I know, there's nothing wrong in it."
He put an arm around her, hugged her close to him and kissed her.
It took several moments before she parted her lips and let his tongue dart between them. She caught his tongue gently between her teeth and sucked on it, stroking it with her own tongue. She could feel all the hurt and disillusionment he'd caused her gradually slipping away. She was glad now that she had pleased him, glad that he was proud of her. . . even if she couldn't wholly comprehend all the things he had just told her, even though in her heart she still felt that some of the things were wrong.
"I love you so much, darling," she whispered against his mouth in complete surrender.
"And we're not going to have any more soul-searching?" he asked.
"I'll try, darling," she promised. "I'll try much harder."
He continued to kiss her, sending an added thrill surging through her as he let his hand glide downward over her stomach, beneath the waistband of her hotpants to gently stroke her eager pussy through the wispy material of her scanty panties.
13
Since Dirk advocated it and insisted there was nothing wrong in it, Iris tried to forget the degrading things she had done with Rollo last night. After all, if Dirk didn't mind his future wife committing such disorderly acts, there was no point in her hanging her head in shame. For the remainder of the trip to Tucson, Iris turned to more pleasant thoughts. She dreamed of what it would be like when they got to Tucson and she could spend the night making love to Dirk. She couldn't help but think, too, how very wrong Rollo had been when he told her that he'd make her forget Dirk Norman. Just the opposite, Dirk would help her to forget all about Rollo.
As on the previous evening, they joined the caravan about fifteen or twenty miles from their destination. This time they had to wait more than half an hour before the rest of the party arrived, then, en masse, the caravan rolled on toward Tucson. Again, it was dark when they arrived and again there was a fair crowd waiting to greet them. They continued on along Benson Highway to the east end of town, where reservations once more had been made for them to hook up for the night.
Since the population of Tucson was half the size of Phoenix, there were only two movie houses showing the new Gloria Green-Paul Tyronne film, Camper. Which meant that even though their presence may have caused considerably more furor in the smaller city, they were called upon to make fewer personal appearances. Which, in turn, meant everyone in the party would sit down to dinner hours earlier.
On the way to dinner, as they were picking their way through Tucson's late-evening traffic in still another rent-a-car, Iris said to Dirk, "I wish we could go some place and have dinner alone, darling. I'd even be happy to prepare dinner for just the two of us, in the camper. I am a pretty good cook, you know. My mother taught me to cook beef stew that's out of this world."
"That's all we'd have to do, baby," was Dirk's response with a sigh that was supposed to sound like mild regret. "Turn down Rollo's invitation to dinner to sample your beef stew. That would really put us in solid with the ol' sodomist."
Dirk said nothing as they turned off the main drag into the restaurant parking lot.
"Well, anyway, I hope that when dinner's over we can slip back to the camper," Iris whispered as she took hold of his arm and hugged against it. "I've looked forward so much to spending our first night there with you, alone. Away from the hotel. Away from everybody. Just locked up in the camper, as if we were in our own private little world."
She observed his blank face with another frown.
"We are going to spend tonight together, aren't we, Dirk?"
He cleared his throat uneasily. "Not exactly." Her frown deepened. "Not...not Rollo Styles again?"
Dirk smiled spiritlessly. "No. Not Rollo." He turned on the front seat to face her with the same attitude he assumed whenever he began one of his profound explanations. "I told you last night how very lucky you and I should consider ourselves to even be invited to join a group of important people like Rollo and Gloria and Otis and the others. Since they are so important, you can't blame them for wanting to be sure about us. No matter what kind of a club or group you joined, members would want to screen you, make sure you're right for them."
"And...and tonight who will it be?" Iris asked with dread anticipation. "Otis."
Iris froze, trying to mask her disgust. Rollo had been bad enough. But she could just imagine how much worse it would be with Otis Ames. Dirk had kept insisting that Rollo's legal advisor was a brain. But so far to Iris he had appeared as nothing but a bore-and worse. He hadn't one-tenth of Rollo's charm and wasn't even pleasant to look at. She had wondered how Angela ever tolerated such an obnoxious little man-and now she was going to have to put up with him.
To make it even worse, all during dinner in one of the town's more fashionable restaurants, Iris was aware of Otis staring at her almost continually from across the table. His eyes behind his wide-rimmed glasses kept ogling her breasts almost to the point of embarrassment as if he couldn't wait to get his thick-lipped mouth on them.
When dinner was over, without ceremony or explanation, everyone paired off and went his separate way. In spite of her trepidation, Iris couldn't help but note each couple as they left the table. Debra Styles and Tyronne seemed fairly well matched, since they were both more or less in the same age bracket. Gloria and Rollo were a good team, too: a couple of sex fiends who acted as if they couldn't wait to get to the mattress and wrestle each other to a fall.
Pam, however, looked too tiny to handle anyone the size of Dirk, because she didn't even come up to his shoulders. But if she could take care of Tyronne, she probably could manage Dirk. Angela and Bryan were the most mismatched of all. Angela looked as if she could lose the diminutive choreographer in the crease of her pussy. But again, if he had satisfied Gloria for almost a year, one way or the other, he probably could deal with Angela's avoirdupois.
Of course, Iris wasn't very happy to see Dirk leave with Pam hanging onto his arm, rubbing her little-girl breasts against his bicep. Much as she had told Dirk that she'd try to conform, Iris still couldn't get used to two people in love going to bed with someone else.
Iris and Otis were the last to leave the restaurant. She lingered over her dessert, then spent a lot more time than necessary in the ladies' room trying to put off as long as possible the ordeal that she knew was facing her. When finally they left and got into his car in the parking lot, she was thankful that he made no attempt to maul or slobber over her. He simply got the car started and headed toward the hotel.
On the way, he said, "Dirk tells me you were studying for the ministry."
She was surprised that at such a time Otis would bring up the subject. "Yes. I did."
"Then as a Biblical student, you must know that in the days of the Old Testament sex was a pleasure for both men and women and that their religion exalted it. Every soul would answer to Jehovah for every pleasure not enjoyed on earth," Otis went on. "Sexual repression began with St. Paul, who, convinced the end of the world was in sight, preached against the seeking of pleasure. Celibacy ideals were forced on the people. Marriage became a shameful concession of the weak, a convenience for those who could not refrain from exercising their sexual natures. Mental and physical castration became the accepted practice. Prostitutes and women suspected of adultery were dragged naked through the streets and stoned to death. The church examined the vulvas of unmarried women and if their hymens weren't intact they were considered impure, ostracized for life. Women were almost always the sufferers, the ones who were blamed. It took more than three centuries for women to come to their senses and campaign for equal rights. With those rights have come a whole new concept of sexual behavior. Instead of being repressed, women now have come to be recognized as having sexual desires just as strong as those of men."
Iris said she knew all these things. She knew that the natural attraction between sexes is the fundamental characteristic of animal existence. That the continuum of the human species relies on the first law of nature-that a human being is attracted to members of the opposite sex.
However, she also knew that the greater majority of civilized men and women believed in monogamy as opposed to polygamy. That even jungle animals often fought to the death to keep from sharing their mates with another. But like any attorney worthy of his calling, Otis had an argument for that, too.
"Because this attraction for members of the opposite sex is so widespread, a lot of people are doing something about it," he went on. "On the advice of psychiatrists, psychologists and some marriage counselors, they're satisfying their desires and frustrations through the medium of swap clubs. Do you have any idea how many couples belong to these kind of clubs?"
Iris shook her head.
"Four hundred seventy-five thousand couples. People from all walks of life," Otis informed her. "And these clubs range in size from two couples to groups larger than one hundred fifty couples."
He pulled the car into the parking lot beneath the hotel, halting only a few spaces away from where Dirk had left his car. They sat for a moment in the darkness while Otis concluded his "sales talk," which she knew now Dirk had prompted him to make to her.
"Now, as Dirk probably told you, ours is a very select group," Otis went on. "We're very particular who joins us on a regular basis. We've got to make sure they're compatible to the rest of the group. For example, Rollo and Gloria and their spouses, and Angela and I started the club about three years ago. We don't meet regularly. Only on occasions like this, when we can all get away together."
As they got out of the car, walked to the elevator and rode up to his room on one of the upper floors, Iris made no comment. She had to admit that Otis was a very glib lawyer and she couldn't help but have a new respect for his cleverness, no matter what she might feel for him physically. But that didn't mean she couldn't think for herself. Whether there were 475,000, or 475 million couples who belonged to swap clubs, it didn't mean that Dirk and she had to belong, she told herself. Sure, right now she had to go along with it. She had to do as he said, if she didn't want to lose him. But once they were married, she'd change his mind. She'd become such a good wife to him that he'd realize the same as she that it was morally wrong. And the last thing in the world he'd want to do was share her with someone else.
They were to the door of Otis' room now. He opened it and ushered her inside. It was a single room, not nearly as elaborate as the suite she had shared with Rollo the night before in Phoenix. However, there was a supply of liquor and snack bar waiting for them on one of the tables.
As soon as they got inside the room and Otis locked the door behind them, he walked to the bar. He didn't bother to ask her what she'd like to drink. He assumed that everyone went for martinis. So he assembled a batch in a tall shaker, with plenty of ice.
He filled two thin-stemmed glasses that stood on the tray and gave one of them to her. Iris didn't care particularly for the dryness of a martini, but she downed it and said nothing.
"I gather you've really got a thing going for Dirk?" Otis said as he took her glass and set it on the tray.
"Yes, I have," she admitted.
He asked her if she'd like another drink. If it had been brandy, she would have said yes and tried to get fried, the way she'd hoped she could the previous night, and blot out what she knew was going to take place. But she couldn't stomach the gin, or vermouth, or whatever it was in the martini. So she shook her head.
Otis refilled his glass and finished it off in a couple of gulps. "You may not believe it, but I feel the same way about Angela as you do about Dirk. She may not have a Hollywood figure, but when I sink into her and she engulfs me in all that soft, warm flesh of hers, it's as if we were one being."
"If you feel that way about her, why haven't you married her?" Iris was curious to know.
"I would, I would," Otis insisted. "But Angela has a husband, and being a good Catholic, she can't get a divorce." He had a third martini. Then, starting to feel the effects, he said boldly, "Let's get our clothes off and hop into the tub."
"The tub?" Iris echoed.
"You mean-you never did it underwater?" Otis asked as he stepped up to her.
"No," she said faintly, a little unnerved at the sudden bold change in him as he reached out with both hands and did what apparently had been on his mind all evening: squeezed her tits together outside her gown. "Nice. Very nice. I like a girl with big knockers. I guess you noticed that Angela's got big boobs, too." He let go of her breasts and began to pull at her clothing. "C'mon, let's get these things off."
He was rough and she was afraid he'd tear her clothes, so she said, "I'll take them off, thanks."
He grinned. He wasn't a very pleasant-looking man even when he grinned and she lost what little respect she'd built up for him in the car, as the repulsion she'd originally felt for him returned.
"I'll see you in the John," he said as he turned and went into the adjoining bath.
A kind of numbness came over Iris as she kicked off her heels, put a foot on the seat of one of the chairs and unfastened and peeled off first one nylon, then the other. But she didn't know whether she was getting case-hardened to taking off her clothes in front of men she hardly knew, or whether she had come to look upon it as a necessary evil. As she continued to undress, she tried to remember what Otis had told her about all those couples, from all walks of life, who belonged to swap clubs. She tried to convince herself that what he said was true, that all those people couldn't be wrong.
Iris left her panties on, then folding her arms in front of her chest in an attempt to cover her breasts, she walked toward the bathroom. The first thing she saw when she reached the open doorway was Otis' hairy ass. He had his clothes off and was bent over the tub adjusting the temperature of the water. He heard her mild gasp and straightened at once to turn and face her.
His was not the body beautiful. Like Rollo, he looked much worse with his clothes off. His flesh was deathly pale and flabby, with a wide rubber tire around his middle and flaccid breasts that hung down like a dried-up woman. What made him look worse was that his torso was completely hairless, except for a wiry black cluster that covered his groin. What virility he might boast showed in his cock. Even though it certainly was big and hard enough at the moment, like the rest of him, it was not very handsome. It was circumcised and curved upward almost L-shaped with a purplish knob that seemed almost too large for the rest of it.
He backed into the tub and sat on the edge of it and beckoned Iris forward. Like some sort of automaton she stepped toward him and halted before him. She tensed, suffering the same aversion she'd felt the night before with Rollo, as both of Otis' hands went up to grasp the resilience of her tits and bring her still closer to him.
While he tormented her nipples to hardness with his fingertips, he put his ugly wet lips to her naked belly, digging his tongue into her navel. Then as his hands moved downward and slipped behind her to grasp her cheeks, he began kissing her on the outside of her gossamer panties. He spread her thighs apart so he could continue licking between them, until the silky material that covered her cunt was dripping wet with his saliva and her juices.
By the time he peeled down her panties, her outer lips had become thinner and flattened out, causing a slight gape to the vaginal opening. Her clitoris was standing erect and seemed to have doubled in size. While her minora, too, had grown in size and turned dark red, almost purple, reflecting the intensity of her sexual excitement.
Once her panties were off, he leaned into her again and scored a bull's-eye, touching the tip of his tongue to her ultra-sensitive clit. She moaned then, unthinkingly, put her hands to the back of his head and pressed his face deeper between her legs. She was glad now that he had thick lips that covered her cunt, a fat tongue that flattened her clit. As he sucked, she rubbed her pussy to an orgasm against his mouth.
She mewled and crooned and gasped for breath, holding his head between her spasming loins until her climax had receded. Only then did she release him and step back away from him. She was shocked and humiliated that she could have been so aggressive; even more amazed that she could have enjoyed it so much. She wondered if she had listened a little too closely to those stories he'd told her about those swap clubs, had convinced herself that acting this way with anyone and everyone was all right.
"Wow!" was all he said, as he stood up facing her and with his hands on her hips drew her close to him, his cock standing up stiff and hot and wet, sandwiched between their bellies.
She was beginning to feel more and more like a harlot standing naked and acting like this with a strange man for the second time in two nights. To say nothing of what happened at that party in Vegas. What alarmed her most was the fact that it didn't seem nearly as bad as it had with Rollo, or even the very first time with Dirk.
"Okay, get into the tub," he told her as he took her arm and helped her make the high step over the rjm.
She tested the temperature of the water with one foot. It was perfect. So she slid down into the tub, sinking onto her back until the water level was just under her chin. She felt the warm water lap sensually around her as she spread her legs and let it envelop her sex, steal between the parted lips of her cunt and seep into her body, cooling her fever.
She watched Otis get into the tub, his cock disappearing beneath the surface of the water as he knelt between her legs facing her. He put his hands to her breasts, which felt bigger and more sensitive beneath the water. She closed her eyes as he stroked and fondled them with careful movements of his fingers, gently squeezing the buds at the tips of them between forefingers and thumbs.
Her eyes opened a little to look down at the hands that were bringing her such pleasure. Making no attempt to intervene, Iris watched as he turned her tits this way and that, lifting them almost out of the water so that the nipples were clearly visible, then lowering them below the surface again.
She could feel her eyes growing hot and misty, clouding over with desire. Her mouth felt dry and she could hear her breath coming in long, excited gasps again.
He rubbed his palm over one breast, then let it slide deliciously down over her stomach until his fingers touched the light curl of her soft, silky pubic hair, the strands of which floated upwards as the warm water swirled gently around them. He fondled the high, hard rise of her pubis, reaching his middle finger down the velvet slit until it slipped easily into her precious sex itself.
He searched for her clit, incredibly sexy to his touch under the water. She fought to control her breathing as he started to wiggle his finger inside. Her hips writhed, grinding slowly beneath the water, frigging herself on his finger.
Scarcely aware of what she was doing, or maybe because the water covered her act, she groped for, and found, his prick. She stroked him maybe half a dozen times, then pulled him toward her.
He straightened out his legs and sank against her hot, jittering form. With a hand between their bodies, he guided his swollen cock toward her vagina. She hissed and lurched as he swirled his cockhead over her cuntlips, making her realize how very sensitive the water had made them. A moment later the fat knob of his cock was inside her, pushing deeper and deeper with a steady pressure. After Dirk and more especially Rollo, she had no trouble accepting all that Otis had to offer.
She had to admit that he was right. Submersion offered a thrill that was brand-new to her.
He lay there atop her for several long moments, as if the soft warmth of her body were doing wonderful, pleasurable things to his organ. When finally he began to move against her, it was with long, languid thrusts at first. The odd L-shape of his prick seemed to reach into corners of her vagina that neither Dirk nor Rollo had touched in their relationships with her. Gradually he began to pump faster, her legs instinctively climbing, her ankles sliding on the backs of his legs so that she could get more leverage to hump against him.
The rest took care of itself. Multiple orgasms shook her body, until he began shooting into her long, hard, hot blasts. Then as he got off her and as she continued to lie there, she could see the overflow of his sperm seeping out of her cunt to rise to the surface of the water to float in huge globs. A telltale reminder of what she had done disgusting her, making her feel degenerate all over again.
Then on a brighter note, she told herself that what she had done had brought her one step closer to pleasing Dirk, to becoming his wife.
14
The caravan left Tucson on Thursday morning shortly after dawn for the long haul to El Paso, almost 350 miles of steady driving, which would take up most of the day at the slow pace they would have to travel. As Dirk told Iris, this would be one of the longest legs of the entire journey, therefore the rest of the party had to be up and on the road much earlier than usual.
They rode through Arizona with the groves of low evergreen oaks and spiny mesquite and twisting tumbling tangles of thorny cacti stretching out at each side of them. Over the Texas Canyon summit with its long gradual grades they passed. Then across the border line into New Mexico with its endless miles of barren desert and mountain ranges and mesas, where Geronimo and his warriors rode and fought the white man. Then into Texas and the border town of El Paso with its international atmosphere, its street names, billboards and store signs written both in English and in Spanish.
So many times along the way, as she viewed these passing scenes, Iris thought how wonderful it would be if they didn't have to link up with the rest of the party in El Paso, or any place else. If they were traveling alone and, as she had believed before leaving California, they could stop and make love together whenever and wherever they wished. Aside from the scenery she saw en route and brief personal-appearance excursions she made with Gloria and Tyronne-which after the first couple of times lost their excitement and charm-one city looked pretty much the same as the next to Iris.
If anyone were to ask her to tell what she saw in Vegas, or Phoenix, or Tucson, the cities she had visited so far on the trip, she could describe only what she remembered about each of them. A brightly lighted theater where Gloria and Tyronne took their bows...a dimly lighted, usually crowded restaurant where people gaped all through dinner...and the inside of a hotel room, where she spent the night.
Thursday night in El Paso followed pretty much the same routine. Only the name of the man was changed to break the monotony. After the personal appearances and dinner were over, Dirk told Iris that tonight she would spend with Paul Tyronne.
At one time, she thought being alone with Tyronne would have been the fulfillment of all her girlhood dreams. Because Iris could remember when she was in her early teens how she'd sit in the darkness of the local movie house and thrill to him, up there on the screen, romancing some heavy-lidded, heavy-breathing celluloid queen. More than once, the house lights came on at film's end, to find Iris with her nipples hard and the crotch of her panties damp from imagining what it would be like to be made love to by him. Now finally, she would know. But strangely, because of how she felt about Dirk, because of what had happened the past few nights and because she knew that there was nothing very glamorous about being here alone with Tyronne, the prospects of him making love to her had been dimmed considerably. The fact that he was so much older than she remembered him made little difference. He was still Paul Tyronne.
From the moment they stepped into the room and he closed the door behind them, Iris had the feeling that he felt he was doing her a tremendous favor by just letting her be alone with him. His back ramrod straight, his classic jaw tilted upward, he strutted to the portable bar, which seemed to be standard equipment in every hotel room she'd visited so far. When she told him what she'd like to drink, he filled two glasses with a great flourish. He, too, was a brandy drinker.
Then, as they sat on the edge of the bed, in his deep resonant voice, he condescended to ask her a few questions about herself-where she came from, how she came to meet Dirk, what their relationship was, and if like every ninety-nine out of a hundred girls he'd met, she, too, wanted to get in the movies.
She surprised him a little when she said it was the furthest thing from her mind. But it still didn't stop him from acting as if he expected her to tear off her clothes and throw herself at him. It seemed to come as a welcome relief, if with a little disappointment, when she did not.
They had another drink, which seemed to take some of the stiffness out of his attitude-if not out of his cock. She'd heard about his reputation as a ladies' man away from the studio and about some of the Hollywood glamour dolls with whom he had had affairs. She heard, too, he was a lush and from the way he continued to belt the brandy, emptying one glass after another, she was starting to believe it was true.
After about the fourth drink, Tyronne started to get very romantic. As she'd seen him do so many times on the screen, he breathed gently against her ear, brushing aside her long golden-red hair so he could kiss her cheek and work forward toward her mouth.
Iris had to admit he had a marvelous technique and a great gift of romantic gab. He didn't rush into anything the way Rollo and Otis did. Even Dirk could have taken a few pointers from him. The way he ran his lips over her flesh just above the neckline of her gown, his breath stealing down beneath the gown to brush her nipples would have aroused any girl. His gentle hand was so soft and sure, the touch light and delicate. He didn't grab and squeeze, or dig in his fingers. There was no furtive hurry, no snickering comments.
She was hardly aware of his hand moving down inside the neckline of her gown, until it was there on her flesh, making her breasts feel larger, tight-skinned, hot, sensitive. It made her breathing deepen.
Maybe it was the brandy she'd had to drink, or maybe it was simply the finesse of his knowing contact. But Iris could feel herself gradually slipping away from reality, becoming lost in the things he was doing to her. Of one thing she was certain, whether he'd learned it on the screen or from his many outside escapades, he had mastered the art of lovemaking.
She wasn't fully conscious of him removing her gown, or her panties or any other articles of her clothing. She knew only that she was sprawled out on the bed, her body completely exposed to his view. She tightened like the mainspring of a priceless watch when he kissed her various erogenous areas and set fire to her body.
When he disrobed, she wasn't certain, either. Again, she knew only when he covered her body with his and eased his phallus between her pussy lips. She could feel the fleshy arrowhead starting to pulse, its foreskin drawn sharply back as he fucked his cock gently into her soaking sex.
He was quick. Too quick. She felt as if she wanted to come at least half a dozen times. But she barely got through the one when she felt his floodgates open. She knew he didn't want to come so quickly, that he made every effort to hold back-but the long, intense streaking action had started and couldn't be stopped. He dropped his lips to her mouth and kissed her hard as his cream spurted out of him again and again, filling her cavity.
Frantically, he wrung every last drop of sperm from his raging prick. When finally the spasm was over, he apparently still felt strangely unsatisfied because he resumed pumping. But the desire was stronger than the flesh.
When he saw that his cock wouldn't respond, he pulled what was left of it out of her, rolled off her and lay beside her on the bed. He lay there for several moments; then he got up and padded naked to the bar. When she said she didn't care for any more, he had a couple of stiff belts himself. He then got back into bed, propped himself up on one elbow and tried to work himself up again by fingering her cunt, kissing her breasts. It was wasted effort. Because in the process, the brandy caught up with him and he fell sound asleep and didn't awaken until the next morning. By the time he did, Iris was gone, thoroughly disillusioned to find that all the stories she'd heard about her one-time movie hero were true, that he was a confirmed lush.
The next night, after traveling the 280 miles of semiarid scrub brush rangelands between El Paso and Odessa, her experience with Bryan was as different from those with Tyronne as two nights of sex possibly could be. It didn't take Iris very long to appreciate why Gloria had kept the swishy-acting dance director around for a whole year. Gentle and almost womanly in his approach, Iris found his tongue an incredible instrument of exquisite delight. With it, he had learned to make any woman soar, no matter how frigid she might be, soar to the ultimate heights of pleasure. Perhaps, Iris guessed, he could make members of his own sex feel the same way.
All Iris knew was that after her clothes were off and she stretched out naked on the bed, there was no opening in her anatomy that his tongue didn't probe. Not one square inch of her limbs and body that he did not kiss and lick and suckle. He taught her things about her being that she never even suspected before, among them that she could have a full-scale orgasm simply by having her breasts suckled, or her anus caressed by his educated tongue.
In return, all he asked her was that she cradle him in her arms and let him milk her tits, while she masturbated him.
"Gloria never does it to me, because she refuses to understand it's what I want," he explained with desperation. "She says it's stupid for a man to be jacked off, when her vagina is there to do it in. She just won't do it for me. Will you?"
Even though it was something that Iris didn't particularly care to do to anyone except Dirk, it was one thing she had mastered, thanks to Dirk showing her how. All those times she had jacked Dirk off during the early stages of their relationship had taught her exactly how to hold and stroke a penis, when to go fast and when to go slow so as to bring him maximum pleasure.
Strangely, however, she always masturbated Dirk inside his trousers. She had never watched his cock ejaculate, which was a normal desire for almost any woman. Besides, she was here to please and whether or not Bryan carried any particular weight with the group into which she must be accepted if she hoped to ever become Dirk's wife, she decided she had better fulfill Bryan's request.
Except for his jacket and tie, Bryan was still fully dressed. So with his head resting in the crook of her left arm and his mouth fastened to the nipple and aureole of her left breast, she lay beside him on the bed and slowly unbuttoned his shirt and threw it open. She played a moment with his tiny nipples, then let her hand slide downward over his belly and inside the waistband of his trousers and shorts. She fingered his not overly large cock until it was hard, and the head of it, straining to get out of its foreskin, slippery wet. Then she opened his fly, pulled down his shorts and took hold of his phallus in her right hand, down near the base.
She began stroking him slowly, letting her hand creep up toward the head, so that her fingers would rub over the corona with each gentle stroke. His body stiffened and she could feel him sucking harder on her tit as her hand slid expertly up and down along his shaft. She could feel his mounting pleasure. His cock throbbed; his face was tense with anticipation. She moved her head slightly forward for a better view of his cock. She could see the shiny knob straining to slip free from the tight foreskin with each downward stroke. She had to admit to a growing excitement and agree with Gloria that it was stupid to want a hand job, when all he'd have to do was ask her to lie back, and come in her warm, juicy cunt.
He groaned and tensed anew as her hand sped along his hard cock. The purple-red head bulged to alarming proportion as the whole of it began its convulsive jerking and she knew his climax was at hand. His heels dug into the mattress and he lifted his buttocks off the bed. He panted audibly as one of his hands squeezed her right tit and the other groped its way through her pubic hair and down between her legs-doing nothing for her surging needs.
She brought him off, with a flurry of flying fist. . . saw the sperm start to shoot out of it. She pulled the foreskin all the way back and held it that way, directing the spurts straight up into the air, then watching as the pearly droplets splattered on his belly, soaking her hand as the excess ran from the open tip.
When it was over, he moved away from her and flopped onto the bed alongside her. He lay there for several minutes; then he raised his head and looked at her.
"Thanks. That was beautiful," he said gratefully; then he remembered. "But, please, don't tell Gloria. She'll think it was silly. Just let her think we did it some other way."
Iris wasn't about to tell Gloria, or anyone else, not even Dirk. Maybe they'd think she was worse than he was for having masturbated him instead of insisting he screw her. Besides, all that really mattered was that she had completed the full circle. She had taken care of each of the five members of the group and from what they told her and the way they acted, she had more than satisfied all of them, which meant that Dirk couldn't help but be pleased with the way she had obeyed his every request and that now, except for the final decree of his divorce, which should come through any day, the last obstacle to their marriage had been removed.
It hadn't been easy for her to do something that was against her instincts, her basic teachings; adjusting to the whims and desires of five different men on five successive nights. But as demoralizing and mind-bending as it may have been, the end result, she felt, would be well worth it. To become
Dirk's wife would compensate for everything she'd gone through. Besides, there was consolation in telling herself that the worst part was over. Now maybe she could enjoy the rest of the trip with Dirk.
15
Saturday morning the caravan left Odessa for Abilene, where they were scheduled to spend the night. Since it was less than 150 miles to Abilene and then only 140 miles to Fort Worth, the next stop on the agenda, it was decided that everyone except Rollo and his wife would make both legs of the journey in the campers.
This pleased Iris immensely, because this was what she had expected the entire trip would be like, sitting on the front seat next to Dirk while he drove the camper.
Except for that first day when they left Hollywood for Las Vegas and Dirk rode with Gloria, Iris had traveled with him in one of the rented cars. Yet, it hadn't been the same. Maybe there was something more intimate about sharing the cab of the camper with him. All she knew was that no part of the trip so far had seemed quite so beautiful as the 147 miles that lay between Odessa and Abilene.
Certainly there was not too much that would distinguish it from most of the rest of the country they'd passed through. The same gentle rolling terrain with its irrigated farms and cattle ranches and endless, unsightly oil wells dotting the landscape.
As she gazed out at the passing scenery, Iris couldn't help but think of how much she had changed. For the first twenty-two years of her life, she had allowed no one to touch her. Then Dirk came along and changed everything. Now it seemed that every time she was alone with a man, the first thing he did was pull at her breasts, feel between her legs, shove his cock into her pussy and fill her belly with his sperm. Even Bryan finally got around to digging her before he left her, shortly past dawn. Almost as if he felt he were doing her a great favor, he told her, "You deserve it a hell of a lot more than Gloria."
But again, she told herself that once she was married to Dirk she would forget everything that had happened during the past few days and gradually wean Dirk away from this group he seemed so intent on the two of them joining. Again she admitted that everything Dirk told her about them was true. With the probable exceptions of Pam and Angela, they all were very important people in the motion picture industry. Perhaps they could do an awful lot of things for Dirk to assure his future. But Dirk was no dummy. He was smart and a crackerjack public relations man. Everyone said so. She was sure he didn't need people like Rollo, or Gloria, or Otis to help him. When she became his wife and could work with him, inspire him, she could help him to get any place he wanted to go.
Now that she stopped to think about it, Dirk had been strangely silent about the subject of marriage the past few days. Not that she even entertained the thought of him having changed his mind. She knew he never would have asked her to do the things she'd done, if that were the case. He wouldn't even have kept her around.
Maybe the divorce he was getting was proving harder to come by than he had figured. Maybe with those horrid pictures his wife had taken of them she was making greater demands and Dirk didn't want to talk about it to her, for fear of discouraging her.
He had nothing to worry about on that score, Iris told herself. She'd wait for him as long as he wanted her to. And since it apparently was such a touchy subject for him to talk about, Iris didn't bring it up.
However, as they neared Abilene, Iris did say to Dirk, "I do hope we can spend tonight in the camper, darling. Saturday night seems so appropriate for just the two of us to be all alone."
Dirk furrowed his brow as he followed the camper directly ahead of them, the one that Otis and Angela were riding in, into the city limits. He said, "I wish we could, baby. But as you said, this is Saturday night and that's one night that belongs to Rollo."
It was Iris' turn to distort her face, unhappily. "It seems to me that every night belongs to Rollo."
"You're probably right," Dirk conceded. "They perhaps do belong to him-as long as we're on this trip and he's picking up the tab for everything. But Saturday night, especially, is his. That's his night for fun and games-here, or back in Hollywood."
Iris' frown deepened, concernedly. "What kind of fun and games?"
Dirk shrugged. "You never know until you get to wherever he's holding them. But you can be sure of one thing-they'll be like no games you ever played before."
"Not another poker party like the one in Vegas?" Iris asked with a mild shiver.
Dirk laughed amusedly. "Baby, there's only one thing you can be sure of about Rollo: whatever he has to offer will be a brand-new surprise. Rollo never repeats himself."
Abilene was an active city, not too large, not too small. It was a distributing center for livestock, cotton, wheat and dairy products, as well as a college town, since it was the seat of several large universities. Also, it was a hotbed of Gloria Green fan clubs, since Gloria had been born and raised less than fifty miles from the city.
With Dirk's announcement that they would have to attend Rollo's party and spend the night with the rest of the group, to Iris, Abilene suddenly became just like all the other cities they'd visited. The one redeeming factor was that Dirk told her there would be no swapping of partners, at least not for the entire night, which gave her new hope that before the evening was spent Dirk and she might be able to slip away and spend the rest of the night together in their camper. After all, Dirk hadn't really made love to her since last Sunday night in his apartment. To Iris, it seemed a lifetime ago.
Because of the large turnout of Gloria's local fan clubs, none of the party sat down to dinner until much later than usual. Then, to Iris' surprise, they didn't go to a restaurant, nor did they eat in the hotel dining room. Instead, Rollo had reserved an entire floor in the hotel for his party. Here, in one of the larger rooms, dinner was served.
Unexpectedly, too, there was an added couple at the party. Max Seymour and a girl friend. According to what Dirk told Iris, Max Seymour was a sort of honorary member of the group, as well as one of the largest motion picture exhibitors in the Southwest. His film houses, the Seymour Chain, were located throughout Southern California, Nevada, Arizona, New Mexico, Texas and the Gulf states. It was at his theaters that Gloria and Tyronne had and would make most of their personal appearances. Therefore, Mr. Seymour was given the red carpet treatment and handled with kid gloves.
Seymour was a big man, physically, running both Tyronne and Dirk a close race in looks. He appeared to be closer to Tyronne's age but had taken much better care of himself. He might have proven a welcome addition to the party except for the fact that he was loud and boorish, a man who very obviously was used to having the best of everything.
The girl he brought with him was named Eloise.
Eloise was the model type' tall, slim with average-sized breasts and gorgeous long legs. She wore her brown hair in soft curls that hung down past her shoulders, framing a Madonna-like face.
Whether it was variety that Seymour was looking for, since he had obviously sampled all the women at the party, except Iris and Pam, he settled his attention on Iris. Pam apparently didn't have breasts large enough to suit his taste.
It didn't take long after Eloise and Seymour met everyone for the six couples to sit down to dinner. A meal the likes of which Iris had never seen before in her entire life. Henry the Eighth would have drooled in his chin whiskers with envy at such a spread. The table was loaded with aphrodisiacs of every description.
Then finally to top off the meal, the guests were served something called Vin Aphrodisiaque or Wine Del Amour.
Rollo insisted it was one of the most powerful of all stimulants. "Guaranteed to give even a eunuch a hard-on and make a witch's clit stand up and itch," he declared, adding for the uninitiated that it consisted of Chablis, vanilla pods, cinnamon bark, ginseng, rhubarb and tincture of amber.
By the time dinner was over-whether because of the aphrodisiacs or the power of suggestion-everybody was feeling as horny as a rabbit. Iris, however, had a much more substantial reason for feeling that way. Contrary to what Dirk had told her about remaining her escort for the night, she found herself seated between Otis Ames and Max Seymour for dinner. Both of whom had taken turns feeling her under the table until her cunt was flushed with sex, her panties damp. Past experience with the group told her it would have been pointless to try to stop them. Besides, as she glanced guiltily around the table, for all she could tell everyone else might have been doing the same thing to their partners.
With dinner finished, Rollo chased the waiter away before they had a chance to clear away the dirty dishes. When they were gone, he stood at the head of the table and announced, "All that frigging around Gloria did with her goddamn fan clubs got things off to a late start. So let's skip the preliminaries and get down to cases. How about everybody getting their clothes off?"
No one needed a second invitation except Iris. When she didn't respond quickly enough, both Seymour and Otis lent a hand undressing her, until she was as naked as everyone else-and probably would have felt even more embarrassed if she hadn't been.
As she made an impossible attempt to cover her breasts and her golden-haired pubic area with her hands, Iris made a quick survey of the others. With the exception of Seymour and Eloise, Iris had seen everyone else with their clothes off at the "card party" in Vegas. But she had been much too upset and humiliated that night to pay much attention. Not that she wasn't uneasy right now. It was simply that the experience of that night, together with what she'd gone through the past four nights, had made her not so panicky, so that now she could observe them far better.
One thing she had to concede. There was a variety enough to satisfy almost any taste, male or female. For the men there was every type from Pam's conical boobs to Gloria's whoppers. From Debra's oversized can to Eloise' almost nonexistent buttocks. For the gals there was Rollo's Brobdingnagian meat to Bryan's peanut, from Dirk's athletic physique to Otis' lumpy, dumpy figure.
As for herself, Iris couldn't help but be impressed by Seymour's powerfully built body and especially his phallus, as big and arrogant in every way as Rollo's. It was a funny feeling to see a man she'd met for the first time stark-naked...view his massive cock and know that before the night was over it was going to be inside her belly.
Iris' observations were cut short by Rollo's booming voice as he uncorked a decanter and said it contained something called Parfum Oriental. An exquisite perfume, he told everybody, made from rose water, pulverized incense, musk, myrtle, camphor, rectified alcohol and a variety of savory flowers. He poured a tablespoon of the perfume for everyone into small individual receptacles and told them to anoint one another with the stuff, head to toe.
Sex seemed to make little difference once the lubrication process was underway. Males and females smeared one another with keen delight. A field day for anyone with latent homosexual leanings like Bryan. Before the perfume was used up, it seemed that everyone, men and girls alike, took turns rubbing their hands over Iris' body-mainly her breasts, her buttocks and between her legs. Seymour, in particular, saw that she was properly cerated, as much with the perfume as the drool from his cock, which smeared the outside of her thighs.
By the time the anointing was over, neither Iris nor anyone else in the big room was very cool or unaffected. But for all her discomfort and everything else that had happened, nothing bothered her nearly as much as seeing Gloria smear Dirk's thighs and groin with the Parfum Oriental, then get down on her knees and take his cock into her large, blood-red mouth. Everyone gathered around them in a circle to watch Gloria suck on his prick, wondering if she was going to bring him off.
What amazed Iris was that Bryan made no effort to stop her. In fact, he seemed to get quite a kick out of the exhibition his wife was putting on. It was Rollo who finally grabbed a handful of Gloria's jet-black hair and yanked her mouth off Dirk's swollen prong.
"Later," Rollo told her severely. "You suck him off now, you'll louse up the whole goddamn game."
What rankled Iris most of all, made her furious with Dirk, was that instead of objecting to what Gloria did in front of everyone, he actually appeared to enjoy it, to the point where he seemed to regret it when she had to stop.
16
"Now we're ready for the big race!" Rollo declared as Bryan helped his wife to her feet and Dirk, his penis inflamed and throbbing wildly, sidled toward Iris. But Iris moved away to the far side of Seymour. She was very angry with Dirk. She wondered, too, what the "big race" was all about. Apparently some of the other members of the group were in the dark, too, so Rollo explained.
"It's just an old-fashioned wheelbarrow race," he told everybody as he opened the door and they followed him out into the long, wide corridor. "Rules are very simple. We start here." He drew an imaginary line with his bare toe. "And we race to the end of the corridor." He indicated a fire extinguisher on the wall about twenty-five yards away, which would serve as the finish line. "The idea of the race isn't who crosses the finish line first, but who can hold out the longest. In other words, it's really a test for virility and staying power. Now, everybody choose partners and I'll tell you exactly how the race is run."
Seymour lost not one second selecting Iris, about which nobody offered any argument. Then Dirk teamed with Eloise. Rollo with Angela....
Gloria with her leading man, Tyronne...Debra with Bryan...and Otis with little Pam.
The rest of the instructions were self-explanatory, according to Rollo. Each of the girls would assume the role of "wheelbarrow" by lying face down on the floor. Then the man would lift her legs and hold her at each side of her hips so he could fit his cock into the pussy of the girl he was holding. When this position was assumed, the girls would raise themselves on hands and forearms so they might propel themselves along the carpeted corridor, wheelbarrow fashion.
"Of course, I know you fellows arc all proud of how long you can hold out, so I'm sure you'll all want to make a little wager on the outcome," Rollo concluded. "Right?"
They all agreed to wager $500 apiece on the race. A little steep for Dirk's pocketbook. But he couldn't afford to be a piker. Besides, like everybody else, he had confidence that he'd pick up the $3,000 that would go to the winner. So he went along without argument.
However, it wasn't going to be as easy as it sounded. Because the girls also bet-in reverse. Each of them wagered fifty dollars-Dirk agreed to put up the money for Iris. The spoils of the distaffers, however, would be awarded differently. Of the $300 kitty, $150 would go the girl who could make her partner come first. One hundred dollars would go to the runner-up. With the remaining fifty dollars going to the girl who was third quickest in bringing her partner to an orgasm. In other words, the men would try to hold back, while the girls would do everything they could think of with their twats to make their partners come-and come fast!
Iris' mind and body were in a state of complete confusion. Of all the things that had happened to her since leaving Hollywood, this was far and away the most shocking, the most appalling, most degenerate. She never dreamed that adults-successful, affluent, apparently respectable people-could stoop to such uninhibited, obscene amusement.
Dirk, most of all, surprised and staggered her. To think that he would want his future wife to take part in such a disgraceful exhibition was beyond her scope of imagination. Fortunately, she had little time to dwell on it, as Rollo gave the go ahead for the girls to he face down on the floor and the men to lift their legs and stick their rampant cocks into their pussies.
Iris had no idea how the other girls felt about it. But it was a strange, humiliating experience to lie naked on the floor and have Seymour, a man she'd just met, lift her legs and spread them wide apart so he could view her exposed treasure. It was an even more traumatic experience to feel his cock slide between her cuntlips and push deep into her belly.
What came over her, she didn't know. But as it had been with Rollo, Otis, Tyronne and Bryan, once Seymour's cock was fitted inside her, she no longer cared who he was. She was aware only that his cock was big and hard and hot and felt surprisingly good inside her...that it would bring her the relief and satisfaction she suddenly wanted, needed.
As Rollo had said, it didn't matter who, if anyone, crossed the finish line first. The winner would be the one who covered the greatest distance before ejaculating.
Otis and Pam started it off, with Gloria and Tyronne right behind them, Gloria's pendulous tits dragging over the carpet, so that Tyronne had to hold her legs up more and let her ride higher on his cock.
Iris watched as Dirk and Eloise went by. He really was digging into her, her surprisingly big, wet, red cuntlips wrapped around the base of his cock, sucking as if she were trying to pull his balls and part of his belly into her gaping hole. The way Eloise was humping and groveling against him, he'd be lucky to get more than halfway along the corridor before detonating.
The fact that he was coupled with the long, lean, Madonna-faced model wasn't what really bothered Iris. After all, she had Seymour's cock implanted in her pussy. It was the expression Dirk had on his face. The same expression he had when he screwed her. An expression of sheer delight, which Iris had believed all along was something reserved exclusively for her.
Pam and Otis went by. Then Rollo and Angela. It was a funny sight to see the men fighting to hold back, while the girls wriggled and squirmed up and down the length of the tools inside them, trying to make their partners come so they could collect one of the three prizes.
Poor Bryan, unfortunately, was having what appeared to be a recurring problem. The poor bastard couldn't keep it hard long enough to fit it into Debra's eager, hair-rimmed cunt. The last thing Iris saw before she and Seymour left the starting line was Debra down on her knees in front of the choreographer sucking Bryan's limp cock, trying to coax enough life into it to bung her.
As Iris began to propel herself along the carpeted corridor, she could feel Seymour's mammoth cock digging deeper and deeper into her cunt with every step. She had stopped thinking about whether the thing she was doing was immoral, obscene or debasing. At the moment there wasn't a damn thing she could do to stop it. Whether or not she cooperated, Seymour was going to screw her. So as Rollo once told her, she may as well "play nice," Besides, she'd learned that any member of the group who "chickened out" at one of Rollo's parties had to run the gamut. Running the gamut meant getting down on all fours and sucking every cock and every cunt present. Most certainly, Iris didn't want to do that.
She and Seymour had gone no more than a few feet when she remembered the purpose of the contest-for him to try to hold out as long as possible and for her to try to make him come. As long as she was a part of the contest, she figured she may as well do her best to try to win. Not only would she like to have the $200, or $100, or even the $50, but she was still fuming about Dirk. She'd like to show him how proficient she'd become, how appealing she was to other men, that she could make them come quickly. After all, Dirk hadn't screwed her since Rollo, Otis, Tyronne and Bryan. She might surprise him with some of the things she'd learned from the quartet.
By the time she dispelled the last of her thoughts about Dirk, she had begun contracting and expanding the walls of her vagina, as she slid her well-oiled cunt up and down the slippery length of Seymour's fat, hard cock, milking him. He tried desperately to hold still inside her to cut down the friction, but with each step he took it became more and more impossible.
"Take it easy," he panted. "You're...you're going to make me come."
"Isn't that what you want?" she taunted as she looked back over her shoulder.
"No...not yet. . . I'll give you five hundred bucks...."
She shook her head. "I want you to come-now."
She continued to squeeze and release him, sucking him with her cunt, ignoring the multiple orgasms she was bringing herself.
They didn't get quite halfway along the corridor when she suddenly heard Seymour let out a groan, felt him halt and stiffen. The next moment his belly was glued to her buttocks...his cock swelling mightily and his balls giving up his seed, shooting what seemed like gallons of his hot, milky sperm into her cunt. She knelt there motionless in her inverted position, letting him finish inside her. She felt the stuff overflow her cunt and dribble down the insides of her thighs, as his cock lost its size. He pulled out of her, then turned her over and grasped a fistful of her golden-red hair in his left hand. His right hand shot out and he caught her with his open palm alongside the face, causing her to cry out.
"You stinking little bitch," he spat at her like the bad loser he was. "I told you to hold back. You didn't have to make me come that fast."
Iris said nothing. She just lay there looking up at him, stunned.
"You think you're so goddamn smart!" Seymour kept ranting. "You think you're such a hot screw! Well, you wait, sister, I'll fix your fucking red wagon."
He grabbed one of her tits and squeezed it cruelly. Then he got up and went into the room where they'd had dinner, and poured himself a drink.
As she got to her feet, Iris, through her tear-blurred eyes, could see that the others had paused long enough to have a look at Seymour slapping her around, then resumed whatever they'd been doing. For most of them the race had ended. In fact, only Rollo and Angela and Debra and Bryan, who had been late starters, were still in the contest. But that didn't mean that the festivities were over.
The corridor was littered with naked flesh. Otis had turned Pam over on her back and was having another go at her. The teen-ager was squealing, flailing her arms and kicking her legs in the air, enjoying every second of it. A little further on, Gloria had changed partners with Eloise, who apparently was getting a tremendous bang out of performing fellatio with a big movie star like Tyronne. While Gloria was astride Dirk in the 69 position, with his face buried between her sculptured white thighs, munching her black pussy, while her mouth was filled with his cock, determined to finish the job she'd started on it shortly after dinner.
Iris was more than just disgusted and nauseated. She was heartsick. Mainly because Dirk had made no attempt to even try to stop Seymour from cuffing her. Instead, he stayed right there on the floor with Gloria and returned his head between her legs while she took his cock back into her hungry mouth.
As Iris started to get to her feet, wiping away the trickle of blood that oozed from one corner of her mouth, she heard somebody say that Rollo had blown his cork only a few feet from the finish line. Which left Bryan, of all people, to hold out the longest and pick up the $3,000. Of course, Rollo accused his wife of letting Bryan win just to show him up. But Debra proved that once Bryan managed to get it up, how very hard it was for him to ejaculate, by getting atop the dance director and banging up and down against his belly like a human pile driver.
If Iris had been in the mood, she might have appreciated the humor in the scene: Rollo standing over Angela with his huge tool hanging down limply between his hairy legs, the residue dripping from the reddened tip of it. While his wife's ass, which seemed twice its size with her clothes off and spread apart the way it was, looked as it if would crush Bryan every time it thumped down against him.
But she was in no mood for any more of this orgy. Instead, with everyone absorbed in his sexual gymnastics, once she got to her feet Iris slipped into the room where she had been divested of her clothing. She was greatly relieved not to find Seymour in the room and guessed he must have gone to the John.
As quickly as possible she pulled on her evening gown, toed into her high heels, and with her panties, hose and garter belt tucked into her handbag, she stole out of the room and along the corridor to the nearest exit. She passed up the elevator for fear someone might see her and keep her there, and went down the stairs. When she got to the ground floor, she hurried through the lobby and climbed into a taxi in front of the door. She took the cab to the trailer park where Dirk had left the camper. She climbed inside, locked the door and peeled off her clothes.
She showered, washing the sperm and perfume and the stink of sex out of her pores, the tear marks that streaked her cheeks. Then she got into bed, hoping that when Dirk found out she had left the party he would follow her there. It was wishful thinking. Dirk never showed up until the caravan was ready to roll again in the morning.
17
"Well, baby, you really did it!" was the bitterly sarcastic way Dirk greeted Iris when he entered the camper next morning to find her dressed and preparing breakfast. "You really put my ass in one beautiful, goddamn sling, walking out on the party last night."
"I'm sorry," Iris replied without any real remorse in her voice. "But I couldn't stay there any longer. Not after what happened. Not after he slapped me around and you did nothing about it."
Dirk stared at her incredulously. "You expected me to clash with Max Seymour just because he slapped you."
Iris' jaw tightened, her chin quivering. "I should think that if a man loved a girl and expected her to be his wife, he wouldn't let anybody lay a hand on her."
"Whoa! Take it easy, baby!" Dirk interrupted. "Before you say any more, let's get it perfectly clear just who Max Seymour is. Maybe you aren't aware, but Max Seymour controls more than one hundred theaters in this part of the country. Some he owns; some are franchised. But what films he says they should show, they show, period! Which means that with two simple statements-'play it' or 'don't play it'-he can make or break a picture. Like right now with Camper. If he tells his theater managers to play it, give it a big buildup, it'll make money. Bit if he turns thumbs down on it, it'll be a box-office flop. If that happens, Rollo can turn the key in the front gate of his studio and good businessman or not, he'd have to tell Otis to start bankruptcy proceedings. Which means, he'll be without his studio and I'll be without my plush job-and figure out where that'll leave you. So, you'd better start changing your thinking, baby, by the time we meet Max Seymour again in Fort Worth."
Iris swallowed hard and, past the sponge rubber in her throat, asked, "He's...he's going to be in Fort Worth?"
"Right. He, and damn near every other important exhibitor and distributor in the territory. So, like I said, you'd better change your thinking and be ready to tell him how sorry you are that you got him sore, and make damn sure you go way out of your way to be nice to him-because he's going to be looking for you to do just that!"
Then he began pulling off his clothes as he went into the bathroom to shower.
While he was gone, Iris did a lot of thinking. She dreaded the thought of meeting Max Seymour again in Fort Worth, appalled at Dirk's suggestion that she apologize to the man, try to be nice to him. If only she could do something to make Dirk change his mind about wanting her to "be nice" to the theater-chain owner, or even make it necessary for her to see the boorish, obnoxious man again.
Talking, pleading, she knew would avail her nothing. But what about her body? In the past, before they started on this nightmare journey, it had never failed to interest him. Maybe...just maybe.. .
She didn't finish the thought. Instead, she locked the side door to the camper and hurriedly removed her clothes. As she listened to the water running in the shower, she went to one of the drawers where she kept her things. She reached a pair of her sheerest black hose and black silk garter belt and quickly put them on. This was Dirk's favorite costume when they were alone.
She barely finished spraying her body with perfume and taking the ribbon out of her ponytail so that her hair fell loosely over her naked shoulders, when Dirk came out of the John. He, too, was naked.
He halted to look at her as she stood before him. Her nipples were hard, her mouth moist and inviting, her stomach undulating. The anger and the heartache he'd caused her the previous night were gone now, momentarily lost in her passion, the maddening need she had for him. But as her gaze dropped to his penis, she saw the utter hopelessness of her wanting.
His cock was almost beet red and shriveled like an old man's cock, evidence that he must have screwed and had it sucked all night long-and maybe a final time this morning. With and by whom, it didn't matter. The only important thing was that it would have taken an injection of concrete to get it hard again.
There was no compassion in his voice as he stepped up to her, put a hand between her legs and felt her hot, moist pussy and said, "Sorry, baby. You should've stayed at the party."
Then he walked past her to one of the closets, reached for his clothes and began putting them on.
Iris, meantime, fully convinced that there wasn't a chance in the world of him getting it up for her, threw on a negligee and asked, "Can I get you some breakfast?"
"I had breakfast," he told her, then reached for his jacket and started to go.
"Aren't you going to drive the camper?" she asked as he unlocked and opened the side door.
He shook his head. "George'll drive you. I've got to ride with Gloria and Bryan. We'll be putting on a big show for the distributors and exhibitors at a banquet in Fort Worth tomorrow night. There are a lot of things I've got to iron out with them. See you when we get there."
Then he went out and left Iris feeling more miserable than she'd been before. Miserable and chagrined that she had so blatantly offered herself to him-and he had refused her.
The caravan couldn't have been more than thirty miles from Fort Worth when the sky to the southwest began to darken. At first, George, sitting on the front seat of the camper with Iris, told her it was just night coming on. But then he realized that darkness didn't come from that direction.
Before they'd gone another mile or two, it was clearly evident by the way the wind was howling and darkness kept closing in, that they were in for a storm. But there was nothing anyone could do except keep pushing on. There was no place to hide, since they were out in open range and farm country, with deep irrigation gullies at each side of the roadway.
As the velocity of the wind gradually increased and rain began pelting back against the windshield, George, looking out through the half-moon of clear pane made by the swish of the wiper, declared, "Hell-this ain't no ordinary storm! This is a goddamn cyclone!"
The first big gust of wind ripped up one of the tall telephone poles at the side of the road ahead of them and sent it skittering into one of the gullies, the wires twisted into a wild tangle. Iris, her heart hammering, could hear things rattling around in the back of the camper. Up ahead, she could see the other campers skidding back and forth across the highway as their drivers tried to control them and keep them on the road.
She glanced at George. He was pale as a ghost, eyes starkly staring, as his white-knuckled hands gripped the steering wheel, trying to keep an even keel. But the rain was coming down in sheets now, so that even with the brights on it was impossible to see the red taillights of the camper ahead of them. It was almost as difficult to see the white divider line in the roadway.
Peering through the rain-blurred windshield, Iris could see the debris that had blown across the highway. Leaves, limbs of trees, wires, tumbleweed and globs of sand and dirt. Poles and trees were being uprooted, but fortunately none fell across the highway to block their path.
Iris died a little when through the side window she saw one of the campers off the road and halfway down in a gully. Her first thought was that it might be Gloria's camper with Dirk in it. She grasped George's arm and begged him to stop.
He shook his head emphatically. "Not a chance. You step outside and you'll maybe wake up in the next county. You wouldn't stand a chance out in that wind."
Iris was awfully tempted to defy George, open the door and go back to see if it was Gloria's camper, until George told her, "If you're thinking that was Gloria Green's camper with Mister Norman in it, back there, forget it. That one had a rear door on it. Like this one, hers has a side door. That was probably Tyronne and his girl friend."
"Isn't anyone going to stop and see if they're hurt?" Iris asked.
"Yeah, somebody will stop. But between you and me, they're safer where they are than we are in here," George imparted as the rain seemed to be coming down harder now and the wind continued to buffet them around like a helpless small craft on an angry sea.
They couldn't have gone more than a few hundred feet, when suddenly the cyclone hit with its full force.
"Here we go!" George yelled almost hysterically. "Hold on with your life!"
Iris braced herself, one hand on the dashboard, the other flattened against the back of the seat, as the camper was caught in the counterclockwise circulation of the wind, picked up bodily, spun like a top several times in the air and then hurled upside down, with a splintering, metal-crushing crash into the gully at the side of the road.
It all happened in a matter of split seconds and somewhere during the horrendous experience Iris struck her head against the roof of the cab and blacked out. When she opened her eyes again, everything around her was in darkness and it was several moments before she remembered where she was and what had happened. Then as consciousness returned and she tried to move she found out she was pinned in the wreckage of the camper. In spite of the windshield and the side windows being smashed, the doors were jammed shut and the roof squashed down so that there was no opening left big enough for Iris to squeeze through.
Her next thought was of George. She groped around in the darkness until she felt him, slumped over the steering wheel. She shook him and tried to rouse him, unable to tell whether he was dead, or merely unconscious, until she felt his heartbeat and his faint, almost indiscernible breathing.
Again she tried to pull at the door, get out through the broken windshield and side windows. But all she succeeded in doing was cutting her hands and arms on the jagged glass.
To add to her mounting panic, the water in the gully was slowly rising around her ankles, then the calves of her legs, then her knees. At the rate the torrential rain was coming down and the gully filling up, it would be only a matter of twenty minutes or a half-hour before she and George would drown.
She made another effort to try to awaken him, but without success, leaving her with nothing else to do but pray that someone would discover that their camper had gone off the road. Strange, prayer had been one of the most important ingredients of her early life. All through the years when she was home and during the time she'd spent at the seminary, she had prayed morning, night and noon. But since she met Dirk, she used prayer hardly at all. Now with the water rising rapidly above her waist, once more she was praying, praying harder than she had ever prayed before in her entire life. Until, above the din of the raging storm, she heard what sounded like voices on the highway above her.
She yelled out at the top of her lungs, screaming frantically, trying to make someone hear that she and George were down in the gully. It seemed a lifetime of torture before she heard someone just outside the cab. At first, she thought it might be her imagination, until she heard someone bang what sounded like a crowbar against the side of the cab.
"Anybody in there?" the voice asked.
"Yes! Yes!" Iris cried as loud as she could. "Two of us."
"Okay, hang on just a little longer and we'll get you out," the voice said.
"You'd better hurry...please...we'll be underwater in a few minutes if you don't," Iris yelled.
There was a lot of confusion after that. Somebody hollered to bring the acetylene torch, and seconds later, Iris could see the spark fly through the crack that remained of the side window as the torch ate through the metal door until it could be pried open. Not any too soon, either. The water was almost up to her chin and George's chin, whose head she had held up above the waterline, when someone reached inside and pulled the two of them to safety.
Iris didn't know why it came with so little surprise to learn that it had been Carl Morgan who had come searching for her, found her and then pulled her out of the cab. Then all the tension, all the terror, all the brush with death that she'd just experienced caught up with her and she lapsed once more into unconsciousness....
When she opened her eyes and looked around, Iris had not the slightest idea where she was. Even when consciousness returned and she had time to assemble her thoughts, she didn't recognize the surroundings. She just knew that she was out of the storm that she could still hear raging outside.
She was lying in bed. A sort of bunk bed like the one in the camper. But it wasn't a camper. At least, not like the one she'd shared so briefly with Dirk. It was bigger, roomy and much more roughly furnished.
She was wearing a man's white satin, blue-trimmed bathrobe-and nothing underneath. Whoever had put her to bed had also stripped her and washed the muck from her body.
She didn't get very far along with her thinking when she heard the door open. She turned her head on the pillow to see Carl Morgan entering, shaking the rain from his poncho and drenched felt hat.
"Well, you finally decided to come back to earth," he said, removing his hat and poncho, hanging them on a hook near the wall, stepping toward the side of the bed.
She stared up at him. He looked like a black-haired giant hovering over her.
"You...you saved my life," she said gratefully.
"Just lucky I came along," he said.
"And George?"
He nodded. "He'll be okay. He got it worse than you did. Broke his leg and a couple of ribs. Had to rush him to a hospital."
Iris looked around. "Where exactly am I?"
"This is my trailer," Carl told her. "Doctor took a quick look at you and found you had nothing broken. So I brought you here. Quickest, safest place, out of the storm."
She parted the white satin robe at the throat enough to glance down at her naked body underneath. "You undressed me?"
He wagged his head, a little embarrassed. "Had to. No women around-and you were pretty much of a mess."
She knew she should have been embarrassed to think that he'd stripped off her clothes and bathed her, while she was still unconscious. But she wasn't really. Maybe she had no modesty left after the week just past. Maybe she didn't feel she had anything left to hide.
However, she couldn't help but be curious about one thing, and rubbed her thighs together to make sure. They were bone dry. So was her vagina. Which meant he hadn't touched her. She was glad. She didn't know why. But she was.
Suddenly she remembered Dirk and sat up in bed, a sharp pain shooting through her from the back of her head. She put a hand to the spot and found an egg of considerable size.
"You got quite a whack," Carl told her. "Must've banged your head when the camper tipped over."
She forgot about herself for the moment and asked, "The rest of the caravan? Is everyone all right?"
"Campers and cars are strewn all over the highway, some of them in the gullies like yours was, others wrapped around trees," Carl replied.
"Anyone hurt?" Iris inquired eagerly.
"No. Shaken up some," he told her. "But George got it worse than anybody."
"Where is everyone now?" Iris wanted to know.
"Most of 'em went straight through to Fort Worth," Carl explained. "Soon as the cyclone died down, Rollo had a fleet of cars come out and pick everyone up. But the ambulance doctor said it would be better if you waited and rested before making the trip."
"What did Mister Norman say about that?" Iris asked. "Didn't he want to stay with me?"
"Norman?" Carl echoed. "I didn't even see the guy. Him and Miss Green and her husband must've stepped right from the camper into one of the cars and made tracks for Fort Worth."
Iris could feel a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach and her heart cry. If what Carl said was true, and she could see no reason why he should lie, Dirk had left without even bothering to find out whether she was alive or dead.
"Can I get you something to drink? A shot of whisky maybe?" Carl asked. "I've got a bottle of
Scotch right here in the closet."
"No, thanks," Iris said. She wasn't in the mood for drinking.
"How about some coffee?"
"If it's made."
"Just needs heating," he told her as he turned toward the butane stove, struck a match and lighted the burner under the percolator. While he waited for the coffee to heat, he took off his wet shirt and hung it over the back of a chair.
Iris couldn't help but show her admiration. She knew he was built. But not like this. He looked like something out of a Mr. America contest. His chest was massive, muscles rippling through his shoulders and biceps.
"Where did you get such a build?" she was curious to know.
He told her that he had played football in college, which surprised her, because she wasn't aware he'd attended college.
"Then I turned to boxing, figured to become a pro," he said. "But I took a shot at the Olympics first. That's where that robe you're wearing came from. When you take it off you'll see USA on the back of it."
"What happened, that you didn't become a professional?" Iris asked.
"I got as far as the semifinals, when I broke my right hand," he replied. "Won a silver medal. But that was the end of the line. Bones never knitted properly and there went my career as a boxer."
So, he said, he returned to college, got his BA, then went into automotive work and transportation and finally, through his brother, who was a cameraman at the studio, he was put in charge of the maintenance department of the Rollo Styles organization.
"Then when Dirk Norman dreamed up this exploitation trip, Mister Styles told me he'd like me to head it," he concluded. The coffee was ready by this time. He filled two cups, brought them to the bed and sat on the edge of it and they went on talking while they drank their coffee.
What amazed Iris most of all was that he knew so much about her background, where she came from, the seminary she'd attended, what she had hoped to be. He didn't censure her for what she'd done. Made no comment about her affair with Dirk. Even though as the evening wore on, Iris could see that he didn't approve of it, that he had little respect for Dirk even though he never said so.
Gradually, too, she began to realize that all of these things Carl had gone to the trouble of finding out about her hadn't been done out of mere curiosity, that his purpose was far more deeply rooted. Carl was in love with her...and she didn't deny that she was physically attracted to him.
It all started off not necessarily as a lark but more as an obligation that she thought she owed him. After all, during the past week she'd given herself to Dirk, Rollo, Otis, Tyronne, Bryan and Max Seymour-and not one of them had done a thing for her, whereas Carl had saved her life. Why then shouldn't she give herself to him? Especially since she could see by his male evidence how much he wanted her.
In the brief time that she had known Dirk, Iris had learned a lot about sex and how to arouse a man. For instance, before Dirk showed her how, she never would have known how much of the silk robe to open at the top so that Carl could see just enough of her breasts to add to his excitement. How much of her legs to show through the lower folds of the robe. How close to bring her face to his before the temptation of her mouth made him grab her in his powerful arms, draw her close to him and kiss her.
Iris couldn't understand why his kiss was so different from Dirk's kiss, or any kiss she had ever known before. Why it stirred her so deeply, sparking her loins, making her breasts feel huge, tingle with an electric urgency. She wiggled her shoulder just enough to allow the silky material of the robe to slide down her arms and bare her torso to the waist. His lips moving down over her throat and chest to enclose her nipples filled her breasts and her entire body with a strange new fire that brought her a mild orgasm.
She dropped her left hand to his right thigh and moved it upward to cover his cock. She kneaded it gently as his mouth and tongue on her tits continued to fill her body with delightful sensations.
She didn't understand why she had not the slightest timidity or uneasiness about unbuckling his belt, unzipping his fly and reaching inside to withdraw his phallus. Nor could she explain her eagerness to see what it looked like. Like the rest of his powerful, flawlessly formed body, his cock was perfection. Big and strong, it stood out from his groin, straight and as solidly packed as his muscled shoulders.
She couldn't help herself. She was seized with a sudden mad desire to kiss it, put her lips to it, taste it. It was the first time since Dirk that she had wanted to do such a thing.
Like a large, graceful animal, Iris slid from the bed and fell on hands and knees to the floor.
"Move forward," she begged, trembling. "Sit on the edge."
Carl obeyed, his firm flesh standing up almost perpendicular from his flat, muscled belly. Iris got between his knees and greedily, like a great cat, rubbed the side of her head, her cheeks and finally her lips against the spearlike penis swaying before her face. She was moaning with anticipation, putting off the moment as long as she could, until desire overwhelmed her and she captured him in her mouth. He moved his hips gently as she forced her mouth down on him, taking as much of him as she could into her grasping throat.
She could feel the insistent flesh throbbing against her tongue and the roof of her mouth as she scraped her teeth gently over its sensitive folds. Her mouth became an exquisite torture as she kept sucking, relishing the sharp, salty-sweet taste of his pre-come juices. She would have gladly finished him this way. But he reached down and gently lifted her lips from his cock.
"Enough," he whispered. "Get up on the bed, please."
She did as he told her. She climbed to her feet, stood a moment before him, naked, his robe a pool of white silk around her ankles. Then she got on the bed and stretched out on her back luxuriously, and let him look at her. She stretched tautly, trying to ease the burning ache in her loins, as she offered herself up to his eyes. She liked the way he looked at her, without making her feel dirty. For the first time since Dirk, lying naked like this caused her no shame. . . only a feeling of satisfaction that he seemed so pleased with her.
It took only a moment for him to step out of his work pants and shorts, kick off his shoes, peel off his socks and get into bed with her. He came to her, their bodies meeting and clinging tightly to each other, their mouths fusing and devouring with unbridled hunger. This was how she had imagined it would be with Dirk-but somehow they never quite made it, not after that first time. She wondered if it would change, too, after this first time with Carl.
"I love you," he groaned, his feverish mouth at her breasts.
Iris tossed her body, welcoming the kisses and the contacts with his flesh. She wanted to tell him that she loved him, too. But it wouldn't be true. Because she didn't know for sure whether or not she was simply caught up in her own passion. Besides, she was in love with Dirk...wasn't she?
It was the most wonderful sensation she had ever known, when he covered her body with his own and she felt him fit his burning tool into her throbbing box. At least, she thought it was the most wonderful sensation. But again it could be simply the result of the frustrations Dirk had caused her, the things he's insisted she do-and now to be with a man of her own choosing. Right now she didn't care.
She knew only that she could never remember being so hot and wet and open, wanting a cock inside her so much. Carl more than obliged her. He felt so good sliding into her that she wanted to cry out, yell, scream...and then finally he was berthed deep in her belly.
What happened after that was the stuff of wonderland...a frothy, airy journey through an almost unreal world of indescribable pleasure.
Gently, languidly, he moved against her, bringing her higher and higher to a plateau of sensation she had never known before. She seemed to be living through one long, continuous, exquisite orgasm...until finally he achieved his...sending his sperm rocketing through her body for a finale that was so joyful and rapturous that she flung herself into a vicious arc and slammed her pelvis against him...once, twice, three times...holding herself there, screaming wildly as the world exploded behind her tightly closed eyelids....
18
Sometime during the night, the storm ended and in the morning the sun shone bright and clear. After breakfast, Iris had a chance to clean and iron her clothes. She made herself look presentable, got into Carl's car, and with his trailer hitched on behind, he drove her to Fort Worth.
On the way, she could see the havoc the storm had caused, the devastation spread over the highway and the land that stretched out at both sides. Trees had been uprooted, telephone poles blown over, wires twisted and snarled, probably disrupting phone service and perhaps the lighting for hours, maybe days. Here and there, a roof had been torn off a farm or ranch house, lean-tos toppled over. At the sides of the road were wrecked cars, including most of the campers that had made up the caravan.
But none of this destruction was nearly as devastating as the one thing that Carl told her about Dirk. Not intentionally, not maliciously; he simply was confused when she told him Dirk was waiting for his divorce to marry her, because he said Dirk had no wife. As far as he knew he had never been married.
After that, Iris remembered very little about the drive to Fort Worth. She had no recollection of saying good-bye to Carl, getting out of the car, walking through the lobby, boarding the elevator and riding up to the floor where Dirk's room was located. It was as if all the guts had been torn from her body, every thought ripped from her mind.
Her next conscious thought was that of standing in the corridor outside Dirk's room and him standing in the open doorway in only his shorts.
His face lit up when he saw her and he exclaimed, "Baby! You're here! You're okay!" He grabbed her in both arms and pulled her into the room, kicked the door closed with his bare foot. "I didn't know what the devil happened to you. I was so worried-"
"You were so worried, that you didn't even stop to find out whether I was alive or dead," she interrupted unemotionally as she stood frozen in his arms with no response to the warmth of his near-naked body, no reaction to his cock, which she could feel hardening against her lightly covered belly.
He held her away from him at arm's length, his face a mask of mock astonishment and hurt. "Who the hell told you that? I looked everywhere for you, until they finally made me get into one of the cars and drove me here. I've been calling every hospital in the area, asking everybody I could think of if they knew what happened to you."
Iris broke away from his grasp and walked slowly toward the window. "It doesn't really matter, except that I heard something else that's very interesting," she said expressionlessly. Every thought inside was a bundle of seething emotion.
He stepped after her. "Like what, for instance?"
She turned to face him and looked up at him. "Like you not having a wife, never having been married!"
He was taken aback for the moment, but his recuperative powers were remarkable. "Who told you that bullshit?"
"I told you, it doesn't matter!"
He scowled. "It matters to me. Because it's a goddamn lie."
Iris kept staring at him, searching his face, looking deep into his eyes. "If it's a lie, Dirk, tell me the truth-is it a lie? Do you really have a wife?"
He hesitated, running a hand through his long brown hair. For a moment it looked as if he were going to try to he his way out of it. But it was as if she had his brain under an X-ray. He drew himself erect, chin thrust forward defiantly, and said, "Okay. It isn't a lie. I don't have a wife. Never had." He grasped her arms again and tried to pull her close to him, but she stayed away from him. "I had to tell you I had a wife. You never would've come away with me otherwise."
"That's right," she said coldly, then broke away from him and started for the door.
He stepped in front of her, blocking her way. "Just where the hell do you think you're going?"
"Where would you imagine I'm going? I'm leaving," she replied bluntly. She tried to go past him, but he pushed her backward into the room.
"Oh, no, baby, you're not going any place," he said. "Not right now. Not until after tonight's banquet."
"Banquet?" she repeated with a spiritless smile. "If you think for one moment I'm going to stay and be a part of anything like that.. . "
"Oh, you're going to stay all right," he told her as he moved toward her, gave her a little shove and sent her sprawling backward across the bed, her skirt hiked up to the lace border of her panties. His eyes roved her thighs. "You're going to stay, baby, and you're going to do everything I tell you to do."
She tried to get up, but he pushed her down again and put one knee on the bed beside her.
"You know why you're going to do it?" he asked. "Because I got all those pretty pictures taken in my apartment. Those and the negatives. I also have the address of your sanctimonious parents, as well as all your friends, people you went to school with. You do as I say and maybe I'll see you get all those pictures and negatives. If you don't, you're going to come in for a lot of pretty sordid, unwanted publicity when I start distributing them around...with my face matted out, of course."
"You wouldn't do such a thing," she declared as she looked up in horror at him, hovering over her.
"Don't kid yourself that I wouldn't," he replied as he ran a hand over her hip and down along her bare thigh.
"Buy why me?" she wanted to know, feeling repulsed by his touch for the first time since she'd known him. "There are plenty of other girls you could get to go with you to the banquet."
"True," Dirk agreed. "But that little stunt you pulled the night before last in Abilene, getting Max Seymour riled up and then walking out on him-after he had something special lined up for you-suddenly made you something extra desirable. He sent word to Rollo, and Rollo passed it on to me, that he wants us to make sure you come to the banquet tonight. Like Rollo's command performances, this one is even stronger, which means it's my job to see you get there. I understand he's got a real interesting program lined up for you."
It was almost nine o'clock that night when Iris and Dirk finally left his room. Wardrobe had sent a beautiful new off-the-shoulder gown to the hotel for her to wear. It was form-fitting and low-cut enough to show off her considerable cleavage. With her long golden-red hair swirling over her bare shoulders, she caused quite a furor as she walked with Dirk through the lobby en route to the banquet hall, where Rollo, Seymour and guests were awaiting them.
It wasn't necessary for Dirk to hold on to her, or make any threats as to what he'd do if she tried to get away from him. The photographs he'd had taken by one of the studio cameramen to use as leverage against her if she stepped out of line, and which he was now carrying in a large envelope in his left hand, were reminder enough.
Iris knew only too well what would happen to her mother and father if anyone back home saw even one of those photos, especially after the lofty ideas they'd had for her and respect the townsfolk had shown her when they knew she was studying for the ministry. She remembered vividly the terrible reaction her parents had suffered when she told them she was dropping out of school, giving up the future they'd planned for her. She knew that the humiliation and disgrace that the photos would bring surely would kill both of them.
The excitement that Iris' appearance caused as she strolled across the lobby with Dirk was only mild compared to what happened when they got to within a few feet of the revolving door-and Carl Morgan stepped out of the crowd, directly in their path.
Iris' heart stopped for at least a full second and she felt as if someone had laid an icy hand against her spine. But Dirk simply smiled benignly and said, "Hi'ya, Morgan. I want to thank you for taking such good care of Iris last night."
Carl's jaw was hard set as he ignored Dirk and settled his gaze on Iris. "Where's he taking you?"
Iris said nothing. She just kept staring up at Carl, deathly afraid of what he might have come here to do.
"If it's any of your goddamn business, Morgan," was Dirk's sharp reply. "We're going to the banquet hall. So if you'll be good enough to get the hell out of the way...."
Carl didn't budge as he went on eyeing Iris inquiringly. "Do you really want to go there?"
Iris was trembling, head to foot.
"Of course, she wants to go there," Dirk said with mounting anger.
"Do you, Iris?" Carl demanded. "I just came from there. Maybe you'd like to know what Seymour and Rollo and your friend here have lined up for you."
"She's not interested," Dirk cut in. "Now, if you'll move your ass out of the way."
He tried to push Carl aside, but the giant maintenance chief gave Dirk a none-too-gentle shove backward.
"Please, Carl, don't!" Iris cried out in terror.
Carl paid no attention. He told her, "First thing they plan to do is strip you. You and Tryonne's teen-age girl friend, and serve both of you up to the crowd in a six-foot cake-and I mean serve you up. Because anybody who wants to lick the icing off the two of you just has to step forward and start licking."
"Don't listen to him," Dirk discharged angrily as he took a tight grip on Iris' arm and made another attempt to shove past Carl. "He doesn't know what the hell he's talking about."
"I know all right," Carl assured her as he continued to block the doorway with his tremendous bulk. "I just came from the banquet hall. I wanted to let you know exactly what you're in for."
"Shut up, goddamn it!" Dirk shrieked.
"After the tongue bath, the stag line'll form-or didn't you know it was strictly a stag affair, and anybody who wants to can have a crack at you?"
"You son of a bitch, I told you to shut your fucking mouth!" Dirk yelled and in his fury made an unwise move. He threw a right hand at Carl's head that barely grazed the giant's jaw. Then Carl's own right fist shot out, caught Dirk flush on the button with a sickening, bone-crushing thud. Dirk's head snapped back like a rag doll's head and he went sprawling onto the floor, out cold. The envelope he'd been carrying went sailing out of his hand, the flap coming open to spill several of the photographs out onto the floor.
Before anyone could get a good look at them, Carl rushed forward and scooped them up. He took one quick glance at the photos to ascertain what they were, then quickly stuffed them back into the envelope.
Again his eyes settled on Iris. "Are these the reason you were going with him?"
Iris swallowed and nodded her head, almost imperceptibly, her eyes lowered in humiliation.
Carl glanced at Dirk, who was still stretched out on the floor. "What did he tell you he was going to do with them?"
Iris told him.
"He's even lower than I thought," Carl muttered with contempt as he watched a couple of hotel employees step out of the gaping crowd and try to bring Dirk around. Then he took Iris' right arm in his huge left hand and started to move her toward the revolving door. One look at his powerful physique and it was obvious why no one interfered.
Iris, however, held back. Her whole body quivered under his hand as she murmured, "I can't, Carl. No matter what, I just can't let him send those horrible pictures home."
Carl shook his head reassuringly. "He's not going to send them any place. Because these are the only prints he has and we're going to destroy them."
"You're wrong. He has the negatives."
"No," Carl informed her as they paused for a moment at the door. "My brother took the pictures."
Iris was stunned. "Your-your brother?"
Carl nodded. "He's a cameraman and still photographer at the studio. When Dirk asked him to take the pictures, he gave him an entirely different impression as to what kind of girl you were. He made him think you made your living doing such things and told my brother it would make the pictures more realistic if you didn't know they were being taken. But one look at you and I knew Dirk was lying. I checked you out, found out everything I could about you and when I discovered I was right, I had my brother destroy the negatives and every remaining print. Which means, once these are destroyed, you'll have nothing to worry about."
As they started to go through the revolving door, Dirk lifted himself to a sitting position on the floor and yelled after them.
"You can't walk out on me!" he screamed almost hysterically, unmindful of the crowd around him. "I promised Rollo and Seymour I'd have you at the banquet. If you don't show, it'll mean my job. You can't do this to me. Please, come back! Christ, if that's what you want. . . I'll-I'll even marry you!"
Carl looked down at Iris and said, "That's what you wanted, wasn't it?"
She glanced at Dirk getting up from the floor, then shifted her gaze to Carl. She said, "It was, but it isn't any more."
She pushed through the spinning door with him and when they got outside, they headed for his car and trailer, which were parked at the curb.
As he opened the car door for her, he said, "Any place in particular you'd like to go on your honeymoon?"
"Honeymoon?" she asked with surprise.
He shrugged. "Well, since you aren't going to marry Dirk-and it looks as if we'll be traveling together. I didn't think it'd be quite right if we weren't married, if I couldn't introduce you as Mrs. Carl Morgan."
"Mrs. Carl Morgan." She repeated it several times and liked the way it rolled around on her tongue. But she liked even more that he was an old-fashioned guy, who didn't like traveling with someone who wasn't his wife.
And she made no bones about it. She just threw her arms around his neck, pressed her body to his and kissed him right there on the sidewalk in front of everybody.