Stan Padovski, a patrolman on the twenty-three man Tudor Park police force, was slowly cruising down the tree-lined tunnel the town's developers, a huge construction combine out of Texas, had quaintly dubbed Buckingham Drive. He was on his regular 11:30 patrol. Since he had few calls from the station at this hour, he had turned down the "bitch box" from headquarters and turned up his transistor radio. The reedy strains of "Wichita Lineman" flooded the interior of the prowl car. Stan hummed along with the melody.
He was very happy with his job-a relatively easy one as far as police work is concerned. He had been born and raised in Grafton, an old Ohio town that was about ready to die until the Harmony Electronics people decided to bring thir main plant to the area. That was when the O. J. Odie people came into build Tudor Park. The whole town was glad to get the economic shot in the arm, but mostly the city fathers were glad to watch the scores of bright, young, affluent, college-educated couples moving in. The young people, they thought, will be the real shot in the arm Grafton needs. They will bring their young blood, their new ideas, their youthful thrust, so that all of Grafton will be revitalized and cleansed of the old doubts. This had been the hope. Unfortunately, the Tudor Park peope were really not very political nor very community-minded as far as the parent-town "of Grafton was concerned. Tudor-Parkians kept to themselves pretty much. Their main loyalty was to the company, and since the company was quite new and volatile, transfers and reassignments were frequent. In fact, moving vans were as ubiquitous in Tudor Park as milk wagons.
Still, they were very quiet, very respectable, yery decent people, and the Old Guard in Grafton were quite pleased to see them incorporated into the Town Proper. Sometimes, a doctor or an architect from the area would appear at a City Council or Board of Education meeting, gracing the proceedings with a broad magnanimous touch, and there were cocktail parties exchanged back and forth, but Tudor Park was always thought of as "a bedroom," of the community, even though most of the men did not commute any more than five miles to the Harmony plant out in the alfalfa fields once owned by old Doc Martinson.
Stan rolled on, passing from light puddle to light puddle, thinking for some curious reason that he was moving along some great stage lit by follow-spots that waited for him. Suddenly, he began to brake at the comer of Buckingham and Dover. A woman was walking down the street in her negligee.
He rolled down the right window. "Anything wrong, Mrs. Hudson?" Even under these unusual circumstances there was a slight hesitancy in his voice. The self-assured people of Tudor Park had always awed him a little.
The woman looked at him, for a moment stunned. Was she frightened or, for the instant, disoriented? "Who is that?" she said, quite obviously scared.
"It's Officer Padovski, ma'am-the night patrolman. You know me, Mrs. Hudson." The woman looked so frightened, so silly in her skimpy garment, floodlighted by Stan's beacon, that he began to pity her. She was hardly a voluptuous type-more statuesque, really-but she had warm, full breasts with silver dollar-size nipples clearly figured under the negligee. "Anything wrong?" he called out the window to her.
"I'm looking for my dog. My dog, he's run away."
Something in the way she said that made Stan get out of the car. He walked over to her and meant to say something else that might be helpful, when he smelled it. An overpowering stench of consumed bourbon or scotch. The woman was drunk, but keeping her composure beautifully. "Why don't I walk you home, Mrs. Hudson?"
The gallantry completely arrested her. Sensuously, she now looked at the masculine body planted before her, a young healthy, lithe and masculine body under rough wool. "Yes," she purred like a kitten. "I would like that-you walking me home."
She took his arm and walked beside him, but Stan could now easily tell how drunk she was, for she began tugging at his arm for balance. He looked down at her and saw her head bobbing like a marionette's. With her free hand, she began to stroke her hair. "Tell me, Officer Padovski, have you ever been rimmed?"
"I'm not sure I understand, Mrs. Hudson," he said.
"You've never heard that expression before?"
"Why, no, I can't say that I have."
"How old are you, Officer Padovski? No, no- before you answer that-tell me, are you married?"
"Yes."
"How long?"
"Three years."
"And you've never been rimmed?"
"I'm not sure what . . ." They had arrived at the Hudson gate.
"I have," she said, opening the wicket gate. "It's a delicious sensation, you know. You must ask your wife to ..."
Stan was eagerly awaiting her to finish the sentence and in all his twenty-three-year-old eagerness he was sincerely eager fo her to finish, but Mrs. Hudson could see that it was hopeless. For one split second, she responded to a fulminating urge and leaned against his body, hoping to feel the power in his chest, the stick of dynamite in his loins. She felt nothing and drifted away from him.
"To what, Mrs. Hudson?"
She was rolling her eyes in her head now, completely divorced from this silly context. "To read you . . . every night . . . chapters from . . . the best ... marriage manuals."
With that, she gave a cruel laugh and fled down the path to her rambling, early-colonial-style home. Stan looked at the shingle hanging on a post beside the gate: DR. JAMES HUDSON/PSYCHIATRY/FAMILY COUNSELING. He smiled, a bit amused at it all, and walked back to his car. It pleased him to think that these people in Tudor Park could be "human" after all-as human as his relatives coming to visit him, arguing around the kitchen table about the most intimate details, picking their noses, getting a bit drunk and wild sometimes. He thought that Mrs. Hudson reminded him, in a small way, of his cousin Constantina. Even though she was only twelve years old, he thought, Constantina was a junior version of Mrs. Hudson.
Sally Hudson slammed the door and backed against it, exhausted. What is happening to me? she thought. I was almost ready to seduce that boy. He's got a cock, I know, and is ready to use it practically every minute of the day. But he's got a young wife-probably as young as HE is, so, damn it-get it through your head, Sally Hudson-he doesn't want some thirty-five-year-old, frustrated, married broad coming along and trying to turn him on!
She snapped her body away from the door and moved to the bar, pouring herself a drink. With the filled glass in her hand, she reeled around and looked at the splendid living room, empty now as a tomb, a feature three years ago in Architect's Monthly, a subtle ensemble of yellow, magenta and gold. Her home. Her lioness's den. Her tramping grounds twelve to fourteen hours out of the day. A gingerbread prison. A Toulouse-Lautrec whore-house. The waiting room in some Personality-Improvement Salon. Chi-chi cock and cunt, with perfume and ruffles and Musak and wall-to-wall foo-foo juice. Sally Hudson was bored, monumentally bored with her chambers, and she thought of her husband, Jim, playing poker with the boys, thriljed with that kinky circumstance, smoking cigars until he couldn't see straight, his cock swelling at the thought of fresh pussy, watching the rising sweat on the other men's brows, playing and playing, playing hard, for all his life, for a key-a key-a god-damned, fucking KEY!
Of course, the whole thing was madness, absolute madness. If only her mother could see her now! (Oh well, better not think about that, while everybody is in so deep!) But still! She always felt strange when Jim went off to play poker with the boys. And this was only natural, because she never knew who would come walking through her front door when the game was over, because, then the boys played for the pile of keys they had sur-renderd. The winner of the big pot of the game had first choice on that pile. Then, hand by hand, the rest of the players picked up the keys they wanted and drove to the Tudor Park homes for which they now had entry. Waiting expectantly, their wives had no idea who would come walking through their front doors about midnight-Jim or Marc or Alex or Ted or Bret. And that shaky, raw expectancy was the greatest part of the thrill of the game. Oh, in leaving their homes, some of the men would tease their wives about the fantasy that, winning the pot, they would naturally choose their own house key in the pile in the center of the table, but, in practice, few of them did. Every wife knew that the men went to play the poker game to get a chance to sink themselves into and pump away on a new and fresh pussy. After all, for what other reason did they want to play the game?
Sally could understand the rationale. Almost all of the men (and their wives) involved in the game were in their early thirties. They were so strung-out in terms of 'making it in business that sex was about the only thing left in their lives for a little bit of fun. The up-tight scene was suffocating them and the new liberality in sex matters was a real release for them. Even Sally, finding much in the poker game to her unliking, was genuinely thrilled with this moment: here she was, standing alone in her glamorous living room, a drink in hand, a ripe woman, ready to make love, and she hadn't the slightest idea who would be walking through her front room to gather her into his arms and penetrate, penetrate, penetrate her. Isn't life strange? she thought. How in the world did I ever get here?
Sally and Jim Hudson met in a rowboat one summer in the middle of Lake Manitawpah in Minnesota. Sally was rowing and had been rowing in this marriage ever since. She had rowed-and pulled the major weight-through the years that Jim was in medical school. She was doing the same thing during his residency in psychiatry. It took her several years to learn that Jim never really ever moved-people pushed him. His mother, the minister of his church, his grade-school teachers, his college professors, everybody pushed him, publicized him, public-relation-ed him-but Jim never moved and Sally knew why. She had married him and she had learned of the Enchantment: his love for his own cock.
There was no doubt about it-it was a Beautiful male member-sleek, seven-and-a-half inches, well-veined, straight, erect at a moment's notice. Who wouldn't have fallen in love with Jim Hudson? He knew he was a darling man from the minute he was born and he knew that all he had to do in life was sit. Yes, just sit. But Sally married him never knowing that she was supposed to live out the rest of her life as some priestess in a temple, wafting fumes up to her husband's sacramental member. After a couple of years of play-acting Jim's fantasy, Sally gave up. No children seemed to be forthcoming, and she had adored and sucked and played with and flattered and jingled over his magnificent cock, but nothing seemed to get anywhere. Nothing was happening. Just days and days of idle worship. Sally was too historical, too anxious to have things moving, growing, progressing. That kind of idle worship was vaguely irreligious to her. So she began to hate her husband.
Then they moved to Tudor Park and Sally had finally met Marc Winthrope one day in the supermarket. They had been racing their carts around, it seemed, so that they could meet at the end of every aisle, apologizing to each other for bumping, interfering. Marc was a New Person, a blonde-haired, thick-muscled, trim-waisted, potentially-powerful New Man. A big, drastic change in anybody's life. A sexually Very Important Human Being. A Stud-with this one great interest for Sally-a stud who was willing to play with Fab and Tab and cat food and potato chips and underarm deodorant and Kuminost cheese. It was a delightful shopping experience. And they ended up in line with the checkers, and Marc had even leaned over her shoulder to utter a sexy thing in her ear-just for the fun of it-something about a kind of "musk ant" that grew in South America that favored the taste of female musk, traveling for hundreds of miles to get to it seeking out the one female they loved the best, crawling over moun-tains[ and window sills to get to that one source of musk they loved the best-to nibble there, chew and chew delicately, sip and sip. The works! By the time Sally reached her checker, she was utterly delirious.
Marc Winthrope! That easy, sleasy son-of-a-bitch! That sexy bastard! Was he playing tonight for the key to Sally's front door? Was he fighting for one more chance to come and lie down upon her anxious body? Probably not, Sally thought bitterly. The Bastard! That King of a Bastard!
Sally poured another drink and sat down on her pure-white sofa, studying the door. Who was going to come through it? Who had won the key to her pussy?
Caught up in the fantasy of the thing, she spread her legs and exposed her genitals to the front door. The man who comes through that front door will see this first, she thought. This will please him. Those guys want it ripe and fresh and right in their faces. The door! That's the whole secret of the thing! They open the door and there is Miss Pussy, Miss Richness, Miss Loveliness-right before their eyes. And they don't have to struggle for it. Fight for it. Kill for it. It's just there. Something they won. Honorably. In a game with other men. A key. A right to penetrate. So why not turn the power of the pussy so that it flashes in then-eyes whep they first come in? Dazzles them?
Sally's fantasy was overpowering her. She had conjured up not one man but an army. She thought of army bases Viet Nam, Greenland outposts-men in all circumstances of deprivation from sweet, luscious pussy-and she wanted to have them all see her, wanted to have them all know how eager she was to have them fill her up. She was now sprawled on a beautiful white leather chair, her legs flung lewdly over the arms of the chair, her pussy utterly open and penetrable. She waited. A key in the lock. Wasn't a winner from the poker game coming? Oh God, why wasn't he walking through the door? Think of it-Mark-that hyperactive stud-man, how he could fill a woman full! Who else? Who else was playing the game tonight? That jerk Bret Shaw?
Her fingers began to flutter over her pussy. Oft, those poor boys, she thought. Living under ice caps, struggling in the jungles. All those muscles going to work for lousy causes, when they should be pumping away into the bodies of women! Why do men take good men away from women? Are they queers? I hate them. Every last militaristic bastard in every last culture in the world, I hate you! Stop trying to take our boys away from their rightful work-the making of life, the making of love!
The power of this fantasy began to stir desires and cravings deep within her womb. She felt so empty down there, so hungry for a man's throbbing, thickening shaft to fill her up and flood her womb with the thick, white cream of manhood. Her fluttering hands were spread across the gentle rise of her belly, while her middle finger curved along her clitoris and plunged into the vaginal opening. The slick lubrication which had begun to flow abundantly caused a crackling sound which always intensified Sally's lust. She began conjuring up in her mind various kinds of servicemen who might come through the door, unzip their trousers, and sink their shafts into her. First, it was a Marine, blonde and Scandinavian, a hammer-head cock, a brutal way of slamming it into her. Then, it was a SeaBee, a fatigue cap set back jauntily on his head a swarthy and sleek rod, a marvelous way of positioning himself to give her clit the maximum of abrasion. Her pussy was lush now with her warm secretions and the entire palm of her hand was awash in it. She could even feel a thin ticklet of it rolling down along the inside of her open loins. Her fingers were working the flesh of her vagina with frantic haste, pill-rolling her clit in her three front fingers, pronging her swollen labia with her middle and index fingers, then ramming the middle one in as far as it could go into the hot, black depths. Just as she was about to fantasize a rugged Marlon Brando sailor, she heard a key being inserted into the front door. She stopped- frozen in her labors. Who would it be? Marc? Oh
God, let it be that great stud, Marc! Bret Shaw came through the door. Sally's heart sank. She and Bret had rolled in the hay several times before, but Sally could get little action from spinning on that puny cock of his.
"Wow!" said Bret as he came through the door.
"Don't wear that thing out until I have a crack at it, Sally."
"Hurry up, Bret. If you're going to want to jab this tonight, you'd better shake a leg. I'm about ready to cum."
Watching Bret remove his clothes in such feverish haste was as funny as a Marx Brothers sketch. His shirt buttons wouldn't unbutton, his zipper locked, his shoe laces were knotted, but eventually, he tore himself free of his clothes and leaped over to Sally with the eagerness of a puppy.
"Golly, Sal, you're so far ahead of me, you're going to have to let me catch up," he said.
Without waiting for any further ceremony, Sally took Bret into her arms around the hips and moved her mouth to where she could pick up his limp pecker with her lips and tongue.
"Yeh, Sal, suck it. Please! You can do it better than any of the other wives in the poker club, better even than Bea who thinks she's the expert on everything!"
Sally let the man's penis slip out of her mouth. "Sh-h-h-h," she said. "Concentrate." Bret was a terrible talker whenever he became sexually aroused. That was another thing that bothered her about Bret.
The man restrained himself until Sally had licked him to a skin-bursting rigidity. "Ooooooo, you do that so well! That's it-all the way now-let me feel it inside your throat. Like last time-remember?"
"No," said Sally slipping to the floor, throwing her legs wide. "My turn now. Do me, Bret."
"I got a better idea, Sal. Let me help you slip out of that negligee and let me screw you doggie-fashion-the way you taught me. O.K.?"
"Oh well, all right," she said, thinking how much deeper penetration he could get from that position. Quickly, she slipped the night garment over her head and pulled a cushion down from the couch on which she now put her head as she raised her round, white buttocks into the air on her knees. Really, quite a comfortable position for screwing, she thought-a lot better than having to bear a man's weight all the time on top of you.
She shut her eyes as she felt him caressing her slit with a probing finger. Oooooh, she thought, I wouldn't mind if you just went on doing that all night. The little ripples of sensuousness were returning to her womb now, moving out in ever-widening waves throughout her body.
"Honest to God, Sal you really worked this up. Why, it's better than a monsoon down here."
"Sexeeee, sexeeeeeee," Sally moaned under the increasing pressure of his finger in her socket. I'm going to clamp down on that finger of his one day, and won't he be surprised? she thought.
Now she could sense him getting into position to slip that shaft of his into her boiling, steaming pussy. He was grabbing her at the waist and slowly pulling her pelvis back so that their genitals became juxtaposed. When she knew that he was lurking just outside her aching vagina, she thrust her belly back and her buttocks higher into the air so that he slipped into her without any difficulty.
Sally could hear the crackling of their comingled pubic hair, as Bret ground away into her open loins in rotary fashion. "God damn it Sal, you really make me feel like a man-better, far better than Alice does!" Bret was babbling again.
"Oooo, I'm so horny, baby," he went on, reaching up under her and grabbing her breasts which had been swinging up -and down like bells. "Oh, your tits, baby! Holding them like this is turning me on. How about you, baby? You like this? You like this as much as I do?"
"Nnnggghhh," grunted Sally, not caring much to enter into his running chatter. His cock in her was certainly not as fulfilling as her husband's, but in her present mood, she thought, it would do. As she lay there, her whole body gently rocked back and forth by Bret's pummelings against her upraised buttocks, her mind drifted to Marc. She wondered if he had been in the Air Force and went on to wonder still what he would have looked like in a pilot's uniform if he had. She tried hard to fantasize now that it was Marc who was screwing her, his pilot's cap set low over his brows, that mean and sensuous look he'd get on his face when he was in the act of making love, and, perhaps, wearing a black leather jacket that would squeak and creak because of his jabbings. "Ooooo!" Sally moaned again, really aroused now by her voluptuous dream.
Bret was ramming his hardened rod of flesh into her then as brutally as he could and Sally was beginning to feel the first tremors of an approaching climax. The feeling was exquisite and Sally savored it-a series of contracting sensations deep in her womb and a feeling that she was actually sucking the man off with the lips and walls of her vagina. Indeed, the depths of her belly were now as slippery and wet as her mouth would get when she sucked him off.
The tremors mounted, causing her to tremble throughout her body. Her breath came in rapid, quivering gasps. Higher and higher. A fear that he might stop at this point terrified her. "Oh, don't stop, Bret. Don't stop, for God's sake!"
Bret had no intention of stopping. He had begun to sense the quivering in her belly and the sucking movement in her pussy and his own lust, in response, took a giant leap to the threshold of sweet orgasm. Sally could hear him jabbering on and on-now quite vulgarly-". . . so fuckin' hot . . . your juicy cunt . . ." She turned him off and concentrated on getting up to the top of that mountain she was climbing.
Her fantasy of Marc returned in a flash and that did it! Her whole body felt as if it were bursting open. She sent up a sharp groan from the bottom of her throat and loud enough to be heard throughout the house. Bret was thrilled to see that he had made her cum and this accomplishment tipped him over the edge and he started blasting her full with hard spurting volleys of his milky sperm.
They both gave full vent to their agonized groans and anyone passing near the house at that moment might easily have thought themselves near a torture chamber or slaughter house, except that the subsiding ejaculations sounded more like those of purring kittens than stuck pigs.
Finally, with the last quiver to come down his spine into the shaft of his penis, Bret lost all strength to support himself and fell over on Sally, a limp, perspiring, exhausted rag doll.
As casually, as simply as this, did Mrs. James Hudson of 3175 Dover Lane, Tudor Park and Mr. Bret Shaw of 2005 Essex Drive, Tudor Park, commit acts of marital infidelity. Her two adopted sub-teen daughters slept on, at the Loomises, five houses down the street undisturbed by their mother's late activities. Sally had convinced Margaret Loomis to have the girls over for a pajama party.
II. Mrs. Bea Winthrope
O. J. Odie, Inc., the Texas construction company which had built Tudor Park, had reserved Rocky Glen for the fifteen top-priced homes they built in the town. Before the days of Harmony Electronics, the glen had been a favorite spot for Sunday picnickers and Saturday evening lovers. There was a waterfall, several paths, many oak and maple trees, and a limestone gorge. Will Hungerford, Grafton's unofficial historian, had even found an abundance of Indian graves and other prehistorical artifacts in the glen and had concluded that the Five Nations Indians had used the spot for their important council meetings.
The area was now dotted with tasteful ranch-style homes in the $50-to-75,000 range. Since the Town Fathers of Grafton had sold the land outright to the company, there were no more picnics or lovers in the glen. Each plot was a half-acre and was carefully fenced off for privacy and even the luxuriance of trees in the area conspired to guarantee that the new residents of the glen could pursue their present lives without interference from the world outside.
The only street in this area of Tudor Park was Queen Anne Drive which wound through the rocky terrain, following the old path that had been used for decades as the entrance into the glen. The drive ended up at the beginning of the gorge and the last house on this road, almost entirely hidden in the lush growth of trees here, was the residence of Marc Winthrope and his wife, Bea. Marc was chief engineer with the company and earned close to $30,000 a year. Since the Winthropes had no children, they were free to devote all their time and money to the care and furnishing of their house and land.
Working closely with the Odie architects, Marc had made the house into a technological wonder. All the drapes and blinds on the windows worked on hidden push-button controls, the lighting had been designed with the ingenuity of theatrical technicians, and music-of any desired mood-was immediately accessible at the touch of a finger. Not so evident as these novelties were the hidden cameras in each room which recorded on film and videotape any activity ia the room from two to three different angles. Other hidden buttons could drop TV monitors from the ceiling or expose movie screens hidden behind paintings or start motion-picture projectors whirring or set into action the several curious pieces of apparatus that Marc had constructed in the "recreation room" of the basement. As some men live only for drink or golf or fishing or their jobs, Marc Winthrope lived only for sex. His entire home was deliberately designed for seduction and sexual intercourse. With no small amount of pride he called himself a "sex artist" and boasted to his circle of friends that he had built his home into a first-class "fuckatorium."
Thus did Marc Winthrope bring science and progress to the glen.
Marc's wife, Bea, had been a belated accomplice to her husband's highly imaginative schemes for improving and heightening (electronically) the most pleasurable exchange people can effect with each other. She had been the daughter of an eminent, progressive sociologist and had received the most liberal and advanced training possible for a young girl in her day, but, for several years after their marriage, Bea was uncertain about her husband's sanity. As far as the world knew, he was a good husband and a hard worker, no different from many men Bea had known in her years of growing up in the higher echelons of the middle class. But-in private-she found him a perfect demon. At first, Bea could only conclude that all men were as obsessed as her husband, but, as she began to open up and talk more frankly with her other married friends, Bea began to realize that it was not so. Six or seven times a day-day in and day out-her friends would suggest to her was a little extraordinary.
Bea tried, of course, to get her husband to take up a sport or a hobby, but Marc would not hear of it. Sex, to him, was just as legitimate a sport as tennis and just as natural a hobby as raising begonias. He could see no reason to change his interests any more than he should change his political beliefs. He readily admitted that he might be "a little nutty" over his preferred recreation, but-then again-what really good weekend sportsman or evening hobbyist isn't? Bea couldn't refute that. She herself had been a "little nutty" over skiing and girl's hockey in her day.
Of course, he was nobody's fool. He had a complete library of erotica, marriage manuals, and scientific reports on every aspect of human sexuality. Marc was really a very intelligent man, and if ever challenged about his one great extracurricular enthusiasm, he could flatten his critic with all the logic of a good corporation lawyer.
For a time, during the first couple of years together, Marc attempted to build his sexual heaven with his wife alone. No one can deny that he did not use every technique known to man to make his wife as sex-mad as himself. He almost succeeded, but Bea could never completely abandon herself to Marc's dream of unending sexual bliss. Some of the things he tried to get her to do were just too strange for words, and then-well, they both came to the discovery together-the "ultimate" for Bea could never be what it was for Marc. She loved her husband, she liked men in general, but the "peak experience" for Bea would always be a hot sixty-nine on a bear rug in some mountain cabin with- another woman!
For a while, Marc was heart-broken, but, since Bea was still too good in bed to lose, he decided to augment his search for the Perfect Experience without foregoing domestic bliss. If Bea could not supply him with the "ultimate," he would seek again to find it elsewhere, but-lacking it there-he would always have her and her wild pussy to fall back on. Neither wanted to divorce.
They were living in New York at the time. Marc was just beginning with Harmony and, for a while, it seemed he might lose his job-he was busy at the office but even busier scheming on his off-hours. For a while, it was Adele, a file clerk at the office, who was putting out for all the fellows in the company. Each of the men in Marc's department had had a crack at her and then, one night, they all ganged up on her and let her have it. Eleven guys, one after the other! She came back, crying for more. Then Marc began haunting the "singles" bars, where airline stewardesses and young lawyers prowl for a chance to get their rocks off. When Marc could shack up with one of these lovelies, he was Mr. Wonderful for a week, but, more likely than not, he would have to crawl back to Bea in their East Seventies apartment and screw her like a madman to make up for the humiliation of not making out.
Then, for a time, he went into hibernation, reading everything printed about sex he could get his hands on. There wasn't a doubt in Bea's mind that her husband was ripe for a psychiatrist, they were hardly interacting any other way now but through their genitals. What began to disturb Bea was a series of weird discoveries (or had he planned them?). She didn't really mind coming home from shopping or visiting a friend to find him perusing his pornographic photo collection, his livid cock in his stroking hand. She could understand that and help him slide quite easily from that into normal sex with her. What did begin to bother her were the weird things he began doing-the use of her slip and panties as lining for the holes he would manufacture in their bed out of pillows and other articles of her clothing into which he would make himself cum (she could not bring herself to wear them again because the stains would never come out, no matter how often she washed them); or-far more fantastic than this-his use of the nozzle of a hose of a cannister vacuum cleaner (while it was turned on) to satisfy his cravings for the "Ultimate Experience." Believe it or not, he even stuffed one of her canning jars with beef liver and she "caught" him one day pumping himself into this contraption, which he had propped up with pillows in their bed. She begged him to see a psychiatrist but he flatly refused.
Then he began haunting the malt shops for teeny-boppers-the octopus of his obsession now convinced that only very young flesh and blood could satisfy it. For a time, he seemed to be really amused -with these chicks-they always made him feel like a young cowboy riding a very skittish bronco and nothing he would demand of them seemed to faze them in the least. He became part of the "swinging generation" and even learned to dance like a teen-ager in spite of his thirty-odd years. But the delights of youth began to pall too, like everything else. The Ultimate Experience continued to elude him, even though he was becoming a self-styled expert on the history and geography and complete physiology of sex. Bea continued to try to please him-and she had to admit he was developing into a fantastically adept lover in bed-however, despite his seemingly healthy desire to return to women and quit contraptions, his sex drive only seemed to torment him all the more. He would screw and screw his wife, each time with a prayer and a curse on his lips, falling back defeated and frustrated that, again, the ultimate satisfaction had escaped him.
And then he discovered it. Harmony had transferred them to Pittsburgh where, for a time, the directors had hoped he could set up a branch of the business and, incidentally, solve his own personal problems as well. In some vague way, they rather hoped that Marc and Bea would settle down into a standard American marriage away from the thrilling temptations of New York-America's Babylon. What Marc discovered was Jan Wilcox, the wife of Harvey Wilcox, the man whom the company had sent along with Marc to establish the branch. As Bea watched the affair develop, she began to understand what the Ultimate Experience was-at least, for her very individualistic husband.
The Ultimate Experience was to find an attractive, young, middle-class wife-preferably mated to a man with whom he worked-who, though locked in a deadly conventional marriage, thought herself the luckiest woman in the world. The husband would have to be a Nice Guy who was willing to be an occasional drinking partner for Marc or someone who would accompany him without complaining to Marc's one spectator sport passion -destruction derbies (where the drivers perform stunts in old, battered cars). Strangely enough, the seduction of these women would begin in a supermarket. Marc would track his prey down alleys of Fab and Franco-American and Funny Faces (the New-New Breakfast Cereal). The women would be usually so charmed to get a flirtation on their own home grounds that Marc had no trouble moving from seducer in the aisles and in the checkstand lines to seducer in bed.
The pattern that began to develop was most interesting (he revealed every last detail to his wife). Marc would leave the office around 2;30 every afternoon, claiming to his secretary that he was headed for a coffee-break with a client or a brief downtown visit. By 2:45 he was patrolling the aisles in some suburban supermarket. When he found her; she was usually in shorts or capris, her hair in a kerchief to hide the hair-setting she had fixed for the night's dinner, and a sad, drawn expression on her face. Marc had come to call the type "budgies" because they so resembled this type of parakeet he used to see in pet shops. The mark of sadness was important. An expert like Marc could always spot the sign-a sadness and a distracted, distraught seeking in the eyes, a hesitating and a lingering overlong at the produce bins, a basic befuddlement, a frantic look around for a savior, a screaming need that never gets itself etched on the mouth-only along the brow, under the eyes. And the type had to be young. Nobody-over thirty. Nothing leechy and crawly, the way the more experienced married females of this type can be. No, he wanted them to be married for no more than two or three years. Enough rime for the young, nubile maiden to get to know (and like) sex, but not enough time for them to grow sour with frustration and disappointment with the futility of ever finding the real happiness in bed they sought with their dreary, over-worked husbands. Above all, he wanted to drop on them like a hawk and catch them completely unawares and charmed -and awed-that someone as exciting as Marc would take the slightest interest in poor, little them.
By 3:15 he was usually helping the young matron unload her groceries into her little Rambler or Toyota. By this time, he already had name and address and an invitation to drop by for a quickie drink on his way home (he always gave his address after he learned of theirs and it was always only several blocks away from them-a near neighbor-imagine!-how exciting! By 3:30 he was sipping the drink, by 3:45 he was usually in bed, by 4:15 back at the office, claiming a magnificent success for his business meeting.
The Pittsburgh assignment was short-lived. The directors of Harmony voted a final commitment to Crafton as the site of their new major plant because of the tax cut they were able to get from the state and, of course, from the failing community. By the time Marc and Bea moved into their new home, Marc was totally immersed in his fantasies for the best ways to plunder the crotches of young naive married women, the very design of the house was centered around his convictions of what would please or awe or overpower them, and Bea herself was drawn into his multifarious plots to besiege and conquer the semi-naive, the ever-hungering, the ever-twittering Budgie. In the time they had been at Tudor Park, Marc had even let Bea join him in his conquests for a touch or taste that might tease and please her own switch-hitter soul.
Bea thought about her past in this way as she ran another set of drinking glasses through her Magnifo dishwasher. She heard the men playing cards in the other room. The poker game! What a magnificent way that cunning son-of-a-bitch has stumbled upon to get these poor suburban males to surrender their women up to his lust! Fools that they were, they were unable to see that Marc was the winner of each game-each time he managed to get the key he wanted in spite of whatever order the men picked up their "winnings." He always had ways of conning them into thinking he was after one particular key and, because of his reputation as the community's number one "sex artist," his avowed interest would put that key in top priority. It was by this means that he convinced Bret Shaw to pick up the Hudson key. Bea knew that Marc had worked for weeks to get Alex Stenton and his wife, Mona, into the ring, and since this night he would have a second crack at her, he didn't want anyone in the game crowding him out of that action.
"Yesiree," Bea heard him saying, "Alex here has one fine little lady, I must say. (Laughter from the others.) I ought to know. You guys saw me head out for that last week, but, outside of my own wife, the best lay in all this little suburban bedroom we call Tudor Park is Jim's wife. Man, how that gal can ride. Whoooeee," he shouted in his Texas way.
Yes, Bea thought, he'll get his, all right. He'll fill up that tight little belly again tonight-and he'll do it again and again without the ruse of the poker game until the company brings a new couple to town and Marc catches a glimpse of the wife leaning over the meat counter in her stretch pants, presenting for all to see her smooth, well-rounded buttocks.
This thought caused her to rock her pelvis back and forth gently, as she idly looked out of the kitchen window into the darkened yard. Anyone looking at her then would have hardly noticed the gesture-it was that imperceptible and secretive-but slight as it was, Bea felt it as a strong and deep reaction within her. The reason: inserted in her vagina were three balls Marc had given her one year for her birthday. He had picked them up in Japan after the war and told Bea that Japanese women often carried them around-on shopping trips, visiting friends, and so forth. Two of the balls were half-filled with mercury; the third was made of highly polished ebony. The slightest movement of the hips would set the balls moving up and down the vaginal passage-the ebony one in the middle, pushed back and forth by its delicately sensitive mates. Bea rather enjoyed carrying them about- and especially on poker nights. All of the wives in the ring found the "waiting period" irksome, and Bea (as we have seen with Sally) felt compelled to deal with the mounting tension in her own personal way.
A rough, brawling shout went up from the men in the front room. Good, thought Bea, another key has been picked up. Is it the key to 515 Queen Anne Drive? Has someone chosen me this early in the game?
"Bea, c'mere," she heard Marc call. "Take a look at your jockey for tonight's race."
She walked to the archway that led into the large, richly furnished room, wearing a sheer black negligee which was another of Marc's many sensual gifts to her. When the men playing at the large circular table saw her, they hailed her with hoots and stud-shouts. Alex Star'on was standing near the archway, a key in his hand.
Bea smiled but said nothing. She knew that gentle, shy, inexperienced Alex was standing there, trembling with sexual excitement, hungry for a second opportunity to wallow in the lush sensuality of her body. He was rooted to the spot, completely fascinated with the contemplation of her lightly veiled nakedness.
Marc, in his shirt sleeves, was half-turned about in his chair to witness the encounter. "For Chris' sakes, Alex, she ain't gonna bite you. You won her fair and square. Take her."
But still Alex couldn't budge. Bea thought his shyness somewhat charming-almost maidenish- and this suggestion aroused her switch-hitter desires. She moved slowly to him, walking in a smooth, undulating way so that the little Japanese device within her moved up and down, teasingly. The balls had been in her now for more than an hour, maintaining a low level of sexual stimulation which, like a banked fire, needed only the smallest gesture or the merest look to set it off into bursting flames. Alex's timidity was that spark. She opened her mouth directly before his face and reached with her hands around his buttocks to draw his lower regions into contact with hers. Through his trousers, she could feel the curl of his thickening cock. She began swiveling her hips. Her cunt began to feel like a bowling alley. She let her tongue slide over the lips of her half-opened mouth. She shut her eyes.
Suddenly, the shy one became a beast. He slammed his mouth over the moistened lips before his face, slashing into the depths with his tongue. Within seconds, his cock had almost doubled its length. In response to the grinding at his crotch, he began a series of short, sharp jabs, seeking that incredible softness which would soon yield to his pressures. Bea groaned in deep response to his sexual eagerness. For poor Alex's part, he really
thought that his sexual powers alone had brought Bea so suddenly to this fever pitch of sudden desire.
The remaining men at the poker table watched entranced at this uninhibited display. Marc's right hand was molding the organ at his crotch as if it were rising, stiffening bread dough.
"C'mon, you bastards," he said, turning to the others. "I'm gonna win this next hand."
Three keys remained in the center of the table-one relatively new one which would admit Marc into the arms of Mona, Alex's wife.
As the men eagerly fell back into their poker game, prodded onward by the lustful scene they were witnessing, Bea's hands searched for the little metal tab which could release the coiled serpent that struggled for release. With her eyes still closed, she dug into the opening she had made with her skillful fingers, working with the dexterity of a surgeon despite her momentary blindness. In seconds, she had managed to uncoil the monster and pull him out to stand in his ramrod straightness. Alex looked down and thrilled to see the woman's hand stroking his cock with a milking-like squeeze. "Let's fuck" he said hoarsely. They turned toward the large bedroom which lay directly off from the living room (Marc never liked to be too far from a bed).
Noticing them go, Marc shouted after them: "Jab her good, Alex, old boy. She needs it bad, real bad. I know. I haven't fucked her at all since early this morning."
The other men laughed, thinking the remark a joke. They little realized he was dead serious.
III. Mrs. Mona Stanton
The fifth cigarette in the last hour.
Mona Stanton crushed out the life in a newly lit cigarette. This has got to stop! I've got to get hold of myself.
Clutching her elbows to herself, she rose and went to the big picture window in the front room which looked out over a sloping lawn that dipped to St. Andrews Court, one of many quaint cul-de-sacs in Tudor Park. She felt cold, but she had checked the thermostat earlier and had read 77 degrees, so she knew it must be nerves. Why did I ever let him talk me into this game? It's madness. Absolute madness.
She turned away from the window. No one was coming. Not yet.
Almost in a trance, she began wandering about the room. Though the Stantons had moved into these magnificent quarters only a few months before, there were few signs of a recent transplanting. Mona was an efficient housekeeper and so much hated instability and impermanence that, within a week of arrival, she had everything unpacked and stored away. In fact, the only objection Mona had to her husband's job as sales manager for Harmony Electronics was the apparent necessity for frequent moves. Within the last five years, they had moved in and out of three subur-bias. Mona prayed this most recent move would be the last for some time to come.
She had come from a settled New England family-generations in the same house all the way back to 1795. Her family had been so conscious of this heritage that Mona had grown up, fully expecting to carry on the great Averill tradition in the same house for another two generations at least. It was with some sense of diasppointment that she realized-only after her marriage-that this dream would be impossible with a husband in business with a large, nation-wide corporation. She had made the adjustments necessary for the kind of elegant vagabondage required in her new pattern of life, but she still could not get used to seeing her furniture carted off in one town and deposited in new quarters in another. She felt vaguely that the furniture itself resented all that rough, crude uprooting.
She wandered past the nursery and took a quick, guilty peek inside. Her little Amy was fast asleep. Safe and sound. Why had she let Alex talk her into this carzy thing? Why? Why? She shut the door carefully, not wanting to awaken the child.
Well, yes, she knew why. She was mortally afraid that something was going wrong with their marriage and the erosion was most clearly evident in the area of what Mona called "this sex thing." In the five years of their marriage, she had watched a young, dynamic virile man turn into a haunted, hypertensive, hypocritical creature of The Company, surrendering every ounce of his vital juices to the gods that ruled his destiny on the job. He had, of course, been enormously successful-in fact, had really put The Company "on the map"- but, to Mona, the price had been too much. Their loving, tender intermingling in the marriage bed occurred less and less-or Alex's fantasies, which he only hinted at to her, became more and more brutal and revolting. It was as if the old sweetness and cuddly joys could no longer arouse him-he needed stronger medicine to put down his fears and set free his bridled manhood.
Had the arrival of Amy anything to do with it?
She wondered. She had heard tales of how some men could make love to their wives only while they could think of them as their mistresses, but that, once the children came, they could not make love to mothers, because that turned their wives into something too closely resembling their own mothers (whom they had been carefully taught not to desire in this way). The articles in the women's magazines had taught her a little bit about this type of man, but Mona had never dreamed that her Alex might be one of them.
She began to cry, slowly, softly. Like a little girl cries alone in her room on a rainy night. So, when Marc Winthrope began to fill her husband's head full at work about how everybody in Tudor Park was "swinging" with a game of sex poker, she saw how it turned him on, how happy he seemed to be again about "this whole sex thing," and-foolishly or not-she let him go, agreeing to hold up her end of the bargain-anything, anything to save their failing marriage, to assure little Amy that she would have any father at all by the time she was ten, to let her husband feel again the playful urge to mingle his body with her own. That's why she had agreed-for his sake-never dreaming how unbearable it would be for her to live up to her end of the bargain, never imagining in her wildest fancies that a monster like Marc would be walking through her door, into her home, and that she would have to submit willingly to such a creature, fearing all the time that she might waken her child, that her own conscience would torment her unmercifully when it was all done, that the whole sordid business would be immediately exposed and their lives ruined.
She was by the window again. Praying. Tears gently sliding down her cheeks. A car would pull up soon, she was sure. Whoso car? It would be Alex's cream Mustang. Yes, it would. Just as he had promised before he kissed her and left to play the horrid game for the second time. He would win his own house key to prove to her how much he Still really loved her. That was the man she had married-so kind, so gentle, so thoughtful. Such a marvelous man, such a good father for little Amy. And she would rush out to him, throw her arms around him, kiss him and kiss him, explaining to him that they really didn't need any old poker game to bring them back together again, that they didn't need to do anything as foolish as that to rekindle the fires of their marriage, that they were through with all those deranged people, that they would live again as they were meant to live-good, strong, serious members of the community, respected by one and all because they stood for the highest, the finest!
Suddenly, a sleek red Lincoln Continental entered the pool of light in the street before the house. Mona was shaken to the pit of her stomach. A double horror: Alex had chosen another's key, and here again was that monster, Marc Winthrope. She ran to the bathroom to throw up. In the midst of her travails, she heard her front door open.
Chapter 2
The Newcomers
Like a huge bull elephant turning into a jungle path, a Transcontinent Moving Van lumbered onto Gramercy Avenue, Tudor Park. The driver knew immediately where to head his van-toward a cluster of young children who were obviously awaiting the arrival of something as spectacular as the vehicle he was driving. He rechecked the manifest just to be sure. Yep! this is it.
Standing on a little white porch before the house, also awaiting the van, was Mrs. Nat Williams. Dressed in her lemon yellow capris, a dainty apron tied about her waist, and a stack of rollers on her head covered with a skimpy bandanna, she was fully prepared for the job of straw-bossing the movers today. Her two children, Del and Kitty, were as wildly excited as the others running now all about the lawn. "Children! Stop this carrying on this minute! Kitty, let the nice man open the door to the van. Can't you see-he can't get out!"
BettyLou Williams was actually as thrilled as her children about this move to Tudor Park. She and Nat had never dreamed that Nat would be moving into the position of public relations manager with Harmony this soon after joining the company only a year before. However, Rex Buckram, the president of Harmony, was convinced that Nat's intense aggressiveness and alertness were the ideal qualities for the post. His sudden promotion to a $35,000-a-year job at the age of twenty-nine seemed almost as magical as a gift from some fairy godmother and BettyLou had been pinching herself for the last three months, trying to assure herself that she was not dreaming. The most magical stroke of all, of course, was finding and moving into this magnificent colonial home in Tudor Park. After what she and Nat had been living in during the first four years of theif marriage-tiny walk-ups and then an elevator flat with the arrival of Kitty-this place seemed to be a palace. And such a lovely neighborhood, too! When Nat first drove her down Gramercy Street, she tried to imagine the studied grace and unruffled charm of life in these spacious homes set back from the street, often half-hidden by shrubs and trees. She couldn't wait to meet her new neighbors, yet she was afraid that the ladies she imagined living in these houses would be somewhat critical of her innocent, untutored ways. In the end, she decided to be very cautious about making friends until she was very certain that she could entertain them as elegantly as she knew they would entertain her, once they had in\ led her into their homes. Already she was hoping that they wouldn't look too closely at her furniture as the moving men carried it along the walk to the house. Why hadn't she taken the gumption to have her living room set redone in chintz as she had thought to do several months ago?
"Get a load o' that dish, will you?" said Barry, one of the movers, to "Tiny," the driver.
'Tiny," a 250-pound barrel of a man, studied the petite yet very shapely female coming down the walk to the van. "Yeah," he answered in husky appreciation, "the way I like them, too-a real pea-ches-and-cream type." He was particularly appreciative of the heavy globes that strained and thrust against her blouse as she walked along. The thought flashed across Iris brain that this gal might really enjoy too what was "Tiny's" favorite love-treat-a screw between the tits. Damn it all! He'd never have the chance to find out with this one with Barry, his assigned assistant for this run, hanging around, watching every move he made.
"You Mrs. Nat Williams?" he asked her as he swung down from the cab, following Barry.
"Yes," said BettyLou, almost jumping for joy. "Are we glad to see you!"
Just at that moment, Marc Winthrope was driving by the new Williams residence and almost lost control of his car when he saw BettyLou jiggling up and down in front of the movers, forgetting for the moment that this was the very reason he had decided to cruise down Gramercy Avenue in the first place. He knew that the Williamses were due to move in today-he had even helped Nat hunt for a place to live, and when he saw a picture of Nat's wife, Marc made every effort to be sure the Williams lived near Queen Anne's Drive. As it turned out, this place was only four long blocks from his own home, and today, driving in to work a little later than usual (he had been with Mona until 3:30), he had the sudden idea to drive by on the very chance that he might be able to catch a glimpse of Nat's pretty young wife. Seeing her in the flesh was better than his wildest imaginings. He made his instinctive gesture whenever sex crossed his mind-a groping, clutching, grasping gesture with his hand cupped over his crotch. "Hot spit!" he muttered to himself, "a genuine, Grade-A budgie!"
He parked the car and went over to the young woman, introducing himself.
"So you're Marc Winthrope! I've heard so much of you from Nat. He really admires you a great deal, Mr. Winthrope."
"Well, I can say the same about you, Mrs. Williams. Your husband told me that he had a real purdy wife, but I never dreamed he could be two hundred per cent correct!"
Marc was laying on the Texas charm with a trowel and BettyLou started to fuss with the rollers in her hair and the edges of her apron. His look was so frankly suggestive that she blushed.
"Now, now," said Marc, "you mustn't blush like that. I meant that-every word!"
By now, the movers were ready to have Betty-Lou tell them where she wanted her furniture to be placed. They were standing impatiently by the rear doors of the van, watching the tall Texan and the embarrassed housewife play out their little scene.
"I can see that Nat was right, Mr. Winthrope. You certainly are a charmer. You'll have to excuse me now. I have to show the movers where I want the furniture."
"I'll tell you what! Ill have my wife, Bea, come over right away and introduce herself. You're going to need help today, I can see that, a tot of help. And you'll see just how helpful she can be."
"Oh, no, please, Mr. Winthrope. I wouldn't want to make your wife feel that. . . Well, she's probably very busy herself-shopping to do and all that -and, well, I can manage."
"Nonsense! Ill phone her up as soon as I get to the office."
BettyLou was terrified. How could she tell this man that she didn't want to see any of her neighbors until she and Nat were entirely settled and had a chance to buy some nicer furniture? Surely, she thought, the wife of the company's chief engineer was one of the leading ladies of the community who would hardly appreciate unwrapping the work-a-day dishware and bargain-day linen which heretofore was all the Williams' could afford. "Oh, please don't bother, Mr. Winthrope. I beg of you!"
"I won't hear another word! You just go over there and play the little lady for those movers. Let them do the work-that's what they're paid for. And yon stay fresh and purdy for that fine husband of yours."
BettyLou knew that she would have to turn her back on this man soon, but she was frightened to death to do it, not because she thought it would be rude but because she knew the man's eyes would bore into the back of her body, making her flesh crawl. She was intensely aware that he was mentally undressing her and the thought of his doing the same to her backside made her feel particularly vulnerable.
Marc saw that she was hesitating, but he was determined to get a good look at her buttocks as she walked away. From what he had seen, he was certain that her buttocks would be as delectable as her front. "You git along now," he said.
Eventually, Marc got the look he wanted: the two balloons of her buttocks alternately rising and falling as she walked, made smooth and firm by the stretch material of her capris. She's pinching her twat, he thought. I've scared her. What she doesn't know, the cute little bitch, is that that makes her ass wiggle all the more! He vowed right then and there that within three days he was going to fuck this sweet, innocent broad silly!
On the way to the office, he hatched his scheme for hunching her. He was certain that he didn't want to compete for her (not yet!) with the other boys in the poker ring. He wanted this conquest to happen on a clear, open field. Later, perhaps, he would succeed in getting Nat to play the game with them and maybe by then, he thought, fighting for the key to the Williams' house might be real fun for him. For the meantime, however, he wanted to taste the thrill of overpowering her on his own-with his own seductive personality and (of course) with his cunning electronic apparatus. He knew though that Bea would have to play a crucial role in his plans. It was important that he reach her as soon as he arrived at the office.
Almost without thinking, Marc had opened his fly and dug out his cock and was flipping it around with his fist. Within the past few years, he had grown to be so outlandish in his sexual behavior that playing with himself like this in an idle moment seemed almost natural to him. He would often do this while he would be driving alone on long trips, filling his head full of all kinds of sexual fancies and playing with himself in such a way that he would approach but never cross the threshold of a climax. He thought it great sport to while away time unfilled. What he had failed to realize this time, however, was that he was driving down the main street of Grafton at almost high noon.
He was startled out of his reverie when he heard a sharp clicking sound coining to him from the right. He looked and saw a public bus alongside his car, waiting as he was doing for a red light to change to green and move traffic again. He looked up to the windows of the bus and saw a whole row of angry faces looking down at him-all older women shoppers, no doubt on their way to noon sales. One wman was rapping on the plate glass of her window with her wedding ring, and once she caught Marc's eye, she started wagging her finger at him and scowling with all her might. At first, Marc was startled and a bit embarrassed, but then the whole thing impressed him as being so amusing that he flipped his cock again with his hand as though it were a long fish he held flapping about in his lap. The little old lady was mortified at this further audacity, but the lights had changed by then and Marc drove off with such a burst that he burned the rubber in his tires by spinning them so abruptly. He chuckled to himself as he thought of the little old lady screaming to the bus driver: "Follow that man! Have him arrested! He's committing an obscene act in public!" At the office, he was on the phone first thing: "Hello, Bea? Yeh. I've just come from meeting the Williams dame. Yeh, you know. The new P-R man and his wife who were supposed to be moving in today. Yeh, that's them. Well, listen, Bea-honey, you better shag ass over there right now-yTiear? I want Mrs. Winthrope and Mrs. Williams to become real friendly. Help her with the moving. Give her a real good introduction to Tudor Park, but nothing about the poker games-yliear? Not yet. What do ya mean: What's in it for me?' I'll give ya a crack at it-don't I always, honey? Why, suuuuuure! Ol Daddy never hawgs it all f himself-does he? You know me! A little F me, a little f you. Aww, no, now honey, don't say that. No, listen. I really need ya on this one, sugar-chile. No shit. Ya gotta loosen her up for me. Ya gotta. She's never gonna let me into her pants until she knows there's no way of gettin' out of it. No, hell, no! Of course, I don't give a damn what you do, just get it warmed up for me-yliear? Sure, sure, take a bottle over if you want. And wait-no, wait-don't hang up yet! Invite her and her husband to a dinner party over at our place for tomorrow night. What ya mean on such short notice? I've gotta get this one, Bea, and soon. Like right now! Wai til ya see her. No shit, honey. She'll blow your mind just like she did mine an hour ago. Bea? Bea? Well, I'll be! Hung up on me!"
The second phone call Marc made that day he made immediately following his first: to Mr. Nat Williams, inviting him to lunch for the third day in a row with the plant's chief engineer. He knew Nat would accept. He already had the guy quite ga-ga with his stories about how everybody in Tudor Park (that is, how everybody except the Winthropes) was misbehaving in the most unconventional ways.
Why, the little cunt must really be something! thought Bea as she donned a pair of slacks and a skiing sweater. It's a cold day in hell when that bastard of a husband of mine calls on me to warm up pussy for him!
Bea now combed her hair forward over her brows and back along the sides in a way which transformed her into an athletic-looking woman. Not too much! she cautioned herself. In the end she struck a pose in front of the mirror which covered an entire wall in the master bedroom and admired the effect she had created: a sporty, jaunty, physically-active woman who knew precisely what she liked and what she would do once she had made up her mind.
On her way out of the door she paused to pick up a pint of bourbon from Marc's extensive collection of liquor at the home bar. Just in case I have to call up the reserves, she thought.
Bea walked the four blocks to the Williams' new home at an athlete's pace. She was exhilarated at the prospect of dazzling a little "dumb bunny" with her sleek wayt, hinting of affluence and the international sports scene. She plotted how she would adorn her woman-chatter with Betty with the names of celebrities she had met at the Tudor Park country club or at Majorca where she could claim Marc and she had spent their last vacation. She fantasized how she would pose in front of the girl before the fireplace, in the frame of the kitchen door, by the lunch counter (if they had one). Thoughts such as these so stimulated her that she felt she would almost burst from her skin with feelings of masterful power and tingling health.
By the time Bea arrived at 1210 Gramercy Avenue, she found a woman who looked as if she really could use a stiff shot of bourbon. The movers had finished their delivery and were standing now on the porch, watching BettyLou sign the invoice. Bea waited patiently until the movers left.
"Hi!" she said cheerily. "I'm Bea Winthrope, one of your new neighbors. You look as though you could use some help."
"Oh, I know," BettyLou said, touching her roll-ered hair, "I must look a sight!"
"Oh, don't worry about that. What you need's a little rest and a bit of mother's milk," Bea said as she pulled the pint of bourbon out of a brown paper bag.
"Heavens, I never drink at this hour of the day! I might get so relaxed I'd never get a stitch more work done."
"You know, I say the same thing myself, Mrs. Williams. Not a drop before five, but there always come those days when you say to yourself: 'I won't break my promise, but right now, somewhere in the world, it's five o'clock in the afternoon'."
Both women laughed at this little joke and BettyLou felt immediately at ease. "Come on in anyway, Mrs. Winthrope, and I'll fix us a cup of coffee."
Within minutes, the two women were seated together in the kitchen, calling each other by their first names and sipping coffee royals. Since the Williams family had been living in the house for several days, this seemed to be the only room with any orderliness. Bea began to "warm up" Betty-Lou by complimenting the woman on her speedy housekeeping. For her part, BettyLou was strangely charmed with her visitor who didn't seem to be part of the suburban housewife's world at all but someone who gave the impression of having just dropped in between jet flights to ski resorts halfway around the world.
Bea had no intention of disabusing the younger woman of her obvious fantasies about her. She rattled on and on about the fabulous places she and Marc had recently visited-only a third of which was actually true-and discovered that BettyLou had a hidden admiration for female athletes-particularly the women who won medals in the Winter Olympics.
"In fact," BettyLou was saying, "I've often dreamed of going to places like Sun Valley or the High Sierras-places like that-but I've been afraid to really ask Nat to take me."
"Why, for heaven's sake? You'd look great in ski pants and sweater. You know how clothing like that can flatter a girl's figure."
"Yes, I know. It isn't that. It's just that. . . well, Nat doesn't like it when I go out too much for sports. He thinks that women should leave that stuff for the men. I guess he's afraid that, if I did, I'd lose my femininity or something. Sounds crazy, I know, but he's a real strong homebody himself and he likes me to stay close to him around the house when he's home. He likes to keep a sharp eye on me. Doesn't want me to wander too far off."
"Afraid you might meet some competition for him on the ski lift someday?" Bea asked, sensing the real reason why Nat kept his wife on the short rein. Bea had been carefully observing her hostess -her ample bust, trim waist, and firm hips-and finally concluded that BettyLou really could be a knock-out around a pool or beside a large fireplace in a sld-lodge. Men would be falling all over themselves to get their hands up into that sweater or that swimming top, she thought, and certain women too ... In a flash, she felt in her hands what caressing this woman's breast would be like, how her fingers might thumb over the tightening knot of one of her nipples, how she might bend down to loss that puckered sensitivity, and thinking these thoughts, she discovered that she was wetting herself in her panties.
BettyLou brushed her hand across the brow of her very pretty face. "I haven't thought about it in that way, but maybe you're right."
Bea lit a cigarette and started to prowl about the kitchen and pose before the woman. Bea was fiendishly clever at this-crisp gestures, startling turns, spring-wire intensity. Sensual fancies were flooding into her mind, making her outer skin incredibly sensitive to her clothng and to the woman's staring and her inner organs hyperactively alive. She began to feel as if she had to prime herself to perform fantastic accomplishments-build a city in a day, climb the world's highest mountain in an hour, subdue the charge of a drug-crazed horde of slaves in revolt. Ordinarily, such challenges, imagined in the precincts of her own home, self to perform fantastic accomplishments -build would have left her discouraged and irritated, but here, in front of this voluptuous, naive-perhaps even dull-young woman, Bea felt fully capable of performing every last contradiction of natural law.
She snapped her cigarette quickly from her mouth. She was talking on and on, tantalizingly sketching in a magical picture of Tudor Park for the ripe, eager child before her, dropping important names, hinting that the whole company from Rex Buckram on down were involved in some wild and wonderful game that made BettyLou's world appear as old-fashioned as needle-point and Winchester rifles over the fireplace.
She fixed coffee royals again for the two of them, lacing them liberally with the bourbon. The girl-wife was plainly hypnotized.
"You've got to realize, my dear, that your Nat has won the right to enter an entirely new world. A lot more has happened with that sharp increase in salary than you can possibly imagine now. You're out of the bush leagues, don't you see? You've entered the big spotlight where the giants play for keeps. Here-none of the old rules hold. Here-you've got to know what powers you have and how to wheel and deal with those powers with the best of them. And it's not only Nat-it's you. You've got to be able to put your body on the line, your very self where your mouth is, in this game. These boys are playing for keeps, and we women have got to know the rules of that game they play or we are left out in the cold-but fast!" Bea snapped her cigarette again.
"I know," said BettyLou. "I haven't dared think of that side of it, but you're right, Bea. He is changing, I'm changing. The money, the new house, everything is so thrilling, but I really don't know if, in the end, we're going to be able to manage all the little details. We've never lived in a neighborhood like this before ..."
"That's why I say: you need a friend. Someone who knows this damned company inside and out, someone who can guide you through the snarls and blockades and detours and blind alleys that you're bound to run into. I'm telling you, Betty-Lou, with the first company cocktail party at which you appear in this burg, you're bait for every god-damned stud from Buckram on down. You're sweet, and very, very attractive, and I can guarantee that, within a month, some bastard in that company is going to get his hands on you in some basement John or back bedroom. You don't know these horny sons-o'-bitches like I do. That's all they think about-bed and work, bed and work. That's all you can think about in this godforsaken hole!" And with this remark, Bea was off again and running with tales of three beach boys who had had her one night on the shores of Chios in the Aegean Sea or of the tuxedo Lesbian who had driven her to a multi-million-dollar ranch in Carmel Valley one night-at a hundred miles an hour, careening around every curve-to make love to her on a vicuna rug before a twelfth-century Norman fireplace.
Bea made another coffee royal for each of them. A third for her put her merely into stride, but BettyLou was begging for "please, just a drop."
Imitating her years with her professor-father, Bea was lecturing for her life. She had listened for so long to Marc's endless yearnings for the fullest, completest experience in sex that she was wishing for the same now for herself. In her drunken reverie, she began to see this innocent woman as a stray who accidentally wandered into a den of jackals. Damned if she would share her with that bastard -if she could win her!
"You have no idea how gross the American male can be, how perfectly thoughtless he can be about a woman's pleasure! Oh, he wants to get it in, all right, but, from that point on, the whole thing is supposed to be his show. But the Europeans, I tell you-particularly the Greeks on the islands-well, theij think about the woman, they know how to please a woman, and the women of Paris! There are no barriers there, you know. Sex is as free as can be. It just takes a swinger to grab hold anywhere-anywhere! and you're on!"
At this point, relying on the validity of Bea's Parisian experiences, BettyLou suggested that she come upstairs to check on a gown that Nat had bought her on his first and only trip fo Europe a year ago. He had claimed that it was a genuine Balenciaga, but BettyLou had never believed him. She wondered if, perhaps, Bea-with all her worldly experience, her travels in France-could certify the authenticity of the gown. Bea had never been out of the country, but she eagerly agreed to accompany BettyLou upstairs. She heard the kids playing outside and knew by die way they were so absorbed that she and BettyLou had at least a half an hour more for themselves.
Damned if she was going to share this saucy little broad with Marc! She was a man's plaything, all right, but Bea could tell by her present maneu-verings that she was not exactly unfamiliar with the scene on the other side of the fence. She could be wrong, she thought, but this little bitch has known a woman's touch!
As expected, the bedroom was a mess: mattress parked against the wall, chiffonier on a tangent, rug rolled up and stacked near the large sliding doors of the enclosed wardrobe. BettyLou brought out the dress from a huge steamer trunk that was standing, half-open, in the center of the room. It was a Balenciaga, all right. The label said so, but BettyLou was determined to try it on for Bea.
She started to strip down to her panties and bra. Bea was sitting on the bed, her right side resting on her right arm propped behind her. Look at thk little bitch strip, will you? She's dumb, all right, but she's hot to make an impression.
BettyLou was ready to pick up the glamorous cocktail dress when Bea, because of the alcohol, lost control and lurched at the shimmering silk-girdled core of the woman's body and buried her face into the belly she found there.
Bea could not let go. She felt the body squirming for release under her grasp, but she was determined to hold the girl's lower torso hard against her face. "You need a friend!" was all she could murmur desperately. "You're going to need every friend you can get!"
The face grinding into her abdomen was a sensation BettyLou had never known. She had, in fact, never experienced anyone approaching her with the desperation of this woman, and the mere second-thought that this was a woman burrowing into her being like this almost split her in two with fear rushing one way and desire the other. "The children! The children might come!" was all she could say.
Bea's lust was now so intense that she ignored BettyLou s fears. The only thought that burned in her mind now was to reach up and pull down the only protection the girl had for her middle-the delicate pink panties that shimmered and shook now about her waist. A mere bagatelle for any seducer! But Bea trembled. Dare she take this abrupt, final action?
The poor stupid girl left herself wide open. "What are you going to do?" she asked.
Bea caught fire. She wrenched the girl's panties to the floor and rose up to kiss her. She took her into her arms and plunged her lips down upon hers, hungry to feel the moist softness she knew would welcome her. With her two hands, she cupped the girl's buttocks and tugged to bring her pelvis as close to her own as possible. BettyLou groaned with this kind of handling, but she let the woman penetrate her mouth without any real resistance. The fancy talk, the alcohol, and the rabid swiftness of the woman had taken young BettyLou by complete surprise.
I'm having her first! I'm screwing her first! was all Bea could think of in her frantic lust-and she was not thinking of saying such words to this girl but to her damned fuck-artist of a husband. Just wait! Tonight I'll slam it on you, smear it on you! I'VE HAD HER FIRST! SHE GAVE HERSELF TO ME FIRST, YOU BASTARD!
Bea's starvling grasps and penetrations began to bring a timid response. She could feel the girl's resistance to her melting. It was slow, but Bea was certain of it. Her tongue began to answer back, deep within the soft, warm confines of her mouth. Their Mounds of Venus were in definite conjunction and Bea was absolutely sure that BettyLou was sensing the same concentric waves of pleasure from that source as she. She revved up the intensity of her grind into BettyLou's groin and the girl practically swooned in her arms.
Like a pebble into the sea, Bea kept thinking. I sink.my pebble into the sea and it comes back rings and rings of VICTORY! The rhyme thrilled her: she felt like a poet!
Bea was now in a perfect position to push Betty-Lou over onto the bed. She was just about to do so when both of them heard the front door open and slam shut. "Mommy! Mommy! Where are you? We're hungry!"
"Oh, stop, stop, please! This is madness! We can't go on! Please!" BettyLou's panic and confusion made her seem even more tipsy. "What shall I do? What shall I do?" she whimpered, running about hobbled by her panties.
"Let me help you," said Bea.
Within a few seconds, Bea had her hostess fully dressed again, but it was obvious that the children should not see their mother in such a distraught state, so Bea made BettyLou lie down on the bed and rest. She assured her that she could introduce herself to the children and get them some peanut butter sandwiches. Completely nonplussed, Betty-Lou nodded agreement to this plan and lay her blonde head down on a pillow.
Bea went below and explained that she was Mrs. Winthrope, their new neighbor and that she was going to fix them something to eat while their mother rested upstairs. Much like their mother, the children were quite trusting and accepted this tale without a murmur of doubt. Within half an hour, she was on her way home.
Damn! she thought. / forgot to invite her to dinner for tomorrow night. What will Marc say when he finds out I forgot?
"Well-if as you say-you go for the ol' poon-tang too, you've been transferred to the right spot," Marc was saying to Nat in a quiet back booth at the Fleur de Lis Bar and Grill in downtown Grafton. "You might have thought the New York office was really swinging, but let me tell you -it's nothing compared to what we've got worked out here. You play poker?"
"Yes. Love it," said Nat excitedly. All this sex talk of Marc's was arousing his imagination.
"Well, I won't tell you all the details right here, but, by means of a good game of poker, you can get a crack at any good cunt you see in town."
"Even the married stuff?" asked Nat naively.
"Particularly the married stuff."
"That's for me," said Nat. I've had it with the single broads-too much trouble to train 'em and help them over their hang-ups. But give me a woman who's been fucked regularly for a good two years or so. Get them in bed and you feel like a champion jockey. Jabbing a twat with a couple of good calluses inside it never bothered me."
Marc laughed at the joke and added, "Yeh, two in a row on the bottom that you can feel 'em rubbing the underside of your cock each time ya sink it in!" The two men laughed again, this time in hearty guffaws.
Marc suspected (and he was almost right) that Nat was a great bluffer. He knew that, as a general rule, most men who bother to brag to other men about their bedroom exploits do so out of fears of appearing sexually inadequate. Marc knew that he could discount most of the wild tales Nat had told him about his conquests in the New York office. More than likely, he had torn off a piece or two with Adele, the file clerk, who most certainly would never have let a young blood like Nat slip through her fingers. But he knew for sure that he had not had (as he had claimed) Myrna and Heather, two of the most luscious broads in the whole company but two of the most difficult to get -Marc knew, he had fucked them both only after weeks of dating and steady pressure.
Marc also knew that his description of the folkways of Tudor Park was setting up in Nat a beady-eyed anticipation of unbridled sexual privileges. If Nat were to have now the slightest notion that the price he would have to pay for this entertainment was nothing less than sharing his own wife with every other man in town, the delights of such freedom might not have seemed so attractive. Nat had made it perfectly clear to Marc that all his wanderings from rectitude had been done on the sly and that this sneaking in secrecy, this covering up of tracks with lies, this poker-face at the dinner table, had actually added to the pleasure of these affairs. In Nat's mind, BettyLou was a different matter entirely. He expected her to be the foun-tainhead of the home, the moral pillar of the family, the paragon of all the virtues which Nat considered impossible for himself to follow. Marc knew that it wouldn't be easy to change Nat's mind on this score, but he also knew that once his sex drive had a target, the deadly seriousness of his pursuit was invincible.
"I can see," said Marc, "that you'll fit right in with the scene around here. Just let me know what it is you want and I'll see that you get it."
"Well, I haven't had much time yet to meet many..."
"Say, I've got a swell idea. Why don't you and your lovely wife come over for dinner tomorrow night? It'll give us a chance to talk some more about this-and give the girls a chance to get acquainted. How's about it?"
Nat was thrilled to get the invitation-a chance to cement good relations with an important kingpin in the plant but also, he thought, an opportunity to assure Marc that he was as much a swinger as he claimed and was eager to be included in the bedroom sports of Tudor Park.
He accepted the invitation and, in a burst of high spirits, picked up the check. Marc knew immediately, however, that Nat's enthusiasm was more than a well-rehearsed public relations technique. He chuckled to himself as they walked out. The little bastard would shit purple if he knew what's really going to happen in the next few days!
A Quiet Dinner Party
Nat was vaguely distressed. All during dinner, BettyLou had hardly looked at him. Then, too, she seemed to be scolding the children more than usual-and for things that she would hardly notice normally. He asked her how she felt and she replied that all the moving had tired her, that she was going to bed early tonight and thought all the family should follow her example. "Besides," she added, "Del and Kitty will have their first day at their new school tomorrow."
Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her get the children ready for bed as he went through the motions of unpacking the dining room linen. He didn't like the crosspatch look in his pretty wife's face and he thought: Been so busy lately, haven't taken the time to show the girl how much I love her. Better wise up and stay awake tonight-at least until I get a chance to hump her a little.
His distress deepened as the evening wore on. What in hell is earing her? She's not tired, she's upset. "Anything upset you today, babe?" he asked her outright.
She was finishing up the last of the dishes and he was helping her dry them. "Upset? Why, no. What do you mean? I told you, I'm just tired, that's all. Now quit bothering me about it."
As she was hanging up the dish towels to dry, he thought he'd surprise her with a sexy embrace, coming up behind her and grabbing her breasts while he nibbled on her ear. "Nat, please!" she said, pulling away sharply. "Not now."
What was even stranger, when it came time to take her bedtime shower, she locked the bathroom door-something she seldom did, except for those times during her periods when she demanded the strictest privacy. Puzzled, he dressed in his pajamas and slid into bed, awaiting her return for the nightly ritual of brushing her hair for a hundred strokes.
After an exceptionally long time, she finally came into the bedroom dressed for bed but tightly wrapped up in her bathrobe-something she rarely did. She sat down at the vanity at the far corner of the room but did not, as Nat had expected, pick up the brush. She sat there mutely for a full minute before he decided to break the spell.
"Honey," he said gently, "good news! You won't have to cook for the two of us at least for tomorrow night. We've been invited to dinner."
She whirled around in a flash to face him. "Where?"
The suddenness of her gesture startled him. "Why, over at the Winthropes."
"We're not going!"
"Why, honey, what do you mean we're not going? I've already accepted."
She turned back to face herself in the mirror. "I don't want to see either of those two ever again!"
The sharpness of this response so alarmed him that he sat bolt upright in bed. "But, hon, we've go to go! He's the chief engineer at the plant. He's Rex Buckram's right-hand man. He knows practically every important..."
"Tell them I'm ill and you have to take care of me."
He stepped out of bed and walked over to her slowly, choosing his words with great care. "All right-so I tell them you're sick, but would you kindly tell me, your husband, what the real reason is?"
BettyLou took her time answering. "Those people-I don't like them. There's something wrong with them. They're unnatural. All he ever thinks about is ... are dirty things, and she's ... she's ..."
"Oh, you've just heard a bit of malicious, smalltown gossip, that's all. Who's been filling that sweet head of yours with that kind of evil garbage?"
It took him a minute or two to realize that she was crying silently. In pity, he sat down on the bench beside her, but before he could fold her into his arms, she flung her arms around his neck and burst into uncontrollable sobs. "Oh, Nat, I'm afraid! I'm scared out of my wits! Those people . . . those people are sick, evil] Nat, they're going to destroy us-ruin you and twist me and the children. I knew we never should have come here! Something told me we're out of our element with these people. We're good, decent people, Nat, aren't we? We've always behaved ourselves-did all we could to lead a good moral life.'
"There, there," he tried to comfort her. "You've let yourself become hysterical over a little bit of hard work and a sudden change into a new kind of neighborhood. You're right, sweetheart, we have come up rather suddenly in the world, but you'll get used to the ways of these people. They're a lot more sophisticated than the people we hove been circulating with. They might seem fast, at first, but once you get to know them better, you'll see that they're pretty much like everybody else."
His words managed to help her regain control of her sobbing, but BettyLou had more evidence to support her conclusions than she dared admit to her husband. Losing heart that she could ever persuade him otherwise, she sank into a helpless depression, certain now that she could never prove to her husband the truth she saw staring her in the face and certain that no argument of hers could change her husband's mind about the sheer "necessities" of business.
She let him lift her up and lead her to the bed without protest. He slipped off her robe and helped her slip into the sheets, as though she were a little invalid who needed delicate care. Dousing the lights, he crept in beside her and folded her again into his arms. "I've been neglecting you lately, honey. The new position, new stresses, the move, the money I've had to borrow for the down payment-all of this has kind of occupied me so, I've forgotten about my baby. And I've been missing you, baby, missing you lots." He tried to kiss her but she pulled away in fright.
"Please, Nat, not now. I'm too upset. Not now," she hissed.
But Nat wasn't listening. Already he had begun to feel the canal locks in his lower torso loosen and open. He was eager to let the pent-up flood within him flow forth again at last. Fuck the business, he thought. Well, for the moment, at least. BettyLou needs a little jabbing to make her feel good again. A nice, friendly little fucking will make everything right again, make her feel at home at last. He felt a stiffening in his cock. He made a move to roll over onto her.
"No, Nat. Wait, Wait!"
He was kissing her face, her neck, her shoulders as far as her nightgown's yoke would let him. A hand was dug into the mattress under her shoulders and another was roughly grasping and pulling at her breast. BettyLou could feel the force of his arousal, but the thought of his attempting to penetrate her now filled her with disgust. She struggled to get away again-more desperately now-and tried to bargain with him. "I'll do it for you like I did that once, don't you remember?"
"What's the matter, honey? I want you-want you bad!"
"I'm too tired tonight, can't you see? I'm not in the mood. Please, Nat!"
He tried grinding his hardened cock against the Mound of Venus he could feel as a ridge under their bedclothes. "C'mon, honey! Daddyll make you feel good!"
Her only hope was to divert the force of his lust. The thought that he wanted to make her "feel good" under the present circumstances was too much for her to contemplate. Get to him, get to him with a hand before he starts mounting you and loses all control. Quick, quick!
She slipped her right hand down along her side and managed to slip it between their bodies so that she could grasp her husband's erect penis under his pajamas. Nat was always ambivalent about his wife touching him there. In one way, it thrilled him. He was perfectly charmed that she would ever want to do it, but he would never dream of asking her to do it. In some vague way, he thought it would be unnatural of him (as a husband) to demand such a thing of his wife. Consequently, BettyLou seldom took the initiative to do it. But, in another way, Nat had the suspicion that any such gesture was a slur upon his manhood, upon his ability to satisfy himself and his wife by no other means than through the singular power of his hardened cock driving between her legs. This and this alone seemed natural-not the epitome but the barest necessity.
Several times in their marriage, Nat had let BettyLou perform an act of masturbation upon him when he had become aroused at a time when she had failed to inform him that she was in the midst of The Curse' (as she called her periods of menstruation). He knew quite well, however, that tonight BettyLou was attempting to do it again to divert the flow of his need for her into a kind of temporary satisfaction that would not involve her person overmuch.
"No, sweetheart! Not this time! I've got to fuck youl" he pleaded, failing to realize that this was the first time that he had ever used such a vulgarism in her presence.
But BettyLou was determined precisely not to let her husband fuck her tonight. Not tonight in this house! she thought. Not in this horrid neighborhood, in this alien atmosphere, where seemingly decent neighbors visit you and attempt to tear apart your defenses of your most intimate organs! But what seemed most horrid of all to her now was that her own husband was being turned on by all this heedless wickedness. Yes, she thought deep in her being, he is sexier tonight than he has been in months because he finally sees he is near the big money. Yes, that's what makes them sexy-not the nearness of a good woman but the nearness of money. She was sick in the pit of her stomach, but she dug and dug for the opening in his pajamas. She had to reach that thing, pull it out, and beat it down to death tonight. There was no other way for her to escape the hard, forceful, demanding pressure this man was putting on her, suffocating her, sickening her.
By the time she reached his cock, Nat knew that he could no longer withdraw from the situation without his climax. He saw it ahead of him now- like a beacon for a ship long lost at sea-and he had no choice. He had to land, had to let go of the painful load building up in him.
He struggled with her for a while, begging her to take his cock into her body for their mutual love and satisfaction, but she was still too overwrought from her brushing contact with Bea to want any more sex with anybody for quite a while. Defeated and a bit humiliated, he rolled back from her body and let her beat his cock with her hand until the centrifugal shocks began to emanate from the deep navel of his being and he started to blast off from the pad of his groin two, three, four, five white fleets of sperm-rockets, flinging themselves high into an empyrean, splashing down indiscriminately on his face, his chest, into the tangle of his pubic hair.
He groaned under the awful agony of the orgasm she had forced upon him, but he came out of the experience with bitterness. God damn it, he thought, she accuses her own neighbors of being unnatural, but she is perfectly willing to commit an unnatural act with her own husband! Draining me like this! I won't have it! I won't ever again let her do such a thing to me!
A pure white Angora cat was sitting atop the back of the leopard-skin sofa at the south end of the Winthrope living room. He was observing his master and mistress as he had done so often since he had come into this house. As a kitten, he had not been particularly impressionable, and, viewing the scene before him now as a mature cat, he saw nothing that would really raise his fur, flair his nostrils, or pin back his ears. What he saw was all too familiar to him. He was waiting for the truly unexpected-for a rat to leap out of his mistress's exposed, raw opening, or for a runnel of milk to dribble from his master into a huge basin. These were the fantasies of the Winthrope cat.
On the floor of the living room, now fiercely lit with the full force of Marc's lighting scheme, lay Bea Winthrope, her buttocks raised high on satin pillows, her back arched downwards to the floor, her head lying askew on the rug-as though it were disconnected from her body. Her husband was hovering over her body, his long cock casting a wavering shadow over her belly, his hand gripped to a round instrument he was trying to insert in his wife's anus. The instrument had a rubber handle, a thumb button to activate an interior battery, and a pink Latex shaft that quivered. The shaft itself was anonymous-it could be a tubular anything: a Munich sausage, a giant's finger, a child's clay snake. Its anonymity was its charm. It was a nothing that could be an everything-depending on the needs of the user.
Marc thrust the instrument slowly up into his wife's tmy puckered rectum. As the Angora cat well understood, the husband had been teasing his wife in this way for the last half hour-plunging the instrument in, flicking the instrument on, and waiting for a call that would signal a shift in the action. Bea writhed her buttocks on the satin pillows as the z-z-z-z-z-z of the instrument in action tingled the nerves along her soft, rounded buttocks. But she didn't give the signal her husband wanted. This kind of service felt too good to change.
"Your cunt is empty; baby. It's a big, hungry, gaping mouth. Oh, how it cries for meat-man-meat, baby! Cry for it, beg for it, and I'll give it to youl I swear I will! But you gotta feel that emptiness, sugar. You gotta big cock up ya ass, but gotta cry, cry, cry your heart out, sugar, for the biggest cock of all-me, me! Look at it, look at it!" The looming shadow came closer to her mouth, her eyes.
Bea's head, rolled back on the carpet, looked askance at the large, throbbing shaft of her husband's cock looming near her face. "You self-important little prick!" she muttered. "You think you got a tool? You've got nothing, nothing, compared to ..." And with these words, she reached up and switched the button on the duplicate instrument rammed up her husband's ass, and he snapped back his head and uttered a sharp groan of love-pain. "Aaauuuuugggggwwwhh!" The sound of his erotic agony turned Bea on and she began to enter her husband's brutal fantasy!
"Oh, fuck me, fuck me now! I'm going out of my mind! Oh, cock, cock! Get into me! Fast!"
Marc was riding her now like a lazy mule driver. He sank his cock into his wife as far as it would go with him straddling her upright. He rolled his head back and dreamed more fantastic sex dreams and pumped cock into her inch by inch. Back and forth, in a half inch, out a half inch, make it last, make it last!
"Oh, Marc, I wanna cum!" his wife groaned beneath his dual attack on her open genitals.
Bea's hips began to pound frantically up and down on the pillow. Marc had left the little motor running in the Latex tube impaling her rectum, and now, with those insistent rhythms and the lazy, sleazy tattoo-beat her husband was shoving into her, she was insane with lust. Marc caught the wild, glassy look in her eye and started to reach back under his buttocks for the instrument to make it match the slow, slippery strokes of his own cock. Bea, in a fever, grabbed hold of the handle of the other instrument, jutting out of Marc's anus and set up the same deadly tattoo. Marc's face was beginning to contort into weird patterns. He began muttering incoherently: "I'll fuck her . . . ass ... you suck . . . make her scream ... cry for mercy."
Bea knew that her husband's loins were getting ready to spurt again the sweet passion juice into a body. She knew that, as he was cumming, he was dreaming of another's body-not her own. But it did not matter. Bea had seen that body this man was dreaming of. She had come closer to it this afternoon than he could have ever come in his silly dreams. She knew that Marc would eventually fuck that child-bride silly, but-as the tremors began to shake her own body-she felt delicious satisfaction in the fact that she had half-raped the girl first.
"BettyLou! BettyLou!" Marc was growling from his throat as he came. He was blind. He was grabbing at Bea's breasts as though they were roots he wanted to pull up.
Bea smiled to herself and came along with her husband. She chanted her witch's chant as she did: I fucked her first! I fucked her first!
This was the twelfth time today that Marc had reached orgasm.
By breakfast time, the Williamses and Winthropes were primed for the dinner party. At 515 Queen Anne Drive, Bea, preparing the orange juice and coffee, was more than ready for the dinner. She had the menu already planned: smoked oysters, kidneys and pilaf, salad, coffee, and cognac. At 1210 Gramercy Avenue, BettyLou, still too stunned with the incomprehensible newness of it all, could only manage to boil the water that would make instant coffee for her husband. She dreaded the evening to come. She wanted to crawl up into a ball and not be found for five days. Her husband and her children seemed like prisoners' iron balls at her heels. How in hell do people get themselves involved in such situations?
Nat came down and was so cheerful this morning" he didn't even complain about the lonely cup of coffee he was served for breakfast.
"Marc's a great guy, BettyLou. Really. You've only got to know him a little and you'll see. He's a real regular guy."
"Have you ever met his wife?"
"No."
"I have."
"Is she nice?"
BettyLou didn't know what to say. "Yes," she finally decided.
"Marc told me she came by yesterday to help you with the unloading. Was she much help?"
BettyLou grasped her cup of coffee for the last bit of warmth she could get out of it. "Yes," she said again with a forced smile. "Tell me, Nat, one thing-one thing!"
"What's that, chicky-babe?"
"Will you ever buy a summer cottage, a place on a lake nearby, where we can go, all of us, you and.."
By breakfast time, the Williamses and Winthropes were primed for the dinner party. At the children, from time to time? You'll be so busy from now on, I really doubt well ever see much of you." She began crying again and Nat, this time, knew no remedy. He had to divorce himself each day at a precise time from his wife and family. He had to appear elsewhere and be another person at a precise time. In order to do these clever manipulations, Nat had to be ruthless sometimes. He thought his wife understood such things, but, this morning apparently, she didn't. "I've got to go. Let's talk about it tonight."
"You won't have time. You'll be over at that damned dinner."
"What do you mean? Are you still thinking of not going?"
"I told you I don't want to have a thing to do..."
Nat was furious. He headed for the door, struggling to get his coat on. "Look-I've got to go now. Ill be back at six sharp. If you're not dressed and ready to go by the time I get here, you're going to have to look long and hard for your dear, sweet husband. Now that's it, do you hear? You're going -or else!" He slammed the door behind him.
BettyLou could not move. She felt as if a ton of black coal had just been dumped on top of her head. Instinctively, she knew that nothing could stop the frightening plot she saw unfolding before her. She could not foresee then any of the specific events that plot might take, but she knew that this move of theirs to Tudor Park would change their lives utterly.
Slowly, a tear trickled down her frozen cheeks.
Marc came home from work early and busied himself with preparations for the dinner party. While Bea bustled about in die kitchen and dining room, Marc was testing and triple-checking his electronic gear in the living and bedrooms. He wanted everything to go without a hitch.
By seven o'clock, all was in readiness. Marc's indirect pink lighting gave a soft, romantic glow to the living room which he had further enhanced with a series of silver candelabra. In the background, one could hear the strains of smart dinner music. The numerous large, soft pillows strewn about everywhere suggested a Roman laziness and luxury, inviting the body to recline into a thoughtless ease.
"Well, well, well," commented Bea, coming into the living room now for the first time from the kitchen. I've never seen the old 'fuckatorium' looking better." Her speech was slightly slurred, and it was obvious she had been drinking too much.
Marc was putting the finishing touches on an automatic perfume atomizer he had just that afternoon installed in a hidden spot in the wall. "Now, damn it, Bea! Get away from that bottle. You're going to screw up the whole plan before we ever have a chance to set it in motion."
The door chimes rang and Marc practically ran to the door. "They're here!" He opened to see Nat's beaming face. "Where's the wife, Nat, old boy?" he then asked, worried that she hadn't come.
"Oh, she'll be here. She's putting the finishing touches on her make-up."
"In the car?" asked Marc, somewhat shocked. Impulsively, he ran down the path, eager to escort BettyLou himself into the house. He was quite surprised to see her not primping but sitting at the driver's wheel of the car, preparing to ignite the engine. "Hi!" he said, sticking his head at her almost through the window opening. "Surely cain't be that you're thinkin' of goin' back home befo' the party even begins!" he said in a deliberately exaggerated Southern drawl, thinking to amuse her.
Under the glare of his penetrating eyes and glistening smile, BettyLou lost all composure and determination. "I'm ... I'm ... well, I'm not feeling ..."
Marc opened the door and offered his hand. "Why, nonsense! Ah've got the purfeet thing for that-a little somethin' they make in France. Now, you come along raht now, y'hear?" Once he had drawn her out into the pool of light in the street, he could see that BettyLou had been crying. Sensing that he had noticed, she tried to avert her face. "Here, here ... let me!" and with great gallantry he offered his handkerchief to her.
"It's nothing, really. It's just that . . . well, Nat and I had words. I'll be all right in a minute."
After ten minutes of Marc's soothing attention and gallant persuasion, BettyLou underwent a complete change of heart. If she had been stung by her husband's rash abandonment of her in the car, she was now gloating in the triumph of having won Marc's eager solicitations. If she had felt discarded before, she felt sincerely desired now. Why shouldn't I go in then? she asked herself. I'll show him! Besides-a little jealousy will do him good!
BettyLou was immediately dazzled by the stagey luxury of Marc's home. It reminded her of a glamorous Hollywood movie set, and out of any of the numerous doors entering into the room, she expected to see step a Raquel Welch or a Catherine Deneuve. The pillowed furry, feathery softness of everything made her feel vaguely kittenish, and before she knew it, Marc had taken her wraps and had seated her on one of the long, low-slung sofas in the room. She sat back and lolled on the pillows behind her. "M-m-m-m-m," she said to him ,"so comfy, so very, very relaxing, Mr. Winthrope."
He handed her a curious milky-like yellow drink. "Call me Marc."
"What's that?"
"Try it. I'm sure you'll love it."
"But what's it called?"
Marc explained the manufacture and curious effect of pernod. A couple of sips were sufficient to convince BertyLou that pernod was indeed a most fascinating drink. Although her head seemed to remain clear as a bell, a marvelously warming, soothing feeling began to emanate from her stomach. Dimly, she heard laughter from the kitchen.
"When are they coming in?" asked BettyLou, anxious to have Nat see her now, luxuriating on the sofa, receiving the complete attention of this dashing, virile-looking man. What are they laughing about? she began to wonder. Sensing that Bet-tyLou's mind was wandering, Marc redirected it back to the room and to him by introducing the perfume dispenser.
"See," he explained. "You hardly noticed me turn it on." He then pointed out the miniaturized electronic console on the small table at the end of the sofa. BettyLou was enchanted. "I can change the environment any way I want, without ever moving from this spot." He began rearranging the lighting ever so slightly, dimming directed beams of light and lowering the indirect lighting. It was then BettyLou noticed that Marc had engineered a pin spot to illuminate her body where she sat but it had been positioned so cleverly that none of the light had spilt over into her face and eyes.
"You're so clever!" Again she heard laughter from the kitchen and a curious shuffling sound of feet moving about. "I wonder what's taking them so long in there!" she said, straining her eyes in the dimness to interpret the shadows she saw moving over the threshold of the door.
Marc then shocked her by taking her hand. "Let's dance!"
BettyLou looked at the thick, deep-tufted rug. "On that?"
"Why not? Take off your shoes. Here-why not let me." Before she could protest, he was kneeling before her, removing her evening slippers. "What pretty feet," he commented and then quickly slid one hand along the calf of her leg. BettyLou gasped in surprise.
"You're really a very beautiful woman, BettyLou." He offered his hand and pulled her up onto her feet. "And you actually belong to a very special type of woman-a type that is very, very rare -only a handful of women in the world belong to this type."
Marc was amusing her again, and as she began to weave sensuously and slowly with him about the room, a little tipsy now from the pernod and mildly drugged by the sweet odor of the perfume, she experienced a curious feeling of a melting within her. No man she had ever known had ever honored her with this kind of smooth and lavish attention.
"And what is this fabulous, rare type called?" she said with a soft,. excited purr.
"The type that drives a man out of his fuckin' mind!" he said crudely, slamming his mouth on to hers. BettyLou was seized with panic. She attempted to push Marc away, but his strength completely overpowered her.
It was plain that her resistance was exciting him. He had been making her very aware of his groin during the dance, rubbing his slowly growing bulge there across her lower abdomen or against her upper thigh. Men had done this before to her while dancing, but now the unmistakable shape of his member in erection was becoming increasingly evident to her. His steel-like grip on her and this piercing hardness rising up from his loins gave her an eerie sensation that he was more machine than man, that no effort on her part could deter the awful, grinding advance he was making upon her.
"Please! Oh, God-please!" she gasped almost inaudibly.
He was pushing her back to the sofa-irresistibly, brutally. "Ya like the feel o' that? That feel good?" he kept muttering to her repeatedly. It was all so weird, so unreal!
In pushing her downward, he loosened full control of her for a moment and, sensing the advantage this gave her, she rolled quickly to one side, forcing him to lunge down to an empty space. She started to run toward the kitchen with the intention of screaming her alarm to Nat, but he thickness of the rug slowed her down, surprising her for the moment and distracting her from making the yell she'd planned. She stumbled into the large modern kitchen to see an incredible sight.
Her husband and Bea Winthrope were entwined in a boldly lewd embrace by the kitchen sink. Nat was hungrily feeding from Bea's wide open mouth. For her part, Bea was greedily working her lips and jaw, trying to suck as much of the man into her mouth as she could. Both of them were locked at the pelvis by each other's hands clamped firmly on the buttocks. BettyLou was so thunderstruck she couldn't speak or move. Because she had come into the kitchen in her stock-ing-feet, neither Bea nor Nat was aware of her presence.
By this time, Marc had caught up with his skit-ish victim, shooting his arms around her from behind and grabbing her nubile breasts. "Gotcha!" he cried out playfully. BettyLou screamed.
Nat caught the gesture and, in a flash, he tore himself away from Bea and started to advance threateningly upon Marc. "What in hell do you think you're doing to my wife?" he stupidly asked in his rage.
"Why, my good fellow, I was just about to ask you the same thing!" Marc responded. As Nat kept moving toward him menacingly, Marc did move away from BettyLou, but he tried to keep Nat at bay by turning the whole episode into a joke. "Don't get so hot around the collar. Just hav-in' a little ol' Texas fun. Sure as hell can see how you were havin' a little o' your own, friend!" With that, Marc grabbed quickly at the crotch of Nat's pants, where his obviously erect penis was straining against the imprisoning cloth. He gave a Texas "rebel" shriek at the same time and so startled Nat that he stopped to defend himself there.
"Damn you!" was all he could say.
Marc started to laugh crazily and dance about Nat, taunting him. BettyLou pitied him in spite of the muted rage she felt in her heart. "You sure got a big, stiff pecker there, Nat! And it sure does get you into mischief, doesn't it, Nat? It sure does like to rub up against my wife's pussy, isn't that a fact? Ha-ha-ha-ha, hee-hee-hee, oooooo wheeeeEEEE!" He was making Nat feel like a fool and was making a fine job of it.
"All right, I'm sorry, God damn it! I didn't know what came over me. Besides, your wife-" he looked quickly over to her by the sink-"is just about the most direct woman I've ever met in my life."
Nat's resistance was crumbling fast and Marc took every advantage of it. He began talking to Nat as though they were barracks mates, putting his arm around him and joshing him some more about how horny Nat was but how that didn't matter to him or Bea, who were "modern, liberal thinkers," ready to swing with the times, and how anyone who stuck with old "Victorian standards" was a fool and sure to be left out of a lot of the fun. Still embracing him as a "buddy," he smoothly directed him back into the living room. "Whatcha been drinking, Nat?" The young husband was by now so fully ashamed of himself that he couldn't look into his wife's face as he passed by her.
"You . .. you people! What are you doing to us? What's going on? I don't . . . don't understand!" BettyLou was in tears again.
Bea went over to her. "Nothing's wrong, honey. You've just run into some people who have no sexual hang-ups. Too many people these days are all snarled up sexually, but Marc and I have simply decided to free ourselves from all those old-fashioned ideas, and now that you've entered a more sophisticated world you should rid yourself of those old-fashioned ideas too. We mean no harm, honey-just a little fun among friends." She tried to put her arm around the young woman, but BettyLou shrank back.
"And you . . . what you were trying to do to me yesterday . . . that, too, was 'just a little fun among friends' I suppose?"
"I didn't hurt you, did I?" asked Bea, moving closer to her again.
"Well, no-not exactly hurt but..."
Bea finally managed to get her arm around the girl. "And it felt good, didn't it?"
BettyLou was trembling. Almost like a pitiful child, she looked up at the older woman. "Are you a... a... what they call a... Le...?"
"A Lesbian? Honey, the more you circulate with sophisticated people, the more you'll realize how labels like that are old-fashioned too. We just like what we like and . . ." Her voice became husky and low and she bent down to run her lips through BettyLou's blonde hair. "And when we see what we like, we don't pussyfoot around. We simply ..." Her hand began to move down from BettyLou's shoulder to her breast. "You're a very beautiful girl, my dear. Very beautiful." She began to fondle the girl very lightly but very suggestively.
BettyLou was frightened again with the woman's advances, but. she could not move to resist her. She was still so furious at Nat for his own loose behavior that she absolutely refused to run to him for help now. Besides, she thought, even if she did go to him, he'd probably laugh in her face for asking for protection from-of all tilings-another woman!
"You've never let another woman kiss you, have you?-I mean, deeply," asked Bea in a thick voice. Her lips were very close to BettyLou's ears and the current of air from the woman's mouth made her body tingle in a strange way.
"No, no," she replied nervously, "never"
"Do you think you'd like to try it? Just once, while the fellows are in the other room."
"But won't they... "
"Don't worry about them. Marc has quite a collection of pictures-you know the kind-and he's probably showing them to Nat right now." Bea now turned to face BettyLou and look into her eyes. The girl was still frightened but was becoming more and more fascinated too.
"You won't... won't... hurt me, will you?"
"C'mere!" Bea commanded, her breath coming in fast, trembling gasps now. The victory she was clearly gaining over this ripe, sensual, but inexperienced girl was sending her into a rapture. For her part, BettyLou was strangely enchanted by the fact of her sexually arousing another woman. She had hardly dreamed it possible until now and this fluttering, obsessed intensity appearing so suddenly in the older woman was strangely flattering.
Bea wrenched her avidly to her body and pressed her opened mouth down upon the girl's. BettyLou marveled at the contrast she felt between this and a kiss from her husband: there was the same sensation of an incredible strength encircling her, the same feeling of an inner swoon, and the same impression of a proud and confident virility that could rescue her from completely falling- but coupled with this strength was a luxurious softness-soft lips, soft arms, soft breasts. The two sensations did not seem to fit together, but the experience iself was undeniable. The dropping, drowning, surrendering feeling became more intense; her knees began to buckle; she felt perilously close to blacking out.
Sensing BettyLou's growing limpness, Bea pulled her mouth away from the girl's, leaving behind a gaping, wet hole panting for air. "Oh, oh please! No more! Please!"
The helplessness of the girl spurred Bea's lust to almost uncontrollable heights. Now! Now I could fuck her good screamed a fiery bolt of vulgarity in her consciousness. I could split that tight little cunt of hers in two, tear her apart with my tongue, my fingernails, my teeth! The thought of this young woman, sprawled on Bea's bed, hair and underclothes in complete disarray, screaming for mercy as Bea dug into her vitals, desperate to reach that hook in her belly which, once pulled in a mighty tug, would send the girl's body into erotic convulsions. But for one obstacle, Bea would have released her lust to take complete command of the girl and that obstacle was her husband. Marc had made it very clear that Bea was to warm up-and nothing more-this girl, that all rights of final possesion were his. "If I catch you going down on her, I'll break your back, bitch!" he had threatened.
"Not even a little workout with a finger or two to moisten up that twat?" Bea had asked him mockingly.
"No, God damn it, you keep that mitt of yours out of there! All that's my territory, do you hear? You just stick with the kissing stuff. You told me yourself how much that can turn you on. Well, O.K., since it's not my bag, you can have it, but the rest-the tits, the pussy, the ass-are mine!"
Knowing that Marc was now only a few yards away, Bea beat down the maddening desire to penetrate and possess this helpless young naive wife. This she could do without too much of a sense of sacrifice. Something inside her floated at the thought of the many afternoons she could spend with BettyLou at home while both husbands were at work and her two children safe in nursery school.
"I want you, BettyLou!" she whispered hastily to the teetering girl. 'Your body is beautiful, I'll make you so happy! Say you'll let me do it-not now-someday-someday soon!"
BettyLou staggered away to the center of the kitchen, so confused and disoriented she could not find the door she was looking for. "Can I get you a drink?" asked Bea.
"No, no."
"Yes, you need something." Bea went to a bottle of bourbon which she and Nat had half-emptied and poured a heavy slug of the amber liquid into a clean tumbler. "Here, drink this! Take a lot."
BettyLou hypnotically gulped the bourbon down and felt the immediate impact of it unlocking the sclerosis of her fears and panic. For a long minute or two, she waited for the effects to be complete. Dimly, her intention was to go into the other room, grab her husband by the arm, and pull him away from this "madhouse" immediately. Only this drastic a move could dislodge them both from the maelstrom of degradation she saw opening up before them. When Bea had turned her back to fix herself a drink, BettyLou saw her opening and made a big sweep toward the door to the living room.
What greeted her eyes was a scene that surpassed everything she thought possible in this world. The two men were seated at the edge of the large sofa on which she had sat, scanning a larg-leafed book of photographs. From where she stood, BettyLou could not determine exactly the subject matter of the pictures, but what the men were doing left no doubt. Both of them were sitting with their legs wide apart and both were unzipped and exposed. Most surprising of all-in fact, she couldn't believe her eyes for a minute-while Nat was eagerly looking at the pictures as Marc turned the pages, he had a firm grip on Marc's fully erect shaft and was stroking it.
"Nat!" she cried out. "We've got to leave this place-this minute! Oh, please, Nat! Before I lose my mind!"
Marc arose and walked slowly over to the helplessly distraught girl, his long, blue-veined cock swinging to and fro in time with his steps. BettyLou couldn't help but watch it. It was enormous-far bigger and fatter than Nat's (whose erect member was the only one she had ever seen in her life before now). She swallowed hard, and stood terrified, immobile. Where was Nat! Oh God, where was her husband?
Marc had completely dropped his social facade and was now brazenly bold and exhibitionistic.
"Look at it, baby! Get a good look at this cock of mine. Did you ever see one as big before?" He had his own hand on it now, slipping the slack skin along the shaft up and down. At the darkened hole at the tip a clean pearl of seeping sperm was forming. "C'mon, baby, you can touch it. Your husband sure liked it. Don't be afraid."
BettyLou felt Bea directly behind her, breathing, and now saying huskily, "Go ahead, kid. He won't hurt you. Let's have a little fun tonight-the four of us."
In one last desperate gesture for help, BettyLou scanned the room for Nat. Where was he and would he have enough moral strength left to make a last-ditch stand against these awful people?
He was standing close behind the large hulk of rutting man before her. His penis was still hanging out of his pants, now not quite as stiff as she had found him. The look on his face was pathetic: a little boy getting ready to plead with his mother to let him do what he wanted, even though it might be naughty. It was obvious! Plain as could be! He had completely lost his will to resist.
"Go ahead, BettyLou. Well have some fun-won't do any harm."
Marc took her hand and closed her fist around his rod that had stiffened to a rock-hardness during the last few seconds. "Play with it, baby. It's yours."
Like-a robot at first, utterly hypnotized by the feel of such a monstrous thing, BettyLou began slowly stroking it. Marc groaned deep in his chest and took her by the shoulders, squeezing them hard. The effect of the hard grip of his hands on her and the feel of the brutal piston in her hand mysteriously transformed her. The dawn of a whole new day burst within her. What had seemed so crazy just a few minutes before now seemed so utterly right, so perfectly natural, so absolutely necessary.
Her blood now raced to the surface of her skin and the pounding and panting of hot sexual desire overwhelmed her whole body and brain. A weird, cunning smile came onto her lips. Her eyes gleamed. She gripped Marc's cock more determinedly and pulled on it with a frankly passionate tug.
The victory for Marc and Bea was complete!
"Oooooh! She's gettin' hot!" Marc gloated in small passion spawned gasps.
"Yeh," said Bea in a husky drawl. In a flash, BettyLou felt a pair of hands grab her breasts from behind and start to knead them like dough. "Ooooo, real nice tits, Marc!"
"Here-let me feel," he said, shoving Bea's hands away and grabbing on them himself. "Yeh, nice tits! Bigger than yours, for sure, Bea!"
Nat was stunned, shocked at the bizarre transformation he saw take place in his wife-as though some hideous monster had taken over her entire personality, but even more shocking than this was the self-evident display of a double-lust for his wife by Bea and Marc. Hie whole scheme was now perfectly clear to Nat-these two had staged a clever campaign to get their hands on his wife. He felt like a fool standing there-in the middle of the floor-watching these two paw and maul her at will and turned his back on the scene, heartbroken.
The Winthropes were now feverishly stripping their prey, clawing at the champagne satin cocktail dress BettyLou had worn for the dinner party. While Bea unzipped and unhooked at the back, Marc yanked at the front. Down went everything-dress, slip, bra, panties, everything. Marc was acting like a man possessed.
"I'm gonna fuck you, I'm gonna fuck you good!" he kept muttering while he worked at the disrobing. It sounded like the ramblings of some crazy man.
BettyLou stood, completely impassive, utterly hypnotized by the two maniacs who desired her flesh so avidly. For a moment or two, the thought of Nat, the children, the new home, her mother and father, her whole former life vaguely crossed her mind. But as of a few minutes before, all of that had died into a meaningless oblivion. She was more sexually aroused now than she had ever been before in her life. The thought that Marc would ram that big fleshy organ of his up into her belly made her flesh tingle with anticipation. God, to be flicked by another man\ Maybe Bea would kiss her again as she had done in the kitchen even while Marc was doing it to her. The thought was delicious, voluptuous, weirdly pleasant. But where's Nat, where's Nat? The thought flashed for a second into view. Who cares? came back the answer from another sector of her brain. He wanted to "have fun"-so aren't we having fun?
She was completely naked now, and without any preliminaries, Marc grabbed her around the hips, holding on tight to her bare buttocks, and swooped down with his mouth into the soft triangle of pubic hair at the base of her belly that was now open to attack. The sensation of a hot tongue probing in this place was an entirely new sensation to BettyLou. Nat had never sucked her, thinking such a thing a little immoral. She spread her legs to let the man find what he wanted. She even walked a little forward and squatted down an inch or two to let his tongue have more easy play. Oh, this is so sexy, she thought. Let them do whatever they want with me! Only-just don't stop! It feels so good. Don't stop, for God's sake!
Bea was still behind her, hungrily kneading her soft full globes, rolling her nipples in her fingers as if they were tiny resilient pebbles in her hands. This set up within her body a wild electric circuit she never knew existed-her torso was buzzing with all this sensuous manipulation of her pussy, her nipples, and even the sanctity of her rectum. Oh God! Marc had a finger boring into her at that point and the sensation of the soft probing member was almost driving her crazy. BettyLou rolled her head back and closed her eyes. The waves of pleasure lapping against the shores of her being sent her into an uncontrollable delirium.
"I'm going home," she suddenly heard somebody say. A familiar voice! Nat's! Where?
Everything stopped. Nat was standing at the door. Unbelievable! His coat across his arm. A look of pure misery on his face. What? Why, what happened?
"Nat!" she cried out to him. "It's clear to me-I'm not wanted here." He turned to go.
"Get to him! Fast!" Marc hissed to Bea. The woman ran over to Nat.
"Baby, I was gonna get to you. I just got carried away for a minute or two. You understand, don't you? It happens all the time in an orgy. You just have to wait your turn, that's all. Especially when a real beauty, like BettyLou, decides to swing with the group. Look at her, Nat. Isn't she a real beauty?"
Nat looked at an incredible sight. His sweet, innocent young wife, naked, her legs open in a lewd semi-squat, her quivering breasts full and open to a spotlight Marc had cleverly placed in a hidden socket in the ceiling. The man at her feet had his . hand at her naked loins and was obvously fingering her clitoris into a wild frenzy of excitement. Bea dropped a hand to grope Nat's humbled cock. She found it small and shriveled. "Awww," she said, "he was so pretty when he was up. I loved him."
"I bet you did, you . . . you Lesbian!' he said, intending to hurl the label against her like a slap across her face.
"Awwww, c'mon, Nat, don't be so uptight," Bea coaxed. "You ought to be flattered-really. Your wife can turn everybody on-the whole human race-women as well as men. Why, you've married a real Marilyn Monroe there, Nat. You had the hots for her enough to marry her. Can you blame anyone else for seeing the same things you saw?" Bea began to unzip his fly and dig for his cock. Nat pushed her hand away. He was so torn apart between revulsion and desire he didn't know what to do. He had no other recourse but to look again to his wife to make a decision he could not make himself.
"BettyLou?" he asked pleadingly. The answer he got back shook the core of his being.
She didn't speak at first. She merely continued to stand there, her pelvis thrust forward, freely permitting Marc to finger her the way he had been doing. But then she began the first part of her answer: grinding her hips and undulating her belly, much as some shameless bellydancer would do. Then she took her own breasts into her hands. cupping them and then shooting her thumbs up so that they rasped against the peaks of her nipples. She threw her head back next and began to hyperventilate, her breathy gasps growing in speed and intensity. Finally, she opened her eyes wide and looked down at Marc squatting before her. He was looking at her, thrilled at his creation-a lurid, abandoned BettyLou. She growled then like a WAC sergeant: "Suck it!"
Nat could no longer recognize his wife. His sweet, compliant BettyLou was gone. He had never realized how abandoned and wanton she could be. The transformation was shocking, indeed, and all he could think of was a scene he had witnessed one night in a Chicago bordello (two crazy, screaming whores sexually attacking one Milquetoast of a man). However, with Bea's hand back inside his trousers, fondling his cock, the apparition before him blew his mind: My wife! It's my wife! She's letting another man touch her! She actually is!
Nat was so disoriented that he failed to realize that he had actually vocalized these ejaculated phrases. It was like a dream or a nightmare-he still couldn't say exactly which. But when he heard Bea answering him, he knew he had to be awake. Yet still he couldn't be absolutely sure.
"Sure, man-didn't you know that women like sex just as much as men? This is good for her, Nat. And for you too. Marc really knows how to turn on a woman. And because of this, she'll be ten times better in bed for you. You just wait and see."
Bea had his cock out of his pants and was stroking its hardened flesh with steady tempo. She could sense that his mind was becoming cloudy with desire again. Secretly, she breathed a sigh of relief. Had Nat been allowed to go away angry, the whole Winthrope scheme would have blown up in everybody's face. Bea was prepared to stick by this man now until the evening ran out-which meant until the force of Marc's lust had completely spent itself. There was no predicting, however, when that would be exactly. For the moment, she saw him out of the corner of her eye, stripping his clothes off frantically, preparing to fuck a "budgie" again-the supreme delight of his sex-ridden life. For her part, BettyLou was eagerly going about the business of getting her back on the floor (which was as soft and cozy as an eiderdown) and her legs in the air. She went about it with the self-assurance of an experienced whore. Seeing it, Bea was dumbfounded. She never dreamed Marc could be so successful. She felt proud. That was some man she was married to!
In the meantime, her lover-boy, Nat, had been busy casting off his upper garments. Her jack-off had been pre-eminently successful. Clear love-juice was now oozing from his cock copiously and it crackled stickily as she rolled the skin in folds back and forth over the livid, near-bursting head. She looked into his eyes and saw inside his skull worms crawling with unbridled desire.
"I'm gonna fuck you," he was saying as he fumbled at buttons and tore at the restraining cloth. "I'm gonna make you forget women-once and for all! Maybe I don't have a cock as big as Marc's, but mine's gonna do something his ain't never done -make a baby inside o' you! I got a big load of cum inside o' me. More than most men alive. And I know it can make babies. And I'm gonna make a baby inside o' you!"
Bea had never heard such talk and it alarmed her. Since both she and Marc had agreed on his tubular ligation, sterilizing him, Bea had adjusted to her childless fate. Now, the mere suggestion that she might become impregnated frightened her (she always douched well when she and Marc played the poker game)-but also it excited her in a way she could not for the moment comprehend. Watching Nat strip was therefore also exciting to her. Did he have a large load, as he had said he did? Was his impregnation of her at all possible? Could she even have a baby? A fuck from this man was, therefore, very tempting. Maybe he could plant a seed within her.
Bea wore dresses that let her strip almost instantaneously. Marc required them. In addition, he never let her wear any panties-although a waist garterbelt was for him a maddening pleasure to see on her. The principle of his fussiness was to keep entry into her cunt forever open. It maddened him to a kind of insanity to think that his wife's vagina could not be ever open and available to him. And he would constantly check her on it. He'd catch her watching television and idly drinking a Fresca or iced coffee and he'd drive his hand up her skirt and grab for her pussy, and if Bea had any obstruction in the way-such as a pair of panties or a panty girdle-Marc would throw a scene, cursing her, threatening her with horrid punishments if she did not honor his Absolute Need to have immediate entry to her cunt. Sensing die importance of that idea of "immediate," Bea always dressed for her husband and had actually practiced undressing to the point where she could present herself stark naked within a matter of seconds. (The only exception to this rule was when she wore a napkin. Finding that in his gropings always turned Marc off-but fast! The whole idea of menstruation was a bewildering puzzle to him.) Nat was flabbergasted to witness the swiftness of her strip. She stood before him now, her breasts pert and pointed, her belly sleek, and the softness of her pubic triangle crackling. She wanted nothing less than to have him possess her the way Marc would do, day after day-brutally, savagely, vulgarly. A scene where rampant cock is supreme. Where male sexuality runs riot. Where the female is completely submerged in a torrent of raw masculinity.
Because of these expectations, Nat's sudden timidity amazed her. That a man could pause in his lust to wonder at his propriety baffled her. Nat stood, half-erect, facing her, trembling, his teeth chattering, mute, all the shearing maleness drained out of him for the moment He was a little boy again, looking at his mother, begging to do a nasty thing with her blessing. How strange men are, thought Bea. So fast, so strong one minute-so shy, so frightened the next. A salacious vulgarity she knew would release him. Marc had taught her well. "FUCK!" she commanded, snapping the word like a whip over him.
Plainly, the term aroused him from his boyishness and he swelled with the manhood he had momentarily lost. He felt as though a huge timber was sprouting from the base of his spine. In fact, his cock so took over his being that he was nothing but a self inside a thrusting, challenging, blunt spear directed at all of life. A spear. An instrument of aggression. A weapon to subdue, overpower, humiliate. Out of this horrid instrument would come new life. Nat looked down at his naked cock, automatically jerking in the cradle of his lower torso, ready to swing, ready to poke holes and penetrate into whatever bodies came near, ready to shoot man-milk into whatever forms wanted that kind of fiery, fecund life.
Bea was down on her back on the carpet. Nat was still hesitating. He looked over at his wife. The enormous engine of lust that bore the name of Marc was fused irrevocably now with the walls of his wife's tight clasping cunt. Farewell, exclusive possession! Goodbye my private pussy! Marc was fucking it! And fucking it all the way up to his balls.
It only remained for Nat to sink a cock in and thereby join the party. He fell on Bea and decided to be brutal about it. He rolled her thighs away from the point he was interested in. She groaned passively, expecting his entry. Nat took his cock into his own hands and jacked it off a little. Blood came rushing back into it. He was ready. He wanted to prong her and hurt her. Hurt her bad so she would remember him. The head was positioned right. His ass was ready to push. He rammed it against the hole. It resisted. He rammed again. A little lower. There it was. It was going in. Yes, good God, it was going in!
For Nat, such openings were always a miracle, blowing his mind. He couldn't be sure which he liked better-blasting his body and mind inside a woman or just poking away with his cock at a hole that first resisted and then, juicily, melted-a sloppy tenderness for his cock to work in, a reeking hole for his hominess to find comfort in.
Oooooh! Nat was fucking again and he was feeling great again! He felt that his lower body was a crab and it pleased his mind to know that his legs were sprawled on the carpet like a crab's and that his cock was going in and in while-all the time-he was spreading his legs apart as far as they would go. A crab. A good, god-damn, Fucking Crab.
Over and over, he drove his throbbing cock into her. Doing it back and forth and side to side. Bea was intrigued with the way he was doing it. He was-surprisingly-trying like hell to get her to feel the pleasure of it. Something Marc had never thought about. The sensation was interesting-no, better! Mind expanding! The man actually was working to make her cum by virtue of his cock alone! The thought struck her mind as revolutionary.
Be that as it may, Bea was becoming insistently aware that this man was getting to her. Each of his lunges into her brought her closer and closer to the edge of that cliff beyond which human controls mean nothing and the nervous system goes off on a trip all of its own. The two of them were sweating profusely, working hard and singlemindedly on achieving that bliss. And as Nat had promised himself, he was rough with her, but Bea seemed to thrive under this cold, heartless treatment-after all, with a master like Marc she had no choice. Bea looked over to see how he and BettyLou were doing.
The same kind of ferocity was gripping them. Marc was straddling BettyLou-jockey-fashion-and riding her as though she were a mare coming into the home stretch. A lock of his hair bobbed in front of his face which was twisted into a mask of maniacal lust. He was uttering in a hoarse way a string of obscenities which Bea could barely hear, but she knew what they were-she knew how filthy language turned Marc on. Accordingly, this hardly surprised her. What did, however, was Bet-tyLou's abandoned acceptance of all this. Even when Marc began slapping her breasts around-)-another of his unusual techniques-BettyLou grinned and kept offering her body for any ravishment Marc might want to perpetrate upon it In all her life, Bea had never seen such a complete metamorphosis in one person in such a short space of time. What Bea could not see was the suppressed rage in the woman which, for the moment, was being expressed as wanton abandonment.
It occurred to Bea to call to her husband and talk with him a bit. The whole situation was so unusual that the thought of a normal conversation going on at the time seemed to be a particularly sexy one. "Hi, hon," she said in squeezed grunts, "how're you doin?'
He looked at her from eyes that seemed embedded in guttering coals. He smiled ever so slightly. His skin glistening, his body undulating tike some bulky reptile. "Ah'm fuckin' her good, Puss-Puss. Why ya ask? You wanna slice of this?"
The open invitation was too much for Bea. "Yeh!" she responded. "Ya let me kiss her again- like I did?"
"Sure!" said Mare.
"C'mon, Nat, old boy. You can get your rocks off just as well from the back as- you can from the front, can't you?"
The remark stunned Nat into immobility. "I'm not corn-holing you, if that's what you mean."
"No, no, doggie-fashion, don't you see? Look, I'll show you."
Bea pushed Nat off her and quickly rolled over. Then, like a scurrying mink, she ran on all fours to where Marc and BettyLou were writhing on the floor. "Cmon, c'mon," she called back to Nat who followed dutifully. Within seconds, she had him positioned so that he could easily regain entry into her cunt from the back. Nat grabbed her tits and started to drive his hard, lusting cock back and forth inside of her. This was the first time he had ever tried this position and he found that he rather liked it.
Bea's face was now directly over BettyLou's. The girl was keeping her eyes shut for some reason and Bea wanted them open. "Look at me, broad!" she growled.
BettyLou opened her eyes. They were glassy with lust. Exactly what Bea wanted to make the experience complete. She fell on her slightly opened lips and began a deep probe of her mouth with her tongue, hoping in a wild way all the time that the girl would think of her tongue as a big cock.
It was not long before BettyLou's body began to quiver and Bea knew the signs only too well. Marc intensified the brutal tom-tom beat he had set up on her body and worked his hands on her breasts and nipples with renewed avidity.
The tremors were mounting for BettyLou to an unbearable pitch. Almost afraid for her We, she thrust Bea away from her, gasping as though she were having a heart attack. Her eyes bulged and she started to scream as the automatic shocks hit her body in seismic pounding.
The rage of her orgasm was so intense-and unexpected-that the others now fairly sped into their own with the speed of light. Nat was beginning to feel the preliminary shudders along the base of his spine, announcing that the cannon in his loins was ready to shoot. Bea then went crazy, screaming: Fuck me! Fuck me!" And the insanity of the whole scene-one that Marc had engineered just thirty hours before-so pleased and thrilled him that he could delay coming no longer. He grunted and bellowed like a stuck bull, blasting his hot liquid semen five-six-seven-eight times deep into her belly, before the awful throbs that wracked his body began to abate.
Within seconds, all of them had collapsed into a heap on the floor.
For the rest of the evening, guests and hosts remained naked-as Marc had insisted, and though they went about.having dinner as had been planned, the sight of four naked people lounging about on the floor of the living room, eating buffet-style, was funny, even for Marc's jaded tastes. As would be expected, he kept very close to BettyLou for the rest of the evening, attempting to regale her with tales of his sexual prowess or to interest her anew in his genitalia which he, in his vanity, considered without doubt to be the Number One Attraction of the Evening.
Interpreting the activities of the early evening to be complete acceptance of Winthrope license and automatic enrollment into their suburban sex ring, Marc and Bea, almost like ideal hosts, chatted with their guests about all the good times they had been able to enjoy since their arrival in Tudor Park. If the Williamses were resentful of any of this, they didn't show it. For the rest of the evening, BettyLou was pleasant and passive to all these attentions showered on her, and because Marc did not know her well, he failed to note what Nat did-that such an attitude was BettyLou's favorite disguise for anger she could not momentarily express. In fact, Nat was quite uneasy for the rest of the evening. Bea hovered always nearby, and when Marc showed the after-dinner movies (films that, for the most part, started out straight only to take a sudden shift into hard-core pornography), she even gave him a blow-job while he watched, but Nat could not dismiss the feeling that Betty-Lou had not really accepted the Winthropes as totally as she seemed to. He would have to talk to her alone.
For the rest of the evening, the host was in such high spirits that he dropped his guard completely and began making all sorts of exciting plans for the future which would, of course, now include the Williamses.
"Knew you two were ready to shift into high. I could see that you were ready, BettyLou. And didn't we all have a ball? A real bahwuU? And did anybody git hurt? No. And, chicky-baby, there'll be lots and lots o' times we're gonna git together like this. And, honey, this cock o' mine is yours- anytime o' the day or night you want it"
BettyLou smiled pleasantly and looked away from him. "Nat," she said, "isn't it about time we went home? I promised the babysitter we wouldn't be too late." Still, she did not look him in the face.
They had just finished their brandy and coffee which Bea had served right after the movies. Marc was seated on the floor by the plate-glass coffee table and Nat could see him idly playing with himself. He deduced that Marc was getting ideas again about BettyLou, because he was also stroking the inside of her thigh, as she sat on the floor near him. Maybe they had better be poing home. Nat was all played out (Bea's ministrations had really drained him white) and he dimly recognized that they had best come back to reality. He had oromised the babysitter that they would be back home before one-and here it was one-fifteen.
It was ridiculous, dressing in the living; room before their hosts who remained unclad. It was even more ridiculous to olay out the typical middle-class routine of thanking each other for "a lovely evening." They lauphed at the absurdity of it, but they went through the formulas just the same.
By the time the Williamses were back in the car, the whole sex episode seemed like some fantastic dream. Had they really lived it? What ever had induced them to do it? Were they more than tired and sexually worn out? Weren't they ashamed too?
Neither spoke these questions but both thought them.
Finally, both had easily promised to join the poker ring, agreeing with Marc and Bea that it mipht be fun, but did they really mean that?
Nat had to find out what BettyLou was really thinking. That eerie, uncomfortable feeling that she had not really changed as much as she had let on was hauntinj? him again.
"Some party!" he said. "Aren't you glad now that we went?"
No answer.
"He tried again as he turned the corner into Gra-raercy Avenue. "Now don't tell me you're still mad. I thought the Winthropes had changed all that I saw where you really enjoyed that dyke. Never knew you had it in you."
Still no answer.
"For Chris'sakes, BettyLou, aren't you gonna say something?"
Shortly were pulling into their home's garage. Nat was furious with his wife, but he was powerless to express it. Oh, what the hell, he thought, she'll get over it.
She rushed into the house and told the babysitter that Nat would pay her and drive her home. When he returned to lock up for the night, he discovered that BettyLou had taken a blanket and locked herself in the guest room.
Nat was sure now that trouble lay ahead.
Chapter 4
For a whole week following the diner party at the Winthropes Nat did not see or talk with his wife. BettyLou flatly refused to come out from the guess room in the morning to make her husband's breakfast and Nat had to go off to work with an empty stomach. As soon as she heard his car leave, she unlocked the door and frantically began putting up curtains and drapes on all the windows. By the time the children were up, BettyLou had turned the complete downstairs into a shadowy, tomb-like place. She made the children breakfast but refused to talk to them either. When they complained about the darkness, she merely told them to "shut up."
During the day, Nat tried to get a phone call through to his wife, but BettyLou would not answer the phone. By the time he arrived back home in the evening, she was back in the guest room behind its bolted door and no amount of pleading on Nat's part could dislodge her. She had not permitted the children to go out at all during the day, so, consequently, he found them to be rather bewildered and anxious about their mother's strange behavior. Nat himself was becoming quite disturbed.
Seeing that there was little to eat in the refriper-ator, Nat took the children off to a supermarket and went on a crazy buying spree, purchasing almost everything in sight, stupidly hoping that a full larder at home would distract his wife enough to forget the feelings that nlagued her. In the back of his mind, he sensed what was bothering her-shame, guilt, and remorse-for these things were beginning to bother him too.
At work, Nat carefully avoided Marc. In another office, down the corridor from his own, Nat had heard him, heartily laughinf usually, but always charming male and female alike with his mellow, sensuous, masculine voice. Hearing it aeain filled him with fear and then a sputtering rage. That bastard! That evil, perverted son-of-a-bitch! How could they have ever been so stupid to let him get to them! Nat felt unclean and monstrous.
He fed his children and, later, tucked them into bed with a goodnight kiss. They were full of que5 tions about their mother, but Nat could only explain that she was "not feeling herself." He promised them she would feel better tomorrow, and saving this, he honestly believed that she would.
When she would not stir to his knocks on the bedroom door the following morning, he began to feel wretched. He went into the kitchen with the vague intention of making himself some coffee. On the kitchen table was a note. Probably put here in the middle of the night, he thought. It read:
"I hate you. You have ruined my life. Obviously, you have lost all love and respect for your wife. Leave me alone. I don't care if I ever see you again. As soon as I can get myself pulled together. I'm leaving with the chilren. You are disgusting."
The psychological blow of this note was devastating. Nat crumpled it in his hands and began to weep. It's true! Every word of H! What ever possessed me to lose my head like that?
In desperation, he went back to the door of the guest room and pounded on it with all his might, pleading with her in his tears to forgive him, to come out and at least talk the matter over with him, to let him make it up to her. Still she didn't ..answer and all he succeeded in doing was arousing the children and frightening them even more. He tried to assuage their fears but they wanted their mother and it was clear their motfier would not come out to comfort them until he had left for the office. So he dressed and stomped off for work, angry, confused, blaming first himself and then her.
On the way to the plant, he conjured up scene after scene from that unforgettable night, and the more he did the more he could not put himself entirely to blame. Why, God damn it, she really loved all that fucking Marc was giving her! She let him go at it as if she'd been a whore all her life! Why, all these years she's fust been PRETENDING that she didn't like sex very much! Why, she's actually as sexy as I am! Just where does she get of trying to pull that "you're disgusting" stuff?
However, later on during the day, an insidious depression started to pull him down and down, and like waxing and waning tides, his thoughts took a reverse the other way. It IS my fault! Why in hell do I have to think of sex all the time? It's not normal! Why, my mind's a cesspool, dreaming up what I'd do if I could get any chick I wanted into bed. And all those times I bought those girlie magazines and went into a public toilet to sit there and get hot and ... Admit it, admit it-ABUSED MYSELFl-all because I felt sorry for myself and thought I wasn't getting enough from my wife, while-all the time-she's hornier than I am!
Nat felt cheap and betrayed and hardly knew where to turn. By the end of the week, with no change in BettyLou's behavior but with the children becoming more and more hostile to Nat when he came home for dinner, he was desperate. To whom could he turn? The thought that he might have to confide in Marc left him a bit queasy. Bea! It had to be Bea! There simply was no one else!
He left work early one day and dropped over at the Winthropes, having called beforehand to check that Bea would be home-without her sex-artist husband hovering around. He found her in gardening attire: a floppy straw hat, dirty slacks, bandana blouse, and mud-encrusted gloves. She greeted him on the front lawn: "Well, if it isn't my late afternoon lover!" Nat had no appreciation of such facetiousness today.
"I've got to talk to you, Bea, Something serious, I'm afraid."
That pretty wife of yours giving you static?"
"I'm afraid so-something like that."
"C'mon in. Let's talk about it over some nice fresh olives-swimming in gin, of course." She laughed coarsely and led him into the house.
Seeing the familiar room depressed him horribly. He conjured up again the lurid scenes from that night, hastily trying to place blame again-on Marc, on his wife, on Bea, on himself. But listening again to Bea's voice and sensing her breezy ways anew, he could not help but fall to wondering too if it were not so wrong after all. Wasn't BettyLou making too moch out of it? Wasn't she trying to punish him?
After talking with Bea, she too seemed to think so. "Your wife's something of an uptight Puritan, isn't she?" Bea asked. "Like all Puritans, she likes her fun all right, but she just doesn't want to see anybody else have a good time. She's punishing you all right. The question is: are you going to let her get away with it?"
But Nat averred that things seemed far more serious than that. The tomb-like appearance of the house each time he returned from work, her total isolation in the guest bedroom, the threat to leave with the children-all betokened a much more serious reaction than Bea was envisioning. "I think she's quite upset-emotionally. Maybe even needs a doctor."
"We know one!" Bea chimed right in. "Lives right here in town. He's a head-shrinker. Just right for 'emotional', as you say, troubles. As a matter of fact . . ." she paused, turning sly and coquettish, ". . . he's one of the boys who plays poker with Marc. Name's Jim Hudson. I'll call his office up right away."
"Oh, don't do that! BettyLou'd never see a psychiatrist. She doesn't believe in them."
"Nonsense! I'll get right on over to see your sweet and lovable wife and set her straight about Jim Hudson. He's a great guy. If anybody can help her now, he can."
"You'll talk to her? Yes, that's an excellent idea. Maybe shell talk to you."
Bea changed clothes immediately and headed off for the Williams residence. Nat promised to drive around Tudor Park for an hour or so, giving Bea enough time to talk the girl into going to see a psychiatrist. He wished her well as he dropped her off a block from the house. "And no sex stuff! Not this time-remember! She's too shook up-can't take it."
Bea imitated a very shocked expression. "Why, Mr. Williams! Whatever do you mean? I never...!"
As Nat saw her walk away toward his home, he wondered again if he was doing the right thing. He really didn't trust Bea, but there seemed no other way.
Bea had some difficulty in gaining entry into the Williams household. BettyLou talked to her for a long time through the peephole in the door, not daring to open it. Bea could tell by the sound of the young woman's voice that she was rather disturbed, but when she finally managed to persuade her to let her in, she was stunned to discover that a remarkable change had overcome the woman. She had completely neglected her grooming-her hair and housecoat were disheveled and ratty-and her eyes had a queer, haunted look about them. The children hovered in the background, uncertain as to what was happening, obviously disoriented by their mother's behavior.
Bea was gentle with all of them. She managed to get the children interested in some toys that had been unpacked and placed on the floor of the dining room. She shut the doors and turned to BettyLou who was sitting in the darkened living room, her shoulders hunched over her upper torso, holding her arms to her as though they might fly away.
"You pervert! What are you doing in my house? Get out! Get out!" she whispered in a snake's hiss. Obviously, she had forgotten that she had let the woman in.
Bea sat with her and quietly talked to her until the young woman became more rational.
"We should never have come to live here," BettyLou moaned. "Nat should never have taken on this new appointment. This might be tha way rich people live, but it's too rich for us. We're just simple people, simple tastes. Your ways are too confusing for us." BettyLou was babbling down, sobbing a little in between times. Bea let her ramble on like this, sensing it would be good for her. It was obvious that BettyLou was suffering from a bad case of second thoughts.
"Is there any liquor in the house?" Bea finally asked her.
"Oh, no-no you don't!-not any more of that crap where you get me half-looped and then try to make me-no, no!-no more of that!"
"Don't be silly. You need a short shot to relax you a little. You're sprung up as tight as a Swiss watch."
With some further persuasion, she managed to find Nat's liquor collection, still unpacked in a box in the kitchen. It wasn't easy getting the shots down BettyLou, but she managed. The effect was definitely mollifying. Bea brought her a comb and actually succeeded in getting BettyLou to comb her hair and tidy herself up.
More time passed. BettyLou was actually smiling at some of Bea's smart remarks. "But keep your distance, Bea Winthrope," she warned. "I'm not going to let you turn me into some creep like yourself!"
"Creep! Why, BettyLou, how uncharitable of you! I come over like a good neighbor to help you, sweetheart-my new neighbor and friend. You're the one who's sick, baby. And let me tell you-you need help. You're acting positively weird! Now it may be that Marc and I upset you perhaps, but believe me, my dear, we meant no harm. We took both of you for a couple of real swingers. We had no idea that a little innocent fun would backfire for you like this. Now you listen to me, honey- there's an excellent doctor in town, a personal friend. He can help you-can give you the pills youll need to calm down. Why don't you let me call him for you to make an appointment?"
The thought was at first unthinkable. BettyLou would hear none of it, but Bea's soft, affectionate ways (and the third shot of liquor) finally wore down her resistance. Bea went immediately to the phone and made the call to Doctor Hudson's office. She was fortunate to find Jim in. He was just getting ready to leave for a round of late-afternoon golf.
"Don't leave, Jim. I'll be sending Mrs. Williams right over in a cab. She needs help desperately- like righi now."
Somehow Bea managed to get BettyLou into some decent streetwear, to call a cab, and to keep the children occupied and out of the way. "You're right, Bea, I should go. My nerves are all shot Maybe he can do something for me." Bea patted her charge gently on the shoulders, reassuring her that Hudson was a top man in his field and very understanding of the problems of women.
When Dr. James Hudson learned that a Mrs. Nat Williams was on her way over to his office, he could hardly believe his ears. Earlier in the week, Marc Winthrope had called him up to make a luncheon date with him in downtown Grafton. When they met, Marc told Jim everything about the dinner party that had taken place at his house-leaving out none of the juiciest details. Jim had a secret envy of Marc Winthrope. Actually, he could barely tolerate any man who could match him in handsomeness or sexual pulling power. Jim wanted no competition when it came to drawing the attention of desirable women to himself. Marc was a little different in this regard from most attractive men. Marc was competitive all right, but he had a way of conning his compeitors into thinking he was a great pal of a guy. He knew how to appeal to other men's sense of good fellowship, thereby disarming them before they could mount any attack or put-down on him. Marc boasted as most men do, but other men tended to believe him. In his own territory of sex artist, there was really no one to match him in inventiveness, boldness, and charm. Accordingly, Jim marveled at the speed with which Marc was able to bring Mrs. Williams to have sex with him. "Why, that son-of-a-gun-of-a-Marc! To be rucking her within a half hour after she walked through the door! Incredible!" Jim would chuckle to himself, never recognizing that Marc's achievements made him look like a rank amateur. Marc was still that "old son-of-a-gun-of-a-Marc"-every man's good buddy.
Of course, Jim Hudson would never think of arming himself with the battery of special devices that Marc used. He was too superior to use such "cheap tricks" as he called them-and too lazy to invent any of his own. The sheer impact of his personal charm would have to be enough to "lay 'em flat"-or they weren't worth laying. His seductive charms were formidable, and this explained in great part the success of his practice. He did, indeed, "understand the problems of women"- especially suburban women, and they flocked to his office to talk to him by the hour, paying $30.00 an hour for the privilege. What he gave them in return was stimulating, refreshing, and highly unorthodox. For this reason, he screened out all but the "most sophisticated" of clientele. He wanted no idiots running off at the mouth about how unique his treatments were. Basing his practice in Tudor Park, he had little worry in this score. All of his clients were perfectly schooled in the arts of middle-class circumspection.
Hudson knew Mrs. Williams was arriving the minute the cab stopped in front of the medical building where he had his offices. He heard her come into the main lobby,-past the splashing little fountain in the lobby, down the carpeted corridor, into his waiting room (triggering off a soft buzzer), and into one of the naugahyde chairs. He waited a full minute, doing nothing at his desk but counting very slowly to a hundred. He arose and went to his office door, opening it slowly. He saw his patient sitting in the pink chair, obviously very nervous, very young, very inexperienced, very moral, very disturbed.
"Mrs. Williams?" he asked in a cool, professional tone.
"Dr. Hudson?" BettyLou replied, searching his handsome face eagerly, as though it might automatically contain the answer to her problem.
"Won't you come in?"
Everything was so cool-and cooling!-the fountain, the cool naugahyde chair, this doctor's manner. BettyLou was certain she had come to the right place. There was only one disturbing element: his youthful face and his sensual look. She had been hoping for an older man-a Dr. Schweitzer for rattled housewives, someone with a beard perhaps. Didn't all psychiatrists have beards?
She sat down, fumbling at her purse. For what seemed to be an eternity, she kept looking at his inkwell, his blotter, the cuffs on his shirtsleeves peeking out from his dark blue suit.
"What seems to be the trouble, Mrs. Williams?" he asked in the same cool, dry voice.
"I'm not sure," said BettyLou. "I'm all upset."
"Upset over what?"
"It's hard to say."
"Take your time. Would you like a glass of water?"
"No. No, thank you."
A long silence. Finally, he probed a bit: "Are you married, Mrs. Williams? I mean currently living with your husband?" The doctor cursed himself momentarily for his little faux pas.
He had reason to curse himself even more, for the question was so directly related to BettyLou's current dilemma that she became frightened at what she assumed was his deep insightfulness. She was certain this man could read her naked soul like a book, without saying a word. She began to cry.
"Oh, doctor, doctor! You've got to help me! I think I'm losing my mind, my husband, my children! I'm no good, rotten! We've become involved with a real sick couple and they're dragging us down, down, into the mire. Fm going to leave him. I can't go on like this. It's driving me crazy!"
Little by little, Dr. Hudson managed to bring his patient back to more rational discourse. As they talked, Jim could see all that Marc had told him about BettyLou. She was a voluptuous, naive girl-gone a little astray, perhaps, because of si-tuational stress-but she was definitely a young woman ripe for the fullest glories of mature sexuality. She only lacked the right kind of initiation, Jim thought. That son-of-a-gun-of-a-Marc had badly misfired. Obviously. The girl was put off by his compulsive, slave-driving sexuality. She could be made to come round, but it would take a defter hand than Marc's. She would need to know a real sensualist. Someone who understood the human anatomy better than that rank amateur. Someone who had some conception of how much patience it takes to teach someone, heal a wound, change an ingrown attitude.
"Then I read you right, Mrs. Williams, if I say that your problem has something to do with sex."
"With sex? Oh yes, yes, of course. Sex. I'm not very much interested in such things, Dr. Hudson."
"Yes you are. Quite obviously, you are, Mrs. Williams." Jim rose from his chair and started to walk toward his patient. "Give me your hand, Mrs. Williams," he said. "Let me show you the little garden they've built for me in the back of my office. Completely private. A place for my patients to relax."
BettyLou finally looked into Jim's eyes and she melted with the total confidence she surrendered to him. The attractiveness she had first found there to be so threatening now seemed almost angelic and she felt a certainty in her heart that this man could make all crooked roads straight, all obstacles smooth.
She was delighted when he ushered her into an enclosed conservatory. "Why, it's a little garden!" she gasped.
"Precisely," he said, punctuating her remark.
Overhead, clear glass let in the sun and sky, but along the walls vines grew and along the little path many .varieties of small plants grew. In one corner, where a marble Cupid sat perched upon his pedestal, roses were growing, and, over all, BettyLou could hear the soothing sound of trickling water. Hudson directed his patient to a little stucco bench which rested just below a towering philodendron.
"I can't believe it! It's simply charming! Who would ever think that such a quaint little place as this existed in this building?" BettyLou sat down and Hudson joined her immediately thereafter.
He began a long, long dissertation on plants and biology in general He didn't really make much sense to her, but the tone of his voice was so comforting-and he did sound as though he knew what he was talking about! He began talking about changing the forms of life and how hard that was, how every leaf was predestined to have the shape it had, but how man-and-womankind were different, how their minds could be more flexible than the predestined shapes of leaves, and so forth. While he talked, BettyLou finally began to unwind. The terrors and frustrations of the last few days rose from her shoulders as lightly as helium-filled balloons, and she began to feel that many of her problems were not as monumental as she had assumed.
However, before long, she began to hear a different story and she was not so sure that what he was saying now was so innocent. He kept talking about "orgones"-small units of energy which-were created each time a human being had an orgasm. These small molecule-sized things were sup posed to have a horrendous energy, and each person was supposed to give off several million of these things every time he or she had sex. Betty-Lou began to feel a quickening sense of panic again. Why did men only think about sex aU the time? Hudson Was uncomfortably close to her now and he seemed to be only warming up to his major pitch.
"But, doctor, I don't see how all this concerns me. These things that you say are floating about in the air, that we put into the air each time we ... well, do it ... It sounds crazy to me. It may be true, but..."
"Mrs. Williams, will you let me show you? Will a little scientific proof erase whatever doubts you have?"
"What do you mean ... scientific proof?"
"Empirical evidence! The living experience! If you are going into therapy, you must be willing to look Truth in the face-painful as that might be. But your cure will be in that encounter, Mrs. Williams, believe me! Now just lie down, lie back, relax, let me give you this pillow here, that's it, rest, be at your ease, don't worry about a thing, I'm here, I'll protect you, just relax."
BettyLou knew what was coming. She could see it as plain as the nose on her dear mother's face- the woman who gave her birth, creating a female creature of lush, nubile proportions, an average mind, and a modest set of values which nobody- at least in Tudor Park-believed she wanted to abide by. What could she do?
She decided she couldn't fight it anymore. She had tried. God knows she had tried, but nobody seemed willing to give her a chance. Worst of ail-not even her husband! She lay back, heard the trickling water, smelled the roses, and gave up. Maybe these hungry bastards were right after all. That idea had only occurred to her seldom, but now it hit with unusual force. Men-crazy men-thinking about sex all the time-maybe they were right and she was wrong, hoarding what she thought was her little shred of decency in all this crazy world. Maybe it wasn't worth preserving. Maybe she couldn't afford to try. Regardless, in that garden, BettyLou, almost unconsciously, decided to give up the fight. In times like these, she thought, it simply isn't worth it. Let's lie back and go to sleep, maybe, and hope to wake up in some different time.
Jim was thrilled to see his patient so compliant. Everything became blurred. The water was roses and BettyLou was the sunlight and the Cupid was emitting, strangely, the smell of a female in heat.
Jim was beside himself. He fluttered about her, still playing psychiatrist, still babbling about the "orgones," still uncertain that she was really at her ease. Jim asked her how she felt and she looked at him through lizard eyes.
"Do your thing," she commanded cynically. (From here on in, BettyLou decided that she, as a female, could afford one thing-to lie back, playing every game from the advantage of a passive viewpoint, a coolly observing female, a kitten on a mantle, a mouse from his hole.)
"You've got to understand the nature of love," Jim was saying. "As one becomes aroused, the molecules build up, discharging an electric energy which creates the orgones. These are fat and slow to move about the atmosphere, but we can speed them up when we ..."
He was spreading his hand under her dress and sensuously along her inner thigh, moving up and down and dangerously close to her white lace panties. "When they what?" asked BettyLou sharply.
Jim gulped. "Have sex!" he said, hoping his directness would charm her naive young female mind.
"Oh."
"But you mustn't think lightly of the orgones, Mrs. Williams. They are a very potent force in the world. The more we create the more our atmosphere becomes loving and relaxed. Why, some psychiatric writers even think they can bring peace to the world." He was kneeling beside her, still caressing her thighs, staring at her with the fascination of a cobra staring at a mongoose. "You are a very lovely woman, Mrs. Williams."
"Thank you, doctor," she responded dully.
"You must learn how to relax and really enjoy your body. Your body is a beautiful instrument. If you treat it properly, you'll be able to enjoy it until long into the golden years of old age, Mrs. Williams. Oh-oh, what have we here?" His wandering hands had brushed against her panty-girdle under her dress. "A minor obstruction. But that needn't bother us overmuch. I'm sure you can feel tlutt, can't you?" He scratched at the Latex with his fingernail at a point quite close to her clitoris. A buzzing wave of sensation went rippling about her body.
"Oh, why do you men spend so much time thinking about sex, doctor? It doesn't seem natural."
"But, Mrs. Williams, sex is very important--a natural expression of our human drives to enjoy, to be free, to make a thrilling contact with others. It's dangerous to repress such drives, Mrs. Williams. When we do, we fill up our minds with hatred and violence. Now, isn't this relaxing and pleasurable?" His other hand was browsing over her two large breasts, seeking and finding die nipples under the brassiere lace. Expertly, he aroused them to puckered peaks. "You're a very responsive woman, Mrs. Williams. A constitutional frigidity certainly isn't one of your problems. It's your mental attitude that's tripping you up. Do you see how useful or-gone therapy is for diagnosing?"
BettyLou had dosed her eyes and was settling into a lumpish passivity, when she was shocked suddenly back to painful reality. The psychiatrist was trying to unpeel her panty girdle, into two or three fast tugs before she had time to muster her resistance. Her first impulse was to scream out, but her defeated spirit could simply not gather the energy necessary to do it. Instead, she lay back and marveled at die frantic activity of the man. Getting the undergarment off was more difficult than he had expected, but eventually he was able to skin it back much as if it were a foreskin. He looked down at her unresisting body, made all the more inviting by a psychologically enforced lassitude.
"Oh, you're really going to enjoy this," he said. He zipped down his fly and began pulling out his penis which had been painfully curling up and gaining size in his undershorts. It was clearly a relief for him when he finally managed to wrench it free. "Look at that, my dear. Isn't it a beaut?" He grasped the lower part of the rod with his three main fingers and rolled them in such a way that additional blood began to course through the penile veins, darkening and thickening the lacework of blood vessels that were pulsating just under the surface of the skin.
By the way he was looking at it, BettyLou could tell that he was enthralled with his own weapon. Nat had always been a little shy and secretive with her in regard to his erect cock. There was always a touch of shame that he felt about it which he subtly transmitted to his wife, or-BettyLou thought now-was it that he felt some concern about not shocking her sense of propriety and modesty? However, having encountered the naked vanity of Marc Winthrope, and now Dr. James Hudson, BettyLou could easily see where some men acquire their arrogance and overbearing insensitivity. Watching the psychiatrist play with his own stiffened member and observing his almost boyish excitement with it could give to someone unaccustomed to seeing such men under these circumstances an eerie sensation that they were a bit diabolic or even that they emitted a kind of fluorescent glow.
"You want to hold it a little?" he asked her, offering his cock as though it were so supercharged with electricity she would be irresistibly tempted to accept and be stuck to it for life if she ever did. He was standing near her face, studying it closely for the slightest look of marveling hist. Finding that she was slow to arousal on this point, he decided to encourage her a bit.
"Just look at it! I bet you've not seen one as big in all your life. Seven and a half inches! Let me tell you, baby, that's big! And let me tell you how good it'll make you feel once I get it-up into you. All those tensions and fears will just melt away. Cmon, grab it. You'll love it. Don't be afraid.''
Fully sensing the fantastic power of his self-adoration, BettyLou, against her will, began to orbit, moon-like, about it. From the depths of her defeat, she studied his vermilion-crowned tool, knew that he wanted her to worship it, and finally began to reach out to grasp it as a key to a new philosophy she would have to accept if she did not want to abandon life entirely.
She grasped it in almost a dream-like trance. However, the dormant power in it stirred into awakening her long-buried capacity for joyful lust. Feeling its knotted, knobby muscles now engorged with blood, she smiled faintly, hardly aware she was doing it. Jim was thrilled, getting some real action on his cock now and the smile led him to believe she was really liking it. "Kiss it!" he commanded, bringing it now close to her mouth.
She kept riding her fist up and down the full length of the shaft, still smiling, curiously amused by the bumpiness. Thinking that perhaps she had not heard him, he commanded again-this time near viciously, "Kiss it!"
She looked up now into his face, silently pleading with him to offer her another choice, but Jim was so far drowned now in his own cravings, so far gone from all his feigned clinical objectivity that he refused to give her any other choice. If this was the first time she had ever kissed a cock, then-too bad-there's a first time for everything. What the hell? Why not teach her to suck cock right now? What better time? And what better cock than his own-Prince?
Literally taking the matter into his hands, he relieved her hold on him with his left hand and, with his right behind her head, proceeded to draw her mouth directly opposite the cock head. BettyLou tried to resist but knew it was hopeless. Jim aimed for right between the lips, whispering all the time, "Take it! Don't be afraid. Oooooh, he wants to feel your tongue on him, babyl"
BettyLou, slowly but willingly now, opened her mouth and took the blunt head into her mouth. Jim threw his right leg over the bench, now gaining the advantage of a position where he could worm his way into the back of her throat. For a moment or two, she seemed to do nothing with it, merely letting it lie on her tongue. "Awww, c'mon, baby. Suck it like a sweetheart-hard!"
BettyLou felt that she had now reached the limits of her degradation-that there was nothing more she could do to utterly destroy and confound her old self. Why not then suck him? Why not let him do whatever he wanted widi her? She began the awful movements of jaw, tongue, and cheeks that are so fatal to male genitals. Jim looked down at her beautiful face now feeding on him and nearly went out of his mind with sensual rage. For him, the most powerful sight in the world was to see a lovely woman's lips eagerly sucking at his vitals like this. When they got frantic and really enjoyed it-hardly able to get enough of it-Jim would go into a state of erotic hysteria. With each swirl of that warm oral cavern on him, he would feel that his entire neural and vascular systems were becoming slowly unhooked and unhinged within him-then, at the moment of awful release, he would feel that all of his blood and guts were being sucked out of him along with his sperm in one massive evisceration. A beautiful horror of a fantasy, but one that permitted him also to play games with his victim, resisting that inexorable pull toward the precipice, deliberately dunking of the most mundane thoughts which would neutralize the powers of the feeder. But, sooner or later, Jim always knew he would have to surrender in that game; at bottom, of course, he always wanted to surrender, but it tickled his fancy to see himself as resisting, perhaps screaming out: "No more! For God's sake, no more-it's killing me!" Fucking, for him, was never like that; it was always a filling up or a shoveling in, but being sucked off was the most blissful draining experience in We for Jim Hudson.
Jim now studied BettyLou carefully, gauging how accustomed she was to the amount he had already shoved into her wide-stretched mouth, and when he saw her comfortably adjusted to that, he'd close further the vise of hip and hand he had her head in and slip in another inch, perhaps without her fully realizing it. It was clear to Jim that she was no expert, but there was no reason why she couldn't have her first big lesson right now.
It was almost in up to the hilt when Jim felt the head nudge against the opening of her throat. BettyLou balked, choking and gagging and rearing with her head. She was momentarily terrified that she would suffocate or throw up. Jim had to bring his role of doctor into play: "Don't be afraid. The more you fight it, the more you'll clamp up. Just let your throat relax, as if you were going to swallow a nice, juicy chunk of beef."
She pushed him away. "It's making me so sore. My tongue, my cheeks-they hurt."
"Don't let that worry you. That's the kind of pain which feels so good later on. Just keep sucking as you've been doing. I'm going to sink this thing of mine right down into your throat, but you keep sucking. I've got a load, a big one, and it's getting bigger by the minute. But I want you to try to suck it out of me-do you hear? Suck it out of me, and it's yours. The whole load slithering down inside of you!"
"Oh, no-I couldn't-not swallow it ... when you .. .!"
"Don't be like that. One day you'll thank me that I taught you how. You'll love doing it so much you'll wonder why you didn't learn earlier."
She was set to complain again, but he shut her up by filling her mouth with his cock again, shoving hard until it butted anew against the back wall of her throat like a bull. "Now relax as I told you. Let your lower jaw drop as far as it can go. I'm coming in." And with that, he felt the far end of his smooth, rubbery cock slip into a dark passageway of incredible warmth and softness. The sensation was exquisite and he let her know of it by moaning in a kind of delirium of delight and loosening his fingers in the ringlets of her hair. Squatting there, buried so deeply within her, holding on to her head and hair as though they were disconnected to her body, his head thrown back, his eyes rolling in his head-he was in heaven.
He now taught her how to hold the base of his hardened rod with her one hand and to hang with her other onto his scrotum. "Play with the balls ... gently . .. that's it. Now, pull the whole bag down ... not too hard . . .that's it. Hang on them, swing on them!" She did as she was bid, and though he couldn't see her too well doing it, he felt her, and the image of her-reduced to the size of midget-swinging on his balls for dear life crossed his mind and gave him much pleasure. "Oooooeeeee! that's it! Keep it up! Swing on them!"
For BettyLou, the first-and most painful-lesson was nearly over. The various separate movements which had seemed so discordant now seemed to work together beautifully-the thrusting hips were meshing with the bobbings of her head,' Jim's cock was sliding easily along the slippery sluiceway of her tongue and past the gates of her throat, the pubic forest of his crotch advanced and retreated like a mechanized Birnam Wood, while all was ingeniously oiled with copious supplies of saliva and sweat. Even the original discomfort of such a large cock battering against the tender tissues of her ovaled mouth was being transformed into a curious pleasure-pain. The only distress remaining was her doubt that she could tolerate his splashing sperm in her throat and stomach. Surely, her body would reject the male cream penetrating her at this spot.
His gladiator's battle was beginning. "Ooooh, ooooh," he was groning. "You're pulling my guts out! You're sucking me to death! But I love it! It's so beautiful! Your mouth is so beautiful! I'm fucking a beautiful woman in the mouth!"
Signs of his impending delivery were strangely exciting to her: the quickening pace, his labored breathing and snuffling, the bestial noises coming deep from his throat, and a curious sudden tingling in a nerve along the shaft. She would soon learn this was the signal-the electric buzzer warning all cocksuckers that the floodgates are about to burst open.
And burst they did. Jim began wrestling with his own body, torn apart by the automatic quakings of his rubbed-raw nervous system. Almost in revenge, his whole body erupted in violent retaliation for all the teasing and rubbing and drubbing and pommeling he had permitted to be performed upon it. His mind went haywire-jammed circuits, involuntary twitches, perceptual chaos. He was trying to tear her hair out, choke her to death, fill her to bursting with the brutal volleys of his load. In his man-rage, he wanted to kill, blast, destroy, and ruin.
Coping with such erotic violence was not easy for BettyLou. She had never seen a man behave so. It was like being caught up in a frightening hurricane. She felt as though she had admitted into her mouth a whole typhoon and that she was perilously close to drowning in the flood that had been unleashed on her. To cope with it, she would have to be either a giantess who could swallow an entire storm in her mouth or a tiny mote that would survive the cataclysm because it could float on top of the wildest waves. The release of pent-up energy from the man's body was hard to imagine as real.
After a few moments of this kind of eternity, Jim staggered away from her mouth, leaving it utterly devastated and broken. BettyLou looked as if she had been clouted in the mouth to insensitivity -her lips, rubbed raw with the abrasion, hung slack as saliva and semen trickled from a corner over her chin, her whole face resembled that of an idiot's. Her clothes were a mess of wrinkles and twisted seams, stained with sperm and sweat. Her arms and legs were sprawled helter-skelter over the bench, as though she had been a marionette thrown into a corner by an angry puppet-maker. It was the death of BettyLou.
The woman who rose from that bench and left with Dr. Hudson almost an hour later was a completely different person. Her name was Lou and she had the hard wisdom of all the world's whores. She fully understood the animal nature of men-even better than they did themselves-and she-had subconsciously come to accept that brute-god, the male cock, and all the infernal practices that men would put it to, again and again in a never-ceasing drive to enter the future by the ram's head of it. And like every whore, she secretly detested men but cringed under the shadow of their chief organ, loving it as slaves might love their lashes and envying the possession of it as the impoverished have always licked the feet of and at the same time spat on the wealthy.
Chapter 5
By the time Lou arrived home it was rather late in the evening. Jim and she had played for some time more after she blew him. He rested and talked to her some more about sex and her "wonderful body "and then she took the intiative and aroused him, challenging him to fuck her. Afterwards, they went off together to a bar in Grafton where they sat and drank margueritas in huge lounge chairs around an open-fire hearth. Finally, seeing that it was late, Jim called a cab and sent her home. She walked through the door at 11:30.
Nat was sitting up for her. He had his chair parked in such a way that he would see her as soon as she came through the door. He arose when she came in, obviously frantic with worry about her whereabouts but also fearful of disturbing her with any direct expression of his concern. He was still not even certain that she would be speaking to him. "Hi," he said meekly. 'Tve been waiting up for you. Is everything all right?"
The margueritas had taken their toll. She weaved a bit, trying to get her head straight so that she could focus her eyes properly. "Who are you?" she asked as though he were a creature arisen from the grave.
"Don't you recognize me?" Nat asked, delighted that she was talking to him again. "It's Nat. Your husband. Are you all right?"
"Ooooooh yes," she drawled, "my husband. I'd almost forgotten you. The little man I married."
"Little man? What do you mean, BettyLou?"
Lou walked deep into the room now, scanning the half-emptied packing crates, the chaotic strewing of the furniture, the abortive move into a grand neighborhood. She turned and faced her husband. She looked at him as if for the first time. "My, 'name's not BettyLou. Not any longer. I'm Lou."
"Where have you been, sweetheart? Bea said that you went to a doctor ... a psychiatrist in town. Was he of any help?"
"He was of help all right. Lots of help."
"But it's way past eleven. Bea said you left late in the afternoon. Did he keep you there all this time?"
Lou was certain now-she was looking at her husband for the first time. Her shock treatments of the last several days had altered her mind considerably, enabling her to see things from a completely new standpoint. He seemed so narrow to her now, so pinched, so inhibited. "You're a fool," was all she said then.
The remark left her husband speechless. She started to wander through the pandemonium, found a half-emptied pack of cigarettes, and helped herself to one. Seeing her light it almost threw Nat into a fit. "You're smoking! How come you're smoking? You've never done that before!
BettyLou, I'm asking you again-are you all right?"
She sat down in a chair and crossed her legs. For a moment, the mechanics of holding a cigarette seemed almost insurmountable, but she finally managed to get the puffing and the sucking and holding into a kind of order that resembled what she thought was "natural" cigarette smoking. "Nat, in all your life, have you ever let a woman suck you off-or a man, for that matter?"
"Darling! What are you talking about? I can't believe my ears. Did that psychiatrist... ?"
"I TOLD YOU-MY NAME IS LOU! YOU MOTHER-FUCKER!"
"Honey, please! The children! You'll wake the children talking like that!"
TLL WAKE MORE THAN THAT BEFORE I'M DONE WITH YOU!" She was still sitting calmly in the chair but her voice was screaming.
Nat suddenly saw it-the radical change, the new creature, the giantess his wife had become. It terrified him. He had no points of reference to see the change as anything but bizarre, monstrous. "What has that psycho bastard done to you?" was all he could say, and-at that-only muttering the words under his breath.
"I sucked him off!" Lou declared dramatically. "He demanded it. And I did it. And I tell you here and now-I loved it!"
"Why, that's terrible-awful! Ill report him! I'm sure it's unethical. The authorities will lock him..."
"Tell me this, motherfucker. Why, in all our years of marriage, didn't you ever DEMAND I suck you off? Demand, like a man? But no, you couldn't demand anything. You sneaking, two-timing, dirty little boyl"
Nat was beside himself. He began flailing his arms, unable to know what to do, where to go. "Why .. . what the ... Betty ... I mean, Lou!... honey, you're sick, you need a..."
"No, baby, you're wrong. Dead wrong. You're the sick one here! You're the evil little bastard who married me-to put me in a cage, while you could go around free to sniff into any pussy or asshole you pleased. Oh, don't deny it! I've watched you all this time. Work like a bastard to keep me locked in a box, in cotton wool, but then go scrounging around for a little innocent 'fun', a little 'adventure', while I was so busy with the children I couldn't-wouldn't-dare complain."
He arose from the chair. "You conned me, you conniving little son-of-a-bitch. You god-damned public-relations expert! You've jollied everybody in this Me, including me-and worse, including yourself-into buying a lie, a put-on, a joke, a fraud! You've turned your marriage into nothing more than window-dressing-setting it all up for the customers, the suckers. You've sacrificed everything for the thrill of turning another dollar-and I helped you do it! I played along with the gag, loathing myself, loathing you. Oh, I kept hoping that the horrible madness would end, that you would come to your senses and be the fine father and decent husband I thought you were when I married you. And when we moved to this town, I was so thrilled, so sure that everything was going to be now for the better. That we had left the main office and all that crap. That we would finally lead normal lives, lives like everybody else, decent lives, honest lives, quiet lives.
"But no! Right off, you had to start the old game again. Only this time-this time in-what's the name of this fucking place-Fucker Park?- I'm learning that two can play at that game as well as one. And how does that suit you, Mr. Williams?"
She was screaming at him, her neck straining to get her head as close to him as she could. "How does that sound-tell me honestly-as one rat to another?"
Nat was completely baffled. Where did all this talk come from? Who was this woman? What had that psychiatrist done to her? What would the children think? The neighbors think?
"Oh, I remember now," she went on. "I made a mistake, didn't I? It's Tudor Park where we moved into, isn't it? Not Screwer or Fucker Park as I said. I'm sorry. For the moment, I forgot where I was."
This kind of talk from his sweet young wife had completely unnerved Nathaniel Williams. He could only understand half of what she was saying -most of it had come so fast that the words had been blurred one into another, at least in his mind. Or was it simpler than this?-that he did not want to hear her saying such things?
"Honey, you're tired. You need your rest," he said, but he was thinking of his wife far more seriously than this. He was sure she was mad. And he was frightened of her. He was treating her again like a zoo-keeper. He simply could not conceive of a woman unless she were in a cage he had constructed in his mind. But Lou, the new woman, was smart to this ploy. Feeling the incredible transformation that the body makes when sensitive entry-tissues shift from remembered pain to exquisite present pleasure, Lou. walked to the mantelpiece, turned on her heel, and again addressed her husband: "Go to hell, Nat!"
It completely devastated him. Lou watched him crumble under the sting of it. WHAT IN THE HELL WAS GOING ON?
BettyLou's husband turned and headed for his bed; Lou, the woman he had unwittingly created, turned and flicked her dead cigarette into the charred hearth of their new home.
She watched him mount the stairs. Poor man, be was getting old before his time. She feh so loved, so well-fucked, so confident now that, like a mountain lion, she could not let her prey-for-play go yet. "Wanna fuck?" she asked him, stopping him on the stairs.
And, indeed, like an old man, he looked out at her. "I don't know you," he said.
"And yet, lover, you created me. What's the matter? Are you afraid to meet your creature, Dr. Frankenstein?"
Nat and Lou continued to sleep in separate rooms. Lou now flatly refused to unpack a single cup or piece of silver. Nat had still to fix his own breakfast and come home to a house in stagnant ruins. Somehow the children were fed and put to bed. Husband and wife hardly talked.The only difference this time was that he was miserable, she was ecstatic. Nat could still not figure out what had happened. He went through his routine at work like an ape-slave, talking to no one, running away from anyone who sought him out. Once again, life at the Williamses reached a stand-still. Daddy and Mommy were marking time. A challenge had been hurled, but it lay dead in center stage.
Oatmeal, however, and last night's coffee grounds and no hot meals upon a return from work and a cold bed for several night/ standing finally got to Nat. He was missing his mother-wife and he felt he had a right to scream to bring her back. He tried again to approach the creature and found her still as alien as before.
They were by his car, as he was washing it one weekend. She was raking the lawrt in a bitter silence. They were sober now, and they could be cruel as they wished. In typical middle-class ways, they hurt and injured each other with their peevish silence. They were so divorced from each other that Lou could not look at Nat, scrubbing away on the car as if it were his soul, and Nat could not look at his wife, convinced as he was that she. was sick and unbalanced and in real need of medical help. Finally, Nat mustered enough courage to speak. "Lou," he said, abiding by her new rule to call her that, "I'm going away for several weeks."
Lou said nothing.
"To California."
Still Lou said nothing. This time she merely stopped working and looked at him.
"I don't really have to go, but Buckram is having real sales publicity problems out on the West Coast and asked for volunteers to go and straighten it out." He paused. "I volunteered."
Lou looked at her husband through slit ted eyes. Running away, she thought. He can't handle it, so he's running away.
He started to walk over to her. "I did it 'cause I thought you might appreciate a little time away from me. We've not been getting along very well lately, and I thought. .. well... that maybe a little vacation from our marriage might solve a lot of things."
"For who?" Lou finally said, breaking her silence. "For you, you mean. You're going out to the Coast and fuck around with every broad that pleases your fancy, making out like crazy just so you can 'feel better', while I'm supposed to stay at home, getting callouses on my fuck finger, and feeling sorrier and sorrier for all the "bad things' I did to you. What do you take me for-a fool?"
WHERE HAD SHE LEARNED TO BE SO FOUL-MOUTHED?
He was too exasperated now to plead rationally with her anymore. "Anyway-I'm going!" he announced, "m send you money every week."
"Don't worry about money," she said to his back as he walked away and wanted to add: I have ways now of taking care of that! Instead, she returned to her silence.
By rhe end of the week, Nat had packed his bags by himself and had called a taxi. Waiting for its arrival, he kissed his childen goodbye and promised them to return soon. He especially enjoined them to "watch over Mommy" and be good children to help Ixer through this "difficult period in her life." He then dismissed them. He wanted to talk to his wife alone, but still hadn't top much of an idea what he wanted to say.
Initiating the parting speech was hard for him. "I'll write you often and call you up once a week."
Lou said nothing. "God damn it, woman!" he blurted out, "can't you say something?"
"Yes," she said coldly. "You're running away."
"Well, maybe I am, but I can't take anymore of this at home. You're driving me crazy!"
"What do you mean-I'm driving you crazy? Maybe you do have a problem on your hands, but you're the man of this house, why don't you stay home and solve it?"
"'If I only knew how! You need help-professional help-real bad. And I don't mean from that crazy head-shrinker, Jim Hudson. He's the root of all this. He's the one who turned you against me, I know. And I'll get that bastard yet one of these days. But I don't know where to turn now, and I need time to think. This rripil do us both some good, straighten us both out-you'll see."
"Yeh, sure," she said icily.
"But don't you see, Lou. You're not the same person. Some terrible change has come over you. You're no longer the woman I married-sweet, helpful, wholesome. You're somebody else, and I don't understand it."
"Just because I've decided to play the same games in life that you do-I'm crazy? If that's the case, then I say that you're the nut. Why, you've been fucking around behind my back for years, telling all the boys what a horny bastard you were, how much you really liked a little fresh pussy now and again, bragging to them about how much of a stud you were. Well, Jim has finally convinced me
"Ya see!" Nat said, jumping on her point, "I told you! It is that psycho who's turned your head inside out!"
"Well, what if it is? What's so god-awful about facing a few simple facts of real life for a change? What's so terrible about a woman demanding the same freedoms in life that men already enjoy? What's so earth-shaking about my admitting that I like to fuck around with other men-the same as you do with women-from time to time? What's the matter, Nat? Can't you take it? Oh, you can grab for what you want all right, but you can't give to your 'ever-lovin'' wife the same privileges you grab for yourself! Oh, nooooo! I'm supposed to be some goddess of purity and domesticity. I'm supposed to dry up and die, while you go around sloshing in any cunt that comes your way. You've been two-timing me ever since we've been married, Nat, saying to everybody what a 'wonderful' marriage you have, holding it up as a model to your relatives and friends, telling your young cousins how "hard' you and I have worked to make it 'perfect'-but all that's been a lie, Nat, and now you can't face that. You want the lie to continue- because it made you "happy', made you feel like a big-wheel, the model husband and father! Ha! What a joke!"
"I should never have taken you to that party over at that bastard of a Winthrope. He's the cause of all this trouble."
"There you go again, Nat-blaming some other guy. Hell, Nat, why can't you face it? You're to blame! It's not Jim or Marc or anybody else-it's you, you, you! And that ever-hungry, ever curious cock of yours that was supposed to be so wild and crazy outside the home and so innocent and boyish with me! You men, you're all alike: you want your wife to be the one angel in the world and every other woman in the world to be whores! Well, that's changing, Nat. Women all over America are changing that. We're rising tip and claiming the same rights as you've had for ourselves. And if that shocks your little middle-class morality, then that's too bad-that makes you obsolete and us the builders of the new generation."
The vehemence of Lou's words were like a killer punch to Nat's solar plexus. The evidence of his crumbling world was mounting up faster than he could deny it and, for the moment, he was devastated. He sank to sit down on his luggage. "That's what's happened,"' he muttered. "Marc stole your body and that damned psychiatrist has stolen your mind."
"Still blaming the other guy," countered Lou.
A horn honked outside. "There's my cab!" Nat jumped up. He wanted to take his wife into his arms and kiss her goodbye, but the thought seemed ridiculous to him now. As second best, he began hoping that she would rush to him and plead with him to stay, but she did nothing, said nothing. "Don't you love me anymore?" he asked pitifully.
"No more and no less than you are able to love me right now," was her answer, and since he was still unable to make any positive move, she added: "which doesn't seem to be very much."
They were clearly at an impasse. Neither would budge from their positions. Nat turned in disgust and left without any further ceremony, and Lou watched him go with a cynical smile on her lips.
The only moral strength he's got is that of a boy's! she thought. Fve had to learn how to grow up- FAST! He'll have to learn how, too!
Chapter 6
Since her first visit to Dr. Hudson, Lou had been seeing him almost every day-gratis. He would squeeze her into his schedule at odd hours during the day but not in his office. He didn't want Rhoda, his secretary-receptionist, to know too much about his personal life-not that the girl didn't understand-or participate herself, for that matter, in-(he racy ways of Tudor Park (Jim had been shacking up with her regularly before she fell in love with Rufus), but Jim had a standing reservation for a room at the Galaxy Motel outside of Grafton and meeting Lou, and various other female clients, there was much tidier and simpler. He would pick her up at previously selected sites just short distances away from her new home and then drive to the motel. Within a short time, Jim and Lou had occupied every room of the place at least once.
Bert Headley, the owner of the Galaxy, was in special debt to Jim Hudson. Through the offices of the good psychiatrist, Bert had been able to get his wife, Bertha, committed to the Mardstone State Hospital, and Bert had been a very happy man ever since. When Bertha had found out about her husband and Darlene, the new maid, she plotted revenge in such strange ways (sawing almost clear through the legs of their trysting bed, for example) that obtaining the commitment was no serious problem. In consequence, Jim always had a guaranteed place for a shack-up at the Galaxy- once even usurping a willing Bert and Darlene from their own private quarters.
On the day following Nat's departure, Lou went out to the Galaxy in a cab, after she had farmed out the children to the widow who lived next door. These daily assignations had begun to be the pivot of her whole day and she went to each of them with high anticipation. This day she was almost wet thrugh in her panties by the time she arrived at the motel.
Jim had not arrived as yet. She waited nervously in the little office, chatting a bit with Darlene. Suddenly, Bert came in.
"Twelve and seventeen checked out an hour ago, honey. When are you going to get around to making up the rooms? It's near to four and you know how the traveling salesmen and truckdrivers like to knock off early."
Darlene left the office, looking back suspiciously at Bert and Lou. "Gotta keep her busy," Bert said with a chuckle when she had left. "Can't let her get fat and lazy like happened to Bertha!"
They fell into idle chit-chatting, but Lou's state of sexual arousal was obvious to Bert. He had a nose for such things and was usually right. Lou kept fidgeting and asking again and again if Jim had called to say perhaps that he wouldn't be able to make it. "Now you rest easy, ma'am. I'm sure he won't want to miss any appointment he's made with you. He's usually very good about such things."
Jim had been teaching her new positions and she was particularly eager to experience the thrill of a new and even more unusual style of making love. She looked now at Bert, wondering what he would be like in bed. He was a big man, a bit barrel-chested, and very hairy. Did he have a big cock? she wondered. Was he free and wild in bed-or was he fastidious and inhibited like Nat? Did he know a lot of positions the way Jim did? She couldn't get her mind off sex.
"I don't understand it," she told Bert. "He said by three-thirty at the very latest. I'm so ... so ... eager to see him."
"Now, now, ma'am. He's a very busy man we all know, and if he can't make it, why . ., I'd be glad to ... to do anything to make you . . . more comfortable."
Lou caught the remark in a flash. So, indeed! The motel-keeper was thinking along the same lines as she. His daring excited her. She responded quickly. "Well, if you can, you'd better hurry before your maid or my psychiatrist gets here."
Bert's hand shot down to his crotch to feel his equipment. He gave his cock a good squeeze in the cup of his hand. The gesture was like a switch, turning on the juices which would flood into the area and transform him from a meek but jolly public servant into a bull in a bed. "You mean ... you want me to fuck you?"
"Yes, God, yes! And hurry!" Bert didn't wait for any further encouragement. He grabbed her hand! and drew her into the bedroom behind the curtain that divided the reception-and-waiting room from his living quarters. He tried to kiss her as soon as he got her past the door, but Lou wanted no preliminaries. The thought of her getting it sharp and fast from Bert and then long and lazy from Jim right afterwards was too exciting for any silly romantics. She quickly unzipped him and dug into the warm cavity beneath. "Let's see what's down here," she said, drugged with her mounting lust.
Bert was beside himself with wonderment. He had never known such a direct, aggressive woman. The discovery was exciting to him. "Now I know what that doctor-friend of yours likes in you."
Lou had the man's cock out in no time and-began jacking it off to speed up the erectile process. She was a bit disappointed that her fantasy of a large one was not vindicated, but, her mind countered, let's see what he can do with what he's got.
She lowered her panties and began to undo her waist garter-belt when the man said, "Don't. Let me fuck you with that on. It gives me a kick." Then as an afterthought: "And the shoes- on, too."
"You wanna play with these?" she asked, cup-pinij her breasts in her bra.
"We don't have time. Just lie down there and let me get this into you."
Again, the dispatch of events seemed to accelerate the sense of excitement in both of them. Lou went right to the bed and spread-eagled her thighs, slapping her vagina with the palm of her hand, smearing the love-juice over all the area. "Fuck me!" she challenged him. "Fuck me good!"
He knelt over her and aimed his cock with his hand. "No, let me do that for you," she said. She
grabbed him and put the head of his cock right where she knew it would go in. "Now push," she commanded.
"Don't-tell me what to do!" he responded, and in one thrust he had rammed it deep up into her.
The feeling was raw and jagged-even a bit painful-but the necessary hurry made it pleasurable. Bert began to jab her fiftully and Lou knew that if she let him go on in this way, he would reach orgasm without her. "No, no," she pleaded. "Up ... sit up. Ride me in a sitting position." The poor man obviously knew little about the various techniques. He straddled her, sitting up, thereby shortening his stroke somewhat.
"Hasn't anyone ever taught you positions?" Lou asked bluntly.
Tm just a simple man," said Bert. "But 111 let you teach me."
This new position allowed Lou to play with her clitoris while the man's hardened cock lunged wetly in and out of her cunt.
Bert still had his trousers on and started to make a move to stop and take them off. "No, no," Lou commanded. "Don't stop. Finish it. Fast."
Against his better wishes, Bert kept hunching Lou, eager to experience a climax with him, wildly frigged her clit with her middle finger. "Can't I do that?" he asked.
"O.K., but hurry. We haven't too much time."
Lou lifted herself onto her elbows, the better to watch the proceedings below. It seemed that everything was going into her cunt-his- cock, his hand, his frantic eagerness-and the thought of so much effort and attention directed to her wide-stretched pussy made her think that everything,
everybody wanted to get to her there, that a whole crowd of beings and objects were rushing to nibble and penetrate her there, that the entire world was fuck-mad for her cunt and wanted to make her cum and cum until she was driven erazy. The fantasy was so beautifully inciting that she felt her insides begin the seismic tremblings.
"Oooooooh, I'm ready," she gasped, sinking back onto the bed. "Are you?"
"Yeh," he grunted.
"You gotta big load for me? Gonna shoot a big baby in me?"
Her horny directness provided him with the perfect trigger. "Yeh," he grunted again and began the series of hissing gasps that indicated he was right in the process of filling her full of the burning lava of sperm she so desperately yearned for.
Their thrashings about on the bed showed that they had lost all concern for anybody else in the world but themselves. In the vise-like grip of their climax together, both of them clutched at their blissful release, Lou's cunt clasping at the blasting cock within her like a gulping fish, Bert's cock shuddering and shattering everything within range of his fire.
Suddenly, Lou heard a car drive up. "He's here!" She pushed the motel-keeper away in a panic. As enervated as both were, they reassembled their garments and composure to what they had been minutes before within a matter of seconds. Lou knew that she would need more time to prepare herself for Jim-if it was Jim.
"Is there a back door here?" she asked hastily.
"There!" Bert pointed.
Lou hurried out, but Bert rushed to stop her at
the door. "Waitf" he cried out in a stage whisper. She turned. Take this," he said. "It's a key to the back cabin I have out behind the motel. Take it. It's yours. Anytime you want to use it, let me know. You and me, O.K.? You can sneak in and wait for me- while I get Darlene to take over at the desk."
She took the key, never realizing then how she could make use of it.
Outside the door, she found her way to the public toilet on the premises and refashioned her appearance to a semblance of her natural self, In this, she succeeded, but, internally, she was on fire as never before. The session with Bert had been so speedy and unsatisfactory that it had only served to exacerbate all her nerve-endings to the breaking point. She prayed that the car she had heard was Jim Hudson's, for she was now so hot for sex again that she could not quit her squatting at the seat, daubing the seminal flow that was draining back out of her and quite obviously playing with herself at the same time.
She walked back into the sunlight and saw her psychiatrist waiting for her by his Lincoln Continental. "Jim!" she called out in her eagerness.
The two of them spent the next three hours in Room 10 which Bert had set aside this evening for his friend's early visit. Lou was frenetically anxious for Jim to go through his usual ceremony of undressing before her and teasing her with fleeting views of his front with its jutting spear. Always, she had to undress herself, but she didn't mind, as long as she could do it watching Jim disply his enormously clever skill of exposing and hiding his sexual prowess. This afternoon, Jim had decided to teach Lou another chair position. He finally ended his little walk-dance sitting back deep in a circular-armed chair.
In that position, his hardened penis fell back on his belly. With his hand, he made it spire like the Empire State Building and he called to Lou: "Now back your ass in over this ... that's it. Easy now. Is that it?"
Lou could feel another cock, like a goat, butting against her door and the fantasy she had with Bert returned. Every cock in the world wants to fuck me! I'm helpless to stop it! Let 'em come, if they want! She sank the soft hair-lined wetness of her pussy easily over and around Jim's throbbing rod of flesh, swallowing it into her body as smoothly as big fish swallow little fish. Jim was puzzled. The slack muscles of her cunt and its slippery walk warned him immediately of the unusual.
"You've been fucked!" he said. Quickly, he wiped his fingers along the shaft of his cock and against the lips of her tightly oval-stretched cunt and smelled his fingers. The starchy odor of semen! "You have been fucked, baby! I thought Nat left town yesterday."
Lou sat back, her soft, white buttocks now squarely pressed against Jim's lower abdomen, her face looking off into a distance that stretched far beyond the confines of the small motel room where they were laboring with their sexuality. "You were late, lover. Don't you remember? I had to satisfy myself, so I wandered out into this field and there was this bull..."
Jim jabbed her hard several times with his cock, reaching deep into her belly and nudging her cervix. "A bull by the name of Bert, I bet."
"Maybe." -
The thought that Bert had just fucked her thrilled the psychiatrist a little: his patient was progressing far faster than he had ever dared predict. Maybe she was loosening up her morals to light, fresh air, and stiff cocks after all. If such were the case, then Jim Hudson could take a great deal of the credit. His ideal of woman was a human creature very close to a sieve, with her legs ever spread wide and ever-ready to receive whatever a good, strong man might want to sink between them-a tongue, a finger, a fit shaft of blunt cock. He would prefer, of course, that the good doctor Hudson would always have the best tickets for a good crack at women like that, but he was not jealous when a homy man or two beat him to it. He smelled his fingers again. Not bad. The odor was turning him up a little. The thought of sloshing around in another man's residue was not as repulsive as some of his more up-tight male patients might think.
Although this position was most comfortable for Lou, Jim felt a lessening of intensity in his buried penis. In actuality, he could not bear to have his cock for too long out of sight where somebody could not be admiring it. Visual impact was very important for Jim. Eyes peering at his oak-like instrument were, for him, as substantial as the warm, tight walls of a female vagina. "Look at it! Play with it a little!" he urged.
Lou, in a mood now to please the slightest whim of Jim's, slipped wetly off his lap and proceeded to pay homage to her great master's hardened rod of flesh. "I love it so much, Jim! I dream about it all day long-thinking about you doing this and that, carrying it around with you, quietly. It's beautiful, Jim. It feels so great inside of me. I can't bear to be too far away from it. I've grown so hungry for it, I think sometimes I shall die."
"Then suck it and let me watch!" said the good doctor.
The Fiend of Sex-surely, a pagan god that still lives-overtook both of the lovers. Lou, having been fucked and forgiven, now wanted her lover to experience whatever he held to be the Ultimate Joy for him. With a wild surrender of all hangups to the wind, she fell on Jim's cock and sucked, savoring her own juices, Jim's juices, and Bert's juices. So what if her cunt was a crossroads-so be it! She could take anything, everything one could dish out to her sexually. She cared no longer for any of her old middle-class virtues of neatness, tidiness, respectability, and demure passivity. She was now as horny as a man could ever be-maybe hornier. She took his cock, looked at it as though it were the devil's surest spear, and swallowed it deep into her throat.
She kissed it, praised it, whispered words of love to it, swore that she would lose her mind without it, made it willingly her god co-equal with God, and then, when the man was thoroughly charmed with her sterling performance, she leapt up and sat on it, facing him. Feeling him inside her again inspired her. "You wanna play with these?" she asked, offering her breasts.
In his sluggish self-absorption, Jim looked out at the woman and her proferred gifts. Idly, he reached to her tits and played with them like moons a billion miles away.
It was at this point that Lou began to lose interest in Jim. He had taught her a lot. He had opened her up as no man had ever done. He had taught her all the reasons and the arguments for her liberation from the stifling atmosphere Nat had imprisoned her in. She owed him a great deal, but his narcissism was wearing her down. He was able to set a woman up, like a scaffold, to keep his particular building going, but he could not build on his own. With Jim, everything collapsed into the central hole of his being which had no bottom. A woman who would try to please him would be always left alone.
This flop of Lou's feelings went deeper than she suspected it would at the time. Jim's inadequacies began to rankle in her mind, much as Nat's had done after she had met Jim. She was learning about men-more than she had ever known in her brief life. And something was wrong. To begin with, they came on strong and faded too fast. She had the suspicion that they weren't taking enough time about these set matters. Somehow, deep inside her spirit, she felt that they had all been wrong-Nat, Marc, Jim, and maybe the whole lot. They were focused strongly on the major point- and this they did beautifully-but they were forever incapable of a longer view. They couldn't see sex beyond a night.
She spent days after this incident, pondering the consequences. She would get the children ready for play, dressing tLem in their play clothes, and think again: Something is wrong. Nat, Marc, and }im-where did thev miss? Was it only their timing that was off? No. There was something else. Each in his way had a minor flaw that bled into and spoiled the whole picture. What was it? Would she ever know?
One day her doorbell rang and it was Bea again. The women had not seen each other since the night Bea had ushered Lou into a cab and sent her off to see Hudson.
Lou surprised herself by feeling great joy at seeing the more experienced woman again. "Bea!" she shouted at the door. "How great to see you again!" (For, if the truth were known, Lou was very lonely for the company.)
Lou escorted the older woman through the door. The thought of her being near to her once again was strangely stimulating. Surely, she thought, the woman would be pleased to hear about all her recent conquests. But, then, Lou got smarter and backed away from that old naivete. She wouldn't either.
"How are you feeling, dear?"
"Fine."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. Sure."
"I hear that Nat has gone to the West Coast."
"Yes, he left a few days ago."
"Do you need anything?"
"No, he left me with enough."
"How are the children?"
"They're fine."
Bea turned in her excursion through the chaotic house and faced Lou. "I'm worried about you."
"You are? What in hell for?"
"Your mental health, you idiot!"
"My mental health is fine," said Lou, lighting the second cigarette of her life. "How's yours?"
Bea took a while to answer and decided to be honest. "I've missed you. Marc convinced me to stay away-he knew what was going on inside of your marriage-Nat told him a little. But I must honestly say-I missed you."
Lou decided to be as candid: "What in hell for, you old muff-diver?" This was a term that Lou had learned from her husband, overhearing him use this and many others during reunions he had had with his army buddies.
Bea looked at Lou sharply. "You'e not up to date, old girl. That I can tell you. The term is now 'slit-kisser'. More picturesque, I think. Don't you?"
The whole point of the exchange was a put-down on Lou and she felt it. She felt almost humbled and, in consequence, eager to top her sexual adversary.
"It might surprise you to know that I haven't been idle since you saw me last. A number of very important men in this town have decided that they like what I have to offer."
"Like who? How many?"
"Well, like Jim Hudson for one."
"That jerk? I've got to take him on at least twice a month in the sex-poker ring and he's like No-wheres-ville."
"Well, then, like Bert, the owner of the Galaxy in Grafton! He wanted to take me in a minute, and I have a key to his back cabin to prove that he wants to carry on the affair. What more proof do you want?"
"That old spook? Honey, you ought to wise up fast to the history of sex in Tudor Park and-better still-Grafton. You're coming in late on the scene-like centuries after the famous battle, looking at the grass and wondering where all the bodies are. Honey, the Grafton boys had cobwebs behind their ears by the time the builders of Tudor Park came in. You just zonked into the nineteenth century, honey-bun. Congratulations! You've got a whole half-century to catch up on. Maybe if you run fast enough, you'll be able to see where you are before you die."
Lou was hammered into the ground by these smart remarks. She went into a peevish snit and tried to avoid the woman, although she followed her about the house, hovering over her every move. In a way, Lou loved her praying mantis presence. Nobody who had lived in her many homes-not even her father or her husband-had ever desired to be that close to her all the time. In a way, it was flattery of the highest order.
Yet still it was annoying. "What in hell are you doing, creeping about behind me like this?" bellowed Lou. "You'd better get off it."
Bea looked at her like a gamin who had lost her mother. "You know-I've never been above taking 'sloppy seconds'. I've often thought that that would have to be my role in life-the kid at the end of the chow line-Oliver Twist, if you please -the Japanese girl who has to wait until all the men are through eating. I've been certain that that was my destiny-until I met you, girl. Oh, woman, you have no idea how ripe and luscious you are, do you?"
Lou was amazed at the come-on. This time she felt a responsiveness in her heart that she had not thought possible. Bea knelt before her, holding her tight around the thighs.
"Ooooooh, you are so creamy sweet, so lush like an English garden. So fresh and new."
"But I'm not, I'm not," protested Lou.
"Maybe you're ruined like the rest of us, but, for the moment, who cares-you look fresh and new, and that's the only difference between us, love." A hand went up her thigh.
Lou thought: another contingent of that vast army that's trying to get into me. They're all crazy for my pussy. Again, the overwhelming idea that the whole known world was anxious to march into her body's nether hole blasted her mind. She thought of railroads being built to penetrate her, scatter patterns for airlines that might include her cunt as docking, uptight boys who majored with A's in physics finding her lowest parameter as sufficient room for a launching. And now-once again-this woman, Bea, was hungering to explore the mystery of her beautiful, intricate, complex manifold, multiform, velvet-lipped hole!
"You wanna suck me, don't you, Bea?"
"Oh yes, yes."
"Well, suck me. Rip my jeans off me. Tear it all away. The whole world is mad for sex and I am too. And I don't care!"
Lou threw her arms into the air and prepared her soul for jolts in a trip the likes of which she had never known. She had so inflamed the older woman that she felt the attack upon her loins as a visitation of the Harpies. HOW COULD ANY WOMAN ADORE CUNT THAT MUCH?
Her blouse was ripped away, her jeans were yanked off, the fiendish woman was coming in.
Hands went on her newly-naked breasts, exploring them frantically as though they were white spots on the globe-undiscovered country. The whole sensation was like a machine: fingers began grinding at her nipples, something was grinding into her crotch, and frantic, probing fingers were penetrating her anal region as though it were a famous crevasse in the Swiss Alps. Oooooh, she moaned, and her legs went limp. Why was it that no man she had ever known bothered to understand enough about female anatomy to set it so on fire? She wondered if only another woman could so please a woman because of the secret knowledge all women have of their most delicate, most sensitive parts. Bea was screwing her now with mouth and finger with more earth-shattering skill than she had ever known from a man.
She felt as though she were held aloft on the point of a spear, impaled on a beautiful tongue. The addition of a finger in her dark rear passage intensified the sensation of being hooked, incapable of escape. Never, never had she experienced such energy prowling and probing into her vitals.
She was delirious with the ecstasy of it-her body whipping about on the floor as if charged with a thousand volts of electricity. For a brief moment, she heard a stifled voice moaning and sobbing and suddenly realized, with a shock, that the voice was hers. "Please! Please, don't! I'll die! I'll die!" she heard herself say.
Bea then shifted gears and let up on her direct assault on Lou's cunt. She began kissing her belly and licking the flesh along the inside of the upper thigh, while her hands delicately played with the peaks of her breasts, making little sucking movements with the fingers. Lou could hardly tell which was the more maddening now: the brutal engine approach and this nerve-tingling teasing were equally pleasure-painful.
Suddenly, Bea grabbed her under the knees and pushed her legs back to where her knees almost met her ears. "What the ... " Lou cried out. The point of this maneuver was soon perfectly clear. Bea was intending to lick her anus! "What are you doing?" she asked.
"Just lie back, honey. If you've never been rimmed, you've missed a real treat."
The feeling of a warm tongue spiralling in and around the tight, puckered orifice was more exquisite than Lou could have imagined. Despite the crass animality of the act, the feeling was enormously delicate and intimate in the most precious way. It actually awoke in Lou real feelings of affection for the woman. "Darling!" she cried out. "Its so ... so beautiful! How can I ever thank you?"
"Kiss me with your pussy!"
"What?"
"Ill show you. Get on your knees over my chest. Spread your legs as far as they will go. That's it." In the meanwhile Bea had propped her upper body up on her elbows. Her face was now directly opposite the soft quivering lips of the young wife's open vagina. Gently, the older woman shut her eyes. "Now take my head into your hands and kiss me-kiss me all over with that beautiful cunt of yours!"
Lou did as she was told and began smearing her wet pussy all over Bea's face. Whenever she neared the woman's mouth, a hot tongue would dart out like a snake's and soft lips would press passionately against her swollen labia. Lou thrust her pelvis back and forth and rotated her hips as if she were a belly dancer. "Lovely . . . you're so lovely," Bea groaned in her impassioned bliss.
From the vantage point of her higher position, Lou looked down at her own gestures of wantonness-her deliberate, conscious, intense smearing of her privates into the woman's face and cried out: "And sex! I love it, I love it! I can't get enough of it! Kiss it again, baby. Soooo sweetly. Oh, that's it! Don't slop! Deeper! Deeper!"
Her soft, desperately clenching pussy was steaming now-the hot juices flowing from it trickled down Bea's lower cheeks and the softness of hair surrounding it crackled like fire each time Bea rubbed against it. Bea decided to take the attack again. She embraced Lou around the hips and pressed her entire face into the tropical rain forest of the girl's lewdly squirming cunt, finding it almost impossible to breathe, but loving every minute of it. Between her tongue and upper lip she grabbed the clitoris and nibbled on it vigorously. The bud was so engorged with blood that it protruded out in a way that made grasping it like this very easy. Then she began sucking and slurping, making loud and very obvious noises. Hearing such sounds rising up from her own crotch was so delightful Lou could not contain herself another minute. A huge sun-much like an exploding atom bomb-burst within her.
Her quivering gasps gave way to an agonizing scream. The ultimate of this love-torture had arrived. The orgasm was so obliterating that she became hysterical, tossing her head about like a madwoman. For a moment, she feared she was going to have a heart attack.
Fortunately, the shock waves began to abate- her body could hardly take much more of this kind of punishment. Her head drooped. Her arms went slack. Her whole body slumped, and then, as though made of wax, melted. She fell over into a heap, her whole body wracked, covered with love-juice, saliva, and her own tears.
This episode began a whole series of daily afternoon intercourses between the two women while the children were gone. This pattern could have continued indefinitely had not Bea been so indiscreet with her own husband as to boast to him that she was getting "a steady diet of poontang" from Lou Williams.
"Well, good for you!" he said. "Glad to see you making out with the cunt around here as well as your 'Old Man'." However, Marc was intensely jealous of his wife's achievement. In fact, he was furious. He had marked die Williams woman as his own game and Bea knew it. He didn't mind her fooling around with women-just so long as he didn't hear too many details and as long as Bea kept out of his territory (unless he used her to set up a situation, as he had done earlier in this case).
That god-damn Bea is going to turn that girl into a hairy-chested Lez before I have a chance to really teach her how great a sex-artist I am! he thought. He decided to cut into this "party" as he called it before he lost bis chance.
Marc chose to visit Lou Williams while Bea was doing her weekly shopping at the Piccadilly Marketing Plaza in Grafton. Lou was surprised to hear her front door bell ring and thought that it might be the mailman with a special delivery from Nat in San Francisco. He had written her twice in this way since his departure.
"Why, Marc Winthrope! I never expected to see you at this late hour of the morning," she said as she greeted him at the door.
"Well, I was in the neighborhood on some business for the company and I thought I'd drop in and see how you are doing. We heard that you weren't feeling well."
"Oh, that! Just a little momentary confusion. I'm all right now."
"You certainly look good," said Marc, admiring again the fruit-like roundness to her body.
"Look, Marc, I'm a little busy. What can I do for you?"
"Nothing at all, my dear. Just dropped by to bring you a little neighborly cheer-no harm in that, is there?"
"'Neighborly cheer' my foot! You're here for a fuck-that's what!"
Marc was taken aback. "That's quite surprising language from a sweet, innocent, young gal like you, BettyLou."
"I've changed my name to Lou. BettyLou was a fool. She's dead and I'm glad."
He tried to laugh at this remark as though it were a joke. "Do I smell a fresh pot of coffee perking somewhere?" he asked, sniffing.
"All right. I'll give you a cup of coffee, but that's all-you mind! No funny stuff." As they walked to the kitchen, Marc noticed that nothing had changed in the house since moving day. "You could certainly use a man around this house, couldn't you?" he asked.
Lou shot a sharp look over her shoulder to him.
"Perhaps you'd prefer a woman," he insinuated.
Lou didn't respond to this, wishing Marc would simply let the point lie. She fixed two cups of coffee and served him.
"Women can often be very helpful to one another," he commented slyly.
Lou, the new woman, the avid pupil of that social critic, Jim Hudson, had little patience with this land of double-talk. Knowing how Marc himself appreciated direct and to-the-point speech, she said to him cynically, "So that wife of yours has been blabbing away with that big mouth of hers!"
Marc was less abashed by her candor this time. "Well, yes-you might put it that way. Actually, she was bragging to me about how well she's gotten you to turn on with her. When I heard this, I was a little concerned. I'd hate to see that woman turn you into the pervert that she is."
"Oh, get off it, Marc. Bea has told me the whole story about you and your eternal sexcapades. And she never had any experiences with women until you encouraged her-so she could make contacts and set up rolls-in-the-hay-for yourself! And don't give me that "holier than thou' crap either. So we might enjoy sex with each other from time to time-so what? What do you do? Hell, you don't 'enjoy' it, you wallow in it, revel in it, and more than that-you like to turn women into the same land of sex maniac as you are. Ha! That's rich! You worrying about my becoming perverted!' laughed boldly at her unmasking of his lie.
"No, seriously, BettyLou ... I mean, Lou. You don't want people to talk about you as some kind of worm or monster, do you? That's just what can happen, if you let Bea keep getting to you like you've been doing. It's dangerous!"
"Bullshit!" she hurled back at him. "You're just 'saving' me from her Hell so I can walk right into your 'pure' Heaven. You're not kidding anybody but yourself, Marc."
He shot his hand over to her arm where she sat at the table opposite him, hoping the gesture would reassure her of his sincerity. "But don't you see, you're a woman alone now, with your husband half a continent away. You're vulnerable. You're lonely. You start reaching out for comfort and, in that state of mind . . . well, you can make mistakes."
Lou picked his hand off her arm, as though it were a smelly fish. "Tell that to the old BettyLou, that simple-minded, open, trusting little jerk, not to me! Don't forget. I know you well, Marc Winthrope-far better than you think I do. And I know what you're after-and after ALL THE TIME! I know all about your budgies and how you have no hobbies, no other interests in life save your work at the plant and SEX. You're a sex-nut. Bea told me. There isn't a day that goes by without you having six, seven, sometimes even ten orgasms. I tell you, I know the whole story."
Seeing that he was flanked on all sides, he tried the direct approach. "O.K., so I like sex-is that a crime? Lots of men are nuts about something-boats, baseball, boxing, you name it. I just happen to be nuts about women, that's all. And I'm crazy about you, Lou. Have been ever since the first time I saw you. And I loved screwing you the other night the way we did at the house, remember? Wasn't that fun? You really gave that oY cock o mine a work-out. And you loved it-admit it!" He stood up quickly and exposed himself before she knew what was happening. She was startled to see that he was already fully erect. "And look at it again, baby. Couldn't you have a lot of fun swinging again on that thing? Isn't it a beauty? Go ahead. Take hold of it. It always feels so good when a beautiful babe like you puts her hands on me down there."
Lou looked at the hugeness Marc was offering to her. Good heavens, she thought, did I have that thing worming around inside of me that night? Seeing it at so close a hand, it looked enormous and she could well understand how Nature itself had turned Marc into the sex-obsessed being that he was, Endowed like that, carrying around such a heavy load, she thought, how could he escape not thinking about sex all the time. The temptation to take it now into her hand and feel the dynamic power through the shaft was great, but something irritated her about Marc's manner. Cocksure was a good word for his unassailable sense of personal seductiveness. The more she thought about this smugness the angrier she became.
Finally, she blurted out, "How much is it worth?"
Marc was stunned. "What do you mean?"
"Just what I said: How much cold cash is it worth to you that I take hold of your cock?"
His smugness was vanishing-fast. "Why, Mrs.Williams, can I believe my ears? Can it be true that you are peddling it?"
Lou went back to her original point. "How much?" she asked again, this time more sternly. Her courage was rising.
Marc was enraged. "I've never had to pay for sex in all my ..."
"Then get the hell out of my house!" Marc still hesitated. 'You heard me! Scram!" She was on her feet, the Goddess of Wrath herself.
fn his hesitation, Marc thought again about the circumstances and the whole thing impressed him as some huge joke. Why the little bitch is peddling it! And if he were to offer her money, what then? Why, it would be all to Marc's advantage. He could command her to do anything he wanted, for isn't it true that "the customer is always right?"
He started to laugh. This was really too rich, too good to be true! For a moment, he laughed his head off. "What in hell's so funny?" Lou asked.
"Oh, nothing, nothing! I was just thinking that maybe paying you wouldn't be such a bad idea after all. What kind of services are you offering? Can I see your price list?" "What do you mean?"
"Well, as long as you are going into the business, you might as well decide on what you'll charge for your several services. How much for a simple front-to-front fuck, for instance? How much for a blow job? A trip around-the-world'?"
"You're crazy," she said. "I wasn't going to do anything more than jack you off. Isn't that what you wanted?"
"Oh, 'el Cheap-O' curb service, eh? Well, you ought to set your price even for that. Just how much do you think that lily-white hand of yours is worth?"
"Twenty-five dollars," she said.
Marc guffawed again. "Don't be ridiculous! You've already priced yourself right out of your market. Why, I've been fucked and sucked by housewives in this town for nothing, for the fun of U, and you think your loving caresses-a mere two or three minutes work-ought to go for a minor fortune?"
Lou was indignant. "How dare you! I told you once before-get out of my house!"
"Aw, chicky-babe, don't get so- hot around the collar. You've got a good little idea here. We could easily make two to three hundred dollars a day..,"
"We??"
"Why, sure! I'd get you the customers and we'd split it two ways. I wouldn't be a bastard and make you work for anything less than fifty percent."
Lou was flabbergasted. "Why, you . . . you . . ." she spluttered. She attacked him, beating her fists against his face, his chest.
"God damn you!" he shouted at her and hit her across the mouth, sending her reeling from him. Seeing that his clout had momentarily pacified her, he chuckled. "After all, sweetheart, the whole thing was your idea. In fact, you're a genius. Only you made one mistake. You forgot that you are talking to a financial wizard. And now that I think of it-I don't think you have any choice. This is precisely what we're going to do, you and me. We're going to make some money, little girl!"
Having once decided that the whole project was in the realm of eminent possibility, Marc zipped his cock back into his pants and sat down at the table, assuming his other role of businessman. It thrilled him to combine in this way his two major obsessions in life, and inspired as he was, Lou could hardly resist his sales pitch. The potentialities were limitless. As chief engineer at the plant, he knew practically every man who worked there.
Immediately, he called for pencil and paper and figured out that Lou could easily handle eight to ten customers a day, and if they charged twenty-five dollars a head, they coud easily clear $200 a day. Splitting this sum down the middle, each could make about $2500 a month. "And dunk of it!" he added, "all of it tax-free!" The mere thought of earning so much money in the space of one month was dumbfounidng, but, Lou reasoned, even if I only work two or three days out of the week, I could be earning more than I ever dreamed possible! "There's only one hitch- or rather two. What about Nat and the children?"
"Oh, don't worry about Nat," said Marc. "I can see to it that he's kept on ice in San Francisco. He might want to come back for visits, but Fll get Buckram to permanently assign him to that office. And, by the way, Buckram has his eye on you. Really got the hots for you. When we get this set up, I think 111 charge him double!"
"But the kids-I wouldn't want them to know. I couldn't set up shop here at home. I just couldn't!"
"Wait a minute! Don't you have a key to Bert's back cabin?"
"How did you hear about that?"
"Don't you remember? You told Bea."
"That fuckin' bitch! Now I know that she has a bigger and busier mouth than I thought." She smiled, saying this. She wasn't angry any longer and the memory of her mouth on her cunt came back in a flood.
The set up seemed perfect. Lou would work a shift from late afternoon until midnight, occupying Bert's cabin as her commercial premises. Bert would receive some hush money, offered as a more-than-generous rent. Marc would get Bea to find a good baby-sitter for the children. He even thought of using Bea as a second hooker-or, at least, as "relief" for Lou, but Lou would hear none of it. "Not with my clientele! Let her take on the boys from Graf ton, if she likes."
"Exactly! The perfect thing!" Marc's head was swimming with plans, but his ever-recurrent spells of horniness swelled up within him again. All this talk of pimping and whoring and turning tricks excited him enormously. And the thought of all the money fluttering down about their ears, like a gentle snowfall, added to the powerful sensuality of the original circumstance. His cock was semi-tumescent as they bandied words about in this way, and once he knew by its steady climb that it meant business, he took it out again and tried anew to tease Lou with it.
The shift back to his sensual self momentarily irritated Lou and she blurted out, "For Chris'sakes, Marc, is sex all you ever thnk about?" However, she immediately saw the ridiculousness of her question and both laughed at it.
"I'm gonna fuck you, Mrs. Williams, but don't worry!-you'll get your regular fee. In fact..." he took out his wallet and drew twenty-five dollars down on the kitchen table, "I'll be your first customer!"
Lou looked at the money and quickly fantasized piles of it lying about on the table. This thought coupled with the presence of Marc's stiff horn-he was milking it sensuously again before her eyes-aroused her. I'm going to be a whore she thought, do whatever I please in sex! And I'll be able to have it whenever I want it-and that will be often. And the craziest of all-TO be paid for it. Money, real green money! Lots of it. Quickly, she lowered her panties to the floor and pulled her house dress up over her belly, exposing her vagina to Marc as she sat on the chair. She let her legs fall back from their sitting position, lewdly displaying her naked loins. Eagerly, Marc made a move to grab her down there, but Lou growled back at him: "Not so fast, Mister! There's a friend you got here before you. You'll simply have to wait."
With that, she picked up the twenty-dollar bill and began fanning and tickling her open slit with it. The coarse lewdness of the gesture turned them both on and Marc made another move to get his hand on her down there, but she flinched. "Ah-ah, naughty-naughty!" she said. "I told you-you gotta wait your turn." She began to masturbate, using the bill as a covering on her finger.
Marc was enraptured with her exhibition. "Oh, baby, baby!" he cried, as he began a little dance around the kitchen, half-jiving and grooving and half-Indian-dance. He was still stroking the base of his shaft with his three leading fingers, and the visual and tactile stimulation was stirring him to heights of erotic madness. He tore off his clothes and continued his dance of bumps and grinds before her. At one point, he thrust his cock directly into her face, jiggling his pelvis much as belly-dancers do. Lou merely smiled enigmatically and continued her ceremony with the twenty dollars.
However, the scene was slowly becoming intolerable to Marc. Lou knew by the increased grossness of his manners that a rotten horniness was overwhelming him. Once he brutally grabbed her head and tried, without success, to get his cock past her lips. "C'mon, baby, take it, take it, for Chris'sakes!" "But Lou continued her teasing.
"God damn it!" he screamed. "I gotta fuck, I tell ya!" He grabbed hold of her housedress and began ripping it off her body. "I'm gonna fuck ya between the tits!" he cried in his lust-crazed frenzy. By this time, Lou knew that she had gone too far. She held the twenty-dollar bill to his lips.
"Kiss it and I'll let you in!"
Like a slave, Marc eagerly kissed the bill now made slippery with Lou's vaginal flow. Her victory over the man was now complete.
"O.K.-FUCK ME!" she called out as though it were a battlecry.
She slipped off the chair to the floor and spread her legs as wide as they would go. Marc mounted her and fumbled around with his cock at her vaginal hole as desperately as a safe-cracker who heard approaching footfalls.
"Damn it!" he cried out, missing once. "You really make a guy work for his twenty-five bucks! Help me, you bitch!"
Lou decided to grab him and guide him home. In he went with a brutal jab. It hurt and Lou gasped as though he had speared her, but she knew she deserved it.
They rolled around on the floor of Lou's kitchen for a whole hour before Marc had had his fill of Lou's wildly squirming body and could take his leave.
"You'll have no problems," said Marc at the door as he left. "You're worth every penny of that twenty-five!"
Chapter 7
On the basis of the philosophy that "if you can't lick 'em-join em," Lou had cast aside all her inhibitions and played at the game of life the way everybody else seemed to be doing it. She had begun her transformation with something of a martyr's hope, amost dead certain that time would prove her old self right. In her deepest heart, she wanted BettyLou vindicated by whatever Lou was able to discover in that territory beyond the straight and narrow. Surely, she had thought, in embracing the license and promiscuity of Tudor Park, she would get her "just reward" and thereby prove to her husband that these were indeed evil ways, destructive to the family, and poison to their intimate relations.
But this did not happen. She had failed to notice how sexually repressed BettyLou was. Once all restrictions and inhibitions were removed (or minimized), a new and unforeseen creature-Lou-was born, a woman who quite frankly enjoyed sex, who considered it a right to be fully exercised, and who boldly and unashamedly admitted to this appetite and was not afraid to see it grow to extraordinary proportions. She had also railed to realize that once having given Lou the freedom to exist she would-in looking back-find BettyLou to be a prig and a bore. For it was not one person who had changed, it was the whole world. Or rather- what BettyLou did not know was that everyone finds justifiable reasons for whatever they do.
In an unexpected way, her fantasy about the whole world trying to get to her body came true. As she lay afternoons and evenings in Bert's cabin, a wide variety of men came to visit her-short, tall, fat, thin, young, old, handsome, ugly. It was a delightful game trying to guess who would come , through the door next. But there was no winning that game-every one was different. She had never imagined work could be so intriguing.
Her favorites were the "cherries"-young men who had not yet given up their estate of virgin-hood or who had yet such little experience that they could qualify as "spiritual virgins.'' In these cases, Lou was more than "a good lay" she was mother and teacher as well. One timid youngster cried on her shoulder for twenty minutes before Lou, through her gentle ministrations, got him to switch circuits in his head and get hot and he-manly. But often with the older men (and especially with the older immigrant workmen of Italian or Polish extraction) the roles were reversed and they were trying to father her. Most of these types could hardly understand why an affluent young matron from a respectable background could engage in such sordid activities, but "sordid" or not, they would lose no time in stripping and getting right to work. The price of the visit was high enough to keep them active with the business at hand and to minimize whatever amateur social-welfare questions they might dream of asking.
But there were also other types who came to her. Brutal or perverted types. Then the excitement and fantasy disappeared and she felt the coarse and ugly blanket of shame and degradation wrap her body in its smelly heat.
She remembered the day Marc had called her and asked -or rather, almost demanded-that she accommodate three men that he was sending over that afternoon. She hadn't questioned him until she realized that he meant for her to take them all on at once and then she had argued with him for several minutes on the phone until she had finally given in. Lou had acquiesced, not so much from his demands but more so from her curious desire to find out what it would feel like. She knew of only three openings in her body: her mouth, her cunt and her rectum-and she supposed that the men would ram themselves at the same time into these places until she resembled some sort of inverted proeupine but the thought didn't frighten her. Conversely, it was strangely titillating. After all, hadn't her body received countless driving cocks individually into those eager nether mouths before? But, three at once!
She began to look forward to the men's arrival, and even had to cancel one appointment she had already made. It was true, she thought, that if they did it at the same time three men shouldn't take any longer than one. But still.'..
The doorbell to the cabin had rung at precisely four o'clock and a huge barrel of a man burst in followed by the others. Two of them looked vaguely familiar to her but she wasn't able to place them until the big one spoke. The moving men! Godr They were the ones who had moved her into Tudor Parkl
"Hiya, baby," Tiny bellowed. "Man, you sure are a surprise. I never woulda thought when we moved..."
"What did you men come here for? To fuck or talk?" Lou spat crudely.
The men seemed to fall back from her coarse words, and for a second the room crackled with tension-then Tiny spoke again.
"You know what we're here for, baby," he grinned and reached into his pocket. He withdrew the hundred dollars from his wallet and threw it on the night table. "Here. You can have this now jus' to help you remember." The other two men moved closer to her and Tiny continued: "We even brought along some good booze jus' to get you in the right Idncla mood, Lou-though from what the guys tell me you don't need norhin' to get into the mood!"
The men giggled almost like children, a nervous laugh that frightened Lou, as they passed,around the bottle of bourbon. The other two had the same maniac expression of lust in their eyes that Lou had come to know in many of her 'customers' but there was something strange, almost terrifying, in the fat man's face and Lou began to hope that the whole thing could be handled as quickly as possible. She started to unzip the clinging housedress she wore -there was nothing underneath-when Tiny stopped her.
"Stay like you are, baby, there's plenty of time," he chuckled. "But, me and the boys'll strip down.
'Cause they tell me that the sight of a man's cock really turns you on."
Lou sat still on the edge of the bed as the men undressed-uncomfortable because she seemed to have lost .control of the situation-something that had never happened since she'd started 'entertaining' in the back cabin of the Galaxy.
The afternoon had been a strange and painful experience for Lou. It was odd, she remembered, that she had felt more naked in front of the three men when only she had been dressed than if it had been the other way around. She was used to men staring at her nakedness when she disrobed almost as they came into the cabin-but that afternoon, sitting there and trying to avert her eyes from the three drunken and grossly naked men, she had begun to feel nervous and helpless. It was as though they had been making fun of her, making it so obvious that she was only a whore that had been bought and paid for-they drank and laughed and taunted her as they stroked themselves.
Finally, the fat one with his overhanging belly and shriveled, almost hidden, cock had gotten up and walked over to her.
"You been told what the score is, ain't ya, baby? All three of us at once?"
She nodded.
He laughed. "You got any suggestions?"
She didn't answer as he unzipped her dress and let it fall to the floor. This time there was no excitement, no desire, and the curious anticipation she'd felt earlier had turned faintly into fear.
She could remember clearly how they had looked. Tiny-grossly fat and hairy and with a penis that seemed absurdly small for his huge body. The other two, almost identical-lanky and sweat-smelling-though one had a cock that hung like a hawser-like rope almost to his knees. That one had frightened her at first with his size, but she had found later that-like so many men-his cock didn't enlarge but only stiffened when he had an erection.
The afternoon that had started so slowly suddenly sped up after Tiny had stripped her. It was as if they had carefully planned every maneuver even before they had come through the door.
"Get on the bed, baby, on your back," Tiny ordered, "with your head down here." He pointed to the edge of the foot of the bed.
She did as he said, scared and wondering what they were going to do.
Ponderously, with slow grunting movements, Tiny straddled her with his knees across her chest and his stiffening cock nestling between her breasts. The other man, the one with the big prick, knelt behind him and raised her legs until her thighs straddled his shoulders. The third stood unsteadily behind her head-his bobbing cock about a foot above her upturned face.
Lou lay almost still and tried to keep the tears from filling her tightly closed eyes. Though Tiny .held most of his weight on his knees she still felt as though she were going to suffocate.
"Hey, baby, what'sa matter? From what I hear you like this kinda stuff," Tiny taunted. "Me an' the boys are just gonna have ourselves a little fun ... we ain't gonna hurt ya..."
Lou felt dry and cold, even in the smoldering, smelly heat of their bodies and the warm liquid flow that usually filled her pussy so readily seemed dammed up somewhere in her slightly quivering belly.
"You got nice big tits ... nice and big ..." the fat man murmured softly and she could hear die desire in his voice . . . "and I'm gonna fuck 'em!" He enclosed the fleshy ivory globes with his huge calloused hands and rolled them in circles until they seemed to be drawing his cock between them. She squirmed and tried to move away from him but it only excited him further and his cock swelled and throbbed in the tunnel between her breasts.
The man behind him had been running his fingers along the velvet edge of her pussy, dipping them into her from time to time. Tiny's huge form had blocked off the rest of her body like a great fleshy barrier and her lower half seemed separated from her. Somehow this division of her body made the senses in her loins more alive and she finally began to feel the sweeping rush of desire and wetness curling around his fingers.
Tiny's movements had pushed her forward until her head was almost hanging downward over the edge of the bed. She found herself staring directly upward at the underside of the other man's balls and veined, throbbing cock. He was lowering himself and his cock kept coming closer until it was only inches away from her parted lips. She knew that soon he would want her to suck him but his cock still pointed upward at an angle and she wondered how he thought she would be able to manage. He answered her by bending forward and putting his hands on the bed next to Tiny's. She was surrounded and smothered by men and cocks and her mind reeled and spun with the touch and smell of the penis that tapped lightly at her moistened lips.
She had just opened her mouth to take the throbbing cock inside when the man behind Tiny suddenly lunged forward and buried his penis into the widespread nether mouth between her thighs.
"UHhhhhhgggghhhhhr she gasped, and as she did-the man above her dropped his hips and plunged his cock into her mouth, choking off her sudden groan.
God! Her whole body was on fire! Crammed and shoved and stuffed with driving pistons of burning heat that blinded and choked her senses. She became more aware of Tiny as he slid back and forth between her breasts. She couldn't see him but she heard his heavy moans and felt the swelling, pulsating heat that pushed and buried itself between her breasts. It was a strangely exciting sensation and it blended into the fires that raged in her throat and the heat between her legs until her whole body burned with flickering tongues of flame.
She didn't know how long it lasted. An eternity. Eons of flashing light and time that crackled and sped across the spinning darkness of her brain. She moaned and shook, her body convulsed with the orgasmic ecstasy that threatened to explode so violently in her mind... until, finally, they all seemed to cum simultaneously. Even as the choking flood burst into her mouth and her pussy clenched in arching release she felt Tiny's sperm shooting thickly across her shoulders and trickling slowly down around her neck in thin, wet tickling rivulets
She blacked out-and when she awoke she was alone. Alone, without the pleasure she'd so briefly felt. All the three men had left behind was an air of filth and degradation. She'd been toyed with, used, and thrown aside.
But all these men-these types-the young, the old, the brutal and depraved, only served to give Lou an education in male psychology and physiology the likes of which would be impossible to find in any institution of learning. Regular daily practice with eight to ten customers afforded her ample opportunity to improve her techniques. She learned, for instance, that many men are highly sensitive along the right lower abdomen, that delicate caresses of the fingers, lips, and tongue can produce the most pleasant electric shocks in that region, and that if these caresses are skillfully timed they could skyrocket the man right up through the ceiling of the room. She lost all her fear and reticence of the male organ and actually came to worship it as much as the men usually did themselves. She especially loved to seduce men who had always worked hard to maintain the dominant, managerial role in sexual relations to lie back and accept the passive role, allowing her to ride on them or to treat them to the velvet manipulations of her mouth over all their bodies. Thanks to Jim Hudson, she had become an expert on the art of sucking and, in fact, her widening reputation among the men at the plant was due primarily to her gifts in this area.
Lou gave herself over completely to her new work and in a matter of ten days she and her pimp had amassed $2500-"tax-free" as Marc had said but, as she was beginning to add, "just for having a little fun! For purposes of public relations, she would have to let Marc and Bert have their way with her from time to time for gratis, but this hardly fazed her. Everything was working out better than she could have imagined-the children were well taken care of and knew nothing about her little "part-time job." Nat was still staying away, caught in the trammels of routine and pressing duties at the West Coast office. He would write her periodically and call long-distance when the rates were lower, delivering essentially the same message: Will be home soon but can't make it yet; glad to hear that everything is going O.K.
In fact, Marc had set up a perfect situation-except for one flaw, one rather fatal flaw. He had failed to inform the sheriff of Grafton County of his intentions to set up an independent brothel whose profits would accrue solely to himself as manager and to his employee. Although brothels were against the law in Grafton County, this violation did not bother the sheriff as much as the violation of the unwritten law that no such operations could exist independent of the services of the sheriff's department. This was a serious infraction of the rules of local government and-though Marc should have known better-he was too greedy to bear in mind that, sooner or later, word of such fantastic profits would surely reach the ears of "Big Blue" Russell, the county sheriff.
In spite of his pique at not being informed of the Galaxy operation, "Big Blue" thought that, at first anyway, it would be best to play his hand diplomatically. After all, he reasoned somewhat astutely, he did not want to kill any geese that could lay golden eggs-he only wanted his "fair share." Accordingly, he found a plausible reason for paying Marc Winthrope a visit in his office at the Harmony plant. For years, "Big Blue" had wanted to computerize all the county police operations. The department had made several bad mistakes in the previous years, arousing the ire of the newspapers and other respectable elements of society, and "Big Blue" wanted some iron-clad protection against this ever happening again-or, at least, he wanted a machine people could blame rather th' [ himself.
For about half an hour, "Big Blue" discoursed with Marc about the costs of setting up such an elaborate mechanism in the county office. Completely fooled for the moment, Marc took the sheriff seriously and started to compute the fantastic costs of installing such an operation, completely forgetting how the low property taxes of Grafton County (which he had always supported) hardly allowed enough surplus to let the sheriff's office take on such an expense.
Suddenly, "Big Blue" changed the topic of conversation. "I hear tell of vague rumors that a new whore house has opened up somewhere. Now I know a respectable citizen like you, Mr. Winthrope, would hardly be concerned with such matters, but I thought maybe in your trips through the plant you might have heard talk from the men about..."
Marc looked up from his work, truly alarmed but saying nothing-for the moment.
"Well, you know, 'gettin' fixed up' or 'shackin' up with a hooker'-talk like that. I thought maybe you'd have gotten wind of that rumor too."
"Why, no, I've not heard anything," said Marc.
"Hell, man, in one way I'm not complaining. I like a good screw the same as the next guy. Have a cigar." He offered a thick corona-type cigar to Marc. "No, thanks."
"It's just that . . . well, wild-cat operations like that give the county a bad name. Where the police are informed, certain protections-immunities-can come into play and isolate these inferior elements from the rest of the community, protect the kids and the decent women-things like that, you understand? And then there's that damned VD problem. You know, Mr. Winthrope, how serious a thing like that can be! We have our greatest problems on that score from the amateurs-the inexperienced ones, the teenyboppers-people like that, you understand? Why, I've got the county health office down on my neck all the time for stuff like that, and it can be an ugly, nasty burden, Mr. Winthrope. The newspaper people, the churchgoers, the fellows in Kiwanis and Rotary-they can give a man like me an awful rough time, Mr. Winthrope, get me mighty mad when they start complaining that I'm not God, solving all their problems for them. Now, if we just knew where this small-time operation has been set up, why we'd see to it that no bad publicity, no health hazards-things like that-showed up. You understand?"
"Yes, I think I do," Marc answered softly, his eyes widening with comprehension.
"Unfortunately, what the boys in the churches and service clubs don't realize is that all these protections they ask for cost money, and that's one thing the sheriff's office is always short on, Mr. Winthrope. Always short on." "Big Blue" looked meaningfully at Marc.
"Well, I haven't heard anything yet, sheriff, but if and when I do, I'll inform your office."
"I realize that it's nothing a man in your position would hear about directly, but should you hear anything through the grapevine, you understand? Why let us know right away. Well get in contact with whoever this is and try to get them to see reason. After all, it's these little gentlemen's understandings that makes the wheels of progress move -isn't that true, Mr. Winthrope?"
Marc agreed and ushered the sherff out of his office. He was alarmed, of course, but challenged too. His old hunter's instincts were aroused. No doubt, the sheriff was one to the operation, but Marc was pretty certain that he could yet elude him.
"We'll have to drop the Galaxy," he explained to Lou immediately afterward on the phone. "The county sheriff is getting wise."
"But where? I'm new to town. I don't know ..."
"Leave it to me," he said and hung up.
Within two days, he had lined up the Balloon Race Motel on the other side of Grafton, a place Alex Stanton had some investment in. Marc had to guarantee him $75 for every eight hours that Lou worked at the motel, plus a rake-off on any of his motel customers who were willing to pay for Lou Williams' services.
For another four days, business went well, but the powers-that-be were moving closer in. Bob Westcott, the manager of the motel, began asking for a cut too. "After all," he shouted to Marc on the phone, "the sheets alone take three runs through the laundromat, and where do you think a guy with a salary like mine has that much money to pay for the extra cleaning?"
"Big Blue" also made a phone call to Marc's office. "I keep hearing those rumors I was talking to you about. I was wondering if you'd heard from any of the men at the plant. We're pretty sure the pimp is working out of your place out there, but we can't put our finger on him yet. We have some leads though. Pretty good ones, and we mean to make a raid right soon. I'd hate to see some of the Harmony men dragged into this. Bad publicity. The newspapers around here are pretty conservative. I'd really make the extra effort, if I were you!"
Marc intended to keep Lou working for another day or two and then split from the scene just before "Big Blue" made his move. One of the men at the plant had a brother who worked in the sheriff's office and, through him, Marc learned about the plans to raid the Flying Balloon. The date set was two days ahead ("Big Blue" wanted to give Marc every bit of time he needed to decide to play ball).
All would have gone well had not Alex Stanton blown his wig. As sales manager at Harmony, enormous pressures were laid constantly on this man's soul. Everybody knew about his drinking problem, but, since it never seemed to interfere too much with his on-the-iob performance, everyone forgave and forgot. That is-until the night he fired a gun at Lou Williams in the Flying Balloon Motel, which, as most residents of Grafton and Tudor Park thought, was for no apparent reason.
The first news-break in the Grafton Eagle was disturbing enough: PROMINENT TUDOR PARK WOMAN SHOT IN MOTEL, Partner Goes Berserk, Victim Recovering. The community was aroused to a pitch of back-fence curiosity with this dribble of news, but the following day, the reporters had got to "Big Blue" who was eager to report a "Mafia-based ring of housewife prostitution"' in Grafton county-a ring which he and his band of stalwart law-defenders had smashed forever. He willingly revealed how Mrs. Williams had succumbed to the temptations of Mr. Winthrope, her panderer, and how she, abandoned by her hus-. band, lonely and defenseless, had little recourse to friend or ally in her fight to resist this "Mafia agent."
"Big Blue" filed charges against the two of them-a list of charges, in fact, which would take up a good deal of court time, but he was certain of winning a conviction, at least, for Mrs. Williams, who had been found in flagrante delicto. The town and its suburb was stunned to the roots of its respectability. Anyone walking through the streets would have marveled at the sermon topics posted outside the churches that week: "How Have We Failed Our Children?" "What Is the Meaning of Human Sexuality?" "Has Violence on TV Changed Our Nation?" Almost everyone in Tudor Park was disdainful of the topic publicized for the Divine Congress Assembled: "Has Sodom and Gomorrah Invaded Tudor Park?" Confusion reigned. Everybody had an opinion about the scandal, but absolutely nobody knew what to do.
Nat returned to Grafton on the night train from Chicago. The whole trip had been a saddening, sobering experience. He had read of the scandal in a San Francisco newspaper and had cringed to. hear people laugh at the foolishness of Mid-Western justice. The thought that his wife was in a prison hospital was humiliating. The further thought that Marc Winthrope had been involved filled him with a fury he could not contain.
It was quite cold when the train pulled into Grafton. Snow was beginning to fall. It's funny, thought Nat. Only when Tm done, down, damned, do I notice the weather! What's wrong with me that I don't notice the things everybody else notices? Has my business with life so blinded me that I really can't recognize what really and simply happens every day-weather?
"Good evening, Mr. Williams," said a voice. A shining brown face was smiling at him, like a blessing from God. "We'll be in Grafton soon. Can I take your bag?"
Nat had the feeling that everybody knew-and, of course, they did. He was humiliated again-bowed his head-but the porter began to hum a tune deep in his throat, a tune that sounded like something he might have learned on a Mississippi plantation, a tune that was lonely and yet hopeful. "Well be gittin' there mighty soon."
The ride to the hospital was more painful than the train, and the discussion with his wife was more painful than anything.
"I'm sick of the lies!" she shouted at him from her bed, with her head wrapped in bandages. I'm sick of the cop-outs, you guys who pididdle with life and run! I'm sick of your closed-corporation selfishness, your mad dream that you run the whole show. It's breaking apart! Don't you see? The whole thing was nothing but a log-jam, a momentary halt-the river, the full force of the river you hoped to stop is coming through now, is going to destroy everything. Don't you see it? Don't tell me you're too stupid to see it!"
"We're quite worried about her," said a voice behind Nat.
He turned. A young, handsome intern was looking seriously at his wife. "We've tried to sedate her, but the force of her anxiety has just simply not yielded well to the medication. In a minute or two, we're going to try something else."
But Lou kept on screaming. "All you assholes who thought yourselves so smart! All you puck-ered-assed boys who wanted to please Dad and Mom!"
"I really think it best for you to leave now, Mr. Williams. I'm afraid you can't do very much good at this stage of the process." The intern was becoming quite disturbed.
"You wanted me to love fucking. Wasn't that the whole point of your running around the way you did? You wanted a wife who could be the perfect whore-and yet, when that very thing happened, all you could do was run. Well, run! Run and run and run away from me, if you can! You fool! Your fondest wish has come true. Here I am, your lovely wife and whore." Lou was sitting up now, extending her arms. "Why don't you take Joe?"
"Really, Mr. Williams," the intern was saying, "The hospital staff would really appreciate it if you would leave. You're upsetting the patient. You're interfering."
"BettyLou! BettyLou!" Nat cried. He wanted to go to her now, but the intem prevented him.
"She's really very sick," he explained.
"You're the one who's sick!" shouted Nat, shoving the man away. "She's right, you know. I have been a fool. I've let too many men get to my wife because I was afraid she really wouldn't want me. But now I know she wants me. For the first time I know that. So-fuck off, you bastard! Let us alone!"
Nat rushed now to his wife and enfolded her in his arms. "Oh, my little baby, my little girl, I've been such a coward! Such a god-damned fool, haven't I?" He began sobbing. "Will you ever forgive me? How can I ever make it up to you?"
Lou listened to him dumbly, incapable of returning his embrace. The head wound-although superficial-had left her in such a state of shock that no emotion was possible other than a rage at all the circumstances which had brought her to this impasse. Men are such fools, she thought. They make a mess of everything and then think a few tears and a forgoing pat on the head will sohe everything.
After a while, Nat laid his wife back down on the bed. "You need rest, I know," he said. Lou lay still, not moving a muscle, looking up at the ceiling.
He timidly took her hand and held it for a moment, wanting to say something but not daring. Finally, he whispered querulously, "Why-why did you do it?"
Lou heard him as though she were buried deep in the earth and yet could hear a voice from above-ground. "Why did you do it?" The question echoed and re-echoed in vast vaults of her entombment. Why had she done it? Did she know? Could she remember anymore? Was she alive enough to remember anything?
Well yes, she could remember. All the negative personal reasons-all those so close to her own heart-came trooping by her mind's eye. Her hurt at Nat's philandering, her spiteful desire to get even, or worse, to punish hm, her deep disappointment whe" she learned that he would not rescue her when she floundered in the mire of her own rage and resentment. She had done it to hurt him by surpassing him in depravity, by showing him how far one could really go in blasting apart their middle-class family life.
But there were other reasons too and she could not deny these. She herself had been weak and had succumbed to temptations which she ought to have resisted better than she did. In this instance, she blamed herself for abandoning her children in her spite-fight with her husband. Although no actual harm had come to them, she thought that she had probably scarred them for life with her well-publicized misconduct.
But there were other reasons why she had done what she had done and these were strangely very positive ones. Despite all the bad odor of scandal and the personal mauling she and Nat had given each other, there was something quite right about what she had done. There was a ring of genuineness to it, and although it might be hard to sustain in her present difficulties, she could even now remember that a burning conviction had come to guide her conduct, a deep feeling of bringing an ancient wrong to rights, a determination that only � by these means could a better world for her own children be formed. In her present state, she could perceive the wrong only dimly, but she knew it had something to do with Tudor Park and Grafton and Harmony Electronics and the whole miserable mess that the world- had got itself in. Sex was somehow involved with all this and in a way which she could not clearly see, but her sessions with Jim Hudson had vaguely alerted her to this connection and left her convinced, even though she lacked the mental powers to see it sharp and clear "Bad" sex had somehow brought about this wretched state of affairs and "good" 'sex would somehow rectify it. She knew now that she had set out to find what that "good" sex might be and that she had not necessarily found it yet, but that that did not mean it did not exist out there somewhere. Yes, she probably had made a miserable fool of herself and-more seriously-wrecked her marriage and-most sobering "of all-disturbed her children, but none of these faults, disastrous as they might be, could outweigh the clean virtue of her quest to discover the beauty and healing power that might be inherent in sex. Maybe sex could never be that good, maybe it was always meant to be doomed, but because she was keeping alive the tiniest hope that it might be otherwise, she knew that what she had done could never be totally wrong.
Why had she done it? Was there anything she could say to her husband now-simply, honestly, and within his scope of understanding? Surely he would not now understand the positive side of her actions, and surely he did not deserve a greater rebuke upon his character than the one he had already received. Why had she done it? A silly thought crossed her mind. Economic necessity, she thought, even though that isn't true. But it was that kind of a stupid answer which could satisfy a man, distraught and half-crazed with remorse. And so she said it. And he heard. And kissed her lightly on the brow, believing it. Why had she done it? "Braces and shoes for the kids."
It was moving day again for the Williamses. A Behemoth van was backed up in the driveway and. the children from three blocks around were running and jumping and playing about the cavernous hole.
"Where's all this stuff going, mister?" one of the children asked a mover laboring with an easy chair.
"Far away, little girl. To Canada. Ever heard of a place called Saskatchewan?"
"No. That sounds like a funny place to go," another child chimed in.
"Children! Don't bother the men. They have work to do," said a mature, serious woman on the threshold of the front door.
"Lady, does this go or stay?" asked a mover behind her.
"Everything goes," said the woman.
"Well, there she is," said Stan Padovski to his side-kick in the front seat of the prowl car.
"Yeh," said the other, craning his neck to get a better look as the car moved slowly by the house. "First time she's showed her face since she got out of the clinker."
"I still can't understand how a beautiful woman like that got involved the way she did. Everyone in town thought she was so sweet and innocent, while all the time she was fucking every guy in sight.," said the other. "It's always those sweet, innocent types that really hide the whore that's underneath. I've never dug broads like that. Now, take my old lady. She's down-to-earth. A real straight, level-headed woman. And if I ever get out of line, she bops me-but good. No fancy-pants stuff with her!"
They drove by the Stanton house. Mrs. Mona Stanton was standing beside her picture window, clutching her elbows and looking forlornly out upon the world. "That's the one I really feel sorry for," said Officer Padovski.
"Yeh," said the other. "Alex Stanton won't be around to help that one pick up the pieces. She'll have to do it all by herself. How long was he sentenced?"
"A year," said Padovski, "but he'll be out in six months. You'll see. Those respectable types always win the hearts of parole boards."
They were slowly gliding down Buckingham Drive. Mrs. Sally Hudson was out trimming the hyacinths which grew in abundance along the fence that lined her property. "Hi there, Mrs. Hudson," said Padovski from the car as they drove by.
"Hi!" said Sally. "Glad to see that Tudor Park's 'finest' is staying on the job. Would you like a small bouquet of roses for Mrs. Padovski? They've been coming out so beautifully this year."
"No, thanks, ma'am. The Mrs. is away at her mother's all this week. I'm baching it these days." "Another time then," said Sally. "There's a crazy one," said Stan after they had driven several yards beyond. "Found her out one night, wandering around in her nightgown."
"Psychiatrists and their wives!" said the other, "they're all alike."
The two drove around several more blocks until Stan's side-kick broached the topic that both men had been thinking about but afraid to articulate. "Isn't it about time that she's there?" he asked.
"I guess so," said Stan, knowing immediately to what his companion was referring.
"Well, shouldn't we be heading out there by now?"
"That's what I'm doing-can't you see?" Stan's hand had been resting beside his thigh, but now it began to move across the knee and up along the inside of his leg to his crotch. A turgid hump was growing there. He cupped it and squeezed. They turned down Queen Anne's Drive. "Why, Officer Padovski!" exclaimed the woman who answered the door. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever get here! Who's your friend? He's cute-a real doll!"
"Joe, meet Mrs. Bea Winthrope. Mrs. Winthrope, meet Joe Garvey-another of Tudor Park's 'finest'."
