Throughout the familial history of the world many great and deeply penetrating novels have been written on the relationship of sister to sister. The Author, in this all encompassing novel relating to this subject, we feel has over shadowed them all. He has delved deeply into the hidden psychological depths of the sister-syndrome mind and opened it wide to the reading public view.
It is axiomatic that jealousy is the prime moving force in the sister to sister relationship but the author here has extended it one emotion further. He has added the finger of vengeance and illustrates how it can strike in even the closest of families.
In this particular instance, the author has given us the case of a younger sister who has married her older sister's ex-love. This marriage sparks off an orgy of untamed vengeance that the world has never seen before. The younger sister becomes in effect solely a vehicle of revenge against her older sister's ex-lover and is exploited beyond all civilized reason.
She strangely survives this attack upon her morality and beliefs and in the end arises above them all. The author has presented this poignant and stirring story with vivid clarity and insight. We publishers are extremely proud to present it to you the reading public.
-THE PUBLISHERS
CHAPTER I
They were lying in bed, not touching. Which was an unusual situation, for as Tod Keyes was especially fond of declaiming, "There's nothing like having a little quickie in the morning to start the day off right, I always say." His deep laugh would then rumble out as he repeated this banality with monotonous regularity, accompanied by a fatuous wink and a sly elbow into the nearest listener's ribs, to the locker room boys following Saturday's customary round of golf.
But then again, Tod was usually out on the links at nine o'clock of a brilliantly clear Saturday morning such as this one, not just hoisting his big frame to a sitting position in aggrieved isolation on the far side of forty-nine square feet of custom-built bed. With hands that trembled he reached to the night stand for cigarettes and lighter, got a cigarette glowing with matches finally rummaged for in the drawer after several futile attempts with the lighter and much cursing, and when he spoke his voice rasped from too many cigarettes and too many drinks the night before.
"I swear to Christ I must be getting soft in the head to have let you talk me into this," he said bitterly. "Passing up a chance to play golf on a day like this, the first decent weather in a whole goddamn month, to--. " He squinted into a bright golden shaft of sun that suddenly knifed into the room as if a spotlight had been beamed through the window. "Goddammit it, Sal! Why in the hell can't you ever close those damned drapes at night!"
He jerked back on one elbow, heedlessly scattering a gray drift of ashes over the silken sheets.
"Jesus," he groaned. "My head!"
The woman lying motionless at his side, eyes half closed as if she were almost asleep, stretched out a hand and brushed languidly at a tiny spark that had settled down between them.
"Really, Tod," she murmured, "you needn't set fire to the house just because you've got a hangover."
Through heavily lidded eyes Sally Keyes shot her husband a look of rather bored impatience. For the past ten minutes or so she had been listening to him work himself up to getting nastily disagreeable. She knew full well what was coming. Although she had insisted that he stay around the house this morning, the source of his anger and discontent wasn't merely missing a game of golf on a clear day because of that.
Sally was by no means a calm or placid woman, an even temper certainly could never be counted as one of her virtues. In ordinary circumstances she wouldn't have hesitated to strike back in anger when Tod was so obviously trying to irritate her into an argument. Right now her restraint was more than admirable; it was suspicious.
For despite Tod's accusing stare and his unreasonable, petty jabs, she bit back any further resort to sarcasm and waited silently for him to get to the true reason behind his anger. She didn't have long to wait, for her silence aggravated him even more than heated words would have done. After a few more nagging complaints he quickly dispensed with the subjects of golf and the weather.
"Damn right I've got a hangover!" He got back to that, and went on, "Seeing the Taylors last night and them asking me again about the house ... practically begging to buy it--. Shit! They're a pair of real swingers, and to turn them down so your prissy little sister and what's-his-name-her-husband-can have a honeymoon. Honeymoon, yet! How sickening can you be? No wonder I got drunk!" he sputtered.
There, it was out and he was off and running again. As he had been for the past week. Ever since he'd clapped his roving eyes on Ruth Taylor in a bikini, Sally mused. For a moment she almost wished she hadn't insisted on letting her sister and Mark have the house next door for the summer, but then in her mind's eye she pictured her sister's husband lean, rangy body with its hint of latent animal power. She remembered the strength of tensed muscle and sinew, the strong yet tender touch of his hands, and how she had sensed a wealth of strong, but unexploited sensuality on the few occasions when she had succeeded in maneuvering herself into his reluctant embrace.
At the time of those boy and woman physical skirmishes they had both been twenty-one, but nonetheless with a vast difference in emotional maturity. Mark, remarkably inept, almost doltish with girls, was by nature so reticent and reserved as to appear lacking in warmth, cold. At twenty-one Sally knew all there was to know about the art of making love, although during the intervening years she had undoubtedly acquired certain nuances and subtleties that spiced her knowledge.
True, then she had found Mark much to slow for her tastes and although he had cast admiring looks in her direction, so had a dozen others who were more fun and certainly not lacking in sexual boldness to meet her own hungry desires. So after throwing off the yolk of Midwestern propriety, striking out on her own in California and eventually marrying Tod Keyes, a compulsive philanderer in whom she had more than met her match, Sally had all but forgotten Mark Trenton. Until several months ago, when an infrequent letter from her mother, a good and pure lady who was thankful that the immoral Sally had settled down beyond the reach of contamination, had arrived to tell her the good news.
Little Joan, her younger sister, was getting married. Sally didn't give a good goddamn about that and had scanned her mother's spidery handwriting with bored impatience. The letter was filled with barely disguised bitterness over Sally's disappointing behavior as compared to Joan's sweet and complaisant ways and sprinkled with gloating satisfaction over Joan's "good fortune," as she put the coming event. Sally was about to shove the pages aside in disgust, making a mental note to see that Joan got an impressive wedding present to show the old bitch (their mother) that the wages of sin weren't necessarily death, when
Mark Trenton's name jumped out at her from the prim scrawl.
When upon a more careful reading she discovered that her sister's intended (her mother's choice of words) was a man she envisioned now as an old flame of extreme desirability, she exploded with self-righteous indignation.
"Well of all the--! I simply can't believe it!"
She had spoken out with such vehemence that Tod, engrossed in studying the odds for Sunday's pro football games, had looked up with concern.
"Something wrong, hon?'
"Joan is getting married!" She made the statement sound like an accusation.
"Your sister? What's wrong with that?" he asked, and his expression was puzzled. "Or is she knocked up or something?"
Joanie, pregnant outside of wedlock? That little prude who couldn't tell her ass from a hole in the ground and probably still believed in the stork? Tod's suggestion was so preposterous that Sally let out a derisive hoot.
"Wouldn't that be a bitch though-" She considered the idea with grim amusement but quickly discarded it. "My God, no. You don't know my mother, and she's tickled pink. And you don't know Joan, a shy scrawny kid with braces on her teeth-"
"Oh, come on now. That was five years ago, Sal," Tod protested. "She must be eighteen, nineteen, now."
Sally counted on her fingers. "Twenty-one. But she was god-awful then and after five more years under mother's thumb--! "
She looked ceiling-ward with a pained grimace and an expressive lifting of her hands. But by now Tod was bored with discussing a homely dame and he had heard more than enough about Sally's fire and brimstone old lady during the three years of marriage. So he went back to his sports page and closed his ears to his wife's vocal wonderings.
"What I can't understand is how in hell a kid like that ever managed to latch onto Mark Trenton. Even if he was a stick--. Handsome! like a young Louis Jourdan. And his folks were filthy rich. Why, every girl in town twitched like a bitch in heat around him. Not me, of course. Though I could have had him if I'd wanted just a small town-, " she broke off, seeing that there was no need to impress Tod for he was no longer listening.
Had he been, probably he could have spared himself a good deal of unnecessary puzzlement for he would have immediately spotted the thinking behind his wife's adroit arrangements for the Trenton's honeymoon cottage. Cottage, hell; he was to snarl at her later. That house cost him seventy thousand to build, and he could have turned a nice profit with the Taylors instead of practically giving it away free gratis for two months to her hick in-laws. Two hundred a month rent! Jesus! Just because houses were dirt cheap back there in the sticks, any damn fool knew the frigging value of land in Southern California! Of all the hair-brained ideas--.
Sally was to hear many variations of this theme because of a duty letter from the bride-to-be herself. In the rather stilted note Joan had mentioned that of necessity Mark had to come out to California on business for his father's firm. So they had decided to combine that with their honeymoon and would naturally at least call to say hello. The glimmering of an idea in Sally's mind was born right then and there and, when friends who were leasing the house next door on an option to buy basis were forced to move back to New York, it sprang to maturity. After much cajoling she persuaded Tod that it was no more than right to extend whatever hospitality possible to the newly-weds, after all-her only sister--.
Naturally suspect at this sudden display of uncharacteristic sisterly affection, Tod's initial response to Sally's proposal was a flat, unequivocal no. Even when she altered her tactics to profess a great desire to show him and his accomplishments off, to prove the affluence with which he provided her, Tod knew exactly what she was trying to do. But here his ego was in such total agreement that he allowed himself to be persuaded and grudgingly gave in.
The motivation behind Sally's offer of a lyrical-sounding base of operations was also viewed with much suspicion on the other, receiving end. Her mother, especially, cast a jaundiced eye on the whole idea, but it was after all Joan's decision to make, and for once she summoned up enough courage to follow her own dictates. Perhaps she was more timorous about starting married life in a strange place among total strangers (in a certain sense even Mark fell into this category) than she was intimidated by her mother. In any event, after a copious exchange of letters and telephone conversations, Sally's machinations were to bear fruit.
At least that was what Sally anticipated as she lay beside her husband on his long-awaited Saturday and thought of Mark. She felt the past five years couldn't have helped but ripen him into quite a man. And as she studied Tod's prone nakedness with a coldly dispassionate eye, and heard his tirade approach the crux of his displeasure, she just hoped to Christ all this damned ruckus proved to be worth it.
"Maybe you can run around bare-assed by the pool with a peeping Tom next door-and your own sister to boot-but what about me? I've got my reputation to think of," he said. "What if they entertain? We can't even have our own group over, and just when we had everything zipped up tight, nice and cozy."
The "group," to which Tom referred with capital letters, consisted mainly of the three couples, actually down to two since the vacancy next door, who occupied the other houses in their secluded cul-de-sac street. Almost a year ago when they had moved to Orange Valley Estates within days of each other, Tod, as befitting his position of builder and developer of the project, had thrown a party to make them feel at home. And they had felt at home in and around the Keyes' house ever since.
For during the course of that single evening it became evident they all had one thing in common besides an indigenous proclivity for golf, hard drinking, gambling and mild flirtation. The majority of young to middle-aged moderns who are drawn to such an environment like flies to honey share these interests, or at least hope to be accepted into this naughty world that quivers with undertones of the forbidden. Tod, Sally, and their new friends went one step farther. They took that way-out step at which others of the community only dared hint or wistfully joke about; they engaged actively and openly in a game of swapping husbands and wives. Their common denominator was an obsession with sex.
Tod had started the ball of sex rolling at the welcoming party, which had rapidly progressed to a rowdy, drunken brawl. He was in the middle of a game of strip poker, down to his jockey shorts and cursing Beverly's luck. Beverly, a knock-out red-head and the most attractive of the new wives, sat beside him minus only her hose and slippers. While they were enthusiastically fencing with bared legs beneath the table, Tod grew increasingly eager and then restless with this childish game. With sudden inspiration he determined to dispense with the irksome preliminaries involved in getting a new woman in bed, the flattery, the teasing, and the surreptitious brushing of breasts and squeezing of thighs. When it was his deal he dealt out a hand of showdown, calmly announcing as if this were the only game in town that high hand among the men could take his choice of another's wife, and so on down the line.
The game proved to be an instant success and certainly elevated Tod in his wife's esteem, if only temporarily. For Sally had thought him unimaginative and was delighted with his unexpected inventiveness. He could have told her it was nothing-merely that necessity certainly is the mother of invention.
The group progressed to playing variations of the game, including wives choice, when Tod got his first crack at the redhead, and a combination of high and low hands which made for lively foursomes. When poker began to pale, they turned to such childish games as spin-the-bottle, drawing straws and blind man's bluff. On one occasion they drew house keys. This turned out to be somewhat of a disaster for Bill Stout, Beverly's husband. His mother dropped in unannounced and was scandalized to find her son in bed with a strange woman.
Following this unfortunate episode a wrought iron gate was installed at the entrance of Orange Blossom Lane. (The name being a rather horrendous indication of Tod's fecund imagination. Next came Valencia Drive, Citrus Avenue and Honey Lane. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, there are limits to what can be done with the nomenclature of an orange tree. Navel was a bit too camp, but Tod did digress to Tangerine before being forced to resort to such as Poinsettia and Ponderosa with even an errant Maple or Beech.)
The gate was kept closed and locked from late Saturday afternoons until an indeterminate hour on Sunday. Extra keys were carefully given out to other couples who proved compatible. For the gatherings had evolved into a customary weekend ritual and somewhere along the way the practice of segregated twosomes was discarded in favor of group participation in the Keys' house.
Reminding Sally of this now, Tod punched savagely at his pillow and leaned back, eyeing her sourly.
"The whole summer is going to be ruined," he said.
"Oh, honestly, Tod. You're being foolish." She had listened to his outburst half-heartedly, calculating him, waiting for his ire to expend itself. Now the faintest of smiles stretched her moist baby under lip and she wriggled up to a half-sitting position, allowing the rounded, abundant flesh of her breasts to spill free over the top of the sheet.
"Jesus, now I'm the one who's foolish! Why--. "
"Of course you are," she broke in, not giving him time to get started again. "There's no problem. We'll simply make them part of the group."
"Part of the--! Well I'll be damned. Can't you just see me fucking your ugly sister?"
"Don't be vulgar, darling. After all, you said yourself that five years can make a lot of difference."
"Maybe so, but what makes you think that a straight kid like that--. "
The rest of Tod's question died in his throat as Sally leaned over and kissed him on the chest, nibbling at him with her teeth. He made a grab for her but she moved back quickly out of reach with a bubbling laugh, determined to get the beginnings of her plan in action before Mark and Joan showed up. She pushed him away from her with a playful shove.
"Why not?" she asked. "Sure she's just a kid, but that should make it easier. After all, a man like you ... You don't seem to have any trouble getting around a woman."
"Well, I don't know ... It just might be fun at that."
He looked down at her where the covers had slid down over the full curve of one creamy hip exposing a curling ridge of pubic hair, and his eyes were as scooping hands that kneaded and dug and played with her body. Beneath the start of desire she could almost visibly see the workings of his mind, they were so familiar. So she knew the matter was settled when he said, "And I'll make damn sure that Claude and Bill get in on the fun! Between us maybe we can teach the girl a thing or two!"
Turning that juicy thought over in his mind he stretched his arms high over his head, pulling his ribs up and out and sucking his belly into his pelvic cave. A strip of coarse reddish hair crept up his middle and spread outward like two scarlet mittens over his tiny hard nipples. Sally moved closer and slid her hand down the ridged muscles of his belly, letting her fingers delve teasingly into the dense mat of pubic underbrush. She felt an automatic flexing in his groin as his penis gave a responsive jerk.
Tod was a big man, bull-shouldered, thick in thigh and biceps, and as he stretched back he lifted his chin and gazed down at his rather awesome body. Sally's fingers were digging harder now at the-haired flesh surrounding his genitals and his prick was slowly swelling to massive erection, a gleaming white blood-tipped column.
"Pretty good for an old dog, if I do say," he muttered hoarsely.
He had stopped thinking of the weekend ahead. Conscious only of the hands now stroking his throbbing cock he closed his eyes and momentarily savored the smoldering excitement stirring his blood and churning like a heavy weight in his balls. For the two of them had their own little private games they got a kick out of playing. With Sally's aggressive opening preliminaries of this one, although he knew each seductive move by rote, a startled gasp escaped his throat with the first swipe of her moist, pointed tongue on the bloated tip of his cock.
"Old tom-cat is more like it," she said in a muffled voice, positioning her mouth hungrily on the enflamed member.
"Ahhhhh, God, it-likes that. . . ! "
His nostrils flared and he spoke from between clenched teeth, then his mouth opened slackly as a tiny shiver coursed through his big frame. He felt hot and cold at the same time and a rash of goose bumps rose in miniature hillocks across the mottled flesh of his thighs and pelvis. His thick fingers worked convulsively at the sheet at his sides then flew to tangle in her hair, forcing his cock deep in her mouth. She uttered a choking gurgle but tightened her lips avidly around the rigid staff and he could feel it expanding, hot and throbbing, in the smooth softness between her suctioning tongue and the roof of her mouth. His fingers entwined brutally in her hair, he squirmed upward on the bed pulling her with him, to brace his shoulders against the headboard. In this position he was able to watch with lusting satisfaction as the full curve of Sally's lips stretched to a taut, red oval to suck with all their might on the instrument fucking in and out of her mouth with the rhythmic, thrusting motion of her hips.
Her blonde tresses cascaded over her flushed face in a silken tangle but he could see her cheeks hollowing on the out-stroke and expanding obscenely on the in-stroke of his ramming cock. She then lifted her head in defiance of the punishing pull of his hands until the thick, turgid head was exposed, wet and glistening, almost to the very tip of the pulsing glans. Her tongue flicked teasingly into the tiny opening, delighting in the sticky droplets of seminal fluid oozing from the gasping mouth.
He moaned aloud. "Oh God, baby, don't stop now! Go on-suck it!"
Obediently she lowered her head in a reckless downward plunge, enveloping his hot rigidity far into the moist recesses of her throat almost up to the hilt while licking at the semen-drenched underside with her darting tongue. The lewd image of his white cock slithering in and out of Sally's gaping red mouth, plus the expert fondling of her fingers on his balls with teasing forays into the elastic ring of his ass-hole, was rapidly inciting him beyond control. Unaware that she was giving an added flip to her ministrations in order to hasten the proceedings on this particular morning, he was afraid he was going to shoot his sperm prematurely into the depths of her throat any second. And this game wasn't played quite that way.
Sally sensed he was almost there and increased the tempo of her lascivious mouth and tongue, turning the work of her hands to grip the rock-hard stem of his cock and stroke the taut skin in a pistoning motion over the massive trunk. She was enjoying herself thoroughly and even so aroused by Tod's excitement that her own flowing vagina was a quivering mound of flesh close to climax. In the back of her mind she was congratulating herself on her cleverness when without warning she found herself flat on her back, arms and legs flailing the air.
"Goddammit," Tod bellowed from above her sprawled body. "I didn't mean suck me off!"
"I'm sorry dear," she said meekly, and then with rising passion, "but hurry! Ohhh, hurry, darling, fuck me!"
But his urgent hands were already parting the lips of her throbbing vagina and she groaned in welcome abandon as she felt the blunt stab of his cock. Her whole body twitched and writhed uncontrollably and her hips arched to meet him.
"Oh-yes, yes, give it to me," she gasped as Tod's hands slipped under the straining globes of her buttocks.
She moaned under the delicious feel of the glossy, blood-pressured head probing with a fiery, tantalizing pulsation at the open and ready wetness of her cunt. The tiny contracting muscles in the fleece-lined lips were nibbling hungrily at the bulbous knob and it was all she could do to restrain a frenzied urgency to give a violent upward lunge of her tensed buttocks and sink his cock into the demanding depths of her aching vaginal passage.
But Tod had regained a semblance of control and was once again playing at their love game, playing with her as a cat with a mouse, enjoying a sadistic pleasure that titillated his lust as he held fast to the tensing and hollowing cheeks of her ass. He delighted in the wild tossing and turning of her head, the panting gasps of rapid breathing that caused the pointed mounds of her firm, full breasts to rise and fall in agitation; to see the erect, hardened nipples quiver with an almost visible ache.
He could feel his cock jerking impatiently now, throbbing with a weighted heaviness of the hot blood pounding relentlessly in his veins. Of it's own volition the angry-crimson head slowly began an insistent worming into the dilated lips of the moist, pink slit of her cunt. The soft folds of flesh seemed to be sucking at his hardness as avidly as the thirsty oval of her mouth scarcely moments before, striving desperately to devour the swollen length of his prick. She was struggling like a trapped animal by this time, trying to buffet her crotch against the exquisite instrument of torture. His fingers dug cruelly into the plump flesh of her buttocks, and he held her thus, despite the searing rake of her nails on his back, until he himself could stand the aching pressure in his engorged cock no longer.
With a hoarse cry he rammed the long, thick shaft forward, fucking into her with all the strength of his hips and thighs. He could feel the wet, satiny flesh of her vaginal passage ripple back in waves of soft, rubbery resistance at the force of his onslaught, then the smooth, raw flesh enveloped his hot, bursting cock so moistly and fervently it drove him wild. He plunged his prick up and up, deeper and deeper into the warm soft cavern of her cunt, feeling the walls of her cervix graze the bloated glans-tip. The pressure on the pulsating head of his cock was almost enough to make him cum outright, but he withdrew with a slow, fluid motion, staving off orgasm.
But Sally had reached the limit of her endurance. She was approaching orgasm and fighting to reach it, and her body became something not quite human as she writhed and contorted, every nerve-end shrieking out for fulfillment. She flung her legs wildly around his hips and pulled him tightly to her, and she skewered her cunt onto his cock with her madly pumping buttocks.
"Now, Tod! Now!" Her shrill cry was almost a sob. "Screw me, harder! screw me harder!"
Then their coarse, animalistic rasping pants filled the room, and the sound of flesh against flesh, of belly smacking against belly, crotch grinding against crotch.
Much later, when Sally was drowsily luxuriating in a post-orgasmic glow, Tod startled her with a sharp explanation.
"Jesus Christ! What about tonight?"
"Well, what about it? I'm sure you can get it up again by then, if not sooner, honey."
"Don't be a smart-ass. What about the gang coming here? What'll we do with Joan and Mark? On their first night we can't very well--. Oh, shit, I told you..." he sputtered.
"Don't get excited. Everything's all set and the bunch isn't coming over until tomorrow. I've already spread the word, and since Monday is a holiday we'll have a day to recuperate. As for tonight, I'll think of something. We might as well get the newlyweds started off in the right direction, then tomorrow will take care of itself."
Sally then rolled over on her side and curled up in a snug little ball to take a short nap.
CHAPTER 2
The route to Orange Blossom Estates was boldly delineated in slashing strokes of red marking pen on the map of the Greater Los Angeles and Freeway System, along with the more impersonal printer's admonition to Follow the Chevron Trail repeated to infinity along its marginal borders. Folded and refolded until its original sharp and pristine creases were beginning to split like tiny razor cuts, the unwieldy sheet was propped against Joan's up-drawn knees. On one hand clutched to steady the accordion-pleated squares resting uncertainly on the rounded perch of her long legs, in the other she held Sally's letter.
The pale orchid page of foolscap was, in Joan's private opinion, simply too much. Unconventionally large in size, as was her sister's stylized un-Palmer-like method with its circle-dotted I's, and gold embossed with an incongruous and too-cute letterhead alerting the reader that the missive came from the desk of Sally Keyes, it was impregnated with a sultry fragrance that no amount of airing seemed able to dispel. Joan's nose wrinkled in automatic distaste as her eyes once more consulted directions which, in addition to verbally duplicating the now slightly smeared, bloody lines and arrows on the map, included a description of approaching landmarks. These merely tended to be confusing as Joan tried to distinguish such items as an old adobe mission, now the setting for Genuine Indian Artifacts for sale, and a hard-sell fresh orange juice stand in the shape of a giant orange, which looked more like an over-ripe pumpkin coming apart at the seams in the blur of speeding landscape.
They were also totally superfluous. Not only were highway markers abundant and clear preceding the off-ramp to Orange View Drive, but garish billboards advertising the development, their message emblazoned on euphuistic Keyes of such gilt magnitude as to be unmistakable, dotted the surrounding hillside.
In spite of all this Joan was gripped by a peculiar sensation of shock, an inner shrinking such as one feels when abruptly confronted with the unexpected, when a suspended sign bearing the words "Orange Valley-Next Right," in stark-white block print on a brilliant field of emerald green, loomed up almost directly overhead. With a quick motion that spilled the outspread roadmap crackling to the floorboard, she slid around in the bucket seat to face her husband. Grey eyes bright with a mixture of anticipation and uncertainty, she was about to impart her somehow startling discovery to him when she realized the right-turn signal on the dash was blinking its relentless orange eye and he was deftly maneuvering a lane change in the heavy flow of weekend traffic.
With his gaze fixed unswervingly on the road ahead, undoubtedly Mark had sighted the directional marker far back. Suddenly Joan was painfully conscious of having babbled with a nervous animation, carrying on a practically one-sided conversation of inanities for some miles, and the words died in her throat. She felt a twinge of self-contempt bordering near despair for her own ineptness as she stole a glance at Mark's sober countenance, then she turned back to the window to stare unseeing at the passing scenery.
Mark Trenton was neither unresponsive nor uncaring as the silent, apparent indifference which led to Joan's tears would indicate. He was extremely aware of the momentary stoppage in her flow of idle chatter when she spotted the sign, also of the fluid impulsiveness that emanated from every line of her body in its movement towards him. From behind the protective shield of dark glasses, his eyes had dropped to stare in unashamed hunger at Joan's long, lovely legs.
The quick squirm of her buttocks on the leather cushion had twisted the folds of her skirt, working the already scant covering up farther to expose a voluptuously rounded expanse of soft inner thigh. For a fleeting instant Mark had a swift, aching desire to reach out to her and stroke the tantalizing area of smooth flesh, to let his hand glide upward along the warm, pulsing surface to the barely concealed downy triangle nestled so temptingly between her outstretched thighs.
In the space of a brief moment his aroused imagination ran rife. His right hand involuntarily clenched the wheel with such fierce pressure the knuckles bulged white under the taut skin as he could almost feel the silken tendrils of her pubic hair curling and clinging to the shape of his fingers. He could feel the delicious softness of her vaginal lips parting like folds of moist velvet to his touch, her cunt open and eager to receive his caress--. The glossy flesh expanding then contracting to entrap him, while a warm flow of mysterious juices from the secret recesses of her womb drenched his hand ... Then, the sweet tiny bud of her clitoris quivering, swelling to firm erection at the swift urgency burning in his fingertips.
Jesus! He felt his cock give an impatient lunge in the suddenly unbearable constriction of material at his crotch.
The loud blare of a nearby horn startled him from his erotic reverie and he was plunged back to reality, an icy shudder coursing up his spine. Realizing the horn's blast hadn't been directed at him, he self-consciously relaxed his grip on the wheel. The rim was damp and slippery with the sweat of his palms. His brain absorbed the fact that the turn signal was still winking up at him and for a moment he thought it must be stuck. Then the light went off, and he found he had completed the change of lanes and was automatically steering the righted car straight ahead.
His fantasy had been so real it seemed impossible such vivid thoughts and sensations could have passed through his mind and body so rapidly. Yet as though it had never existed, except for a remembered heat lingering in the emptiness above the console which separated them, he was waiting for Joan to come out with whatever she'd been about to say. Her impetuous move had been such an obvious prelude to speech, down to a discursive intake of breath following the transitory silence, that he was mildly curious when no words were forthcoming. Immersed in his way-out imaginings he'd failed to notice her withdrawal, so when he looked towards her now, her sudden, quiet about face took him by surprise. Then, seeing the hint of dejection in bowed head and slumped shoulders, he sensed her pain and his heart went out to her.
Un-like Tod Keyes and men of his nature who, though incapable of any real, abiding emotion, can summon the proverbial birds from the trees with their false mating call, much as Mark longed to comfort Joan with assurances of his love he was at a loss for words. For he was of a different breed, the type of man who has the added dimension of a deep sentimentality and ability to care along with a vibrant sensuality and strong sexual drives. And as is frequently the case, when this complexity of emotions became involved, Mark was woefully inarticulate. In the actual process of making love his subconscious was inclined to somewhat free him of this limitation. But this was neither the time nor place.
Instead, he froze, inwardly cursing his lack of sensitivity. He blamed himself for causing Joan's dejection, for allowing himself to become so preoccupied with his own miserable thoughts throughout the day that he'd failed to recognize her interminable spate of pointless talk, so out of character, for what it was-an outpouring of nervous and unhappy tension.
It occurred to him that to a casual observer their behavior would probably appear to be that of shy and jittery newly weds who were en route to the consummation of their wedding vows. He just wished to Christ that was so. But since they had been man and wife for roughly forty-eight hours now and he had taken his new bride to the marriage bed two nights ago, this was futile, wishful thinking. The kind of thinking that had ruined the past two days and intervening night, that had served to build an increasingly insurmountable wall of tension and misunderstanding between them. He felt the fervent desire to go back, but there was no going back, to the sweet beginnings of their first night together with the long hours of anticipated ecstasy stretching out like an endless bed of roses--.
But the bed of roses had proved too rampant with thorns for ecstasy, and the night a disaster.
Since then, Mark came to realize Joan was trying to make it easy for him during the remainder of the trip, in some intangible way assuming the blame for what had happened. But after the initial shock of hurt and disappointment had dulled, he knew the fault was his. In spite of this he hadn't been able to shake the disturbing memories that nagged at his mind, and her generosity had somehow only served to make him more unreasonable and withdrawn.
With their destination but a few miles away he angled the low sports car onto the freeway off-ramp. As he cursed his inadequacy with words and was formulating a resolve to forget the past, he caught the wet shine of tears on Joan's averted cheek. The remainder of her vulnerability went through him like a knife. It hit him with such force that all resolutions were swept away in a flood of remorse, bringing a telescoping of images of his crass stupidity skittering through his mind.
It chilled him to remember his own performance and he thought what a hell of a way to start a honeymoon! But then, he told himself perversely, if only she hadn't been so inhibited, such a damn prude! In a more rational mood he would have freely admitted this was an unfair accusation.
For Joan's initial attraction had been her obvious lack of sophistication plus a paradoxical combination of sensuality and shy reserve. That she was also lovely to look at was secondary. Sally was not exaggerating when she said all the girls in town were after Mark Trenton. And if she remembered him as an inept, fumbling youth, Mark's recollection of Sally was of an over-sexed, aggressive and immoral young woman. Exciting yes, but far more frightening to an immature twenty-one year old who was just beginning to discover girls. He found it hard to believe Sally and Joan belonged to the same species, much less the same family. He had learned a great deal about sex in the past five years, including the disturbing fact that it was an effort to control an extremely sensual and sexual nature within the bounds of what he considered moral decency for an unattached man.
After his third date with Joan he was madly in love for the first time in his life, and his inner battle became a constant thing from then until the time of their marriage, five months later. As with any two people deeply in love, at times their passion had almost reached the limits of endurance but Joan, when she reached this point a truly frightened virgin and the victim of an oppressively strict upbringing, had drawn the line at the last minute. Driven almost crazy with frustrated desire, Mark had been sorely tempted to resort to force. After all, he reasoned, weren't they about to be married anyway?
Fortunately for him, for he felt if he had, she would never quite forgive him, his own slender thread of straitlaced morality had held him back. Which was why his actions on their wedding night were so incomprehensible to him and had plagued him ever since.
After a drive much like the one today, with Joan's nervous anticipation somehow contagious, developing into an unnatural tension between them, they had arrived at a motel to discover that due to a mix-up in reservations they were forced to accept an inferior room. Looking back, Mark saw what he considered as merely a trivial inconvenience as the beginning of the whole trouble. Every fiber of his being had been waiting for this for so long he could care less if the bed were too soft, or the room too small or--. Oh hell, any goddamn thing! He would have been content to take her in a barn!
He had a hazy recollection of saying words to that effect to Joan, whereupon she had immediately burst into tears. Although he would grudgingly admit that such things as an alluring setting for a cherished bridal nightgown were important to a woman, surely love took precedence over imagine trappings? He guessed he must have said this, too, for that was when Joan had looked at him like a small, lost child and retired to the bathroom.
This was where his cursed inability to express his true emotions came to the fore. For her sake, he was equally disturbed about the accommodations. He had wished devoutly that every detail were tailored to her heart's desire on this so very special occasion, and he would gladly have given her the moon and the stars if that would make her happy.
An old popular song flitted through his mind-I'd climb the highest mountain, sail the deepest ocean-da, da, de dum-there is nothing I wouldn't do--.
And what had he done after resorting to sarcasm, making her cry, and then ignoring the silent plea in her eyes? Had he gone to the bathroom door and battered it down if necessary to take her in his arms and let her know he understood how he felt, that deep down he really wasn't such an arrogant bastard, that his heart was bursting with agonized love for her and not to worry, he would take care of her and everything would be all right?
Hell, no. Angry with the management, the room, with her, and most of all himself, he'd slammed out and headed for a bar off the lobby and downed five (or was it six? About then some things began to get a trifle hazy) quick double shots of bourbon. At least he was sure they must have been quick for the full effect of the liquor didn't hit him until after he got back to their room. Joan was still in the damned bathroom and he'd paced restlessly back and forth until for some strange reason his legs had the feeling of India rubber, forcing him into the only straight chair. He had no idea why he hadn't chosen the bed and he remembered eyeing it warily, as though it might either collapse or take a notion to pounce on him, and thinking that it really didn't look so damned uncomfortable after all.
Suddenly he was aware of a new silence in the room and he realized that the sound of rushing water emanating from the bathroom had stopped some time ago. Joan must be nearly ready for bed. Bed, he'd thought, he too must get ready for bed. Ready for his darling Joan as she was getting ready for him. That was when the excitement had started to grow within him. The alcohol was like a red-hot furnace in the pit of his stomach, spreading a warm glow through his veins. He removed his shoes and socks and got to his feet, noticing with detached surprise that while his legs no longer felt like insecure, wobbly appendages, he was having some difficulty with his fingers unbuttoning his shirt and unbuckling his belt and working at the zipper of his fly.
And with every move he had felt the heat of desire building, building and mingling with the warmth of the alcohol, stoking the fire in his belly until they were one and the same, a suddenly riotous blaze raging out of control.
He had been listening intently for some movement on the other side of the bathroom door. After what seemed an eternity of standing there, his now naked body feeling like it was being roasted alive in the fires of damnation, he heard the rattle of the knob. Joan's image sprang unbidden to his drunken brain. In his mind's eyes he saw her nude loveliness framed in the open doorway. Even though he had yet to see her in even a d'collet' gown, every sensuous curve of her body was vividly clear, from the high swell of her perfect breasts down to the dusky triangle of pubic hair nestled invitingly below her smooth-as-alabaster virginal belly.
There had been a thunderous roaring in his head and the flames of desire had become a lusting holocaust in the rigid tower of his aroused penis. When the door had actually swung open with a slow reluctance as if pushed by a timorous hand, Joan had, of course, been wearing a gown. But a gown so ephemerally sheer, flowing from a discreetly high neckline to the tips of her toes, that it only served to enhance the nakedness gleaming from within. A gown designed to drive a man mad. He could still see her standing there in the doorway, her body more exquisite and desirable than any imagery in his erotic mind.
Her eyes were demurely downcast, his name a breathless question on her trembling lips. Had she looked up then, Mark wondered wryly later, to see his inflated cock angrily cleaving the air, would she have returned in terror to the sanctuary of the bathroom? It wouldn't have deterred him, he would have gone through the door like an enraged bull through a matador's cape. In truth, suddenly he had seen red, the red haze of lust blinding his eyes, and nothing in the world had mattered but ramming his cock into her tantalizing flesh. Oh, he had taken care of her all right!
A deep groan had erupted from his throat and he remembered hearing her startled cry, seeing her hands give a virginal flutter to the proud arch of her pubic mound. And he had reached for her, the last spark of sanity gone. Nothing existed but the torturous heavy beat in his cock and the answer to all desire beneath her hands. He had pushed her roughly down on the bed, ripping the film of her gown from neckline to hem with one savage jerk.
"Oh, no, Mark! Please don't, you're hurting me!" she had pleaded in horror, but her voice was stilled by the savage crush of his mouth and the hungry probe of his tongue between her teeth.
Expecting love, needing gentleness, she came to shocked realization of what was happening and began to struggle wildly. Against his madness her straining body was like a butterfly's caught in the eye of a hurricane. Enveloping her with his lust he had ravished her resisting flesh with his hands, digging his fingers greedily into the ripe softness of her thighs and belly, kneading the resilient mounds of her breasts until her cries of pain resounded through the room.
Her sobs of protest had gone unheeded. His hands had fastened cruelly on her hips, imprisoning her helpless to the bed, as his head dropped to the succulence of her budding nipples.
He felt his feverish brain had sensed an almost imperceptible lull in her struggles at the first touch of his lips on her throat. The tumescent nipple, quivering and swollen from the kneading punishment of his fingers, had seemed to blossom voluptuously into the heated recesses of his mouth. It's searing pulsation had goaded him to further madness, and he bit down, hard, his teeth sinking cruelly into the delicate breast-flesh around the teasing nipple. The taste of blood was sweet on his laving tongue.
Lost in a demented frenzy of sensation, he must have relaxed his hold on her writhing hips for somehow she had managed to free one leg, and the next thing he remembered was a sharp pain streaking through his groin. More enraged than hurt by the jab of her knee at his balls, he had gone insanely out of control. It was then he fucked her for the first time.
His hands were rough on her naked thighs, closing with a force that twisted the tender flesh and he had felt the warm sheathings of firm muscles as she struggled to break free. Her pleadings had turned to whimpers of fear and she gazed up at him with a pitiful, terrified disbelief. Beyond all caring for anything but release for his demanding body, he had thrust her legs brutally apart with his knees, and his hands had found the fleshy folds of her cunt, moist and palpitating, with fingers on paths of their own.
Later, much later, when there was time and ability to reach back to that moment, he burned with shame as images of his final ravagement tortured his mind with mercilessly real lucidity. Try as he might to banish them, they sprang alive like flashbacks of an obscene moving picture. He could still see himself with a bitter clarity.
His knees were between her thighs, holding them wide apart and his fingers were splaying the resistant lips of her vagina, prying open the sensitive flesh to ready the moist, cringing sheath for the urgent searching of his cock. Suddenly, with a quick grinding movement of his pelvis, his swollen rigidity had found it. For a breathless moment he had wedged the blood-filled head between the fleshy moist lips, gathering all his forces, muscles bunching and readying. Then, seizing her behind the knees, forcing her legs to bend and thrusting them double towards her shoulders, with a violent forward lunge he jammed the full length of his cock into the screaming depths of her cunt.
The piercing shriek that exploded from her throat was like nothing human as she lay there impaled, writhing helplessly, as his rock hard cock pounded deeper and deeper into the warm, slowly yielding tunnel of flesh. Her straining hips tried to repel him but every movement defeated their purpose, only serving to force his rigid column deeper within. She screamed again, then the pain rendered her beyond speech, immobilized, the warm wet walls of her cunt enveloping his swollen cock in a tight clasp.
After that initial, brutal thrust he had fucked her with a mindless fury, ramming his hot, bursting cock in and out of her raw flesh without mercy. Savagely he had vented his lust, until at last he emptied his sperm into her belly with an endless, chaotic release. Finally sated, drunk, and drained of all feeling, he had rolled off her ravaged body and fallen instantly asleep-like some insensate, primitive beast.
He had awakened the following morning with a splitting head and feeling like hell, too fuzzy-minded to recall exactly what in hell had happened. He only knew his wedding night had been a fiasco, Joan's tight-lipped, accusing face was enough to tell him that. With the first twinges of memory his quite-human male reaction had been to ferret out some source of blame other than his own failings. Physically miserable, he had retreated behind a facade of irritated silence. Worrying at the past five months like a dog gnawing a bone, he succeeded in molding them into a period of pent-up frustration, all due to Joan's sexual inhibitions and frigidity.
By the time the bits and pieces of his inglorious performance dropped into place, etching an indelible pattern on his brain, he was locked in misery and guilt and at a loss as to how to make amends. And despite the fact that he was aware of being unreasonable, as Joan began to make tentative advances of understanding the more uptight he seemed to become. God knows what Joan must think of me now, he worried. For he had suddenly turned into a stranger even to himself.
* * *
Since turning off the Freeway Joan Trenton had been thinking of Mark, just as she had for most of that day. The day before, following his lustful rape, she had been too bruised in body and spirit, too sunk in despair to think of anything but her own unhappiness.
When very young she had dreamed, as young girls will, of meeting a handsome, thrilling man who would sweep her off her feet. He would know her and she would know him instantly, of course, and their love would come to the inevitable conclusion. Here her dream turned a bit hazy. She could picture the wedding all right, with herself a ravishing bride in white, down to the last minute detail, almost to the point of distinguishing her handsome groom's face. But after that all she knew is they would melt together as one.
By the time she'd turned sixteen, an ugly duckling living in the shadow of her sister Sally's beauty, her dates and her boy friends, the dream had become more vital than ever. Then Sally had departed. (Joan had never been sure if her willful sister had been ordered out of the house or had left voluntarily. Depending on whose side one heard later, it was both.) After this her parents' general attitude, grimly unbending at best, had become even less permissive. Her mother especially, who could neither control nor comprehend Sally's wild behavior, never missed an opportunity to admonish Joan, in snide and oblique innuendoes, never to give in to the base instincts of fleshly desire. The woman had an inordinate talent, without ever coming out with a definitive word, for turning the act of love into a dirty word.
Young Joan, shy by nature, more passive than her sister, had inevitably become inhibited and easily intimidated. But she did become better looking. Late in blooming, by nineteen-with the braces gone, adolescent problems with her skin banished, and her lithe figure rounded out to lush curves, she was an exceptionally lovely young woman. Although her infrequent dates had been sterile occasions and she had missed the early sweetness of boy-girl fumblings and skirmishes, she slowly became familiar with the glances of boys and then men. And she listened to the secret music of romance that all girls hear.
She had also begun, subconsciously, to question the wisdom of her mother's words. Though shy and awkward with boys, she was at home in the murky, twilight world of books. Along these paths she had encountered Madame Bovary and Lady Chatterly and even Fanny Hill. Thus when the man, in the form of Mark Trenton, came along to sweep her off her feet, the inevitable conclusion in her cherished dream had slowly become a far more tangible ending.
She had known him instantly, but that he should recognize her had been beyond even her wildest dreams. The first time Mark kissed her, his mouth tender and firm and thrilling, a warm, loose cocoon stirred, fluttered, and finally burst open inside of her, like a newborn creature she had been waiting for all of her life. She felt a new excitement rushing through her body from her lips all the way down to her toes.
After their engagement, when she was deeply and helplessly in love with him, his lovemaking became more ardent. Suddenly the creature inside of her had grown by leaps and bounds until without warning, deep down beneath the Joan she knew, it had metamorphosed into an unknown stranger, a stranger of frightening yet somehow wonderful power. She was increasingly aware of the pungent, spicy elixir which erupted from this hungry spirit in answer to the fervent dement in Mark's caresses. There were times when it took the last atom of moral strength she could summon forth to turn him back from taking her completely.
Although she shied away from facing this the other way around-giving in to him completely-it would have been equally true. It would have astonished Mark to know how close, how very close, Joan had been to surrender. That if, instead of taking her at her word, he had pursued her just a hair's breadth harder, the latent primeval force within her-not his own-would have destroyed her resistance.
Joan was shy and inhibited and inexperienced, but she was by no means naive or stupid. Her wedding night had been a brutal, inconceivable ending to her dream. But after the first shock had passed and she had gotten through the next day licking her wounds and feeling sorry for herself, she realized some of the fault was hers. If she had given in to her desires--. But that was her own wishful thinking.
Only after Mark had asked her to marry him-when she was seen and known at last and recompensed for all the years of loneliness-had she sensed a newfound freedom of sexuality. And she wasn't about to lose it without a struggle. He hadn't merely imagined the swelling urgency of her breast in his mouth. She was learning to know and welcome her own stranger within. What she couldn't understand now was Mark's sudden coldness and seeming indifference, his not even touching her last night.
Beneath all of her hurt and bewilderment, as they rounded the curve of a hill and Orange Valley Estates lay stretched out below them-green and verdant, with tiled rooftops sparkling in the sunlight like a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow-she had begun to resurrect the dream.
CHAPTER 3
"Son of a bitch! If that's your plain little sister, all I've got to say is, 'Is there any more at home like her?' Jesus!"
Tod was stooped over, rummaging through the bottles in a kitchen cabinet where they stored an extra stock of liquor. He straightened up holding a fifth of Crown Russe in his hand, his tanned face flushed and perspiring. Sally eyed him somewhat coldly. She knew that florid coloring wasn't just a mark of exertion for she was familiar with that slackening of facial muscle that drooped his lids and slackened his underlip to a drooling shelf.
"You've already got her pants off, haven't you?" She tried to make her voice light. "And not so loud, they'll hear you."
She set a plastic container of fresh orange juice-a damned nuisance having to squeeze oranges instead of just opening a can, but a pet insistence of Tod's since at least one fruit tree had been carefully preserved on every lot-and vented some of her irritation on the refrigerator with a smart slam of the door.
Tod's amazement at Joan's appearance was nothing compared to his wife's. The younger girl's full-lipped flashing smile, proof the braces had been worth it; her clear gaze from gold-flecked, gray-green eyes; her long, straight mane of hair, neither brown nor blonde, that seemed to glow from within; and especially the long-limbed, high-breasted figure that Sally thought privately almost too good to be decent, had been a most unsettling shock to her. She didn't much care for other members of her own sex anyway, and recognized real competition when she saw it.
"Hear me from fifty feet away?" Tod answered her. "Hell, and I don't give a damn if they do. I told you I wasn't about to let them spoil the weekend." As she twitched impatiently through the doorway ahead of him, he reached up under her skirt and gave her bottom a teasing pinch.
"Anyway I've got a hunch we're going to have a real ball. Wait 'til the guys get a look at those young tits! Oh, man!"
"Shhhhh-, " she cautioned, giving his roving hand a slap that wasn't playful.
He lowered his voice as they approached the living room but went on in a sarcastic tone, "And you forgot to tell me what a good-looking stud you're old boyfriend is. A bit stuffy maybe, but after a few more screwdrivers--. "
It took a woman's intuition to recognize the promise of deep sensuality in Mark. Tod, a compulsive adrenal back-slapper who had acquired a kind of laminated style of suavity which he drew on at will, saw no contest in Mark's casual and underplayed masculinity. And today in particular, Mark hadn't been able to make an effort to be more than passably agreeable.
He had drawn to a stop on the crest of the hill overlooking Orange Valley, unavoidably impressed with the scene below. This reaction was exactly what Tod Keyes had in mind when, no fool in business matters, he had chosen this acreage with a comfortable nearness to L. A. as his most ambitious housing development to date. Even the most jaded Californian couldn't refer to it as a tract, despite the sameness of identical Spanish tiling on every roof. (This had been planned to blend in with the landscape and gave a somehow rustic view from above.) For with the exception of a few models in which the prospective home-owner had a choice of nine different styles, the houses were expensive, luxurious and custom-built.
Orange Valley, once a seemingly endless grove of orange trees to delight the eye from the top of a country lane, now a parcel of land that has been tortuously rearranged to include its own man-made lake and eighteen-hole golf course and its sprawling luxury homes perched along the bulldozed hills, nevertheless had the power in its more commercial state to act as a catalyst on Mark and Joan's tangled emotions. They had paused only momentarily before being spurred on by the horn of an impatient motorist behind, but they both felt a sense of new hope, of being granted a second chance.
Within minutes after their arrival at the Keyes' rambling, pseudo-Spanish house these hopes were somewhat dampened. Following an exchange of introductions that was convivial to the point of embarrassment to Joan since Tod and Sally were already pretty high, they learned their own house wasn't quite ready. The draperies were still at the cleaners, Tod apologized, so of course they couldn't possibly move in yet. He added a ribald quip about beds and windows that went rigid over Joan's head, then insisted they spend the night there.
When Mark mentioned the word "motel" she shuddered inwardly, but he knew as well as Joan did that they couldn't very well refuse the invitation. A bitter disappointment lumped in her throat for she wanted desperately to be alone with him. Much later, too late for second thoughts, it dawned on her that since tomorrow was Sunday and Memorial Day fell on the following Monday, they were committed for the whole long weekend!
She was coming out of a powder room off the hall, where she had lingered to admire the opulence of gold-leafed mirrored walls, crystal fixtures and a somewhat amazing leopard skin carpet, when she made the discovery that this enforced visit wasn't really so terrible. In fact, she was actually having a good time! On a sudden impulse before closing the door behind her, with a little giggle she stooped down and gave the bizarre floor covering a playful pat.
"Nice doggie," she said then hiccupped. "Ooops, s'cuse me!"
Suddenly the rug was hilariously funny and she was laughing so hard she had difficulty in getting to her feet, wavering slightly and hanging on to the doorknob for support. She caught a glimpse of her flushed face in the mirrored wall and noticed with a clinical detachment that her nose was rather shiny. Her eyes went to a commode lavish with cosmetics and cut-glass stoppered perfume bottles.
Momentarily she hesitated then said, "Oh, to hell with it," to her reflection.
The sound of her own voice, coupled with an oath however mild completely foreign to her in thought, much less vocal expression, startled Joan to some degree of sobriety. She had never in her life been even close to intoxication. A rare glass of wine at some special celebration at home and an occasional cocktail before dinner with Mark had been her very limited experience with alcohol.
Sally and Tod had made considerable inroads into a fifth of gin earlier in the day but purposely switched drinks to the deceptively innocent combination of vodka and orange juice. With Tod tending bar, persistently increasing the ratio of vodka to a bombing potency, the afternoon slipped into evening with unnoticed speed as the foursome drank and talked, getting acquainted. In plain fact, they had settled down to some steady drinking.
The vodka-loaded juice went down so smoothly Joan had no conception of the prodigious quantity of liquor now lulling her senses. Nor how much of Tod and her sister's don't-give-a-damn mood and their compulsively epithet-loaded vernacular her alcohol-clouded mind had soaked up along with the drinks. At the involuntary phrase of defiance which fell so strangely from her lips came the brief flash of insight she must be getting pretty high-un-like her and definitely not a lady-like thing to do. But what a delightful feeling!
Mark was rather drunk, yet still lucid enough to know it. Sober enough to recognize in Sally the quite obvious machinations-intended-to-incite which she had been pursuing with a growing intensity. Drunk enough to swing along with her script to a certain extent. He felt a curious ambivalence, a sardonic amusement at her sex play and an undeniable sensation of pleasurable titillation. But why not, he thought. They all were relaxed, enjoying a social get-together. Nothing could come of it anyway-and he was relieved to see Joan loosen up and have some fun. God knew she deserved it! And when she went to bed with him later, with the tension-releasing effects of a few drinks--. And he sure as hell wouldn't louse things up again--.
Marks's reverie was interrupted by Tod and Sally's return from their trip to the kitchen to replenish the bar. After their private exchange of words Tod set about mixing fresh drinks with an increased determination.
When Joan rejoined the group a few seconds later he pressed a tall, frosted glass in her hand which she might have noted, had she been more aware, was decidedly clear, barely tinged with a blush of orange.
"You must think I'm a rotten host! I've let it get dry as hell around here. C'mon Joanie, drink your nourishment," he ordered.
"Tod, I really shouldn't...."
Joan's protest was rather feeble. She glanced over to where Mark and Sally were sitting close together on the sofa, intimately, cheeks almost touching, laughing softly as at some private joke. Then her eyes met Tod's, warm visual caress that was an extremely flattering ego-booster. As his admiring attentiveness had been all afternoon. Oh hell, she decided-and this time the word slipped out unnoticed-why not?
"Baby, a little juice of the old orange never hurt anybody," Tod coaxed.
He stood beside her, urging the hand holding the glass with a firm pressure of his own fingers wrapped around hers. As his arm suddenly encircled her waist his free hand brushed gently but firmly over the soft swell of one rounded breast. Joan felt the teased nipple spring to a lively excitement with such swift urgency that she gasped and felt her throat go dry. Scarcely aware of what she was doing she allowed him to guide the glass to her lips and drank thirstily, downing its entire contents in one long, shuddering gulp.
She drew back, fighting for breath, into the steadying tightness of his embrace as the harsh liquor plummeted like a streak of white heat to the pit of her stomach. Almost instantly she felt its exhilarating glow spread through her body, invading her limbs with a strange lassitude.
The resilient softness of the lush curves of breast and thigh melted into his muscular strength as she sagged weakly against him, her senses whirling with a free and easy numbness which was rather delicious. His voice seemed to come from far away, whispering, "That's a good girl, easy does it now. Drink it all down, honey. Ahhh, that's the way."
Somewhat mystified, for the frozen sting of ice on her lips as she'd drained the other glass still lingered, but too bemused to understand what Tod was doing, she sipped obediently at the fresh drink she found in her hand. This time the liquor was no longer raw in her throat but tasted pungently pleasant, and it had the effect of speeding up her senses, dispelling the languor and sending the blood rushing hotly through her veins. Relaxed in his embrace she could feel a quivering tautness in Tod's sinewy frame. His moist lips were pressed against her ear, his breath fanning the sensitive opening with hot, ragged gasps. A shiver chilled her spine but suddenly she was burning up; trembling like one in a fever chill. She downed the remainder of the vodka quickly, attempting to cool the fire raging within her, and she reached blindly to set the glass on the bar. As from a great distance she heard a dull thud and tinkle of ice cubes as it fell to the thick carpet from her shaking fingers.
With a new, heightened awareness she realized that Tod's arm around her waist had tightened to a vise-like grip, but still she leaned helplessly against him, powerless to move. She was locked in immobility by the chains of alcohol weighing her down. And something else. The sluggish sensation of heaviness that bubbled up like molten lava from the very depths of her womb, spreading with a slow, inexorable intensity to the nerve-centered mouth of her vagina. She was conscious of a warm moisture gathering there and her entire body felt full, ripe to bursting.
Completely lost in the sea of sensuous arousal burgeoning in her loins, Joan had barely sensed the light, kneading pressure of Tod's fingers working in the soft flatness of her belly, kneading and stroking and moving downward. Pausing to savor the high, rounded protuberance of her pubic arch and delighting in their knowing exploration as if they had a life of their own.
He had shifted his position adroitly to where he was now standing almost directly behind her; her relaxed, passive body cradled in the encompassing shelter of both arms. As one hand teased at the silky, jutting muff of pubic curls under the scant protection of filmy dress and panties, the other slid from her slender waist to the soft plumpness at the underside swell of an outthrust breast. He allowed it to hesitate briefly in the warm, convex hollow between rib and breast, the full, resilient globe pulsating in his itching palm with the gentle rise and fall of her breathing.
A sensuous man, Tod was getting a lascivious kick from his furtive, wanton exploration of Joan's luscious curves. Having fucked Sally twice more since their little "quickie" that morning, he was now in no hurry and in a mood to enjoy this lust-inciting, surreptitious preliminary. He knew full well that Joan had been hit hard by her rapid consumption of the lethally strong potions of vodka, and the degrading, intoxicated reliance of such a pristine and unsuspecting girl on his strength gave him a sadistic satisfaction. But in a matter of moments the sexual stimulation of Joan's young, exciting body pressed so tantalizingly close proved too great a provocation.
The hand toying almost imperceptibly with her breast suddenly cupped the succulent mound with a fierce, bruising pressure that squeezed the soft, thinly covered flesh until tortured, fleshy ridges ballooned out from between his punishing fingers.
The electric shock of pain roused Joan jarringly from her sensuous, alcoholic euphoria. Yet for an infinitesimal, breathless instant, she was aware of wild, lusting surge of response to the demands of Tod's savage urgency. Every fiber of her being cried out with her own desperate, frustrated need. The maddening rage of desire that consumed her body with an uncontrollable fury was like nothing she had ever known and the stranger within had become a maniacal, lusting demon.
The lush, flowing lines of her body no longer leaned weakly against him. They thrust with a tensed hunger, passionate and eager, into his masculine bulk. His inflated cock sank into the deep crevice between her buttocks and the warm furrow contracted on his swollen hardness as if trying to devour it into her very bowels. And the soft, flattened cheeks of her ass gyrated lewdly back against the twin peaks of his pelvis bone, inciting his probing cock to a hot, throbbing pulsation jerking wildly in the imprisoning walls of writhing muscle.
Under the strength of his hand, in the wake of an initial, reflexive withdrawal, her aching breast soared voluptuously into his clasp of its own volition. The resilient flesh burned with a feverish glow from within, the turgid nipple boring into his palm with a searing heat. With a pounding exultation the swelling breast transmitted the thunderous beat of her heart to his kneading fingers.
Caressing the protrusion of flesh beneath the supple curve of her belly, he felt a swift undulation as though a silent, lusting shout had erupted from within the darkest depths of her womb. His fingers dug convulsively into the inviting mound, feeling the silken tendrils of pubic hair lick teasingly at his skin through the thin fabric.
He sensed rather than felt the sudden slump of her buttocks and the spreading motion of her thighs. Then his hand at her crotch scrabbled furiously at the obstruction of her skirt. With an incoherent oath, as his hot, bursting prick threatened to cleave the chafing tautness of material at his own crotch, he managed to clear a path to the narrow band of soaked lace that clung to her vaginal slit. An invading finger snaked under the filmy covering and wormed its way into the moist, fleshy warmth of her cunt. The satiny sheath was fantastically thrilling, wet and open and ready. He could feel a quivering contraction of the smooth, soft lips, and then--.
The lightning movement of Joan's body was so rapid and so completely unexpected that Tod Keyes didn't even realize what was happening. In one exciting moment Joan had burst into a pillar of flaming desire in his arms. In the next she stood facing him, backed up against the bar and staring wildly around her like a frightened animal at bay. And he found himself sprawled out full length in a chair, with his aroused cock thumping angrily against his thigh, staring up at her stupidly in shocked surprise.
"Mark, where's Mark?" Her voice was thick and she swayed drunkenly.
She peered about the room with the glazed expression of one who is not only very drunk but also at the brink of hysteria. Tod was far from sober himself, but despite a feeling of frustrated rage, he was not so far gone that he didn't know when to quit.
"Mark and Sal just went to the store after more ice," he assured her. "Nothin' for you to get excited about."
The placating words were barely out of his mouth when Sally entered the room, followed by a very unsteady Mark. He made for the sofa like he was walking on eggs, sat down very carefully, and then fell back heavily on the cushions. With a deep sigh he closed his eyes.
Sally had gone to the bar and was making them all a drink, but by the time she turned to offer one to Mark he had passed out like a light and was snoring softly.
Joan, in an alcoholic daze, not even certain if the emotional upheaval in Tod's embrace had been reality or erotic fantasy, allowed her sister to lead her upstairs to bed, leaving Mark in a stuporous sleep on the living room couch.
CHAPTER 4
He stirred restlessly in his sleep, unconsciously attempting to shake off the crawling thing that fluttered lightly but persistently at his chest. The movement was at first an annoying irritation, threatening to rouse him from a warm cocoon of dreamless, narcotic slumber. Then, as it ceased its pointless wanderings and settled down to a uniform, circling massage of his pectoral muscles, it became narcissistically pleasurable. His body relaxed.
Mark stirred again, but this time with the languid, sinuous writhing of a cat that is luxuriating in his mistress' caress. Kneeling at his side Sally paused to admire the rippling muscle and sinew of his bared, strong chest. She brushed over the downy-haired surface around the hard nipple-buds with a fleeting whisper of her lips and then leaned back.
With a sharp intake of breath she returned quickly to the ministrations of her hands on his belly. She could feel the firm, flat web of muscle there begin a reflexive undulation under her kneading fingers, and she felt a faint arching of his back to meet her touch.
After unbuttoning Mark's shirt she had begun her explorations of arousal with a slow, avid determination, but now she increased the firmness of her stroke, so that each long pressure of her fingers dug more deeply into the flexing muscles of his belly. And with each long stroke her hands moved downward, an insistent inch or two, along the trail of dark fuzz that led to the thickening underbrush at his groin.
As Mark felt himself being slowly drawn back to foggy-minded consciousness he struggled vainly against waking, longing to stay in the sweet depths of a sensuous oblivion. He lay dozing in the half-world between waking and sleeping, trying to hang on to the dream that had stirred his body to a voluptuous impulse of desire. A definitely phyiscal, hot-blooded surge of his prick made him aware that, dream or no, he had an erection. He reached down to ease the position of the swollen bulge in his pants and was startled to bewildered wakefulness when he discovered someone had already beaten him to it.
"What in hell!" he muttered thickly.
"You don't like? Ah, c'mon darling, who are you trying to kid? If this big, beautiful cock of yours isn't all ready to fuck, then little Sally doesn't know one when she sees it," she giggled softly. "And I've seen plenty of stiff pricks, believe me!"
Tod shook his head, as if he couldn't believe what he'd heard. But the lewd words, falling with a husky lasciviousness from the tender curve of his own young wife's sister's lips, acted as a bizarre sexual stimulant that was somehow as exciting as the teasing caress of her fingers in his pubic hair. His eyes flew open and through the alcoholic fog he saw her crouched over him in gleaming nakedness. He started to lift himself up, but this brought his chest in burning contact with her bared breasts, and he fell back with a groan.
She leaned toward him and moved her ripe body sinuously, titillating him, the erect nipples of her full breasts tracing crisscross patterns on his chest. The touch of her teasing nipple-tips sent such a rushing torrent of hot blood pounding into his prick that he was struck with a sudden horror. This was mad, insane! His own wife's sister-it was practically incest! But with a will of their own his hands flew eagerly to capture the tantalizing globes of needle-pointed flesh that were driving him crazy, and he pulled and kneaded at her breasts until the distended nipples were a throbbing pulsation in his strumming fingers.
He felt as if he were two Mark Trenton's, as if he had split into two men who could not communicate with each other. One watched it all, shamed by it, made wretched by this compulsion and wracked by the awareness of guilt, the way a child, in the midst of some private act it thinks evil, will yearn to stop and cannot. The other Mark stroked Sally's lush breasts and took a hard joy in releasing his savage need.
As his fondling of the tender flesh intensified to a bruising force Sally gasped.
"Ohhh-, take it easy," she said breathlessly. "Mark! You're hurting me!"
With shocking abruptness the sharp exclamation came like an echo of Joan's tortured cry, and the sound of her voice reverberated with a conscience-strickening roar in his ears. As if he'd unguardedly grabbed a red-hot template, he let go the plump breast-flesh and fell back, plagued by a weird mixture of desire and the memory of desire.
Why couldn't it be Joan, offering herself to him with such trembling, naked urgency instead of her sister?"
Once again he longed to will himself across the barrier of the past two days, to hold her in his arms, to take and possess that loveliness completely, utterly, to make love with exultancy, with joy and with savage abandon yet with new tenderness, and to bring her quickly to ecstasy, knowing in the instant of mutual fulfillment that at least part of his pleasure was the certainty of hers. And later with the renewal of passion, slowly this time, gently and now without urgency, to stir the deeper depths in both so that this time, this time they would come together, merge with minds dissolved in one another, all inhibitions gone and all singleness lost in total accord.
The moment was suspended, a dazzling anticipation shadowed by regret. Why the hell had he been such a damn fool ? What was he doing here ? Drunk and--.
Then all conscious choice was gone. He was quivering all over and his blood was raging again. Sanity was lost in Sally's purring voice saying, "Mmmmmm, foolish man, don't stop ... you've got me so hot ... here, feel--. "
Lost in the touch of her hands, the hot softness of her body and his own body's eager response, mind drunkenly blanked in lusting, animal arousal.
Her mouth came down on his, hard and demanding and tasting faintly of gin, her tongue searching with a swift, hungry pressure. He felt her hands tugging at his shoulders, at his shirt, as his tongue fenced avidly with hers. His loins were aflame, consumed with fiery blasts that swept through his whole body and he was trying to draw her up on top of him, but he seemed to be a frustrating tangle of legs and arms.
Suddenly his frantic fumbling drew them both off balance and he found himself sprawled on the floor. The nylon carpeting was a firm bristle on his naked back, beneath his shoulders and thighs--. Only then was he groggily aware that he'd been stripped down to his shorts. For a moment he sighted down the sweat-glistening length of his body with blank astonishment, noting the towering protuberance standing out like a white sail from the broadcloth bisecting his middle.
"Lie still, darling, for a minute. Let me finish what I started."
Sally's voice was a heated whisper in his ear and the pulsing in his shorts became a vibrant ache. Turning his head, he feasted his eyes on her ripe curves. She was lying on her side, propped up on one elbow, only inches away. The sight of her full breasts, the heavy weight of one cherry-tipped mound caressing the other, the sharp indentation of the swelling rise of rounded hip and thigh sloping into the luxuriant triangle at the base of her belly, fired circles of sensation from the top of his skull to the pit of his stomach.
Her head lolled, heavy, sleepy, on her slender neck, but her eyes were alive with an aquamarine brilliance, alive with a sensual hunger. Every pore of her smooth skin seemed open, exuding a womanly essence of invitation, and there were tiny, almost imperceptible movements, small rolling pulsations of belly, hip and thigh.
An impulse to grab out blindly for the tempting flesh was desperate. But somehow he waited almost in spite of himself for her to make the next move, obeying her request to be still as if he were bound by a humid, hypnotic spell. She was mouthing words, uttering singsong obscenities of love, and her lips, wet-shining, seemed to swell as she spoke. But he heard only a fuzzy droning like the summer sound of bees.
His feverish thoughts were centered on the massive erection of his penis. It felt like a balloon inflated with a gaseous, volatile substance, stretched to the bursting point and threatening to ignite and explode with his very next breath. The swollen bulge strained upward with such a pounding force that the light material of his shorts was a harshly abrasive, almost unbearable, construction.
Without warning he felt a sudden rushing coolness of air, gentle and searing, on the enflamed, bloated head, as his prick swung free, reaching ceiling-ward with an excited lunge. Whether an action of his own burning impatience or one of Sally's demanding passion was responsible for this welcome release, he neither knew nor cared. He was conscious only of a giddy lightheadedness, a mindless easement, as the heavy weight of his cock thrilled to this new freedom. It rent the air like an uncoiled spring and he flexed his loins with sensual relief, fibers of the deep-pile carpeting digging into the hollows of his muscle-tensed buttocks with minute bristle-fingers.
Then her hand fastened on his swollen flesh, holding him in a firm but trembling grip that bespoke her own impatient desire. The sudden touch of her fingers, soft and cool on his hot, bursting prick, roused a chill of excitement that spiraled wildly through the distended organ, from the outmost tip of the open, viscous glans to its dark, hairy base. A deep groaning gasp, like he had been punched in the pit of his stomach, welled up in his throat. His mouth sucked for air and a convulsive shudder shook his frame.
In that prolonged, shuddering moment he felt himself sinking into a bottomless quicksand of atavistic, animal lust. Her grip had tightened on his prick, and she squeezed it between her thumb and the tips of her fingers. She rotated the taut skin over the thick, sinewy staff as though trying to absorb the aroused touch and feel of him, to assimilate the very life of his pulsing cock through the receptive pores of her fingertips. Then the movement of her strong caress switched abruptly to a hard, rhythmical stroking.
His hips jerked up automatically to receive the pistoning motion, so delicious and so very necessary to the tumescent extension of his growing desire. He gritted his teeth and dug his heels into the carpet, feeling his prick grow into an endlessly expanding, ravenous snake in her pummeling fist. Her hand slithered up and down the rigid length of his cock smoothly, lubricated to fluid ease with the wet, sticky moisture emitted fitfully from its tiny, gasping mouth. When one teasing finger streaked out to his balls, he felt the blood roil within as her nail scraped sharply on the furred sac and he moaned aloud with the pleasure of sweet pain. He arched the lower part of his body from hip to toe and thrust his loins in a communal rhythm with the fucking manipulation of her warm, wet hand. Desire, sickening and intense, impelled his writhing hips in a frantic search for release for the torrent raging in his sperm weighted balls.
His heart was pounding in anticipation, its beat echoing like thunder in his head, and he felt like it was pumping every last drop of blood in his veins into the bursting head of his cock. He had a vague awareness of Sally's presence, a composite of supple curves and hollows pressed against him, flowing in unison with his writhing. And although the warm flesh snuggled close increased his excitement, it was no longer indispensable. Of a far more vital need was that coalescence of all womanly flesh, the answer to completion, into which he was now pounding his cock, fighting to reach orgasm.
In his passion and alcohol-distorted mind, as she had quickly roused his penis to uncontrollable urgency with skillful manual dexterity, his one goal was to find the immediate relief promised there.
Sally had other ideas.
Only seconds away from climax, so near that his body was trembling with the inner, secret exultation of remembered ecstasy, Mark felt an abrupt, maddening absence of pressure on his cock. Then he felt the rock-hard appendage hit his belly with a wet slap, propelled in a swinging arc by the impetuous of her hands quick release. Momentarily stunned, he just lay there, unable to control the convolutions of his hips, still straining, still thrusting his cock into the void of empty air. The blood-filled head, a glabrous knob that throbbed a raw, angry crimson, wavered like an unmoored balloon sent helplessly adrift, seemingly detached from the bloated whiteness of his penis.
"Jesus God!" he said when he could catch his breath.
The upright cudgel still jerked wildly, tiny glans-mouth working like a fish out of water, looking as though it might erupt a jet of seminal fluid of its own volition.
"Wait!" Sally begged him. "Don't cum now, I want to get on top of you!"
"Hurry," he mumbled thickly.
His head was whirling and through lust-clouded vision he saw her crouched on her hands and knees, swaying unsteadily. The pendulous globes of her breasts, coral nipples erect and quivering, thrust out tauntingly from between the brace of her arms. He felt his prick jump, once again catching the scent of its original target. This time his predatory hunger was not to be denied. But she was too quick for him. Before his sluggish brain could record the surging impulse of his penis, she was astride him with a surprisingly agile leap.
She held him tightly in strong thighs, clamping the lean, corded muscles of his hips in the convexity of soft, hollowing flesh. She poised herself above his stiff tower and he could feel the damp tendrils of pubic hair grabbing gently against its distended, spongy head. The teasing silken strands were like exposed wires on his sensitive flesh, transmitting an electrifying tingle of needle-point shocks through the length of his prick.
He gasped and looked down. The expanded slit of her cunt was visibly throbbing its lips in invitation, the wet moist furrow held wide apart between the inverted triangle of her spraddled thighs. With an almost imperceptible wriggle of her hips she lowered the soft, glossy folds of stretched vaginal flesh until the blunt head of his cock rested lightly in the pulsating orifice. The tiny, rosy bud of her clitoris could be seen clearly, a glistening, tumid mound standing out proudly above his enflamed hardness. He felt the moist, resilient cunt-lips expand and contract on the throbbing head of his cock and held his breath. He wanted desperately to wait, to savor the excruciating softness and moisture and warmth enclosing his prick with such exquisite pressure. But its jerking head was insinuating itself up and down, up and down in a maddening tease between the mucous-filmed flanges until the white heat in his belly flamed out of control.
With a swift, simultaneous urgency his hands grabbed for the rounded ovals of her buttocks just as her thumb and fingertips closed on the bursting head of his prick and forced the foreskin tightly back. His body arched, taut as a bowstring, to meet the devouring onslaught of her loins as she plunged downward with a triumphant howl. She skewered his lusting cock into the clamping walls of her vagina all the way to the hilt. A thunderous gasp pushed up from his bowels and through his tortured lungs as the scalding grip of cunt flesh plummeted down around his raw cock, forcing it savagely into the elastic tightness of resistant skin and muscle. He could feel the soft flesh ripple back in screaming waves. Then it contracted with avid hunger as his prick ground to a jarring halt, deeply imbedded in her middle with the blunt rubbery head pressed hard against her cervix. With a practiced skill she flexed a snare of tiny, inner muscles and his body began to churn beneath her and he sank deep into an angry blue and purple mist that sucked him in.
So Sally took her sister's husband, bouncing wildly up and down, buffeting her cunt on his cock. With animal lust and unholy joy and an avaricious, self-righteous satisfaction. She came at him ferociously, all grasping hands and clasping cunt and demanding urgent body.
And his flesh gave in to her demands with mindless lust as they banged against each other with hard, hostile thrusts. The world turned upside down and he did what he had to do as she pounded him into the carpet and he cried out for more. In that initial violent coupling he contributed a body to a cause, without hesitation and with little joy. It was over almost as quickly as it began. A hurried, grunting, carnal act that began with Sally poised like a carnivorous bird about to strike at a snake mesmerized to helpless arousal, and ended with Mark pumping the venom of his sperm into the invulnerable receptacle of her belly.
But the next time--. For there was a next time, and still another and another. With his wife's sister's hands playing with his flesh, drawing forth the heady sensual notes he kept muted within him; with her fingertips attuned to every erogenous chord in a man's body; with her warm, hot mouth an exquisite instrument of arousal on his prick, sated desire was quickly rejuvenated. Mind and body drunk with alcohol and drugged by the opiate of sex, the urgency of the animal continued wild witfrin him.
The next time, more enduring, was far better. Flesh against flesh, hot and humid, with aromas that provoked and excited. Caresses and kisses, gropings and oral delights, in savage tempo he gave as good as he got. Then again and yet again, with time to practice, to experiment, to employ clever and erotic maneuvers, each better in varying degree, and somehow promising more. Until at last, bodies slipping and sliding, wet with sweat and the pungent excretions of passion, every crack and crevice violated, every orifice and protrudence sucked, tasted and savored, they locked in the throes of one final, convulsive conflagration.
For a long time afterwards Mark lay motionless save for an involuntary, a spasmodic, twitching ripple of his depleted body. He was almost asleep when a foreboding sense of horror invaded the fringe of his mind and he thought of Joan. But the full force of his betrayal didn't come close to striking him then. For Sally, unsure of her prowess with a sobering Mark, had spiked each hiatus with love potions of gin.
He raised his head with an effort and his clouded vision focused blearily on his nakedness, on the moist gleam of his prick, limp and flaccid between semen caked thighs. A wave of revulsion swept through him and vinegary tears of shame and self-pity began to squeeze out of his eyes, weak and stinging. When he raised himself to a sitting position and tried to get up he was too drunk and too physically drained to make it to his feet. He slumped back heavily to the floor, trapped in the sodden carapace of his traitor flesh. He had a dim recollection of Sally's parting admonition that he'd better put on his shorts at least, and he thought, supposing Joan should find him like this?
But the last flicker of consciousness, before a gray fog closed in and he passed out, was a memory of lust, the almost luminous whiteness of the alternating clench of Sally's buttocks as she climbed the stairs.
CHAPTER 5
Joan lay staring drunkenly into the darkness, as though the mere act of looking could lift the black curtain of her anxiety.
Unsteady and dazed, she had followed Sally upstairs to one of five bedrooms in an almost segregated wing of the rambling house. The area was built out over a terrace, in actuality only a half-story above the main living area, but she'd had the weird sensation the short flight of stairs was an endless climb. Every tissue in her body felt like molten lead, weighting her down as she moved half blindly in the wake of a gleaming expanse of leg-flesh displayed by Sally's micro-mini skirt. She had clung to the wrought-iron railing for support, feeling incongruously lightheaded considering a heaviness in her limbs which made the attainment of each step a major accomplishment. It seemed strange that her plodding gait was able to keep up with those twinkling legs ahead, and it wouldn't have surprised her to see them diminish into nothingness, vanish completely in some mysterious upper region.
A fleeting picture of her own laborious progress flashed across her mind's eye. It was like watching the stop-action camera on a televised football game, but with a difference. Her motions had none of the awesome, slow-motion grace of a defensive tackle hurtling his man to the ground or an offensive guard holding the line. She moved with a dull, quicksand heaviness.
When she finally surmounted the obstacle of the stairway her mood had changed with such startling quickness that but for a strong effort to propel her body forward she would have tumbled back down. She recovered her balance and hurried after Sally with the sensation of having reached a high plateau. She was short of breath and subconsciously waited for her ears to pop, feeling lighter than air.
Her first sight of the guest room, which Sally presented with a flourish reminiscent of the grandiose sweep of red velvet curtains on an opening night, had brought her back to earth and restored some portion of reality to her liquor-distorted mind. She gazed around and couldn't suppress a giggle. For in essence the room was a replica, on an even grander scale, of Sally's note paper. It was a gem of bad taste, huge, blatant and expensive. Dominated by an enormous round bed, everything in it was pink and white, much too cute and precious. As in the powder room here again was a mirrored wall, but crystal clear, reflecting the bed and its pink satin covering.
The bed and its reflected splendor suddenly took on the illusion of two huge anemic hearts, which she expected to see summarily beating in three-quarter time. This absurd imagine set off a new freshet of giggles that ended on an alarming note of hysteria and suddenly her mirth had become a barricade against tears.
Sally hadn't lingered and for several minutes she'd been glad to be alone. The torrent of vodka rushing through her bloodstream had begun to stir a curious blend of emotions. When she left the living room she had wanted nothing more than to escape the sluggish weight of her body in instant unconsciousness. The effects of alcohol were too unfamiliar for her to recognize the following typical inebriate stages from spurious laughter to maudlin tears. These were gone but the feeling of weightlessness which had displaced her lethargy remained. And an undefined mood of sensual awareness, a strange sense of excitement and pepped-up anticipation had begun to build within her. After wandering aimlessly and unsteadily around the spacious room as if she were seeking an outlet for this offbeat energy, the dictates of habit had guided her into the nightly preparations for bed.
She had adjusted the shower, undressed and gone uncertainly in search of gown and robe. Only then did she realize that she'd done nothing about unpacking. More-the keys to their luggage were in Mark's pocket! Turning impulsively to the door she caught a reflection of her nakedness in the mirrored wall. The sight of herself standing there in the nude, one hand on the door knob and about to rush downstairs stark, staring bare, had shocked her into some perception of just how loaded, how ready-for-anything-drunk, she was. She had felt an uneasy shame, but even as it nudged her mind, the rising excitement in her body became suddenly recognizable in the reflected image.
Through eyes now blurred with passion as well as alcohol she saw the sensual, primitive animal within plumping out her breasts, tweaking the nipples to rosy, up-thrust peaks that yearned with a visible ache. She saw the flat plane of her belly hollow with her tense, indrawn breath. In the warmth of the room she shivered and tried to look away, aware of a forbidden thrill of narcissistic pleasure, but the lower part of her body drew her gaze like a magnet.
She had stared at the flowing lines of softly rounded hips tapering into firm thighs, sleep and supple in her skin, as her knees bent slightly in her weakness, a gentle interruption in the long sweeping strength of lean legs and slender ankles, in all a structural miracle of soft textured flesh over rippling muscle and fine bone. Then her eyes had locked on the dusky indentation between the gentle rise of full-fleshed thighs, on the bronzed tendrils of pubic down trembling in a warm breeze fanned by the flames from within that were burning brightly. She had felt an insatiable hunger loosed within her body and had seen a swift response in the swell of her pubic mound, its involuntary jutting, its thrust of desire propelled by the inciting pool of liquid warmth drenching her vaginal lips.
There had been nothing in her barren sexual existence to prepare Joan for this head-on encounter with her secret self. None of the books she had read, hot words on cold paper; none of Mark's passionate embraces, the keen edge of desire blunted by inhibition; not even the glimpse of that inner monster had compelled this sheer carnal awareness.
As if obeying some ancient tribal ritual she had smoothed her hands slowly and sensuously over the ripe curves of her body, a primeval, illicit love affair of the flesh.
The warm solid spheres of her breasts swelled into her palms with a soft urgency. The nipples hardened to pointed erection and flushed from petal pink to a hot red under the kneading of her fingers, sending a shiver of sensual pleasure down her spine. When the aroused nipple-tips reached a peak of sensation almost too exquisite to be endured her hands had glided down the silken smoothness of narrow waist to the rounded contours of her hips. They paused there to strike the full-fleshed curves with a gentle, circling motion then shifted to probe the soft resilience of her stomach. As her exploring fingertips pressed on, down into the silky fleece at the base of her belly, her body had moved in desire, crying out for attention stronger and more exciting, for an increased tempo of manipulation.
Of their own volition her legs had widened their stance, parting her thighs in invitation. As if following a predestined pattern her fingers delved into the warm, open furrow at the juncture there. The wet velvet lips of her cunt pulsated, tiny muscles flexing beneath the soft skin, grasping at her fingertips with avid hunger. The sensation was delicious-and maddening. One finger plunged fiercely, recklessly, into the moist cuntal sheath. In the wake of its plundering thrust the sensitive clitoral ridge sprang alive with a hard, vibrant swiftness.
The tumescent mound throbbed with such an insistent demand that Joan had been shocked to a sudden sense of her own erotic stimulation. With the clamping walls of her vagina encompassing the intruding digit in a reflexive grip and the heat from her thighs rising to encircle her hand, the temptation to gratify the long-starved desire clamoring within her womb was violent. Yet as she luxuriated in the sensual thrills that surged through her a thin wedge of awareness in her enflamed mind of who and what she was stilled her hand.
Over the drumming crescendo of her heartbeats the sound of rushing water coming from the shower was like a sudden splintering of myriad glass crystals. Long stored breath escaped her lungs with a shuddering sigh. The finger she withdrew from its inner sanctuary gleamed with a sweet moisture. Her body, the well-defined lines and curve that had sagged and softened, a snow maiden caught unawares by a summer breeze, melting, once more regained its lissome supple stature.
Moving slowly and carefully, as one fearful of waking in the enchantment of a fantastic dream, she had gone to the bath. A heavy vapor of rosy steam rebounded off the pink tiled walls in a layering mist, blinding her, but she groped her way through the damp cloud and turned off the shower. Going back through the doorway she had flipped a master switch for the lights in both rooms, and she hesitated, cut adrift from sight and wavering in the blackness. Then with a somnambulistic sureness she padded barefoot directly to the monstrous tuffet of a bed and slid into its cool refuge.
In the dark she touched the fresh pink sheets and the night stretched behind the confines of any room, into a world of desire, of a man to love and be loved by, a realm of ecstatic fulfillment. So sexually titillated, drifting in an alcoholic waking dream, she hadn't the least doubt that Mark would be coming to her. When an eternity of several minutes had passed she had been stirred to a physical passion of near frenzy by the mere thoughts of their naked bodies in tight embrace. The silken sheets became a torment rubbing against her nipples and she had writhed with anticipation. And now with a sudden anxiety.
She found she didn't dare close her eyes for then the bed seemed to revolve at an astronomical rate of speed. At the shattering thought, what if Mark doesn't come at all?, she leaned up on one elbow, about to throw caution to the winds, to get up and go downstairs to him.
When the door swung open a brief flash of light from the hall illuminated the blackness with the sudden brilliance of a camera's flash bulb. Joan blinked. Then she heard the metallic click of the latch even as her lids raised, and the light was gone. For a breathless moment she thought her mind was playing a teasing prank, but a soft thud of flesh on wood followed by a muttered curse cut through the velvet dark.
"Oh, Mark! Darling!"
A thousand words of love, of eager welcome, of longing and endearment filled her heart until it seemed veritably to the bursting point, but they were swallowed up in her mounting elation. Only the sound of his harsh, indrawn breath disturbed the silence.
"Well, I'll be goddamned!" Tod Keyes astonishment was so strong the words were almost expelled from his thoughts aloud but somehow he managed to throttle them to the startled gasp. Halfway in his fumbling progress to the bed he paused, a knuckled fist nursing the hip that had caught the corner of a table, letting his brain absorb the full significance of Joan's eager cry.
So the new bride thinks it's her ever-lovin' husband coming to bed, does she? Sweet Jesus! If she could only see him now, bare assed and fucking the hell out of her own sister! Man, Sally was getting one helluva bang, he mused. That guy was really hung--. The way those two--. His prick thumped, remembering.
For Tod had checked out the living room to make sure Mark was either asleep or occupied, before coming to the guest room. Then he had lingered to watch their sex play until he'd gotten too worked up to stay any longer.
How-about-that!, he gloated now, she thinks I'm Mark! Wouldn't it frost her to know--? Hell no!
Suddenly he found the bizarre situation a huge joke and could have laughed outright when his knees struck the edge of the bed. He had fully expected to find Joan dead to the world after all she'd had to drink. To discover her not only awake, but ready and eager, as he suspected, rightly, to be fucked, was more than he'd hoped for. Would she accept him as willingly as she would her husband? The thought crossed his mind but didn't signify. He intended to screw her whether she liked it or not, and he had every confidence that she'd eat it up.
Eat it up! That was it! He congratulated himself on what seemed like a brilliant idea. I'll just have Mark give his shy wife one sweet surprise! Hot damn! And when she finds out later who her lover really was--. And what a story to tell the fellows tomorrow! It'll kill 'em!
Joan had felt the mattress sag under what she thought was the weight of Mark's body. Aware of his presence over her she felt the blood singing wildly deep within her body. A body that hungered for him, flesh warm and eager for his flesh. She felt his maleness hovering over her, rousing in her a swift desire from somewhere back in timelessness. This time, this here and now, she thought, everything will be all right.
His hand came down upon her breasts as if from out of nowhere, fitting around the up-turned mound tightly, flattening the hard nipple back into it's own breast-flesh, strong and insistent, oppressive yet thrilling. And the delicate flesh came alive, nipple throbbing hotly, straining upward and forward. Relief bubbled up from the well of desire as his touch lightened to a teasing massage. The taut point of nipple, sprung free of its trap, quivered to the darting lashes of his fingers.
Ahhh, yes, persistently, but gently, now. This time was going to be the perfect ending to the dream!
Tod could feel the culmination of passion spiraling through her entire body in the heated response of one hard, surging tip of flesh. Instinctively he had loosed the savage pressure of his grip, determined to carry out the charade as he'd planned. Too, this dream-like quality of the night had somehow communicated itself to him. But the thought of her waiting for him so eagerly, this body that had scorned his advances abruptly before now begging for his touch, goaded his prick into rock-hard erection. He could feel the blood had begun to seep from the contracting gland at its tip, smearing stickily against the smoothness of its resting place on her thigh.
In the midst of his exhilaration he thought damn! If only those blasted drapes didn't shut out even a glimmer of outside moonlight! He strained his eyes, trying to adjust to the thick dark, but was able to distinguish no more than an illusion of her naked whiteness. The turgid head of his cock, moving sluggishly of its own weight to bore into the soft resilience of her flesh, was driving him crazy. He slowly massaged the thick foreskin back and forth over the pulsing gland as he imagined the sight before him. He had fucked more than his share of voluptuous women, but without restoring to force never one as pure and innocent, as unaware of her own potential, as this. A sadistic delight in humiliating her, compelling her to bend to his will so unknowingly, was strong enough to curb his lust, to turn him into a far more tender lover than was his wont.
He wanted her badly, but kneeled over her writhing body, stroking himself into a rigidity that he could imagine worming its way into the tantalizing recesses of her cunt. He felt the muscles grow tense beneath the head of his cock's probing wetness, felt a slight shift of her legs, and he pictured the open readiness of the hair-lined slit, could almost feel the moist lips of her vagina nibbling hungrily at his swollen hardness. With an effort he thrust the lewd vision from his thoughts, so stimulating that for a moment his cock threatened to unload his hot sperm into the inner softness of her thigh. Much as he wanted to ram his warbled shaft mercilessly into her belly, he waited, rummaging his hands feverishly over the thrusting, needle-pointed spheres of her breasts, her flat stomach, her undulating hips, bring forth unintelligible animal sounds as she responded in primitive rhythm-from the untapped sources of her being.
Feeling her body, warm and pliant and pulsing, hungry-hungrier than his-for that moment, incited his own lust to a more frenzied pitch. He bent close and his forearms fell across her thighs, pinioning her, and his broad hands pushed with sweating palms at the unresisting softness of her inner thighs, spreading them wide apart. He felt the sheathed muscles twitch with straining anticipation under the pressure of his fingers as he adjusted his position swiftly, using his hands for leverage to shift from her side to crouch on all fours between her spread-eagled legs. Lowering his head to the circling arch he could feel the emanations of warmth, a teasing breath, hot and sultry on his cheeks from her heated flesh. The pungent incense of inner moisture flowing from deep inside her body wafted through his flared nostrils and he caught his breath, savoring the woman fragrance with its heady sensuality, before pressing his hot mouth to the flexing hollow of inner thigh.
His lips sucked avidly, drawing soft folds of tender skin and tissue into the salivating cavern of his mouth, and his suctioning tongue cupped the raised nodules of flesh with a wet, tasting hunger. As he let his hands play with wanton abandon over the smooth expanse from her bending and unbending knees to the silky encroachment of pubic hair in the sharp crevice that divided pelvis and thigh, he could feel the uncontrolled gyrations of her buttocks struggling to thrust the swelling mound held captive between his fingertips downward.
With the initial daring of Tod's devouring, open-mouthed kiss hot on flesh so maddeningly near to the lips of her vagina, so close to hidden recesses supposedly inviolate to such erotic approach a part of Joan's mind had cried out in puritan shock. It had sensed his roaring, obscene satisfaction mingled with his urgent need, running beneath his lovemaking like a subterranean stream. The greater portion of her mind, breathing out the fury of her own lust, had ridiculed the puritan imp, bidding it to stop acting like a foolish virgin. Wasn't she wrapped in the safe, warm blanket of her love for Mark? And in his love for her? Besides, she felt she had some restitution to make, to let him set the terms. Paradoxically, her body made its own rules and at this moment with the fire of his mouth igniting the fire between her thighs like a blow torch fanning a flame already beyond control, this moment-removed from place and time itself-she was steeped in a euphoric unreality. And it was suddenly no longer important to think, to understand. It was enough to be loved like this, to want to be loved like this--.
She felt his hands and lips and tongue do a thousand, small wonderful things to her burning flesh and writhed in sensual torment. Her own hands moved like disembodied beings, sliding hungrily over her throbbing breasts, down her smooth, flat stomach, coming to rest in the tangle of his hair, fluttering wildly. Her head lolled from side to side, staring eyes glazed with passion, heedless of the dark, now, unaware if it were day or night. Her hips ground uncontrollably into the mattress, fighting the pressure of his hands, trying to bring the palpitating opening of her starved cunt into the proximity of his succoring mouth.
Tod worked with an increasing sensation of an almost diabolic power. His most erotic dreams wouldn't have portrayed a surrender of his wife's sister's young loveliness as intoxicating as this. She was completely at his mercy-and loving every second of it! He wanted to wait before going on to his next move, to enjoy the squirming of her aching desire under his mouthing caresses on her thighs, but his prick had become a pounding urgency, it's monstrous length thumping angrily against the leaning overhang of his belly. He knew she was fast reaching the state where she would be too far gone to object to anything he wanted her to do and the knowledge, abetted by his own lusting cock, urged him on.
Against the futile, desperate clutching of her hands at his head he reared back with ease. The startled moan of protest that escaped through her clenched teeth was a gratifying sound and the dark mask a gloating sneer distorting his slack, drooling lips. His hands moved slowly up her thighs, then he allowed them to sink luxuriously into the full mat of soft pubic hair. With an insistent pressure of strong, blunt fingers he splayed the fleshy, hair-lined lips of the drenched furrow apart, creating a vulnerable access to her moist secret being. The exciting aroma was more permeating now, ineffably delectable and an unmistakable target. His face was close enough to the quivering opening of her cunt for him to feel the tantalizing brush of wet pubic curls on his month. He flicked the tongue into the soft depths, then withdrew it swiftly to run a teasing circle around the moist outer edges of smooth, throbbing flesh.
He felt the quick, thrusting surge of her hips and freed his hands from the reflexive contraction of her thighs, reaching to steady the frenzied undulations of her buttocks in a strong clasp. Her hands clawed wildly at his hair and he let her have her way at last. As his mouth pressed hungrily against the pink folds of flesh, he thrust his tongue deep into the warm, wet tunnel, flicking the pointed tip in a spiraling motion along the clasping vaginal walls.
"Ooooooooh," Joan uttered a low, unconscious groan as the seeking probe of his tongue entered the pulsating cavity.
Her thighs looked convulsively, holding his head in a vise-like grip. Momentarily he felt as though he were being devoured into the enraged fastness of her demanding cunt. The walls of her vagina opened and closed on his invading tongue, attempting to draw it inward with a pulling, sucking motion. It seemed like a strong, suctioning tornado had roared into his mouth for the express purpose of tearing his tongue out by its very roots. He was finding it hard to breathe in the smothering entrapment of flesh, so he dug his fingers into the resilient ovals of her buttocks with' a brutal, nail-biting pressure. The relaxing grip of her thighs was immediate. Her body cringed with the stab of unexpected pain-and the remembered pain of another time, another place.
She stilled for the space of his harshly expelled breath, but the hot, saber-pointed tip of his tongue still nested in the ragged flanges of her quivering cunt-lips was too precious, too necessary, for her aroused body to relinquish. It readily forgave all grievances and slowly but surely revolved from outraged hurt to excited, carnal anticipation. Tod felt the tensing muscles gathering of an animal about to spring, and he was prepared.
Joan was totally unprepared for the hot, sweet flash of agony that came with the swift, searing stab of his tongue. It shot out, its soft flicking tip circling her trembling, erected clitoris and the ensuing sensation was so excruciating that it brought tears to her eyes. His lips sucked voraciously at her cunt, drawing the warm, soft folds deep into the exciting cavern of his mouth and his tongue continued its maddening lashing against the straining, sensitive bud of her sex, sending sky-rockets of ecstasy shooting through her, each one more exquisite than the last.
He worked the hot probing tip up and down the moist length of the quivering slit. Starting at the soft brush at the base of her belly, he pressured its downward swipe, down over the raw elasticity of her grasping vagina and into the crevice of her writhing buttocks. There he paused, letting the wet tip explore the tight, puckered anal ring with a probing insistence. This strange yet thrilling ministrations was completely new to her and she sought to heighten the unexpected delight. Frantically she thrashed as the oddly inciting probe brought new tears to her eyes and the moisture that filled her swelled like a flooded river.
The increased tempo of the wild exultance in Joan's body sounded a clarion peal of warning with an uncanny expediency in Tod's lusting senses. Although he had reached the boiling point himself, he raised his head with some reluctance from the sweet enticement of her steaming cunt. Christ, he thought, that's one helluva piece of ass! But it sure as hell wouldn't do for him to suck her off! That only wasn't the idea behind this fucking joke, but if he permitted her to cum first, to get rid of all that juice of swinging desire, where in the friggin' hell would that leave him? Up in the goddamn air with a stiff prick-that's where. So ever upward and onward! He chuckled coarsely at the allusion.
He had to exert considerable force to pry Joan's legs from around his neck, but her lithe strength, even greatly increased by desire, was no match for his hulking weight and he managed to shake her loose, finally, like an angry terrier. As the brief struggle ended, his torso rose to an upright position between her knees and his rigid cock swung out to brush against the dripping pubic hair. Her hands reached down in panic and grasped the full length of the hard member.
"Ohhh! Mark, please!" she wailed, splaying her thighs and digging her heels into the mattress, twisting her hips up toward it.
She moaned and moved violently beneath him, unable to contain the cruelly frustrated demands now battering in livid rage at every nerve in her body. She had to have it! She had to fill this desperately aching void thundering within!
Her hands tugged at his cock in a demented frenzy, trying to guide it to the open mouth of her hungry cunt. A wild, seeking thrust of her loins finally lodged its jerking head in the viscous oval of slippery folds.
As he felt the wet, hot flesh nibbling hungrily at the swollen, blood-pressured head, it was all Tod could do to restrain himself from ramming forward and impaling her eager young body on his bursting cock, but the urge to subjugate her took precedence over desire. In that same instant, while the bulbous probe of his penis thumping with a hot pulsation against her vaginal lips was far from slaking her lust, the contact had been electric. How good it felt! Her body still gyrated madly of its own accord, but as the fantastic sensation of his cock on her cunt shot through her in a shattering wave, her tight grip on the distended organ relaxed. This was all the time he needed and her hands were still grasping at empty air and the mouth of her cunt was sucking at nothingness when the weight of his buttocks on her abdomen forced the breath from her lungs in a tortured gasp.
With a quick, crab-like motion he had slithered forward up her body and was now straddling her with one leg on either of her heaving ribs. Once again he inwardly cursed the dark. For despite the fact that with perfect aim the rigid length of his prick had tunneled unerringly into the narrow cleft between her breasts, he missed the tremendously erotic sight of luscious breast-flesh, soft and yielding, surrounding his own male hardness. Pink nipples quivering with desire for the deep vermilion of his cock's bloated head--. Beautiful!
He also wished he could see the expression on the lovely face only inches away from the blood-depths he sensed a sudden, frantic withdrawal, filled tip. Was it surprised and shocked? Revolted? Or-just possibly-lusting?
His questioning mind was answered swiftly in that identical order.
For with Joan's rasping expulsion of air still harsh in his ears, he felt a quick, involuntary tension in his body beneath him. Then a violent shudder coursed through the convulsively writhing frame and from some secret and hidden inner depths he sensed a sudden, frantic withdrawal. Unconsciously he held his breath, as though waiting on the premonition of imminent disaster. When he heard her gasp evolve into throaty mewlings of pleasure and felt her groping hands fasten on his buttocks, the fingers digging into their sinewy cheeks with an urgent pressure that inched his cock deeper into its warm furrow, he let his breath out slowly in a long sigh of relief.
What in hell's the matter with me? he wondered. I know she was ready for anything, and a damn sight more-begging for it! The power of his male vanity, his ego, refused to countenance any suggestion of physical revulsion toward his sex and his mind automatically discarded it.
The tumbling sequence of Joan's emotional response had been real enough, but it had been purely instinctive, the reaction of a life-time of inbred inhibition. Just as the response of her body, mindless and with all inhibition unraveled by the magic of alcohol, was the result of a sex-starved, deeply sensual woman's arousal by the man she loved. At that point of time Tod's masquerade was of little consequence. Following her instinctive grab, one that was too much too late, anyway, to stop him in the normal position of love, her flesh answered the demands of his without further reservation. She didn't want the beautiful ride to stop. There were more peaks to climb, pleasure to taste.
With his penis a hot pulsation in the intimate softness between her breasts, she felt sensations careening through her body in brilliant colors like peacock feathers, whirling in her blood with a terrible excitement.
Her final relinquishment was like a swift-flaring fire that intangibly stimulated Tod's lust and his hands sought her breasts, crushing the soft resilient mounds with suddenly avid fierceness, causing tiny ridges of flesh to stand out between his fingers. He kneaded and stretched at the pliant skin and muscles until it throbbed with a feverish heat against his palms and her now incessant moaning became almost a sobbing cry. Yet he could feel the hardness of her nipples boring urgently into his calloused flesh, aching for more. He pushed the pointed tips together until they met across her body, forming a delightful, yielding wedge which engulfed his cock with a warm, pulsing pressure. It felt as though the pound of blood in his prick was an extension of the thumping beat of her heart. The barbarous sensation drove him wild.
His hips began a sensuous rocking motion, back and forth, driving his rock-hard staff slowly in and out of the exquisite warmth of the pulsating channel formed by the twin peaks of her breasts. To ensure the full, rounded length of his rigidity complete access to the tight sheath and to enable it to glide in and out with ease, he raised up slightly on his bended knees. This freed Joan from his confining weight and he could feel her body begin to move in little thrusting, gliding motions, grazing the silken smoothness of her belly back and forth over the flexing cheeks of his ass. This excited him even more than the clenching and kneading grip of her fingers, which at times came tantalizingly near to the tight, throbbing hole of his anus nestled in the separation of the sinewy globes.
He gradually increased the tempo of his rocking motion, shoving his cock further into the smooth, resilient tunnel until its blunt head was halted by the firm, gentle rounding point of her chin. The soft inner flesh of her breasts was already wetly lubricated from a slow ooze of seminal fluid and now with each forward stroke the seeping glans-tip deposited a glaze of its sticky moisture on her chin.
The momentum of Joan's body stepped up to match his rhythm, then went beyond it. The hungry void in her womb cried out still for fulfillment, but its silent cry was barely heard. For every orifice and crevice in her lusting body were hawking their shrill demands with gluttonous envy for the deliciously stuffed chasm of breast-flesh. But to her nothing mattered, nothing existed, except the hard cudgel, hot and throbbing and wet, burrowing in and out of her aroused breasts. She felt the pulsing tip of his cock planting moist kisses on her chin with its wet, tiny mouth and found her own overflowing like the moisture between her thighs. She somehow knew what she wanted to do-had to do.
Before tonight such a thought would have filled Joan with revulsion, but sanity had deserted her as if it had never been and all rationality had turned to ashes in the devastating flame of desire. She writhed and twisted beneath him, her buttocks grinding hungrily into the bed below, her knees bending and unbending, pulling her legs up then flailing them out wildly. Her head thrashed from side to side and incoherent mumblings rose and fell from her opening and closing mouth.
She was completely out of control and he could feel his prick growing and expanding in the heated friction of rubbing flesh and he knew it was close to the point of ejaculation. He sat still, trying to make himself last a little longer, to glory a bit more in her helplessness. But the quivering mounds of her breasts seemed to writhe and undulate and caress his penis as if they had a life of their own. Their sensuous teasing forced his next move for he was afraid he was about to come in the warm, creamy hollow.
He moved up so that his knees were on either side of her neck and he knew that his cock was extended directly over her face, for her panting breath was a warm, teasing breeze on its sticky underside. He reached to lift her head, but found his hands were necessary only for support as he could feel her wildly groping mouth brushing greedily over the tip of his prick. It took just a slight forward shift of his hips to bring her lips in thrilling contact with the palpitating head. Her mouth was partly open, the soft lips a pursed moist oval. He had intended to make her wait, to frustrate her every desire until she could take no more, but her wet, hungry kiss on the sensitive tip of his cock fired his desire beyond all bounds of intention, good or bad.
He pushed his loins forward and groaned as her lips fell slackly open and her head came up of its own volition. The heavy head dropped through the stretched lips and rested, throbbing, against her bared teeth, the puckered flesh of the lips circling it in a soft furrow. He flexed his hips slightly back and forth until the head forced the fleshy oval open wide and the moist recesses of her mouth surrounded it with a satin-wet suctioning clasp.
She started using her tongue, uncertainly at first, and he could feel it swiping around him, fluttering with the gentle touch of a rain-soaked butterfly's wings. Her lips were soft and smooth and clamped tightly to him in a snug ring of elasticity. He felt them move with grasping intensity down along his cock, endeavoring to absorb as much of his inflated hardness as was possible into her mouth. His cock had begun to jerk maddeningly in the heated cavern and he pressed her hollowing cheeks inward with his palms, feeling their tender inner glossiness and the hot, moist warmth of her saliva on his swollen and pounding flesh.
She began to suck him avidly now, with a strong, nibbling pressure. Her tongue licked and curled around his cock like some ravenous animal, with all of hunger from the depths of her womb rising in one great burst of longing into the heated recesses of her mouth. He could feel the pressure building in his balls slapping against her chin until it was an excruciating pleasure of pain. He thrust his hips with frenzied passion, shoving almost the entire length of his cock deeper and deeper into her throat until he was afraid it would surely choke her. But he was powerless to stop, and as the thick sword of flesh rammed in and out of her gulping throat her lips and tongue worked with equal, frantic fury.
Then suddenly there was a violent spasm in his loins and no force in the world could have dammed up the hot white flow of liquid that jetted up from his balls and spurted in great waves from the tip of his jerking penis. She moaned beneath him as the first needle-thin jet of liquid fire shattered itself into the back of her mouth, filling the narrow cavity then flooding her cheeks to rounding fullness. Her throat worked gluttonously, swallowing and gulping to keep from choking on the raging torrent of white hot sperm.
His body jerked convulsively above her and he braced his hands on the bed as his slowly deflating cock continued to jerk to its completion. And she kept on licking and sucking on his draining prick until it gave one final spasmodic leap, the last drop milked from it. He rolled over and collapsed on the bed beside her.
From that point on, as far as Tod was concerned, what happened next was anticlimactic. Joan lay at his side, gasping for breath, her unfulfilled body still writhing out of control, her hands groping feverishly in search of him. Whether from some deeply hidden spark of compassion, or-and this was more-likely-from out of his inherent sensuality, he summoned up enough response to her need to bring her to orgasm with the skillful manipulation of his hand. She was already so passionately aroused when this was accomplished in a matter of a very short time. In fact he found the sweet urgency of her moist, velvety cunt so delightfully stimulating that only the sadly depleted condition of his body, sapped by liquor as well as sex, prevented him from fucking her half silly at that very moment. But ... he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, that would come soon ... and he wanted her fully conscious of the fact that it was her own sister's husband who was grinding his cock down between her open legs....
CHAPTER 6
When Joan awoke on Sunday morning she was immediately aware that something important had happened the night before, and before she remembered what it had been, she knew that it had been important and wonderful but somehow strange and disturbing. It took her several seconds to orient herself to the unfamiliar cushiony expanse of circular bed, to a strange room bathed in a dimly pinkish glow from sunlight filtered through heavy, rose damask draperies.
She remembered then, and turned her head and saw that Mark was still sleeping. He faced her, his mouth grave and firm and his eyes shadowed in sleep, looking boyishly younger, more vulnerable than he appeared when awake. She rolled over in a stealthy way so she could watch him sleep. It gave her a vague feeling of guilt to watch him sleeping, as if she were spying, catching him unawares in a defenseless moment, and it gave her pleasure.
Staring at the sharper lines of his face softened in repose, the black hair curling in sleep-moistened tendrils over his forehead and the rim of one ear, the gentle rise and fall of his bare olive-skinned shoulder and chest, she felt a swift rush of protective tenderness. What an entirely different awakening from those other mornings at his side! For the first time, not only since their wedding, but in all of the days she had known him, she was able to feel that he needed her as much as she needed him. The feeling was an exhilarating one to her timid ego and smoothed away a good deal of doubt and uncertainty. It let her thoughts dare to examine the night before.
In retrospect the night was incredible to a young woman of Joan's background. Alcohol and emotions so violent they bordered on the traumatic had combined to cut great holes in her memory, leaving much of what had happened a complete blank. They also went a long way towards softening the blow of shamed guilt for behavior at odds with all former concept of morality. She could have no more withstood the sensations which had swept over her in wave after wave than she could have conjured them up deliberately. How could there be anything wrong in the actions of man and wife in love, when they were in such blissful accordance? she rationalized. The end surely justified the means, both of which were ecstatic for a loving married couple.
She was beginning to realize that just as there are so many variations of gray between black and white it's impossible to draw a line where one leaves off and the other begins, so it is with an imaginary dividing line between right and wrong in sex. Thinking of the exciting and sensual gratification of Mark's desire, to herself as well as to him, it seemed morality was one of those nuclear diagrams, atoms splitting and the re-splitting and branching off into tinker toy jungles.
Her thoughts shied away from her own appeasement of sexual need. It was enough for now that her passion had been sated; she had orgasm for the first time. Not even to herself did she dare admit how much, how very desperately, she had longed to have Mark's flesh filling the hungry void of her body, for his penis to have been the instrument of completion.
The words "love" and "marriage" tied the warp and woof of the tapestry of Joan's musing thoughts together to weave a tableau of sex without flaws.
She lay watching him and marveled at the length of his eyelashes. His night-grown beard bristled in delightful maleness. There was a little scar at the corner of his mouth she had never noticed before. She would ask him what caused it. Her eyes caressed the muscular strength of his arm, its hard flesh contrasting sharply against the femininity of pink sheet beneath, then ran down the long, tapering hillock of his outstretched legs. She smiled at all the mysteries of maleness here sleeping beside her while she watched and thought of strange new things. And now stopped thinking with that questioning mind and began to think with the tissues and fibers of her body. Began the thoughts of his hands and the unsuspected delights of his month and the strength of his long thighs.
Thoughts that ventured with the insidiously enticing lure of the forbidden to the magical monster between the firm thighs, lying dormant now but imbued with the mystic power to become suddenly a tower of relentless drive and exquisite energy. She felt then the good tingling of herself, the tiny glowings, the muted, throat-tightening inner stirrings. And leaned over, half hopeful and half fearful that he would wake and pressed her lips tightly against his sleeping ones.
Mark merely stirred restlessly, twining his mouth away from hers as he buried his face unconsciously in the pillow. Levering herself up on one elbow, her attention strayed to her reflected image in the mirrored wall. In the rosy underwater light of the room her flesh came alive with a shimmering whiteness in the glass and in her cramped position the ample breasts were bunched together in the fashion that was reminiscent of a heroin on the jacket of a sexy historical novel. Feeling like a mildly lascivious detached observer, she saw her nipples harden while the rest of her body grew soft. Suddenly she was acutely aware of her nakedness.
She rolled over on her back and slid upright against the padded headboard, put both hands behind her neck and swept all of the soft brown hair over her head from back, top and sides, sweeping it forward until it covered most of her face. She held this pose, rounded bare arms to her neck, hands clasped behind her, underarms bare and proud breasts isolated and projecting, face concealed, for a long moment, reveling in the tactile sensations of her nude flesh. She was conscious of a swift rush of desire that conveyed itself in the quivering thrust of her nipples and a warmth of moisture between her thighs. A quick-rising shame merged the white of her body with the blushing pink of the bed covers. Yet underlying the shame was a strong animal exuberance which made her want to fling herself eagerly on Mark's sleeping body.
My God, she thought feeling like a guilty sex fiend. What's the matter with me?
As she swung out of bed the motion made her aware of a sudden throbbing behind her temples and a queasy surge in her stomach, and her legs felt strangely enervated, stubbornly refusing to carry her in a straight line to the bath. But despite the unpleasantness of a persistently nagging hangover, she felt it was a good day, one full of renewal of life and resurgence, a little more than real. She even took a sweet pleasure in the unfamiliar, tiny achings in regions of her breasts and loins.
She had showered and dressed in a softly clinging white sweater and skirt and sandals, unpacked after a shyly hesitant search through Mark's clothes for the keys to her bags, and was making an unusually careful inspection of her appearance when she sensed rather than saw with her eyes that Mark was awake. A pang of nervous apprehension unsettled her calm scrutiny and suddenly she was afraid to face him. Her white clad reflection wavered before her eyes, one hand brushing nervously at an imaginary fleck of lint on her skirt until, realizing she couldn't stand there forever, admiring her image in the mirror like an idiot, she forced herself to turn and face him.
As their gaze met half-way across the room his dropped so quickly she hadn't time to formulate what she read in his eyes. But she could have sworn she'd seen a reflection of her own nervous anxiety in his fleeting appraisal. And something else. Horror? Revulsion? Nonsense. She told herself she was being foolish again, imagining something that wasn't there, couldn't be there-not after the joy they had shared last night.
When she had gone impulsively to perch beside him on the edge of the bed, Mark had rolled over on his stomach, out of reach of her tentative hand, uttering a muffled groaning complaint into the pillow about his bursting head.
Joan hadn't misread the emotions she'd glimpsed in his quickly shuttered gaze. The only mistake she'd made was their direction. They were turned inwardly to his own loathsome self, meant in no way for her.
Avoiding her eyes, self-revulsion rose in his throat, tasting of acid and corruption. For a long moment, Mark thought he was going to be sick. He fought back the bile and remorse stabbed him. Catching Joan off guard as he had, preening in front of the mirror with the open simplicity of a child, dressed in white and standing tall and lovely with a somehow virginal radiance, his heart shriveled with guilt and at the same time he felt as though he had been cheated in some obscure way. As if he had deprived himself of the right to offer Joan his love because of his own drunken betrayal. And in doing this had deprived himself of the right to accept hers.
He'd awakened sharply while Joan was in the shower and the happenings of the night confronted him with an immediate horror. The fact their exact images were little more than an alcoholic blur of lusting bodies and erotic sensation did absolutely nothing to assuage his conscience. If anything they only increased his torment for he called himself all kinds of a fool for getting uncontrollably drunk. Sally wasn't only sexy, she was sex itself. If he'd been more sober--. But there went the "ifs" again and they didn't help a goddamned thing. To top off the whole mess, his wife's sister had to be the one he'd screwed in the damnedest night he'd ever spent. It made him feel stained and coarse. Nothing like keeping things in the family, he thought bitterly. It seemed to him that his planned and orderly life had gone to complicated hell within three days of a wedding where he'd glimpsed the gates of heaven.
As he rolled away from the gentle entreaty of Joan's hand his whole body shook with remorse and fury.
"I'm sorry, darling. I'll find you some aspirin."
He felt a slight vibration of the mattress and then the soft, exotic fragrance of perfume she wore assailed his nostrils and her lips were soft and warm and moist in the hollow at the nape of his neck. The gesture produced instantaneous and acute desire and he was still shivering when she came back from the bathroom. He'd always thought of himself as a pretty decent sort. Shaking with desire for his own wife, yet too manacled by guilt to do anything about it, an unreasonable resentment stabbed him. He resented being proved wrong when he thought he had known himself so well and the irritation echoed in the tone of his voice.
"Just set it down. I'll get it in a minute." He heard the words, bitten off through clenched teeth like shivers of ice, and he knew he sounded like a churlish boor but he couldn't help himself. From the corner of one eye he saw her place a glass of water and two white tablets on the night stand and he saw her hands tremble.
For the next twenty minutes Joan's emotions seesawed from hot to cold almost that many times. Mark lay prone a while longer after she'd brought the aspirin and after a few more attempts at conversation which met with monosyllabic response she gave up. She finished unpacking what she felt they'd need for the weekend, keeping her eyes carefully averted when he finally rolled out of bed with a groan and headed nude for the bathroom. His apparent misery from a hangover she could understand, for she shared it in a lesser degree, but his demeanor was strangely chilling, completely discouraging sympathy or love. In the short time since the wedding she had come upon many loud inconsistence in his moods but this almost truculent indifference coming on the heels of mutual and violent passion seemed without reason or rhyme. He acted as if she'd called selling magazine subscriptions, as if she were an unwelcome stranger.
Her thoughts went around like a squirrel in a cage. Had she disappointed him again? No, that wasn't possible, his passionate response had been too real. Had she been too bold? She'd only followed where he had led. Certainly he couldn't blame her for that. Were all marriages a process of adjustment to each others moods? She wondered. But why this senseless mood of his now after their beautiful love-making last night? This question merely started the vicious circle revolving again in her mind.
Her physical self seemed to be as confused and erratic as her thoughts. She straightened the bed, moving slowly and aimlessly at first around its curve with tears in her eyes, wanting desperately to bury herself in its pink heart and sob her own heart out. Somehow she managed to blink back the tears. Her pride wouldn't allow Mark to find her in pieces, to let him see how much he'd hurt her. She finished the task with a certain vengeance, as if this furniture monster, a witness to her love and thrust, had betrayed it. A fingernail rent one of the silken sheets as a particularly sharp tug of her hands tucked it under the mattress and her fists plumped up the pillows until their foam rubber whooshed for air.
She then decided to apply another coat of polish to her nails but her hands shook so badly she couldn't control the brush and they knocked over the bottle.
When Mark came out of the shower, smelling of male freshness and shaving lotion, with only a towel draping his hips to cover his nakedness, her heart pounded and her eyes didn't know where to look. She couldn't avoid flashes of movement as he dressed, bronze flesh and paths of black curling hair bouncing back and forth from the mirrored wall to the glass over the dressing table before her. It made her feel as though she were peering under a drawn curtain.
The self-consciousness of both Mark and Joan hung like a pall in the air. He had slid into the perpetual defense of silence into which she threw a nervous flotsam of words when after a brisk rat-a-tat on the door Tod Keyes swept unbidden into the room. He came bearing a tray with two tall frosted glasses and Joan's relief for any interruption of tension between herself and Mark was so great that she accepted the drink pressed in her hand and downed her first Silver Fizz without hesitation.
Prior to meeting up with Tod Keyes, or in a broader sense Southern California, Joan had thought that only characters in books or actors in films drank hard liquor before breakfast. At that moment she didn't even know just what she was drinking, she only knew she'd been inordinately thirsty from the time she woke up. Whatever it was in her glass, it was delicious.
Tod was in a great good humor for a hung over morning. He was working on his third drink and he had a delightful secret. Within minutes he had Mark and Joan downstairs gathered around the bar, which seemed to Joan the focal point of the huge house, leaving a vastness of unnecessary space. Feeling slightly light-headed and suddenly much better, as she watched Tod adding gin to a frothy confection in a blender, she found out that hadn't been ambrosia in her glass. And she thought perhaps drinking before breakfast wasn't so unreal after all. In fact it was a practical idea.
He was refilling her glass when Sally came down rubbing sleep from her eyes and wearing a short frilly robe of cherry pink. It made her look deceptively like an old-fashioned valentine. The liquor churned in Joan's empty stomach but another long swallow settled it. Once they got away from there she vowed to steer clear of any shade of pink for the rest of her life. Then she felt she was being unkind and a wave of affection for Sally washed over her. Her sister and Tod were really being wonderfully nice to them! After all, despite the relationship they were more like casual acquaintances--. She finished her drink and held out her glass.
Tod had no intention of getting this neophyte loaded so early in what held promise of being a long day. His own capacity for alcohol was apparently unlimited and he considered a Silver Fizz purely a medicinal necessity. Before long he herded the group out into the kitchen. He put coffee on to perk and started cooking breakfast. His thick broad hands were breaking eggs into a bowl with characteristic dexterity and tenderness, for he wouldn't have run true to form without certain acquired culinary specialties-surprisingly good ones at that, when Joan wandered out onto a rear terrace.
The late morning was cool and clean, and she breathed deeply of it as she came outdoors. Blue water in the pool reflected a prismed clearness of the smog-free sky and from where she stood the view made her feel in a private world. The land on which the house sprawled was a huge pie-shaped wedge at a far end of the cul-de-sac, its outer edge rimmed by rolling greens of the golf course. A sprinkle of brightly awninged carts dotted the distant fairways like Disneyland beatles. One side of the wedge was cut off from its neighbors by a line of close planted Italian cypress and what seemed a sort of recreation room angled out from the house on the other. Sunlight shafting through a sheet of glass door picked out the sparkle of a well-stocked back-bar and Joan wondered idly why they hadn't done their drinking out there. Save for an occasional crack of a ball splitting the air, the surroundings were like a quiet and secluded well-manicured jungle.
Letting her mind go blank Joan soaked up the sunshine and stillness and serenity until the air was heavy with the delectable aroma of coffee and frying bacon and hunger drove her back into the kitchen.
Things went better after that. Having eaten nothing but cocktail tidbits since lunch the day before, coffee and the ample meal, even though followed by several snifters of brandy, seemed to bind the two couples together in a relaxed, vacation-like mood. It toned down the party atmosphere of an electric-tense gaiety, the conviviality of strangers on New Year's Eve. Tod went all out to be smoothly but not obnoxiously charming and Sally settled down to the purr of a contented cat. Joan's anxiety ebbed as Mark loosened up considerably. They lingered over coffee and brandy and it was past one o'clock when a point, rather desultory effort was made at cleaning up the kitchen. Inevitably they ended up lounging in proximity to the bar.
Tod had tuned in a ball game on the television set and the hum of conversation had increased a decibel or two over the drone of the announcer's voice. By then it was mid-afternoon and Joan began to sense an almost imperceptible fluctuation in the group's mood. Tod had served the first of what would develop into a continuous round of martinis. She'd had some difficulty in forcing down the dry, almost uncut gin. This was to become progressively easier with each successive round until it was no problem at all, but at that moment considering the brandy her head was fairly clear.
Unable to pinpoint the cause of a growing feeling of apprehension, she tried to shrug it off as a quirk of her imagination. But she couldn't banish the impression that Sally's quiet contentment had turned to a sly satisfaction. Tod's liquor-loosened tongue had turned his subtle innuendoes to the openly ribald. She anticipated that but several times she'd looked up to find him staring at her with the unblinking gaze of a cat-one that had eaten the canary. He seemed to find her simplest remarks unaccountably hilarious.
The bolstering effects of a full stomach padded by a quantity of brandy had brought Mark to the conclusion he might as well get drunk and do a thorough job at drowning his sorrows. After the first martini when the drinks had not come fast enough, he had gone and made his own. He'd taken up a station near the bottles and was now so unusually talkative the whole scene was a peculiar succession of non sequiturs. Joan was starting to feel like hers was a displaced sanity in an asylum. The musical peal of door chimes resounding from somewhere in the bowels of the house was a welcome sound of reality.
Tod moved from the bar to answer it. Before he could get halfway to the door the charter members of his and Sally's private club breezed in from the hall. Joan felt their entrance as sweeping as a gale wind. Although only two couple, they somehow contrived to make four people seem like a crowd. The babble of voices was intense, all of them talking at once, a jumbled maelstrom of words with variations of how've-you-been, sure, looking-wonderful and sweet-of-you-to-ask-us bubbling above the surface.
To her bemused eyes they didn't walk across the room but rather gamboled, like a frolicking litter of kittens and pups. Momentarily she was disconcerted by the frenetic buzz of greetings. There was the confusion of introductions in which everyone seemed to be hugging and cheek-kissing everyone else, though she and Mark were the only two strangers in the group. She met Claude and Bill, Irene and Beverly, never quite catching last names. Which really made little difference for there was certainly no formality here and a first name basis wasn't only immediate but necessary under the circumstances. It was much later before she could figure out who went with whom, which wife belonged to which husband. Darlings and casual embraces were distributed equally and without favor. By the time she finally managed to catalogue them in her mind it no longer mattered.
It would have surprised her to learn that the sudden appearance of the neighboring couples was fully expected, not just a casual dropping-by. She would have been even more astonished to know of the conspiracy behind their sweeping effusiveness, a contrivance to meld the newly weds into their intimate warmth at once.
But with their coming the party moved back again in proportion. Joan's almost sinister imaginings were quickly dispelled in the up-swinging tempo of gaiety. Tod started pouring drinks all around with a metronomic efficiency. Conversation began to get too loud and too brittle and laughs came loud and often. Glances became knowing and casual touches not quite so casual. But sound and sense and touch, muted and softened by alcohol, were turned-on and tuned-in.
Joan felt like just another girl at a party, looking around and thinking about nothing, but having a wonderful time. She made appropriate noises, agreeing or laughing, or nodding from time to time. When her glass was empty someone took it away and it reappeared refilled. She found herself treated with the most flattering attention. It was impossible not to feel elated and excited at being part of this warm and friendly gathering. Streams of highly salacious gossip and bawdy stories eddied around her, inside jokes she didn't understand. After three drinks she rather yearned to be able to understand-and never mind how naughty the jokes were-she was in a mood for them.
After the first hour of this a background of sensuous dance music from the stereo replaced the ball game and hands drew her to her feet, strong hands attached to thick, muscular arms. A blond grinning face loomed above her and Claude-or was it Bill?-pulled her close.
Involuntarily, Joan giggled, and let her body blend with his, feeling his crotch bulge against her belly. She saw Mark watching from out of hooded eyes. A surge of defiance mixed with the swift thrill that suddenly stirred her. Let him see someone found her worthy of attention, even if he didn't! When the music paused, head reeling and breathing rapidly, Joan could feel the drinks catching up with her. Fresh air, she thought. That's what I need to sober me up. Using a flirtatious finesse she hadn't known she possessed, she broke away from her partner's reaching hands with a laughing, unspoken promise of future action. She left the room and picked her way down an unfamiliar stretch of hall. Legs unsteady, she went through the side doors and across a flagstone patio, feet feeling for the grass and for mechanical balance. Momentum carried her down a steep slope with a rush but an abrupt leveling of ground at the bottom tripped her up and she sprawled drunkenly, uncaring, in the spongy turf.
CHAPTER 7
As the shadows grew longer Joan stretched out in a contented, alcoholic euphoria. Her mind thrust aside everything but the sensuous coolness of lush spring grass, soft and soothing to her sated body. She sank into its springy cushion with little squirmings, unconscious, voluptuous undulations, focusing inwardly upon a body-awareness, summoning up such a formless eroticism that after a time she felt a tingling of breast and a hollow of excitement deep in her loins.
A stray, club ward-bound golf cart made a throbbing sound in the stillness and the smell of an orangy sweetness mingled with the moist rawness of earth. Something rooted nearby, young and green and tender, leaned over her, nodding of its own weight in gentle affirmation above her head.
Bedded sensuously in spring grass, eyes tight against a last-ditch resurgence of the dying sun, on the level of instinct the rising and falling cadence of voices, male and female, was an irritating prod at her bemused senses. For a short while they succeeded in ignoring it but her ears picked up the definitive ring of her own name. Attention startled to instant alertness, she realized the voices, distinct and clear, came from a scant distance away. In the brief second it took to adjust to the odd situation she heard Mark's name mentioned in almost the same breath as hers.
Scarcely aware she was eavesdropping, definitely a social if not a moral sin, Joan listened intently.
"-that long!" She heard a soft voice rise and fall to a husky groan. "God, it's a wonder I can walk today, let alone. ... Mmmmm, that feels so-o-o good ... don't stop," the words dwindled to a breathless whisper.
"If you're all fucked out, I might as well quit right now." The rough masculine response sounded peevish.
Joan's face felt warm, then it caught fire with the next words.
"Was his cock bigger than that?"
For a moment she lay motionless, breath caught in her throat, hearing nothing but the accelerated beat of her heart pounding in her ears. Then she caught a low murmur, a mere gurgling in the woman's throat which could have meant either confirmation or denial. The woman's companion uttered a deep gasp, almost like a grunt of pain, followed by a rough obscenity. In the ensuing silence Joan was first aware of the sound of their conglomerate breathing. The male harshness of heavy, open-mouthed wheezing, laboring from physical exertion above the undercurrent of passion, overrode soft, feminine wisps of air and throaty rumblings.
Her first wild impression was that the unseen couple was actively engaged in the final consummation of love. Lying flat on her back, she kept her eyes tight closed and now she froze to immobility. They were so near, presumably no more than a yard to her right, she feared any frantic movements of copulation would send their bodies crashing into hers. Then came the muted frictions of metal against metal, as if the jaws of a belt buckle opening, and the unmistakable slither of a zipper unfastening. She heard a rustle and rummaging of fabric sliding or rubbing together and it dawned on her the man was in the process of taking off his trousers.
Every nerve focused on straining to hear, she wasn't conscious of holding her breath until her tortured lungs expelled a sigh of relief that seemed so loud in her own ears she was sure they must have heard it. She waited for an outraged explosion but none was forthcoming.
The mind-clogging fog of liquor plus the unexpectedness of the whole thing had left Joan incapable of rational thought. Only then did it occur to her to wonder why the lovers weren't aware of her presence when she was so alive to theirs. Prior to this she'd been so immersed in physical sensibilities she hadn't dared open her eyes.
She did now. And saw overhead the clutching fingers of the sun, radiating out in gold-flecked serrations of muted cerise and orange and purple, still gliding across the darkening sky as they relinquished day to night. The sight punctured the balloon of time. The unknown couple hadn't been here when she first fell to the ground. If so they would surely have seen or heard her. She'd daydreamed briefly but she realized now they hadn't time to reach the point of her supposition. Joan's mind didn't run toward instantaneous erections, even supposing the two had dropped naked from out of the blue. Turning her head she saw why they didn't know she was close.
Having landed beneath the overhanging boughs of some kind of shoulder-high, spreading bush, her prone figure wasn't visible to anyone approaching from the opposite side.
As the knowledge flashed through Joan's head, the sounds emanating from there, the rustle of exertion, eased. Evidently the man had succeeded in removing his clothes, at least to the extent of greatest encumbrance to the project involved. A mutual, softly gasping inhale and exhale of breath, wet with a moistening suctioning, the sound of a prolonged and tonguing kiss was in the air.
Her eyes on a level with the gnarled trunk of the bush, almost impenetrable in a myriad of entwined tendrils that twisted snake-like over the ground, mere traceries of white skin were all Joan could see. But they moved in a fluctuating pattern with the writhing of bare flesh and she heard the panting sounds of desire. The odd, free-floating eroticism enfolding her like a great featherbed only minutes ago reclaimed her with added intensity. Vivid images came swirling about her, images of the night, of Mark's penis thrusting hotly in the cleavage of her breasts, swelling to a taste of incredible delight in her hungry mouth, his hands on her body, fingers strong and urging thrust into the open-wetness of her vagina, bringing her to the peak, higher and higher--.
A sudden shriek, so vibrant she thought it came from her own lips, shattered the tantalizing thoughts. She lay trembling all over, a very real, aching desire surging from her now throbbing vagina to the burning tips of her breasts. The shrill scream, sounding at first like her own ache, had ended in trilling laughter, laughter edged with a kind of delirium, a sense of evil. She heard the sound of the man's lewd love-mutterings, building slowly to a jungle crescendo that drummed its intention.
I've got to get away from here, she thought in panic. This is horrible! Spying-and getting all worked up myself!
The task of coordinating confused mind and churning body seemed almost insurmountable. She had dug the heels of her hands into the soft turf and was struggling to rise to a crouch, to crawl away undetected on hands and knees like a shamed animal, when she heard Mark's name for the second time.
The male voice had said thickly: "Ah, that's good. ... Mark sure didn't take it all out of you last night, baby. He left plenty for me."
His words felled her like an arrow. She lay prone no longer trembling, every fiber in her body frozen with shocked disbelief. Mark ... last night ... left plenty? She thought she must be losing her mind. Mark was with her, not some strange woman--! Up to now if she had been in any condition to think about the aspect of who the loving couple was, which she wasn't and didn't, Joan would have taken for granted they were one of the two she'd just met. And though shocked at such audacity-people having intercourse out-of-doors and in broad daylight!-she might secretly have thought a tryst in a garden rather romantic. Yet even before the woman's reply penetrated the leafy divider a terribly presentment was gathering in her mind.
"Not because he didn't try--. We screwed half the night, and--. " The words broke off, interrupted by a deep gasp. Then the voice went on, still clear but thicker: "Hold still a minute, I don't want to cum so soon, and my pussy is still a little sore. What a time!"
The voice and words were like jumping wires attached to a battery and Joan's body came alive as if a quick charge of electricity had shot into her skull. Her head tossed wildly, her eyes bulged and skittered frantically in all directions, desperately seeking a means of escape. She felt as though she were falling off the edge of the world. Tortured blades of glass slipped through her clutching fingers. She tried to blank her mind, to shut out sense and the sound of her sister's voice.
Mark couldn't have been downstairs. ... And with Sally! But if that were true ... then, dear God ... what ... who? Oh, no!
She heard Sally's voice go on relentlessly. As if somehow she had been listening for it, expecting it.
"And Tod made out all right. He really gave it to my little sister! And in a way she never expected. Christ! I wish I could have seen his cock stuck in her face!" She laughed. "But the poor guy couldn't either for she sucked him off in the dark. And-can you imagine?-she thought he was Mark! Oh, Lord! But I'll let Tod have the fun of giving you all the details. He sure got a bang out of her ... in more ways than one. You can't always tell about these quite ones--. "
"No!" It screamed through Joan's brain like the shriek of a wild creature come face to face with death. A rising scream of despair and loathing, of hatred stripped bare of all cloaking garments. She leaned up, elbow on the ground, hair disordered, mouth working with lips pulled tight over the perfect white teeth, nostrils flaring, and her wild eyes stared through an open clearing in the dense foliage. Her heart leaped inside of her and her throat went suddenly arid. For a choking instant all thought died. She was totally oblivious to everything but the sight which met her eyes.
Framed in a leafy silhouette, the naked pose of her own sister, Sally, and Claude created a lewd, impossible picture. She was kneeling on the grass, crouched on all four, arms stiff and straight with palms flat on the ground to maintain the balance of her swaying body. Her body appeared to move in all directions at once at one and the same time. Her head rotated in a half circle as if attached to her neck by a loosely-tempered spring, the globes of her breasts bounced and swayed from side to side with a gelatinous freedom and her writhing buttocks ground lascivious circles in the air behind her. The rhythmical undulations of flesh were held together by a sinuous back and forth rocking motion of her body as a whole.
One fleeting glance assimilated all of this. Then Joan's eyes were magnetized to the cleft between her sister's flexing buttocks. Claude was kneeling close behind her, bared from the waist down and the up-thrust shaft of his penis, save for a scant inch of gleaming whiteness at the base of black pubic hair, was buried from sight in warm, deep crevice.
Her eyes widened in shocked disbelief. Every muscle had been tensed to spring, whether away from them or in fury toward them she couldn't have said. Now she seemed rooted to the ground and her blood ran cold. Mesmerized, she stared at the juncture of their bodies. She saw the huge, swollen length of Claude's prick as he withdrew it slowly from the creamy furrow. It was like a wet, engorged snake, moving with a fluid grace. The inflated wrist of rigidity, its white skin taut and smooth, pulsed visibly with an inner pound of blood.
The sudden sensation within her was so bright and urgent she had the insane desire to reach out and capture his distended organ, to claim it for her own demanding flesh. Her mind flamed and her hips twisted with desire. Why should a woman like her sister have everything? Why should Sally have Mark and the right to this too? When she was hungry for love. Had been so long denied--.
She watched them with a compulsive fascination, a violent mixture of revulsion and desire keeping her eyes fastened on the sinuous movement of his cock. He had pulled the thick rod out all the way to the tip, its smooth blunt head bloated to a shining scarlet, almost black, jerking as if to break free of the snug ring gripping its tiny mouth. She saw the resilient cheeks of Sally's ass twisting and wriggling back toward him lasciviously. Saw her balance precariously on one hand, reaching back with the other to spread the ivory globes and give greater access to the brownish-pink anus. His body seemed to stiffen, the muscles in his hips and thighs knotting and cording, loins flexing, gathering forces for a new assault on the tiny ring of puckered flesh.
Joan's eyes widened in horror. The tender opening was already stretched to a smooth circle. It looked palely pink and vulnerable, in startling contrast to the angry red knob worming its way insistently into the raw flesh. She didn't see how it was possible for the tiny, sensitive hole to admit the monstrous thickness and length of his prick into the narrow tunnel of Sally's rectum without its being split apart, torn into ragged shreds.
A shudder of vicarious desire wracked Joan's body, starting at the suddenly quivering flesh of her own anal passage and sweeping through her to the tips of her passion-swollen breasts. Not even the fumes of alcohol, stirring restlessly and creeping like tiny licking flames along the course of her blood stream, could obliterate her instant shame. But she was powerless to control the betrayal of her flesh, flesh that quickened to joyous lusting in response to the erotic stimulant of Claude and Sally's lewd abandon. Helpless to tear her eyes away, as though the optic nerves were locked immutably on their obscene coupling she looked on.
The chunky head of his cock had oozed into the depths of the straining cavern. Stretched to a thin band of pink rubber, the moist anal ring was now pushing the semen-soaked foreskin tight back, nibbling avidly along the thick stem of white flesh. Sally was groaning with pleasure, thrusting her buttocks back and forth, frantic to impale her body on his prick. Though poised for action, muscles tensed, he seemed to be in no hurry, holding her fast with arms curled around her hips, the tips of his fingers kneading sensuously in the soft, plump pillow of her belly.
Sally's face, as she twisted her neck to look back over her shoulder with mute pleading, was deeply flushed, the pouting lips slack and wet, eyes filmed with passion to an opaque glaze of delft blue. Nonetheless, underlying the lust, open and lascivious, her expression hinted at pure ecstasy.
Did she look that way with Mark? And I-how did I look in the limitless dark with my mouth around my sister's husband's penis. The questions blossomed, untended and unwanted from a narrow crack in Joan's mind. And Mark ... and ... Tod. How were male faces--?
She looked at Claude's face, and saw the face of lust. Lust in all of its drooling lipped, flaring nostrils and heavy lidded fury, relentless and enflamed. Yet even here, lust shimmered with a patina of excruciating pleasure, faint but undeniable.
On neither face was the look of love. Although the face of love may wear many disguises, sadness or joy, tenderness or lust-sometimes even hate. But something else was reflected in their faces, an almost unholy joy, an ecstasy that was diabolic, yet exquisite-in some intangible way.
It reached out to Joan as she lay there, almost as if she were waiting for it to happen to her, knowing that it would. Values were coarsened, truth was reduced, accuracy blunted, and a way of bearing the shock of what she had learned was made possible. She was feeling a mixture of fear and excitement, pain and pleasure, perplexion and revelation. And desire raged within like a torrential storm.
Still propped on one elbow she closed her eyes and her free hand went to her breasts. She ran her palm lightly from one up-thrust peak to the other, feeling each nipple harden and swell in turn. Back and forth, back and forth, her palm skipped over the deep cleft between the rounded spheres, teasing the pointed tips until they were twin peaks of fire. When they could stand no more, her hand went to her waist. Her sweater was soft and loose so she had no difficulty in pushing it up, just far enough for her fingers to slide under the soft folds and tug gently at the low-scooped cups of her bra. The filmy net pulled down easily, and the aching mounds of pointed breast-flesh sprang free. A low, sultry moan emerged from her lips as the turgid nipples seared into her sweater, drawing the clinging cashmere around them like tiny, thumb-less mittens.
The sensation traveled to her loins with a thrilling swiftness. Her hips had begun an involuntary movement, grinding the resilient orbs of her buttocks into the springy turf until the blades of grass were churned to a soft matted cushion beneath. Her brief length of skirt had ridden slowly upward with the wriggling motion. With the rush of feeling in her pelvic region, she was suddenly conscious of a warmth of wetness between her thighs and through panties that were a mere wisp of lace she felt the soft grass, moistened by her own juices, cool and damp on her hot flesh. She gasped and pressed her thighs tight together, trying to soothe her vagina's fast mounting passion.
Her eyes flew open and came into focus on Claude's penis. In the dimming light the thick bridge of flesh spanned from dark base of reamed anus with a glowing whiteness, a hard round cylinder of pulsating force.
"Shove your cock in harder, dammit!" Sally's voice rang out.
Her cry seemed to loose the fury of his lust, driving him completely out of control. Joan watched the taut skin undulate up the rock-hard pole like a series of ripples of water as he rammed his prick with a pile-driving force into the ever-widening ring of Sally's anus. A high pitched squeal came from her throat, as if the shafting rod had pressured a rush of air up from the screaming walls of her rectal passage. She gasped and squirmed as he pummeled into her, his thrusting loins battering the jiggling cheeks of her buttocks with every forward shove. But she pushed her ass back to meet him with a hard, grinding rhythm, trying furiously to skewer his cock into the innermost depths of her body.
His tempo increased until his prick was pounding in and out with the rapid precision of a well-oiled machine. The semen-glistening rod was soon a pale blur before Joan's eyes as they glazed with passion. With an irresistible force the all consuming desire in her loins drew her hand under the bunched-up folds of her skirt. The wet sensitivity between her thighs was now an incredible ache and they rubbed together with a tantalizing friction that was fast becoming unbearable. Her fingers burrowed under the circle of elastic low on her middle, moved down under the soft flimsy nylon of her panties to dig into the soft abdominal flesh, flushed with an inner fever, down to encounter the abrupt high ridge of bone, to tangle in moist tendrils of pubic hair, curling soft and fine as new corn silk.
She heard the close-by gaspings, the incoherent babblings of lust but dimly, filtered now through the loud rumble of her own desire. Her body glowed like a ripe, juicy fruit, ripe to bursting yet strangely hollow. And suddenly hers was that thrusting, heaving flesh, not Sally's. It was her body receiving the fulfillment of the man's pounding cock, but it was tunneling avidly, frantically into the open and ready lips of her cunt.
The demarcation between fantasy and reality, between day-dream and actuality was lost with the first touch of her probing fingers in the moist, pulsing flesh. And then, almost dream-like, she felt male hands on her hips, hard and strong, then unexpectedly, fierce and brutal. They gripped her with a ponderous savagery, repelling her eager thrust, pinioning her to the ground. And a wet mouth crushed down on hers, stifling her scream.
CHAPTER 8
The late spring evening was stirred by a fresh breeze sweeping up the valley from the ocean. It roiled the faint smell of orange flowers, weighing down the soft air, to a headier, slightly sickening sweetness. A few ever-changing strokes of blue still drifted across the quickly greying sky. Though not quite dark, twilight had driven even the most persistent golfer to forsake the links. like a magic want it actuated an underground system of sprinklers and the light wind disbursed a fine mist gathered from the arching waterfalls of their sweeping arms.
Tod Keyes wasn't the sort of man to take pleasure in the soothing swish-swish of atomized rain as it nurtured the night-disappearing hills at his back. A moist spray settled on his neck and Tod cursed.
If he'd told Ben Moto once he'd told him fifty times that goddamn sprinkler head on the eighth green was too close to the property line! But the damn fool had gone right ahead--. Shit! One of these days he'd rip the mother fucker out with his bare hands, damned if he wouldn't.
The truth of the matter was that Tod rarely ventured into this area of the grounds, day or night. His time out-of-doors was usually spent in the periphery of the pool and its adjacent bar. In fact of time he probably was out on the green in question even more, enjoying the benefits of his present source of irritation. But he didn't move from where he stood. He simply mopped at the back of his neck with a bare hand. Completely engrossed in what he was watching, his annoyance was fleeting and surface.
It had been sometime after Joan left the room before he noticed her absence. Figuring she'd gone to the powder room, he wasn't too concerned. When Sally and Claude disappeared and the party thinned, he thought she'd had more than enough time to powder her nose or whatever else the hell it was women did in places like that for so damned long. Beverly and Irene were swarming around Mark as flies to a new and exotic honey. Noting that Mark didn't seem to mind the arrangement and thinking he was probably too potted to care much about anything, Tod corralled Bill to go along in search of Joan. After an unsuccessful search of the most-likely regions where she might be in the house, the pair wandered out the back door.
Taking this route they came first to Claude and Sally. Although at this point those two were quite oblivious to everything but each other, the searchers, not wanting to interrupt or distract what bore every indication of approaching climax, scouted around the fucking couple in a wide circle. If they hadn't they might easily have missed Joan's reclining figure. As it was, they still wouldn't have seen her in the fading light had it not been for the white clothes she wore.
As Tod stopped dead in his tracks, motioning to Bill for silence, not very much of that was visible, merely two bands of white, somehow oddly displaced for conventional dress. They moved closer with alcoholic stealth, stilted, slow motion wooden-toy, wind-up movements, almost audible the whirring of the little gears. Neither was conscious of holding his breath, but when they came within close range of Joan's body, her half-naked flesh writhing seductively in the grass, their expulsion of air was a simultaneous gasp.
"I'll be goddamned!" Bill exclaimed after catching his breath.
"I told you she was a hot little bitch. How do you like that!"
The two men kept their voices down, but in the considerable racket coming through the bushes the chance of their being heard was slim, and in the light of Joan's inner tumult it was practically non-existent. With the initial impact of Bill's body she had been listening so intently to the rhythms of her own distant drummer, straining to the rising beat of primitive tom-toms pounding in her blood, that her flesh had responded to him with unthinking urgency. The sudden shock of pain, coarse fingers digging cruelly into her hips, hot, fetid breath scorching her throat, had taken a long moment to register in her befuddled brain. Her helpless body had trembled spasmodically until a torrent of panic drowned her desire.
That Bill was the one to shatter the barrier of Joan's lusting self-delusion happened as though the men had tossed a mental coin. Bill, tails-and Tod, heads. With Tod the loser? A rather bad metaphor, gruesome perhaps. But uncanny in its aptness for what followed was done without words.
They stood staring down at her and in the dimming twilight her skin looked warm and creamy, more dusky than it really was against the stark white of her dress. When passion flared out of control she had fallen back to the ground and even with her body lying prone her breasts stood out in perfect hemispheres, high-swelling without a trace of fold on the under side. From a vantage point near her feet, the up-thrust points of her nipples were a dark, vibrant scarlet against the background of white sweater pushed to her neck.
The slim indentation of her waist was shadowed by the folds of her skirt, but a motion of her buttocks caught a gleam of light on the top of her hips, slightly square over the structure of bone but with the same combination of tautness and fine-grained skin at her breasts. Her thighs were pressed tight together, the firm columns of flesh rising and falling alternately as they rubbed against each other with a sinuous rhythm. At their tight juncture the darker triangle of pubic hair, plainly visible beneath a film of lace, protruded sharply and rose and fell with a seeking motion of its own.
They saw her hand delve under the lace, watched as her fingers kneaded into the softness of her belly, pause, then reach down--. It was then Tod and Bill pulled their eyes away and turned to look at each other and communicated the unspoken signal.
Bill slithered down over Joan's body into a low crouch, straddling her thighs with his hands and he leaned forward and ground his open mouth against her lips. Not a big man, he still blotted much of her white flesh from view and Tod who had been stationed at Joan's feet moved quickly to her side. Straining his eyes, he dropped to his knees. Just as he was once again cursing the dark a diffusing glow of light illuminated the entire grounds. Strategically hidden in trees and bushes, amber spots on an earlier time clock answered the dusk minutes before the sprinklers.
In the soft, mellow light Tod caught Joan's involuntary response to Bill's touch. He saw the eager thrust of her breasts and he saw the hand burrowing between her thighs scramble wildly until it was disentangled from the wet furrow and the band of lace. Saw its swift, impulsive grab at Bill's bulging crotch. Then it disappeared in the crush of his pelvis, imprisoned between them. For a scant breath she lay passive, her flesh trembling.
With his first sight of his young sister-in-law's bared, thrusting breasts, Tod's prick had begun a gradual expansion along his thigh. He now felt its swelling length give a violent jerk in his pants and one hand went to his fly. Before he could do anything to relieve the building pressure in his cock, the scene he was watching with hot eyes changed so abruptly he sprang to his feet, almost losing his balance, and took a backward step. Her hand automatically swiped at a sudden dampness on his neck.
Joan's flaccid body had turned into a madly squirming mass of protesting flesh and bone and muscle. Her head was thrashing from side to side, trying frantically to dislodge Bill's suctioning mouth, but his lips seemed glued to hers. She'd managed to free her hand and with both hands she was tearing at his fingers on her hips. He shifted his position, still maintaining a light hold with his hands, and forced his knees between hers and spread her legs apart. The fleece lined lips of her cunt throbbed hotly as if the soft folds were making a desperate effort to cling to each other. In spite of this Tod saw them part slightly, the rim of inner flesh, a deeper pink, glistening with moisture.
As if she realized the work of her hands was futile where they were, she tried to shove Bill away, pushing with both hands against his chest. He'd had to relinquish her mouth in order to come up for air, to compensate for the sudden exertion needed to control her. Her throat worked, muscles cording, trying to let loose the scream building in her lungs, but he was gasping, fighting for the breath lost in his mouth and only a moaning whine escaped her lips.
Whatever he lacked in size he seemed to make up in strength. Joan was no weakling, but she wasn't any match for his wiry toughness. Almost like the hands beating on his chest weren't there, he gripped her body in the crook of one arm and held her tight against him.
With his free hand he pushed her sweater, which had worked down in the struggle, away from the swell of her bared breast. His mouth fastened heatedly on the nipple, drawing in considerable breast flesh as well and he began to suck it avidly.
This time she did scream a thin shrill cry that seemed forced from her throat, like the sound of one who has been jabbed with a needle.
A lewd grin tightened the slack in Tod's open mouth, twisting his lips to one side. The little bastard, he thought, he must have taken a bite out of her tit! His lips sagged open again, tongue circling them as if the hot blood of Joan's throbbing nipple was sweet in his mouth.
The hard pull of soft breast-flesh, taut pressure causing tiny blue veins to pulse visibly beneath the tender skin, glossy and white in the suctioning red oval of Bill's lips, was almost too much for Tod. Mouth watering, he almost could taste the aching nipple-tip, feel it erect and swollen and quivering in the hot, moist cup of his tongue.
His hands returned to his fly and his fingers shook as they pulled at the zipper. Almost without manual aid, the expanded rigidity of his cock surged from out the opened folds, swinging up massively, cleaving the air like a rapier thrust. Its weight seemed to weaken his legs for his knees sagged to a slight bend and he stood there wavering one hand fondling his swollen prick.
Joan had grabbed the hair of Bill's head, trying to pull his mouth away from her breast, but her fingers were clutching with an aimless fury, as if they had somehow forgotten their purpose and were uncertain whether to shove or pull.
He got a good grip on the top of her panties and with a swift yank he tore them completely from her hips, tossing shreds of lace across the grass. Her buttocks writhed wildly, the resilient mounds rotating into the turf beneath, trying to bury the soft flesh out of his reach.
But he handled her as easily as if he were playing with a kitten. He reached one hand between her legs and slid his fingers into the soft wetness of her cunt.
Tod had moved closer, dropping once more to his knees and his expanded cock levered out away from his body. It seemed to reach with a straining envy towards Bill's finger exploring the moist fleshy folds. The great boom, white and swollen, blood-tipped, hovered in the air like a bird of prey in sight of its quarry.
Bill withdrew his finger and the pink orifice closed, to form soft, pursed lips, wet and shining. He took his hand away from her crotch and began to unzip his pants. In panic now Joan struck at him, raining blows about his head and shoulders. But it seemed nothing could deter him and he gripped his cock, swollen stiff and throbbing on the edge of orgasm, and nuzzled it's blunt knob in the warm, wet moisture of the hair of her cunt.
Suddenly, Joan seemed to find her voice. Scream after shrill scream rent the clear air like the wail of banshee.
"Jesus Christ!" Tod was on his feet, his distended cock joggling wildly with the movement of his quick scramble upright. "She'll have the whole neighborhood on our necks!"
Bill also had been startled from his lustful pursuit by the piercing cry. His body straightened until the hot, bursting head of his cock was probing wetly into the smooth flesh of Joan's abdomen. For a second he thought he was going to come in her navel, to flood the soft belly with his hot seed.
"We'd better get my little sister-in-law inside," Tod told him. "Dammit!" He swore at a fresh spray of water fanning his neck as he staggered a step backward.
Reluctant to quit now, almost beyond the ability to stop, Bill had grasped his urgent cock in one hand. Unheedingly, he was stabbing the swollen head of his prick wildly at the slippery folds of Joan's cunt, but her hips were gyrating in such a frantic movement entry was hard to effect.
Grabbing him roughly under the arms, Tod jerked Bill's lighter frame off from Joan's struggling body. He swung him over her legs and set him down on his feet with a teeth-jarring thud.
"Goddamn it, you fucking bastard! I said let's take her in the house!" he roared.
Bill stared at him, eyes glittering, his prick wavering in an angry wet circle. His fist clenched and in the heat of the moment he looked ready to tear into Tod. Evidently he thought better of it as the bigger and heavier man hulked over him. His fingers uncurled. Still breathing rapidly he managed to insert a placating tone in his voice.
"Hell, Tod. Who's going to hear her? It's dark-nobody's out on the course at this hour," he said hoarsely.
"Damn it all! How should I know? But somebody could-kids wander around." His voice hardened. "I can't afford to take any chances on some broad hollering rape in my own backyard. Don't argue, dammit! Help me get her inside!"
Tod turned away, then paused. '"Anyhow," he added, and good humor was back in his voice, "what you were doing is too easy. Hell, she was damn near loving it!"
Joan's ears were deaf to his words. She was curled up in a ball, lost in her own misery. Shoulders heaving, face buried in the grass, her body shook with muffled sobs. She was crying like a small child in the diminishing throes of a temper tantrum, long shuddering sobs that ended with a choking gasp, almost a hiccup, ending as if a tight hand were massaging her lungs, opening-then closing again with a vise-like grip.
Momentarily drained of fight, her body lay like some limp, indecently disheveled rag doll that had been tossed carelessly to the ground in fit of pique. Her mind tipped and swayed, almost drained of emotion, the emotions that had spiraled during the violent struggle, swirling and changing, a flood of unidentifiable feelings. Panic transmuted into fear, fear to anger, anger to a boiling rage. And weaving through it all a fine thread, a cobweb oft broken but knotting itself back together with its own indomitable will. The invisible thread which had hatefully exposed itself to a man like Tod Keyes, a man acutely and instinctively tuned in on sensual response. A response her tortured mind buried deeply like a loathsome, unborn creature.
The two men had no trouble getting Joan into the wing of the house she'd idly thought earlier a good place for a party. Which it was, and with a muted elegance she'd have appreciated at another time. The long rectangle of softly burnished wood paneling, tall chaste mirrors and windows draped in a pale, matte velvet, bore no vestige of Sally's rococo taste. Nor could Tod take credit for the effect of timeless luxury in a room furnished with long, low couches, of soft brown leather, tables and chests inlaid with precious woods, and accents of dull pewter, shining brass and glittering crystal.
The young man who had "done" the room had taken a personal satisfaction in devising a setting as far removed as possible from popular conception of how the background of a sexual orgy should look. The only Bacchanalian note was the bar, too well-stocked for any attempt at subtle concealment. Had Tod been forced a choice between liquor and sex indecision would have killed him.
He now had both. Joan had allowed herself to be supported by their arms and led inside with a mindless placidity. As though this were an ordinary social occasion, her hands had automatically worked to arrange and smooth the sweater and skirt which were the only garments remaining to cover her nakedness. The soft scraps of torn bra and panties still lay back there like pale moths, mutilated and dead in the night dampening grass.
Obediently she drained the highball glass she found in her hand. Nerves and muscles temporarily as deadened as her brain, she drained the straight Scotch without a shudder, as though it contained the medicinal manna of its aroma. But with a long swallow from the refilled glass she choked and sputtered, feeling the strength return to her flesh, breathing hard. Memory, partial but horrifying came back with a rush and she stared around her with panic at the unfamiliar room. She felt a hand on her bare thigh, then another touched her arm from the opposite side, and her eyes swept fearfully from side to side.
Tod and Bill sat flanking her on the broad sofa, stripped of all clothing and with their legs outspread. Erect columns of swollen flesh towered from the underbrush of their pubic hair, two huge, threatening cudgels hemming her in. She started to get up. Her one thought was to escape those terrifying rods of punishment, but the Scotch picked that precise moment to explode like a bomb in her stomach. The room rotated crazily on its axis and her legs dissolved. She fell back into the down cushion, lying helpless and feeling smothered by the heat of hard, demanding flesh surrounding her body.
She closed her eyes to shut out the sight of a prismed chandelier overhead going round and round, making her so dizzy she was afraid she was going to be sick. That was far worse for now a million crystals whirled in her brain with a skull-splitting dazzle, stabbing blinding sparks into the back of her tortured eyeballs. Her eyes shot open and she saw her brother-in-law staring down at her with teeth bared, a tiny network of muscles twitching violently at one corner of his open mouth. The wild thought of a ravenous wolf keening over her flashed through her mind, but she looked up at him beseechingly with pleading eyes. Her lips opened and closed in torment as she struggled for words but none came as her throat locked tight with fear.
His eyes lighted with a swift, strange pleasure and he moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue. A shadow flickered across his face as though a shade were drawn. Then released with a snap, allowing it to fly up like a flash. And with its passing, pleasure had gone out of his eyes, replaced by an urgent lust. Fighting against dizziness and the nausea rising in her throat, she watched him get up and move to the bar. His penis, swollen to an enormous size, thrust out from between his legs as if it were a propellant for his lumbering frame.
Then Bill's hands were at her waist pulling at her sweater. She shivered, as though her bared breasts were startled to find their nakedness blatantly revealed. Her body then seemed to recover some degree of coordination, and she started to struggle, pushing him away, trying to get up and run to Tod for help. Bill had her sweater off now, and his fingers were tugging at the waistband of her skirt, pulling the soft knit down over the smooth, sensuous swell of her hips.
She had to reach Tod, to get him to help her! But even as she managed to lunge to her feet, which only made it easier for the skirt to be rolled down over her stomach, down her thighs, she knew there was no aid to be had from Tod--. No help for her anywhere at all now.
Mark! His name was a silent cry in the wilderness of her mind. She felt a quick scalding shame, flinching away from the thought of him. The horror of his finding her like this-naked and drunk-for she knew now that she was drunk, disgustingly, staggeringly, almost uncontrollably drunk, was more horrible and more degrading than the hands rummaging lewdly between her thighs.
Joan stood swaying in torment. The calves of her legs were pressed against the edge of the couch but she would have fallen were it not for the support of his arm around her hips. She leaned weakly into the hollow of his shoulder and the arm tightened around her, its pressure squeezing the ripe cheeks of her buttocks hard against each other. His hand reached to her belly and his fingers grabbed into the flesh, digging harsh furrows into its softness. He was hurting her but it seemed that anything was better than the awful emptiness in her heart, the sharp desolation of feeling completely lost and alone.
She took a strange masochistic joy in the rough fingers digging almost savagely into her abdomen, a satisfaction in the sense it gave her of being punished for her shameful nakedness. It mattered not that she was helpless, entirely at the mercy of two strong, lusting men. Somehow this physical pain helped to ease the mindless ache that was threatening to destroy her.
And then his other hand was a warm massage on the smooth sensitive flesh of her inner thigh, a gentle stroking rhythmic motion, this. And the two hands, one savage-one tender, caused a perplexity of emotions, adding to the fearful confusion in Joan's alcohol-fogged brain-and her overwrought body.
He felt a tremor in the soft, yielding flesh under his hand and felt the heat of its warmth transmuted to his loins, and his bloated penis jerked with desire. Abruptly, his hand stopped its gentle stroking and moved to her cunt, where his fingers delved hungrily into the moist pink lips. He felt her body respond, eagerly at first. She seemed to melt against him, softening like a candle of wax enveloped in a hot flame. Her knees sagged and her thighs spread of their own volition, opening the glossy lips of her cunt to his hand like the petals of a sun-kissed flower.
The almost instantaneous reversal of her reaction to his probing fingers was violent. As though her heated body had been quick-frozen in a block of ice she stiffened against him, every nerve and muscle alerted to danger, her flesh once more firm and taut. Her thighs had closed on his hand like a steel trap, imprisoning his fingers in the defensively contracted muscles of her vagina. The tight sheath was a wet, moist well of pulsating flesh, seeming to struggle frantically within itself to repel the unexpected invasion. Momentarily, his movement stilled, chilled in the icy blast of her complete ego-blasting repulsion.
Tod, standing at the bar, drained his glass and set it down and started toward them. As he came closer, arms hanging loosely at his sides fingers flexing in suddenly ominous tempo, Bill caught a look of sardonic amusement on the man's flushed face, the patent look that bespoke: "That's what you get for sending a boy to do a man's job." His blood boiled. The little bitch, he thought. Tease me, will she? I'll fix her-but good.
Joan's scream resounded from off the soundproofed walls as his fingers dug viciously into the soft, fleshy walls of her vagina. She went limp, releasing his hand from her open, throbbing cunt. He was on his feet and with a movement which took her totally by surprise, he caught her wrist and with a violent twist of her arm spiraled her body around to face him. She saw the blow coming but was unable to move quickly enough to avoid it. It caught her on the shoulder and sent her spinning to the floor. She struggled to her knees and looked up in time to dodge another blow. As he swung, his body lunged forward and the swollen tip of his cock, blood-red and pulsating hotly with all the rage of his pent-up anger and frustration, smacked against her cheek with a wet slap. Her hand flew to her face and came away glistening with sticky moisture.
Laughing, he struck again. Pain flashed into her right breast, radiated through her torso. She staggered backwards, horrified and afraid. All at once she was sure he meant to kill her and her head swiveled wildly, seeking an avenue of escape. Tod stood behind her spraddle-legged and the blood-filled knob on the end of his prick stared back at her like an angry crimson eye of vengeance.
As if reading her intentions he broke into mocking laughter. "Why try to run away from it now? Last night you were eating it up. You couldn't get enough of my cock!"
At the words life seemed to drain from her body, she sagged back but then struggled up, onto her hands and knees, mutely pleading with him.
"I think you've got her tamed down enough to behave," he told Bill. "Go ahead and have your fun, boy. She made you earn it!"
"You're damn right. The bitch. If she teases me any more, I'll kill her!" He was breathing hard, eyes glittering wildly. His own violence had acted as a strong sexual stimulant and his cock was literally jumping up and down with agitated lust.
Joan was flung on the big couch so violently that the breath was knocked out of her. She lay before them, young and lovely and lushly rounded. An angry red bruise streaked along the curve of one ripe breast and there was a fleck of blood on the smooth, creamy flesh of her belly where his nail had raked her. For a moment she lay there dazed, not knowing what had happened to her. Then she rolled over and lay face down, trembling hands tight to her ears as if by blotting out sight and sound her tormentors would disappear.
She felt strong, sinewy hands on her buttocks, with fingers that dug into the flesh like pincers.
"How about that? Are you going to be a good girl and show us a good time?" Bill's voice leered ominously.
Sure of her now and gloating over his conquest, he failed to notice the gathering storm in Joan's body. The words had scarcely left his mouth when she rolled over onto her back, catching him off guard, and her long legs kicked out, one knee stabbing him in the groin.
Off balance he went over on the floor. Groaning, he sprawled on his back on the thick carpet, writhing in pain and holding his balls tenderly in cupped hands.
She heard Tod's laugh and sidled to the edge of the couch. She was about to swing her legs to the floor when his hands gripped her ankles and flung her lightly into the middle of the wide, leather cushioned surface. She started to struggle and his fingers tightened as his arms applied pressure, pinning her down as helpless as an impaled butterfly.
"Please Tod! Let me go! You can't-Ooooh, you're hurting me!" Joan gasped, for the first time managing to put her pleading into words. But Tod's grip only intensified, twisting the flesh of her slender ankles until his fingers rubbed against bone.
He seemed to find her cry exceedingly funny. "Jesus, if that isn't just like a woman! You could have maimed poor Billy for life!" he laughed. "You really shouldn't have done that, you know."
There was a tone of menace in his voice that was frightening. She lost all sense of rationality. They really are going to kill me! she thought wildly.
Through an un-sober haze of fear she heard Tod's voice giving directions and Bill's furious answer. And then she felt a shifting of hands on her legs, and she was grabbed roughly beneath her arms. She saw a flash of Tod's face as the two men lifted her up and tossed her over on her stomach as if they were loading a bale of hay. She tried to fight but had little strength or spirit left. Held so firmly she knew she couldn't even turn around, and she left her sore and aching muscles relax.
"That's better. Be nice and you won't get hurt. You should even like it, the way you're built, baby." He was breathing heavily, like a man who has just run the minute mile, though lifting her body required little exertion.
Joan's mind was in a turmoil, unable to understand what he was talking about, insane with fear wondering what horrible, depraved thing they were going to do to her. The hold on her ankles loosened slightly.
"Kneel up!" Bill's voice commanded.
Instinctively she tried to flatten herself into the cushions. With a quick motion he shifted her ankles to the tight grasp of one hand and an arm reached under her loins and hauled them up bodily. A vivid image of Sally's writhing, bared buttocks flared in her mind. Oh, no. No, nononooooo!
Suddenly it was as if she were on a conveyor belt in one of those old silent movies, except that instead of a buzz saw, there was a penis at the end of the belt. She started to cry, bitter, helpless tears.
Expecting the worst, she gave a gasp when she felt his finger sliding into her vagina. The smooth flesh had dried with her fright but as his finger teased back and forth over the outer lips before entering and stroking the walls of the passage a warmth of involuntary moisture gathered rapidly. The muscles stiffened and contracted but he riffled his finger around the tight little opening until she relaxed. When his stroking went to her clitoris, lightly circling the tiny bud to a quivering hardness Joan felt the tremor of desire, starting down there and coursing through her body to meet the rising excitement of Tod's hands sliding under her arms to her breasts. Of their own accord her buttocks levered higher into the air and began a slow, almost imperceptible writhing.
Their fingers and hands worked their magic briefly at Joan's cunt and at her breasts with the timing of performers who have worked in tandem before, to the point where they felt she was sufficiently roused to contribute to, or at least condone the action.
She uttered a low groan, more of surprise than pain with the insertion of one finger in her anus. The narrow passage tensed, then yielded as Bill's finger glided into the soft, warm depths. He gradually intruded another and felt the slight resistance give more easily as the taut little hole insinuated itself warmly along the unfamiliar probe. His fingers prodded and he felt her wince and bounce away with the sudden hurt. He moved with her but stilled her for a short while and once she'd got used to the extra pressure he felt the smooth walls of the dark heated channel clamp in a moist, tight grip. And then he let the fingers explore the expanding and contracting rubbery flesh, preparing her rectum for what was to come.
The insertion of one finger in her anus had been but a swift irritation for she was aware of only the delicious sensation brought on by the titillating caresses in the moistening passage of her vagina. Tiny sparks radiated out to sweep through her thighs and her loins with an ever heightening, sensual thrill. Her breasts were swelling in response to the soft urgency of kneading hands, nipples growing stiff and erect, throbbing under the strumming fingers. The invasion of her rectum had been like the sharp sting of a bee, then the pain had settled to mere fluttering of after-ache.
When the pressure became appreciably greater she involuntarily made an effort to reject this new hurt. Gradually the pain eased a bit and her body was forced to accept it rather than struggle to break free, risking the loss of the sweet satisfaction building in the erotic, nerve-centered tumescence of her clitoris. And slowly the intrusion of her anal passage turned to a peculiar combination of painful discomfort and stimulation. Her aroused body continued its gently undulating tempo of mindless sensuality.
Bill felt both of her orifices breathing in and out like most, hungry mouths on his fingers and he was conscious of no part of his body but his bursting prick. His balls ached and his penis danced in the air, its blood-pressured head full to point of explosion. He watched the brownish-pink lips of her anus pucker and begin to pulsate hotly around his finger, saw the licentious flexing of the full-fleshed cheeks of her ass, rotating in tiny circles, smooth rounded swells hollowing, as if the white satiny orbs had an identity all their own.
Looking across the swaying expanse of Joan's crouched body, he saw the ripple of muscle in bi-cep and shoulder as Tod's hands kneaded at her jiggling breasts. Tod's puffy face was flushed to a purplish-red with the heat of lusting concentration. Their eyes met and a silent message seemed to flash between them.
With the removal of the obstruction in her throbbing rectal passage, Joan gaped with the unexpected relief. She felt a cool rush of air that was soft and soothingly good on the enflamed circle of the raw, sensitive anus. Now she could surrender without restraint to the wonderful promise of excruciating rapture gathering within her loins. The damper of gentle air easing against the tiny pulsing ring in the exposed crevice between her buttocks was suddenly shut off.
The agony of her scream was the lost cry of some last-living creature in the universe. It reverberated throughout the room like nothing human. As the sudden shock of the huge blunt head of his penis tearing into the tight resistant tunnel of her rectum plowed its way through every fiber in her body, the pain was an unbearable roar of white heat like nothing she'd ever known or could imagine. The breath exploded from her lungs and her mind froze. She felt like she was tumbling endlessly in a violent whirlwind, and her body was being shored apart. Her head snapped around on her neck in wild circles as she squirmed and twisted like a woman gone mad trying to escape the brutal, savage impalement.
Bill grunted like a rampaging bull behind her as his loins buffeted forward and his thick rock-hard cock bored into the helplessly struggling girl without mercy. It drilled into the screaming depths of her body, battering and smashing all resistance before it in great breakers of moist screaming flesh until his pelvis buffeted her upraised behind with a hard, buttock flattening force.
Joan's mouth sucked for air and as it rushed into her lungs they expelled it in a screaming stream.
"Good God," Bill groaned at Tod, "Shut her up, dammit!"
"Aaaaaagggghhhh!"
Joan's shriek was cut off in mid-breath. Her anus was splitting. It would tear into a great slit down the entire length of the stretched crevice of her buttocks and her body would slowly be split in half like the crack of a brittle wishing bone. Waves of shame engulfed her at this horrible debasement of her flesh and increased tenfold when the head of Tod's penis in front of her, hot and bloated and heavy, stuffed her mouth, shutting off her scream. Through the sudden gag it sank to gurgling moan.
She choked, then tried to toss her head to dislodge the swollen, strangling bulb, but his cock's hard rigidity impaled her head to immobility. She could feel the enormous intrusion of the cudgel in her rectum pushing solidly in now and widening the back passage, chafing the tender skin with a sandpaper abrasiveness.
Her struggles lessened as the crying protest in her body told her that the more furious her movement, the greater the pain. A pain that was humanly impossible to endure. Yet somehow she had to, and did.
She tried to hold her mouth coldly passive, cleaving her tongue to the lower gum, pressing the hardened tip of his cock tight against her teeth. But the weighted thrust of his prick was a forceful counter attack, pushing her tongue back against her tonsils until she gagged on her own flesh. Compelling muscular rigidity to her cheeks was frustrated even more by the hollowing suction of his thrusts, led by natural inclination to a convex enfolding of the pulpy, mouth-filling mass.
Tod felt her desperate but feeble attempt at resistance. Unsatisfied with her performance, he held her nose between finger and thumb, forcing mobility to her tongue and cheeks as she gasped for breath. With sudden inspiration her teeth bit down, but with the first hint of their sharpness on his cock he struck her face a sharp blow. Her neck snapped back and seemed about to crack loose from her spinal column. The head of his penis, slippery with its thick ooze of lubrication, followed the backward arch of neck, lodging far back in her throat, choking her.
"Don't try that again, or I'll choke you to death with my fucking cock!" he warned her thickly. "Suck!"
The gland retained the strangling pressure until she had no choice but to obey his command. Sickened, she sucked and licked the great, pulsing, eel-like creature in her mouth, tasting the seaweed pungency of seminal fluid. It seemed to be endlessly expanding and swelling as it sawed in and out of her mouth. Her tongue and lips worked with an avaricious frenzy to make it end soon. Her torture had gone on forever, the fat prick behind pounding in and out of her rectum, never quite withdrawing far enough to ease the splitting pain, projected her body with each forward thrust, skewering her mouth onto the rod pistoning deep in her throat. She was buffeted back and forth from one stabbing cock to the other with a back-breaking velocity.
She had no memory of the beginning tingles of ecstasy, the insidious lure of the flesh with its sweet promise of fulfillment. Her shattered mind was aware of nothing now but her base and total degradation and the agonizing pain of the battering ram shoring up her ass. And she wished she were dead.
Up from the depths of her soul came, "Dear God, please!"
And as if in answer it ended. She felt a final, tremendous bursting erupt in the dark depths of her rectum, shattering the walls of the anal passage and pouring a flood of hot liquid into her belly with the fury of a burst dam. It rushed through her body and rose to her throat, seemingly spewing out from her lips like an acrid hot spring. Her throat worked convulsively to swallow it back and she sucked frantically on the slowly deflating obstruction in her mouth to keep from choking.
In Joan's confused mind and body she was awash and drowning in one huge orgasmic sea. When the finally depleted organs freed her from bondage, she fell forward on the smooth leather, close to unconscious oblivion. As her body assimilated the dregs of their hot seed she rolled over, sobbing helplessly, all semblances of resistance gone forever....
CHAPTER 9
Joan heard the sound of breaking glass, the clink of bottles and the tinkling rattle of ice. Low whispers, then a shrieking laugh. The sound had been there for sometime, like the beating of her heart. She pulled herself to a sitting position and leaned back on a plush mound of cushions. For sometime she just lolled there, dazed, wincing with the aches and pains that seemed to emanate from all over naked flesh. Somehow she wasn't too surprised at her nakedness. When she looked up from a bewildered contemplation of a red welt on her right breast, her eyes hit on a watery blur across the way. Her vision cleared and she saw the others in the room had no clothing on either. So she was all right. She stretched, wriggling her bottom in the sofa cushion and the stab of pain from down below in her forever stretched rectum rocketed to her throat, leaving her moaning.
What had happened lay like a luminous transparency on her memory, remembered sensations smothered in a blanket of degradation and agony.
"You two look like you had yourselves quite a time!"
She recognized the ring of Claude's voice from the scene in the garden and shuddered. In that instant she wanted Mark more than she had ever wanted anything or anyone in her life. She was sore and miserable and alone. Those other people were laughing and drinking, having a beautiful time in their bare flesh. "Mark!"
She cried his name aloud and her gaze swept over the group gathered around the bar, searching frantically. Her mind ticked off the figures of male and female nudity. Everyone was here except Mark and her sister. And then she was on her feet, trembling from head to foot and sobbing wildly, shrill whimpers that graduated rapidly to the high pitch of hysteria.
"Christ, not again!" Bill groaned.
"Why don't you bat her around a little more?" Tod asked maliciously.
Bill shot his friend a look of what amounted to pure hatred. A new conquest added to the group seemed to arouse a competitive animosity between the two men.
"Maybe I damn well will!" he retorted.
At this point Beverly and Irene felt the situation was getting out of control. Joans hysteria was grating on their eardrums and Tod and Bill were snapping at each other like two dogs fighting over a bitch in heat. It was enough to aggravate the women that they had sneaked away and been gone for hours when these parties were communal affairs. And now this--.
They were prepared for all emotional emergencies. In the age of the Pill they went one step farther. Nothing like the hallucinogens, LSD or heroin or pot. They preferred to get their kicks unadulterated. Alcohol didn't apply in this category, it was a part of their life pattern. But they had pills to wake up with, pills to go to sleep with-pills to counteract pills. What's your mood today? Take your choice out of a pill bottle. And all perfectly legal and above board. Irene had a friend who had a friend who was a physician. So they had an instant sex pill-for even members of the group had off days when a little artificial stimulation was necessary for the good of all.
There was a short but surprisingly clinical discussion as to whether or not a tranquilizer should be administered along with the aphrodisiac. They came to the conclusion that Scotch would do just as well, having been proven from past experience. Irene had tried mixing alcohol and tranquilizers just once and it had been a bad scene. She had become violently and physically ill in the midst of a party, ruining the entire affair and a practically new dress. They had no qualms about what they proposed to do, merely how to do it.
This was quickly decided upon while the men were still wrangling about how the girl's hysteria should be subdued. Getting the pill washed down with the liquor was a trifle messy, but they managed. Joan shied away from them like a frightened doe at first. Lewd visions of Sally and Mark locked together in lewd sexual intercourse tormented her mind, transforming all of this boisterous, naked crowd into evil incarnate. Through distorted vision she saw the charming room clearly for what it was.
Claude helped, by holding her nose and forcing the pill down her throat as a parent doses a child with nasty medicine-even with a bit of this-is-for-your-own-good psychology, to administer the potion. After a minute's paralyzed confusion Joan calmed down. Her trembling stopped as the Scotch flowed through her bloodstream. She felt cold and then very warm. Her hands made a few instinctive motions to cover her nakedness, for she felt a flash of shyness and embarrasment. The alcohol consumed earlier was a soft cushion for a good six ounces more and emboldened her to the thoughtwhen in Rome--. Thoughts of Mark and her sister still tortured, but with a subtle difference. Irene and Beverly chatted away with the nonchalance of an afternoon tea party and she felt the mood of the afternoon come back.
Defiance and resentment at Mark's neglect stirred at that particular moment a combination of many forces lulled and distorted her senses, the liquor, the pill slowly taking effect, the whole weird scene diffused fantasy and reality. She knew she was sitting there, unclothed yet perversely unashamed, after living through a horrible nightmare, but she had the disoriented feeling of sitting through a bizarre, unclean movie. She wanted to leave, but it held the allure of the illicit.
Claude brought her a fresh drink and Irene moved over on the couch so he could sit between them. As she took the glass she tried to avert her eyes but it was impossible to do both at the same time. The organ hanging down between his legs seemed to grow before her astonished gaze. A quick shudder caused her to almost drop the glass and she looked away, heart thudding.
He sat down beside her. Almost idly he began stroking her leg, from her hip down to her knee and back. The touch was electric. She felt a tremor of desire. More than a tremor! It seemed to course through the suddenly frayed nerve ends of her body like a thousand tiny needle-shocks. Her heart hastened with an excitement she didn't understand. It took a great effort to brush his hand away, she wanted it there so badly. A fine moisture of perspiration broke out on her upper lip but her throat went dry. Raising the glass he heard cubes of ice tinkle like castinets and their cold rattled against her teeth as she drank thirstily.
The Scotch and the aphrodisiac spread a new warmth, a warmth that had nothing to do with the heat layering under her skin, scorching the frayed nerves. He moved a bit closer to her and said something, but she heard only the sound of his voice, not the words, all of her attention fo-cussed on the small moist furnace of his breath on her ear. His hand was back on her leg, moving now to the smoothness of inner thigh and she felt an amalgam of panic and desire, a desire so fervent she was helpless to repulse the stroking fingers. Only a small protesting sound came from her throat and she felt the current between them grow into an electric and monstrous thing. And she felt so hot, not warm hot but sexy hot, that she held her breath, willing his hand to the thrusting urgency between her thighs.
She had no idea what was happening to her but as he got up to get another drink, and she saw his prick rising now from between his legs she knew that she had to have it. Her buttocks ground desperately into the sofa cushion to quench the roaring flame suddenly licking at her nakedness.
The supple leather only puffed into her crotch, stoking the flames of the fire out of control. Her breasts felt enormously heavy and looking down she saw the coral nipples stiffened to erect, quivering points.
Claude was coming back and her eyes were suddenly unexplainably greedy on the fat cock jiggling before him. Her mind struggled hopelessly against the passion that made her involuntarily spread her thighs. He came up to her and she lost all control of her body. She lay back, slender legs coming up with bended knees then scissoring out as she braced her feet on the edge of the cushion, and spread her thighs wider in lustful invitation.
Kneeling down, he ran the flat of his hands along the soft inner thighs from knee to crotch then dug his fingers into the downy wetness of pubic hair. She moaned, and he felt her shudder and the firm fleece-covered mound thrust eagerly into his palms as her buttocks inched forward. He placed his thumbs on the fleshy hair-lined lips of her cunt and spread them slowly apart. With hot eyes he paused to stare at the pink, quivering flesh. The lips were a satiny glaze of warm moisture and the tumid clitoris nestled in the soft folds throbbed with a deeper, hungrier pink.
Her buttocks writhed wildly and she strained her legs to push her cunt to his face. His hot breath was coming in rasping gasps, teasing at the hungry opening until she could hardly stand it. When his tongue flicked in and out of the pulsing lips like a darting snake she pushed up violently, burying his face in her cunt, forcing the length of his tongue into the burning passage.
Her legs kicked out and up uncontrollably and her heels dug down into his shoulders. She jerked forward wildly, smothering him into her naked loins, trying to draw more of his tongue into her body.
Oh God, this wasn't enough! Her whole body was a void dying of hunger, aching to be filled. She groaned in frustration. He was pulling at her legs, jerking his face from the smothering closeness and she was losing even this! She felt herself being pushed back, sliding along the couch, then nothing at all and she thought, Oh no! He couldn't leave her!
But he had only changed his position. He grabbed her flailing legs behind the knees and shoved them back against her shoulders, kneeling up against her buttocks. When he released her legs her ankles locked tightly up around his neck and reaching down, he covered the heaving spheres of her breasts with his hands.
Joan could see him hovering over her through eyes dimmed with passion. She felt his swollen hardness lying the full length of her wet and open vaginal slit. The head of his cock was a hot pulsation between her widespread buttocks and she worked to twist her hips down toward it, her hungry cunt gasping for its moist, throbbing tip. She strained crazily for it but it was kept out of her reach.
"You want a little of that, hon?"
She heard him dimly. Dear God! Oh, what was the matter with him? She had to have it! Why was he tormenting her, teasing her this way?
"Tell me," he coaxed. "Do you want my cock?"
"Don't-Ohhh, please!" she moaned.
He looked down at Joan, at her body out of control, begging him to fuck her. Drugged to the extent where he knew she would do anything asked of her physically, and yet in some distant corner of her mind she clung to an inbred morality. Although his cock was jerking madly to be done with this teasing, he'd settled on a perverse, drunken determination to degrade her mind as well as her ripe young body.
"Go on, say it. Say you want my cock. Say you want to be fucked!"
I'm going crazy, she thought. I just can't! But I have to--! I can't do without it. I've gone without so long-it's not fair!
"Ooooohh, yes, yes, I want-I need--! "
Joan's throat clogged. The obscene words were pounding now in her head. Cock-fuck-cock--. They whirled in her mind as if it were learning some lewd rhyme by rote.
"Say it!" He commanded hoarsely. "Dammit, they're only words!"
Claude was fast wishing he'd never begun this game. Joan's painful agitation seemed to excite him all the more and his prick was jerking on the brink of the boiling point. He couldn't stop but he used the greatest persuader that came to mind. He flexed his loins and brushed the bloated head of his cock over the open wetness of Joan's cunt.
"Yesssss!" The words tumbled out in a guttural stream. "I want your cock I want you to fuck mee--! "
He'd had to pin her down by her shoulders, she was struggling so furiously to reach him. As he took one hand away to guide his prick she lunged up with a rush and grabbed for him. Her hands were on his cock before his own, pummeling the taut flesh up and down on the tree-like shaft, in a fervid effort to force it into her cunt. Catching him off balance, he was no help. His body lurched forward to keep from sliding off from the edge of the couch. His prick slithered up the smooth flesh of her belly just as her hands pushed down on the blunt head. Without warning the rod stiffened to iron in her grip-then spewed its white-hot liquid into her navel. The jet stream bubbled forth from the minute cavity and flowed over her white, quivering belly like molten lava from an erupting volcano.
"Ohhhhhhh!" Joan wailed as she watched the hot sticky fluid inundate her belly. Her hands worked in a fury of frustration, driving up and down on the slowly deflating member in an attempt to bring it back to rigidity. When it oozed its last drop he pried her loose and rolled over on his back beside her with a weak groan, breathing heavily in satiation.
She pierced the limp flesh with a look of glittering hatred. It had betrayed her! He'd made her beg-then tricked her! She looked down at the sticky rivulets gathering in congealing pools on her flat stomach and sobbed.
Oh God, she pleaded, what am I going to do? There must be someone--!
She looked over the room, seeking, desperate. Beverly was sprawled on the floor beneath a long console table, stretched out like a lazy cat. Irene and Bill were going at it hot and heavy on a sofa across the room. Her wild eyes fell on Tod fixing himself a drink. She rolled to her feet and swayed as though she had lost control of her legs. And then she headed for him straight as an arrow, propelled by her voracious need.
Tod saw her coming and he saw the still-glutinous semen marring the smooth perfection of her flat little belly, dripping in thick strings to her thighs and matting in her sparse young pubic hair. Oh-oh, he thought. What a helluva waste! He glanced down at his prick, hanging like a dead, white slug between his thick, hairy thighs. He'd taken on both Bev and Irene within the last half hour and Joan had drained his cock before that. A man had just so much to go around in any given time, he thought ruefully. By the look on her face and that body just built for--.
Without uttering a word Joan came to him and her flushed body surged against him. Putting her arms around his hips, she dug her fingers into his sinewy buttocks, drawing his pelvis hard against her, and she buried her mouth, hot and wet and open, in the pulsing hollow of his throat. A faint ripple ran through him from her moist lips to his groin. Well! Maybe she can get it up again at that!
She ground her body against him, rotating her crotch into his groin, boring holes in his chest with hard, pointed nipples. Every straining inch of her begged to be taken but was met with a barely perceptible flutter. His hands went to her shoulders and gave a hard, quick, downward shove, forcing her to her knees at his feet.
"Suck it hard, little sister!"
Joan heard the hard command as from a great distance. She looked up into his face and it swam before her eyes. Disbelief clouded her eyes, eyes that stared at him in supplication. This couldn't be happening to her! Not again!
Repeating the words he twisted his fingers in her hair and pushed her head to the limp penis hanging down between his legs.
like an animal who knows it will be rewarded with a juicy tidbit following a performance, with the obedience of one of Pavlov's dogs she bowed her head. Taking his flaccid penis in both hands, she placed it between her lips and drew it into the wet warmth of her mouth and began to suck avidly.
Tod stood over her with legs astride, staring down at the top of her bobbing head with a grim, sadistic contemplation on his slack face. This was an even better joke on the young fool than before. It was swift retribution for that attempted bite!
But nothing else mattered to her now; not shame, not principles, not debasement, just the mindless anxiety to please him and win release from the hungry animal eating her alive.
* * *
Sally closed the door behind them, and its closing shut out the bright overhead light of the connecting breezeway. She advanced into the dusk of the room leaving Mark standing just inside the doorway. Weaving from side to side on unsteady underpinnings he shook his head, trying to clear it, and waited for his vision to adjust to the dimmer light. He felt removed from the light of reality, as if he were gazing out on a bleak, gray wasteland that stretches to no horizon, on which nothing can be seen, only an endless sea of gray, lifeless dust glowering under an ominous sky that threatened him with impending doom.
A sudden chill rippled over his naked flesh in the hot, somehow tropic air of the room. His vision slowly cleared, the outlines of human figures swimming into focus, he realized it was only a nightmare vision of his fogged mind. As he moved to the quickly focusing figures, he stopped short, facing the nightmare of reality.
It took a long moment for the impact of the lewd spectacle-his wife down on her knees, sucking her brother-in-law's cock to slow erection as if it were the most delicious morsel in the world-to hit him.
His mind knew better, but he tried to tell himself this was part of the waking dream. He knew he was almost helplessly drunk, that he'd been fucked by two strange women-conscience stabbed-that he had fucked them, and that only minutes ago his own cock had swollen and jerked to live in Sally's hot, wildly suctioning mouth. Just as Tod's hardening flesh was now in Joan's-But Joan wouldn't--! But she was!
The truth in his mind fragmented. He closed his eyes and a brilliant, multi-colored rainbow of kaleidoscopic splinters moved across his lids. His head whirled, the last drink came up in his throat like bile and he opened his eyes and they were still there. But now Joan was on her feet, raised up on widely outspread legs, stretching up as tall as she could on the tips of her toes, trying frantically, desperately, to stuff Tod's massively expanded cock into her cunt.
His muscles coiled. He wanted to spring, to wipe the lust from Tod's face with a smashing blow of his clenched fist, to smell his blood and feel the pulp of mashed flesh on his knuckles.
Joan's head was thrashing dementedly from side to side. A lusting stream of obscenities his mind couldn't conceive of her even knowing flowed from her lips in an endless stream. Momentarily, her head jerked to a stop like a puppet's on a string and her eyes met his. She stared right at him, a wide-eyed unblinking stare, like she had never seen him before in her life. As though he were a total stranger!
Her head turned away and he saw her lips open and her tongue dart out as she ground her mouth against Tod's with a ruthless hunger.
Mark's hands went limp and every muscle in his body seemed to collapse like a punctured balloon. Unaware that Joan's sister had come close and was watching the swift change of emotion on his face, he felt her arm around his waist.
"You'd better sit down before you fall down," she said.
She steered his sagging frame a few steps until the back of his legs hit a chair. He sprawled back into its cavernous depths with a deep moan and she wedged herself in close against him. He closed his eyes and lay back, trying to blot what he'd just seen from his brain. But vivid pictures flashed on the screen of his closed lids. Joan's cheeks hollowing in and out as she sucked Tod's prick. Her hands rummaging feverishly over the rock-hard rod. Her pink tongue thrusting into his slobbering mouth. Oh God!
The image of her cunt on their wedding night, tender pink lips soft and warm, moist and quivering-trying desperately to repel his prick, unreeled from the tape in his brain to torment him.
And he pictured the soft flesh, wet and open and ready, wildly urgent for the lust-filled head of Tod's cock. Unable to take more of that his eyes flew open and stared at the ceiling.
Sally had been keeping up a lurid, running commentary on the action taking place and he heard her say now, "It's ridiculous for you to make such a big thing of this. Oh, I can tell you're upset." She was stroking his penis and arousing no response. "You're not getting up." She giggled. "But really, what did you expect Joan to be doing while you're balling around day and night?"
That sounded like it should have made sense but it didn't. He sure as hell hadn't expected her to be doing this! To do as the Romans do didn't cross Tod's mind. He felt the same stir of resentment against Joan as he'd felt against himself. He felt he had never known her at all, after thinking he knew her so well.
His sister-in-law's teasing stroke on his penis gripped to sudden fierceness and he heard her moan as she wriggled against him. He'd heard that moan before and her fingers bit into his prick and hurt like hell. He felt it give a swelling jerk and felt a familiar pressure in his groin. Jesus! He sat up with a sudden lunge just in time to see the massive breadth and length of Tod's cock glide fluidly into the depths of Joan's wide splayed vaginal lips.
He sat transfixed. The sinewy shaft was disappearing all the way into the wet gaping channel until only a narrow stretch of it was visible, white and glistening with moisture, beneath his hairy balls. They were on the floor, and Joan lay prone, her body writhing with a wild, primitive abandon under Tod's pounding assault. He withdrew slightly, the rigid fleshy column sliding out part way, then drove forward again, imbedding it deep down between her writhing buttocks. He withdrew again until only the bulbous head, pulsing hotly, rested in the moist, fleshy folds of her cunt.
Mark saw his wife's long full legs snake up and wrap suddenly and frantically around Tod's hips, her heels digging into the cheeks of his ass, straining to draw him back inside of her. Her hollowing buttocks lifted off the carpet as she surged upward to absorb the full length of the thick cock back into the grasping lips of her hungry cunt. The folds of satiny hair-lined flesh slithered upwards, devouring the rigid pole from sight.
He heard Joan squeal like a stuck pig as Tod's buttocks lunged forward and his pelvis crashed into hers with crushing force. He cried out as if he felt her pain and slid to the small of his back in the big chair to blot out a sight suddenly too much to bear. His cock lunged upright from his nearly prone body. And as Sally mounted him with a quick, eager motion, his hips rose and fell with a raging violence under her bouncing buttocks.
CHAPTER 10
Mark woke up not so much in the middle of a dream as in a rush of remembered emotion, the lust he had felt screaming through the blurring of senses over the long day and night. The recollection of this was somehow clearer than the experience itself, during which he had no control over his emotions, had never really been conscious of any one definitive word or act. He had followed wherever the dictates of the flesh led.
Had alcohol brought out the beast within? He wondered if the instinct that had driven him to those violent orgasms of loveless animal sex was not some vestigial part of every man. And woman ?
He lay motionless, one hip and leg aware of the soft warmth of Joan's body, keeping his mind turned inward in that first awakening. He kept remembering what his mother always said-about sex and love being one thing. What had happened had nothing to do with his love for Joan. And he prayed hers for him. He had thought until now that temptation can't exist unless we make a free, conscious choice. Had he lost all consciousness under the influence of the flow of liquor? Looking back it seemed he had no choice.
And he remembered with self-revulsion and a harrowing sense of guilt pure sensual pleasure, all important and ecstatic. He felt a shivering in his body and shunted rationalization aside. Time for that later. But no time to remember Sally's purring voice, the touch of her hands, the hot demand of her body, his own body's eager response-the animal's arousal and climax. And never a time for remembering Joan and Tod wrapped in that lewd sexual embrace. He thought that now with the wound barely scabbed ever.
Although it's been said that layer upon layer of scar tissue can be tougher than the original flesh.
Mark opened his eyes and shut them quickly, wishing he hadn't. The afternoon sun streamed in at the uncurtained that was blinding. My God, he thought, I really must have been drunk! He had no recollection whatsoever of how he happened to be in the strange curtain-less room. The leg stretched out against his pressed tighter and he felt a moment of swift panic. Had he gone home with one of those women! Then he heard her voice and his heart resumed its beat.
"Are you awake, darling?" his wife whispered.
In answer he rolled on his side and gathered her warm, sleep-soft body in his arms. He buried his face in the deep, sweet hollow between her breasts, pressing his lips to the fine, silky flesh, drinking in the dusky fragrance of her skin. Her hands stroked his shoulders and the back of his neck, tenderly, soothingly, and her arms cradled him in the pliant ripeness of her breasts.
He felt sinuous, feline movements of her body, the momentary ripple of muscle in her thighs and arms. They lay in the tender, loving embrace for long moments, absorbing the feel of each others flesh and bone, lean masculine hardness melding with lush smooth softness. He raised his head and kissed her lips, at first with his lips firm and gentle, then with growing intensity as her lips parted and their tongues parried with a hot, moist eagerness.
And their embrace was no longer gentle, but a thrusting of hip and thigh and breast, hard, purposeful movements like a horizontal dance. Her swelling breasts flattened against his chest, the nipples stiffened and probing, transmitting a message or rising desire to his penis. It grew along her thigh to massive, rigid pulsation, prodding into the soft flesh with a hot intensity. She tunneled her hand down into the straining press of their bodies and took a firm grip on his swollen hardness.
Pulling her mouth away from Marks, Joan looked deep in his eyes.
"I want your cock," she said softly. "I want you to fuck me like the others did."
For a long time after it was over he lay motionless, aware only of the rapid rise and fall of her breasts pressed against his chest.
When he was able to speak, Mark said, "Do you want to go home?"
Joan looked at him with bemused eyes. "But we are home, darling," she said.
