"A healthy society requires healthy people...sexual fulfillment is one of the preconditions of human health."
These words, written by Edward M. Brecher in his important history of sexual practices and beliefs from the 1800's until the present, THE SEX RESEARCHERS, are given a new and dramatic emphasis by our newest LLP novel. Since Brecher expresses what has always been our philosophy here at Liverpool, we take special pride in presenting Peter Jensen's latest book, An Adolescent Desire. As usual, author Jensen has written a sure best-seller with deep psychological insight into his real-to-life characters, and a fast-paced style which makes the story ultra-readable as well as containing a serious message.
Ingrid Andersen, the beautiful blonde heroine of An Adolescent Desire, suffers from severe emotional scars after the failure of her marriage. In effect, the curvaceous twenty-four year old has renounced love and her own sexuality has turned her back on life itself. During one short dramatic week, however, she becomes a completely different woman. For the first time, she becomes a free and fully sensuous female, a happy girl with an extremely healthy acceptance of what it means to be a human being.
Although some readers may be shocked and repelled by the curious circumstances which rescue young Ingrid from her self-constructed prison of inhibitions and loneliness, we sincerely hope that these readers will re-examine their initial reactions. It is true that some of the actions and characters in this novel are bluntly depicted by the author in his striving for absolute authenticity, but there is no logical reason to be offended by the truth. Indeed, it is only by acknowledging and accepting all facets of human reality that we can make unbiased judgments as to what we ourselves define as "healthy society" and "fulfillment".
Read this book, if it's the only one which you read this month! Don't just hurry through it as you would a mere adventure story or criminal novel think about it afterwards! Consider the implications for our society which are inherent in An Adolescent Desire, and then bring the questions into your own backyard by asking yourself how free you really are!
Since some of the vivid realism in this hard-hitting novel might be misinterpreted by the immature, we cannot recommend this book to youngsters. Every thinking member of the reading public, on the other hand, owes it to himself to take a long look at it!
The Publishers
CHAPTER ONE
"Deck the halls with boughs of holly, Fa-la-la-Ia-la-la-la-la-la!
'Tis the season to be great, Fa-Ia-la-Ia-la-la-la-la-la!
Don we now our gay apparel..."
The clear, slightly off-key female voice echoed loudly throughout the snow-shrouded silence of the dusky late-December evening, resounding out into the open glade before the singer emerged from the forest beyond. For a moment the young woman fell silent, red lips slightly parted as she shifted her load of pine boughs and mistletoe branches from one arm to another and brushed snowflake-sprinkled strands of her long fair hair back underneath her rabbit-fur hat. Then, her rosy-cheeked face lighting in a soft smile, she parted her full lips wide and once again sent her soprano singing reverberating through the rapidly gathering darkness.
"I'm dreaming of a white Christmas, With every Christmas card I write. May your days be merry and bright. And may all. . . "
Suddenly the blonde stopped dead in her tracks and fell silent, her fur-clad arms clutching nervously at her load of festive foliage and her big blue eyes growing wider than ever as she stared at the huge black hound galloping across the field toward her. Although she was normally rather fond of dogs, she far preferred the small, cuddlesome varieties not vicious-looking brutes like this one, who bared a mouthful of glistening fangs with each unearthly how. Much to her relief, the animal bounded past her without a sideways glance, no doubt in pursuit of some unfortunate small forest creature.
"Thank God!" she murmured shakily, and began trudging through the foot-high snow toward her lakeside cottage some thirty yards away.
Before she'd taken more than three steps, however, the shapely young woman once again stopped short, heart hammering against her ribs. The smooth expanse of snow, unbroken save by the faint tracks of rabbits and birds when she'd walked this way half an hour before, was now gouged by thick tire treads. Slowly, fearfully, she raised her eyes to follow the ruts toward the previously empty cottage of her nearest neighbor; a large Range Rover truck, its top heavily laden with skiing equipment, fishing rods, and guns, was parked by the cabin, and three heavy-set male figures stood beside it holding suitcases and more sport equipment.
Her first impulse was to retreat to the sanctuary of the shadowy wood again, to wait beneath the snow-burdened branches of tall oaks and pines until the strangers had unpacked their baggage and settled down inside. Yet even as she started to turn back, she realized that they'd already spotted her and that she had no choice but to continue on down the path leading to their cabin and her own.
Don't act so ridiculous! she chided herself as she forced her feet into motion.
There's no reason to feel uptight they have just as much right to be here as you do, and they're not going to bother you at all! You've just gotten too used to being all alone these three weeks, that's all. . .
But why did the three men exchange that funny glance as she approached . . . ? Surely it couldn't merely be her nerves playing tricks on her, could it?
"Well, hell's bells!" The tallest, most attractive member of the hunting party stepped forward in an authoritarian manner which caused the girl to stop despite her intention to simply nod in greeting and retreat. "Look what's steppin' outta the woods, willya! Santa's been good to us this year, huh, fellas we must've been good boys! Hey, baby doll! You the one who owns that-there VW bug, maybe?"
"Y-yes...yes, I am." A diminutive pink tongue grazed nervously over her full red lips, and her eyes remained glued to the toes of her high leather boots as a bothersome blush spread over her neck and cheeks. "I I live over there," she gestured with one mittened hand, accidentally unfastening the tie belt of her coat so that an icy blast of wind gushed directly against her sweater-covered breasts. "And, yes, that's my car. My name's Ingrid Andersen, and I I'm staying here in my Grandma's summer cottage for a while. I work close by here as a counselor."
"Oh, yeah?! Well, that's some of the best goddamn news I've heard lately!"
Ingrid, not wanting these three crude-spoken strangers to realize how intimidated she felt, forced herself to raise her eyes from her fidgeting feet. At first all the males' robust figures appeared identical, clad as they were in matching Canadian army parkas, knee-high waterproof Wellingtons, and Norwegian ski mittens, but on second glance they each proved a uniquely different type. The one who'd spoken boasted thick, black-brown hair and ruggedly handsome features; at his left stood a red-bearded, bloodshot-eyed older man from whose half-open lips issued an overpowering odor of bourbon; and to the right slouched a somewhat younger specimen, a thin, wiry short with rodent-sharp face predominated by a pair of pale, inexplicably alarming watery-blue eyes. Over and above their dissimilarities, however, each of the trio wore an expression which reminded her of the way her ex-husband's face had lighted up when she was undressing for bed . . .
"My name's Duane, Duane Pomeroy," the dark-haired man took another step forward. "An' this-here's my best buddy, Jake Dory," he waved one beefy paw leftward, "and my favorite cousin, Syd Lang," he gestured toward the right. "An' we're all real pleased to meetcha, you bet your life we are, Ingrid honey!"
"Well, I hope you enjoy your education."
How she detested uneducated, vulgar types like this, who couldn't even speak proper English, and who made such rude innuendos with their glinting eyes! The least she had to do with these crass creatures, the better!
"I really must be getting on home," she spoke with cool, firm disdain. "It's so cold and wet out here...."
Although she could feel three pairs of burning eyes following her every step of the way toward her own back door, Ingrid refused to give the men the satisfaction of glancing back at them. They were obviously egoistic slobs, just like her husband and probably every man on the face of this earth, and she would rather be lonely for the rest of her days than allow another heartless male the chance to hurt her.
Until this evening, the statuesque blonde had never so much as considered latching her doors; now, however, she took great care to make sure the rusty double lock was securely shut. Then, breathing faster than normal in her relief, she leaned her burning forehead against the cold wooden door.
"Don't be such an idiot!" she chided herself under her breath. "Those men being here won't destroy your peace and quiet -everything will stay like it was before, peaceful and quiet."
Indeed, as she gazed around the familiar kitchen which still looked almost exactly as it had in Grandma Andersen's youth, she began to feel calmer. Cut glass goblets and gleaming bone china plates sparkled in the tall, glass-doored highboy, the 1890's chandelier swung from the oak-beamed ceiling, a quaintly curved vase filled with crimson winter berries graced the oversized oval table, and from the age-blackened
Dutch oven in the kitchen beyond wafted a tantalizing fragrance of spicy hot-mulled wine. A soft smile played over the young woman's face as she dumped her pine branches on the big wood table and moved toward the kitchen to light the fire underneath the pot of glug and fetch an armload of logs for the living room fireplace.
Once she'd gotten a blazing fire burning steadily in the hearth, she removed her coat, hat, and high leather boots. Clad now in a well-cut pair of wool trousers which emphasized the firm globes of her ass-cheeks, and a worn black pullover which had shrunken so badly she no longer felt it suitable for work, she returned to the chill kitchen to pour herself a bracing mug of Danish-style wine punch, then hurried back through the warm front room into the adjoining bedroom to retrieve her nightgown and robe. It was far too cold to undress in the bedroom, so she carried the garments back into the cozy parlor.
In the past three weeks of living alone on Lake Saint-Pierre, which was nearly deserted at this time of the year, Ingrid had grown rather careless about modesty.
Tonight, despite the fact that the unexpected appearance of the three sportsmen was festering in her subconscious, she nevertheless neglected to pull shut her curtains. Quite unaware that Duane Pomeroy's binocular-aided eyes were watching her every move with utmost attention, she removed her slacks and sweater and stood for a second basking in front of the glowing fire, delighting in the caressing warmth of the flames against her skimpy brassiere and panty-clad figure. Finally, with the low sigh of a contented animal, she pulled her nightie over her head.
Oddly enough, although she'd been trying to think of prosaic things such as whether or not she'd added a bit too much nutmeg to the glug mixture, and which places to hang her holly boughs, Ingrid found herself standing beside the window wistfully staring out into the snow-shrouded darkness. Looking to her left, she could just make out the ice-covered expanse of lake in front of her cottage; to the right, she spied the glowing squares of light emanating from the newly-occupied cabin next door. She was so distracted that it was several long minutes before she grew aware that a dark figure was silhouetted against the panes of the biggest window and hastily drew her thin, not too concealing drapes closed.
Goodness! she thought, I sure hope he didn't see me undressing!
Unwilling to admit to herself that the thought vaguely excited her, the young divorcee busied herself with arranging evergreens and holly here and there, then settled down on the low-slung, wine-red velvet couch before the hearth. She stretched out her long, smoothly tapered legs, flexed her toes, tried her best to relax...but it was no use. No matter how hard she tried to think of other things, her traitorous thoughts drifted either toward the three strangers next-door or toward her faraway ex-husband leaving a strange warm tingle up between her legs.
Warren, Warren...he'd looked very much like the wiry-loined member of the hunting party, with the same long thin legs and intense, sharp-featured face. Of course, he'd been much more handsome or at least more modern in his trendy snakeskin suits and meticulously trimmed sideburns, his high-heeled cowboy boots and smooth, lotion scented cheeks. But with those same lust-luminous eyes . . .
"Why waste my time thinking about Warren!" Ingrid muttered, feeling grateful that she was alone so that no one else could see what a state of dejection she'd fallen into. "He's probably living it up at some crazy California Christmas Eve orgy with a pretty girl who hasn't got any of my sexual hang-ups. I bet he's thinking, 'Thank God I'm rid of that cold-fish wife!'. . . and if I'm honest, I can't really blame him. I know I was too uptight with him to be any fun in bed, but I just couldn't help it! Maybe-maybe I didn't truly love him, even though I thought I did. . . who knows.. . ? "
Then suddenly, she noticed how hollowly her low voice reverberated through the empty room and clamped her lips tight shut. Talking to oneself, she knew from her college psychology courses, was a sign of being alone too much. Tilting her chin forward firmly and tossing her shoulder-length golden hair away from her face, she switched on her transistor radio.
"Hello, hello!" a static-distorted voice blared from the small plastic apparatus. "Hello, all you happy holiday-makers out there in radio land! This here's Giant Gene, your jivin' D.J. from seven 'till eleven here on WKMI in Kalamazoo, speakin' to you-all live got that, fans? LIVE! from the Boogie-Woogie Ballroom downtown! Things are really hopping on this white Christmas Eve, folks, so be sure and stay tuned in for the latest and the greatest, the bestest and the mostest, right here on WKMI, 890 on your dial! Now, here we go with the Rolling Stones' newest chart-topper, 'It's Only Rock and Roll'! "
"Darn this cheap piece of junk!" Ingrid muttered, forgetting her vow to cease talking aloud as the little Japanese transistor released a tinny shriek of "music". "I should have taken the stereo-tape deck-mini television machine with me instead of leaving it for Warren...but of course, when I left I wasn't thinking of anything but clearing out as fast as I could. But, damn it anyway, I paid for the thing...."
Not only had she paid for the expensive musical marvel out of her earnings from her part-time California job as a social worker in a Santa Cruz drug-counseling clinic, but she needed it here far more than Warren could back West with all his friends. She'd come to Lake Saint-Pierre hoping that living and working in the solitude and peace of nature's beauty would cure her broken heart, but sometimes, like tonight, the sounds of silence were oppressive rather than restful and could only be drowned out by the strains of song. Ingrid Andersen loved music, and sometimes wondered if that hadn't been what attracted her to Warren.
"Never mind Warren!" she muttered in a voice shrill with self-irritation. "I WONT let myself think about him! I won't!"
All of a sudden the phone, generally silent, let out a piercing scream. Grateful for the interruption of her despondent thoughts, the young divorcee hastened to answer it.
"This is overseas operator number nineteen. One moment, please! I have a call for you from Copenhagen, Denmark. One moment, please!"
It must be her older sister, Lena, who'd gone to Denmark as a student, met a handsome blond medical student named
Jens, and was now a Copenhagen housewife and the mother of three tow-headed children. Ingrid was very fond of her sister, her only close family since her mom and dad had died in an airplane crash three years ago, save for her sickly grandmother, but sometimes the four year older woman's Pollyanna optimism disconcerted her.
"Hello! Hello, Ingrid? Can you hear me?"
"Clear as a bell, Lena! How are you? And Jens and the kids?"
"Oh, we're all fine! It's just after midnight here, and we've just finished a huge dinner of duck and red cabbage and rice pudding, and now the kids are tearing open their presents, and Jens and his brothers and my parents-in-law are attacking the Aquavit! They'll all be so drunk soon they can't walk! Gee, it was sweet of you to send those American comic books and blue jeans the kids are just thrilled! They want to say hi, but first I want to talk to you, Ingrid! How are you feeling, honey? Not too lonely in that big, cold house of Grandma's? Gosh, I feel so bad thinking of you all alone on Christmas Eve! Why didn't you come over to stay with us after that bastard Warren treated you so bad? At least for the holidays we've got plenty of room in this new apartment. That's what sisters are for to turn to in times of trouble!"
Despite the faint mist of sentimental tears which clouded her eyes, Ingrid had to smile. Her sister was obviously a little intoxicated she always grew more effusive and verbose after a few drinks, particularly Danish Aquavit.
"Now, Lena, don't worry about me!" she reassured her overseas sibling. "I'm not lonely just peaceful and it's nice and cozy with a fire going. Sure, I'd love to be there with you, but like I wrote, I just can't afford it right now. I had to start working right away 'cause I was broke after moving and buying a new car and winter clothes and all. And we only get the weekend off from this Counseling Center I'm working at now it's insane to fly to Europe for the weekend! Next summer, I promise! But, wow! it's wonderful to talk to you!"
"Gee, you're taking it well!" Her sister had to practically shout to make herself heard over the background hilarity of bottles clinking, wrapping paper shredding, children squealing, and guttural foreign voices raised in drunken song. "If Jens were sleeping around with teeny-boppers the way Warren did, I think I'd just die! And as far as money goes, why the heck didn't you drain the slob of every penny he's got? I can't comprehend how come you treated him so nice, Ingrid he didn't deserve it!"
How could she explain that she couldn't feel bitter against her ex-husband for taking advantage of the ultra-available "groupies" he encountered on his tours? In her heart of hearts, she knew perfectly well that he'd never have been unfaithful if she'd been able to satisfy him in his marriage bed.
Much to Ingrid's relief, she was spared from answering her sister when her nephews, Torben and Lars, and her niece, Brigitte, grabbed the receiver and greeted her in an over-excited garble of English and Danish. Then she spoke with Jens, who promised to drink another Aquavit and eat a herring in sour cream sauce for her, and her spirits automatically lifted as she recalled the pleasant visit she'd made to Denmark's capital years before. What a refreshing, happy-go-lucky attitude the handsome, fair-haired Scandinavians had toward life! Why couldn't she herself be so easy-going?
"Here I am again!" her sister caroled drunkenly over the receiver. "Now tell me, Sis you're sure you're not depressed in that spooky old cottage with all those weird antiques? Are you making new friends...do you like your job?"
"Oh, sometimes I feel sort of strange...as though I'd turned into Grandma and was sitting here knitting socks for Grandpa Fletcher while he was off fighting in the trenches in World War I," Ingrid admitted with a little laugh. "But really, I'm okay. I like my job all right and soon I'm sure I'll feel like uh socializing more. And I'm not really all alone, 'cause today some neighbors arrived three men, hunters and fishermen I think."
She didn't know what had made her mention the strangers, but she was pleased that it seemed to pacify her older sister.
"Great!" Lena enthused. "Now that's just what you need to meet new men, better guys than that creep Warren! That's just what Jens and I have been saying! Promise me you'll invite them over for a neighborly glass of hot glug wine, okay?"
"Okay if you insist!" Ingrid forced a light-hearted giggle, although she knew quite well she would certainly do nothing of the sort. This was rural Michigan, after all, not free-living Copenhagen; she definitely didn't want to give her new neighbors the impression she was propositioning them or anything!
"Marvelous! Now I feel much better about you, Sis! I smell romance in the air!" Lena gushed. "Now I better hang up, 'cause this is costing a small fortune! Merry Christmas, Ingrid!"
"Merry Christmas, Lena!"
Suddenly the black plastic receiver was a dead weight in her perspiring palm instead of a lifeline of communication, and the solitary blonde was once again confronted with the off-beat ticking of the grandfather clock, the tinny sound of the twenty-dollar radio, the bleak howling of the wind in the eaves. With a slight shudder, she wandered into the chill kitchen to pour herself another glass of warm wine, then cuddled down on the settee in front of the hearth. The best way to drive away the blues, she decided, was a mellow alcohol-induced daze, plus the insipidly distracting copy of the latest Cosmopolitan.
The steaming-hot drink warmed her body but did not, unfortunately, achieve the brain-numbing effect she'd hoped for. Each and every glossy page told her how to look and act more seductive in order to trap the male of her dreams. Sex, sex, sex! Nothing but sex which kept her throbbing temples churning with unwanted memories! Memories of a husband who could not satisfy her sexually because she had never let herself go...even though...she had to admit she missed it now...missed the touch of his male nakedness pressing hotly against her in bed.
Wrapping her flannel nightgown tighter around her body to quell her thoughts of sex, Ingrid flipped through the pages of advertisements, fashion photos, and advice columns until she located the monthly horoscope page. Since she was an Aquarius, she glanced at that column first; it informed her that she would discover several new lovers and many enriching experiences in the holiday season, that she should take care to get enough rest, and that the confirmation of the various planets promised phenomenal changes in her life style.
"Small chance!" she muttered, flicking over the page to inspect the words of wisdom addressed to Cancer, Warren's sun sign. He, according to Cosmopolitan, was going to achieve fame and fortune very soon, but in the meantime had better not be too extravagant.
"That's easy to believe," Ingrid tossed the magazine away and stretched out on the couch. "It's the same old story. But as for me finding lots of lovers no way! Where on earth would I find them here? And anyway, I came to Lake Saint-Pierre to be alone and work and not to think about sex...."
Thanks to the two mugs of hot glug, the young woman's eyelids drifted shut almost at once even though her lush young loins remained strangely excited at the thoughts of her ex-husband and being in bed with him again. Gritting her teeth, she counted fluffy white lambs leaping over turnstiles until her brain was numb enough so that she didn't quite realize what her right hand was doing as it furtively inched up underneath the folds of her mid-calf length flannel nightie.
"Uuhhmmm...uuhhmmm...aaahhhhh...."
Although the lonely young divorcee was dimly aware of the muted mewls which poured from her parted lips in sleepy subjugation to the natural but unacknowledged needs of her healthy young body, she did not identify the soft whimpers for what they were. Instead, she transmuted her involuntary noises into sound effects for a half-conscious reverie in which she was back in California and it was last Christmas Five. She imagined herself to be lying in her big double bed back in Santa Cruz, hearing the tall eucalyptus trees rustling in the night breeze and the distant echo of waves breaking on the Pacific coast as she listened for the sound of her husband's car bringing him home from his gig at a local nightclub. Soon, any minute now, he'd be returning, striding through the living room and seeing the little evergreen which she'd decorated with cranberry chains, homemade gingerbread men, and little tri-color paper baskets filled with fruits and nuts. And then he'd be entering the bedroom, throwing off his clothes, crawling under the covers to press his naked loins against her warm figure, tugging off her nightgown so he could press his hard-muscled body against the straining mounds of her unprotected breasts and softly rounded arc of her belly, crushing his desire-hardened penis hard up between her trembling naked thighs . . .
"Uuummmmmhhhhhhhhh!" Ingrid was not actually asleep, but she would not have admitted this for all the world. That would have necessitated bringing an instant end to the sinful stimulation of her love-starved loins, and she simply couldn't bear to let that happen. Under the guise of slumber, she was absolved of responsibility for an action which she knew to be shockingly inadmissible for a woman of twenty-four years of age...no matter how deliriously pleasurable that act might be.
"Ooouuuhhhh...aaagghhhhhhh...."
Each cry which issued from the blonde's parched lips was more urgent and uncontrolled than the last, for by now she was running her outstretched middle finger along the desire-dampened crevice of her silken-skinned vaginal slit. At last she reached the nerve-filled bud of her anticipation-swollen clitoris, and the resultant moan of inhuman excitation sounded for all the world like the voice of one of Scrooge's Christmas Eve apparitions.
The dream was so vivid that Ingrid could nearly taste the flavor of her ex-husband's hungry kisses, could virtually run her hands through his long wavy hair and over the firm muscles of his shoulders and upper back. The sound of his harsh breathing echoed in her ears as she fantasized her hands running over his muscular physique and felt his eager hands grappling at her upper thighs, heard him panting like a lust-crazed caveman in the intensity of his need for her naked body.
"Ooohhh, yesssss, Warren!" she encouraged the visionary man. "Touch me there touch my pussy!"
In real life, of course, Ingrid Anderson would never have dreamed of uttering such shamefully wanton words; nor had she ever willingly spread her thighs to welcome her husband's panting penis. She'd lain still as a stone, the way nice, well-brought-up girls were supposed to do, and when Warren's fingers had strayed too close to the private
"vee" of her female flesh, she'd gently but firmly pushed his hand back where it belonged. But this was merely a dream...no one could blame you for what went on in a dream, could they? . . .
The magically manipulating finger Warren's or her own, it scarcely mattered now as pure pleasure flooded through her bloodstream like liquid lightning circled round and round her tingling clitoris until the nerve-filled bud was throbbing in an erect imitation of a man's lust-elongated phallus. Half sobbing in forbidden bliss, she flailed her long blonde hair from side to side on the pillow and scissored her firm-fleshed thighs together to stimulate the orgasm which had begun building deep inside her churning belly.
"Oohhh, Warren!" she moaned as her own fevered finger parted the soft blonde curls of her pubic hair and slid wetly up into the moistly clasping channel of her self-stimulated pussy. "Yesssss! Fuck your big hard prick deep up inside me! Ohhhhhuuuhhhhhh!" She groaned louder as her middle finger fucked wilder and wilder up into the tightly clenching walls of her widespread cunt.
Then, as the first waves of her climax broke inside her writhing figure in a volcanic explosion of pent-up passion, Ingrid forgot her ex-husband and all her fears and hopes, hang-ups and haunting memories. Nothing existed, for long miraculous minutes, except the surreal satisfaction of this universe whose only component was sheer, unadulterated physical bliss. Bittersweet bursts of joyous release swept through her shuddering loins again and again, leaving her breathless and half-conscious as she finally collapsed in a limp heap on the velvet couch.
For some seconds Ingrid lay still, with only her heaving young breasts giving evidence that she was alive, basking in the euphoric satiation of post-orgasmic peace. The instant her eyelids flickered open, however, her tranquility was shattered.
Her new neighbor's gold-glowing side window was lined up so that it was in a direct line with the couch on which she'd performed the perverted act of fingering herself to orgasm! There were no dark figures pressed against the panes now, to be sure...but what if there had been five minutes before?
"Oh, God! Oh, God!" Ingrid muttered. "Those thin chintz curtains they could see right through them? I'm sure they could, even when it's snowing hard like this, if they've got good binoculars! Oh, why did I let myself do that dirty thing again? WHY?"
Hastily arranging her rumpled nightgown over the curves of her still-quivering body, the guilt-stricken young girl stared in dull despair at the last glowing embers in the hearth. It was growing chilly in here...she might as well go to bed...take a sleeping pill, and escape from loneliness and guilt for a few hours....
Outside the lace-curtained bedroom windows, Ingrid saw that the snow had finally ceased to fall and that a few diamond-chip stars and a stark white moon ringed with an eerie reddish haze were bathing the lake and snow-banked meadows in an unearthly incandescence. Somewhere behind her house, a hound's mournful yowl shattered the silence of the night, followed a second later by a shrill yelp of pain from the canine's late evening snack.
"Shut up, ya goddamn mutt!"
The rough, drunken male voice sounded so close that Ingrid was sure he was just outside her kitchen door. Shivering in fear, she buried her golden head in her pillow and prayed for the pill to take effect quickly. If she stayed awake much longer, she'd be forced to acknowledge the nagging little voice which was teasing at the back of her brain.
You finger-fucked yourself because those three men showed up next-door! the accusing voice of her conscience rang out loud and clear despite her attempts to block it out. You know you did! It wasn't just Warren you were thinking about...it was those strangers, too! And deep down inside you'd hoped they'd all three come over...come over and-and make you do nasty things! Deep down you're nothing but a perverted bitch! A filthy-minded little whore!
CHAPTER TWO
On Christmas day, a brilliant sun and unseasonable temperatures melted the two-foot, two-inches worth of snow which had fallen the night before to a sodden puddle of slush. The next day, Monday, dawned chill and gray, with the thermometer registering two degrees below zero and the naked tree branches, streets, and sidewalks coated with a slick sheet of diamond-hard ice. Out in the suburbs and countryside surrounding Kalamazoo, the shimmering frozen glaze transformed the everyday landscape into a fairytale fantasy of glistening silver, but the ice on the downtown streets had turned a grimy, soot-black shade by nine a.m. The effect was not only extremely ugly, but also very treacherous, as young Gary Sutherland soon discovered when he attempted to maneuver his mini-motorbike from his home on the north shore of Lake Saint-Pierre to the Family Counseling Center.
"Wow! Thank God she's here!" the good-looking high school sophomore grinned in relief as, having somehow managed to reach the Center without serious mishap, he caught sight of a familiar white Volkswagen with a dent in the left fender.
The boy's bright smile faded to a sullen adolescent frown, however, as he recalled how beautiful Miss Andersen's small car happened to have that dent. He'd been following her on his motorbike one late afternoon, curious to know what she did with herself when she wasn't seated in her small square office at the Counseling Center, and he'd seen her drive straight into a parked car quite as though she hadn't seen it until she hit it. This was the sort of action he understood all too well; when he was daydreaming about his guidance counselor, he himself had done even stupider things. Unfortunately, since Miss Andersen had never given the slightest signal that she reciprocated his affection, he had to presume that she was in love with some other man.
"Whoever he is," Gary muttered balefully, clenching his fists in the pockets of his Austrian-imported ski jacket as he gingerly made his way across the ice-slickened parking lot, "I hate his guts!"
In another minute he was passing the receptionist, a bifoculed and broomstick-bodied young woman by the name of Sondra Smuthers who chirped out a cheery greeting. Gary nodded toward her without seeing her and hurried toward the left wing of the "L"-shaped building, treading with carefully measured footsteps down to the end of the echoing tiled hall until he came at last to cubicle number 3-A. Taking a deep breath and smoothing down his Christmas present pullover, a cranberry-red cashmere affair, he nervously inspected his blue-jeaned groin for suspicious bulges before knocking on the door.
"Come in!" sang out a lilting female voice. "The door's open!"
There she was! Beautiful as ever, with her corn silk-golden hair falling loose over her proud shoulders instead of being fastened with a barrette at the nape of her neck as it had been the last two times he'd been here. She was wearing a new sweater, too, a Scandinavian-type turtleneck in flattering shades of blue which just matched the cerulean luster of her big eyes. Too overcome by shyness to so much as mutter hello, the amorous adolescent sank down into the chair across from Miss Andersen's desk and stared in crimson-faced confusion at the toes of his snow-sodden boots.
"How nice to see you this morning, Gary!" Her voice was as wonderful as ever, clear as a country church bell, yet nevertheless intoxicatingly throaty. "My first two kids didn't show up: Kimmy Kline went away on a ski trip in the Laurentian Uplands, and Freddy Clemenson has the flu. Well, did you have a nice Christmas, Gary? Enjoying your free week from school, I bet! Going to lots of parties, ice-skating, and all those fun things, hmmmmmm?! "
Ingrid was acutely aware that she was speaking too quickly, with too much false enthusiasm, and that her smile was artificially stretched across her face like the painted mask of a tragicomic clown. It was altogether the wrong approach to take with the youngster, she realized as she saw him continue to frown at his feet, but she simply didn't quite know how to deal with this disturbing patient.
Most of the high school kids she was counseling here in Kalamazoo were normal as apple-pie compared to the drug-addicts she'd dealt with in her job in California, and she had no trouble relating to their troubles, which were virtually the same ones she herself had encountered growing up in nearby Battle Creek. Only the good-looking Sutherland lad presented problems; instead of confiding in her he simply stared at her body never her face and replied to her prodding questions oblique monosyllables.
"No!" the boy spat out suddenly in a low, bitter tone. "I had a rotten Christmas, if you wanna know the truth! A real drag!"
The fair-haired social worker started in surprise and felt her cheeks growing warm. How she'd longed to make just such a rude, snarling reply when her indomitable cheerful colleagues had brightly inquired about her holiday! At least this teenager was honest he hadn't pasted a false. sugar-coated smile on his face and cooed, "Wonderful! Just terrific! And how was YOUR Christmas?! "
"Why, Gary?" she asked gently, sympathetically, leaning forward on her desk. "Why was it so bad?"
The youth's slim shoulders rose and fell in a sullen shrug, and his concerned counselor sighed in silent despair. How could she help the troubled boy when he refused to talk to her?
"I really wish you'd tell me about it, Gary," she coaxed. "You'll feel much better if you do. It's not healthy to keep hate and anger bottled up inside you, you know. And maybe I have some suggestions that can help you...."
As she spoke, Ingrid was aware that the youngster's eyes had lifted from his boots to fix her with that disconcerting burning stare. Unaccountably embarrassed, she let her voice trail away and lit a cigarette, although normally she only smoked after meals and merely kept this pack of Marlboros on her desk to offer to patients.
"I dunno why everyone acts so happy about Christmas!" Gary suddenly burst out, and the older woman was aghast at the bitter sparks which flared up in his long-lashed brown eyes. "It's so damn phony! It makes me wanna puke! I sure don't want a lot of dumb presents from people who don't really give a shit about me! And even crummy ol' school's better than sitting around in that dump of a house all week long!"
Out of the corner of her eye, Ingrid Andersen flashed her young patient a curious glance. She knew from the sketchy dossier which the public school authorities had provided her when they recommended the "unsociable and underachieving" adolescent to the Center that his home was certainly no "dump". He lived on Lake Saint-Pierre, like herself, but at the ritzy northern end where each villa was more elaborate and beautifully landscaped than the next, and where custom-designed sailboats and pleasure boats bobbed beside every dock.
"Dump, Gary?" she raised her delicately arched golden-brown eyebrows. "Oh, surely not!"
"It is too a dump!" The fifteen year-old realized that he was over-reacting, but he just couldn't help himself. "And I'm sick and tired of everyone telling me I oughta be happy just 'cause my Dad's got lots of bread. So what if the stupid slob wrote some damn book and got his name in TIME MAGAZINE? He still doesn't give a damn about me so why should I give a damn about him? Hell, I really don't blame my Mom for leaving him not that she wasn't a stupid-ass phony, too!"
Oh, dear! Ingrid's large blue eyes grew wide and soft with sympathy as she regarded the miserable teenager. Another sad case of a broken home! What luck, after all, that her own ex-husband had been unenthusiastic about starting a family right away. But what was the matter with her anyway? She mustn't let her own personal concerns interfere with her immediate job of helping this youth adjust to life's cruel realities, aiding him to view the world with a more healthy perspective.
"Now, Gary," she began in a soothing, placating tone, reaching out a neatly manicured hand to press his boyishly calloused palm. "'Let's be sensible! I'm sure your Dad loves you, in his own way. He's probably lonely and unhappy, too, after the divorce. Maybe you should try to talk to him man-to-man show him you're not a little kid anymore. Let him know that."
"Bullshit!" the boy vociferated rudely. "You wouldn't say that if you knew my old man! He doesn't give a shit about anything in the world except making money!"
"But-but you said he was an author...?" Ingrid, who'd been imagining a gray-haired absentminded professor type, was bewildered. "Surely he-"
Once again, Gary interrupted her with a derisive snort of mirthless laughter.
"Yeah, he sure is you wanna know what his book's called? NINETY-NINE TRIED AND TRUE TRICKS FOR MAKING THE STOCK MARKET WORK FOR YOU! That's what!"
"Oh...I see...."
Ingrid didn't quite know what she ought to say to the irate adolescent. The placating platitudes which normally sufficed to soothe over-emotional teenagers seemed inadequate to appease the Sutherland boy's bitter fury, and besides, as his eyes continued their feverish inspection of her figure, all the words she'd planned to utter simply vanished from her brain.
"Wh-what about a cup of coffee?" was what she finally came up with. "Or maybe you'd rather have a coke? There's a soft drink machine just down the hall...."
"Nothing, thanks anyway, Miss Andersen."
Gary's melting walnut-brown eyes once again anchored to the tips of his boots as he began to regret his angry outburst. He didn't want the gorgeous guidance counselor to pity him he hoped that she would LIKE him. As she bustled about fixing herself a cup of coffee on her small percolator, her watched her fluently flexing female curves with avid interest. Even clad in a modest high-necked sweater and pleated wool skirt, her magnificent figure was abundantly apparent.
Wonder what she looks like naked? he mused, crossing his legs to hide the shameful swelling between his legs. Lots better than any of the chicks in the magazine's down at the drugstore, I bet! Wow, I'd give anything to see her in a bikini, even!
The disconcerted young social worker knew that she was taking longer than strictly necessary to prepare her unwanted cup of coffee, and she was at a loss to account for her inexplicable state of nerves. Perhaps her depressing Christmas weekend had affected her more than she'd imagined, but that was still no excuse for allowing her emotions to interfere with her work. Nor was there the least excuse for a professional social worker to let herself feel sentimental about one of her patients, no matter how sad the individual's story might be.
"Well, Gary!" she turned toward the bowed-shouldered boy, clutching her hot mug in a fierce grip which belied her tone of forced lightness. "Listen to me! You mustn't judge your Dad so harshly. I know that you and the other kids in your generation think of money as an unnecessary evil, but honestly, aren't you grateful for the things your father's worked so hard to give you? Your motorbike...your nice house right on the lakefront...good food and warm clothes. Why, you can drive right through sections of Kalamazoo and see how some unlucky kids are forced to live...."
Since she was uncomfortably conscious that she was sprouting clich�s, Ingrid was not surprised by the youngster's sullen glare of response. Rather, she was so touched that she abruptly dropped all pretense of professional impersonality.
"Sure, I dig my bike and the sailboat, and I'm glad I don't have to live in a slum full of bedbugs and all." Gary spoke more quietly now, without his former tone of hysteria. "But well, gee, I don't need cashmere sweaters and imported Scottish smoked salmon for Christmas. I'd much rather just have my Dad be an ordinary guy who liked to take me fishing or something instead of balancing his bank accounts or drinking cocktails at the country club. And I wish my Mom had been a normal housewife instead of an ex-model with a hundred boyfriends...and I wish-"
"I understand, Gary," Ingrid interrupted. The picture he painted of his upset home life made her shudder, and she couldn't bear to have any more of the depressing details. "I really do understand how hard it is for you. But well, you must be brave and mature! You have to discover your own values and live the life you feel is right, without feeling any crippling bitterness.
"Wow, Miss Andersen!" the boy sighed.
"I know you're right, but sometimes it sure is hard...."
"Please call me Ingrid!" the twenty-four year old blonde exclaimed impulsively. "It makes me feel like an old lady when you call me 'Miss Anderson'. And I'm really not so old, Gary...I still remember perfectly well how it felt to be a teenager."
"Wow!"
Gary Sutherland's entire body shivered in jubilation as his counselor's warm fingers once again grazed against his perspiration-slickened palm. She'd never sounded so warm and friendly before...could it really be possible that she cared about him in the same intensely erotic way he cared about her?
"No one ever really gave a shit about me before," he continued. "All those teachers and college advisers and all speak their little speeches, but they don't really CARE. Jeez, Miss uh, Ingrid I sure do feel all warm and happy inside!"
"I'm so glad!" Ingrid exclaimed before she took time to consider what she was saying.
Embarrassed and somewhat alarmed by the intensity of her emotional response to her young patient, she jumped up to prepare another cup of coffee. Why on earth should a casual touch of hands leave her so strangely shaken?
Once again, the teenager took advantage of her temporary preoccupation to stare at her subtly undulating figure. He could just discern the tantalizing little crevice running up between her full-fleshed buttocks and the straining globes of her melon-full breasts. The warm touch of her had excited him at least as much as it had the older woman, sending his potent teenage penis into a throbbing erection of such intensity that he could think of nothing else save laying his itching hand on her provocative flesh. All of a sudden, to his dizzy astonishment, he realized that he'd risen to his feet and was standing just behind Miss Andersen's bent-over back with one tentative hand resting on the silken sheen of her golden curls and the other grazing the voluptuous arc of her magnificent ass-cheeks.
A fierce jolt of unexpected electrical excitation shot through Ingrid's bloodstream at the sudden sensation of caressing human hands. It had been three long months, after all, since any male had touched her for more than the most casual of handshakes. For a heavenly half-minute she allowed her body to vibrate in bliss...then she was forced to acknowledge that it was the hands of her young teenaged patient which were affording her this illicit pleasure. Tensing in confusion, she whirled around, spilling hot coffee over her brand-new skirt and sweater in her distress.
Just as the curvaceous blonde swung around, the boy took a clumsy step forward. Their heatedly trembling bodies collided, his hard-muscled chest crushing against the pliantly up-thrust mounds of her breasts and his indecently aroused member shoving against the tweed fabric of her protective skirt. Ingrid let out an involuntary shriek of dizzy shock, then took a deep breath in a vain effort to suppress the flames of fire which were shooting in a searing stream from her sensitive nipples down to her secret throbbing vagina. It was no use! Her knees still felt so weak that she wanted to collapse on the carpet!
"G-G-Gary!" she stuttered.
"Wh-what--? "
The heavenly sensation of Miss Andersen's ' magnificent breasts and pebble-hard nipples pressing against the woolen fabric of his sweater jerked the Sutherland lad's rigid virility into violent erection. Groaning in uncontrolled lust, he crushed his hardened member against his counselor's quivering upper thighs and clamped his arms around her back to draw her more closely against her urgently yearning loins.
"Oh, Ingrid, Ingrid!" he pleaded, "Do you really want to be my friend? My REAL friend?"
With an effort, the stunned blonde jerked away from her adolescent admirer and took a step backward. Her big blue eyes grew wide and lustrous as she stared at the boy, and then her gilded yellow head began slowly shaking back and forth in dutiful negation.
"Of of course I want to be your fr-friend, Gary," she stammered. "I want to help you however I can! B-but but not like this, dear! Not THAT kind of friend. You must pr-promise never to touch me l-like that again!"
Gary's good-looking face became a black study of desolation and frustration. After two weeks of sleepless nights spent dreaming about how his guidance counselor's lush body would feel, it had actually happened! He couldn't give up now he just couldn't!
"Aawwhh, you don't give a damn about being my friend!" he muttered in a tragic tone half-consciously calculated to rouse her sympathy. "You don't care about me at all it's just your job, so you pretend to, that's all! You're nothing but a faker, just like the rest of the grown-ups!"
"That's not true, Gary!" protested the distressed older woman. "Maybe at first you were just one of my patients but now I know you, I care about you very much as a real person. Please believe me!"
The Sunderland boy's darkly expressive eyes searched Miss Andersen's face, and his penis gave another painful lurch as he decided that she really did feel more for him than dutiful concern. Every last cell in his overheated body ached to embrace her again and again, to kiss her full on the lips. Then the other guys would stop ribbing him about never having kissed a girl for what was a skinny-legged sophomore chick in comparison with the pinup-perfection of Miss Ingrid Andersen?!
"How can I believe you?" he murmured, making sure his eyes were wide and mournful, his voice low and plaintive. "How do I know you're for real when you don't want to touch me? When people like other people, they want to touch them...." Ingrid tried her best to think rationally, but it was excruciatingly difficult as her blood throbbed against her temples and the twin mounds of her breasts strained against the soft wool of her sweater. The youngster was right, of course; it was natural to express affection through physical contact, according to all her college sociology and psychology textbooks. What baffled her was that, until today with this teenager's unexpected overtures, she'd never truly comprehended this emotional response. No doubt that was the reason for her failed marriage...but why on earth was it happening now? Was she some sort of a pervert, or what?? ?
"But I DO like it when you touch me, Gary, dear!" She was surprised to hear her own voice, shrill with sincerity, resounding throughout her small office. It's only that that, well, it's not as though I were a girl you own age, you know...."
"So what!? Anyhow, I hate all the stupid girls in my class! All they do is giggle and make fun of other people. I don't wanna have nothin' to do with them, not since I took out Candi Christensen. On the way home I tried to kiss her, and do you know what she said? She just laughed and pulled away and said, 'That's a pretty poor technique for a guy whose Mom made it with every guy in town!'. That's exactly what she said the bitch!"
The twenty-four year old guidance counselor knew that it was her duty to advise the boy that Candi probably was just as shy as he was and had only been reacting defensively, but she did not do so. He's too sensitive and intelligent to accept that silly, infantile clich�, her mind whirled. What he needs is genuine affection to build up his love-starved ego.
Suddenly, without pausing to ponder the consequences of what she was doing, Ingrid found herself stepping toward the woebegone boy and placing a warmly comforting hand on his shoulder. Once again, a violent spasm of heated excitation jolted from the top of her scalp to the tips of her curling toes, but despite her guilty trepidation, she did not edge away even when Gary's arms circled around her traitorously tingling torso.
"Oh, wow!" the youth exulted as he clasped his golden-haired guidance counselor against his passion-pulsing body. "Wow! I never felt so good in my whole life!"
Although Ingrid had inherited the long legs and above-average height of her Danish ancestors, she was only slightly taller than the well-developed fifteen year old. Their bodies meshed together perfectly, with his hardened cock pressing just below her pubic "vee", and his uptilted mouth crushing directly against her half-parted lips.
"Oohhhhh!" the older woman gasped as the young boy's heated tongue squirmed teasingly between her slightly spread lips. "No, please! You...mustn't..."
Without paying the slightest heed to Miss Andersen's unconvincing outcry, Gary plunged his outstretched tongue deep inside the butter-smooth cavern of her mouth. He teased at her raspberry-textured tongue, tentatively at first since this was his first attempt at French kissing, then with ardent audacity that Ingrid found herself responding against her better judgment. For long moments there was silence in the small counselor's office save for their tortured breathing, the ticking of the electric wall clock, and the lewd lapping sound of tongue entangling with tongue in a feverish dance of depraved desire. Finally, gasping for breath, the conscience-stricken woman managed to wrench her head away.
"What's wrong?" Gary asked anxiously. "Wasn't I kissing you good enough? I I never did that before, but it sure felt okay to me! Or did I make a mess of everything, like usual?"
Ingrid took a shuddering gulp of oxygen and made a feeble and ineffective effort to ease her body away from the youngster's impassioned clutches. The tantalizing pressure of his turgid teenaged thickness against her sensitive outer pussy lips was making her feel giddy and out of control, and she realized that this sinful stimulation must stop at once or it would be too late.
"You you kiss beautifully, Gary, dear," she reassured him. "I've never been kissed so well before, honest!" .
Oh, God! Why had she admitted that and encouraged the boy? It was true, of course; Warren's kisses had been so rough that they left her lips bruised and swollen, and his lips had cut into her tongue in a way that made her feel as though she were being ravished by a ferocious dog. As for the guys she'd dated before she'd gotten engaged to Warren, well, she'd never permitted them anything save a chaste peck on the cheek. Only with an innocent adolescent had she discovered the wicked wonder of oral caresses. . . oh, God, something weird must really be wrong with her!
"But but just because things feel good doesn't necessarily mean they're right," she heard her own words ringing out in hollow parody of rationality. It suddenly occurred to her that she no more believed what she was saying than the boy beside her did; what better criteria could there be for choosing one's action, after all, than the amount of happiness the act afforded one?
"Dong-ding-ding...Ding-dong-dong!"
Both boy and woman gazed wordlessly at the chiming clock as it signaled ten-thirty: fifteen more minutes, and their interview would be over. Gary's darkly wavy head shook in mute desperation, and then his amorous arms tightened around his adored counselor's voluptuous figure.
"Just one more kiss...." he muttered incoherently.
Yes, Ingrid's mind swirled, oh, yes. Only one more kiss, and then never, never again! I should stop him right now, but I can't...it feels too wonderful . . .just a few more minutes . . .
Even as she formulated her dizzy excuses, a churning excitement, stronger and more overpowering than anything she'd ever experienced before, was building in the pit of her belly. As Gary grasped her harder, the sensation grew too fierce to fight...and so delightful that she no longer wanted to fight against it.
Oh, God this is the way I ought to have felt with my husband, she dimly recognized.
Gary's youthful loins commenced an out-of-control jerking undulation against her upper thighs, and this, combined with the way her tight-pressed upper leg muscles were titillating the swollen lips of her vagina, made Ingrid feel as though she were racing toward some unknown but irresistible goal. Closing her eyes, she began to moan in abject yearning, and her fire-filled loins started a timid writhing motion against the youngster's torso. "Ooooohhhhhh!"
Ingrid's astonishment-glazed azure eyes popped open at her patient's low but frantic groan, for the youngster sounded as though he were in the throes of unbearable agony. What on earth could be the matter? She herself felt nothing save spasmodic shivers of the most extravagant excitement she could imagine as his throbbing teenaged thickness rubbed hot and hard against her out-of-control loins...it simply wasn't possible that he, too, wasn't experiencing exquisite pangs of illicit pleasure!
"Wh-what's the matter, Gary, darling?" she struggled for breath, and eased away from him as much as she could bear to as it suddenly occurred to her that the innocent boy might be suffering from guilt-induced shock. "Are you all r-right?"
"I'm crazy happy!" Indeed, the adolescent's attractive features were distorted into a mask of demented animal lust as he gaped at her in wide-eyed intensity. "But shit, Miss Andersen, my pecker's burning up like it was on fire. Can't you...can't you please pl-play with it for just a minute? PLEASE!"
A shudder of shameless prurience swept through the twenty-four year old's veins, a combination of wanton curiosity and tender concern for the boy whose face was aglow with tempestuous thirst. Except for those few occasions when her intoxicated or marijuana-muddled ex-husband had forced her fear-numbed fingers against his vulgarly swollen hardness, she'd never handled a male's penis; nor, until now, had she felt the least desire to do such a risqu� thing. Overwhelmed, but nonetheless electrified by her own debauchery, she slipped one tremulous hand from Gary's lean-loined back down toward the thudding turgidity pulsing between their tight-pressed groins.
I've been wicked enough to lead the poor kid on this far, she frantically fabricated rationalizations. Now he's suffering...I can't leave him hanging like that, can I?
"Ooowwhhhhh, yeah! Oh, yeah, M-Miss Andersen! Oowwhhh, that feels so super!"
To her own astonishment, the prim and proper' guidance counselor felt her own fevered fingers slowly but surely tugging down the strained-to-the-limit zipper of the boy's Levi's. There was a grating metallic noise as metal teeth rippled over metal teeth, and then her groping palm was clutching something wonderfully warm and alive, something which swelled beneath her timid touch as though with a life of its own. Inspired by the heated rod's eager vibrations, plus the ardent gratitude of Gary's outcries, she began a smoothly caressing massage of the passion-pulsing phallus.
"Gary, honey, what a nice cock you've got!" she was astonished to hear her own voice, soft and husky, mouthing such uninhibited obscenities. "So nice for a guy your age! So long and thick and nice...."
The Sutherland boy flushed bright red with pleasure at the older woman's sincere praise. He'd noticed in the high school, locker room that his fifteen year old prick was just as developed as lots of the other guys, and he'd been proud of that fact just as he was gratified by the thick thatch of dark pubic hair at his groin and the sparse but unmistakable sprinkling of hairs on his youthful chest. Now that Miss Andersen had also noticed his physique, however, there was no word strong enough to define his bliss.
"And what...what nice smooth little balls..." Ingrid once again astonished herself by uttering a slang term she'd always condemned as vulgar. "So soft and warm...like velvet...!"
As she spoke, the golden-haired woman ran her tingling fingertips over the dangling testicles of her teenaged patient. A violent thrill jolted through her like liquid lightning as she felt the sparse-haired sperm sacs vibrate beneath her touch, and she mashed her heat-throbbing breasts against his cashmere-covered chest in an agony of arousal. In fact, the sheer wanton lewdness of her massaging motions filled her with such almost masochistic delight that it was a long moment before she realized exactly what was responsible for the shuddering spasm of lust which wracked through her voluptuous loins.
Innocent young Gary had inched his hand up underneath her pleated skirt and was softly stroking her panty-protected vaginal lips!
"Gary!" she exclaimed, but the cry which had been intended to stop this new indecency came out sounding like a pleading prayer of encouragement. "Oh God, you mustn't do that to me!"
The high school sophomore felt braver than he'd ever felt in his fifteen years. As his ego swelled as large as his turgid thickness, he no longer fretted about whether or not he was making love in the correct manner. Instead, he followed the natural instinct which urged him to touch the private female flesh about which he'd been feverishly curious for some years now.
"Wow!" he heard himself saying in an unfamiliarly confident tone. "And your pussy feels so soft and wet, too!"
As he spoke, the precocious student abruptly slipped his eager middle finger up underneath the elastic leg band of the older woman's delicate nylon-lace panties. The satin-smooth texture of the flimsy feminine undergarment teased against the back of his probing hand while he gingerly grazed his finger along the wispy curls of the panting blonde's cuntal slit, then inserted the tip of it directly against her now wetly throbbing pussy lips.
"It feels so...so hot and slippery...." the young fifteen year old groaned up into her mouth. Ingrid felt as though she were about to faint. Never, never had she allowed her own husband to take such indecent liberties up between her legs but here she was actually encouraging an under-age child to touch her pussy! What in God's name could be the matter with her? Yet even as she asked herself the torturing question, she knew that she no longer cared about right and wrong, moral or immoral; all that mattered was the exquisite pleasure shooting through her veins like some aphrodisiacal drug which melted all her former moralistic thoughts as though by some powerful magic.
"Ooohhhhh, you sweet little baby boy!" she gasped deliriously, involuntarily squeezing his blood-filled member harder than before and stroking her teasingly clasping hand up and down its thick-veined length in a tiny little fucking motion.
"Ooohhh, so gggooooooodddd...!"
"Dong-ding-ding! Ding-dong-dong!"
The bell signaling the end of this bizarre counseling session chimed out its grating warning from the electric wall clock, but neither boy nor woman so much as heard it as Gary let out a sudden shriek of mindless ecstasy. Had either of the convulsively clasping pair had their wits about them, they'd have realized that his top-of-his-lungs wail would surely echo out into the Counseling Center corridor. . . yet even if they'd been controlled enough to consider such an embarrassing contingency, it would no longer have been humanly possible to stem the on-rushing tide of their torrential passions.
How in heaven's name had an innocent handclasp, an affectionate kiss, happened to develop to the lewdest possible limits? It was unthinkable, unbelievable...but the desire-incited blonde was too blinded with bliss to ponder the question as her own frustrated loins and finger-filled vaginal walls exploded like Fourth of July fireworks. The convulsive, completely unexpected climax crashed over her with the fury of a tidal wave at the exact same instant that she sensed the warm wetness of young Gary's exploding penis cumming wildly on the front of her and seeping through the woolen fabric of her blue skirt, and she let out a second unconscious cry of pleasure.
"Ooogggghhhh! Ooohhhohohoh, GARY!"
Then, as the waves of wanton, forbidden delight cascaded in evermore powerful waves of cataclysmic carnality over her love-craving loins, Ingrid fell silent. The boy continued to groan in inhuman ecstasy, thrusting his slim pelvis against her thighs with each successive jet of seething-hot sperm which shot down through the long pole of his heavily pulsating young cock, and each time he crushed against her the half-delirious blonde's bent-back body erupted in a new rush of rippling sensuality.
It's too much! her frantic brain wailed. I'm dying! Dying from sheer joy!
For several long seconds their spasming bodies swayed together in the last throes of the most magical orgasm either of them had ever experienced. Then, as the twenty-four year old woman's brain began to grow clearer, she realized with a shudder exactly what had happened. Dragging herself away from the boy's arms, she staggered toward her desk and fell into the chair to stare dully at the spreading dark stain on her skirt.
"Oh, no! No!" she muttered numbly, shaking her tousled golden curls back and forth in stricken guilt. "I couldn't have! Oh, noooo!"
"Miss An-Andersen...I-I-"
"Oh, God, Gary, please leave!" Ingrid interrupted him in a voice that was precariously close to tears. "Go away right now, PLEASE!"
The guidance counselor's shapely figure collapsed like a limp balloon, her shoulders collapsing downward onto her desk so that bewildered young Gary Sutherland could no longer see the straining globes of her magnificent breasts nor the comely contours of her lovely face. Too embarrassed to try to speak again, he dabbed at the damning stain on his jeans with a rather grubby Kleenex, shuffled toward the door, then paused indecisively.
Too traumatized for tears, Ingrid lay frozen, head buried in her arms, listening to the sound of her illicit adolescent lover's panting breathing and the sheepish rustling of his lagging footsteps across the carpeted floor of her office. Even when his subdued whisper hissed across the small room and tore at her heartstrings, she did not dare raise her eyes from the bottle-green blotter of her desk.
"I-I'm sorry, Miss Andersen...honest, I am...pi-please don't be mad at me...."
"Please leave now, Gary!" she choked out through gritted teeth. "Right now!"
Slowly, slowly, the doorknob turned . , . . even more sluggishly, it rotated shut again and the wooden door creaked shut behind him. The conscience-stricken woman remained paralyzed in her poignant posture of broken-hearted despair as she listened to the boyish footsteps trudging down the long hall, then to the suddenly ear-splitting ticking of her electric clock. With an effort she raised her head and saw that in twenty minutes she was due for another appointment.
"Oh, no...I just can't...."
Every muscle in her traitorous body ached with agony when she finally pulled herself to an upright position and reached for her push-button telephone. Jolts of unmitigated pain jabbed at her throbbing temples, and an uneasy nausea churned in the pit of her stomach as she shakily lit a cigarette and took a deep drag of smoke.
"Hello, Sondra," she tried to speak naturally into the plastic phone receiver, but her voice betrayed her by cracking in mid-sentence. "I feel s-such a dreadful migraine coming on...could you be a doll and cancel my next appointment?"
"Well, I thought it sounded like you were having a hard time in there with that Sutherland brat," the receptionist exclaimed, and Ingrid was grateful that several plasterboard walls separated them so that the inquisitive girl couldn't see the crimson flush which rose over her neck and burning cheeks. "No wonder you've got a headache he's sure a weird kid, isn't he? Never so much as smiles at me! But anyhow, don't worry about a thing Thelma Munchen's Mom rang up about fifteen minutes ago and said Thelma's caught that bug that's going around."
"Oh...I see...."
"Well, listen, maybe you're coming down with the flu, too!" Sondra sounded positively thrilled at the possibility of a major epidemic. "Maybe you oughta go on home, huh? But let me give you a couple of these super pills the doctor gave me. They'll fix you up, together with a nice cup of tea with honey and a long night's rest. Besides, it's starting to snow like the dickens again, and those roads are gonna be mighty dangerous by this evening."
"M-maybe I will go on home..." Ingrid grasped at this excuse to escape from the responsibilities of her job. "The session with Gary was a bit grueling the holiday blues, you know and I do feel like I'm coming down with something...."
"Gee! I just don't get it! How come these rich kids are so mixed up? Now, me and my boyfriend Mort, we haven't got any money, but anyhow I cooked us a nice chicken and-"
Although the newly-hired social worker didn't dare offend the gossipy receptionist by hanging up on her sentimental rendition of her penny-pinching Christmas celebration, she turned a deaf ear to homely Sondra to concentrate on stuffing important papers into her briefcase and personal possessions into her handbag. As a last minute thought, she added the pack of cigarettes...an inner instinct told her that this would be a night where she might find it necessary to chain smoke.
"Just like that neat first chapter in Little Women," the revoltingly Pollyanna-ish receptionist concluded at last. "You know, that nice part where Jo says, 'Christmas isn't Christmas without any presents', but they all end up happy 'cause they give their breakfast to some poor starving family. That's what I call the true Christmas spirit, dontcha think!? "
"Yes...yes, you're absolutely right, Sondra." Ingrid gently eased the receiver down onto the hook and then sneaked out the back door, so as not to have to face Sondra or any of her other colleagues. She drove through the frozen streets as though hypnotized, never noticing that she'd inadvertently knocked against an icy bank of stone-solid snow and put another dent in the right fender of her little car.
CHAPTER THREE
"Christ, Duane, you've had one helluva lot of good ideas in your time, but this one 'bout getting away from the wife and the kiddies for Christmas week beats 'em all cold!"
Duane Pomeroy's ruggedly coarse features twisted into a smug smirk as he winked at his five-year-younger cousin and reached for a fifth can of Budweiser. He gave Syd Lang a comradely thwack on his thin shoulders before settling back in his "Scandinavian Survival Stool Special" a deceptively-labeled object fashioned in throne-like proportions from premium quality imported white pine and the softest of suede, which he'd appropriated from the stock of his "Pomeroy's Sportsman's Palladium". The luxury armchair was positioned in the best corner of the room, the spot which received the most warmth from the blazing fireplace and which also afforded a view to the lake beyond and the cottage of their nearest neighbor.
"Ya don't miss Mrs. Lang?" his guffaw was heavy with sarcasm. "Or all them little Lang brats?"
Somewhat reluctantly, the burly sport shop owner turned from his intense scrutiny of his neighbor's window. At the moment nothing was happening, but he'd seen her car in the drive and who knew when the sexy blonde might next choose to exhibit her magnificent body for his binocular-aided eyes? So far, since he always occupied the privileged seat, neither his skinny cousin, Syd, nor his best buddy, Jake McGinniss, seemed to remember the lush-loined woman's existence...and some devious instinct had kept his normally loquacious mouth locked.
"Ya don't feel deprived of your Christmas turkey with all the trimmings, or the family fun of hangin' tinsel on the tree not to mention fixin' them fuses that always blow when the lights go on, and puttin' together electric trains and battery-powered Betsy-Wetsy walking dolls?" he continued, face deadpan in accordance with his self-image of a great humorist. "Ya sure ya ain't sorry ya missed Midnight Mass this year, huh."
"No way, man!"
Syd Lang laughed dutifully, then flashed his older cousin a heartfelt glance of gratitude as he in turn stretched out his hand for another beer. Indeed, he had a lot to thank the prosperous businessman for; not merely this welcome reprieve from the cloying jollity of a seven-day holiday with his nagging wife, Wanda, and two spoiled children, but also for his lucrative position as head of the notoriously corrupt Sanitation Department of a large Detroit suburb. If it hadn't been for Duane's brotherly efforts on his behalf, he'd still be hauling around heavy garbage cans and living in that crummy clapboard shoebox which had always stank of drying diapers and rancid cooking fat.
"No man, no way!" he reiterated even more emphatically after a long slug of cold beer. "I've seen my last family-style Christmas, ya can betcha bottom dollar on that! Who wants to carve a fucking turkey when he could be eating one of them nice fat rabbits Elvis is so good at scarin' up? Or a mess of fresh fish? Not this guy! We're livin' like a man is meant to live out here!"
"How 'bout you, Jake?" Duane turned toward the heavyset bulk of Jake Dory, his red-bearded pal who was renowned around town for his feats of brute strength in the boxing ring and, more recently, his prowess at the poker table. "Ya missin' Leanna and that prick-teasing teen queen daughter of yours?"
"Huh? Who, me?" The pug-nosed ex-boxer was habitually rather slow on the uptake, which made his prodigious gambling feats all the more remarkable. "Nah, not a fucking chance. Or rather, I don't miss the wife none, but I wouldn't mind an eyeful or two of Peggy Lou's cute little ass twitchin' 'round the cabin. I dunno 'bout you guys, but I'm gettin' in the mood for some pussy. Them blue movies of Syd's are makin' me damn horny! Damn horny!"
"Yeah, me too, now you mention it," the dark-haired cottage-owner sighed. "Well, boys, I told ya I tried to talk some gals I know into comin' here with us, but you know how dames are 'bout roughin' it. Besides, chicks all get this shitty sentimental family feelin' 'round Christmas time. But, yeah...my pecker's feelin' kinda itchy, too!"
"You want me to put on a film?" Syd leaned forward eagerly, his watery blue eyes glinting with lecherous excitement. "I got a new one that I didn't show you yet one direct from Copenhagen. It's called, "A Great Dane and a Great Dame", and it's about one of them big dogs with a prick as big as a goddamn horse!"
Jake's brawny shoulders rose and fell in indifference.
"I jist finished tellin' ya I'm in the mood for the real thing, not another cock-teaser flick. C'mon, Duane, old buddy you're the one with the brains. Tell us where we can dig up some pussy out here in the sticks, before I go crazy!"
The sports goods store proprietor thoughtfully scratched his thick thatch of hair and stared around the room as though he expected several Playboy Bunnies to pop out of the wood-paneled walls. When none materialized, a deep frown of concentration creased his square brow. How was he going to uphold his reputation as the guy, not only with a Midas touch with money, but with a magical power over women as well? Only by admitting the existence of the shapely sex-bomb next door. . . and he wasn't about to do that, not yet.. .
As he considered possible solutions to this dilemma, his attention was distracted by the sudden appearance of a glowing golden square of light in the house beyond. Swiftly but shrewdly, he swung his ruddy, thick-veined neck to the left, squinting in pretended concentration but actually to attain the best possible view of his unknown neighbor's activities. It was odd, he reflected, that although he had immediately begun spying on the lady after they'd met her on Christmas Eve, the other two seemed to have forgotten her existence. Perhaps they were too thick-skulled to have noticed the vivid sensuality hidden behind her prim and proper Sunday School teacher manner.
"Well, shit!" Duane shook himself out of his reverie. "We could drive into Kalamazoo and hustle up something I know a couple good spots there but I hate to take that mother-fucking Range Rover on that damn county highway that's never plowed on a night like this. I'm too comfortable sittin' here."
"I ain't comfortable!" objected Jake. "I'm HORNY!"
"Hell, I don't mind drivin' into town!" Syd's rodent-sharp features twisted into a subservient grin and his wiry body leapt up in eager demonstration of his desire to serve his successful cousin. "Remember, I drove them big of mother-fucking garbage trucks in blizzards and tornados and every other kind of shit weather there is. Compared to that, you ritzy Rover handles like a Grand Prix winner, Duane!"
"Yeah? Ya mean it?" Syd's dun-colored head bobbed up and down. "Great! So why don'tcha go downtown with Jake and bring back some chicks? We'll have us a party!"
"Outtasight!" the younger cousin's thin face turned a unattractive shade of excited purple which emphasized his pox scars as he rubbed his hands together, then reached for his parka and muffler. "But. . . ain'tcha comin' with? You know where to go, and besides, you always have the most luck when it comes to chicks!"
"Nah too damn cold for me." With an effort, Duane refrained from staring directly out the window, but his heart pumped against his ribs and his ever-ready penis swelled to an alert half-erection as, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that there were now two figures silhouetted against the window across the meadow. "But lemme tell ya what to do: try the Casanova Bar first ask for Lizzie and tell 'er Duane Pomeroy's havin' a big blast out at his place, and she'll help you out. If there's nothing but dogs at the Casanova on a God-awful night like this, try the Hacianda Cha-Cha. Lots of hot Chino and black chicks down there who'll do anything I mean anything! for no more 'n twenty bucks. Gotta admit I dig blondes most, but I don't s'pose any of us are in a mood to be real choosy! Hahahaha!"
"Hahahaha!" echoed Syd. He was already completely bundled up in his warm winter garments, and Jake was mutely following suit, a salacious smile on his alcohol-reddened face. "Okay, boss, you take it easy and we'll bring back the best pussy in town!"
"I'll get a good roaring fire going," Duane stifled a sigh of relief as his two companions stomped toward the back door. "An' mix up a batch of my special super-Screwdrivers for the ladies. Take Elvis with, why dontcha? I've trained the damn mutt to have as good a nose for pussy as for hares and squirrels!"
A second later, the two lust-fired lackeys were wading through snowdrifts toward the Range Rover, the howling black hound close at their footsteps. Duane watched them from the kitchen window until the big van had disappeared around the curve, then grabbed up his expensive binoculars and hastened back toward his comfortable chair.
"Hope they find me a blonde," he mused aloud as he adjusted the focus of the intricate apparatus. "Not a goddamn bottle-blonde bitch, either a genuine yellow-haired cunt's what I want, like that one over there."
Despite the obstructing cloud of falling snow, Pomeroy's Swiss-made mountain climbers' binoculars were powerful enough so that he could see what was. transpiring next-door as clearly as if he'd been watching one of his cousin's blue movies. The woman had, for once, neglected to pull her curtains shut; he could see through the flimsy drapes in any case, but not with the same titillating clarity which he was enjoying tonight. Then, as he fully realized what was going on over there, all conscious thought evaporated from the middle-aged man's lust-aroused mind.
"Jesus Christ!" he muttered. "Willya look at that! She's gettin' fucked by a little kid! Well, what the fuck...!"
The thirty-eight year old businessman's dark eyes bugged from their sockets as he watched the couple outlined against the next-door window break their loving embrace to stand a couple feet apart staring at one another. Both their faces wore expressions of urgent longing, and at once his responsive cockshaft lurched to its full length and start ;d pounding painfully against the zipped fly of his jeans. Almost unconsciously, the man's hand fell to his groin to massage his aching thickness.
"This beats any of Syd's damn Copenhagen movies!" he gloated under his breath, reaching for another beer without removing his burning gaze from the window beyond.
Suddenly the svelte blonde turned on her heels and hastened into the room beyond, presumably the kitchen, and the solitary youngster placed his hand in the same position as the watching Duane Pomeroy's. All at once the lascivious older man's sexual stimulation was mingled with a strong strain of jealous wrath why should a snot-nosed kid be getting what he himself wasn't? The anger billowed through his bloodstream as he observed the golden-haired goddess returning with two drinks in hand, sitting down on the sofa before the fire and gesturing toward the seat beside her. Hand guiltily withdrawing from groin, the teenager bounded to her side, accepted the brimming glass, and then, after one long gulp, placed a hand on her full-fleshed upper thigh.
"So that's the kind of bitch she is a fucking child molester!" Duane mumbled in malevolent malice. "I'd like to show her a thing or two!"
A snort of derision spat from the unseen observer's thick lips as he saw the older woman and younger boy stare at each other in tender understanding, then mesh their lips together in a long kiss. What a heap of shit! the thirty-eight year old divorced businessman told himself. A lot of sentimental crap! What she needs is a real man to put her in her place! That's for goddamn sure!
Then, as the young woman rose from the low-slung couch and began to slowly, tantalizingly, remove her modestly cut blouse and pleated skirt, Pomeroy once again forgot all thoughts save the intensity of his desire for this elegant blonde temptress who'd so scornfully ignored him on the one and only occasion of their meeting. His veins pulsed with scorching streams of liquid lightning as he watched her pull off first her sweater and skirt ensemble, then her dainty lace brassiere and matching panties, finally her flimsy white garter belt, nylon stockings, and black pumps. Now, totally naked save for a delicate silver cross around her swanlike neck and several sparkling rings on her slender fingers, the audacious woman posed before the obviously desire-maddened youth in a timid yet nevertheless tempting stance.
"Too fucking much!" Pomeroy growled. "Hell, I ain't a real man if I let this kinda thing go on...."
Without exactly knowing what he intended to do, the sexually stimulated single man lurched from the window to struggle into his warm parka, high waterproof boots, gloves and earmuff-equipped fur hat. The glance he caught of himself in the hall mirror as he eased out the back door reminded him of a Neanderthal man, and he chuckled in satisfaction. He was a real caveman, yeah! and he was going to win himself a real woman, brutally tear her away from an unworthy rival!
CHAPTER FOUR
"Jeez!" Gary Sutherland's glowing eyes were glued to his naked guidance counselor in unbelieving admiration. "Wow! Wow, Miss Andersen you're s-so beautiful!"
"No, Gary, please don't!" Ingrid's voice rose to a shrill, self-conscious squeal as she stepped backward in response to the teenager's step forward. "I k-kept my part of the bargain and showed you what a woman's naked body looks like. Now you have to do like you pr-promised and not touch me like...like the other day. Please, darling!"
"But why not, Miss Andersen?"
Gary had honestly intended to refrain from caressing the voluptuous older woman, but now the sight of her magnificent figure wiped his good intentions from his mind. Her skin was a translucent shade of ivory, graced with faint blue veins and the dim, snow-white outline of her summer bikini, and the sparse curls on her slightly thrust-forward pubic mound were the color of butterscotch and looked so soft that he longed to touch their waving strands again. Beneath that golden-brown "vee", he remembered with a cock-elongating shiver, lay satin-smooth pinkness of moistly-quivering cuntal flesh. He had to experience that ecstasy a second time he just had to! and to hell with the rash and ridiculous promises he'd made ten minutes before.
"Why not, Miss Andersen?" he repeated, staring intently into her wide blue eyes with their long lashes and delicately framing eyebrows. Christ, everything about her was perfect absolutely everything! "Why is it wrong to do what we want to do? And I wanna touch you more than anything else in the whole world! You're beautiful, and I love you what's wrong with that?"
A strange light flickered in the divorcee's azure eyes as she tried to formulate a suitable reply. It was very difficult to know what to say, for in her heart of hearts she was nearly convinced that the adolescent was speaking the truth. All her preconceived ideas of moral right and wrong wavered dizzily and began to fade out of focus; their disappearance frightened her, for it left her stranded in a phantasmagoric no-man's-land without defined borders, placed her in the midst of a weird and wild landscape crisscrossed by complicated mazes of which she could make neither head nor tail. Always, until now, she'd known what she ought to do, and the only problem had been forcing herself to follow the prescribed path. But if all the old guidelines had mysteriously grown irrelevant, then she had to make up her own mind for the first time a prospect which alarmed, yet simultaneously thrilled her.
For a long instant the nakedly posed blonde remained speechless; when she finally spoke, it was as though some mysterious power deep within her was mouthing the words above and beyond the conscious direction of her bemused brain. Could she be drunk? No, it hardly seemed possible after one glass of hot wine! Rather, she was undoubtedly going crazy, just as she had that morning in her office.
"Maybe you're right, Gary..." her voice had a dreamlike quality, as though it came from miles away. "Who knows...who knows...?"
"I know!" the youngster proclaimed, stepping forward again. This time, when he slid his eager arms around her gracefully indented waist, then eased his hands up over her back toward her straining breasts, she did not attempt to pull away. Instead, her lithe loins meshed against his, warm and quivering in her unwanted arousal.
"Wow, Miss Andersen!" the overwhelmed boy gasped as his jean-protected hard-on pressed against the resiliency of her barely parted thighs. "I can't believe that you really like me I never thought a girl would want to touch me like this! 'Specially not a sexy lady like you!"
Sympathy for the self-conscious adolescent temporarily overrode Ingrid's buried sense of guilt and made it possible for her to rationalize her next actions. The poor boy needed someone to believe in him as a masculine entity, someone to care about him as a person and u maturing male.
She couldn't fail him now!
"What a silly thing to say, Gary!" she purred in sultry encouragement as she ground her throbbing breasts and undulating pelvis against his tight-pressing young body. "You're a very handsome and intelligent young man...and you're a very good little lover, too! You mustn't put yourself down all the time, darling! There's no reason to do that!"
Miss Anderson thought he was a good lover! Multi-colored stars exploded before the delighted teenager's lust-glazed eyes as he considered this ego-inflating fact, and all self-defacing reluctance abruptly vanished from his brain. Now he was a "good lover and he was going to really make love, no matter what!
"Miss Andersen?" he whispered hoarsely. "Willya...willya do something for me? Something I want really bad?"
"What is it, Gary?"
She knew instinctively he was going to ask for something obscene, forbidden but she didn't care! No matter how lewd the handsome teenager's request might turn out to be, she knew that she was going to oblige him. And she knew, too, that she wouldn't merely be acting altruistic, that she wanted to experiment in unknown depravities as much as he did!
"Willya...willya k-kiss my cock? Suck me off?" The youth's face was as red as the flames in the hearth, and his eyes refused to meet the older woman's face. "I've heard the other guys talkin' 'bout that so often, y' know, and I wish you'd show me wh-what it's all about! I I think I'd be happy forever and ever if you'd do that to me, Miss Andersen!"
Ingrid ran a suddenly tingling tongue over her parched lips and inhaled a deep lungful of air to soothe the thudding of her heart against her chest. Fellatio! Her ex-husband, Warren, had frequently tried to force her head down between his long legs to perform this obscene act, but she'd always managed to prevent him from pressuring her into the ultimate perversion. Now, oddly enough, with the fresh young teenager's cock she felt no revulsion...only a compelling carnal curiosity.
"All right, Gary dear if that's what you want," she murmured huskily, and sank to her knees on the wooden floor as though she'd performed this obscene act hundreds of times before. "It was sweet and thoughtful of you to come see me to apologize for making me so upset this morning, honey! Now I'm going to make your beautiful young cock feel real good to show you how much I think of you, and you'll never have to feel shy and out-of-it around the other guys again!"
Her fingers didn't shake at all as she undid her young patient's belt buckle and eased down his metal fly fastening. To her own astonishment, she felt quite calm, save for the dancing butterflies of shameful stimulation inside her churning belly; but then her tranquility was shattered as an alarming thought blew through her brain.
"But, of course, you won't tell any of the other kids about this?" she queried urgently, anxiously. "That would get us both in serious trouble, you know! I mean, it's even against the law, Gary! You do understand, don't you, darling? This is our own very private secret! Okay?"
"Sure, Miss Anderson! 'Course I understand!" He would have promised her the world right now, as her warm fingers plucked his rampant rigidity from the folds of his undershorts and gave the blood-engorged head a tender squeeze. "I won't tell no one, promise! Cross my heart and hope to die!"
If she hadn't been so overpoweringly excited by the smooth texture of the pulsing-veined penis, Ingrid might have been tempted to chuckle at the childish vow. But that would have undermined the youngster's growing sense of male identity and she didn't want to do that at any cost. Even though she suspected in the depths of her heart that she herself would regret this bizarre evening, she was determined that Gary, at least, would benefit from her masochistic sacrifice by feeling himself a real man at last.
"That's a good boy...." she purred. "And your nice thick penis feels so good...so young...so fresh!"
The bare planks on which her naked knees rested were slightly uncomfortable, but the now desire-hypnotized woman scarcely noticed. All her attention was focused on the burgeoning shaft of hard male flesh toward which her head bobbed nearer, ever nearer, until her tongue could just slither out to lick the pearlescent droplet of pre-cum fluid teasingly from the swollen head.
"Mmmmmhhhhmmmmmm..."
The slightly acrid, mysteriously marvelous taste of the boy's lubricating fluids went to Ingrid's head like a large swig of potent alcohol. Head reeling dizzily, vision focusing in and out in bleary desire, she dipped her golden head still lower so that her ovaled lips were enclosing the heatedly heaving cockhead. Het tongue inserted itself in the slit at the tip, which she dizzily recalled from her sex education textbooks was ultra-sensitive, and then her entire naked body shuddered in delight as Gary cried out in ecstasy.
"Ooowwwhhhhh, M-Miss Andersen! WOW!"
"Does it feel good when I lick your little cock like that?" the surprised divorcee was shocked to hear her voice, purring smoothly as liquid honey, utter such obscenities. Surprised...yet simultaneously stimulated so that little droplets of moisture began seeping 'out onto her golden cuntal curls. "Do you like the way my mouth feels on your nice hard cock, Gary? Does it make you want to put it up between my legs and...and fuck me, hhhmmmmmmm?"
His previously prudish counselor's indecent utterance astonished the high school boy as much as it did his older lover. The last shreds of his timidity began to fade, and his hands entangled in her honey-blonde hair to tug her flushed face closer to his swollen groin.
"Suck me hard!" he pleaded through gritted teeth. "Oh, shit, I'm gonna go crazy, it's so super! Suck your lips all the way down 'round my prick...like that!...oh, wow! Too fucking much! Too gggooooodddddddddd!"
I'm bringing him pleasure! Ingrid's turbulent thoughts whirled as her widely ovaled lips stretched to the limit to encircle the entire girth of Gary's wildly vibrating young penis. Down, down, all the way down to where his velvet-skinned young testicles danced in impatient ecstasy her massaging mouth sank, but although her inexperienced mouth, cheeks, and cock-strangled throat ached from her enthusiastic amateur ministrations, nothing could have convinced her to stop. For the first time since her traumatically terminated marriage, Ingrid Andersen felt as though she were a useful, truly alive human being, and this realization was so satisfying that nothing else mattered.
In the farthest reaches of her consciousness, the blonde sociologist was dimly aware of an unexplainable noise strangely reminiscent of the rusty creak of the back door hinges, and she felt goose bumps break out all over her nakedly kneeling figure as a sudden chill draft annihilated the glowing warmth of her smoldering pine logs. Something's not right...a warning whisper swept through her passion-blocked brain like the sudden cool breeze signaling the approach of an incongruous electrical storm on a bright midsummer's afternoon. Something's wrong...something's terribly wrong . . .
Who could take a half-conscious foreboding of danger seriously when never-before-experienced sensations of supreme sensuality were flooding through her bloodstream for the first time in her twenty-four years? Certainly not young Ingrid Andersen! Blocking the disturbing evidence of her senses and instincts from her thoughts, she concentrated her entire soul and body on the thrillingly illicit task of sucking her young lover's frantically throbbing young cock.
CHAPTER FIVE
The back door of Ingrid Andersen's two-story frame cottage was unlocked, much to Duane Pomeroy's satisfaction. He would have opened it anyway, of course -in his youth, he'd run around with an expert lock-picker, now serving a term in the Joliet, Illinois, penitentiary for robbing a ritzy Lake Forest residence, apparently unprotected by the normal paraphernalia of burglar alarms and triple-locked barbed wire gates, but actually patrolled by three vicious black canines of indeterminate breed. Elvis, his faithful hunting hound, was the descendent of one of these brutish watchdogs. Another favor this unfortunate former pal had bestowed upon Duane was a handy skill for hastily picking locks with an ordinary pocket knife.
Moving with extraordinary stealth for one of his brawny build attired in heavy-duty boots, Pomeroy tiptoed through the darkened dining room toward the slightly ajar door leading into the fire-lit front room. Here he paused for a long second, his beady brown eyes bugging from their sockets as he absorbed the details of the salacious spectacle ensuing within. Then, as his impatient penis strained in lusty longing against the thick layers of his long underwear and ski-weight pants, Duane shoved open the door with a savage snarl not at all unlike the noises his dog Elvis made when he'd overpowered a helplessly struggling hare.
"All right, you two fuckers, what the hell's goin' on in here!" bellowed Pomorey, smirking in lascivious glee as he saw the expressions on the intimately positioned couple transform from tempestuous lust to a sudden fearful alarm.
"Oh, God! No, no, no!" Ingrid gasped incoherent disbelief. Her tousled blonde curls wrenched away from the youngster's instantly deflated penis; shamefacedly gulping down the pungent seminal fluids which permeated her inner cheeks and throat, she blindly grabbed for her discarded clothing.
"Don't bother gettin' dressed again, blondie!"
There was something cruel and commanding in the intruder's snicker which froze the young woman's naked figure still as a stone. She couldn't force her muscles to move, and was suddenly reminded of the bible story in which the unfortunate Lot's wife disobeyed God's command and was turned into a pillar of salt.
This is my punishment for having gone against all the things I was brought up to respect and honor, her brain churned in wild circles even as her naked body remained paralyzed. Oh God, it's exactly what I deserve for getting involved with a young trader boy like Gary!
"You, there, kid GIT!" barked out the burly neighbor, shrugging off his artic jacket with one brisk motion of his broad shoulders. "This here kid-molestin' lady and me got some business to attend to. Git lost, before you're sorry ya didn't!"
Gary flashed Miss Anderson a poignant look in which his longing to defend her against this brutish aggressor co-mingled with panic-stricken terror. Feeling as though her heart would break, Ingrid looked away from his slender, clench-fisted figure to stare at the gray-painted wood floor, at her nakedly curling toes, at her young lover's sock-clad feet, finally at the ominous black boots of the uninvited stranger.
It's all a horrible nightmare! she screamed inwardly. A terrible, disgusting nightmare...please, God, let me wake up! "Didn'tcha hear me, kid!" Although the older man's voice was low, there was an undertone of cruel determination which caused Ingrid's blood to run cold in her veins. She herself would never dare disobey that voice and she fervently hoped young Gary Sutherland wouldn't be rash enough to try.
"Wh-who the hell do you think you are, anyway?" the fifteen year-old screwed up his courage and tried to affect a ferocious tone, but his voice betrayed him by cracking in a shrill, immature manner. "You can't just come buttin' into Miss Andersen's house like this it's uh, it's trespassing! Breaking the law!"
"Think you're a big shot, huh, kid!" sniggered the lust-fired Detroit businessman. "Well, if ya wanna talk 'bout breakin' the Goddamn mother-fucking law, that's okay by me. I'll just put in a call to the cops right now and let 'em know what sort of depraved immorality's takin' place in Miss Andersen's private residence and before you know it, you'll find yourself in reform school, while blondie here sweats out a prison term! That's fine with me, if ya wanna play ball by them rules. But I oughta mention that I got some real good pals on the police payroll and in courtrooms all over the Goddamn state!"
At the mere mention of the words, "reform school" and "prison term", the fifteen year-old turned white as a ghost, and his fair-haired lover began shaking violently. Duane's lecherous grin widened as he observed their reactions, and he reached down to unzip his knee-high boots and nonchalantly kick them into the corner by the firewood box. Then he reached for the boy's abandoned drink, took a long swig, and made a face at the unexpected spicy sweetness of the glug wine. Jeez, the crap some people drink!
"Well, kid?" he finished the drink anyway. "Made up your mind? Gonna git your clothes on and git outta here, or ya wanna talk to the authorities? Make up your mind before I start to get impatient, won'tcha?"
"Please, Gary!" Ingrid's strangled voice rang out through the tension-filled room, shrill and unfamiliar. "Please do like the man says! Don't. . . don't worry about me...just leave. Please, darling!"
"Ya heard the lady, 'darling'! Git the fuck outta here, or I'm gonna throw ya out!"
Gary knew he would never forgive himself for deserting the woman he loved, for leaving her to the mercy of this sinister bully. But she told me to, he tried to rationalize as he blindly grabbed up his jeans, pulling them on backwards in his distracted haste so that he had to yank them down over his shaking legs and pull them up again. What else can I do if she told me to leave.
Yet, as he watched the middle-aged man fingering the metal fastenings of his wide leather belt in an unmistakable gesture of his lustful intentions, the traumatized teenager knew that he was abandoning his first lover to RAPE...and that he was too young and weak-bodied to do anything about this dreadful state of affairs. Numbly, he pulled his sweater over his dark head, grabbed his jacket, stepped into his cowboy-style boots. Then, clutching his motor cycle helmet, he fled out the backdoor without a backward glance so that the horrible man wouldn't have the satisfaction of seeing the stinging tears which had suddenly brimmed up in his eyes.
As the back door slammed shut and the faint sound of Gary's small motorbike's motor echoed back into the cottage, Ingrid remained paralyzed in the same position she'd assumed some minutes earlier. She didn't dare to look at the man who'd threatened the very basis of her existence, but nevertheless she was acutely aware of his presence as the sounds of garments being removed jarred against her ears. The metallic noise of a zipper...the faint swish of cotton undergarments. . . the soft plop of a pullover landing on the wood planks of her living room floor. Always before, this old-fashioned cottage had seemed a haven of emotional and physical security, but suddenly it was transformed into an iron-barred cage from which there was no hope of escape.
"No escape...no escape...no escape...." The fearful phrase thudded against her burning temples until at last an involuntary cry of anguish burst from the blonde's fear-contracted throat.
"Oh, noooooo! Nnnnooooooo!"
"What do ya mean, 'no'? " Duane Pomeroy fleered.
Carefully unfastening his expensive Swiss watch, he advanced toward the slump-shouldered blonde. Despite her most unseductive posture, there was no denying the fact that she was the most voluptuous female he'd had the opportunity to enjoy in many long months. Just exactly the sort of innocent-faced sex-bomb he'd been fantasizing about half an hour earlier!
"Don'tcha give me that crap, lady!" he added as she remained silent, golden head bowed, the spectacular round globes of her ivory-white breasts rising and falling as her breath quickened. "There's no use pretendin' you're not a hot-blooded cunt, 'cause I seen the things you were doin' with that little kid a minute ago. I guarantee I'll show ya a better time than some pimple-faced teenager, blondie! So why the goodie-goodie act? C'mon let's fuck!"
As he spoke, Duane lunged forward and grasped hold of the naked blonde. She came to life as though she'd been touched by a live electric wire, biting and kicking, scratching and struggling in a frenzied effort to escape from his bone-bruising clasp. Of course, it was a futile gesture, for the athletic sportsman was ten times stronger than she, and trained in the fundamentals of boxing and wrestling besides. Yet, as he crushed her swollen breasts against his steel-hard chest, sending her sensitive nipples into instant tingling erection, she continued to fight back with every ounce of energy in her slender body.
"No, no, no!" she gasped feebly as she endeavored to extricate her naked figure from his obscene clench. "Let go of me! Get away! Stop, please stop! You...you can't do this it's RAPE! Stop, you beast! STOP!"
"Maybe ya call it rape, blondie, but I call it fucking!" Duane triumphantly exclaimed as he succeeded in sending one big paw down over her spine to the tantalizing crack between her futilely flailing ass-cheeks. "If ya want my honest opinion. I don't believe there's any such thing as rape. All cunts really want it they just pretend different 'cause they think they should. And you, sweetheart, you ain't no exception! You're all wet, y'know...that cunt slit of yours is just oozin' with love-juice. So cut out the phony act and let's screw!" Ingrid recoiled in horror at her assailant's shocking statement that in her innermost heart she knew he was speaking a vulgar rendition of the truth. Her body, already aroused from the amorous contact with her timid teenaged lover, hungered for male caresses even as her conscience screamed out in negation. For a moment, as these perturbing reflections churned through her baffled brain, she automatically ceased her frenetic struggles. In this brief instant, the sex-dazed neighbor pinned her down on the velvet wine-colored couch where she'd lain so joyfully with young Gary brief minutes before.
"No, no!" Ingrid's long, shapely legs swung out in another bout of wild kicking. "Get away from me, you filthy pig!"
"Scream all you like, lady!" A sadistic snigger burst from Duane's lust-thickened lips. "An' if ya wanna do it the hard, rough way, that's okay by me, too! 'Cause in the end I know you're gonna be beggin' me for it!"
Duane wasn't angry yet, merely amused by the young woman's silly, spasmodic struggles. It had been some time since he'd been with a female who even professed to moral scruples; since his divorce ten years ago he'd satisfied the needs of his potent penis with a succession of sophisticated "pros", girls who regarded sex as a job, if a more enjoyable job than most dreary occupations. He'd almost forgotten the ego-expanding thrill of conquering a reluctant virgin-type.
"Stop it!" Ingrid howled again as the man's lewdly searching middle finger slithered along the super-sensitive flesh of her nakedly exposed vagina. "Stop, please stop! Stop, or you'll be sorry! Don't you...oooohhhh...aaahhhhh...."
Stars exploded inside the sociologist's spinning skull as her attacker's experienced finger located the nerve-filled bud of her clitoris and tweaked it several times in quick succession. Then, heartily ashamed of her unforgivable admission of pleasure, she resumed her wildly flailing struggle, biting her lips so hard that she drew blood to keep from emitting another sinful outburst of salacious arousal.
The sportsman, who'd thought his battle was won when the blonde let out her first helpless whimpers of sensual stimulation, was suddenly fired with flames of impatient rage when she once again commenced her irritating kicking and scratching. He raised his open palm, then brought it down on her whitely quivering buttocks with all the substantial force in his brawny body. His cock hardening in triumph, he listened to her shriek of anguish and watched the crimson bruise spread over her magnificently rounded ass-cheeks. The sight so excited him that he applied another, even more brutal, blow to the opposite buttock.
"Oh, please!" groaned the subjugated girl. Her voice was pleading now, not protesting; she knew what a fierce opponent she was facing, and didn't dare oppose him any longer. "Please, don't hurt me! Please!"
"I was gonna treat ye nice, baby-doll," grunted the middle-aged man, all his buried sadistic instincts aroused by now. "But it's too late! Ya wanted to play hard to get, so that's how we're gonna play it!"
Even as he spoke, he was grabbing up his discarded leather belt and swaying it menacingly above Ingrid's helplessly cringing figure. Instead of smacking her with the perilous weapon, however, he jerked her arms upward and fastened them around the quaintly-carved arms of the settee with the leather strap. Then, chuckling under his breath, he snatched Ingrid's nylon stockings from the floor and bound her fear-frozen ankles to the opposite end of the velvet couch. Now, no matter how she struggled, her efforts were absolutely useless! All she could so was scream, which she did at the top of her lungs.
"You...you monster! How dare you! Ooowwwhhhhhh!"
A harsh, cruel snicker of humorless mirth burst from the vacationing businessman's thick lips as he hovered above his securely-shackled victim, and diabolic lights glinted in his beady eyes as he removed his last remaining garment lit. his heavy, winter-weight pants. Let the silly bitch scream all she wants it makes it more fun for me, he gloated. For a moment he paused above her, feasting his gaze on the lush contours of her trussed-down figure, delighting in the expression of terror which distorted her lovely face. Then, snorting like a wild beast, he pounced down upon her.
"Ya wanted to suck cock, ya sexy slut, so now you're gonna do it!" he declared, positioning his heavy-set bulk so that his massive manhood dangled menacingly above the blonde's frightened face and his thick thatch of dark hair loomed over her spread-eagled white thighs. "My prick's one helluva lot bigger than your little boyfriends, but the bigger the better, like they say."
Before Ingrid had a chance to voice her protests, the bulbous knob of her attacker's blood-engorged cockhead was pressuring against her tightly compressed lips. It felt so hot that she felt as though her mouth had been scorched by flames of fire, and she silently vowed not to open her lips even if she died from lack of oxygen. This impossibly enormous flesh pole, twice the size of sweet young Gary's slender rod, and far thicker and longer than her ex-husband's, would certainly strangle her in any case...better to die with her integrity intact! "Suck it, bitch!"
The instant the words spat from the desire-deranged man's mouth, he had turned upside down on top of her and his licentiously searching tongue had slithered up between her goldenly fringing pubic curls and was licking hotly along the full length of her indecently spread young cuntal slit. Ingrid's lips fell apart as an involuntary gasp gushed from her throat, and to her horror the turgid thickness sank halfway down her unexpecting throat. Every last inch of her straining cheeks and gagging esophagus felt choked to the limit by the heated male intrusion, yet despite her vow, the young sociologist found herself gingerly nibbling at the heavily pulsating pole of male cockflesh with the timid little pressure of her lips.
"Go, baby, go!" Pomeroy panted incoherently as his voraciously working tongue swirled mercilessly up into the twitching tenderness of the unwilling woman's involuntarily aroused vagina. "Move that ass! Grind it, baby-doll, Grind it! Yeah, ya dig it, don'tcha! Ya dig it when ya feel my tongue licking your hot little pussy!"
I can 'I stand it! Oh God. I want to die! the subjugated blonde's brain rebelled.
Despite her silent protestations, however, she was now almost voluntarily accepting the hotly prodding male hardness inside her helplessly gulping cheeks, and taking a lewd, unacknowledged delight in the sensation of warmly vibrating penile flesh surging against the straining sides of the sensitive cheeks of her mouth. Only a disgustingly lewd hussy could gain pleasure from a vulgar act like this, particularly when she was tied down like a slave girl, so Ingrid's mind refused to admit that she was deriving delirious delight from this obscene sucking of a complete stranger's lewdly throbbing cock.
"Uugghhh! Nooooowwwoooooo!" she gasped.
Unfortunately for the sensually-inhibited woman, her low gasp of protest sounded more like an encouraging plea. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't keep her traitorous thighs from twitching in response to the man's vilely slithering tongue up inside her open vagina, and as if with a mind of its own, her mutinous mouth worked slavishly around the invading flesh pole of his cock in a mindless desire-driven subjugation.
"That's a good girl!" Pomeroy pulled his lips away from the blonde's involuntary vibrating vagina for a split second, and a grin of lascivious lust spread over his saliva glistening face at the sight of her cock-contorted cheeks and bewildered, bulging eyes. "Go, baby, go! Suck my cock 'till it's big as a baseball bat! That's the way!" Ingrid, although she felt as though she were drowning in a sea of smut, found herself gulping the massive member deep down into her aching throat in mindless obedience. How could she do otherwise, when the man on top of her was titillating and teasing at her nakedly exposed cuntal lips and super-sensitive clitoris in a way that made her want to scream aloud! It was the same stunningly sensual sensation she'd experienced earlier in the day when young Gary Sutherland had gingerly fingered her shamelessly responding vagina...but with this experienced older man, the feeling was ten times stronger.
Duane could tell from the amateurish way his fair-haired neighbor performed fellatio that she wasn't accustomed to sucking cock, but despite her lack of expertise, he was every bit as aroused as he'd ever been by any well-trained hooker. There was no denying that the whimpering blonde was clumsy and uninformed about the special tricks of sucking cocks, licking the underside and the slit in the end of it which ought to be afforded special favor; nevertheless, her nonprofessional enthusiasm was causing his lust-burgeoning cock to jerk and throb up between her lips at the sexy thought of her young innocent mouth being fucked by it this way. In another second, he realized, he was either going to shoot his seething load of sperm back into her wildly working throat, or withdraw, split her legs wide and ram his rampant rod into her kid-raping little pussy. He opted for the latter solution . . .
"Okay, sweetheart," he gasped out as he withdrew his throbbing thickness from the butter-smooth cavern of her mouth with a lewd wet sluicing sound. "Now get ready for the real thing! My pecker's on fire, and I'm gonna fuck ya half to death! Show ya what screwing's all about with a real man!"
Before the dazed social worker had an opportunity to assimilate what her assailant was saying, her widely ovaled mouth was suddenly empty and harshly insistent hands were kneading hungrily at the straining mounds of her naked breasts. A second later, the frantic fingers had slithered down over her churning belly, over her sparse-curled pubic "vee". In the same moment, the bliss-bestowing lips had abandoned her uncontrollably undulating vagina, and she had to bite her lips so hard she drew bitter droplets of blood to keep from screaming aloud in frustration. Despite her sincere effort, however, a strangled groan of lascivious longing tore from her throat.
"Ohhhuuuhhhaaaahhhh...God!! ! "
"Don't worry, baby!" the older man drawled in diabolical desire. "The best is yet to come!"
The century-old velvet couch creaked in protest as the hefty athlete's loins swung around so that his massive male member was crushed against the naked blonde's shivering thighs. Huffing and puffing through lust-blocked lungs, he forced her legs wider apart and the bloated head of his huge penis up against the vainly resisting mouth of her wet but fear-clenched little cunt mouth.
"Ohhh! Oohhh-noooo!"
Gasping, the twenty-four year-old divorcee collapsed back against the cushions in abject surrender and closed her eyes tightly. Shutting out the prurient picture of her shamelessly sprawled out nakedness could not, however, erase the guilty knowledge that deep in her mind she was accepting this ultimate ravishment of her naked genitals not merely because she had to, but also because she wanted to!
Panting like a carnivorous beast, the lust-crazed sportsman grasped his unresisting victim's ivory-white breasts for leverage, then arched his powerful hips forward to part the soft blonde pubic curls and tease his monstrous thickness against the tantalizingly tight pink crevice between her spread-eagled thighs.
"Ooooh God! Don't hurt me," Ingrid moaned.
His uncaring fingers bruised the sensitive softness of her breasts, pressed so hard that she knew she'd have ten telltale black and. blue marks tomorrow morning to remind her of her obscene rape evening before; but she was oblivious to the pain as shivers of licentious sexual expectancy slithered along her tension-taut spine and in spite of her abhorrence her nipples rose hard and erect as chips of diamonds.
"No...nooo...nnoooo...." she babbled, more to her traitorous body than to her lewdly grinning ravisher.
The older man paid absolutely no attention to his voluptuous neighbor's unconvincing whimpers. Even if he'd believed that her protests were genuine, he was too far gone to control the lusty longings of his loins. He flicked his hips forward slightly and his rock-hard rod pressured its way halfway up inside the defensively clasping passage of the spread-eagled blonde's warm-velvet vagina, and nothing mattered anymore except the cataclysmic climax he could already feel gathering in the top of his still heavily growing penis. He ground forward again to sink all the way up between her wide split thighs feeling the thick hair-fringed lips of her tight young cunt pressed hard up against his semen-filled balls. Then with a triumphant groan of lust he began to fuck deep up inside her a slow teasing rhythmic fuck that he knew always turned them on whether they wanted cock or not. "Oh. God! Ohohohoh! It's. . . it's. . . ooooohhh!! ! " She groaned beneath him, a telltale tone of erotic bliss seeping through her voice.
Ingrid hadn't meant to cry out in that incriminating way, and once again in a futile attempt to regain her self-control, she clenched, her lips tightly shut. An acrid taste of lingering droplets of male seminal secretions filled her mouth, driving her almost more wild than the illicit sound of her own involuntary mewls of lewdly rising passion. But suddenly, in spite of her mental resistance, she felt her last remnants of self-control deserting her, and with an eager moan of total submission, she thrust her cock-impaled pussy upward in salacious admission of the forbidden pleasure the stranger's obscene fucking of her helplessly spread cunt was bringing her.
Oh God, You're acting like a common slut! her conscience shrieked in a last despairing attempt to gain control over her now mindlessly fucking back loins. You never felt turned on like this with your own husband...or even sweet little Gary Sutherland...so why are you behaving like a whore with this vulgar animal of a man who didn't give a damn who she was so long as he could squeeze at her full-fleshed breasts and hips and fuck up into her nakedly vulnerable vagina at his pleasure. But, at the same time, her passion-fogged mind rationalized, she could give full vent to her long repressed desires without fear of anyone she knew ever finding out about it. For the first time in her life, she suddenly felt lewdly wild and free to play the role of a wanton slut, and as she accepted this shocking self-truth, she groaned aloud up into his openly panting mouth and clutching the hot wet walls of her inner cunt as tightly around his cock as she could began to fuck back up against her heavily driving loins like a cock-crazed nymphomaniac.
"Oh, yes! Oh, God, yes!" Her ripely rounded hips bucked up to meet the hard-hitting thrusts of her neighbor's punishing pole of lust-hardened flesh. He was driving all the way up into her wide split young pussy to the hilt now, and his heavy testicles were slapping down with a lewd, flat rhythmic sound against the super-sensitive little mouth of her upturned asshole. "Oh, it's gooodddd! I don't care how wicked I am I love it! I love your big cock fucking into me so deep like that!"
The man from next door's desire-dazed eyes focused in dizzy glee on the passion-crazed young blonde's wildly contorted face. It was difficult to believe that this wanton witch with her lust-glowing eyes, twisted lips, tangled hair, and expression of total abandon was the same prim and proper little college graduate who'd so disdainfully snubbed him and his buddies a few days ago. He'd tamed her, broken her will beyond his wildest expectations! A hot flood of self-satisfied triumph surged through the egotistical rapist's blood, and abruptly his orgasm was upon him!
"Here goes, ya hot lil' bitch!" he grunted as he fucked his massive throbbing penis into her now eagerly accepting cuntal channel more ferociously than ever. "Get ready for my cum, ya hot little slut!"
The depraved stranger's lewd outcry echoed in Ingrid's burning ears as though it came from a hundred miles away, for her own erotically straining figure was suddenly starting to hum with violent vibrating chords of passion. Never in her entire life had she felt such a powerful physical response it was as though her body no longer belonged to her, as if she were being transported to another universe where nothing existed save jolt after electrical jolt of raw, indescribable bliss.
"Oh God, I'm cumming too! I'm cumming too!! ! " she shrieked in the tone of a demented she-devil without even being aware she'd uttered a syllable. "I'm going to cum, too! Oh, God! Oh, God! I'm cccuuummmmmmming!"
Jesus Christ! Never saw such a hot cunt in my thirty-eight goddamn years! Was Duane Pomeroy's next to last conscious thought before his heavily pistoning cock exploded out in a wild, cataclysmic shower of powerfully jetting sperm.
Christ! She's a regular little sex machine now that I'm fuckin' her shitless! Jist wait'll I tell the other guys about what's been hidin' out next-door while we were going around feeling horny! Jist wait!
Then all rational thought evaporated from the gloating older man's brain, just as it already had from the crazily spasming blonde beneath him. Their mutually sweating bodies clung together, writhing and jouncing in a wild outburst of bliss which threatened to demolish the antique sofa once and for all, her legs straining insanely against their bonds gripped around his sweat-slickened back, his huge palms crushing her milk-white breasts, their mouths glued together in a mindlessly brutal kiss. The cozy lakeside cottage reverberated with the sounds of their ecstasy, bestial noises which would have caused poor old Grandmother Andersen to turn completely senile in her hospital bed had she been aware of them.
For a seeming eternity the naked male and female thrashed on the sperm-spattered velvet couch, with Duane's potent phallus erupting jet after seething-hot jet of scorching, lava-like male seed and Ingrid's long-frustrated cuntal muscles gulping down the life-giving semen in a wild. famished frenzy of erotic hunger. Even when the tidal waves of their explosive release finally faded away into a rainbow-hued cloud of post-coital bliss, they remained locked together in mute, half-conscious satiation.
Duane Pomorey came to his senses first, awakened from a delicious half-slumber by the faint sound of his Range-Rover's motor in the yard next-door. A smug grin spread over his ruddy-complected face as he lurched off the couch and stood staring down at the softly breathing, sleeping blonde. In slumber, with her tousled golden hair half-hiding her flushed cheeks and slightly parted red lips, she looked like a sweet, innocent young schoolgirl...but within that little girl facade, he knew and suspected he was the only one in the world who knew that their lurked the spirit of a fiery sensuality -a wild need to be fucked...and fucked good at every opportunity.
Reaching for his scattered garments, the sportsman pulled them on while he stumbled toward the window to peer out through the steadily falling snow toward his own nearby cabin. Obviously his guests hadn't succeeded in their quest, for only two shadowy figures, resembling Neanderthal men in their heavy, hooded parkas, strode from the van toward the house. He thrust his beefy arms into his own arctic-weight jacket, then turned back toward the blonde to find her staring at him in wide-eyed, guilt-stricken shock.
"Gotta be off," he strutted back toward the sperm-stained couch, amused to see that she cringed back against the cushions at his approach. "My buddies are home. But don't worry, baby doll, we'll get together real soon! Like how about tomorrow at my place 'bout eight. We'll throw a party!"
Ingrid's pink tongue swathed nervously over her bruised lips, and her eyes stared down at the floor, dull and numb with self-accusing shame.
"No...no...no...." she mumbled in a broken, almost childish tone.
"Yeah...yeah...yeah!" he mimicked her shrill tone with cruel cynicism. "You'll come to my party, 'cause you'll be good and sorry if ya don't you and your cute little boyfriend, too! And besides," he had sauntered toward the door as he spoke his threatening words, but now he turned back over his shoulder to flash her a lewd grin, "You know you want more of my good fucking as bad as I want another go at that tight little cunt of yours!"
The back door slammed, faint footsteps crunched away through the deep snow, far away another door opened and banged shut. For a long moment the shapely blonde lay inert, staring in dizzy disbelief at the sinful strands of drying sperm which decorated her climatic rash-flushed thighs and belly. Then, shuddering, her eyes drifted to the shameful sight of her still trussed-down ankles and wrists.
It required nearly thirty minutes to remove the cruel bonds, a half hour of self-pitying horror before she could at last escape the scene of her ravishment and barricade herself inside the modernized bathroom's shower stall. No amount of hot water or soapsuds, however, could wash away the scars of shame and anguish...or the awful knowledge that tomorrow she would appear at eight for the "party", as directed.
"I haven't any choice!" Ingrid muttered as she fiercely lashed at her traitorous loins with her soapy washcloth. "Of course I don't want to do it...of course I don't...of course I don't..."
CHAPTER SIX
"B but. . . but I don't know how to pi play poker!" Ingrid protested nervously, glancing from Duane to Syd, from Syd to Jake, from Jake back to the man who'd subjugated her to unspeakable depravity only twenty-four hours before. "I I never I learned how...I mean, my p-parents didn't believe in gambling, so "
"Betcha they didn't believe in lots of other fun things, either!" guffawed Duane, who was in good form tonight after several strong bourbon and waters, a switch from his usual beer which he felt was more suited to his image of sophisticated orgy-organizer. "But that's their damn problem if they wanna miss out on all the fun life's got to offer! Ain't nothin' to do with you or me, sweetheart, or with Jake and Syd here, either. C'mon, sit down -we'll show ya how to play our special
"double-strip poker". Nothin' to do with money, so maybe even Mama and Papa would approve!"
Not knowing what else to do, the blushing blonde sat down in the indicated chair between Duane and red-bearded Jake. Actually, she reflected as she lit a cigarette and took a drink of the vodka concoction she'd been given when she entered her next-door neighbor's cabin, things were worse than she'd anticipated. For one thing, she'd expected Duane Pomeroy to be alone, instead, he was surrounded by his friends and undoubtedly they all had the same thing in mind. But she knew that Duane Pomeroy had an unshakeable hold over her and she would have to do what ever he wanted her to do after all-anyone who'd had the strength of mind to survive a day at work at that clinic that employed her with a smile on her face could surely endure an evening of unappreciated vulgarity for the sake of her young teenage lover.
"Okay, show me what to do!" she flashed a shy smile at the three males, all of whom were staring at her in a disconcertingly lewd manner, which she forced herself to ignore. "But remember, I never played any card game except Old Maid, so don't expect too much from me at first!"
The lecherous trio laughed at the shapely blonde's ridiculous attempt to act like "one of the boys", and Duane brushed his muscular arm against her breast in a rude and proprietary way as he dealt out a hand for Five Card Draw. Flushing, the embarrassed young divorcee lowered her eyes to the cards and told herself to stay calm despite her fears of what this evening might bring. She knew she had no choice in the matter so whatever came, she had no choice but to accept it.
"First, we're gonna play the basic style this here is called Five Card Draw," Pomeroy leaned so close to the nervous blonde that she could see the after-five shadow of dark stubble on his jutting chin and smell the scent of his overdose of "English Leather" shaving lotion. "First, ya lookit your cards and see how good they look then ya can git some new ones if ya like one, two, or three. An' then we begin bettin' not for money for a change, but for clothes." This here is double strip poker that means ya gotta strip off two pieces of clothes if ya lose the hand."
Ingrid's azure-blue eyes focused and unfocused in dizzy despair as she frowned at her five cards: two sevens, two threes, and an ace. In her consternation at hearing what Duane had said about taking off articles of clothing, she had neglected to ask what constituted a good hand. Her only concrete thought was, "Why in God's name didn't I wear something else besides this one-piece dress and all my jewelry, too! As it is, I'll be naked if I lose three times!"
Duane, Jake, and Syd were at least as aware of their female companion's skimpy attire as she was. Three pairs of eyes surveyed her red wool mini-dress, which, despite its modestly high turtleneck, clung to her Junoesque figure snugly enough to reveal that she wore no slip or garter belt, only a brassiere and pantyhose. Since she wore no earrings, bracelets, rings, hair ornaments, or belt, an old-fashioned gold cross and high-heeled pumps constituted the remainder of her attire. Their inspirational innovation of "double strip poker" had been unnecessary; Ingrid Andersen would be clothed only in her birthday suit in no time flat!
"I I'd like one new card, please," the blonde stammered as the silence grew somewhat alarming.
The new card was an uninteresting four. Since the inexperienced twenty-four year-old had no idea at all what constituted a winning hand, she presumed that, as in Old Maid, one concentrated on searching for pairs. Two pairs seemed quite safe surely her guardian angel was at her side!
"When ya don't wanna bet, say 'fold', " Duane continued his intentionally muddled instructions. "If ya do wanna bet, say how many chips ya wanna throw in the pot."
For the first time, Ingrid's distracted vision zeroed in on the pile of red, white and blue plastic discs which lay in neat stacks beside each player's left arm. Jake led the bidding, shoving two blue chips toward the center.
"Raise ya two!" Syd Lang grunted, flicking forward four pieces of blue plastic.
As three expectant pairs of glinting eyes turned to her direction, Ingrid realized it must be her turn. Feeling fairly sure that her two pairs were an unbeatable piece of luck, she pushed six of her white chips white, being the symbol of purity, seemed the best choice onto the growing pile in the middle of the card table.
"R raise you!" she exclaimed, imitating the expression the others had uttered and feeling rather more sure of herself.
Then, to her horror, they were all spreading their cards flat on the table and spouting out strange terms such as "straight flush", "full house", and "straight". Her honey-blonde head shook back and forth in a giddy whirl of non-comprehension as three ominously obscene faces turned toward her and Duane Pomeroy commanded:
"Two pairs is the loser! So pull two pieces of clothes, sweetheart! C'mon, what are ya waitin' for?"
"You must be kidding!" Ingrid laughed nervously and made a valiant attempt to pretend this was all a huge joke. You...you don't really mean that, do you?"
"Ya betcha sweet life we do!" Jake was positively drooling with desire.
"Do like I said!" Duane's harsh voice snapped out, vicious as the crack of a firing gun. "Or else you'll be sorry ya know exactly what I mean!"
Mutely, feeling as though the blood in her veins had frozen to ice, the threatened divorcee hastened to obey. Her shoes were the safest thing, she decided, kicking them away and curling her bare toes in relief that nothing really sinful had transpired. From now on, no matter what mysterious combination of cards she received, she would say 'fold'.
"Slap...slap...slap...slap...."
This time, Duane's cousin Syd was dealing out the cards, his ferret-featured face sharp and sneering with tense anticipation. Ingrid obediently lifted her five cards, stared blankly at the mysterious mixture of numbers and grotesquely grinning figures, then shuddered.
"F-f-fold," she muttered when it seemed to be her turn again.
For some strange reason, all the rest of the players likewise echoed, "fold". Even before they laid down their cards, she suspected something must be am'iss from the leers which transformed their three faces into masks of satanic savagery. When she was once again ordered to strip, she wasn't really surprised.
First, with shaking fingers, she unclasped the gold baroque cross which had been a college graduation present from kind Grandma Andersen. Then, blushing so fiercely that it felt as though her cheeks were on fire, she stooped down to remove her nylons. This operation required that she inch up the already short hem of her red dress, and to her indignant dismay all three males watched her ginger performance with irreverent enthusiasm.
"Nice pair of legs!" Jake remarked, reaching one brawny palm down to massage the swelling cock between his legs. "Real sexy, jist like ya tol' us, Duane!"
Oh, God! How in heaven's name had she fallen into this unspeakable predicament? And, more vitally, how was she going to extricate herself from it? Did she even have the willpower left to do so?
"Not bad tits, either!" agreed Sydney Lang with his habitual slack-lipped leer. "Can't wait 'till we get a good look at 'em."
Throughout this obscene interchange, Ingrid sat frozen in horror, acutely aware of the bareness of her thighs and calves. Shivers shot up and down her spine, despite the fact that the cabin's main room was well-heated from a blazing fire, and as she took another nervous gulp of her potent cocktail, a crazy conglomeration of multi-colored stars exploded inside her throbbing temples.
"I I think I better qu-quit," she stammered uncertainly as she stared in abject dismay at her cards without even bothering to lift them up. "I mean...I mean, I don't seem to have got the hang of the game...."
"You're doin' fine, sweetheart jist fine!" Duane glowered menacingly at her, and she was so flustered by his meaningful gaze that she automatically lifted her five cards and pretended to study them.
Three queens, a six, a nine: surely this was something good hadn't everyone made admiring sounds when Duane displayed three somethings last time? Faintly encouraged, and in any case not daring to "fold" again, Ingrid crossed her fingers and toes for luck and pushed away the six and nine to retrieve two new cards a pair of threes. Now, feeling almost confident, she joined in the bidding as best she could.
In another few minutes, however, her optimistic hopes were dashed to the floor. Muttering something about four of a kind topping a meager full house, her iniquitous host fixed his beadily brazen eyes on her quivering figure and ordered her to strip again. When she paused in modest dismay, he made a threatening noise which propelled her into instant action.
If only I could take off my bra and panties and leave my dress on! she agonized. But when she made a clumsy attempt to unfasten her brassiere without removing her mini-shift, three harsh male voices cried out, "No cheatin!". There was nothing to do but remove her red woolen dress!
Although Ingrid would have died rather than admit to herself that the wanton act of removing her dress in front of three obviously sexually aroused males made her blood flow faster and her breath quicken, she was nevertheless at a loss to control these involuntary responses of her traitorous body. As her scarlet dress sank down over her ankles with a soft swish and her trembling fingertips fumbled for the metal fastenings of her brassiere, little flames of indecent excitation teased at her nerve endings, and her lush limbs futilely fought a surging flood of sinful arousal as the full, milk white globes spilled seductively out into the open air. Blinking back shameful tears, she sank back down in her folding card chair and glued her eyes to the carpet amid a raucous chorus of lecherous male laughter.
"Yeah, man, them tits are as sexy as the legs," Jake grunted in an impersonal tone which made the shame-faced young woman feel as though she were a slave girl on the auction block. "She sure looks like a real hot number, Duane, ol' buddy I reckon ya weren't feedin' us a lot of bullshit after all!"
"When did I ever tell ya guys anything what wasn't the absolute honest truth?" Duane pretended to be offended, though he was actually puffed up inside with self-congratulatory gratification at their admiration of their voluptuous neighbor.
"Never, boss!" Syd hastened to reassure him. His hand in imitation of Jake Dory's had drifted downward toward his inflamed crotch. "You're the guy with an eye for good pussy, like I always said! But but what do we do now? She's still got her cute little panties on...."
"Yeah!" echoed Jake. "An' I ain't in no mood to be patient!"
"Hold your horses, you dirty-minded studs!" the acknowledged leader of the lewd trio smirked. "We're gonna play one more round an' see what happens...and I betcha little Miss Andersen's gonna lose her last two possessions her pretty white lace panties, and that Sunday School simper on her sweet, kissable little lips. Then we'll all get a whack at her snooty little cunt!"
There was a general roar of amused approval, during which Ingrid sat frozen in inexpressible horror. They were all going to take their turn with her she was going to be just another g gang bang in their eyes. What a naive imbecile she was! But at the same time why, oh, God, WHY, were those weird little seizures of unwanted excitement fluttering so distractingly up and down between her now almost naked vaginal slit?? ?
"Fourth hand!" boomed out Duane in the tone of a carnival barker. "Your deal, Ingrid baby!"
The distracted blonde gingerly lifted up the pile of cards he shoved toward her, noting for the first time that their backs were embellished with extremely vulgar color photographs depicting unclothed young females entwined around rococo statues or stretched on improbably emerald-green grass beneath the steel splendor of the Eiffel Tower. Had Pomeroy actually been to France, she wondered, or was he merely pretending to have done so? God, how she detested him...how sickened she was by her own loathesomely rising longing to be ravished again by his crude hands! And...God help her. . . right in front of his watching friends!
Blinking back a sheen of stinging tears, she dealt the cards as slowly as possible without allowing herself to be disconcerted by the lewd photographs. Maybe there was no way she could escape from this ghastly situation, but the least she could do was retain her pride and not let the three lechers realize how miserable they were making her. Never in a million years would she let them see how disturbed she was as they feasted their gazes on her almost nakedly presented body! Never, never, never!
By this point, the fair-haired ex-wife was so dispirited that she didn't even make an effort to unravel the mysterious meaning of her cards. Sighing hopelessly, though unobtrusively so as not to give any satisfaction to the three expectantly smirking men, she handed out the extra cards they demanded and then took three new ones for herself. Without so much as glancing at the numerals on her cards, she simply continued upping the bidding as long as she could in order to put off the dread moment when she'd have to remove her thin, filmy panties, her last shred of protection.
Finally, when the pile in the center of the table was overflowing with red, white and blue disks and her three fellow players had passed, Ingrid laid her hand out along with the rest. For the first time she really looked at her cards, and a slight flicker of hope stirred in her sorrow-smitten breast. Certainly an Ace, King, Queen, Jack and Ten of hearts was such a statistically unlikely combination that it must be a winner! She rejoiced silently, looking up at the others in timid triumph.
Three black scowls of disbelieving annoyance glared back at her; Syd Lang's rodent-like face was especially vindictive as he reached down to tug off his heavy black boots. Then, as an afterthought, he pulled back up his Wellingtons with a brusque gesture and stood up to unzip his dark trousers.
"All the better to jerk off with," he mumbled with a fiendish grimace. "If blondie here's gonna have beginner's luck like that, I ain't able to wait for her!"
Ingrid's clear blue eyes bulged from their sockets in incredulous astonishment as the man across the card table from her removed first his trousers, then his white jockey shorts. It did not occur to her that his extravagantly over-endowed genitals were as much an optical illusion caused by the extreme lankness of his lean body more than the actual enormity of his penis and testicles; all she could think was, "Oh, God! He's not even human!" Nor could the inexperienced young divorcee really be blamed for her panic-stricken reaction, for her ex-husband had been the same slim-hipped type as Syd, and his male member hadn't been so terrifyingly out of proportion.
"Lookit blondie's big eyes!" Duane taunted.
He didn't mind if his younger cousin caused this reaction in the female he himself had discovered and tamed, for he knew his own meaty manhood was a scant but, to him, significant, inch longer in full erection. Once, during an alcohol-glutted evening of debauchery a stag party before Syd's wedding, in fact someone had produced a tape measure and recorded the vital statistics. Syd was well-slung, of course it ran in the family! but he knew he himself was the champion.
"Beginner's luck that's exactly what it is!" Jake Dory proclaimed as he grabbed up the deck, expertly shuffled it with a casual flick of his thick thumbs, and dealt a new hand. "Won't happen again, guys! Guarantee it! An' like ya-all know, I've played a lottuv poker in my time!"
Although Ingrid Andersen had been indoctrinated in strict religious beliefs by her austere Lutheran parents, she had renounced conscientious church attendance and faithful bedtime prayers midway through college when she realized how radically her professors' Darwinian theories differed from the fundamentalist beliefs she'd been taught in Sunday school. Now, however, devoid of all other hope of salvation, she found herself praying for another miraculous hand.
"Dear God I'll go to church every Sunday for the rest of my life if you'll save me now!" she implored in a delirium of hope inspired by her last winning hand.
When she glanced at her cards, however, they seemed to be most unpromising. Of course, she really didn't know what was going on, but it seemed as though her coarse companions were impressed by numbers in sequence, of the same suit, or some peculiar combination thereof. These five cards, however, had no relationship to each other at all. Trying to smile bravely, she drew three new cards; no improvement. Nevertheless, she decided the best course was to do as she'd done last hand and keep bidding until the bitter end.
Three lewdly expectant smiles surrounded the table as the men turned up their cards. Ingrid's face blanched white as the snow drifting down outside the windows, for without being told she realized that the end had come. Now she would be totally naked...naked and vulnerable to whatever obscenities these three chose to inflict upon her helpless loins and body!
"Okay, sweetheart this is the end of the line!" Duane's rasping voice echoed her terrified thoughts. "Strip, baby! Take it off take it all off!"
"Take it off. . . take it all off!" echoed redheaded Jake, indicating that the game was over by unzipping his jeans without having lost a hand.
Suddenly the whole atmosphere in the lakeside lodge was transformed from one of pregnant anticipation to an inexplicably alarming aura of immediate danger. Three unmerciful pairs of yearning eyes were turned toward her with expressions of such uncontrolled blood-lust that the overwhelmed blonde slowly peeled the soft flimsy material of her white lacey panties down over the voluptuously tapered lengths of her legs without daring to protest. What was the use of resisting? they would use brute force without so much as batting an eyelid, of that she was certain. By trying to fight them off, she would only be inviting physical injury.
A chill draft wafted up between her naked thighs as Ingrid hesitantly watched the last of her flimsy protection fall to the floor like a limp flag of defeat. She shuddered violently, more from fear than from the cool air, and clamped her tremulous upper legs together as tightly as possible, trying to hide the thin, softly curled fringed slit that ran up between her thighs from the lewd gaze of the lecherously staring men.
"Well, well, well!" Pomeroy slowly stood up from his chair, took a step toward the frozen young divorcee who remained paralyzed in her seat, arms crossed over her chest in a vain effort to hide her straining breasts. "It's 'bout time for the real party to begin, huh, guys? Some party, ain't it!? Some hostess?! "
"Ya betcha life, boss!" jabbered Syd, also rising to his feet, his huge hard-on extended from his sparse-haired groin like a sturdy sapling. "One outtasight party, ya betcha life! Yeah!"
Pomeroy didn't bother to acknowledge his relative's expected agreement. Instead, he grabbed hold of Ingrid's bare arm so brusquely that she whimpered in involuntary anguish, jerking her to her feet and then shoving her down onto the bearskin rug before the fireplace.
"Okay, babe!" he mocked, his desire-demented eyes dancing over the lush contours of her fear-huddled figure. "Now you're gonna do exactly like I say, or you're gonna wish you'd never been born! Got that, honey? Whatever I say!"
The traumatized blonde's eyes widened in fearful anticipation as she cringed on the soft fur rug, her aristocratic nostrils flailing apart, her smooth brow darkened by a frown of consternation. Surely he wasn't going to force her to perform any of the lurid sexual acts she's been induced into last night while the other two men were watching. . . oh, God, surely no one could be that cruel and depraved!
"Okay, you cock-hungry little bitch!" the burly sportsman's heavy-set loins eased down over her prone body. "Now you're gonna take off my clothes so's I'm wearing nothin' but a birthday suit jist like you! C'mon, get going! Pull off my pants and take another look at that big prick ya liked fucking up into your snooty little cunt so much last night!" Ingrid, feeling as though she was going to die from the humiliation she was being subjected to, groped an unsteady hand in the direction of the man's grotesquely gyrating groin. Her fingers jerked spasmodically as she placed them on the heated bulge in his jeans, but somehow she managed to ease down his straining zipper and work his denim pants down over his hefty thighs. Then, although she was vividly aware that the three males were waiting for her to complete the removal of trousers and jockey shorts, she turned her attention to his shirt buttons with a repressed shiver of panic.
"Hurry it up, cunt!" Pomeroy took a lurid delight in the coarseness of his commands, for he was well aware of the vicarious attention with which his cousin and best buddy were watching the salacious scene. "My prick's too hungry for your tight little pussy to wait much longer, y' hear!" Ingrid certainly did hear; her ears burned with fiery flames of insupportable shame as she undid the last plastic button on her heartless assailant's shirt and reluctantly sank her timid hands back down toward his crotch. God, how enormous that swelling between his thickset thighs had grown even bigger than she remembered from yesterday! Undoubtedly the perverted presence of the two obscenely panting observers was exciting him as much as it was suddenly affecting her own traitorously reacting body!
"Christ, Duane, ya sure got the hot little cunt trained good for fuckin' her just one night!" enthused Jake Dory, rubbing his thick-veined rod of flesh excitedly as he watched his long-term best pal command the white-faced female into lewder and lewder acts. "Ya gonna give us a go at that sweet little pussy, too? Ain't fair not to, y'know!"
"Sure, buddy, sure!" Duane spat over his shoulder in offhand distraction. "Soon as I have my kicks, you guys can do whatever ya like to Ingrid here. She'll love it, won'tcha, bitch? Ain't nothin' this yellow-haired slut likes more 'n cock! A good gang fuck from all of us is just what she needs!"
All the while the lewd references to her naked body and her need to be fucked and subjugated were going on, Ingrid astonished herself by continuing to remove Pomeroy's clothing from his shamefully familiar loins. Everything they were saying was true, she recognized with a shudder of self-disgust. She really was a whore, there could be no doubt about it now otherwise why would she be feeling such sinfully salacious surges of suspenseful excitation as she stripped off her rapist's from the night before's clothing?
"That's a good little bitch!" Pomeroy hissed from the corner of his lust-twisted lips. "Now I'm gonna give ya a little surprise as a reward! Get down on your hands and knees like a good little bitch who wants to be fucked!"
It was too late to comprehend, or even care, what the man meant. She was completely under his power, she realized; she'd already given too much to protest any more than a laughable ludicracy. Besides, in her heart of hearts, she was reluctantly forced to recognize that nothing could dissuade her from the flagrant path of lust she'd started down. The first fatal footsteps had already been taken...there was no turning back now, no matter what her weakened conscience might cry out in disapproval.
I don't care! Ingrid's dizzy thoughts whirled, as once again she felt her body sinking down into an unconquerable slough of sin. Let them all fuck me and use me...I don't care! Nothing matters anymore! Just let me cum again and again like I did last night! That's all that I want out of this cold, cruel world! What else is there, after all?!
Then, as Pomeroy's cock pushed up between her open buttocks against the tiny unprepared little circle of her ultra-sensitive anal orifice, the shocked young divorcee's entire figure tautened to a tense spring of trepidation. She vaguely recalled having read accounts of anal intercourse in the Kinsey Report, required reading in one of her college courses, but being aware of what she considered a perverted practice and expecting that one might actually experience it were two entirely different things. Young Ingrid Andersen was so horrified that her every nerve ending grew tight and increased her agony as the irreverent instrument shoved more emphatically against her forbidden anal entrance.
"Nooooooo! Y-you can't do it to me there!" she stammered in a quandary of dismayed disbelief. "Noooooo! Pleeezzzzeeeee! Nnnooooooo!"
Pomeroy's only response to her urgent plea was a self-satisfied chuckle of glee. His vicious hands dug into her soft-fleshed shoulders like steel weapons of torture as he flipped her over onto her back and lifted her legs back high over her head to provide better leverage into her virginal young rectum. From the incredulous tone of her protests, he was nearly one hundred percent certain that no one had ever fucked her in her asshole before, and this realization drove him to a near frenzy of excitement.
"Lay down and shut up, ya sexy slut!" he grunted. "I'm gonna give ya a special treat you've been doin' without for too long now! Don't worry you'll love it once I get it sunk all the way up into your snooty little belly! All cunts do! And ya sure ain't no exception!"
Ingrid didn't even dare raise her head from the carpet as the hot hardness pressured against her tiny forbidden orifice.
What could she say? What could she do? She was about to be ravished like an animal, a helpless harem slave...and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Worst of all, some sinful segment of her mind actually wanted this ultimate humiliation with his friends watching, no matter how much it hurt.
"AAahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"
Streaks of flaming fire seared through her backside and out to every pain-paralyzed nerve-ending in her lithe young loins as she felt the male's massive member press with relentless force against her reluctantly yielding rectal ring. For some moments her fear-tautened anal muscles resisted his advances, but finally, as she took a deep gulp of oxygen and collapsed in quivering confusion against the soft furry carpet, the determined male member sunk several painful inches up inside her tightly restricted rectum.
"AAAhhhhhhhh! No, nonononono! Stop, please, STOP IT!" Don't fuck me there! Please don't fuck me there!"
Needless to say, Pomeroy paid absolutely no heed to his wild-eyed young victim's poignant protests. In his mood of uncontrolled lust, only one clear thought filtered through the waves of urgent arousal: what envious adulation his wide-eyed buddies would feel as they watched his display of sexual prowess! He knew from experience that the wailing, ass-raised blonde would soon be gasping in depraved desire, so why should he give a damn if she were suffering now? In any case, her piteous mewls of protest not only afforded him a definite sadistic pleasure, but increased the dramatic impact of the salacious performance.
Never in her sheltered twenty-four years of life had Ingrid Andersen dreamed that such demonically destructive pain could exist. Tornado-turbulent winds whipped through her anguished brain, setting strange and unanticipated masochistic impulses into action, but despite her faint acknowledgement of these shocking physical responses, the explosive agony burning several inches up inside her cock-stretched asshole cancelled out all other emotions.
He's killing me! Her tortured mind screamed as her brutal neighbor grinned lewdly and with the palms of his hands lifted her smoothly quivering buttocks higher so that his lustfully throbbing cock could impale her to the hilt. Oh god, he's going to split me open all the way up to my breasts! I-I'll never be able to walk again! Her pain-contorted lips screamed silently as with a brutal, triumphant flick forward of his hips he slammed his virilely pulsating hardness all the way up to his balls in the hot, rubbery clasping depths of her now forever stretched young rectal passage.
For a few agonizing instants, the hugely pulsating head of his penis remained embedded in the innermost depths of the whimpering woman's anal passage, and she almost dared to hope that her unnatural ravishment was nearly finished. Her rectal muscles relaxed in illusory relief, unintentionally alleviating some of her anguish even when the lust-hardened rod of flesh abruptly gave a couple of convulsive throbs inside her. Then, it withdrew out of her forbidden young back passage a second later, pulling with it the smooth pink flesh of her anal walls, then slammed back down to resume a wild rhythm of fucking. Ingrid realized then that it had all just barely begun...and worse...worse with shocking shudder that she strangely now felt only a weird discomfort, not the initial unendurable pain.
Oh God, can I really be that perverted? her dazed brain demanded. If this sort of thing can turn me to jelly, I'm too far gone for help! Am I really one of those helpless people...I never was before, and I don't want to be! But...but...I just don't seem to have any control over myself anymore . . .
"No! No, please! Stop it! Nnnnoooooo, you can't fuck me back there!
The cock-impaled young divorcee's shrill cries echoed loudly through the pine-paneled cabin, causing the two sex-maddened observers to finger their naked erections harder than ever and chuckle in half-demented mirth. Only Pomeroy, more sensitive than his two companions to different degrees of human arousal, caught the new cadence in his cringing captive's cries.
"Gettin' used to Daddy's big cock up in your hot little ass?" he hooted in glee, fucking his excitedly pulsating penis harder than ever up into the butter-smooth crevice between her whitely grinding ass-cheeks. "Ya like ass-fucking after all, huh? Just like I said ya would!"
"Wow, Ol' Duane's done it again!" The cousin's voice was hoarse with lust, and contained just a slight edge of bitter jealousy. "Lookit that blondie twitch her tail!"
"Yeah...yeah...yeah...." panted Jake Dory. "When do we get our turns, ole buddy? 'Cause I can't hold out much longer!"
This was the ultimate humiliation! She had sunk down to the absolute depths of depravity! With every ounce of energy in her roughly violated body, the nakedly kneeling Ingrid tried to hold her involuntarily undulating loins still as an unfeeling statue and to deaden the sinful fingers of arousal which were sliding unbidden through her blood. It was no use! Even as she clenched her teeth together and prayed for the strength to resist the base instincts of her traitorous loins, she realized that her nakedly exposed buttocks were bucking back up to meet the hateful male's brutal strokes. It was as though she were under the control of some black magical power which had absolutely no connection with her conscious brain.
"Oohhh.. .oohhh...nnnoooooo..."
"Ya hear what my buddy said?" demanded Duane with an extra-violent lunge into the young blonde's deliciously clasping anal channel. "Ya hot 'nough for two cocks, sweetheart? Ya better be, 'cause Jake here can't wait no longer!"
"Noooooo! Oh, God! Nnnnoooo! Nnn-"
The shocked social worker's protestations were cut short as the man behind her suddenly flipped her over, knocking the wind from her lungs. His huge impaling instrument wrenched from her anus with a lewd wet plopping sound, leaving her feeling oddly empty as she gasped for oxygen and steeled herself for the next corrupt debasement which was in store.
Nothing in her wildest, most determinately blocked-out dreams had prepared the innocent ex-wife for the next shocking sequence of events. She'd hardened herself to endure the ravishment of her helpless body by Jake and Syd, Pomeroy's companions, for she knew she could not resist any command of the burly older man who'd forced her to recognize her own sinful sexual potential. She was his slave, and there was nothing she could do to fight this soul-shattering reality.
"Lookit that sweet pink cunt!" Jake Dory's drool of desire sent shivers of horror slithering through the young victim's prone body. She closed her eyes tight and clenched her fists at her sides as the ex-boxer added, "Jesus, Duane, ole buddy, ya sure are generous!"
"Hey, man, don't go thinking you're gonna have blondie all to yourself!" exclaimed the dark-haired member of the lewd trio. "I ain't finished with her yet! C'mon, pal, turn her over so's I can git my prick back inside her lush little ass-hole. Hey, c'mon, whatcha waitin' for?"
Ingrid hadn't a chance to contemplate the incredible carnality which was about to be imposed upon her defenseless loins before a massive pole of heated cock-flesh speared straight up into her defenselessly spread vagina. Even though Duane's spirited anal invasion had left her pussy bedewed with involuntary droplets of desire, her inexperienced passage wasn't prepared for the red-headed brute's abruptly impaling weapon.
"Aaaahhhhhhhh!" she wailed as the cruel cudgel drove straight to the hilt without thought of the pain or injury it might be inflicting. "Ooowwwhhhhhh hh...uuuuugggghhhhhhhh...!"
"Christ!" wheezed the ex-boxer, his breathless voice almost inaudible beneath the loud slapping sound of his blood-engorged, testicles striking the girl's naked white buttocks. "She's got the tightest cunt I ever felt! No kidding! Too fucking much, man! Too fucking much!"
"Okay, okay," Duane bellowed impatiently. "But flip her over, can'tcha? Her ass-hole's even tighter than her pussy, and I wanna git back up inside it!"
Before her fear-frenzied protests could emerge from her slackly parted lips, the young divorcee once again found herself gasping for air as her lithe figure was effortlessly flung over. Now, she was straddling the man beneath her, her smooth, voluptuously tapered legs spread wide on either side of him, his cock sunk deep up inside her naked cunt. It was impossible to cry out.
But screaming doesn't help anyway, her mind swam. Nothing in the world's going to stop them...and I think they just get wilder when they know they're hurting me.
Suddenly all conscious thoughts were wiped from the naked twenty-four year old's golden head as a familiar hot, moist smoothness pressured at the tiny up-turned ring of her anus. No! It was physically impossible! The enormous phallus which already lay buried deep up in her vagina and which every few seconds throbbed in vicious demonstration of its powerful presence filled every inch of her pussy passage; another, equally gigantic, male cockshaft in the twin channel of her rectum would certainly kill her!
Duane's cockhead shoved harder against her fear-resistant rectal ring. . . Jake's immense hardness undulated again and again up inside the fire-filled depths of her vagina...Ingrid, eyes still clenched shut, teeth unconsciously biting at her lower lip, waited in a half-maddened masochistic daze for the fatal anal skewering which she was certain would bring an end to her humiliation and suffering any second now.
The mind-destroying moment of suspense seemed to last a century, but suddenly it was shattered by Syd Lang, whom everyone had forgotten.
"Hey, this ain't fair!" he objected in a lust-distorted whine of indignation. "How 'bout me?"
"What?" the older cousin twisted his thick-veined neck around to glance in the direction of the nasal complaint. "Hell, please yourself, kid! She's still got one empty hole ram your meat down her throat. I've taught her to be a helluva good little cock-sucker!"
As the blonde's tangled curls shot up from the carpet and her glassy blue eyes shot open to stare in panic at Syd's long, thin penis, her anal muscles spontaneously spasmed apart. Pomeroy's potent pole of pulsating penile flesh plowed up into the openly spread little passage like a devil's plundering pitchfork edged with prongs of scorching red flame, and the pain in the cowering young woman's doubly impaled backside was so intense that she lost her wits entirely and opened her mouth wide to scream out her agony.
Lean-loined Lang lost no time in taking advantage of his cousin's obscene suggestion. With the cry of an enraged bull, he raised to his knees and wormed his penis inside the girl's pink, wetly parted lips, then flicked his slim hips forward so that his lengthy pole of desire-hardened flesh slithered way down her helplessly groaning throat.
"Oohh...uugghhhh...aahhggghhh...."
Ingrid's suffocated sobs of choking protestation provoked the three sportsmen's most sadistic proclivities. Each and every one of the three lust-crazed men began fucking his throbbing thickness into her respective orifices with renewed vigor, panting in enthusiastic passion and applying ruthless slaps and pinches to every easily available inch of her nakedly shuddering figure. Stars exploded before the young, helplessly sandwiched divorcee's dazed eyes at the ferocity of their three-way assault, but although muffled moans continued to spew from her cock-impaled lips, strange and unanticipated arrows of primitive excitation were shooting through her veins like liquid lightning and impelling her ravaged buttocks and mouth into a unintentional dance of lewd undulating encouragement.
When the demented divorcee finally recognized how her doubly-debased buttocks were responding in wanton arousal, and how her humiliated lips were twisting and sucking in lascivious hunger at the third man's hotly pulsing flesh, she was too far gone to stop herself. Even as she accused herself of being the most wanton and wicked woman in the entire world, she was grinding her sex-maddened backside upward and downward like a whore gone wild to meet the dual thrusts into her open cunt and asshole, and at the same time slavishly swallowing the huge male thickness in her mouth like a thirsty child sucking a well earned all-day sucker.
I love it! Oh God, I love it! her mind wailed, and suddenly all sense of degradation and shame were drowned out by an all-devouring wave of obscene excitation. I don't care how bad I am I want them to use me, fuck me, do whatever they want to my body! It's horrible, I know, but I don't give a damn anymore! I just don't give a damn!
"That's it, blondie! Shake that nice smooth white ass of yours!" Duane's hoarse exclamation interrupted the girl's dizzy reverie. "This sure beats playing 'round with little boys, don't it!"
Somehow the reminder of the full extent of her sinfulness fired Ingrid Andersen with even more masochistic passion. Deep in the churning pit of her gracefully rounded belly, she sensed the first vibrating waves of a growing orgasm...a climactic, earth shattering cumming, she realized at once, would be stronger and more ecstatic than anything her nakedly driving loins had ever known before now. Half-sobbing in a delirium of depraved desire, she fucked back and churned the smooth white moons of her ass-cheeks against the two deeply impaling cocks with wild, ecstatic fervor and sucked and licked at Syd Lang's burgeoning cock with a crazed and tongue-swirling hunger that herself nor the panting sanitation department manager had ever conceived of.
The girl's incredible state of unfettered arousal spurred all three men toward immediate ejaculation. Frantic male moans began to echo throughout the wood-paneled cabin, mingling with the lust-crazed woman's wanton whimpers and the sordid sound of sweat-slickened skin slapping against skin. The walls resounded with the strains of the obscene chorus, and Elvis, the black hound who'd been locked in the adjoining kitchen due to his undisciplined affinity for joining in orgies with long nails bared and sharp teeth glistening, began howling in unearthly murderous mutiny.
Syd Lang, though he'd been the last to join in the four-way bacchanalia, was the first to cum. Groaning like a primitive peasant, he began spewing jet after steaming jet of white-hot sperm deep up into Ingrid's eagerly sucking mouth and convulsively gulping throat. His fevered howls ignited not only the lust-crazed female, but his two fellow orgiasts as well. In a moment, the dog's frantic yowls of frustration were joined by the far more bestial shrieks of the four climaxing humans as both men came at once, flooding their hotly scalding semen up into the twin channels of her cunt and cock-filled rectum until she thought her whole nakedly jerking young belly would burst wide from the liquid pressure of their ejaculations.
Finally after a seeming eternity of rapturous physical release, the four satiated revelers were all sprawled out nakedly spent before the glowing embers of the dying fire. There was no sound in the luxurious weekend vacation cabin now save for the post-orgasmic tranquility of their breathing, and the soft swish of snow tumbling from the leaves in the moonlit darkness outside, and the hopeless whimpers of the banished hound. Even when Ingrid awoke, some hours later, and began gently nibbling the life back into one of the flaccidly lying penises with her cum smeared lips, the two other males continued to snore in absolute, satiated satisfaction . . .
CHAPTER SEVEN
"What a good omen!"
Ingrid Andersen's full pink lips parted in a happy smile as she stared out the window of Duane Pomeroy's cabin's kitchen at the bright New Years' Day glinting on the snowdrifts outside. Then, sighing contentedly, she moved her transparent negligee clad figure back toward the modern stove to check on her big skillet of scrambled eggs and bacon. The fragrant bacon was sizzling, the buttered toast was turning an appetizing shade of golden brown in the broiler, the coffee was starting to perk. Her men would have a good protein-rich breakfast after last night's workout, before their long drive back to Detroit on those treacherously icy roads.
"They'll sure need it, after that fabulous New Year's Eve orgy!" she murmured happily as she turned the heat down under the eggs and began setting the table. "Wow they must have fucked me every way in the book. And God only knows how many times I came! What a beautiful way to start the year!"
It suddenly occurred to the bright-eyed blonde that she no longer regarded talking to herself as a symptom of neurosis. Why should she, when she was positive that she was one of the happiest women alive! In this past week, of being fucked completely out of her mind by all three of the men, she'd never felt the faintest twinge of her former nervous depression...on the contrary, she'd felt so full of life that she was constantly singing, dancing, and laughing.
As she heard the echo of heavy male footsteps clomping down from the sleeping loft and sauna-equipped bathroom above, Ingrid's lush lips eased into a tender, instinctively alluring smile. She swept her slender white hands over the enticing contours of her half-revealed body beneath the see-through silkiness of her nightgown, delighting in the familiar warm surge of sexual excitation which swept through every nerve-ending in her sexually-awakened loins.
"Good morning, Duane darling," she cooed in a husky tone which she wouldn't have recognized one short week before as being her own. "Morning, Jake, Syd! Breakfast is all ready for you!"
Some fifteen minutes later, the three well-fed males were loading the Range Rover with the last of their provisions. As Duane returned from carrying out the cumbersome box of his cousin's blue movie collection, he stopped by the sink where Ingrid was washing a large pile of dishes and gave her provocatively revealed ass-cheeks an affectionate squeeze.
"You're the greatest chick I've met in ages!" he hissed against her ear, then planted a warm, tongue-entwining kiss on her warm lips, all the while massaging the responsively undulating mounds of her full-fleshed buttocks. "You'll be here when I come back for the Easter holidays, huh?"
The lush-bodied blonde flashed him an impish grin, almost unconsciously pressing her fire-filled breasts against his hard masculine chest as his teasing tongue throbbed inside the sensitive walls of her mouth. Why on earth should she relinquish the priceless privacy of her lakeside cottage where she could do exactly as she pleased without the usual worries about nosey, gossipy neighbors? She'd be absolutely mad if she exchanged this quiet hideout for a cramped little apartment in town, especially since spring was, of course, going to follow the ferocious snows of winter, spring with its caressing pale golden sunshine and magical carnival of multi-colored wildflowers. But it wouldn't do to appear too eager. . .
"Ohhhhhh," she pursed her pink lips provocatively, "maybe yes, maybe no. But if I'm here, you guys are invited for a week long party at my place!"
Duane's dark eyes glinted with passion, and Ingrid could tell by the increased pressure with which he clasped her to him that if business concerns hadn't compelled him to return to Detroit as soon as possible, he'd have shoved her down and fucked her right here on the kitchen floor! He knew perfectly well, she also recognized, that she'd be waiting for them here at Easter!
"See ya in three months, okay?" he gave her tingling buttocks a parting squeeze.
As the heavily laden truck backed out of the yard and started down the street, Ingrid stood in the open back door waving and shivering as she called goodbye to the three sportsmen who had opened her eyes to the delightful fulfillment of sensuality. As their Rover shot out of sight around the curve heading toward the county highway, she found her hand drifting down toward the curl-fringed "vee" between her legs. How she was going to miss her virile male neighbors! But naturally, she had no intention of remaining celibate in their absence; that would be falling right back into the trap of frozen frigidity in which she'd lived for twenty-four years too long already!
Hand still gently toying with the tumescent lips of her throbbing vagina, she gave Duane's kitchen a quick survey to make sure it was spic-and-span, then locked the door and stepped over the well-shoveled path leading to her own cabin. Without so much as pausing to build a fire in the hearth, she hastened toward the telephone, found Gary Sunderland's number in the book, and dialed, hand once again smoothing the excitement-flaming flesh between her quivering thighs.
"Hello, Gary?" she purred in a throaty half-whisper. "I...I just wanted to tell you that everything's all right...those nasty men didn't hurt me or anything...and why don't you come on over for a a little talk . . . ? !"
