"How am I going to get packed by tonight if I have to keep picking you up every five minutes?" said Pamela annoyed by her six-month-old baby's mulish behavior. With long tanned arms, she reached for Daniel, laying on his stomach, his head erect supported by his two wobbly chubby arms, and drew him out of his playpen.
"Just like your dad," she sighed deeply, wiping his lips with a clean diaper protecting her shoulder from his warm baby saliva, "making a lot of noise until somebody gives in!" With her free hand she turned over the two page list of necessities for her and Peter's anniversary celebration in Hawaii. "Shampoo . . . check. Hair blower, um, forgot that." The tiny soft arms of Daniel loosened their tight clasp around her neck as his whimpers gradually trailed off into a low hum of exhausted discomfiture. She gave him a peck on his arm while deftly tucking her turquoise necklace into a zippered pocket of her heavy suitcase. The jarring movement had awakened Daniel whose whining reached a discordant tone now as she patted him on the back, doubtful that he could feel the soothing touch through his many layers of undershirts and blankets.
"Hope you don't give Grandma this much grief when she takes care of you when mommy and daddy are in Hawaii." Daniel seemed to understand her plea as he raised his trembling head uncertainly from her shoulder.
Pamela Wood's talents as mother were undisputed; she was a patient and loving mother whose concerns were baby, number one and, herself number two. What a relief it's going to be, thought the pretty young housewife as she zipped shut the jewerly compartment of the suitcase, to be free of diaper pails and teething rings for two weeks. This was to be their first real vacation since she and Peter were married three years ago this week. Not that they had not travelled in those three years. When you're a studio musician in Los Angeles, life has a way of turning itself inside out: nights become days and time is measure in terms of recording schedules and trips to the mailbox waiting for the money to come in. She'd had about enough and if Peter had not suggested these two precious weeks of silence -- away from crying babies and rock n' roll -- Pamela would probably have bombed every record company and recording studio on the West Coast.
Pamela Wood was fed up with this harried life of watching her husband claw his way into record studios, waiting for someone to offer him that one big chance -- a contract -- that would buy his soul but pay the bills.
She'd met Peter five years prior when she was working as secretary to the Vice President of Warner Brothers record company. At a typical lavish party at the Hilton in celebration of a gold album, Pamela had first met Peter: the typical aggressive, starving artist type with a face that drew every groupy and secretary to his feet. Peter possessed that sad-eyed look that made you want to throw your arms around him and promise him life would be generous to him; but after getting to really know him, she realized it was part of his allure, his image. Underneath he was a strong willed, confident person and his strong jaw line showed it plainly.
Not that the last three years had been unhappy. Far from it! A gregarious woman who enjoyed dressing fashionably and meeting new characters -- of which there is a multitude in Hollywood, U.S.A. -- Pamela gloated over the imminent success of Peter as he climbed his way from a guitar pickin' minstrel off the streets to the well established reputation that he had won for himself, and if the next six months were as prosperous as the last, they were in fat city!
Hearing the door slam in their Laurel Canyon hide away nestled between palm trees and flowering shrubs, Pamela hastily checked her lovely tanned face in the full length mirror. Curling her lashes with her index finger, she stepped back to examine her image.
"Hi, honey. I'm home," was the familiar cry as Peter strolled down the hallway and now stood in the doorway of their blue bedroom decorated with music posters and stained glass.
"Shhh!" she put her finger to her lips indicating that Daniel was finally asleep and no way would she wake him up for his father to kiss him on his warm cheek.
"Got a surprise for you, honey," whispered Peter leaning against the door jam, his shirt unbuttoned nearly to his waist, his hair covered tanned chest peeking through. With a broad grin, he drew an album from bheind his back and handed it to her. "Just released today. It's promised to go gold. Know what that means?" He extended his arms to give his wife a hug but she backed away to put Daniel back in his cage.
"What?" Pamela had heard these words before. Everything was so out of proportion in the record business and she hated to watch Peter go through these harrowing experiences of promises, promises, promises. That was one of the reasons she'd quit the business: it was beginning to depress her and she grimaced at the speculation of another disappointment for her dear husband who worked untiringly in a business that could only be described as a gamble. You put your nickel in and wait for it to hit the jack pot. Not wanting to hurt his feelings, she read the credits on the back of the album jacket, "lead guitar, Peter Wood". Her red mouth opened in her sensual smile and she hugged him closely. "Oh I hope so, darling," she whispered inaudibly as his hairy chest tickled her nose. "I hope so."
Peter could smell the warm sweet aroma of Pamela's musk perfume and, lovingly, he stroked her long blonde baby soft hair, kissing her gently on the head. Her pale blue eyes, almond-shaped in their translucent glow, raised now to meet his yearning eyes. Peter's heart beat faster now as he studied the perky upturned nose and wide generous full mouth of his wife. "You're a wonderful woman, baby."
Sure, there are some pretty sexy groupies hanging out in those recording studios, thought Peter, but they all act so teeny-boppish parading around in their platform shoes and tiny halters that barely hide their nipples. He'd had his share, and he still did, he reflected with a pang of guilt; but it was all meaningless. In the record business you're expected to fuck groupies -- it's part of the mystique, the game. It took a woman like Pamela to show him life could be real and genuine. He kissed her on the tip of her nose, and sighed with relief at the thought of a vacation, a much needed one. Away from drugs and groupies, away from rock n' roll. Yes, he'd changed since fatherhood.
He glanced around the room and his eyes fell on the pink laced peignoir. How like Pamela, he thought, packing her wedding night peignoir. A shot of sentimentality nearly overcame him until visions of their wedding night in Las Vegas, where Peter was scheduled to play a gig on one of the lower levels of a newly opened casino. The lurid details of their elopement returned to him now as he stared at the rippled lace of Pamela's wedding night gown.
His band had been scheduled to play a twelve midnight to six in the morning gig -- hellish hours even for a rock musician accustomed to all night sessions in recording studios, reflected Peter as he hugged his wife closer now. At the time he couldn't afford to refuse the opportunity to get exposed to the public eye and it was that very money that was to pay for their wedding in a noen lit church in Las Vegas, complete with a paid witness and minister who stood sweating beads of perspiration dotting his wrinkled forehead. Peter had left Pamela in the hotel room where she had sat for hours, writing letters to her parents and friends telling them of her new found happiness, and finishing writing liner notes for an album package with a fast approaching deadline.
Willing and patient, as always, she had promised to wait up for him, but when the sun rose and he was still working she had decided to surprise him -- take him out to breakfast on this, their first day of marriage, and then home to bed where they would consummate their new relationship as man and wife.
Peter grimaced now as he remembered how he and his band had gone through three grams of cocaine that evening in celebration of Peter's victory -- married to one of the brightest and sexiest women in the business. Wasn't really that much, thought Peter now as his wife playfully fingered the gold inlaid coke spoon with turquoise stones hanging around his neck, a present from his band on that night three years back. After the second gram had been finished off between the first and second set, he had felt nothing but bliss, but when they had finished off the third, his mind was not functioning properly. A most obvious observation he remembered now as he tried to remember the face of ... what was her name? Paula?
Paula was a dancer in the preceding act. A very lovely one, thought Peter as the pieces of the puzzle started fitting together, and she had one of those bodies that only dancers and strippers can boast of: erect posture and taut muscles giving an added loveliness to their already curvaceous hips and breasts. He remembered Paula dan&ng: she had stood with long well-developed legs and thighs, their golden tan set off nicely by the snow white leotard she wore. He had watched her pivoting, throwing her legs high in the air revealing the tight band across her crotch standing out between her dark naked thighs. Her hips were slim and yet her buttocks stood out in an enticing manner, for her waist was even slimmer. Her breasts were unreal, a dream; their voluptuous fullness topped her slender frame in a way that brought an ache of desire to many a man's throat and he'd watched those drunken bastards slovering over her sexiness. And she was sexy! Everthing about her reeked of sex. All Peter could remember was her body, her fabulous body. If she were standing next to him now, he'd never remember her face. That had not impressed him.
After the cocaine -- the first round -- the guys had all sat around in the dressing room, ogling and making salacious remarks about that Paula, that witchy woman. It was then that Ed, the drummer, placed a bet, a challenge that
Peter should never have accepted; but in his stoned judgement, he had, regretfully. But, cogitated Peter now watching his baby son playing with a giraffe rattle with beady eyes that stared back at him as if in warning, had he known that Pamela was waiting for him, he never would have asked to give Paula a ride home. Or would he?
According to the bet, Peter had to screw Paula, he had to have some kind of physical contact. But if you've been up all night snorting cocaine, nothing seemed unreasonable. Politely, he asked her if she needed a lift home; and almost unthinkingly, she had acquiecied. "Yes, as a matter of fact I do," she'd remarked hurriedly, happy to save the few extra dollars for the taxi ride to her parents house in the suburbs of Las Vegas. Apparently, reasoned Peter, that's when Pamela saw me leaving with that stripper.
Peter had been all too aware of Paula's body next to him, even though she had sat next to the opposite door of his rented Camaro. She'd made no effort to pull down her skirt when she got into the car. Her well-shaped thighs were really something to look at, he remembered now, and the proud upthrusting of her breasts beneath her sweater had given ample evidence that she had not bothered to put her bra back on after her act ... if, indeed, she had ever worn one at all. He'd been willing to bet that she wasn't wearing any panties, either. These thoughts and rememberances of her strip act brought stirring life to Peter's penis now as the vision of her kicking up her leg came back all too vividly. He had known he was tensing up, knew his prick was beginning to swell painfully again . . . had known also that Paula was awre of his tenseness. But it was that bet that had driven him on. And this, his wedding night!
It had been she who spoke first, saying, "This is really sweet of you to give me a ride home. I ... I just wish there would be some way I could repay you."
"Ah, that's okay, baby."
"You been snortin' drugs, ain't you?" Peter remembered now Paula was one of those chicks who played with half a deck in her head, but her body . . . whew! Her body! "Yeah. Cocaine."
"Cocaine!!!" she had suddenly come to life. "You got any left?"
"Naw. Was a gift. We shared it all."
"Too bad," she pouted. She had quickly dismissed her passion, and had given a knowing little smile. "You're uptight. You need something to relax you."
"Is it that obvious?" Peter had asked, mildly astonished at the girl's astute observation.
Paula grinned. "You might say that it's obvious as hell." Without a warning, she had reached over and touched the bulge in his trousers. "Like so." The contact had created the same result in his loins as a match struck in a gasoline-vapoured chamber. She'd left her hand, not teasing him, not caressing . . . merely resting her fingers on the throbbing cloth lump created by his desire. Paula's eyes had been locked on Peter's face; the intensity of her glance had been something he could feel. She had seemed to be asking silent questions and receiving silent answers. Peter had been aware that he was driving very slowly now, the vehicle had been barely moving as it crawled down a residential street of Las Vegas, the sun already warming the day. His breath had caught with the next comment of the girl. "If I give you a little tease, how 'bout some cocaine tomorrow night. You will be playin' agin', won't ya?"
"Ah." He had gulped hard. "Yeah." He had to force the words out of his swollen throat.
"Gee. You guys is real good."
"Thanks," he had said blandly.
Then unexpectedly, she'd looked over lier shoulder out the rear view window, then glanced ahead of them. "Keep driving," she had ordered. "We're still miles away." She had some plan, obivously; her actions had been too unmistakable.
Through a haze of uncertainty and growing heat, Peter had felt her hand leave his leg and begin fumbling with his belt. "Take a deep breath," she had instructed, expertly. He had complied, and she had quickly unfastened his waist band. A second later his zipper had scraped, and her knowledgeable hand and fingers released his hot throbbing cock from the imprisoning confines of his shorts. He had groaned deep in his throat as she stroked it a couple of times.
"My . . . it's beautiful," she had said, breathlessly. "So big! So hard!" She had lovingly pumped it for a few seconds, then rolled it like a thick cigar between her fingers. The light of the rising sun had shown her hand moving up and down on his long white prick. God, how he had wanted a girl to do that! Cocaine always made him feel daringly sexual, like a male dog sniffing pussy in heat. It had been almost more that he could stand. Already, even though only thrity or forty seconds had elasped, he could feel the gathering thunder-heads in his balls. The girl had been an expert; she had known exactly what to do and how to do it. He had groaned, and his breath had become faster.
He had been so caught up in the delicious sensation that Paula had had to make the request twice.
"What?" he had muttered, not really sure he comprehended.
"Move the seat back further," she had reported.
Peter had mentally known what was coming next. Eagerly, he had reached down on his left for the seat release and had pushed with his back. The seat had slid all the way back. He had been forced to drive with his arms almost straight out in front of him.
Paula had glanced out the rear view window again -- had looked ahead at the vacant street -- and ordered, "Just keep driving. Tell me if you see any cop cars coming from behind. They been cruisin' lately, lookin' for chicks turnin' tricks in cars," she had snickered. She had bent forward and her hot lips had slipped wetly down over the head of his excitedly bulging cock.
"Ahhhhh," it had been a moan of delight wrenched from his soul, his drug-crazed soul. Nothing had ever felt so beautiful before, or at least nothing recently. He and Pamela scarcely had had time to see each other, let alone make love. Her tongue had flickered at the urethral opening and then had run menacingly in maddening circles around the head. She had pooched out her lips so that her mouth felt like a soft hot clamping vaginal ring, wonderfully moistened. With her free hand, she had reached down into his shorts and had begun gently squeezing his testicles in rhythm to her sucking movements. Up and down her mouth had moved gently bobbing like an oil pump pulling precious liquid from the subterranean depths. Peter had been about to go out of his mind from the sensation. The girl had said to keep driving, but it had been almost impossible to do that because of what he had felt. He couldn't have been travelling more than three or four miles an hour when the girl, as if sensing his impending orgasm, had begun taking the cock deep into her throat. Faster, faster, faster her head had moved until Peter had been able to stand it no longer. He had arched his back and had raised his buttocks off the seat in an effort to jam if further down her throat. She had taken it all, and as the head of his prick had begun to swell to enormous size, Paula had started sucking voraciously, interspersing the vacuum with occasional little nibbles using her teeth against the trunk and head. Her lips had been pulled out grotesquely as they had clung to his white driving rod. He had continued to push up to meet her, and she had continued to take him. His mouth had been swollen shut and long hoarse pants of breath had whistled through it. His prick had felt as though it weighed a ton -- a ton of hot molten lava restelssly surging below the surface of a volcano. He had known then that he was on the verge of cumming and he had felt he should prepare her, but as her motions had become more rapid and the suction had increased, he suddenly had know it didn't matter. She had obviously done this before; this chick was an expert, he remembered now.
The lava had gathered, had seethed and had boiled. The eruption had been imminent. Low gutteral noises of delight had come rumbling out of his throat. He had felt himself cumming . . . cumming . . . cumming . . . almost there. Almost . . . Now . . . Now! Now! The first hot spurts of sperm had boiled out of his balls and had screamed along the duct leading to the head of his cock. "Ahhhhhhh . . . ahhhhhh." His cry had meant to give her some warning, but the sound had merely increased her frenzy. The hot cum had roared out of his cock in great, smooth gushing quantities and she went on sucking furiously as he had shot everything he had into her wonderfully warm, greedy mouth. And still he had cum, as weeks of pent up abstinence and frustration had manifested themselves in almost half a cup of the viscous elixir of love.
She had used her tongue to tease, her mouth and lips to suck, until his penis had become completely drained and had begun to deflate. It had been as though she had felt it necessary to suck every last drop of lust from him. She had continued to work until he was sure he had been ready for another erection, then she had suddenly stopped.
Peter had mumbled a sigh of happy release, and abruptly had become aware that his car -- lights on and motor running -- had been standing motionless in the middle of the Las Vegas street. Paula had withdrawn her dripping lips from his cock, then had lovingly kissed its head which had been inflamed from her nibbling and smeared with her lipstick. She had slithered up until she was enclosed in his arms. Then she had kissed him wetly; her tongue had darted and licked around his mouth. He had tasted the alien taste -- the taste of his own sperm in her mouth. Paula's face had been slippery -- glistened from his seminal juices and streaked with lipstick. She had scooted back over to her own side of the car, had opened her purse, and had carefully wiped her mouth with a Kleenex as he had begun driving again. He had turned onto the street where she said she lived as she had glanced over at him, "Do I look presentable, honey? Don't want daddy to get mad at me. He's 'fraid the cops will get me." She had turned her head toward the direction of the house then. "You see, daddy don't know I'm workin' downtown, and I know he sure wouldn't like if he knew I was dancin' like I do."
He had reached over to inspect her face and had nodded.
She smiled then, "Tomorrow night, okay? And don't forget that cocaine."
She had smiled as he had stopped in front of her house and had started to get out of the car to open the door for her. "Don't bother," she had said quickly and slid out. As her skirt had flared out, he had realized he had been right; she hadn't worn panties, after all. The crack of her smooth young buttocks had been a dark inviting line at the top of her white thighs.
Peter had seen her father part the curtains and stare hungrily out into the morning light. Slowly, Paula had walked toward the house then, and as Peter had backed up to turn back in the direction of the Strip, he had eyed a taxi, just feet behind him. A tear stained face in the back seat looked familiar through his drug blurred eyes. Then he had sat up erect. It was Pamela! The two cars had sped down the dimly lit streets of Las Vegas. Pamela now leaning over the seat, as she had begun prodding the taxi driver to speed up. "Lose that man," Peter had watched her mouth the words. He took off after her, a streak of red slicing the silence of the early dawn. Peter recalled how he had pleaded, begged, had almost forced her to listen to reason, but Pamela had flown back to Los Angeles, and it had been a full two weeks of heart aching torture, of sleepless nights and drunken days before she would even consent to speak to him. "No!" she had screamed, her tiny fists clenched in hatred. "I want an annullment. Now!" Christ, she could be demanding, mused Peter, his arm now entwined around her slender hips, rocking in a sensual movement as she pressed him tightly against the door jam of their Laurel Canyon home.
Finally, out of dolorous desperation, he had written a song dedicated to his lovely wife and after bribing an engineer friend of his to record it for him on an unused eight track recorder, he had mailed her a test tape to her Warner Brothers office. Pamlea, an avid music fan, finally responded. They moved into the one bedroom house in Laurel Canyon shortly after. I'll make it up to her, thought Peter. Two weeks in Hawaii and she'll be happy she stuck with me, he thought, stroking her blonde head. His mind drifted off into unanswered fantasies then: thoughts of dark skinned Samoan girls dressed in grass skirts, their long black hair hugging their tight little asses as they twirled and whirled for him. Their coconut shell covered breasts would knock together in lewd clatterings as they met in the rhythm of their luscious pagan dance. "Yeah, I think I'm going to like Hawaii," he whispered in his wife's ear. He couldn't help it; it was in his blood.
"Think you could leave that behind?" Pamela gave the coke spoon decorating her husband's broad chest a tug, and it fell loosely into her hand. Clearing his throat, Peter was about to protest, but realized it was true: he had been acting rather impetuous since he and a few of the other studio musicians had gotten into the habit of a snort here and a snort there. Soon it had become an inherent part of work and often now, too often, he found himself craving that vigorating rush that unfailingly accompanied the delicious sensation of power that only cocaine can give.
"Really, baby," she pleaded. "You've been so uptight and nervous lately. It'll do us both good to get away from this, this madness."
CHAPTER TWO
"Whew! It's hot!" Pamela fanned her face with a slender hand. I don't care if it's 150 degrees, she thought, just as long as I don't have to listen to blaring rock 'n roll and screaming babies. Oh, it was going to be heaven, she could safely predict as she amusedly watched the dark-skinned children selling lais, the traditional Hawaiian form of greeting. They rounded another corner of Honolulu's unique open air airport and waited for their luggage to rumble out of the shute.
Pamela threw her lithe arms around Peter's warmly moist neck. "Oh, honey," she purred in his ear, knocking her straw hat off her head, "it's going to be heaven, just you and me."
"Huh?" Peter was too busy burning holes in the Samoan girl's luscious breasts as she passed out samples of pineapple juice at a Delmonte hospitality booth. "Yeah. Great honey," he kissed her forehead, but his eyes were still following the rippling muscles of the Hawaiian girl's bare back as she turned to greet a tourist. Christ, thought Peter, how am I going to play happy husband with all these chicks hanging around with their breasts half-bared and God! Now he spied the salacious slit running the full length of her mid-calf sarong, her long tapered brown legs peeking out from underneath the mysterious darkness of her native dress. Wonder if she's wearing anything underneath that? he wondered silently, but reprimanded himself with his promise he'd made to himself. No wandering eyes.
Bending over to retrieve Pamela's broad-rimmed straw hat, Peter's eye caught a glimpse of the Hawaiian girl, her leg stretched salaciously out to her side. She winked at him. Christ, she's a gorgeous sight! Puka shell necklaces eccentuated her long, graceful neck and a gentle ocean breeze caught her hair, long and silken black. Those cheek bones! That familiar old troublesome bulge was growing again, like an insatiable sponge.
"Peter," Pamela pecked him on the back with her finger. "We've got to rush! Our charter plane leaves in fifteen minutes and we still have to buy our tickets."
Lifting the bulging suitcase, Peter's arm flayed out at his side to balance the weight. "Got rocks in here?" He hobbled in short steps to the ticket counter of the chartered plane that would lift them up and take them away to their rented cottage in Papaikou near Hilo Bay on the Big Island of Hawaii.
The breathtaking trip over the short strip of blue ocean separating Oahu from the island of Hawaii was dotted by green mountains that looked like spots of mold from the low flying plane that was now cutting its engines for landing. Eeeeerrrrr, the wheels skidded on the narrow asphalt airstrip.
In minutes a rented car whisked them away to their cottage, rustic in its own primitive way, the weather having beaten and battered its structure from years of exposure to the harshness of ocean rain and wind.
"It's perfect!" Pamela through the open screenless window. "Peter," she turned her head, to get his attention, "Peter, just look at that blue sky." She tore open the suitcase, leaving its contents in a heap on the double bed, and grabbing her bikini, ran to the bathroom.
"Sure you're not in a hurry or anything, Pamela," chortled her husband, now pulling on his embroidered cutoffs. "Okay, last one in has to get coffee in the morning." Like two pubescent teenagers, they headed for the beach, visible from the doorstep of their tiny one-room cottage, and panting heavily like horses nearing the end of the race, jumped into the twirling frothiness of the Pacific Ocean waves. They stood there, the surf teasing their legs, their feet gradually sinking into the sand as wave after pounding wave threatened the tiny strip of beach; but they didn't notice. In their tight embrace all that existed was the warmth of a close body, the orange streaks of a Hawaiian sunset, and the silence.
Peter sat in the driftwood fashioned chair, one of the sole bits of furniture in their bungalow, rustic in its native Hawaiian decor. Christ, it's good being away from pounding rock 'n roll, he thought. Silence was a precious jewel to him, rarely appreciated and infrequently cheap. Unconsciously, he found himself drumming his fingers on the roughness of the chair. Reprimandingly, he slapped his hand. No more of that, he promised himself, but rhythms and rifts kept interrupting his reverie so he stretched out longer in the chair, tilting his head back slightly over the headboard of the chair and closed his eyes; but all he could see was the album jacket of his new release. Gotta get myself out of this space, he told himself silently. Pamela's been looking forward to this vacation even more than me, and I promised myself I wouldn't mess it up like our honeymoon.
The music business was his drug. Sure, he did his share of bitching about waiting for money, raving about broken promises and broken contracts, but it was harder on Pamela. She was the one who had to listen to him and she never enjoyed many of the fringe benefits -- groupies to boost your ego and drugs to alter it. For a second, he considered searching the room for a radio, phonograph or television set; the silence was booming in his ears. No, Pamela would be disappointed in him. She wanted him alone, all to herself -- she'd made that clear.
He stretched his legs out further, sand drifting onto the floor from his legs. God, I feel good, he thought humming to himself, so relaxed. Ahhhh! Only one thing could make me feel any better. No, Pamela wouldn't talk to him for days, and besides, he'd promised. What the hell, he reasoned, how is she going to hear me snorting up a little coke over the roar of the shower? With his eyes on the bathroom door, he pulled out a small silver square box etched with his initials -- PDW in script. A gift from Sheila, one of the chicks who hung out at the studio.
Deftly, he rattled out a few of the white pearls of powder onto Pamela's makeup mirror and ground them up with the end of his coke spoon, retrieved from his pants pocket. With a tightly rolled dollar bill, he sniffed the stinging powder into his flaring nostrils. "Ahhh," he purred to himself, the white powder sending flashes of lightning to his brain. Two or three more lines, and I'll put it away, but the decision was made for him as Pamela turned off the shower.
On the other side of the closed door, Pamela stepped out of the warm driving shower onto a white paper bath mat. She lifted her wealth of long thick honey-colored hair from her long delicately arching neck and stood looking at her youthful reflection in the full length mirror on the bathroom door wiped clear of its steam. It was hard not to be proud of the wide-spaced blue eyes gazing back at her through the rapidly returning steam. Her eyes slanted slightly above high cheekbones, blinking back at her with a growing amusement; it was exhilarating to be such a beautiful woman and beneath her quiet and modest temperament she enjoyed it. Even though she'd had a baby just six months ago, her fully curving voluptuous body was every bit as firm and taut as it used to be -- high set round breasts curving down over a slender girlish waist to round luscious hips. With just a bit of exercising her stomach would be back to its original flatness. Her full swelling thighs curved into calves that tapered to her well-formed ankles.
Pamela felt a little tingle of anticipation, almost nervous anticipation as she realized Peter was waiting for her outside of that door. Strange, she thought, that after three years of marriage I should feel as nervous as a new bride.
Painfully, she gritted her teeth at the ghostly remembrance of her wedding night, how she had sworn she would never talk to him again. In fact, she'd planned to sue him for divorce, anything for revenge; but the past three years had been good to them and that shock of three years ago today had become an undiscussed issue, a moral lesson, tucked away with their over-exposed blurry wedding snapshots taken by a "resident photographer."
Pamela reached for the pink nightgown hanging on a makeshift towel fixture made of wood and shells. Not since her wedding night had she worn the satiny clinging gown and Peter had never seen it on her. She slipped the long, trailing nightgown on over her slim, powdered and satiny body, and the pristine folds clung enticingly to her voluptuously curved form. Damn, I forgot my slippers, she suddenly remembered, but slipped her red polished toes into the thongs laying next to the commode. Nervously, she reached for the door knob, anxious for her husbands reaction. Feeling of robbed of a genuine wedding night, she wanted so desperately for this wedding anniversary to erase the black memories of Peter's inexcusable behavior back in Las Vegas; but, she reassured herself, when she walked through that door Peter would be waiting for his bride, arms open in loving embrace. They would feel fresh together again.
Peter rose to his feet the moment she opened the door. He could sense his heart pounding in his hairy chest and for an anxious, paranoid moment, he was afraid she could see the heavy heaving of his chest. The cocaine was coursing mercilessly through his veins, turning them into ice water. I'd better be convincing, he thought.
"God, you look so lovely, Pamela. Just like a new bride." She beamed back at him. Carefully folding the heap of clothes and assorted sundries on the bed to clear the way for their wedding night, Pamela glowed with happy warmth. Finally I'm going to get my wedding night, she mused silently. Bit by bit the bed was cleared of its debris until, "Peter, what's this?" She shoved the silver cocaine box in his blushing face. "Peter," she sounded distraught and angry, "why do you have to bring drugs along with you wherever you go?" Throwing it down on the floor, she gave it an extra kick and then she fell among the toppling pile of carefully piled clothing on the bed, and sobbed.
"Why?" she looked up at him with tearing eyes. "Aren't I enough? Do you have to get high all the time? Maybe you should have brought along your guitar, too. You're whole damned band and your groupies!"
"What difference does it make?" Peter was growing livid with rage. He subconsciously knew he should not return her comment with anger, but his guilt was piling up in a daik corner of his mind, shrouding his sense of judgement.
"What difference does it make?" she mimicked. "You can't do anything without getting high first?"
A wave of self-loathing enveloped Peter's body, realizing the truth in her words and he fell to her side on the bed where her curvaceously lovely body lay hysterically heaving with high wailing sounds.
"Honey?" he stroked her head and took a deep breath, hoping it would still his wildly throbbing heart. "Pamela, baby," he kissed her baby-soft hair. "I'm really sorry, it's just that I'm so used to it. It's not easy going from a hectic place like the studio to the quiet of this place. Just give me a few days to get used to it, huh?" His full lips kissed her milk white shoulder, naked under the bare lace strap of her wedding nightgown.
"B . . . but on our anniversary night?" she sobbed, causing the bed to vibrate with the forc^e of her sorrows.
"Forgive me. Just this once?" he pleaded.
"I ... I wanted everything to be so perfect ..." she wailed in a high soprano trill.
"It will be, honey." Suddenly Peter felt as if the smallness of the cottage was caving in on him and claustrophobia threatened his breathing, now coming in short gasp-like spurts. He was sweating profusely and he feared Pamela might feel his clamminess on her soft shoulder being stroked by his free hand.
"It's so hot in here." He tightened his hands on her shoulders, and meeting with no obvious show of revulsion, he embraced her more gently, pulling her trembling body close to him. "What you say we go for a walk on the beach. It's not far past sunset and it's always warm on the sand."
"But . . . but I wanted to wear my night ..." her quaking body forced out the spewed words, "my wedding nightgown."
His arms encircled her quivering form, and his hands began to caress her long delicate neck, lifting her shrouding hair. "No reason why you can't." God, he thought, I've got to get out of here before I pass out, but if I leave her here she'll never forgive me.
"Come on, honey." He lifted her rubbery body, her hands still covering her mascara-streaked face, lines of blackness dripping from between her fingers. "Let's go for a walk." Guiding her still-quivering form off the creaking mattress, he urged her out the door, slow steps leading them into the darkness of the night.
Strong arms enshrouding her still trembling body, Pamela could feel her grief ridden soul lift with the spirit of the Hawaiian evening, as if by magic. The soft sun-warmed sand tickled between her arms and the ocean breeze swept her nightgown into clinging folds against the curved outline of her body. Relaxing the tightness in her shoulders, she dropped her hands that had cupped her tear stained face, and let the coolness of the wind slap her into submission of acceptance.
Sensing her change of heart, Peter quickened her response. "Oh, Pamela, it's just that I wanted you so badly and I wanted to be ready for you. Guess I'm drained of energy these days. Been working too hard."
Then his arms encircled her quaking form and his hands began to caress her warmly rounded shoulders. Pulling her closer to him, he bent his head and began to trace hot little kisses down the long, satiny sweep of her neck, inhaling the exotic perfume that clung to her silken skin, feeling desire ignite inside him with a sudden burning flame.
Pamela's heart melted as she clung to her husband. She realized she shouldn't have been so angry over the cocaine. After all, hadn't she indulged in the drug herself? Maybe, she reasoned silently, she was perturbed because he hadn't left any for her. "Everything is all right now," she looked up at her husband, speaking into the darkness of his eyes. "I get a bit too selfish sometimes."
Gently, he pulled her to the sound, meeting only minor protests. "I'm going to ruin my nightgown." But that quickly subsided as he buried his mouth in the soft valley between her neck and her shoulder and could feel the persistent throbbing of his rapidly swelling penis against her leg. She had melted, as she knew she would and they were now laying prostrate, side by side on the shimmering sand, golden in the moonlight. Her diaphanous gown swept by the ocean breeze made her look like a celestial angel, a spirit from the ocean, arisen to give him pleasure. His hand dropped to caress the palpitating mounds of her soft warm breasts, and he could feel the tightening of the turgid little nipples against his palms. Slowly, cautiously, his hand dropped still lower and gathered the edge of her long nightgown, the very nightgown intended for their wedding night three years ago, and began to draw it upwards. He drew in his breath sharply as the long shapely length of her long tapered legs came into view under the stars, looking like warm ivory by the glow of the rising moon. Peter could feel his cocaine-jolted heart pound in his rib cage as the fleshy upper part of her firm young thighs came into tantalizing view, and then he gasped audibly as finally, he lifted the fabric above her hips.
His eyes widened as he saw the darkly glimmering vee of her vaginal mound below the flat expanse of her flat little belly. "I've got the prettiest wife in the whole damned music business,'" he purred in her ear. Then with a moan of aroused passion, he pulled it down all the way and managed to extricate her arms from it, finally tossing it aside impatiently.
Pamela had been waiting for this precious moment for three years. She opened her eyes and looked up at the stars twinkling above her wedding band of sand. Like a mermaid, she thought, I am a sexy serpent of the sea and this is my captor. A smile crossed her lips as her husband stared down at her ripely naked body; he knew she was waiting for him. He couldn't take his eyes off her sensually aroused lushness, glimmering under the moonlight. Her blonde hair was like a halo around her face, and her smouldering eyes were like twin pools of unknown depths staring back at him. His eyes traveled down eagerly, taking in the voluptuous fullness of her breasts, surmounted by roseate nipples already hard and rigid. Lower still, to the nipped in smallness of her waist, and then down to the tantalizing triangle at the junction of her smooth, creamy thighs.
"Christ, you're fabulous!" he breathed through passion-clenched teeth thinking of all the late nights he'd wasted on teeny-bop groupies and their stupid little games. What a waste of time when he had a wife like this waiting for him at home! It was as if this was the very first time he'd ever seen her naked, clearly and without the tension of a crying baby, and he just couldn't believe how exquisitely beautiful she looked stretched out on the sand in the moonlight. Far more so than he had ever imagined her to be. To him, she personified everything he had ever believed a woman to be, and he could hardly accept the fact that she was really his.
The night air had cleared his cocaine confusion somewhat, but still he could feel it in the trembling of his hands. His massively throbbing cock was like a red hot poker now against her thigh and, with his eyes still burning into his wife's provocatively spread body, he hurriedly began to draw off his shirt. Then he slipped out of his cut off shorts, and finally lay naked beside her, his fully aroused penis standing out proudly from the tangled curls at the base.
Pamela's eyes dropped to his thick pulsating shaft of male flesh, and involuntarily, she drew in her breath. It was grotesquely huge. Bigger than she'd ever seen it before. Without consciously willing it, she felt a heaving pang of desire. She knew he was going to fill her tonight as she had never been filled before.
"Please, Peter, be gentle. Try not to fuck me too fast at first. You're so big tonight," she mewled softly, her eyes imploring him.
Ever since we had Daniel, he thought to himself, she's been whining about being gentle when we make love. What does she think I am, some kind of rutting animal?
He rolled over closer now beside her, unable to banish the resentment he felt at her plea. But he was determined that he wouldn't let it spoil things for him, as he reached down and planted his lips fully on her eagerly expectant mouth. To his delight, she responded fully, parting her warmly wet lips to allow his tongue to enter into the warm moistness. Her own tongue rose to meet his and the two wet slippery organs danced and fenced together in an intoxicating ecstasy of arousal.
Peter thrilled at the realization that his wife wanted him as much as he wanted her. Her whole body seemed to melt beneath him and he could feel her faintly quivering thighs parting beneath him. Her firmly ripened breasts seemed to strain to press themselves against his chest, and her head was thrown back as her nakedly aroused young maternal body arched upwards. "Open your legs wide, Pamela," he whispered in her ear. "When you get this in you, you'll know you're married to a real man."
Quivering in anticipation, Pamela opened her legs wide apart. Peter levered up over her, his arms stiff, his hands resting on her shoulders. He dropped one hand between their bodies taking the hard throbbing cock between his fingers and guided it forward, using the thick rubbery head to part the full fleshy lips of her cunt. She turned her head to the side, sand rippling against her hair, and closed her. eyes with a shudder as she felt its soft electrical contact against the soft, sensitive edges of her moistly dialing pussy.
"Oh -- oh," she whimpered, attempting a protest as she felt the first harsh pressure against the wet elastic opening of her cunt. Yes, she was moist down there from the constant pressure of his prick against her thigh, yet he seemed larger and thicker than she would be able to take even in her wildly excited state.
He pushed. "Oh, baby, I'm going to fuck your brains out."
"Arrrrrghhhhhhh," she moaned as he levered forward and just the tip slipped through, stretching the slightly resisting rubbery opening until Pamela felt as though her thighs were splitting apart from the relentless outward pressure.
He pushed again, the blood-gorged head forcing itself into the wetly clasping opening, and he felt her flesh give way, her full firm buttocks arching up to receive the full length of his relentlessly prodding cock. Boy, she was ready and he was going to give it to her! The cocaine was his master now, nourishing his love starved body. She'd complained so often, too often about his lack of sexual attention to her, suggesting that he had been expending too much energy on those groupies. Well, he'd show her. He was fucking his wife and he wouldn't stop until she screamed for more.
"Oh, shove it in me, darling, screw me like that, yesss," Pamela's voice intoned involuntarily and her whole body twitched and writhed beneath him in a reaction that had been building in her for longer than she had realized. Sand ground into their hair, under their buttocks, even into their armpits. But there was no reason for her to fight the lewd flames of desire coursing through her veins. She wanted to urge him on with the lewdest words she could think of and to enjoy her own obscene surrender to this sexual act as her husband's vigorously skewering cock plunged deeper and deeper into her cunt.
He slipped his hands beneath her voluptuously curved sides and slid them around the soft round globes of her smoothly gyrating buttocks, grasping them harshly, one in each hand. God, his hands felt beautiful cupping at her ass-cheeks, the thought blazed in her mind; they cupped and squeezed while he fucked his heavily impaling rod deep into her flowering cunt, fucking her with increasing force until her legs on either side of her hips were jerking and quivering with uncontrolled abandon, digging into the sand that was now flying in from the force of her writhing body.
She didn't care that he was loaded out of his head on cocaine. Yes, she wanted that cock that was now fucking its sperm-inflated head up through her warmly clinging cuntal passage, fucking her with a hot vengeance that they both shared. She could feel the hard ridges of his plunging cock drubbing into her open belly with beautifully hard, pile-driving thrusts; the thick blood engorged cock began longer smooth strokes that brought his cock head almost all the way out of her tightly clasping cunt on the backstroke and then thrust forward again into her uplifting buttocks until she could feel the velvety smack of his balls down against the nakedly flexing little lips of her rectum.
"Oh," he heard her mewl in his ear above the rapid pounding of his heart now echoing in every organ of his body, "I love it when I can feel your balls rub against my asshole."
"You like how I fuck you?" she suddenly heard his voice as though from a great distance.
"Yes, oh God, Peter, it feels so good," she whined softly, the maddening slap of his balls on her nakedly exposed rectal mouth driving her to greater frenzy.
"Then tell me I'm the best fuck you've ever had, tell me I'm better than anyone you could ever dream of fucking you," he teased, suddenly increasing the thrust of his pole-like cock through the ravished sucking walls of her cunt.
"I'll tell you anything," she moaned, "just keep on doing it. Yes, you do it ... you fuck better than anybody. Oh, baby, you really know how to fuck me, oh keep it up!"
Peter gloated over her on the grinding sand, the moonlight casting shadows on her pale face. He had gotten her to say it and now he braced himself on his knees and elbows over the insanely thrashing body, letting the hungrily clasping cunt slip and draw itself up and down the rigid length of his cock at will. He bucked forward on her upstroke several times, driving the growing head almost through the walls of her cunt.
"I-I . . . never had it so goooooooooood," she repeated over and over again.
He moved one hand down from her wildly rotating buttocks and played teasingly with his finger at the widespread crevice between them. Then he prodded one finger in through the softly giving valley, finding her warm virginal anus ready and almost accepting his probe. This was one trick the musician had not used on his wife, but rather reserved it for the most hesitantly virginal of the throngs of groupies that hung out in the studio. Pamela jerked back, startled at first as he began moving the finger in tiny circles around the tightly puckering little opening, pressing tentatively and then pushing in through the firm, elastically stretching lips.
"Aaaaagggghhhh, aaaagggghhhh," she moaned when he thrust his finger in a quarter inch farther and she mumbled out words incoherently at him between heavily panting gasps from the momentary pressure in her rectum.
But then, as after he had first t lrust his inflamed cock into her pussy, the pressure drifted into a new inexplicable pleasure that she did not want to stop. Through the thin wall of moist flesh separating her anal passage from her cunt she could feel the sperm bloated ridge of the bottom of his cock pushing against his invading finger, his huge male member sliding smoothly in and out in rhythmic unison with the obscene assault on her anal passage.
"Oh, Peter, God . . . fuck me, fuck me good, fuck my cunt," she chanted mindlessly. "Split me, split me open with your cock!"
Peter shoved a second ravaging finger in, sinking all the way up to the palm of his hand. He fucked them teasingly up into the tight fleshy anal passage and Pamela jerked up, her wildly undulating buttocks rising several inches off the sand in sudden surprise at the second intrusion in her backside. But Peter had timed it well and rammed his grinding pelvis forward with a vengeance born of lust, fucking his cock deeper into her cunt. There was nothing she could do to escape the kaleidoscoping pinwheel of sensation that spun through her naked loins; she was hopelessly impaled at both ends by his fingers and cock and in her sex-crazed state of mind she could not distinguish one blurry stab of pain from another electric pulse of ecstatic pleasure. All she knew was this man, her husband, was fucking her as she had never been fucked before. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his face close to hers, splurging her tongue into his mouth and receiving his tongue in turn as though it were another cock that swirled and poked at the insides of her cheeks. Then she moved her hand down between their now sweat-slickened bodies, sliding it alongside the concavity of their slapping groins until it came to rest on the gourd-like sac of his semen-bloated balls. His fingers sunk mere fractions of an inch away into her voraciously sucking little rectum, occasionally brushing against her hand while she fondled and squeezed gently at his balls. She fingered the smooth soft folds and ran her thumb up to the base of his rapidly plunging prick, tickling at the bottom of the round rubbery head as it slipped almost out of the soft hair-lined folds of her cunt on the backstroke.
"Christ! What the hell are you doing to me?" he groaned out in a sharp gasp of pleasure.
"Darling," she gasped back, "I'm giving you as much-. .. as ... Oh God, as much as you're fucking and giving me!"
She lifted her hand suddenly from the distended cup of his balls and running it up his hips to his muscularly working buttocks thrust a finger into his own rubberily sucking anal passage. The two lurched, fingers jabbing, and pelvises buffeting like colliding freight trains; wet, sweat-soaked smacking sounds reverberated, harmonizing lewdly with their mutual grunts of lust.
"Oh, oh, deeper, harder, fuck me, fuck my cunt with your cock and finger my ass," she begged, gasping as though she were close to death. She was nearing orgasm and swung her soft tender thighs up and wound them voluptuously around his back, waving her deeply impaled buttocks in uncontrolled abandon from side to side and spiralling her cunt up and down crazily on his hotly plunging and growing cock.
He lurched over her, his balls ready to explode into hotly jetting streams of milk-white cum; he could feel it building like a trapped geyser ready to erupt, but he held off, sucking in deep gulps of fresh ocean air, and wallowed his these last moments of engulfing pleasure. He could hear his wife's sobs coming more rhythmically and closer together, and he felt the first trickle of her cum juice trail down from her rapidly buffeting cunt and warm his fingers as he continued, his lewd finger-fucking of her hotly clinging little rectum. Her own finger plunged more deeply into his straining asshole, jamming it up to the second knuckle and sending a depraved ripple of electrified pleasure jolting upward and fusing with the ecstasy of his heavily churning semen that would soon spew out the gaping head of his painfully burgeoning cock.
"Ooooooohhhhh . . . ooooooohhhhh . . . oooooaaaarrrrrgggghhhhh!" Pamela chanted, her face contorted crazily in the rising buildup of her orgasm. "Oh fuck me, baby, fuck my cunt." Her face was ghost-like in the moonlight.
Peter groaned and fucked further and further up into her hungrily devouring cunt until he felt the head of his cock touch all the way back to her cervix and the walls of her hetly milking cunt clasp and unclasp in spasmodic grips around the hot, heavily fisting head of his cock.
"God, oh Peter," she suddenly squealed with a high pitched gasp of intense pleasure and passion and locked her ankles in a death grip high up behind his laboring back. At the same time he pressed her fingers fiercely into his asshole and smashed her open abandoned mouth against his warmly sucking lips.
Christ, she's really going now, thought Peter, the cocaine still reeling through his body. "You really want me to fuck you, don't you, baby?" He screwed his finger around u p inside the warmly heated walls of her rectum, feeling the tightly clenched channel widen. "Get up on your knees," he suddenly demanded. "I'm going to fuck you from behind, darling!"
Panting, Pamela rolled over and braced herself wheelbarrow fashion in the sand, its soft giving surface hot on her knees, but in her animal lust she didn't care.
She wants it, thought Peter, she's going to get it in the ass. I'll give her a wedding night she'll never forget! Slowly, he guided the lust-swollen cock towards her small, defensively puckering anus, cradling it between the warm fleshy mounds of her fearfully trembling backside. Pamela jerked back from the lascivious hot contact. Her heart began to hammer loudly. Now his hands reached beneath her and cupped her thighs -- holding them tightly. She suddenly realized that the prick was considerably larger than his fingers had been ; she wouldn't be able to take it. He should be able to see that. Still, the pressure continued, the prick moving gently, gradually finding its way through the tiny tight opening stretching it wider and wider until finally the head of it was completely in.
"Aaaaaahhhhh!" moaned Pamela at the surprise. She pressed down with her abdominal muscles and was relieved to discover that part of the pressure had gone. Then she felt him begin to fuck in deeper, and all of a sudden -- about the two inch mark -- he began to shove harder and it hurt. She tried to push forward into the sand, but his hands held her thighs captive.
"That hurts," she winced. "Please put it back in my cunt, Peter, I just can't do it this way right now."
He paid no attention to her ... he was going to ram it up her good. Pamela could feel the pressure in the pit of her stomach. Not from her cunt but from her protesting bowels as his hard cock reamed deeper and deeper. "It's too big, Peter," she whimpered. "Please go slow! Oh God, darling, please fuck it in slow!"
She couldn't move or protest. She was impaled by her own husband who was holding her thighs, his legs keeping her legs well separated.
"Raise up," he said softly, lifting her buttocks slightly.
"Ooooh, will it help, darling!" she moaned bravely.
"Yes, it gives me a better angle to fuck you from," he insisted, and she would gladly obey any order just so he would do it slower. She raised her buttocks a bit, and the prick slid smoothly and deeper into her ass. It moved quickly until suddenly she felt his pubic hair slap hard against her ass.
"Gaaaaaaagggghhhh," she groaned, but the pain was much less and almost gone now as her own husband fucked deeply up into her now widestretched asshole. The excitement she had felt with his fingers in there was mounting again -- being intensified by the reality and overpowering pressure of that hot, pulsating log lodged in her rectum. He began fucking in and out slowly. Her asshole made gasping little sucking noises like a foot being pulled from quicksand with each movement. 'Oh . . . hhh," she gasped with each new thrust forward.
He stopped for a moment, and she realized he was panting in delight. "Keep raising your ass, like you did before," he panted. And as Pamela followed orders, she was rewarded with a joyous groan and a deeper thrust into her now hotly clenching asshole. He fucked in and out, rhythmically -- worming his heavily hardened cock deep up into the softer, darker areas of her bowels which she had never known existed.
Pamela felt a change in her rectum, and this was accomplished mostly because she wanted to please her husband. She felt helpless but somehow that made it all the more acceptable. Pamela was beginning to experience some masochistic enjoyment from these thrusts, and she knew instinctively that she could enjoy them even more by rearing back to meet his thrusts. She began doing so, and was pleased by his low-pitched moan, "Pamela, darling, you . . . you're the most beautiful fuck in the world."
Happy to please her husband, she moved her firm white buttocks in tiny little circles -- weaving it in the air like a balloon on the end of its string. She pressed down hard and his yelps of enjoyment spurred her on. Gradually, she began feeling a weird glow illuminating her inner bowels. It wasn't possible, she thought, not this way . . . not this way! Three years of marriage and she hadn't realized a woman could cum this way too! Nerve ends were beginning to send messages to her brain and muscles were beginning to vibrate.
She discovered with ease that she could tighten her anus two or three times on his outward stroke -- bringing greater pleasure to her and deeper groans from him. With an inward thrust, she flexed her deepest anal muscle against the head of his cock, holding it captive. "God!" was all he said. She suddenly realized, as she tossed her head wantonly in the sand from side to side, that she was enjoying this even more than when he'd fucked her in the cunt. She could even cum this way, if she worked at it.
Now, breathing like a race horse, Peter pulled the hot throbbing cock all the way out to the glans, then fucked it desperately back up inside as hard as he could.
"Ahhhhh," she moaned, "fuck my ass, baby, fuck me in the ass!" The pain had given away to lewd animal lust.
Now, with long hard unending thrusts, he began to batter her quivering buttocks. He gasped like a man who had run the 440 yard race. She was being fucked like a wounded carcass, split right down the middle. And she didn't care, she loved it.Pamela could feel a velvet feeling throughout the pit of her stomach. Could it really be that some women enjoyed sex like this often?
"Eeeeee . . . aaaahhhh ..." He was making noises like a rusty door creaking open.
"Ahhhh . . . ahhhhh," she returned, attempting to say, "deeper, harder, fuck me, harder ..." but unable to put the words into speech. Her head was tossing back and forth uncontrollably now as the two bodies moved like suddenly insane puppets released from their master's strings.
He murmured incoherently as his hands finally let go of her thighs, and she felt his fingernails bite strongly into the folds of skin in front of her hipbones as he sought deeper penetration. It hurt her a little, but oh God, she wanted to be hurt!
Then she felt the one last mighty thrust which drove her husband's heavily swollen cock up to the furthest point in her bowels that it had been; she made her muscles up there grab hold of it and milk it. His prick spurted, then began twitching as he came deep, deep in her rectum. "I'm . . . I'm cummming in your asshole!" he blurted between clenched teeth. His cry triggered her own explosion.
"Oh, ohhhhh, P . . . Peter ... I'm cum-mmmmmmmmmming toooo-oooooo!" It was a different feeling . . . much different, deeper, a different set of muscles, nerves and bones crying out, "Ahhhhhh . . . aieeeeeee!" she screamed, and above her own shouts, she could hear his, "beautiful . . . wonderful . . . oh, baby . . . a-aaaahhhhhhh!"
CHAPTER THREE
The early morning sun filtered through the window of the one-room cottage, its fingers of light streaking through the shell beaded curtains, casting shadows. on the wood panelled walls. It flooded over the bed where the couple lay sleeping.
Peter awoke slowly. He squinted his eyes against the light and rolling over on his back, studied the blonde cascading hair of Pamela spilled over the linen pillow case beside him. A hell of a woman, he thought silently remembering her wild screams of orgasm as he had cum deep up inside her on the night before. She wanted a wedding night, and bof she got it! Peter felt a surge of energy soaring from his loins as he envisioned their lewd embrace digging like rutting animals into the sand, half covering their naked bodies. Christ! things like that were probably illegal in this part of the world, he mused with a broad grin growing on his face. His entire body was enervated with lewd thoughts of repeat performances. If only he'd known Pamela was up for getting fucked in the ass, he would have let her have it back there long ago.
� Rising to his elbow, he gradually lifted the sheet from his naked body and, lowering one leg over the edge, silently slid off the bed so as not to awaken Pamela who lay with her back to him, sleeping the sleep of the dead. Tip toeing, he pulled on his patched Levi cutoffs, grimacing as the sand from last night's lewd tableau ground into his buttocks, and not bothering with a shirt or shoes, he soundlessly slipped out the door.
God, it feels good to stretch! Peter yawned, stretching his sinewy arms out at right angles to his body. Yards ahead, the ocean ate away at the slender strip of white sandy beach as the early morning tides wafted in, washing in remanants of ocean-life dotting the beach. Christ, it feels good. He dug his toes into the sand, the tiny bits of smooth shells glistened in the golden light. Spontaneously then, he spun off like a spurred horse, running and panting breathlessly, enraptured by the solitude that only nature can afford. For a moment he didn't feel real; he was an actor, a beach comber, he'd been washed up on shore from a ship wreck. To test his reality, he stopped short, threw his arms up in the air and screamed as loud as he could. "Eeeeeiiiiikkkkk!" The sound came from the pit of his stomach, travelling up through his lungs and finally to his voice-box when his throat vomited it out. God, he thought, I haven't felt this alive in years! He laughed, he nearly cried, he ran, he danced and picked up handfuls of sand letting it filter between his fingers. How could life be this good to him? He wanted to bow down to the ultimate spirit, kiss it's feet and sob like a new born babe. He twirled and reeled like the whirling dervish dancers, his mind exploding with energy with each blurred circle of blue ocean and white sand that passed unfocussed before his eyes.
Suddenly he stopped short. Like an animal with a sixth sense, he could feel eyes on him; his world shrunk like a deflating balloon. The magic was gone.
"Well, hello there."
Peter pivoted in the sand. God, where had she come from? He swallowed. Before him stood the goddess of the ocean, the mermaid from the depths of the ocean's secrets.
"Are you staying here on the island?" she asked, extending her hand in warm welcome. Her grip was especially strong for a woman, and she had a disconcerting way of looking at him . . . gazing right at him with such intensity that Peter felt as if he were drowning in her eyes, her dark brown eyes. His eyes travelled the length of her mature body. She was a tall, full breasted woman with long black hair that glistened with blue high lights in the early morning sun. Her black bikini eccentuated her splended mature figure. A wide generous mouth, smouldering passionate black eyes with heavy black eyebrows and the rich tan indicated more than a little Hawaiian blood in the veins. Peter thought with some delight and an instinctive tightening in his loins: My God, what a sexy woman! With a sudden guilty feeling, Peter knew that he'd like nothing better than to have those long tapered legs wrapped around his buttocks, those breasts against his chest, and those full lips tightened back against her teeth in lust ... as he fucked his lust-hardened cock into her tight steaming pussy.
"Yes," he managed to stutter. "My wife and I are here on a vacation. How about yourself?"
"I live her, permanently. My husband is a song writer and we own that little cottage just beyond the cove." She pointed to an imperceptible area of the beach, her long tanned arm glistening with tanning lotion.
Peter could not speak, only stare into those dark sloe eyes that seemed to be reading his mind.
"A, a song writer, you say?" Ah, ha, they did have something in common after, he rationalized his growing inquisitiveness.
"Yes. We sail to the mainland once a year and John starys to carry on his business. " A smile gradually lightened her face. "As a matter of fact, he's gone now. I'm expecting him back tomorrow."
"I'm sorry," apologized Peter with growing interest, an interest that tickled his groins and shot hot molten lead through his veins. "My name is Peter. Peter Wood."
"And I'm Joy Pearson."
"What are you doing out this early in the morning? You startled me." Peter was feeling more comfortable now, having overcome the initial onslaught of shy passion at being the aggressed instead of the aggressor.
With long tapered fingers, Joy yanked back her hair stubbornly blinding her vision "Out for my morning walk. It's a habit of mine," she said slowly in a melodic voice that reeked of femininity. "And yourself?"
"This is the best time for the ocean," she spoke slowly and invitingly. "This is the time of the day when most of the shells wash in and," she continued, speaking each word with careful enunciation so as not to loose the impact, "The best time to bathe in the nude. Sun bathe that is." Her eyes bored holes in his soul.
"Yeah?" Peter swallowed hard.
"Sometimes the Samoans come around and they're a little too friendly if they see a woman alone on a deserted beach." Her beach towel dropped from her tight grip and she spread it out on the sand and Peter could tell by its size that it was plainly meant for two bodies.
"Would you like to join me?" she said, a quizzical look on her face.
"Sure ..." he stammered, hardly knowing where to look. Christ, he thought, what if Pamela gets up and finds me out here with this sexy woman. She'll never believe this wasn't planned.
And then, he stared, hardly daring to believe his eyes. He had assumed that she was going to leave her clothes on since she had company, but instead, her hand reached back and deftly unclasped the hook, letting her full ripe breasts swing free as she shrugged off the bikini top. Peter couldn't take his eyes off the smooth, upswept mounds of warmly tantalizing flesh. He could see the darkening knobs of her nipples contract and stiffen in the briskness of the early morning air, and he felt a spasm of arousal shudder through him. Without thinking, he looked around surreptitiously, almost afraid that someone would come and interrupt them.
"Don't worry, Peter. I come here every morning and I've yet to see anyone on the beach." She caught herself just in time, "Except for you, of course." Joy laughed, slipping her fingers inside the elastic waistband of her tiny bikini bottoms.
Peter felt his mouth go dry and he thought his eyes would pop right out of his blonde head from the strain of staring at the ripely fascinating woman. He was sure he was in a dream, as he watched her slowly ease down the flimsy panties to reveal the curved contours of her shapely hips, and at last, the blackly curling triangle of her pussy hair.
"Joy ... my God! Don't you think it a bit risky," he began in a strangled voice, unable to say anything more.
For a moment, the voluptuously endowed woman stoodt there, hands on hips, looking at him from under long black eyelashes. She could see his gaze riveted on her naked body, and a thrill of excitement rippled through her. She was enjoying this young man's discomfiture, knowing that he was excited and amazed by her brazen flamboyance.
"Do what ever you like, I'm going to get an even tan," she said at length. "Not afraid to join me, are you?"
Her words were enough for him. Throwing caution to the wind, be began to unzip his cutoffs, and he stood, completely naked, poised at the side of the beach towel. He was somewhat annoyed to find that he was beginning to get an erection, but suddenly, he didn't care. Joy was watching him with speculative interest, and he was excruciatingly aware that her smouldering gaze was fastened on the growing bulge of his rapidly growing cock.
Peter felt a wicked surge of arousal course through him as he stooped to his knees, his hands now on the beach towel, ready to spread his body next to the voluptuous naked woman beside him.
Christ all mighty! he thought to himself. What the fuck am I doing lying out here under the sun with a naked woman -- a woman I've never seen until a few minutes ago? what is wrong with me? This is supposed to be my happy third anniversary!
"You look so unhappy all of a sudden," she purred, and then her hand reached over, and gently grazed the long throbbing length of his semi-erect cock!
Peter's face blanched, and he was shell shocked into immobility. For a moment, he was sure that it had been an accident of that he had imagined her lewd touch, but the pressure was repeated and he could feel his excited penis quickly growing and expanding beneath the touch of her cool fingers.
"Wait a minute!" Peter sat up erect. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he gasped, hardly daring to look at her.
"What's the matter, Peter? Don't you like for me to stroke you?"
"Aren't ..." stammered Peter, "we supposed to be sun bathing? Isn't that what you asked?" He looked down at her naked body prostrate beside him.
The obscene word seemed to leap from her mouth and hit the flabbergasted young husband with forceful strength. Christ, how could she know there's nothing I like better than to be stroked? His head was swimming, and he hardly knew what was happening. He was only aware that suddenly, his whole body was yearning and craving for the nakedly inviting woman who was lying beside him on the beach towel. He couldn't help it ... he had to look at her again. Her ripe, golden tan body seemed to stretch sternally on the towel and the coal black wisps of her pubic hair wafted in the ocean breeze.
He looked down at his own huge expanse of his fully erect penis. The wanton woman was stroking and playing with his wildly pulsating cock ... he could see her fingers encircling it as she forced him to lie down with the power of her ever stroking fingers. Shudders of electrifying erotic pleasure tingled along his naked spine.
Peter waited, not really knowing what to do. His mind beckoned him in different directions. He thought of Pamela, awakening alone on this the first day of their vacation together, expecting to awaken to his caresses after their beautiful night of lovemaking. Then he thought of Joy and he couldn't stop thinking about her. His mind and being were filled with the thought, the feel and the smell of this beautiful older woman who was so sensually exciting, so sexually arousing. She was pressing her lushly naked body close to his now, a far away look in her deep sloe eyes. Oh Christ! what is happening to me?
She pulled him closer, ever closer to the warm succulence of her parted lips and then she pressed the full softness of her wetly curved lips on his, and he tasted the incredible hungering warmth of her passionate kiss. Her tongue immediately pressed against his teeth, seeking the entrance which he willingly gave.
She had him going now! How she loved these innocent young men who thought thty were so hopelessly in love with their wives. She yearned to make them beg for her body, her tanned lithe body. "Well, if you really feel.it would hurt your relationship with your wife, maybe we should call it off." Joy was on her feet, imitating pertuberance; she reached down for her bra top. Instantly, Peter was on his feet, his erect cock standing out at right angles from his blonde pubic hair.
"You cock-tease," he said angrily. "What do you mean by that? My wife happens to be a very open-minded woman." If she was going to insult his masculinity, he'd show her a thing or two. Then he pushed his palms harshly inward and squashed her breasts against her chest.
"First you've got to lick me all over before I'll do anything with you," she mewled.
"Baby, anything," he smashed his teeth into her full lips. "You want me to lick your cunt?" he whispered in her ear, licking the warm outlines of her small ear lobe.
"Oh, yes. I want you to lick it and suck it good!"
"Oooooh, yessss," Joy sighed as he dropped to his knees in the sand in front of her moistly lubricating pussy and peeling the soft, hair-fringed lips apart with his thumbs, licked wetly down the entire length of her throbbing cunt, stopping to flick the tip of his tongue hotly over the tiny bud-like clitoris. She quivered back against it, screwing her. smoothly rounded young buttocks in small I lewd circles around and around, encouraging | his tongue to worm its way up into her hotly throbbing cunt.
"Ohhh, Peter, you have such a warm sweet tongue," she panted heavily.
He thrust it deep up into her warm cunt, tongue fucking her slowly at first, then faster and faster, sending waves of lewd pleasure through her belly until she suddenly jerked his head away from her and moaned. "Stop it baby, or I'll squirt my hot cum all over that puritanical angelic face of yours."
He stood and pressed his naked body against hers, the hugeness of the tight swollen head of his cock pressed into the throbbing slit between her widespread legs. Her forehead pressed against his hairy chest; she clung to him the hard searching length of his cock in front of her. His hands closed around the tops of her thighs, gripping them tightly, his fingers digging harshly into her soft white flesh.
"Are you going ... to do the same for me now?" he panted, his eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of life other than the growing cock that seemed to take on its own identity now.
Joy looked up at him and whetted her soft lips with her red tongue as though considering the situation. It was hard not to feel guilty when her husband, John, wasn't around, but after all, he knew of her escapades; in fact, he indulged himself. And she did want that big lovely cock in her mouth, to do as she wished, sucking and licking on it.
Joy teased softly and squeezed her full throbbing thighs around the warmly pulsating flesh between her legs. In an almost cat-like fashion, she let the nails of one hand trail tantalizingly down his belly, down through the sparse pubic hair until her palm curled directly upwards around the immense fleshy pole of meat. Her finger-nails scratched lightly over the white blue-veined cock, stroking softly on the steadily pulsing ridge just below the thick bulbous head and it jerked heavily at her touch.
Together they fell in a heap of tangled arms and legs, laughing as their bodies slapped the sand, cushioning the blow. God, she was really going to suck him off! Every nerve in his body strained toward the moment when those warm wet lips would close down over his passion-strained cock. A momentary uneasiness at their tenuous relationship flashed through his mind but he reminded himself it was one of those rare occurrences that happens once in a life time and he wasn't going to miss the chance. He lifted his head, once more examining the beach for any strangers that might happen by, or worse yet, his wife. "Not here," he heard himself say. "What do you say we head for that cove around the corner."
They laughed, picked up the towel and her bottle of tanning lotion that lay buried in the warming sand and ran naked to their nest. A small anticipatory whimper of delight was already coming from between his tightened lips as he lifted his head and watched her sink to her knees and draw herself up between his thighs. Her naked body hovered over his parting legs and then she lowered her head until her face was mere inches from his firmly throbbing cockhead. He could feel her soft warm breath grazing over his abdomen and her hair, blue-black in the sunlight, spilling over his thighs onto the sand. She gripped his long hard cock tightly between her small hands, pulling on it slightly between both of her palms as she adjusted it below her face. She dipped her head and her warm pink tongue darted forward, flicking lightly over the thin, semen-seeping opening.
"Ooooh, yeah. Lick it like that. Lick my cock," he groaned and thrust his loins involuntarily upward as the warm moistness of her wetly glistening lips closed like hot melted butter down over the sensitively throbbing head of his cock.
He reached down and tangled his hands tightly in her hair to guide the rhythm of her already slowly bobbing head. His thick cock was sinking deep into her mouth now, crushing through her softly moistening lips into the wet saliva at the back of her throat. Her mouth felt like whipped cream. Peter groaned and undulated his pelvis, forcing the throbbing hardness upward and inward again until she set up a steady rocking motion, never quite letting it withdraw but leaving the now swollen head lodged a half an inch or so up inside the warm wetness of her mouth.
"Yesssss!" he grunted as her lipsticked lips tightened around his hardness and her tongue began to swirl heatedly around the warm moistness of the rubbery blood-inflated head.
"Oh, God, your mouth feels like honey." Her tongue, with nerve-tingling licks on the outstroke, was making the head throb and jerk as thoug his heart itself were beating inside it. He bent his head forward and watched through widely bulging eyes, one of his hands tangling tighter into her bobbing head, and the other fondling her sensuously swaying breasts. He made a hard thrust forward and almost all of his long thick prick disappeared until only a little stretch of it showed white and glistening protruding from between her rapidly working lips. Her cheeks hollowed on the out-stroke and expanded obscenely on the in-stroke. He withdrew and the thin elastic rim of her lips pulled out grotesquely, cling to the flesh of his warmly tingling cock as though held there by invisible fingers. Her breasts jerked and danced below her lewdly pumping torso, one of them lifting and falling in his hand and adding to the lust inciting picture. Christ, he couldn't believe it! He'd had groupies suck him off in the darkness of studios and even dressing rooms, but out in the openness of the sunlight it was unbelievable!
"Lick it right under the ridge," he said hoarsely while he watched her."Ooooooooh. That feels so goddamned good."
"Do you like it when I play with your balls at the same time?" she breathed hotly around his cock.
"Oh, God, yes! Milk your fingers over the skin. Do that too!" Peter purred in the morning sunlight.
He sighed deeply and his head sunk back in the sand as she massaged the soft resilient skin of his testicles gently with one hand and stroked the base of his cock between the thumb and forefinger of her other hand as she continued to suck rhythmically up and down. She increased the speed and he could feel the silky softness of her tongue twirling faster and faster around his saliva soaked hardness at the apex of her withdrawal, the stroke of her tongue ending in a magic flick across the tiny opening of the glands at the end. He flexed his buttocks, thrusting his hips back and forth and then arched his back up off the sand to grind his wildly bobbing loins hard up against her face.
Joy could feel his throbbing reaction beginning inside his balls and began to suck his cock a little harder, increasing the pressure of her mouth, the tips of her teeth digging gently into the hard resisting flesh, leaving thin white trails where they had scraped the blood beneath the surface of the skin. She reached under his buttocks and cupped them in her palms, pulling his loins up tighter to her face. She could hear his breath quicken and her passion began to build and build in reaction. She was sucking on her new found lover's cock, a man she had never set eyes on until one short hour ago, her mind hummed, and she was doing it on her own husband's instructions! He loved, relished in stories of her lewd affairs and if he wanted her to be a whore, she would be one. He loved to write songs about her lurid affairs and if he wanted her to suck off strangers, she would suck off strangers. Her body burned with the salacious thought of being used and slavishly made to perform any perversity with other men her husband could think of ...
"Fuck me ... I want you to fuck me and cum up inside me," she suddenly mumbled around his smoothly plunging cock, struggling to get the words out at the same time continuing the lewd twirling of her tongue around the moist blood inflated head.
The soft ocean breeze tickled Peter's naked body, the sun piercing his flesh, goading him on, exciting him to unbelievable heights.
"Yes, I've got to fuck you, you little bitch. I'm going to fuck the shit out of you!"
She felt his tangling fingers pull her by the long hair until her lips withdrew with an obscene suction-like sound from his nearly bursting cock. His hands moved to her shoulders and twisted her body harshly until she fell on her back on the ground. Her new found lover rolled himself full length on top of her and she twisted and squirmed, smashing her hips against the wet hard cock pressing against her wildly rocking belly.
"Oh, you've got such a huge hard cock," she whimpered uncontrollably as he drew his hand up tight against the warmly swelling moistness of her seeping cunt, searching for the tight elastic little opening.
"And you've . . . God, you've got such a sweet young pussy," he worked at her hotly quivering vaginal lips now, slowly and expertly parting the thinly curling pubic hairs and insinuating his fingers, hurting slightly at first so that she gasped and bit down on her lips to stem the pain.
"Oh, I can tell it's going to feel so goooooood! Hurry! fuck me now! Now! Fuck my cunt!" she whimpered through contorted lips, flailing her head from side to side on the sand.
She shuddered expectantly as his hands pushed her thighs further apart still, stretching her cunt until it lay before him in a flat exposed plane. Her legs snaked out on either side of his body and her calves locked against the backs of his legs. He grasped his hard aching cock in his hands and then Joy felt the lips around her softly quivering cunt slowly stretching open. The elastic rimmed tightness resisted for a moment, then gave way before the hard cruel pressure.
"Ooooooh," she groaned as it slithered deep into her flat belly.
Peter shoved again slowly forward, and then suddenly he could stand it no more, and he rammed into her with everything he had, fucking the lust inflated cock all the way to the deepest recesses of her warmly accepting belly. He could feel the soft, sperm filled sac of his balls slap tightly against her jerking buttocks and her legs kicked out in the air from the relentless onward pressure. But she responded like a creature from his wildest dreams, digging her heels into the sand and grinding her wetly clasping cunt back up his smoothly skewering shaft, begging for more of the cruel treatment. He could barely contain himself as her grunts of pleasure resounded though the cliffs of the cove behind them. He set up a quick rhythmic fucking motion, further incited by the flat smack of naked flesh on naked flesh as his belly smacked heavily against hers with each lust heated stroke. It seemed impossible, but it was true; he was ramming that hard thick cock up into the warmly quivering cunt of a woman he had never seen before and she was loving it praising his cock as though it were a pagan idol . . . God, was she a wild woman when it came to fucking ... he had never had anything like this before and it took the utmost of his self control to hold off from cumming instantly into the softly squeezing walls of her warm cunt.
"Oh, Oooooh, Arhgh," she groaned as it fucked with greater force through the hotly pulsating walls of her cunt. "Oh, fill me darling, fiiiillll meeeee, fuck meeee, fuuuccck mmmmyyyy cunnnntttt!" the sounds came incoherently around the swabbing tongue sunk deep in her throat.
He dropped his body heavily down on her, smashing the full ripe tits tightly against his heaving chest. He reached back, grabbing her ankles and pushing them brutally back over her shoulders, until she was rolled up into a tight round ball of helplessness beneath him. His shoulders pushed against the backs of her full rounded calves kept her locked in that position as he fucked heavily into her. Reaching beneath them, he forced his hands between the ground and the full white cheeks of her ass, kneading the warm soft flesh and pulling the gently rotating cheeks further apart. He could feel the hot smooth walls of her tightly clasping cunt sucking hungrily, at his aching cock, convulsing tightly around his rapidly plunging hardness. Goddamnit, I'm going insane, he thought. I'm going to lose my fucking mind!
Then, before he could begin another thought, he felt it begin for her.
"Aaaaaggggh. I'm cummmming!" she screamed up into his mouth and her body tossed under him, slipping and churning in a furious spasm.
"I'm cummming. I'm cumming too," he mumbled over and over to himself, speeding up the already furious rhythm of his strokes. He could feel the hot white cum building up inside his heated balls as they beat hard against her widely gyrating upturned ass. It was an unfamiliar stranger he was fucking, but he could not stop! He was going o spurt his boiling semen into the stranger's sweet little belly until she was filled to the bursting point with their dual mixture of hotly gushing cum juice . . . and then, before he could complete the thought, he could feel it, the pores of her cunt clasping voraciously around him and massaging his cock to a flooding hugeness that threatened to split her womb asunder. He could feel his breath becoming ragged and short, his cock jerking and stiffening even larger. He could sense the sensation of hot white cum spewing now out of the wildly jerking head and spurt up into her like liquid fire, ricocheting around inside her hotly convulsing cunt walls like thick burning streams of molten lava.
"Ooooooh, Ooooooh!" his body gave one last spasmodic jerk and he collapsed on the girl, pulling on her buttocks while the huge rod continued to throb out its completion. Torrents of white cum still spewed from its head filling her womb and foaming out the fleshy contracting lips around the base of his cock and soaking the soft matted pubic hair it was buried in. It seemed endless and the pulsating head continued to beat against her cervix until it gave one last final spasm, the last drop sucked from it. He lay still for a moment to recover his strength and then slowly pulled himself off his lover and fell onto his back on the sand.
Joy, too, lay spread eagle and exhausted, her body heaving and panting, too weak to move in its complete satiation.
Peter looked up at the blazing sun, now mounting in the sky. What should he do? He'd just fucked this lovely creature laying by his side, now stroking his belly in small circles with her fingertips: back at the cottage, Pamela would probably be waking up now to an empty bed. She was a sensitive woman, too sensitive sometimes, and she would doubtlessly be in tears, feel betrayed. He had to get back there. He hesitated, not wanting to break the magic spell that the sun, the ocean and this woman had cast on him. Jesus! she had to be some kind of witch. Shading his eyes with his arm, he considered his situation: he could either go back to the cottage feeling guilty and rotten, or he could spend the day with this alluring creature whose fingertips were bringing him back to life once more, his cock hardening with desire. Clenching his teeth, he looked over at her. God he hated to end it!
"I've got to go now, Joy. My wife is waiting for me back at the cottage and ..."
Joy laughed in response, rolling over to support her weight on an elbow and salaciously chewed a curl of hair. "You tourists are all alike. You get it once and you think it's magic. It can happen again," her eyes twinkled with lust. "In fact, just to make things interesting why don't you and your wife join John and me? He should be back tomorrow or the next day. Depends on the winds."
This woman had to be raving mad! He sat up quickly and looked down at her unbelievingly. "You've got to be kidding! What the fuck is your husband going to think?"
He was met with gales of laughter. "John? John is a song writer, dearie, a poet. And poets relish in affairs of the heart. He loves it!" She pointed to a house not far from their love nest. "That's where I live, Peter.
You're welcome any time."
Peter couldn't believe it. He a musician from Hollywood, California being out liberalized by a thirty-odd-year-old woman? He needed time to think. "Got to go now, babe." Zip went his Levi cutoffs and the sand flew as his heels dug into the sand and he darted back in the direction of the cottage.
Joy watched the figure of her lover disappear into the distance. "He'll be back," she smiled to herself.
Good! She's still asleep, thought Peter tip-toeing into the room, leaving drifts of sand in his footsteps. Quietly then, so as not to awaken his wife, he slipped off his shorts and slid back into the cool sheets he'd left only an hour before.
Pamela stirred and rolled over on her back, her hand grasping for the familiar body of her husband. "Ummmm," she purred in her sleep and opened one eye to see her husband beaming back at her. He reached over for the warm sweet smelling body of his wife and cradled her softness in his sinewy arms. Tenderly, he stroked a wanton strand of hair out of her eyes and kissed her forehead. "So soft, so tender," he purred in her ear, his tongue running outlines of her ear lobe. He want her, just as much as he'd wanted that strange woman on the beach.
Christ! What's happening to me? He wondered with concern. How can I possibly want to fuck'two women at the same time, in one morning? For a moment he cringed at the thought of a tell-tale strand of black hair, a foreign perfume, or a betraying word. Peter felt like the king on the mountain, like the winner of the Irish Sweepstakes, the mighty conqueror. Who else had the luck to enjoy two such exquisite creatures in one morning -- in one short hour!
CHAPTER FOUR
Pamela stretched out her newly purchased straw mat, just the thing, she'd been told, for tanning on the beach. Oh, I hope those nasty clouds go away, she prayed silently, stretching her tall torso out on the mat. Wonder where Peter is? she thought, relishing her rare moment of solitude. Ahhh! she laid down on her back on the prickly mat; what a relief to be away from Daniel. Forgive me, my dear baby, but I'm so happy your adoring grandmother lives close by to take over! For a brief subconscious moment she cleared her mind, listening to the roar of the ocean waves growing in swells far off shore.
Is it true? She pinched herself to see if she was really alive, if this was really Pamela Wood lying under the sun in Hawaii? She almost felt lost without booming bass rhythm of Peter's guitar thumping away in the background, his humming piercing the silence of quiet Laurel Canyon. Tying a paisley scarf around her hair now entwined around her head, she reached for the bottle of lotion sticky wLii the mixture of sand and coconut oil. She felt like a queen, basking in the sun; she felt beautiful and sexy sitting there in her G-string bikini specially purchased for their anniversary vacation, it's scarlet red contrasting with the honey color of her hair. Who ever said, 'silence is golden' must have had a screaming six-month old baby and a rock 'n roll star for a husband, she mused, and then lay flat on her back.
Even through her sunglasses the intensely brightening sun stung her eyes and she shielded them with her lithe arm. Wow, she thought silently, it was only last night that Peter and I finally had our wedding night. And what a night it was! she smiled salaciously in the privacy of her daydreams. Wonder where he learned those tricks? Her mind entertained her with fantasies of groupies and rock 'n roll secretaries in heat from the constant rhythm of the pace that only those in the entertainment business can appreciate. For a second she felt resentful for the freedom he appreciated while she had to play mother, nursemaid, wife and any other role that crossed her path screaming its need for attention.
But Pamela Wood thought she had maintained her sense of identity remarkably well over the past three years. It's only my sense of self that's saved me, she thought, remembering too many phone calls backed with the aged instructions, 'if a woman answers, hang up' She laughed to herself now, knowing that nothing short of a shark attack would jolt her out of the spell the warmth of the Hawaiian sun was casting on her exposed body that sucked up the rays of the life-giving sun.
"Peter," she mouthed his name. "Where is he?" She lifted her arm from her forehead and rolled over on her stomach. Wiggling on her stomach, molding her impression in the sand to eliminate the bumps that poked into her tender flesh, she remembered how laboriously he'd struggled to get the money together for their vacation -- their first vacation since married -- and reasoned that he, too, had a right to privacy. After all, wasn't she enjoying her solitude?
Opening her eyes, she searched the beach for any sign of life. How lucky we are, she sighed, to have gotten such a secluded beach. Pays to travel off season. Grimacing, she remembered a trip to Waikiki Beach with her parents years ago, the bodies lined up in symmetrical rows all sizzling in the sun on their vacation won by selling a quota of insurance or having the lucky number. They'd found the ad for their cottage in The LA Times and, since the price was reasonable, they'd investigated.
Pamela dug into her straw bag for her lunch ... a banana. Briefly, she considered Peter's bizarre behavior this morning when she suggested they go to a market for a supply of fruit. It was as if she were interrupting his day, punctuating it with domesticity, a duty he loathed.
From a far distance she spied a native boy, his surf board under his arm. It was a colorful sight and she wished she'd brought her camera, photography being one of the few hobbies she'd maintained after her marriage. As the young native boy neared, she could see his rippling muscles, glistening with perspiration in the hot sun. There was something so paganly beautiful and sensual about his deeply colored body contrasting with the bright sun splashed print of his swimming trunks. She swallowed hard, thinking, if I were to meet somebody who really turned me on, would I cheat on Peter and let him fuck me? It was not an unfamiliar speculation to the sexy housewife -- she'd had her chances more than once, but felt it would interfere with her married life. But here, on a vacation, would it be different?
She dismissed the thought from her mind, concentrating once more on the angle of the sun and another layer of coconut oil.
Pamela rolled over on her right side to even out the inevitable burn that was to be her punishment for too many hours under the penetration of Hawaii's sun and pulled out of her bag a book of collected poems published by a small women's cooperative in Los Angeles. This is the life I was meant to lead, the young housewife thought, relishing in her rare moment of privacy. Tearing the skin of the banana with her red-tipped fingers, she slowly peeled the yellow sheath free, her red ovalled mouth closing down on the phallic shaft.
"Looks mighty tasty." Pamela heard a voice behind her back and realized her magic moment of freedom had vanished with the clouds that had hovered threateningly over Hilo Bay until five minutes before. For a second she shivered in embarrassment; she had intended for no one but Peter to see her in her G-string bikini that plainly exposed her taut and dimpled buttocks.
"Oh, hello ..." Pamela sat up immediately. "I, I didn't hear anyone coming," she said with visible nervousness.
"Looks like you're alone here. Lucky for a pretty lady like youself."
Pamela's first impression was one of intrusion and she wanted no one to rob her of her time alone, but after studying the figure standing barefoot, his pants legs rolled up to his knees, she changed her mind. "Would you like to join me?"
"For a moment, sure."
After living in Hollywood for her twenty three years of life, Pamela thought she had seen all types -- from frustrated rock 'n roll stars to washed out alcoholic strippers, but none compared with the fiftyish-year-old man who was now sitting cross-legged beside her. Her first impression was that he must be a sailor; his sailor's cap and brown leathered face from braving the island's elements gave him a ruggei look. Salt and pepper hair peeked out unrulingly from beneath his tattered hat, the ragged line of his hair greeted by a speckley beard, echoed by a mustache. But when he turned to speak, his twinkling eyes, as blue as the Pacific spoke another truth. His bushy eyebrows shadowed his eyes, adding to his provocative expression which whispered of worlds she'd never dreamed existed. Although the stranger was clearly old enough to be her father, there was an element about him that made her want to open up to him, to share her moment of privacy.
"My name is John." She noticed for the forst time that he had tiny spaces between his front teeth that added to his worldly character, "Are you staying nearby?"
"Yes. My husband and I are renting this cottage for two weeks." Pamela felt awkward eating her banana in front of this man whose merry eyes reflected her nervousness, much to his delight.
"Sounds like a wonderful vacation." She noticed even his ears were tan. "Tell me, dear, is it your honeymoon?" His eyes grew one shade paler, more enticing.
"N . . . no. Actually we've been married for three years and we have one child."
"Oh, come on! You don't look old enough to be a mother." He chuckled and drew his Mirsham pipe out of his blue work shirt pocket. Pamela mused on how well its ivory carved bowl fit his image.
Suddenly, the young woman realized that this was the first time in a day and a half that she'd thought about her baby and the jolt of her negligence shocked her. "Daniel's six months old."
John stuffed his pipe bowl with an aromatic tobacco, the ocean breeze sending the perfume into the nostrils of her perky upturned nose. "Do you mind smoke? Some people find it devastingly offensive."
I like the way he expresses himself, mused Pamela, like a, a poet. "No, not at all." She ' chomped down on her banana, watching his amused expression out of the corner of her eye and she was thankful she had not taken off her sunglasses. It was just about the only part of her body left clothed and mysteriously it gave her confidence. "Would, would you like a bite of my banana?" Her offer was met with gales o laughter and she blushed, wishing she hadn said that.
"No, thank you, dear. I just had a lovely lunch." Flick, he lit his pipe and puffed deeply, making his throat muscles move even under the thick wealth of his black and white beard. His piercing eyes studied her girlish expression. "What is a lovely woman like you doing out on the beach all by yourself?"
Suddenly, Pamela realized she had no answer. Two hours had passed and she had yet to share a moment with Peter. "To tell you the truth, John, I really don't know." She swallowed the marshmallowy softness of her banana and gulped. "He disappeared around that cove -- I could see him jogging from the cottage window and I haven't seen him since."
The corner's of John's mouth upturned, and he shot her a knowing look. Maybe he knows something I don't, she thought. "Did you happen to see a blonde haired man, very muscular, when you came around the cove?"
"No, no I didn't, uh. I'm sorry, but you didn't tell me your name."
God! How impolite of me, blushed Pamela. "Pamela, Pamela Wood and my husband's name is Peter."
"Peter Wood ..." he repeated, looking off into the distance, barely voicing the words,
"That name sounds familiar."
Pamela beamed and said with anxious pride, "Maybe you have. He's a musician -- a studio musician in Hollywood. Just the other day they released another album that's promised to go gold. He plays lead guitar." She hugged her knees pulled up to her full bosom in a feeble attempt at modesty to hide the few tiny stretch marks still a bit too purple for her liking, that marred her stomach in revelation of motherhood. Her posture did not escape the bemused John who sat grinning broadly at her childlike innocence.
His rough leather hand removed the white pipe from his full lipped mouth. "That's a coincidence. I fancy myself to be an artist of sorts ..."
"I thought so!" Pamela interrupted.
"You did, my dear? Pray tell, how?" he said sucking on the stem of his pipe, his eyes never leaving her lipsticked mouth.
In childish gestures, she place her index finger to her mouth to contemplate, finally blurting out, "It's your eyes. I can tell by your eyes!"
In fatherly fashion, he patted his hand on her naked knee, its soft roundness tingling under the touch of his winde tortured hand. "Oh, ho! You're a lovely creature, indeed. A nymph from the sea, the lost queen of Atlantis."
His words, each spoken with British clarity hypnotized her. His entire being mesmerized her. "You're very flattering, John," she said again thankful he couldn't see her eyes that were glued to her knee as she looked down in embarrassment.
It was she who broke the silence. "What kind of artist are you?"
"A writer ..."
"I knew it!"
"Actually I write poems, most of which I sell in Hollywood," he nodded his head at her acknowledgingly, "to record companies for songs."
Pamela clapped her hands together in one singular motion. "I used to work for a record company, myself -- Warner Brothers. Was a secretary until I married Peter."
"That's mystifying," he said, offering no explanation for the two words that spoke for themselves. "Tell me, Pamela, does your husband travel often?" Pipe smoke swirled above his head, then was carried off into nonexistance as another wave, accompanied by a strong gust of wind extinguished the ember of his burning tobacco. Noticing her quizzical expression, he hastily restated his question. "I'm sorry if you think I'm prying, it's just that I realize many musicians travel ... on the road ... as you youngsters call it, and I was curious if Peter was one such."
"Um . . . no, not often." For a second, Pamela thought she detected a look of disappointment on his face.
"Do you mind if I ask you a personal question, then?"
Pamela shook her head negatively.
"I've heard this expressed by many young wives whose husbands are blessed with talent like Peter's. They feel themselves to be neglected because of his work. Do you find that a problem in your married life?" Again he drew out his lighter and drew deeply on his pipe.
"Well ..." she considered his question carefully, "sometimes." Suddenly recalling her fateful honeymoon three years prior, she hastily corrected herself. "Yes," and she nodded her head vigorously still hugging her knees. "Sometimes he gets carried away with the groupies that hang all over any dude who carries an instrument." She halted her confessions, thinking, what am I doing? Telling this stranger about my married life? Peter would kill me if he knew I was giving away our secrets to somebody I've never seen before!
"That's unfortunate." His words sent a shiver up her spine and, for a paranoid second, she thought she'd misinterpreted him to say, 'Sorry that you're not fucking every man in town while your husband is away on tour'. But she dismissed her suspicions and re-directed those salacious thoughts. Maybe it's me who's wishing it were the situation. Out of her peripheral vision she watched him, his acqueline nose twitching at the end with each puff of his pipe, and thought, I think I'm losing my mind, but it felt good when he touched my knee. I wish he would do it again. He's so soft, so tender, so gently masculine. So, so unlike Peter! The reality crushed her spirit, and she hugged her knees tighter, a gesture detected by the alert eye of John who sat knowingly, reading her mind.
Quickly, she grasped the moment to change the subject. "Where do you live?"
"Just around the cove. My wife and I have a summer home there. The rest of the time I live in Los Angeles and she stays here."
"Don't, don't you miss her when she's gone? I-I mean, what does she do without you?" Suddenly she blushed at realizing the direction in which she was carrying the conversation.
"My wife, Joy, is her name, and I have an agreement." He cleared his throat and stared boldly into Pamela's camouphlaged eyes. "We enjoy our time together, but when we're apart, such as when I'm gone, our time is our own."
"Oh," was Pamela's curt reply.
"My wife is a most accomplished jewelry maker. In fact," he removed his pipe from his mouth and Pamela noticed his bottom front teeth were crooked from years of sucking on a pipe, "she goes skin diving for the shells she uses."
"How interesting," said Pamela, suddenly envious of this mysterious woman who, to Pamela, owned the world. A loving husband who granted her time alone, a profession and creative time, a house in Los Angeles and a cottage in Hawaii. The restriction of life in smoggy, crowded crazy Hollywood and sleepless nights pacing the hallway with a naughtily crying child created an explosive mixture of torturous discontentment within Pamela and she swallowed hard, choking back the sudden resentment harbored for three years. Dark, looming shadows of animosity hovered over her in a grey aura and every wakeful night of waiting for Peter to return from the studio, knowing he was fondling some groupie chick or snorting cocaine, seemed to slap her across the face now, leaving her just another ordinary housewife with no career, no profession except the insulting title of wife.
"Is she from the mainland?" Pamela was not really in the mood to talk about John's wife, but for some reason he seemed expectant of her queries.
"No, she's from Hawaii originally." He looked far into the distance, a yearning look on his face. "She's a lovely woman." With a blink, his attention returned to their conversation, "Dark hair, long, dark eyes ..." Pamela fel impish and immature in comparison to this woman who suddenly dominated the conversation, even in her absence. As though reading Pamela's mind, John turned to her. "A lovely woman, just as yourself."
"What else does she do here all by herself! Does she read a lot?" Secretly, Pamela wished him to say, 'no, she just lays in the sun and does cross word puzzles.' She swallowed hard, forcing that growing lump in her throat to return to where it had come from when it first started feeding on her discomfort.
"She writes, too. Joy has had couple of short stories and poems published over the past few years." Another deep puff from his pipe, "Enough of Joy. Let's talk about you." He looked at her quizzically.
"There's nothing to tell. I'm a wife and a mother and that is it." She spit out the words, acknowledging the admission of her words, but thinking, I hope he doesn't think I'm stupid just because I'm trapped into Peter's world.
"Nonsense, my dear girl." he chortled. "Everyone had a dream, a hope, an aspiration." He gestured widely with his hands, his pipe firmly clenched between his teeth. "Certainly there is something you have always wanted to do. Don't you believe in genies?"
"Huh?"
"Aladdin's lamp . . . magic . . . things that you can do if only you try, like that train that chugged its way over the mountain, 'I think I can, I think I can'." Pamela flushed crimson. Her mind was blank. Reassuringly, he patted her on the knee, this time his hand lingered on its spherical softness. "It's all in the mind, Pamela. All in the mind."
"But when you have a six month old baby it's difficult to find time to yourself, let alone develop interests." She stared blankly out over the ocean, watching the tide go out with each receding wave. He was silent then, still resting his hand on her knee, giving her time to think. Tilting her head to one side, she chewed on her full red bottom lip, thinking. "Maybe you're right, maybe I should start leading my own life. It's just that Peter depends on my being around the house so much." A sudden wind blew a strand free of her scarf and she quickly tucked it back into place. "You know, like I have to take telephone messages and call the studio if anything important happens, like a secretary." Tears were welling up in her eyes as she mouthed the last three words. A secretary, she repeated silently, that's what I am. Just a secretary! She bit her lips harder now, a motion not left undetected by the wiley John who sat watching her silently, knowing what was to come.
Turning, she fumbled through her straw bag in search of a Kleenex to swab at the tears she knew would be flooding her face in seconds. It was something she never wanted to admit to herself before; the discovery would have been too painful to accept, but with John by her side she sensed a strength, a reserve of character -- a quality her husband, Peter, never had. As if by second vision, she examined her life, a life dominated by a career that offered her nothing but the security of a two hundred dollar a month dilapidated house, constant interruption by phone calls, and cold feet at night while Peter was at the studio. That hateful, fucking studio!
"There, there, Pamela. All is not lost. "Pipe still clenched between his stained teeth, he stroked her naked knee, softly, so softly. "Husbands are err to careers, too often, Pamela. We husbands often expect too much from our wives; sometimes we think of them as mothers rather than lovers."
Pamela was sobbing audibly now, black streaks running down her cheeks as the tears mixed with her mascara, darkening her face as the misery of her marital condition darkened her soul. "I'm, I'm sorry ..." she wailed in a high trill voice, as she dabbed at the embarrassing stream of makeup running like mountain streams down her chisled cheekbones. Her sunglasses slipped from between her fingers and she felt suddenly defenseless and humble.
John said nothing. She felt overwhelmed with misery and without forethought or consideration, she rested her blonde head on his heavy shoulder, inviting in its nearness. It had been so long since she'd actually talked to anyone about her life, in what direction it was headed, and her fears. Most of all her fears. John was safe and stable, a travelled, learned man, someone who could guide her like the lost sheep she felt to be.
So it didn't seem strange when he began to stroke her leg, murmuring lines of his poems, most dedicated to his wife, and recite odes to the sea, the 'evolution of the soul, the creator of the human condition'. She was bereft of all natural emotions, and a terrible emptiness pervaded her, leaving her prey to his tenderness.
Her eyes laxly closed, she listened to the power of the ocean, a strength matched by the evocation of his words. Time stopped. She was no longer Pamela Wood, wife of the studio musician, Peter Wood. She had evolved into a spirit, a human spirit with none of the physical restrictions that life had deemed her burden. In that moment when time, identities and all feelings save an overwhelming gratitude for his strength, escaped her, John's lips found hers. As she expected, they were soft and caressing, and without considering, her lips returned his kiss, She seemed to melt against him, nestling hersel against his shoulder as his arms tightened around her. She could feel the warmth of his lips pressing against her softly curved mouth, and then she was aware that his tongue was forcing, its way between her lips.
She moaned softly as the thick, wet tongue slipped inside the ridge of her teeth and began to swirl around her own mouth. Her whole body seemed to vibrate with awakening desire, and she didn't stir when she felt his hand slip down to caress the warmly palpitating flesh of her heaving breasts.
All doubts and fears seemed so slip away from her and leave her peaceful and relaxed. It actually felt good to be kissed in this passionate, yet considerate, way. She felt safe and protected, and she thought she could stay like this forever, cradled in this kind, reassuring stranger's arm.
"Oh, Pamela . . . you are such a beautiful, sensitive woman. My sleeping beauty, so alive, so caring ..." John murmured suddenly, pulling his mouth away from hers and beginning to paint a trail of passionate bite-like kisses down the smooth curve of her silken neck.
But his impassioned words broke the spell for her. Oh God, she thought, what am I doing? What if Peter walked by now? her brain screamed accusingly. I'm on vacation with my husband and I'm sitting here in front of God and everybody letting a man twice my age kiss my naked skin!
She forced her fists against his chest and pushed him away. "John, I ... I don't feel right about this," she looked at him imploringly. "We're both married, and it just isn't how I'd planned on spending my vacation. Peter saved for so long to afford this trip, and . . . " Pamela couldn't continue her thoughts any more than she could deny the flame of desire that was growing in her heart.
"Pamela, my dear," said John, lifting her dimpled chin with his thumb. His piercing blue eyes stared back at her, forcing her to lower her eyes. She couldn't look him in the eye; her face was crimson. "Have faith in yourself, have faith in me. You must learn to follow your heart. It is the only path to freedom."
In anguish of indecision, she clenched her fist tight, her long nails digging into her fleshy palms. "I, I have to go now, John." She started to pull back, but he held her tightly.
"Not until you promise to meet me here tomorrow." Pamela was trapped, trapped with her own desires and guilt. One of them had to abate, and she realized only John could make that decision for her. A glance in his blue eyes that stabbed her into reality, prophesized her future for her. i
"Okay, I'll meet you here tomorrow," she repeated his command as if hypnotized.
For a long moment she stared at him, her face still streaked with mascara and tears. Then she gathered up her beach mat, her straw bag and lotion, tossing her banana peel to the side and fled to the safety of the cottage where, hopefully, Peter would be waiting for her.
Oh, Peter and Daniel, forgive me for betraying you! I'm a different woman than I was yesterday and I think by tomorrow I will be a stranger unto myself. She choked down the tears.
CHAPTER FIVE
"Hi, babe," Peter greeted her with a cheery hello as he stood by the rustic sink carefully pruning a cleaned fish of its last scales. "I'm going to make dinner tonight. Fish simmered in white wine with tarragon." He didn't turn around in time to see his wife head for the bathroom and remove the traces of her adulterous afternoon on the beach. Peter said nothing until he heard the water running in the bathroom. "You okay?"
Pamela remained mute. Her heart was singed with a rare combination of regret and expectancy. She hadn't meant to kiss him, she reminded herself, splashing cold water on her sunburned face, but it all happened so suddenly. What would she tell Peter? Would he be angry knowing she'd just spent the afternoon of the first day of their vacation cossetted in a strange man's arms? She lifted her head and was greeted with the image of an unfamiliar woman in the reflection of the medicine cabinet mirror. "Hey, honey?" Peter's voice stabbed at her guilt sodden heart.
She remained reticent of his demand Slowly, she slipped an arm through her terry cloth robe and, pulling off her paisley scarf, let her blonde hair spill over her shoulders.
� "What did you do today?" Peter turned off the water, still not turning in her direction, despite the screaming in her heart which she feared audible in her heaving chest. Unlatching the suitcase, she pulled out a fresh wardrobe, selected to please no one, and quietly stepped into the bathroom to shower.
With the strength of his fingers churning in his palm, Peter ground up the leafy tarragon and sprinkled it over the fish, taking another sip of the white wine that was quickly disappearing from the half-gallon purchased that afternoon as a complement to the dinner -- a surprise for Pamela. Surprise or apology? he wondered, accepting her silence as an omen. Guilt gnawed deep inside him and he nervously tilted his glass to his lips.
Had Pamela seen him with Joy? He grimaced at the thought. The least I could have done was to tell her I'd be gone for the afternoon, he reprimanded himself with a bite on his lip. Christ! What would she think if she knew I'd been out skin diving with Joy all day? The speculation was too worrisome to comprehend. What am I doing? He threw the remainder of the spice into the pan with a sigh. I'm here on my vacation with my wife and I'm spending every moment with that nymph next door!
He heard the toilet flush. God, I wish she'd come out of there and talk to me and say what's on her mind. She can be a stony bitch when she's angry, he reminded himself of their wedding night years back. Should have taught me a lesson.
Try as he may, he could think of no way to make it up to Pamela, but all he could think about was the Joy, Joy the provocative woman who had him hooked. He just couldn't stop thinking about her golden Hawaiian body, the way her naked flesh fused into his when they made love. The way she slithered in the water, how she could spear fish, how she could tell any kind of shell that dotted the ocean's floor from ten, twenty blurred feet away. Her talents ran from making love superbly to making jewelry, writing, acting, everything! She was all women rolled up in one! Each thought of Joy sent another wave of self-loathing over him and, despite the warmth of the stove, he felt a shudder of ice ripple down his spine.
That afternoon he'd tried to explain to Joy about Pamela, how this was a vacation planned for lovemaking, their lovemaking, not with a stranger; but she'd insisted that if he were any kind of man at all, he'd tell his wife, explain to her and then urge her to do the same. Fat chance! Now as he stood adjusting the gas under the ailing stove, he felt something akin to panic. Pamela would be coming out that door any second and guilt was written on his forehead with neon lights. The shower was turned off and any second his wife would come bursting through the door and, seeing his downcast eyes, would know what happened. She always did.
The fish sizzled loudly now, hissing in the pan; adding a bit more wine to the fish and his own churning gullet, he turned down the heat and placed the lid on the pan. He braced himself thinking, Christ, I wish I had a line of coke right now. He was superman behind cocaine, and he could use a bit of Clark Kent's courage. Wiping his sweat-bubbled forhead with the back of his hand, he watched the doorknob of the bathroom turn. Here we are, he thought, three years of marriage down the tubes!
"Hello, baby?" He looked at her question-ingly, as she slithered right past him, not batting an eye. Her face was stone, chiseled with doubt. She plopped down on the bed, prostrate, staring at the ceiling but seeing nothing. "Got a joint?"
"What?" Peter raised his knee and braced his arms on the bed, crawling beside his wife, her wet hair wrapped in a bath towel.
"I said, have you got a joint?" She still refused to look at Peter who lay cringing at her side, waiting for the force of doom to slap him in the face.
"Sure." No, better face it right off, he reasoned. "Is there something bothering you, honey?" Here it is, he braced himself for the onslaught of hateful words he knew he righteously deserved.
"Peter, there is something I have to tell you." It was then he noticed the tiny pearls of translucent tears bubbling in the corners of her eyes. She had to empty the guilt eating at hei soul, had to tell him of the fear that seared her brain with remorse. "I ... I," she couldn't go on, the tears choking her and her own voice failing her.
"Yes, honey?" he said solicitously, kissing her on the forehead.
Gathering her strength, a morass of anxiety strangled her attempts.
In a flash, Peter was on his feet. "Jesus, I forgot about the fish!" Lifting the lid off the pan, a cloud of steam seared his already sunburned face. Saved by my own negligence, he chortled silently. "Have a surprise for you, Pam. I'm fixing you a gourmet's delight -- my own fish. Can you believe that? Me a city boy spearing fish?" Pivoting on his bare heel, pan lid in hand, he studied her motionless body. "Hey, come on," he quipped, "this is our vacation and we're supposed to be having a good time."
It was those words that brought Pamela attentively to his side, her towel falling from her hair. "Oh, Peter," she wailed, hugging him tight. "Do you think I've failed as a wife?" The stinging realization numbed him momentarily, and the pan lid fell to the wood floor with a single thud.
"Of course not." Then he pushed her back with the length of his arms and stared her in the eye, saying, "Pamela, you are a wonderful wife."
"But ... but I don't have hobbies like some women, and I've even got a couple of stretch marks from having Daniel," her voice hit a higher octave. "I'm . . . I'm just becoming an old woman with no identity of my own." He clasped her to his chest, thinking, Christ, what brought this on?
"Hey," he lifted her chin with his thumb, just as John had done an hour before. "Baby, you're the greatest!"
"Oh, Peter, I need you to understand me, there are some things I've never told you," she sobbed like a teenage girl after a broken date.
"And there are some secrets I should share with you, too." Well, he sighed, now the truth is out. She can interpet that as she sees fit. "Now come on, get dressed and let's have this fish that your old man bravely speared for his hungry wife. What 'ya say?"
Still dressed in her terry robe, she gobbled down fish, rice, and fresh pineapple, clutching at her gaping neckline. Across from her on their small undecorated table sat her husband, poking wordlessly at his fish, thinking only of the woman of the sea who had taught him the intricacies and secrets of the ocean.
"Maybe we should start spending more time alone," said Pamela, breaking the silence. "You know, we do spend a lot of time together when you're not working and it doesn't give me much of a chance to get out and try new things, things that will keep me young."
Peter gagged on a fish bone. Was his wife actually suggesting they spend less time together? Did he hear that right? "Huh?" he reached for his glass of wine.
"You heard me," she said, calmly taking another mouthful of the fresh fish, her tears now subsided.
"Less time? When? On our vacation?" He' couldn't trust his ears; he needed to hear it again.
"What's wrong with you? You're the one who's alway staying out late at night at the studio. Anything Peter wants, Peter gets!" She slammed her paper napkin down on the table with a dull thud.
"Wait, wait a minute, Pam." Rising from his chair, he circled the table to kneel beside her on the floor. Taking her slender hand in his, he stared into her cold steely eyes. "Pam, I love you and if you want to spend more time alone, that's your prerogative. I understand that motherhood is not easily accepted by an independent woman such as you, so if you want more time, we'll just find the money for babysitters."
"No, no. You're not listening to me. I mean now, for these two weeks. I didn't really mind that you spent all day away from me, I really didn't care." She enunciated the last two words with particular care. "We don't have to be together all the time to love each other. Just being together doesn't prove anything."
"Okay, you tell me your plans for tomorrow and I'll comply.
"I want to have tomorrow off for my own discoveries," she announced with dogged determination. "Okay."
Peter couldn't believe his wife's sudden change of heart. For the past year she'd complained incessantly about his absence, and without warning, she was the one who demanded an afternoon of separation. Not that her behavior had changed any: she was still the warmly sensual woman she'd always been. God! Hadn't she more than proven that the last two nights? Watching the disappearing image of his wife's shorts-clad body heading toward the beach, he waited a full half hour before embarking on his own afternoon of escapades. Today Joy promised to take him snorkling in the shallow waters off the bay where an accumulation of neon colored fish swam in schools of lightning flashes. He couldn't wait! Pamela was well out of sight, and he was free!
Pamela was well on her way. In the far distance she could see the familiar form of John, sitting on the sand, his pipe clenched between his teeth. Betrayingly, her heart fluttered in twitches and, for a moment she didn't think she could go through with it. But she braced herself, and with% her husband well behind her, she continued walking toward the man who had already taught her more about herself than anyone she had ever met. Already the burden of guilt had lifted when she told Peter she needed, had to have more time to herself to develop her unattended talents and needs.
With each step, he came more clearly into view and she could see he was writing. She smiled. What an erudite man he is, so tender, so unbelievably wise. He was all men wrapped up in one.
"Hello, Pamela!" he called from afar, his pipe now in his hand. He waved beckoningly. As she approached, he laid his pen and notebook aside.
"I hope I'm not interrupting your work," apologized Pamela, sitting beside him, her legs stretched out to lap up the sun rays. Yes, she had made the correct decision, she reassured herself as she gazed up at his leathered face. A warm glow of emotion encompassed her whole being and, for the first time since she could remember, she felt truly alive and in harmony with everything about her. She'd stated her desires prudently before Peter and she now felt compelled to relate to John her gratitude for opening her eyes for her, something she herself had been afraid to do.
"John," she whispered the word as if the mere pronunication of it would cause magic. He turned his head, his downcast eyes again mesmerizing her into submission. "I . . . I want to thank you for comforting me yesterday."
My, but she's a lovely one, he mused. The way her chin dimples when she talks and that nose! That perky little nose that bobbed when she wriggled it, a habit of hers that had caught his eye yesterday when he told her he was a song writer. Such an excitable young thing. Well, Joy could have her fun with her newfound lover, as long as she left him to this precious jewel.
"No reason to thank me. It was you who did the work. No one can change unless they put in the effort."
"You know what?"
His spine tickled whenever he heard her blurt out those expletives! "What?"
"I had a long talk with my husband last night and we agreed to give each other more free time. I've always enjoyed photography and I've decided to take it up again." He adored the way she stated things with such, such pride and sense of accomplishment.
With a wide sweep of his arm he gestured to an undefined expanse, saying, "Wonderful. Now, would you like to stay here, or would my lady prefer a walk to my favorite, my magic beach? A place I share with only a treasured few?"
"Sounds wonderful!" She immediately rose to her feet, brushing the sand off her shorts with an undetected motion.
They didn't talk much as they walked; the ocean captured their attention and held them both steadfast in its power. Together they searched for shells with the lapping of each new wave that broke far off shore. Each treasure was examined, cleaned in the trothy waves and stuffed safely in Pamela's shorts pocket. "A gift for my lady," John said, handing her a perfectly formed brown speckled shell that looked in shape much like a turtle's shell. Clasping it in her hands as if it were a queen's jewel, she examined it, a broad smile widening her mouth and threw her lithe arms around his neck.
This is going to be a magic day, thought John, resting his hands on her taut buttocks as she hugged him like a long lost father. Think she's got a father hangup, but I'll take care of that in proper fashion!
"See that cottage?" He pointed to a newly built house with a patio smattered with lawn furniture. Although the sun was playing tricks on her vision, Pamela strained, desperately trying to focus on a woman with long black hair and a tall man with blond hair.
"Looks like Peter," she said softly, hoping John wouldn't hear her trembling voice. No, couldn't be, she reassured herself, watching the couple embrace. "Doesn't it bother you," she queried with a hint of concern, "to let your wife go out with other men?"
"We must all learn sooner or later, Pamela, that no one is a piece of property. We must seek after that master in ourselves -- the master cannot be owned."
Pamela shrugged her shoulders, not certain she'd understood the reasoning behind his statement. I'll have to think about it later, she thought, and running to catch up with him, caught his offered hand.
"I'll have to show you my house. Built it myself." I can't believe this man, thought Pamela gleefully, he does everything, he knows everything! "We're almost there," he screamed above the breaking wave.
Just as he had promised, it was a magic beach. "God! I've never even heard of black beaches before! What's it from?" she asked with childish innocence.
"It's caused by the volcano." He pointed to a peaked dark mountain in the distance. "It last erupted four years ago. They've been known to smoulder for years. In fact, it still is."
Pamela beamed in response. It was so surprisingly different from going on hikes with Peter who always wanted to hide in corners and make love or smoke dope every hundred yards; this man interested her, constantly amazed her with his endless wisdom. "John, you're a wonderful man," she said, not considering the brusqueness of his calculated response. Suddenly, he pulled her into his arms, the waves lapping at their bare feet. Immediately, he bruised his mouth down on hers in a tight, grinding kiss, forcing his tongue between her unexpecting clenched teeth. ,
Pamela was caught completely off guard, and was frozen into immobility. John's mouth was warm and exciting, just as it was yesterday, and the bewildered young wife found her resistance melting. A little surge of longing swept through her and made her press her love-starved body against his. His hand dropped and began to lightly caress the smooth, bare expanse of her firm young thigh, sending little shivers of arousal tingling through her. Her head began to reel and her rational senses began to slip away unheeded.
While his softly caressing mouth infused her with wave after wave of pleasure, his hand pulled down the thin straps of her tank top, and began immediately to fumble with the clasp of her bikini top. Still she did not resist, as she felt the protective garment fall away, and knew that her ripely straining breasts were free. Instantly, her nipples began to stiffen and crinkle in the balmy air, and John's hand closed in on first one, and then the other, caressing and tweaking the hard little knobs with practiced caresses.
"You are such a beautiful woman. Your long blonde hair like spilled honey. I want to see you, all of you. I want to swim naked with you and make love with you in the life giving water from which we came." His words, lulling and melodic, hypnotized her and she didn't notice as his other hand dropped to the fastening of her shorts. His other hand held her firmly at the small of the back, and she was mesmerized by the masculine closeness of him.
Pamela's head began to spin, yes, she had wanted time to herself, to be with her mentor, but sex was something she didn't need to learn about. She struggled to gather her scattered thoughts. Nothing made sense except for his caresses and suddenly, she realized that he was sliding her shorts down over her sun tanned thighs and long tapering legs . . . then she was naked except for her bikini bathing suit panties.
"No, no, John . . . noooooo ..." she protested, but even to her own ears, her cries of protest sounded feeble at best.
"Now, don't fight your own nature, my dear. Let your body feel and appreciate. The secret of life is to give, to give with thoughts of no gains for yourself."
His words hypnotized her, and it was so easy to let him guide her to that hidden cove and just lie back and forget about everything . . .
Slowly, almost reverently, John peeled down the last protective covering of her bikini bottoms, and drew in his breath sharply as the darkly delineated triangle of her sparse pubic hair came into tantalizing view. Carefully, he eased them down over her nakedly curving hips, still lower, until finally, he discarded them at her ankles. She was completely naked!
And he thought he had never seen anyone so breathtakingly beautiful as this ripe young girl, so innocent -- so fresh -- stretched out a little hesitantly on the back beach of Hawaii. Her whole body was in perfect proportion, from the full upswept mounds of her breasts, to the alabaster curve of her hips.
"You're like a goddess, a goddess from the sea ... "
A wave of panic started to swell inside Pamela as she fought to gain control of herself. She knew that she was stark naked, out in the open, with an almost complete stranger. Yet, her fogged brain couldn't function well enough to tell her what to do. She knew she should get up, grab her clothes and run. She knew she shouldn't have let this happen in the first place, but somehow, she was powerless to stop it.
She was swept along on the tide of force which had her in its clutches and she was helpless.
She shivered when she felt John's hands on her dully throbbing breasts, cupping the firmly rounded spheres, fondling the passion-stiffened nipples. Then his hands dropped to caress the warm satin-textured flesh of her hips, finally stopping at the sleek firmness of her trembling upper thighs. She drew in her breath sharply when she felt him insinuate one hand between her tightly clamped legs, and then moaned as his fingers moved upward to come in to searing contact with the sensitive inner flesh of her thighs. The first straying wisps of her softly curling pubic hair grazed invitingly against the back of his hand, and a low moan of unsuppressed pleasure excaped her tightly clenched teeth as he began knowledgeably caressing her excitedly quivering buttocks. Even though she felt so unbelievably guilty, she loved this attention and didn't want it to stop . . . ever. She momentarily forgot about her son, Daniel, and that she was a married woman.
Involuntarily, she spread her naked thighs slightly in silent invitation, and John immediately moved his roaming hand closer toward the glistening pink lips of her wetly pulsating cunt.
He stared down at the slightly moistened pussy split, and he could see the thinly bearded vaginal lips nestled protectively around the fragile pink' flesh. Suddenly his mouth was watering as he gently drew aside the fleshy outer folds to reveal the small, fluted inner lips which collared the petal-shaped opening of her cuntal orifice. Above, he could just make out the red tip of her pulsating clitoris.
Pamela's brain was in feverish turmoil. This is wrong . . . it's wrong to be stretched out naked like this while a virtual stranger touc you down there . . . it's wrong . . . stop n before it's too late.
Suddenly, John was leaning over her again "Now Pamela, just think of yourself asi sacrifice to the gods, the gods of the volcano, the omnipotent beings that created, from their virile power, this Very island, this, paradise." She tried to rise to her feet, but tb| force of his words had cast her into a spell, "Close your eyes, my beloved, and try to envision those gods, those strong muscular gods who lived nakedly in the mountains, in the sea. Picture their dark bodies, glistening in the sunlight, their broad muscular shoulders, their peircing, smouldering eyes."
His voice was soft and persuasive as his hands which were once again coursing over nakedly squirming body with caressing, insinuating motions. "Tell, try to express to me how you see these gods while I offer you in sacrifice to them, while I eat the honey from your womb."
Pamela lay back, her brain rioting with confusion, hardly aware that John was once more bending over between her nakedly outstretched legs. Again, he drew aside her wetly throbbing cuntal lips, baring the delicate heart of her sensitive little cunt. Not giving her a chance to protest, he lowered his head still further, until he could inhale the heady odor of her warmly fragrant feminity. Then, without warning, his big, wetly eager tongue flicked out and moistly licked the entire hotly throbbing pussy slit.
"Aaaaaahhhhhhhhhh . . . AAAAARRRR GGGGHHHHhhhhh," Pamela ground her nakedly rounded buttocks into the warm sand in a frantic attempt to elude the delightfully searing contact between John's swiping tongue and her own passionately quivering cunt. But the lasciviously licking older man continued to sweep the wet length of his thick tongue between her heatedly pulsating pussy lips, dipping the tip into her cunt's honeyed recesses, tasting the succulent sweetness of her cunt.
"Noooooooooo, please . . . don't ... we shouldn't ..." Pamela sobbed, flailing her hips wildly as John continued to slaver at her wetly throbbing cuntal slit. She placed both of her hands on his head, buried between her nakedly widespread thighs, and pushed with all her might, but her strength was rapidly leaving. The tormending wet licking continued and she could hear the lewd, "slurp-slurp-slurp" of his tongue scraping against her most secret parts even above the wild pounding of the waves.
A wave of panic washed over her. What's happening to me? How can I let him kiss me there? I'm going crazy . . .
She could hardly believe that it was really happening to her. That she was debasing herself to the extent of lying here naked out in the open like this, of allowing a near-stranger to lick and kiss her defenselessly exposed cunt. It was something she never dreamed would happen.
Then she began to feel the little wisps of forbidden pleasure beginning to swirl around inside the depths of her hotly throbbing cunt. She was beginning to enjoy this lascivious licking by this older man crouched like a devouring beast of prey between her nakedly spread legs. She could hardly believe the transformation that had come over her sensually awakening body. She tried to suppress her pleasure, but she couldn't stop herself from crying out in obvious passion when John took the rigid little bud of her clitoris between and began to titillate it with his tongue.
"Oh God!" she gasped, "it feels so good when you nibble on my clit. Oh, God," she repeated, arching her back up off the black sand and forcing her helplessly aroused pussy up against the tremendous, pleasure giving thrusts of John's dilligently working tongue.
Her whole shamelessly writhing body seemed on fire now, and all her doubts and fears were wiped away. She didn't care about her marriage or her motherhood. She needed a man who understood her, one who would offer her up to the gods in purity of sacrifice.
"Oooooh," she mewled, "Oh, bite my clitoris and lick me deep up inside my pussy!" she purred passionately, her voluptuous body rippling with the shudders of arousal spasming through it.
John devoted himself wholeheartedly to his salacious task of invoking the gods. He pressed his face deeper into the hotly steaming opening of the impassioned young wife's cunt, the warmly perfumed flesh rimming his nose and mouth completely. He began to jab his tongue at the wetly contracting circle of her eagerly contracting cuntal hole, feeling the greedy sucking movements trying to pull it into the dark, heated depths of her tight cunt.
Suddenly, he lifted his head and stiffened his wet, slashing tongue and rammed it as deep as it would go into the hotly pulsating passage up between her wildly thrashing legs.
" 'Aaaaaaggggghhhh! Aaaaaaagggggghhhh! Oh God! You're tongue fucks me so good!
Pamela nearly went insane from the expert tongue fucking. Her excitedly quivering inner walls clung voraciously to his long darting tongue, and her nakedly rounded hips and buttocks quivered and shook with the vibrations which spasmed throughout her pelvis.
She was completely and uninhibitedly aroused now, every nerve ending tensed and posed for the bittersweet agony of completion. She was experiencing an all-consuming passion, and she was reaching out wholeheartedly for it. She wasn't holding back anything as she yearned for the promised release that she knew was within grasp.
Suddenly, she was soaring, the gods were touching her. She felt as if a strange alien power had lifted her up and she was floating on softly fleecy clouds supported by the broad shoulders of the gods, as she gently, undulatingly, drifted towards a place of indescribable pleasure in their harem amongst those chosen to be their sacrificial lambs.
Her whole body stiffened, suspended in space, as a great explosion, which started at the intensely alive spot up between her legs, reverberated like silent thunder throughout the length of her wantonly quivering torso, culminating in a blinding flash of ecstacy behind her eyes.
"Ooooohhhh! I'm cuuummmmming" she chanted mindlessly, as her passion-deranged hips began to grind and batter mercilessly against John's half-hidden face in her wildly convulsing cunt. Her inner cuntal walls milked greedily on the thick thrusting tongue, and her hands dropped to entwine themselves in his hair in an effort to force his head even further in between her lewdly spread legs. Never before had she experienced such wildly exciting pleasure, and as he continued to voraciously tongue-fuck her hotly convulsing pussy, she found even more new frenzies of pleasure, and she thought she was going insane from the sensations which were taking hold of her young body.
This is exquisite, she thought to herself, lying there in sacrifice to gods, and her wildly excited body agreed frantically. It's so good, being kissed and licked in my cunt ... I don't care if it's not my husband. As the tremors of her satiated body began at last to subside, a dreamy smile curved the happy young wife's full sensuous lips, and she found herself floating off into blissful non-awareness.
"Tomorrow, my dear, we will offer you to the gods of the air and you will soar like you never have dreamed possible."
CHAPTER SIX
Pamela turned the shower knob far to the left; then stepped under the fine spray and turned it on as hot as possible. Steam and hot water enveloped her body and soothed her. She stood under it as long as she felt she could stand it then turning the knob radically in the opposite direction, with an effort of will, she gritted her teeth against the ice water trickling down her back. Ah, that's better, she sighed, feeling her ragged soul gradually piecing itself together after the afternoon of debauchery. Yes, that's what it was, downright debauch ery. what was she to do now?
Much to her alarm, she was greatly relieved to discover that Peter had not yet returned from his afternoon of freedom. Just as well, the young wife reasoned, I couldn't look him in the eye after my ridiculous behavior today. She closed her eyes against the warm water now splashing against her full ripe bosom, thinking how sjie must have looked laid out on the sand like a slaughtered animal, her legs lewdly spread, the inside of her thighs still most from her excitedly secreted feminine juices. John had cradled her in his arms afterward, removing any stain of guilt from her tormented soul. He was a wonderful man; she couldn't deny that, but this foolishness had to end! What would her wanton behavior win her, but a broken heart. Peter was a steadfast chauvenist -- she was beginning to realize this after just two days spent with John, but after all, Peter was her husband. But what was John in relation to her? Lover? Friend? Adulterer?
Shampoo wound its way like a spated mountain stream down between the deep vee of her cleavage, its frothiness finally winding its path over her bellly and into the furry forest of her blonde pubic hair. Her long nails dug mercilessly into her scalp with sadistic fury as she massaged her tresses, cleansing her hair of the sand that had ground its way into her every pore and crevice on the black beach. Closing her eyes against the onslaught of water, she wriggled up her nose and let the fresh soft water wipe away the remaining stains of her passionate guilt. That's it! She pulled her hair back from her shrouded forehead. I'll go tell John that I can't see him anymore. But I'll be kind; it'll be hard, but I have to tell him how awful I feel about seeir g him behind Peter's back. No, she reconsidered; he'd think it childish and immature. What's that he said about being your own master?
With both hands she turned off the raging water spout and reached for a fresh towel, her body sprinkled with goosebumps from the tingling cool air that caressed her naked body. Rubbing her dripping body, she suddenly realized that the most horrifying and surprising thing of all was the fact that she had been completelly aroused by the obscene act, to the extent of climaxing. If she had really been forced into it, and had just suffered through it, she wouldn't have this humiliating feeling of guilt. But there was no denying that, in spite of whatever feeble protestations she had made, she had been willing enough to allow John to take off her top, her bikini top, shorts and all! And let him kneel between her legs and kiss and lick at her cunt. She knew that his lullying, melodic voice had had a weakening effect on her, but it was still no excuse. The blame was hers alone to bare.
Hastily, she dressed in fresh shorts and a halter top. With quick dabs at her eyelashes, she smeared on a single layer of mascara, not bothering with her proverbial ritual which she normally labored at in the feminine moments of her toilet. After all, she reminded herself, I don't care what he thinks; I'm just going to tell him I think he's a nice old man and that I would be delighted to maintain our friendship, platonically.
The warm sand felt inviting on her bare feet and her wet hair slashed against her face with each gust of ocean wind. She'd observed John's habits and she knew that at approximately six o'clock, just as the tide was at its peak, he would come strolling down the beach, his sailor's hat perched on his head, pipe in his mouth and fishing pole in hand. She could envision him now, his pants rolled up to his browned knees, his blue workshirt barely tucked into his pants. How she asked herself in earnest, could she have allowed such a man to suck her into lewd submission?
Well, those days were about over with, she reassured herself, sitting on a knoll of windswept sand, waiting for him to appear. With long, slow strokes, she ran her fingers through her wet matted hair, feeling it drying with the added help of the Hawaiian sun. she grimaced as she watched the familiar figure hopping over the waves that teased at his fishing tackle dragging from the end of his pole. A smile broadened her mouth; she couldn't help but be amused by the earthy male, she would wait until he neared, was close enough for calling distance -- then she would acknowledge him. Until that moment, she would sit unobtrusively alone, brushing her hair dry.
"PAMELA!" came his familiar cry, as he beckoned her with a wide sweep of his bare arm. "Want to go fishing?" She sighed. How could she resist such an invitation?
Reluctantly, but not without anticipation, she rose to her feet, her hair brush in hand and hopped to his side. "You'regetting to be quite an islander, my dear, braving the merciless elements of nature against all costs." He touched her upturned nose with his index finger and laughed as its redness faded to ivory with the pressure of his touch. "Better get some coconut oil on that nose of yours, its burned beyond recognition. But not beauty," he quickly added with a twinkle of his blue eyes.
What am I to do? worried Pamela. He's caught me again! Seems I can't say anything that makes sense around him without feeling like his granddaughter. But she winced at the thought, what does that make me? Getting myself fucked by my grandfather?
"What kind of fish do you catch around here?" she asked with a quizzical expression, ha! Here we are, my sweet."
She was helplessly caught in his trance again.
"First I am going to enjoy a bowl full of my pipe. You don't mind, do you?" Pamela merely shook her head and sat down beside him.
"John . . . "she said slowly, carefully, allowing herself time to think, maybe reconsider her decision. "There's something I have to let you know." Her eyes were downcast, studying the tiny bits of shells comprising the beaches of the island, ground and smooth from eons of rushing, pounding water. Picking up a handful, she was amazed to see the array of colors in the dead shell bodies that once were alive.
"I've been thinking about what you said and I don't think it's right that you and I carry on like this." Now it's finallly out, she thought.
"Wrong, did you say it was wrong?"
"No, but it's just not right."
"Pause a second, dear. If it's not right, it's wrong, right?" He just laughed at her then. She was trapped again by his wiley wit.
He adored young women such as Pamela. So emotional, yet so free in their admission of desires. Besides, this one had a bottomless reserve of sexuality, and today was his chance to enjoy it. He'd seen Joy making love to a blonde haired man on the beach the day he'd return. Since he'd been camping on the beach, not wanting to interfere, at first he'd felt left out, but now he rejoiced. Let her have her fun; he'd have his.
"You know what I do when I feel a wave of confusion and indecision overcoming me?"
More than anxious to receive some help from someone, she listened in silence, staring out over the swelling waves, as he told her a story of the god of the air. "Air being the realm of ideas, of expansion," he'd explained, gesticulating with his rough weathered hands. Here he goes again, thought Pamela, telling me stories and carrying me off the worlds I'd never known existed before. She'd barely heard his words, so intent was she on concentrating on the cloud formation that hovered above them in the air. How it happened, she wasn't quite certain, but she was lying on her back now, imaging the gods of the air as they swept by in royal chariots, parading in columns on white horses, gathering for a feast. "... and so you see," continued Joh, from his prostrate position beside her, "I invoke them, I ask them what I should do, and then I watch. I watch as they show me the way." Turning his head to study her profile, he smiled broadly as she intently searched the skies for the truth, the truth that would relieve her of this overrideing guilt thai darkened her soul.
"What do they tell you?"
"They tell me," she started unblinking-ly, "to follow my heart. Oh," she stopped abruptly. "Now they are gathering their forces to watch something. They're watching me! John! They're telling me that I have the power, that /am the master!" Pamela's eyes never wavered to right not to left: she stared at the clouds until John was certain her gaze of concentration would cause a thunderstorm.
She is exquisite, he smiled salaciously to himself. Such a power of imagination she possesses. What a fool her husband is to be carrying on when he has the jewel, the key to the kingdom in his hand.
Pamela lay there unmoving, her trembling young body strained and alert as John slowly pulled the magic string to her halter top free, allowing her full ripe breasts to spill out into the golden light of approaching dusk. Still she stared and gazed into the sky, until he could sense the power growing in her body, her chest heaving with the energy of her recently discovered power. Deftly, he unbuttoned her shorts and pulled them down over her smoothly rounded buttocks, now covered only by her flimsy nylon bikini panties.
She heard him gasp in admiration and delight . . . and from somewhere deep in her feminine heart, she was pleased that he was pleased -- the gods had told her it was right. Suddenly, she was conscious of a deep subliminal longing, and recognized it as desire. She realized that she actually wanted this man to fuck her. She was no longer ashamed of that fact. It was only giving that she return to him the gift that he had bestowed upon her. Yesterday, she had been ashamed of her desire to open her legs to him . . . but so much had happened since yesterday. A new day was blooming!
She quivered in fright and anticipation as she caught a glimpse of the huge, hard erection of his visibly palpitating cock jutting out from the softly curling strands of pubic hairs. John could sense her willingness to be fucked and wasted no time in preparing himself for this long awaited treat. It looked so enormous, she thought, even bigger than Peter's and she thrilled to the thought that it would fill her feverishly aching cunt as it had never been fill before.
Staring in lewd fascination at the warm red-colored cockhead, she watched, as with one hand, he guided his massively throbbing shaft towards the now nakedly trembling opening to her tightly tensed cunt. With the other hand, he parted her curl-fringed, slightly trembling pussy lips and pushed aside her silky thighs. Pamela held her breath as the hotly pulsating tip came into tentative contact with the first wet layers of her delicate vaginal flesh. She gasped sharply as a thrill of pleasurable trepidation tingled erotically through her, and an awareness of what she was about to do came into her brain with startling clarity. Gone was the pang of guilt and visions of a deceived husband.
She was allowing another man to make love to her. She wasn't fogged by liquor, she wasn't being forced . . . she was doing it of her own free will! Deep down, she knew, however, that a primitive force was goading her on, an unanswerable, unexplainable force.
John held the huge bulbous head of his impatiently pulsating cock poised for a moment at her wetly quivering cuntal opening. He stared down again at the young wife's fearfully trembling body, her legs spread wide beneath him, her defenseless little cunt all his for the taking, and found he couldn't hold back any longer.
With a low groan of hunger, he fucked forward, forcing his massively swollen cockhead past her futile resisting pussy lips.
"Aaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrhhhhh . . . Stop . . . you're hurting me . . . you're too big! ..."
Pamela bucked and thrashed wildly as a savage, momentary pain shot through her hotly cringing cunt from the sudden penetration. But John's fingers were like steel claws in her hips, holding her down, and he was able to fuck his long skewering cock another inch up into her tightly clasping cunt.
"... aaaahhhh . . . nnnngggghhhh
Another forceful inch.
"Oooohhh . . . hhhhuuummmggghhh
And, finally.
"Ooooohhhh ..."
His wildly pulsating cock was all the way into her convulsively shuddering cunt.
Pamela felt completely filled, even more so than the night Peter had fucked his cock into her ass. Her legs seemed stretched beyond endurance, and she was sure that the lust thickened length of hard male flesh inside her was expanding with each passing second. , She was immovable, impaled on John's painfully shoving cock.
She felt him rotate it slightly inside her tightly clinging cuntal passage, each slight movement bringing a gasp of half-pleasurable pain from her dry, arid mouth. She could feel the sperm-bloated sac of his testicles slapping softly up between the frantically quivering cheeks of her upraised buttocks, and his heavily dangling balls seemed to writhe and churn with an intense life of their own.
At last, the painfully stretched young wife felt him,, beginning to pull out his hotly throbbing cock, and she tightly gritted her teeth against the agonizing withdrawal, trying desperately to adjut his tremendous size. Slowly, carefully the older man pulled his long rangy cock out until just the hard, rubbery head was still tightly enclosec by her hotly pulsating cuntal lips.
"Aaaahhh! Aaahh! Aaahhh!" she moaned helplessly, tossing her blonde hair from side to side in the sand, her mouth half open, her eyes closing and shutting aimlessly. Her fingertips were clutching at the mound of her discarded clothing as she bucked upward desperately trying to dislodge the huge skewer which held her helplessly pinned to the ground.
John began to fuck in and out of her tight little cunt with deep, rhythmic thrusts of his heatedly plunging cock. He plunged all the way in, pressing the hair-covered base of his stomach against the softly moist flesh of her outer cunt, the lust-swollen head of his long thick cock just touching the sensitive tip of her cervix. Soon he raised himself slightly higher on the nakedly spread-eagled young woman and began a little lurching motion that scraped his desire-hardened cock against her clitoris on each inward thrust.
The inner lubrications of Pamela's rapidly adjusting cunt began to secrete, and when they did, the pain and discomfort magically melted away to be replaced by a wantonly exciting sensation of pure pleasure. Her now eagerly milking young pussy flowered open around his thick cock, and she felt once again the now familiar tremors of pleasure beginning to swirl around deep inside her. Almost frantically she began to fuck back, sweeping her hips upward and spreading her thighs even further apart to allow him even deeper access to her love-starved pussy. Within seconds -- relying on some instinctive knowledge she hadn't known existed -- she began moving in unison with him. When he was withdrawing, she pulled back sharply, her sensitive inner membranes pulling convulsively on the wonderfully thick cock. When he slammed into her, she dipped her pelvis as she raised her hips, crooning in ecstasy as her erect little clitoris was rubbed by the entire hotly sliding length of his penis.
"Oooohhhh yesss, John, . . . ooohhhh, yesss, fuck my cunttttt ..." she mewled softly through passion-clenched teeth. Her arms reached up and wrapped themselves around his neck, and below, her legs snaked upward and locked themselves behind his back. She eagerly clung to him, joining her nakedly fucking body with him, anxious for complete union, the union promised by the gods of the air. Her proudly quivering breasts heaved and jiggled as she pressed them hungrily against his hard, perspiring chest. She flung her head back, her dark hair falling loosely behind, and the air resounded with her hoarse unrestrained cries of pleasure.
I love it ... I love fucking ... the impassioned young wife thought happily. Now I know what it's like to be a free woman! Her brain was now as carefree as her nakedly writhing body. It was unclouded by any thought of where her husband might be or what she was doing here with this virtual stranger. It was concentrating completely in enjoying to the full the unbelievable sensations of pleasure which were tremoring through her sensually awakened body, making her feel unknown excitement. And I have John to thank for this, she smiled secretly, as their two sweat-streaked bodies fucked and bucked together in perfect unison and their combined breathing resounded raucous and heavy.
The air was full of the fury of the wet, slapping sounds of their wildly uninhibited fucking, adding to the heights of passion that they had already received.
John found himself amazed -- and pleasantly surprised -- at Pamela's unpro-tested lovemaking. She had been so distraught when first they'd come to this spot, and now she was like a tornado ... as good as Joy in fact . . . and that was saying a hell of a lot.
"Pamela, oh Pamela," he managed to gasp, "you're a gift from the gods. I love the way you fuck."
Instead of being revulsed by the lewd word, it only incensed the aroused young woman to even more uninhibited passion. She seemed to let go completely, giving herself over entirely to the waves of ecstasy washing through her wantonly writhing body. She was almost insane as she thrust her hotly pulsating cunt up against his long male hardness. She kenw she couldn't hold back much longer. She had to cum soon or she'd die. She wanted to prolong this wonderful pleasure for as long as possible, but her wildly excited body was winning ...
"Oh, God, darling, I'm almost there
. . . don't stop . . . fuck my cunt . . . oh" she gasped mindlessly, every facet of her being geared towards the inevitable conclusion.
Her brain seemed to shatter into a million fragments, and her mouth uttered hoarse, incoherent obscenities that she didn't know where" they came from . . . "Fuck harder . . . harder . . . fuck my cunt! Fuck me!" She was battering her wildly thrashing body against John's, her long legs wrapped tightly around his powerful buttocks, pulling him greedily deeper into the erupting couldron of her suddenly convulsing cunt. With a loud sob-like moan, she pulled open her mouth, and sucked in his tongue just as her heatedly milking womb was sucking on his long ramming cock.
Her entire body was shuddering now with spasm after spasm, and her mouth was gaping open. Then . . .
"Aaaaaahhhhh ... I'm cumming!!!! Aaaaaagggghhhh . . . I'm cum-mmmmmiii-iinnnngggg!" Her shrill shriek of rapture echoed throughout the cove as her wildly quivering pussy exploded under him.
John thought his tightly clasped cock would be yanked out by the roots from the force and strength of her inner cuntal contractions as she came. Her excitedly writhing inner membranes seemed to shrink around his thick plunging cock, as though her hotly sucking cunt was trying desperately to draw the life-giving nectar from it. He could feel a heated clamoring in his sperm-filled balls, too, and knew that he couldn't hold out for too much longer ..Quickly then, in spite of her uncontrollable writhing beneath him, he began to drive his long hard cock deeper and deeper into her hotly quivering pussy in an effort to cum.
Pamela was in heaven. Her body was possessed of a thousand different sensations, each one a perfection of pure pleasure, and she thought she'd go mad from the sheer enjoyment of fucking and being fucked. She had never realized it could be like this. Now she knew that her dreams hadn't been so far wrong after all. This, this was what passion was all about, and she was glad she was experiencing it. It didn't matter how, or why, or with whom; the main thing was that it hadn't been denied to her. And now that she'd found it, she promised never to lose sight of it again.
Suddenly, the older man's half-naked body stiffened like a bowstring, accentuating the insane quivering of Pamela's still twitching little cunt below.
"Aaaaaahhhhh . . . I'm cumming too!" he gasped, and began pounding his wildly jerking cock into Pamela's wetly throbbing pussy, feeling the hot rolling sperm erupt from the secret cavern of his balls and rush headlong into the greedily welcoming depths of the aroused young wife's helplessly excited little belly.
It seeped into the deepest cuntal creases and crevices, and Pamela could feel its wet warmth scalding her sensitive insides. She really reveled in having a man empty his thick white semen into her, and her sensitive inner cuntal walls writhed and contracted rhythmically as they tried to milk his pumping cock of more and more of the life-giving fluid.
But at last, she felt his virile hardness begin to grow limp inside her. With a pang of regret, she realized that she had drained him dry. Her own nakedly happy body was becoming suffused with a warm afterglow, as the tremors and twitchings subsided. The young woman sighed deeply and relaxed against the sand. A moment later, the ruggedly handsome older man collapsed beside her. Their bodies were wet and steaming, and their breathing, at first heavy and labored, finally began to slow down, until it finally took on an even cadence of satisfaction and contentment. Really satiated, Pamela slept beside her lover, the waves lapping at their feet.
CHAPTER SEVEN
"Pamela?"
"Don't touch me. Don't come near me. I'm leaving you, Peter." Tears streaming down her cheeks, Pamela thrust piles of clothes into the bulging suitcase, and struggled desperately to close its gaping latches.
"Pamela, you can't do this." It was a plea wrenched from his throat. He followed her from the bedroom to the bathroom. "You angry about something I've done?" Peter swallowed. So ... she did know about his affair with Joy. He could barely speak because of the sudden tightness in his throat.
Huge tears boiled up in her eyes; she refused to look at him. Finally she took a deep shuddering breath and answered, "No, my dear husband, it's nothing you've done."
"Then what's the point?"
She merely shook her head in response. Peter, suddenly angry with her reticence, darted across the room and shook her by the shoulders. "You can't just leave like this. What about Daniel?"
Pamela closed her eyes, the tears continued to stream down her face. Her shoulders slumped. "Okay, Peter, you're entitled to the truth." With her eyes still downcast she muttered, "I've been having an affair with the man next door."
"You what?" The last was shouted. Peter slumped into the driftwood chair. He couldn't believe what he'd just heard. Pamela, having an affair with the man next door? He didn't even know they had neighbors. His eyes glued to the floor, he asked the inevitable. "Are you in love with him?"
"No, but I can't stand the confusion of running from one man to the next." She choked on the reality of her words.
"Pamela ..." he hesitated before beginning, not certain of what effect his confession would have on her decision, but he continued in spite of his fears. "Pamela, I ... I've been seeing the woman next door." He waited.
"You . . . you've been seeing the woman next door? Joy?"
Peter lifted his head. "How did you know her name?"
"It's my lover's wife."
With synchronized cries of mixed pain and relief, they stared at each other for a long moment -- neither moved or spoke. Finally it was Peter who broke the dreadful gap. "Is that why you wanted time alone?" Pamela nodded her head.
"Peter, I don't think I'm a good wife to you. I know I love you and I love our son, Daniel, but I can't go on pretending to be your loving mate when I still have sexual desires for another man."
The words pierced his heart. He swallowed hard while his veins seemed to collapse in shock. His wife having an affair with Joy's husband. Why it was almost absurd. Surprisingly, she did not respond to his admission of guilt.
"What are we going to do, Peter?" Pamela nervously pared at her finger nails. But then her curiosity overcame her better judgment and she wanted to know just how he'd met this mysterious woman who seemed to be the unseen force in everyone's life. "She seduced you?"
"Okay, baby, give me the lurid details. What happened with you?" Feeling foolishly guilty, Pamela related the story of the gods of the sea and the air and how John had helped her to understand her true nature. Despite his anger, camouphlaged by nervous laughter, Peter roared, "What? 'No one is a piece of property and we must seek after the master in ourselves'? He said that?"
Pamela simply nodded. "Well, it's true!"
"Boy, I've seen some people being duped, but I never thought it would happen to me, or you."
"What do you mean?" insisted Pamela, still clinging to the purity of her new found freedom and strength.
"Don't you see what they've been doing?" Pamela shook her head. "Baby, they've been setting us up! Do you really believe that John would ever give up his wife for you? Or Joy, John for that matter?"
Pamela looked confused. She hadn't even considered that speculation. She looked at her husband sheepishly, "You mean you're not angry with me?"
Peter swallowed hard. "Just say I'm not pleased and leave it at that."
Then she turned on him, as she knew she would. "Well, what about you?"
"Tell me, Pamela. What would you do if a man undressed in front of you and started fondling your body. Would you walk away, run? Just examine your own behavior and then tell me you're really mad."
With a deep sigh, she sat on the edge of the bed, a foot of distance separating their bodies. "Still want to call it all off just because a frustrated couple seduces us?"
Pamela bit her lower lip, now pouting visibly, and shook her head.
"Know what I think we ought to do? I think," he hesitated for a moment, cogitating. "I think we should give them a run for their money. What do you say?"
"What?" Pamela's mind was still on the gods of the air and sea and volcanoes and Hawaii and chariots and harems. "Hm?"
Sitting up erect, he gathered her sweating hands in his and together, they laid their trap.
Minutes later they were still perfecting their web of retaliation. "... okay, I get her loaded on dope so she doesn't suspect anything. She's a smart woman. You'll be in there with . . . what's his name, John?" The name still stung his jealous heart. "You make it with him, and and ..."
It was nine o'clock the next evening and, as planned, Joy met Peter in their secret hidden cave where they had spent the last two days in endless embrace.
"Joy, have you ever smoked dope?"
"What?" she looked at her young lover quizzically.
"Marijuana, you know, weed." He drew a plastic bag from his bulging pocket and deftly pulled a poorly rolled brown papered cigarette.
"I'm going to smoke this and if you'd like, I'd appreciate it if you'd enjoy it with me. Great for sex," he looked up to catch her expression. Joy fancied herself the goddess of sex and relished in her knowledge of age old recipes for aphrodisiacs, potions and herbs. If there was anything to be learned, she would certainly participate. "Oh!" she choked on the first puff and coughed until Peter had to pat her on the back to ease the pressure. With dogged determination she held it down and smiled at the pleasantly aloof lightheaded sensation it gave.
"Here," offered Peter. "You keep that one to yourself and I'll roll another. He studied her expression, watching it change with each deep puff, all the while thinking to himself, if she finishes that one, she'll be up for anything. That was a bomber! Tai stick with bits of hashish rolled in and hashish oil smeared on the paper . . . she won't come out of that alive!
"I do believe it's taking an affect, Peter." Her eyes were glazed, even in the light of the setting sun. Raising her hand to her forehead, she continued, "I'm feeling strange, very strange. Everything is reeling about me. The ocean! It's so blue! and, and the sunset. Peter I've never seen anything like this! Everything is so beautiful and colorful!" Suddenly the sultry mature lady turned into an explorative young girl, enthralled by the breathtaking panorama of her surroundings. With equal intensity, she turned her response to Peter. "Peter, you're a wonderful man. Such a fine lover."
"Thank you," he answered blandly, taking another deep puff off his joint which he now offered to her. Won't be long now, he thought, checking his watch. Pamela and John should be well on their way by now.
"Peter? Would you like to go for a walk?" She reached over and clasped his forearm with her darkly tanned hand. Peter smiled in acceptance, thinking, she's doing all the work for me.
Hand in hand, they strolled the beach headed for the magic cove where he knew his wife and her lover lay clasped in lovemaking embraces.
"I've heard so much about this black beach, Joy. How about going there?"
"Yes, that's my husband's favorite place." Suddenly, she looked overwhelmed with anxious concern, the orange sun reflecting her forehead furrowed with worry.
"Something troubling you?" he gave her hand an extra squeeze.
"It's . . . " she started but seemed apprehensive of further explanations. "He's not come back yet!" she blurted with a deep sigh.
"Does that worry you?"
She shook her head. "Just that I don't know if he's been held up by the weather or if he's with another . . . " She stopped herself just in time. Silently, she considered the situation. John had not communicated with her since his anticipated return and, from twelve years of marriage, she realized that meant one of two things: either he was held up by the weather and was floating somewhere out there in the Pacific in which case she should make some attempt at alerting the Coast Guard, or he was with another woman. In her drugged state, the second consideration seemed the moist probable and the most loathsome. Suddenly, the image of what she thought to be him, just yesterday, loomed before her. Could it be that he'd returned and not told her? Once before he'd pulled a similar trick: he stayed on the beach for a full week without alerting her to his homecoming. Writers, she sighed. Can't ever tell what romantic notion is going to overtake their sanity.
Hastily, Joy changed the subject. "Tell me more about your wife. She sounds like a great mother." Anything, she reasoned, to get him talking. She felt like she had eyes in the back of her head -- so blurred was her vision. The warmth of the sand shot sparks of heat through her body that was now running hot and cold. Not much further, she assured herself, and they'd be able to lie down on the sands of the black beach.
"... used to be a secretary for Warner Brothers and then she and I got married.V Suddenly, Joy realized she hadn't listened to a word Peter was saying. "Not much further, Joy." He leaned down and kissed her on her forehead, thinking, not much further until you and your husband finally see each other for what you are . . . sneaking around like a couple of high school kids after a football game.
"Ah, here we are, at last." The couple sat down on the mound of sand near the rock, the black rock with a huge almost imperceptible V scratched across its surface. Good choice, mused Peter, just low enough to see over and small enough to hear over. Pamela had a great sense of humor when it comes to trickery. I only hope John has as good a set of ears and nostrils as Pam claims.
"Uhhhhhhhhhhh." Yes, they're there, thought Peter, a pang of jealously nearly overcoming him at the sound of his wife making love to another man. It was your idea, he reminded himself.
With ease, he pulled Joy to him, pressing her against the rock which narrowly separated his lover from his wife and the man he could hear her making love to. He laughed to himself at the rubbery response of Joy's stoned body. He reached down the back of her skirt and
^ pulled it up by the hem until his palm opened over her soft silken panties and cupped both orbs of firmly curving buttocks, squeezing the sides of the now slightly sweating crevice together with his clenching fingers. Oh God, he thought, Pam must be running her tongue all over John's body. Suddenly, he wished he hadn't come here; he wanted to call off the ploy. But again, he reminded himself of his responsibility.
Joy felt limp; she felt like a toy. For an unexplainably reasonable reason she wanted her husband back. These sordid affairs of hers were beginning to bore her, and the realization that the man who was now pressing her against this rock, was married, just as herself, hit her like a pail of ice water. My God, she thought, what am I doing with my life? Why am I spending so much time with these young men when I have a fond husband who loves me dearly? Remembering how it was she who had insisted on her freedom years ago and how it was she who suggested he start having affairs with other women which ultimately led him to romantic fantasies expressed in writing poetry for songs, Joy felt like a joker -- not funny and not sad. Just a fading chance of luck in a game of cards. She wanted to run, but before she could move, Peter turned and faced her directly, trapping her between his tightly pressing chest and his hands clenching her from behind. His free hand reached behind her and slid the zipper of her dress down from her neck to her hips. She could feel his cock, already long and hard from the petting they had indulged in all evening, pressing against her trembling belly as he lifted the dress over her head and dropped it slowly to the ground.
He reached behind her again and unsnap-ped the brassiere, rubbing his fingers deftly over the tiny rounded nipples that had jumped into erection from the cool rush of the air over them. Then she could hear him struggling rapidly from his clothing and she had to smile at his obvious impatience to get at her. They always did, she mused.
"I want to lick your tits and cunt all over," he whispered hoarsely in a meaningful voice. He could sense her aloofness, and he had to get into the act before Pamela really fell in love with the poet on the other side of the shared rock.
One of his hands fell half on her waist, half on her full rounded buttocks, and pushed her backward to the sand, in front of the rock, just feet away from where his wife and lover lay fucking wildly. Joy's naked body caught fire as she felt him begin massaging the soft white cheeks of her ass from behind and pulling her backwards harder against his hotly bulging groin. As he ground against her, his mouth locked wetly in her neck, she gasped and held her breath, feeling the rising stiffness of his cock pressing between her full upper thighs into her own warmly moistening genitals. Weird chills raced down his flesh, exciting him as he had never been before, when he considered the mental picture of himself standing by the rock with his long thick cock wedged in the softly quivering thighs of his lover, while his errant wife was sucking this woman's husband only a few feet away from him.
The marijuana smoke wafted lazily through Joy's bloodstream, intensifying the sudden uncontrolled sensation around her, the soft fingers of his hand tweaking painfully on her nipples and the hardness of his cock pressing hotly against her moistly pulsating cunt slit, and an unexpected soft moan of submission escaped her lips. Thoughts of her beloved John were far from her consciousness now.
"I want to make love to you, Joy," he said loud enough for anyone on the beach to hear. He had expected Pamela to burst into a murderous rage of obscenities at the first sound of his voice, but none came. She was obviously too preoccupied to recognize anyone at this point, but he'd soon take care of that. He guided Joy's form downwards so that they were actually peeking on the other side of the rock. He had just made out the silhouettes of his wife and her lover when Joy rolled over on her side. In the meagre light of the new moon, Peter could see the outline of the obscene position Pamela and John had assumed; to his surprise John was actually face down on the sand, his legs bent as he kneeled with his asscheeks high in the air and Pamela kneeling in behind him slavering her mouth and tongue wetly over his buttocks. Christ! what is she doing to him, wondered Peter.
"Oh, Pamela, you're driving me crazy, you hot little Aphordite," grunted John so instensely that Peter was certain he could feel his wife's lover's breath hot and heavy, and his eyes bulged as he saw Pamela travelling a slow path down the hairy backs of John's thighs with her wetly licking tongue, her hair swaying over the sand. "Jesus, woman, now lick up to my ass!" Peter thought he would go crazy hearing the demand placed on his wife.
But when he heard his voice, say, "Do you want me to stick my finger up your ass?" Peter thought he would jump up and ruin the whole plot.
"Oh, yes, woman, fuck me with your finger," answered John from a short distance away. "Hurry, Pamela, and I'll fuck you again at the same time."
Peter's mouth gaped open in utter shock and disbelief as he watched his wife's nakedly swaying outline adjust itself over his lover's husband's heaving abdomen. He could make out Pamela's form moving now with a wet sluicing noise down over the long bulging outline of John's erect cock standing straight up from his stomach, then Pamela's hands wedged beneath his buttocks and there was a small yelp of pain from John. Peter watched in horror as his wife closed her widely ovalled mouth down over his hardened cock all the way until she could see a small tiny bit of the base of John's penis protruding wet and glistening from the tight moist lips around it. He wanted to scream and reach out and tear them apart but instead he tightened his grip on Joy's breast. He lay frozen in immobility except for his hand playing with his lover's nipples and he watched helplessly as his wife began a slow grinding up and down movement with her buttocks rising in the air above John until just the tip of John's rock hard cock was left inside the warm enclosing sheath of her mouth flesh. Then, with an "oooomph" each time she made the movement, she bobbed her head heavily back down, impaling her angelic face completely with each long smooth stroke. Joy, on the other side of Peter, breathed deeply and he harshly kneaded her breast while Peter peered at the weird copulation of their two spouses unconsciously giving the taut hardness of her nipple a small vicious tug.
"Oh, Pamela, your finger," John groaned suddenly above the wet sucking noises of intercourse. "I love it, I love it!" Damn, thought Peter, she doesn't have to get so carried away.
"I'll try two, John," Pamela whimpered as she inserted a second finger in the tiny resisting rectum, and then her voice broke off in a little squeal as though she were nearly out of her mind with the excitement of the entrance into his behind and the ever increasing violence with which he flicked his hips, driving his steadily hardening cock into her mouth.
Peter decided not to consider the situation of their lewdly fucking spouses further, and pressed his soft lips down over Joy's and she immediately felt the hard rigid pressure of his tongue spear up into her mouth in his quest for a warmer wetter contact with her naked body. His hands began rummaging over her and he ran them between the soft firmness of her gently quivering thighs that swayed open quickly to admit him to the very core of her being. She could feel the warm center convulsing almost immediately in passionate answer to his harshly kneading touch.
"Aaaaahhhh, ahhhhh," she sighed up into his lips and pushed her tongue up into his mouth, circling deep around inside.
He slithered onto her warm soft body like a protective blanket. She could feel herself trembling helplessly out of control under him and drew her parting thighs up the sides of his hips until the whole of her wet throbbing cuntal slit was presented up to him in welcome sacrifice. The hardness of his long fully erect cock slid over her thighs between her splayed out legs and he held it there for a long tortured moment and started to reach down and implant himself inside her but at the last second he stopped, as though he needed more to squeeze every perverse and sadistic pleasure possible out of the fact that his wife, was so close to their nakedly locked bodies. Instead, his mouth slid down over her gently rocking belly, biting her smooth delicate skin with his teeth and sending ecstatic ripples of pleasure-pain all over her stomach. Joy looked down to see his face crouched on the same level with the thin red folds that covered her splayed open cunt. She saw his fingers spreading the soft hair-covered lips and she sucked in her breath with a gasp as the cool air hit her there. She could feel a slight moisture forming and glistening on the insides of her thighs, and she squirmed and a faint groan escaped from her open lips when he breathed hard and blew softly over her. Never had sex felt this delicious before. For a moment she thought the magic of John's favorite beach was responsible for her intense desire, forgetting the marijuana coursing through her body.
"Oooooooh," she groaned and flayed her head to the side. Opening her eyes, she thought she spied a shadow, a moving shadow not far behind Peter, but she rationalized it blaming it on the lack of moonlight.
All thoughts of everything but the moment quickly receded from Peter's mind when he lowered his head until he was just inches from her wetly throbbing pussy. Joy felt her warm inner thighs pulse and throb expectantly and her breath stopped short in her throat as a tiny drop of seminal fluid trickled from the round blunt head of his cock pressed against her leg, running in a small trickling path down her thigh. Then he leaned still closer and opened the swollen fleshy lips around her clitoris, flicking out his tongue suddenly and teasing it moistly against the hotly pulsing bud. She shook convulsively and her hands darted forward and tangled in his head, pulling his mouth to the moistly palpitating furrow up between her open thighs.
His fingers spread the steadily throbbing opening of her cunt wide apart and then suddenly he dropped his tongue from her clitoris and thrust it into the pink tingling opening of her pussy. She was completely lost in enrapturement, her legs splayed out to their farthest limits and every muscle in her thighs jerked in time with his maddening assault between her legs, he plunged his tongue again and again, thrusting deeper and deeper with each stroke, only to withdraw it slightly and then rim the ragged pink edges on the out-stroke, taunting and teasing her mercilessly. "Oooooh, lick my cunt," a long low groan escaped from deep in her throat. "It's good, darling, it's so good. Let me do it to you. I want to lick you!"
"Oh, God, yes," purred Peter. "Put my cock in your mouth!" Peter had now completely forgotten about his wife, and now their sudden stillness caught his attention. His wife must have heard his voice, but suddenly the wet sucking sounds of intercourse picked up again and continued stronger than ever.
Pamela, now aware of her husband's presence, continued to grind her hips hungrily up and down the warmly throbbing cock standing straight up like a quivering pole from John's stomach. The rhythm of their movements caused John's shoulder to rub methodically against Joy's and when Pamela lowered her groin and sunk slight forward her long blonde hair brushed over Joy's arm.
But Joy's attention was once more riveted to her lover's body now turned in the sixty-nine position, his mouth still working in wet slavering movements over her moistly tingling pussy. For a moment she felt herself hold back in indecision as she had never done this while stoned before and since everything felt strange and foreign, perhaps this would too. The red blunt head of his long fleshy cock pressed searchingly against her chin, and she opened her mouth quickly, mewling slightly as his hotly stiffening cock slithered over her teeth into the warm, wet moistness. The thick spongey organ seemed to fill the entire cavern of her mouth, and when he wormed it steadily deeper, rubbing the gently throbbing cock down the full length of her tongue and imbedding it far down in her throat, she gasped for air to keep from choking and closed her eyes to blot out the sight of his sperm bloated testicles swaying lewdly down against her nose. They danced as he began to undulate his pelvis, sliding the long thick cock in and out of her mouth, never quite withdrawing, but leaving the hot swollen head a half an inch inside the warmly sucking cavern. She tightened her lips and swished her tongue with venegeance around and around the throbbing head sliding in and out of her widely stretched lips, his soft curling pubic hair grazing tantalizingly against her cheeks sending waves of masochistic pleasure through her.
"Oh, God, Peter," she sputtered around the hard fleshy intrusion. "It tastes so good! Your cock tastes so good!"
"Tighten your lips and suck harder," he hissed from above, his voice now coarse and thick from passion.
Her lips began to nibble at the slickly thrusting head and she convulsed the moistly clasping flesh of her inner cheeks inward, drawing them wetly and tightly over the sides of the rapidly growing cockhead as he pulled it out. Moisture filled her mouth, puffing her cheeks wide as he shoved forward and buried the rod deep again into her warmly welcoming throat. It was becoming slightly sticky now as small emissions of lubricating fluid seeped from the end of Peter's cock into the warm heated depths of her mouth. His breath became shorter, and she could feel his hips writhing and straining above her face as though he were in the last spasmodic throes of death.
She murmured with pleasure as he moved his hands back to her thighs below his working tongue still sunk deep in her pussy. God, she thought, she had never thought such things as this were possible: he was flicking his tongue up and down her moistly glistening crevice while she continued to puff out her cheeks over the smoothly bulging length of his cock, and she was enjoying it! He pulled the soft, hair-fringed crevice of her crotch wide apart with his hands. Her body quivered as he dropped his hot tongue to her small tight puckered anus, thrusting the tip hard against it until it entered just a hair.
"God, oh, God, Peter! Yes, do that!" she mumbled around the fullness of his cock in her mouth.
He returned his mouth to her clitoris, continuing to lick and nibble at it while he pulled at the flesh around the puckered little red inlet, wetting it with the lust juices streaming from her cunt and finally probing his finger at her rectum like a tiny teasing baby penis.
"Uuuuuuggggh!" she grunted in momentary pain when he worked the finger slowly into the soft spongeV channel up to the first knuckle.
"Im going to fuck you in the ass now, baby!" he panted, pulling his cock from her mouth and swinging his buttocks back onto the sand beside her, but leaving his fingers buried in her rectum.
"Yes, Oh God, fuck me in the ass," she breathed heavily, turning over on her stomach so that only his fingers still wedged in her ass connected them together. "Screw my ass! Fuck my ass!"
Peter began planting soft kisses warmly along her spine, moving slowly down to where his fingers were still thrust into the tight rubbery ring of her nether passage. He paused at the smoothly curving arc of her ass cheeks, then probed again with his fingers to make sure his entry into her would not be too great a shock. Then he lifted himself over her. He pulled out his fingers slowly, feeling the soft rubbery flesh clinging tightly to them and then coursed his hands down her buttocks, his thumbs pressing on either side of the tight rear passage stretching it wide. Then she felt a probing between the thumbs that felt different from the touch of his fingers: it was soft and rubbery at first and then grew into a hard unresisting bluntness.
"Oooooh God!" she moaned, her body tingling all over in a mixture of fear and lewd expectancy. His cock lay for a moment pressing gently at the tight, elastically flexing lips of her anus as though teasing her with the idea of the exotic fleshy intrusion. Then, she felt something give back there between her widespread buttocks as he thrust harder, and she jerked back, momentarily startled at the slight pain. He pushed again the blunt invasion of his cock vibrated through every fiber of her being, popping up inside the tight, vainly resisting circle and pushing the softly yielding flesh inside of her widely stretching anal passage in a great wave of pressure before it. "Ooooh God!" she moaned and flailed her head from side to side in wild masochistically rising ecstasy as she felt his huge, lustfully pulsating cock filling her backside ceaselessly as though she were impaled on a skewering human sword.
Christ, thought John, what a time to have company! But he had to admit that the presence of the lewdly groaning couple beside them had excited him even more than he thought possible and as Pamela moved the warmly sucking walls of her pussy over his erect cock, he strained to see them. He hadn't been able to make out just what they were saying. Damn, he thought, whoever they are they sure are going at it good! The smoothness of their naked skin glistening in the faint moonlight was an alluring sight, indeed. It was probably some high school kids, he thought; but, Christ, what were they trying to do? Provoke he and Pamela? Were they too drunk, or stoned to realize the beach was already occupied?
He leaned back and let Pamela continue fucking from on top of him. God, he never thought it could feel this way, with her large softly bobbing tits brushing tantalizingly against his chest and her hand fondling and cupping the velvety sac of his balls . . . that hot little pussy wrapped so tightly and wetly around his cock felt too good to be real! . . . yet, he couldn'f help bur feel a lingering touch of lewd curiosity about what the couple were doing beside them. His fantasy was interrupted by a series of low soulful moans. It sounded like a woman in pain, and he felt Pamela siow her movements on top of him as though she had heard it, too. Then the girl rose up over him again and swished her smooth white buttocks around against his loins with a soft smack that brushed their warmed curved nakedness down against his balls.
"Oooooh," he heard a heavy throated female whisper, barely audible in the almost total silence of the darkness.
"Do you like it when I -- fuck it into you here?" He heard a man ask.
"Oh God . . . Peter ... it feels so different . . . but so good, it geels so good when you fuck me in the ass."
John's hands froze around Pamela's smoothly gyrating buttocks as he heard the familiar pleading voice of his own wife beg Peter, his lover's husband to fuck her in the ass. He couldn't believe his own ears. So this is the man whom she'd been carrying on with as he watched from the distance of his campsite on the beach. Damn, should have let her know I was home. He's really got Joy going. He firmly but gently pulled Pamela down from on top of him, but he didn't need to. She too had tensed above him in relief recognizing the two voices, then moved to his side.
Pamela thought to herself, he doesn't have to do that! This was supposed to be a little game, not an all out orgy.
There was the distinct possibility, reasoned John, that Joy and Peter did not know that the other couple lying next to them were their spouses, but that coincidence was too mad, too much a strike of fate and had to be discounted. Pamela was now giggling next to him . . . damn, she sure had a strange way of reacting to things! Oh God, thought John, he hoped she wasn't sucking him, but he didn't dare raise his head. They'd made an agreement: anything is permissible when the other wasn't around and he did delight in the details of her sexual escapades, even though jealousy often goaded him on to his own affairs. Was this a trick of hers to get back at him for not telling her he'd returned from the mainland? Had she seen him with Pamela?
He wished he could see them. Was she straddled on top of him as Pamela had been before, or was she sucking his cock with her clean warmly clasping mouth or letting him run his tongue teasingly between her legs? His tortured mind drew a thousand lewd pictures of his wife in every conceivable position . . . had she taken off all her clothes and gotten completely naked ... or had Peter merely pulled up her dress and pulled her panties down to plunder her soft defenseless cunt with his hands and his mouth? Pamela pulled closer to him and whispered into his ear, but his confused mind made no sense from what his lover had said. He only gathered that she was taking an obscene delight in the fact that the four of them were together on the beach. Did she know it was her husband? The idea of not being able to protest against his lover's husband's and his wife's continual lewd crooning and rocking beside him sent a shudder of deep penetrating frustation down his spine. It struck him that their wife swapping tricks had turned the tides: they had been out done for once by this young couple
"Oh God, Peter. That's nice! Stick your cock up my ass and fuck my cunt v ith your fingers," Joy groaned next to him.
Christ, he was doing it! Peter was skewering his wife up the ass! John's mind raged, his consciousness churning with the lewd thought of his own lover's husband ramming his cock into his wife's tightly clasping rectal passage, and again he sensed Pamela shift her weight, slowly undulating her thighs against his tensed hips. No! It was impossible, but he was gettin excited by the idea of the four of them here on the beach together! Without realizing it, he had forgotten that it was his own wife, he had forgotten that it was his own lover's husband who was bringing cries of pain and pleasure from her lust-contorted lips. It was just a wild, passion-driven woman writhing and twisting in the throes of the act of a coupling that was as old as the biblical story of Sodom himself! Then the image of Joy returned again to his mind: he had never done anything like that to her as she had been afraid of anal sex. But there was a twist to this that struck a cord of perversity in his being that could never have been touched by anything else: the prehistoric prohibition against copulation between mixed husbands and wives. The forbidden plundering of his wife's rectum by someone who married to his own lover sent a tingle of salacious desire through his groin. He felt his warmly throbbing cock ache and press against his lover's naked side grazing next to him, small droplets of cum beginning to ooze from the tip and wetting his lover's warm smooth skin. It jerked when he heard Joy's cries and pleading for further and further indignities to be heaped upon her, and he suppressed a deep groan within himself when he realized that he wanted to be fucking his wife's cunt while his lover's husband rammed his prick into her tight virginal asshole.
"Oh, Christ, Peter," Joy mewled only a few inches away from him. "God, your cock feels gooooood!"
Thee was silence for a moment, broken only by the heavy breathing coming from the side of the rock. Then there was a sound of thrashing sand and the soft sound of a naked body twisting around on it. The wetly skewering sounds continued with the heavy coarse male breathing becoming more and more excited by the minute. Peter was whispering things that John could not make out clearly but from their tone alone sounded lewd and forbidden. John suddenly heard his lover's husband gasp as though he were in pain, his voice breaking through the softly splashing waves; his voice was loud and clear so that John could not mistake their cruel sadistic meaning.
"Goddamn it, your asshole ... let me fuck it haaaaarder."
He couldn't stand it! An obscene lustful feeling gnawed at his groin and hardened his already blood-gorged cock into a boiling rod of hotly pulsating flesh that was compelled to fuck into his wife against every attempt of his will at resistance. He jerked his head up, sensing his lover rise with him to his right. He could see nothing but his imagination ran rampant; the low dim form of Joy's buttocks raising off the sand and the haunched figure of his lover's husband plunging into her tightly puckering behind, emerged clearly in his mind. She was not fighting it, and low softly muffled mewls drifted from her sputtering mouth.
"Oh, oh, oh, fuck me in the ass," a continuous low whine broken only by the obscene slap of Peter's heavy, sperm-filled balls on the naked flesh of her hungrily flexing buttocks.
John sat up. Forgotten was the fact that what he was about to do went against every last bit of moral fiber he possessed. All he knew was that he had never dreamed of such depravity -- and his wife was at the core of it. Her wild pleading mewls of passion were more than he could tolerate and he had to join this mad pillaging of her hotly writhing body and punish her himself! He slid over on the sand, suddenly coming into warm contact with the smooth flesh of her hip. He felt her body shudder slightly, then she turned toward him, still impaled in her rear channel by Peter's pummeling rod of flesh. He touched her tentatively just once, then dug his hands cruelly beneath the front of her waist buried in the sand, but she needed no urging. She angled and faced him on her side, her swaying breasts brushing softly against his chest. So heated was he by the moment, that he didn't even consider the threat of her anger, of the implications of him laying nude on the beach with another woman after his silent return.
"Oh John," she murmured as though waking from a deep dreamy sleep. "It's you . . . yes, fuck me in the front while Peter fucks me from behind. Put your cock in my cunt . . . I've always wanted to be fucked by two men at once like this."
He pulled his wife's face to his lips, his hand wrapped in her long cascading blue black hair. Her warm wet lips opened, her firey tongue spilling wetly into his mouth, while her hands shot down to his loins and clasped his long painfully throbbing cock in a lust vice-like grip. There was no need to jerk him into further hardness, but her hand played around the hard rubbery head of his cock for a few seconds, then began guiding it toward her desperately seething cuntal lips.
"Oh, yes. I want you in me at the same time," she breathed, working the hard blunt head of his heavily throbbing organ around the warm wet opening and flicking it with her fingers against her inflamed clitoris.
Good Christ, she felt hot and flooded up between her thighs, he realized as his cock made searing wet contact with his wife's groin. Again the thought of spurting his lewd sperm into her hungrily receiving belly while his lover's husband fucked into her from behind overcame all the reservations he had had about joining the couple like this. He gasped when her warmly teasing fingers slithered up the distended shaft and squeezed gently at the sensitive area just below the throbbing head. She rubbed it tantalizingly up and down for a moment, parting the softness of her black curling pubic hair with the tip, then coaxed him slowly forward. He let his hips move to the gentle tug until with a sudden groan that began in his stiffened calves the warm moist flesh of her cunt popped teasingly over the head like a tight fitting glove. He could feel the softness of the curly, soft lining of pubic hair brushing teasingly around it where it entered her.
The softly tingling fingers of lewd sensation that caressed at his loins and burst up through his muscles belly were too much to bear ... he could hold back no longer! He thrust forward, his cock flooding into his impaled wife like a tidal wave, tearing and bursting everything in its path, deeper and deeper until his balls smacked hard against his lover's husband's pressed tightly between her thighs. His hands reached convulsively out to her narrow hour-glass waist, coursing down to where it flared into broad well-formed hips, and held her tight so that she could not move.
Suddenly the camping flashlight was turned on. John glimpsed Pamela leaning down from the light source, perched on a rock, and she knelt only a few inches from Joy's head. One of Pamela's hads drifted down to her parted thighs, and she stretched her leg out so that it lay across Joy's head and fell gently over John's upper back. Then she pushed her fingers against the silky blonde hairs of her own cunt and began working them in short quick ovals over the moistly glistening cuntal lips. She, too, was incensed with the lewd sight of her lover fucking his wife in the cunt while her own husband rammed into her lover's wife's ass. Now Pamela's other hand massaged her own breast in wild circular motions as she fingered herself vicariously intime to the cruel buffeting of Joy's body between John and her husband.
"Oooooh, it looks so nice, your husband and my husband fucking you at the same time like that one in your cunt and one in your ass," Pamela moaned, looking down at the young woman's crazily flailing head.
"Yes, oh yes, my husband and you husband feel so good fucking me together," Joy answered in a low moan, her eyes burning up at Pamela's slightly parted cunt with her moistened fingers swirling lewdly around inside.
John continued his wild lust-incited thrusts into Joy's hot clasping cunt, sensing Peter increase his strokes into her rear passage. Slowly the rhythm of the two husbands began to coincide. They skewered into her in slapping unison, stabbing through he lavished loins as though she were a scarificial lamb being impaled at every end. Obscene incoherent oaths spilled uncontrollably from her contorted mouth and she lifted her head toward Pamela's finger filled pussy a few inches away from her, uring the girl to joins them in their embrace.
Pamela let out a deep earthly groan. She slid her hand from between her legs and let it fall over one of Joy's softly dancing breasts that pressed against John's heaving chest. Joy gritted her teeth as though to suppress the excess of lust ready to explode from inside of her at any moment.
"Yes. Oh . . . this is ... just . . . perfect. Squeeze my tit like that Pamela . . . fuck me ... fuck me harder."
The lewd picture was reflected in the lapping waves like a pornographic picture. The image of the two men was blurred in Joy's mind into one giant tormenting shaft and the sensuous female figure fondling her warmly tingling breasts seemed to become an extended vision of herself. God, she never knew that she could be driven to such depths of human debauchery! Bot Peter and John were driving through her with longer and stronger strokes now, their hotly plunging cocks buffeting simultaneously agains the thin membrane that separated her moist cunt walls from he flaming anal passage. Suddenly, she sensed Pamela's leg pressurize against her head, then she felt the girl pull herself down until her warm hair-lined furrow lay flat on the sand between John's and Joy's faces. John moved his head to the side, splurging out his tongue and licking the moistly dilating lips of Pamela's cunt only an inch or so away from Joy's ecstatically gaping eyes. The moistly glistening sheath was laid out in tempting ravishment for Joy's lips, and she shifted her head over her husband's lover's thigh so that it lay like a pillow beneath her neck. She dropped her head and kissed John on the lips, then turned and nudged her face into the thin vertical mouth of Pamela's gently parting cuntal cleft. She licked upwards, parting the glistening pink flanges and her tongue lashed out at the exposed erect clitoris, bringing forth a savage mewling groan from Pamela, who hunkered down and twisted her buttocks around like a depraved animal above.
Suddenly Peter, fucking into her from behind, increased the momentum of his strokes. He plunged like a madman into the rubbery tightness of Joy's anal cavity, watching as husband and wife licked and kissed at his wife's smootly gyrating cunt, and the vision spurred him into a made fury of quick grinding thursts into his lover's tightly sucking rectum. He groaned over and over again, his lips working crazily and incoherent mutterings spitting from between tightly clenched teeth. This was too much for him! It was beyond what a normal man could take! He felt his hot cum juice building in his balls and stiffening his cock to the near bursting point, but he held off, waiting for the last possible moment when he could spew out his semen as the four of them reached orgasm together.
"Oh lick me, suck me, you two suck my cunt," Pamela chanted feverishly from above John and Joy.
"Yes . . . this is what I-I want . . . it's like we're all married to each other . . . we're, Oh God, fucking together!"
And then it came!
Peter, unable to contain himself any longer, groaned and coughed like a rutting animal and locked his arms around Joy's insanely writhing belly, his hand squeezing the soft flaccid flesh into random crazy shaped beneath his fingers. His lips bared back and he could not close them. His breath came in short stuttered explosive blasts that crackled obscenely throughout the cove, resounding off the cliffs behind them. He stared up at Pamela's pleasure contorted face, then his gaze drifted to John and Joy's lips sucking at his wife's lewdly parted cunt. He lurched. He tore at Joy's ass-cheeks, stretching the twin moons wide apart and watching his long white cock disappear through the warmly cupping spheres of her buttocks.
"Jesus Christ," he muttered. "Christ!"
Joy could sense Peter's climax building. She wormed her buttocks in a gently but firmly nudging motion until she felt the entire length of his hotly pulsating member lodged to the hitl in her anus with only a small bit from the base protruding from the tight elastic hole. Then she thrust her buttocks more strongly back against his loins, and he shoved forward with a mighty jolt that almost tore through the walls of her hotly quivering belly and shuddered his hot thick cum in wave after wave deep up into the depths of her hungrily sucking rectum.
John, on the other side of her gyrating body, trembled with revulsion as he felt the first waves of the hot white liquid coming out of the depths of her behind. God, his lover's husband must be a reservoir of sperm! he thought with wild masochistic glee and ceased his movements momentarily. It flooded down the crevice of her wide-split buttocks and trickled onto his loins, and for the moment he was ready to shove their two heaving bodies away from him out until he remembered that it was he who started it all. At the same time, Joy screamed her own release that gushed now from her cunt, drenching his cock pressed tightly against the spewing opening. It mixed with Peter's in a single stream of thick viscous fluid, wetting his thighs and attesting to the animal joy of their unnatural coupling.
"Oh, harder John, fuck my pussy harder, don't stop, harder," Joy squealed, feeling her body beginning to convulse. She clawed at his hips with her fingernails, until he rammed against her with the full force of his weight, springing back and shoving his groins against her agina and again like a snapping rubber band. Never had she known there was so much pleasure from sex, from anything on earth, never had she realized that if only she'd included John in her escapades it would have added to his joy. He could feel it, not just fantasize and write about it. She bent forward, not wanting to miss a stroke of the powerful fucking cock in her cunt, no longer remembering it was John her own husband or even caring who it belonged to. It was a long thick cock and that's all the counted, her mind blazed obscenely. Nothing mattered but the pleasure enveloping the whole of her being, heaving through her body and bucking her about like a ship in violent seas. "Yessssss! Yesssss . . . I'm cummmmmmmming!" she yelled from between clenched teeth and thrust her face forward into Pamela's steaming throbbing cunt lips.
Pamela lurched forward uncontrollably at the forceful contact, automatically reaching down to lock her hands behind Joy's head and press her face hard into her loins, swirling her belly over the tongue rotating maddeningly, inside her and moaning and crooning out of her orgasm.
John rocked back and forth mechanically into his wife, his cock sluicing through her still covulsing vagina and his mouth buried in Pamela's warmly trembling thighs that were wet and musky smelling with her cum juice. Inspite of the excitement of the moment, unpleasant thoughts raced through his mind; revulsion and fear chilled his blood at the thought of their unnatural coupling. He felt dazed, it just couldn't be true, although all the while the, lascivious tingling in his loins grew and pushed him closer to his orgasm. He closed his eyes to lock out the sight of their three exhausted bodies that still quivered in the last sensuous throes of subsiding orgasm and felt his hotly pumping balls erupt wildly. His mouth opened wide with a loud unrestrained "aaarrgh!" as she felt his lewdly pumping sperm fill her clasping and unclasping cunt with a great rush. Then he closed his mind to everything but the insane race of pleasure that jerked the sperm from his churning balls down his cock like rain water rushing through a conduit in hot spasmodic spurts that seemed to be without end.
He slid to the sand. Everything was quiet except for the slapping of the waves and an occasional gasp of the lovers. Moments iater he blinked open his eyes to find the scene still as strange and unreal as it had seemed in the emotion-torn seconds before his orgasm. His lover's husband's body bent heaving over his wife's back, his hands cupping at each breast and Joy was smiling at him, thinly through the straining light of the nearly exhausted battery camp light.
Later, Joy directed them in weird and perverse combinations which neither Pamela or Peter thought possible. But they proved to be fast learning students as they coupled and groped with their lovers like lewd figures from a pornography movie. It was a night none of them would soon forget.
CHAPTER EIGHT
"Some show you put on last night, Pamela, darling," said Peter with a broad grin on his face. He nestled up closer to the warm-smelling flesh of his wife molded his naked body to fit the contours of her flesh.
"Me?" she laughed teasingly. "Me?" she said, rolling over on her back. "Seems as if you had a pretty good time yourself."
"I did," answered Peter still smiling. "But I've been thinking about it, and I think we should put limits on this kind of extracurricular activity, if you know what I mean."
"Huh?" Pamela yawned.
"Seems like a waste of time. No ..." he halted to think. "Sure it's fun and all that, but do you really think we need the Pearson's to make our vacation fun?"
She looked at his handsomely formed face. "No, I don't."
"What do you say, then. How 'bout leaving this, this wife-swapping stuff for vacations and at home you and I and Daniel'll get it on over hot milk and cookies."
She hugged him tightly. "Agreed."
"That aside," started Peter, "what would you like to do today?"
"How about going fishing?" she said, stretching his sunburned arms over her head in a lengthy stretch.
"Fishing?"
"Yeah. I know a place where you can catch blue fish, angel fish, even mermaids," she smiled, winking in unmistakable invitation to her smiling husband.
