"Well, my lovely wife, here we are in one of the finest French restaurants in the city," John Whitmore commented to his lovely wife. "Do you know what you'd like yet?"
Penny's pert face peered out from behind the huge menu. "I dunno," she said.
"Well, can I suggest something?"
"What?"
"Perhaps some pate de foie gras to begin with . . ."
Penny shook her lovely head and her glistening red lips formed themselves into a grimace of displeasure. "Oh, not liver," she protested. "I just can't stand liver, it makes me want to throw up."
John shuddered. Jesus Christ, did she have to express it in just that way? He knew how she felt about liver, lots of people did, but they were more polite about their feelings at least! But John said nothing to his wife.
They had gone through too many unpleasant scenes after he had made some attempt to smooth her rough edges. It never did any good, the edges remained as ragged as before, and only lead to more of the mutual dissatisfaction they felt towards one another. He thought for a moment of suggesting caviar, but remembered only too well her reaction to that. "Fish eggs, yuk!" Which was true in a sense, although he considered them one of the great delicacies of the world.
John had to say something to his wife, that was obvious. They couldn't just sit there across the table, staring at one another in silence. He called the waiter and ordered onion soup, then handed him back the menu.
With a false bright smile, he took a sip of the fine red wine and asked: "Well, my dear, did you like the play tonight?"
Penny let forth a raucous laugh that grated on John's nerves and made others near them in the restaurant turn and stare. "Trash," she said.
"That's what it was."
John stared at her in silence. How on earth could she have said such a thing? Didn't she understand the significance of the play? The subtle beauties of it, the profound depths of feeling, the startling ideas?
Apparently not. But he knew he could never explain them to her and so he merely said at last, "Why do you say that, Penny?"
"Because there were those garbage cans on stage," she answered emphatically. "That's why."
This time John felt obliged to protest. "But garbage cans on stage don't make the whole play 'trash' as you so elegantly express it." There was just a hint of irony in his voice.
"It does to me," Penny said, shrugging her lovely shoulders and turning to stare around the room. "Oh, look," she said suddenly, pointing to a couple who had just come in and were now being seated against the other wall. Once again John blanched. Why did she have to point at people? He saw that others, attracted by her strident voice, were in turn staring at his wife.
"Yes, Penny," he said quietly. "Look at what?"
"That woman over there. Did you ever see such an awful dress in your life?"
John closed his eyes, wishing that he could disappear. Why, why did Penny always have to make such a spectacle of herself? He answered the question himself. Because that was the way she was; there was no other explanation. And there was no way to change her, either. He knew that from long experience. And then the other question, the basic question that nagged at him came to his mind. Why had he married her? The answer to that, he supposed, was that he just didn't know any better.
She had been the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, that night when he had first set eyes on her at the old Dewitt Theater. She was in the chorus, third from the end, as he still remembered, and he had sucked in his breath in awe at her loveliness when she first danced onto the stage. And he had to admit that he hadn't taken his eyes off her all evening!
Penny didn't really dance well, he thought now, although she certainly moved with an exquisite grace. But to John Whitmore, still in college, she represented a whole new world of excitement and intrigue.
She was alive, vibrant, her world, the real one, he had thought. The university, where he was a senior, with its shaded walks, its discreet and even modest red brick buildings, its musty books arranged on the shelves of the huge library was remote, unreal, dead compared to her. That first night he had seen Penny, John had had a date with a wealthy debutante who was studying art, and he'd not had the courage to ditch her in order to go backstage and meet the lovely brunette chorus girl.
But he'd bought a single ticket for the next night's performance and had hurried around to the stage door immediately after, only to find that someone else had got there first.
But, John had gone back a third time, and his persistence was rewarded. He not only met this gorgeous creature but took her out to a late dinner after the play. He was dazzled by her beauty. Her skin was like alabaster, white and smooth as marble. Her features were finely chiseled, her big blue eyes set wide apart in her lovely face. Her nose was, perfect, that was all . . . and her lovely lips parted to show a row of equally perfect teeth. And her figure was absolutely breathtaking!
She had firm high breasts that her chorus girl costume, and later the low-cut dress she wore showed off to the fullest advantage. Her waist was tiny and flared into firmly rounded hips and thighs. And her legs, even now John caught his breath at the thought of them, her legs were superb, the best he had ever seen; long and slim and tapering into curves that were simply indescribable!
So John had been dazzled. He had sat and stared at the raven-haired beauty, ignoring both what she said and how she expressed it.
She was perfection, at least in appearance, and that was enough for him.
He pursued her ardently, and in spite of the objections of his aristocratic family, he offered her marriage.
When Penny accepted, the two hurried off to a Justice of the Peace; when they emerged from his dingy office, she was Mrs. John Stewart-Linden Whitmore IV. After a brief honeymoon and an even briefer visit to John's parents, who were not in the least impressed by their new daughter, Penny went back to the chorus line, and John went back to school.
Somehow he managed to get through the rest of the year, seeing Penny as often as possible, and he even managed to pass his exams and graduate with the rest of his class. He refused to go into his father's firm, though, and found a job on his own, while Penny quit hers. They took a small apartment and lived happily, blissfully, ideally, not ever after but for a few months, anyway. And then, in spite of all of Penny's considerable charms, John began to get bored . . . very bored.
Oh, God! She was still great in bed and just thinking of Penny even at work was enough to send shivers up and down his spine, make his young cock lurch with passion and swell beneath the tight cloth of his trousers until he was embarrassed to stand up to greet a client. He would hurry home after work to find her waiting, dinner on the table. They let it grow cold, never noticing, while they headed for the bedroom, John stripping off his own clothes while they went, pulling off Penny's once they were inside it.
She helped, wriggling out of her short, skintight dress that had already revealed her ripe young breasts, the sensuous curves of her undulating buttocks. And then he would slip his hand beneath the soft nylon mesh of her brassiere, fumbling clumsily with the fastening at the back of it with his other hand, until at last he pulled the two ends free and the quivering mounds of her milk-white breasts sprang forth.
He would run his hands down her soft warm flesh then, down to the waistband of her little panties, hook them beneath it and ease them down over her throbbing hips and thighs. And then she would stand before him, naked and lovely, sending shock waves of passion to rock his body . .
. after he had pushed her down on the bed, he would hover over her, his body alive with the excitement that was almost electric. He would fuck her then, his thick hard cock ploughing deep up into her warmly clasping little vagina. At last, satisfied, surfeited, exhausted, they would fall asleep . . .
but it gradually dawned on John that at other times his life with Penny was as dull as dishwater. He found her friends impossible, their interests limited to local gossip and the cost of their clothes. He tried to start conversations with them, tried to discuss the latest political scandal, the state of the world, the question of war or peace. But they merely shrugged, uncomprehending.
He brought home the newest books, hoping that she would at least glance at them, that they could at least talk about those. But it was hopeless, as hopeless as their visits to the theater or to fashionable foreign movies. And as for museums! John gave up on those at almost the beginning of his marriage.
Even now, sitting across from Penny at their table in the restaurant, he blushed at the memory of the night they had gone to an opening of an art show at one of the top modern galleries in the city. He himself had been enthralled at the work of a new young painter, at the broad brush strokes in bright colors across the stretched canvases, the lights and shadows and shadings. But Penny had laughed, had opened that perfect little mouth of hers and let loose a howl of derision that had shriveled John's skin.
"What is it?" she had demanded, pointing at a picture. "What's it supposed to be?"
John had had no plausible answer and had only been aware of the amused glances of the others in the gallery. They had left hurriedly, with Penny complaining all the way home that her evening was ruined. "Why do we have to rush off?" she had repeated over and over. "Why? Are you ashamed of me or something? Is that it?"
"No," John had assured her. "No, not at all," And he hadn't been.
But he had wished -oh, so devoutly -that she could learn something, meet him on his own level, could talk to him! But she hadn't, and she still couldn't.
He glanced across the table at her now, watched as she sipped her soup. He wished to God he could think of something to say to his wife, wished to God she would think of something to say to him. But nothing happened, and they ate in silence.
Finally, when they were both well into their canard a I 'orange , he again brought up the subject of the play they had seen. "I thought the man who played the lead tonight was pretty good, didn't you?"
But Penny's mind was far away, across the room again. "Oh look, John! That woman over there! She's wearing a dress just like the one I almost bought the other day."
John Whitmore gave up at last, watching his still beautiful wife as he chewed thoughtfully on his steak. There was no point in talking to her, he realized. There was only one thing they had in common. And for that they might as well go home. He waited patiently until Penny had finished the chocolate mousse she had ordered, God, how could she eat things like that and keep her fabulous figure? Then he paid the bill, and they left.
They had nothing to say to one another in the taxi, nothing to say to one another when they reached their large and luxurious home. In the living room John at last suggested a night-cap and poured a brandy for himself and Penny. "Cheers!" he toasted, holding his glass out to hers.
"Oh, cheers, John. Cheers!" Penny tipped her glass and drained it.
"I'm going to bed," she announced then. "You coming up?"
"In a minute, Penny."
He watched her as she turned and went out of the room, and a thrill went through him in spite of everything. She might be dull and depressing to be with, and she was, he admitted, and she was, but oh, God! Just the sight of her softly undulating buttocks, her long slim legs as she crossed the room was enough to excite him, to make his penis stiffen and throb, his loins ache with desire for her.
John took another drink, pouring it into his glass with a trembling hand, and sipped at it. It felt warm going down and good. He put the glass down, thinking of Penny upstairs in the bedroom. He heard the shower running then and imagined his wife standing beneath the streaming, steaming water, imagined her soaping her voluptuous body, lingering over her ripe full breasts, touching the tiny buds of her nipples, teasing them until they stood erect. And then her hands would wander down to the small triangle of curls there at the base of her belly, parting them, parting the hair-lined lips of her soft pink pussy . . .
The sound of the water running stopped at last and John took another drink, tossing it off quickly. And then, already unbuttoning his shirt, he headed for Penny's bedroom.
She was standing before the mirror wearing a nightgown so transparent she might have had nothing on at all. Through it John saw the warm glow of her soft white flesh, the fullness of her magnificent breasts, the cock-stirring curves of her hips and thighs.
He stepped forward, seizing her by the shoulders, digging his fingers sharply into the soft flesh, spinning her around to crush his chest against her until the hard little tips of her nipples seemed to bite into his own flesh. His hands slid down her back, trailing across it, ruffling the thin material of her crepe de chine nightgown as it went. Suddenly he bent down and seized the hem of the flimsy garment, lifting it high above her quivering ass-cheeks.
Now he placed his palms on each of the two round half melons, cupping them to pull her close to him. His loins crushed against her pelvis and his straining cock lurched again inside his pants, sending bolts of lightning-like fire coursing through his blood.
"Take this off," he commanded suddenly, his voice hoarse with his rising passion. He tugged again at the fragile fabric of the nightgown, almost tearing it.
"No!" Penny protested, and a sudden chill struck his heart. Oh, Christ! She was going to be coy tonight, play hard to get, just at the time when his own loins were on fire, his penis already rigid with lewd lust.
Tonight of all nights! Didn't the woman understand anything?
"Take if off!" he ordered, his eyes narrowing in anger, his lips twitching cruelly.
"No," she teased.
"Damn it all . . .!" His hand shot out to seize one narrow shoulder strap and then he wrenched at it. There was the sibilant sound of ripping silk and then the gown fell in shreds to the floor.
"Oh, now look at what you've done!" Penny wailed. "Just look!"
But John merely shrugged, then began to tear at his own clothes, pulling his shirt off and dropping it on the floor, unbuckling his belt, unzipping his trousers and dropping them to the floor, stepping quickly out of them. And then his shorts came off, releasing at last his thickly swollen cock that already jutted, rigid as a pole, from his aching loins.
He stood facing her, his eyes roving lewdly over his raven-haired wife's nakedly trembling body, stopping first at her voluptuous breasts, then descending over the slight swell of her belly, down to the sparse triangle of dark pussy hair there at the base of it.
They ran the length of her lovely legs, her slim ankles. And then he reached out to her, swooped her up and dropped her unceremoniously onto the large double bed.
"Oh, John," she whimpered. "What on earth did you do that for?"
There was a hint of fear in her eyes, a glint of shock. She gasped, covering her mouth and then demanded, "John, what are you going to do?"
"I'm going to fuck you," he said suddenly, ashamed of using the obscenity and yet aware that it was one of the few things his wife would understand. "I'm going to fuck you, Penny, until you scream . . . fuck you silly . . ."John!"
Oh, God! He hated himself for this . . . hated treating his wife this way. But goddamn it, she had asked for it! She'd begged for it, hadn't she?
So she'd get what she wanted, what was coming to her! He dropped to the bed beside her, stretching the full length of his body out alongside hers. He turned his head, then fastened his hot mouth over hers almost brutally. His tongue shot out, prodding at her warm and glistening lips, prying them open at last. And then it sank deep within, while Penny gasped for breath.
She flinched a little as his hands moved down to her heavy swollen breasts and began to knead them, his thumbs stroking the small buds of her nipples, coaxing them again into taut and stiff erections. He went on, rubbing the jewel-hard tips between his thumbs and forefingers now, while Penny whimpered in fearful delight. He was hurting her, she thought with a wave of self-pity. Hurting her! It was just like him . . . the bastard!
Then, he lifted his head, staring scornfully at his wife for a long moment. An instant later he had flicked it forward again, and now his mouth closed over one upright, button-like nipple and his tongue laved it voluptuously. He began to suck on it, nibbling at it delicately, while Penny stiffened against her husband's uncaring assault.
His hand trailed the length of her belly again, making Penny moan in frightened anticipation. She hadn't wanted it to be like this - hadn't wanted it at all!
She felt an irrepressible excitement as he traced the soft curves of her vulnerable body, but it was mixed with anger, too. And then, as John's hands moved along the line of golden belly fuzz that ended in the strands of silken pubic hair there between her legs, she squirmed beneath him. He reached the warm moist slit of her cuntal lips at last, running his middle finger up and down along the tender hair-lined flesh, probing it as his tongue had probed and pried at her mouth before.
Penny jerked back involuntarily at his touch, wanting her husband and yet at the same time denying him -feeling the need to deny him.
There was a sudden sharp pang as his middle finger snaked deep in between the fleshy outer lips of her pussy, working its way upward into her narrow cuntal channel, and she sucked in her breath. And then as she felt him finger-fucking deep up into her open cunt, she relaxed, lying back to enjoy the thrills of pleasure that seemed to wash over her. In spite of herself, in spite of her resentment of the way in which he was taking her.
Why the hell did he have to act so damned superior? She let herself reach out to take his desire-stiffened penis in her small and slender hand, letting her fingers curl around it, massaging it gently, pulling the foreskin back.
He groaned in pleasure, encouraging her to tickle her fingernails over the smooth rubbery head, to draw them beneath the aching shaft, to tease her fingertip around the tiny parted hole at the tip. And then she cradled his smooth sperm-laden balls in the palms of her hands. But once again, the brunette former chorus girl stiffened in resistance to her husband. Damn him! she thought. He was treating her like a whore, acting as if she wasn't as good as he was! Well, she was, and she would show him!
She began to move beneath him, pretending that she enjoyed it, just the way a whore might have. She writhed and turned as he continued to work his finger into her wet and smoothly throbbing passage. He withdrew it then, with a soft lewd sucking sound, and once more as his hands were all over her, clutching and squeezing at her soft, sensitive flesh.
Abruptly he rolled over between her thighs, and his hand shot down to stroke briefly at the moistened flesh there before he spread her legs wide apart. He hovered over her then, the blunt bulbous head of his fleshy shaft poised above the tender lips of her vagina. With his middle finger he found her clitoris and began stroking maddeningly at it, sending unwanted excitement shooting through his wife's still resistant body.
John began to massage the tiny nub with the lust-hardened tip of his swollen penis. "I'm going to fuck you tonight like you've never been fucked before," he said crudely. And then, as a cruel afterthought, he added, "at least not by me!"
Penny shuddered at the implications -oh, God! She had been faithful to John! She had! And once more her resentment of him rose to overwhelming proportions. What a bastard, she thought! What a bastard!
She tensed once again, resisting him just as his lust-bloated penis pressed brutally hard against the small elastic opening of her little cunt. He lunged forward with all his might and his iron-hard penis plunged through the taut little ring of flesh, plunged up deep into the narrow channel of her cunt.
Penny half-screamed, squirming as if she had just been impaled on the sword of some barbarian. "Don't . . . Don't . . . oh, God . . ."
But John was beyond caring. He thrust once more, ploughing deeper, and Penny recoiled, feeling as if her cunt were being torn to bits.
She wasn't ready . . . she didn't want it to be this way!
But there was nothing she could do. She felt his huge cock plunging in to the hilt, felt as if it would split her helpless little belly in two. Oh, Jesus! She thought he had reached the limit, but he was still pushing deeper, forcing the warm, yet unreceptive walls of her vagina in rolling waves before his throbbing thick penis.
"Oh, John!" Penny moaned. "John!"
"John who?"
"Oh . . . Oh . . ."
"Oh, fuck, Penny . . ." And once again he lunged forward, once again ploughed deep up between her narrowly clasping cuntal walls. His rock-hard penis smacked against her cervix this time, bringing a muffled scream from her tightly compressed lips. And then she suddenly took fire, set aflame by this invasion of her soft moist vagina. She was sore and burning, but somehow vibrantly alive in spite of the pain. She squirmed her buttocks down into the mattress as John sawed his blood-engorged penis roughly in and out, and she squirmed and thrashed beneath him. A low moan escaped her lips, a slight whimper of pain.
John ignored it, fucking forward again, feeling the smooth sheath of her clasping cuntal walls cradle his raging cock. He groaned in his own excitement, and then at last his balls slapped hard against her whitely rounded ass-cheeks as his aching cock sank to unplumbed depths.
A shock of sudden pain, cruel and unexpected, shot through Penny, and she twisted on the bed beneath him in an effort to escape it, but John only thrust harder, impaling his wife on his thick hard cock, skewering her like an animal on a spit. Staring down at her, he felt a surge of sadistic pride in subjugating his woman in this way. Christ, he thought, it was the only thing she was good for!
He ground his loins deep into her quivering flesh, and then Penny strained back under him, her own loins arching upward to meet him and then to match his deep and vigorous thrusts. Her mouth was open now and her head flailed from side to side as her lust-inflamed husband buffeted her about in his desperate passion.
Penny moaned ceaselessly beneath his pounding body, almost, but not quite, enjoying the pain, the humiliation to which she was being subjected. And then she realized with a shudder of horror that John had reached under her between her buttocks and was drawing his middle finger up along the now wet crevice there. Oh God, no! she thought. He wasn't going to. . . he couldn't . . . he wouldn't . . .
But suddenly he found the tiny little opening of her anus, moistened by the warm wet rivulet seeping from her cock-spread pussy, and he probed at it experimentally for a moment. He pushed hard and felt the tight nether ring give way, while his finger slid in up to the first knuckle.
Penny's body contracted in a spasm of excruciating pain and she screamed, "Oh God. it hurts . . . it hurts!"
A flicker of a smile played across John Whitmore's lips at her anguished outburst. Good! he thought. Great! He thrust again, sinking his finger in still another inch.
Penny screamed again, but in spite of her pain she began to move against his finger as it rotated around in the warm fleshy depths of her rectum. Through the thin membrane separating the two passages, he could feel his cock sliding in and out of her pulsating vagina, and he began to fuck into both ravaged passages in a quickening rhythm, his strokes longer now, faster, deeper.
Once again Penny screamed and the sound was music to John's ears. He could feel his cock growing, burgeoning deep up inside his wife's quivering belly, could feel the tension mounting in his sperm-bloated balls that smacked against her upturned buttocks. Oh God! He was near the end -near his final explosion that would send the ultimate joy shooting through him when at last he emptied his sperm deep up inside his wife's belly! And he knew that Penny, too -in spite of her pain, her resistance to his fucking he was inflicting on her -was about to cum. Her face was contorted with her lust, her eyes half closed, but filmed with her passion.
In a sudden involuntary movement, her legs jackknifed up tight., and she pressed her knees back against her breasts until the whole of her moist vaginal slit was offered up to her husband for his complete pleasure.
She locked her ankles over his shoulders now, still squirming beneath his pounding body, his thrusting cock. And then she let out a long low wail, and he felt his own climax as his white-hot sperm shot the length of his rigid member to spew forth into the farthest depths of her cock-filled belly.
Her own orgasmic fluids seeped forth then, bathing his pumping cock in their warm moisture and the two rocked back and forth together, their minds blank, their bodies all but consumed with their ecstasy . . .
then, it was over at last, their one act of togetherness. John withdrew his now deflating penis and rolled over to Penny's side, breathing heavily. He sighed, knowing that he had hurt his wife, and knowing that he would be ashamed of it later. But for the moment he was satisfied, as satisfied and contented as Penny was . . . * * * John Whitmore sat before the huge expanse of his modem desk and moved his silver fountain pen languidly across the smoothly polished surface. From one corner of the desk a photo of his wife Penny stared reprovingly at him from its large, solid silver frame. He glanced away, reluctant to meet her eyes, even from this reasonable facsimile of his wife.
Oh, Christ! He'd been rotten to her the night before. Rotten! What a bastard he was!
Not that she hadn't asked for it, he thought, trying to assuage his conscience. Not that she hadn't asked for it! She had!
But had she? He shook his head, wondering. Was it really her fault? Really her fault that the two had nothing in common any more? He shook his head again. He didn't know; he just didn't know.
But he had known, back when he first met Penny, that there was a world of difference in their lifestyles. Their backgrounds were so wide apart that that alone would almost make a successful marriage impossible.
But in those days he had found her ignorance part of her charm. And he had to admit that he'd been certain he could change her; had been certain that eventually she would accept his values and strive to attain them.
It was there, he knew now, that he had gone wrong. Even if it had been possible to change Penny, for the better, he still insisted, even if it had been, had he the right to try? No, he concluded at last, he hadn't. If he loved Penny, and he was still certain that he had, he should have accepted her as she was . . . but he'd not been willing to do that. He'd had to try reforming her, changing her, polishing her. He shrugged. Live and learn, he thought. Live and learn.
Again, John Whitmore picked up the silver pen and tapped the desk reflectively with it. He had learned nothing, he decided. And, as for living, how could he live without Penny? The answer to that was obvious.
He couldn't.
On the other hand, he couldn't live with her. And so here he was, sitting behind his fancy polished desk from which he directed the destinies of hundreds, unable to control his own life.
His mind wandered back to those early days when he had first met Penny, to that first night she had gone with him to a hotel. He'd been a student then, living in one of the colleges at his university, spied upon, he had always thought, by the housemasters. Taking Penny back to his room had been out of the question. But there were plenty of small hotels around and they had gone to one of those.
John still remembered how he had quaked when they had registered as Mr. and Mrs. Lindley, how he had signed his name with a flourish, even so. He remembered the scornfully curved lip of the bellboy who took them to their room, his amused glance as he asked for their luggage. They had none, of course, and John invented some wild excuse to explain the lack, knowing all the time that no one on earth would believe him, but it didn't matter in the least. They reached the small drab room at last. He tipped the boy handsomely and sighed with relief when they at last were left alone.
As the door closed behind him, Penny's arms went up around John's neck and she pressed her voluptuous body tightly against his. John felt the excitement that it generated . . . oh, Christ! It was like being plugged into an electrical current, and he shivered almost in shock . . . and then mashed his lips against hers. Her tongue flicked out to taunt him, to press between his lips and swirl around his own, and then he kissed her back, his own tongue sliding deep into her mouth.
"Nervous?" Penny asked solicitously, and he wondered how many times she had done this before, how many other young men she had accompanied to dingy hotels in this part of town. Or had she gone with older men, business tycoons like his father, to the luxurious establishments in the center of the city? He didn't know and he quite honestly didn't care.
Nothing mattered at the moment but the fact that the, two were together and that in a moment he would fuck the beautiful chorus girl for the first time.
"Nervous?" Penny repeated, and this time John shook his head.
Why should he be, he thought, unless his old man were to find out? But that would hardly be possible, and anyway, even if he did, it wouldn't be too terrible. He would make a scene, of course, shouting and threatening and blustering about, swearing, of course, that John would be cut off without a penny of his father's fortune. But, damn it all, the young student thought, it would be worth even that just to be with Penny for one night!
Penny didn't really believe him. She smiled, though, and suggested that John needed a drink. "Me too," she added.
"Yes, but . . ." The young man scarcely had the courage to call room service, and for the moment he didn't see any other possibility. But Penny had thought of that and, like a good scout, had come prepared. She opened her capacious. handbag and pulled out a silver flask, opened it and poured a drink for John into the bathroom tumbler.
The young college student sipped at it gratefully, then held the tumbler out to Penny and watched her as she finished off the drink. They shared another, and then, relaxed and happy, John watched the voluptuous girl he had brought up here as she undressed. She did it gracefully, unselfconsciously, without the slightest trace of lewdness. Her short, form-fitting dress came first, eased off her shoulders to slide down over her full wide hips and then to the floor.
John gasped as she stood before him in her little black bikini panties and her black brassiere. Oh God! It was the most exciting, the most sensual thing he'd ever seen, with Penny's pure white skin set off against the sheer black cloth of her underclothes! As she turned her back to him to pick up the dress from the floor, he felt his cock lurch and harden beneath his pants. Oh God! She was beautiful . . . beautiful! He stared open-mouthed at the full rounded spheres of her buttocks, then gasped as the sheer black nylon strip of her panties tightened between her firm full thighs, then slipped into the furrow between her quivering ass-cheeks, making him swallow hard with lust . . . and then, quickly and just as gracefully, she released the hooks of her bra at the center of her back and slipped the straps off her shoulders, then eased her panties down over her firm white hips and thighs.
She stood before John then, a vision of naked loveliness. Her magnificent breasts were full and voluptuously high-set, their nipples little pointed buds that sent chills of desire rippling through him Her lust-inciting curves were absolutely breathtaking, and John could only stare, his eyes almost popping from their sockets. Oh, God! God! God!
He was still staring, open-mouthed, gaping in unabashed admiration when Penny moved toward him, hands outstretched. "Now you!" she said, giving him a smile that made him tremble uncontrollably.
A moment later she had unbuckled his belt, opened the waist and unzipped his trousers. Then she slipped her slender hand beneath the rough material and maneuvered his already hard and lurching penis out into the open. She began to massage it gently, stroking it, drawing the heavy foreskin up and down. Oh God! It was setting him on fire, making him burn like a stack of dry logs, and the desire-crazed student knew he couldn't wait much longer! He moved away, tearing at his own clothes, pulling them off clumsily, frantically, and then at last he stood before Penny, as naked as she was. She smiled seductively at him and moved over to the bed, quickly throwing back the bedspread and the covers, then dropping to it to stretch out invitingly.
A moment later John was on the bed with her, his hot and hungry lips pressed to hers, his tongue darting deep into the warm cavern of her mouth. His hands explored her lovely body, throbbing now with the excitement she could no longer suppress, and he cupped her swollen breasts, kneading them, teasing the hard little button-like nipples between his thumbs and forefingers.
Penny moved up against him, her thigh against his loins, making his aching penis swell and harden until it felt as hard as iron. He pressed it almost savagely against the chorus girl's nakedly writhing body, searching and finding the hair-fringed split of her cuntal lips, then hovering there, ready to plough deep up inside her belly . . . Almost by reflex, Penny spread her legs wider, opening her loins fully to the young man.
A wave of shocked pleasure surged through John as he gazed down at the softly palpitating lips, at the tiny bud of her clitoris enfolded within them. He sucked in his breath, then let it out suddenly as she reached down to take his hard thick cock and guide it to the moist little opening of her vagina.
With a sudden lunge, John drove his throbbing penis deep into the quivering orifice, sending it far up between the moistly clasping walls that seemed to encase it the way a scabbard sheathes a sword. Oh, Jesus! It was so good . . . so good! He'd known it would be, but never imagined it would really be like this! He groaned and began thrusting wildly, his long aching cock plunging all the way up into her warm tight cunt.
Penny whimpered with joy at his pounding assault against her moist warm flesh, twisting beneath him to give him even greater access to her warm soft belly, taking the blood-engorged head of his cock into the cock-hungry depths of her secret flesh.
As it crashed against her cervix, she let out a soft wail of delight that incited young John to even greater efforts, set off little explosions of pure and simple joy in his blood. Oh God! Penny was good! The sight of her, the very idea of her lying beneath him, subject to his will and impaled on his own lust-thickened cock, gave him a sense of power he had never known before. She was his, he knew, to fuck at will!
And then, almost as if she could read his thoughts, Penny whimpered, "Oh, John! For God's sake. Fuck me . . . fuck harder, John.
Harder!"
He lunged forward again and again, sawing in and out now while she thrashed beneath him, raising her loins to meet his plunges, falling back, grinding her softly undulating buttocks deep into the mattress.
Suddenly, she strained up against him and her legs shot out to twine around his naked back, her heels digging hard into his flesh. She began to move with him, matching the ever-increasing rhythm of his thrusts, mewling with ecstatic joy.
It seemed to John that he would explode from the pressures building inexorably in his aching loins, deep in his throbbing cock, in his sperm-bloated testicles which now swung against the small unprotected orifice of her anus. Penny gripped him tighter still as her face contorted in her lust and passion. She clenched her teeth, moaning through them, and John knew then that she too was approaching her climax.
Suddenly, her shrill wail split the air -oh, my God! I'm cumming . . . I'm cumming . . ." Her head flailed from side to side, like a flower bobbing on its stem. And then her body tensed and held for a full long moment. It happened then . . .
John felt the soft warm moistures that gushed forth from her still clasping cuntal walls, felt them bathe his aching cock lovingly. And then his own seething hot sperm, boiling in his balls, at last shot forward, spurting the length of his lust-hardened penis and spilling over into Penny's still wildly sucking vagina . . .
It was over at last, his thick cock milked dry and beginning to deflate. In a surfeit of ecstasy, he rolled over at last to lie beside the lovely satiated body of his chorus girl. And then the two of them had fallen asleep in each other's arms.
Sitting at his desk, glancing uncomfortably at the picture of his wife framed on it, John Whitmore remembered it all. He'd been young then, the world had been his oyster, and Penny had been the pearl he'd stumbled across. But that was over now, and he thought with a twinge of distaste of the way he had possessed her the night before, fucking her brutally, cruelly, knowing he was hurting her and, oh Christ, wanting to, even! He dropped his head to his hands, feeling the throbbing at his temples. They seemed to beat out a rhythmic tattoo that would drive him mad unless he found some way to stop it. And his marriage was like that too, he thought. He couldn't go on like this much longer, and neither could Penny. And yet, he couldn't bear the thought of leaving her. No, he thought, shaking his head sadly, that was no solution with her. He couldn't live without Penny, not after all these years, after all their shared hopes and joys! Then the telephone rang, and he picked it up to answer. He spoke briefly, his mind elsewhere, annoyed at the interruption of his thoughts and yet relieved, too. And then, when he had replaced the telephone on its cradle, he was haunted again by the problem he faced with his wife. He managed to get through some of the work on his desk, however, initialing memos, dictating letters, riffling through the papers that awaited his attention.
He called in his secretary, Emma Lowrey, and went over the appointments she had made for him. His afternoon was free, and for that he was grateful; there was plenty for him to do in the office. He set to work at it with a vengeance, cleaning it up by the time late afternoon rolled around. And then again he was free to think, to ponder the relationship into which he and Penny had drifted. And, for the thousandth time, he wondered what exit there was from this web which enshrouded the two of them. What did other couples do? They went on sometimes, he admitted, or sometimes they broke up. Or . . . but no, he brushed that thought away.
It was too radical, too disturbing . . . but, it came back to haunt him.
Sometimes other couples tried wife-swapping. That was the expression they used these days. They brought new excitement to their marriages, made them work in a way that, God knew, his and Penny's was not working. And if they did . . . but again he brushed the thought from his mind. Other couples might change partners but he and Penny weren't other couples . . . or were they?
John put his pen down, shoved aside the contract that had become a blur of ciphers before his eyes. Why not? he asked himself. Why shouldn't he and Penny find another married couple, just the way others did? John mulled the idea over in his mind, accepting it, rejecting it, and then at last accepting it once more. Okay, so he and Penny might really go ahead on the wife-swapping bit. But another question presented itself.
With whom?
He ticked off the names of their closest friends in his mind, knowing that he would never ask them. They would be shocked, he thought, or maybe titillated. But, in any case, they were sure to refuse. And then what? He would have made a fool of himself, and for no reason. He wondered how other couples found willing partners, how and where. And then at last he pushed the whole idea from his mind, giving it up as useless.
John finished some last minute work and thought of asking Miss Lowrey, Emma Lowrey, to have a drink with him, then discarded that idea as he had discarded so many others. It was pointless, purposeless. Oh, sure, his secretary was a good-looking girl with the kind of figure that made his eyes almost pop out of his head. But, if he got involved with her the way he'd like to, if he got her into bed and fucked her silly, which was what he wanted to do, then what? Nothing, he thought disconsolately, except that he'd soon be looking for a new secretary. And he didn't think the delights of a quick fuck would compensate for the troubles that would follow.
He laughed bitterly. Jesus! He must be getting old! Well, whatever it was, he didn't think much of the idea of taking Emma Lowrey out. Not tonight, anyway . . .
John signed the last letter on his desk, put a few important papers into a drawer and locked it, pocketing the key. Then he got up and walked out, slamming the door behind him. He said, good night to Emma Lowrey in the outside office, walked the length of the waiting room and went out into the hail. Pausing at the elevator, wondering whether it might not be better to work late, to call Penny and have her beg off any date she might have made for the evening. But that too seemed useless, fruitless, and he pressed the button at last, saw the light flash red with the little arrow pointing downward, and then the doors slid open, noiselessly, and he stepped inside the small cage. It glided downward, depositing him on the ground floor in a matter of seconds. And then John Whitmore walked outside.
He stopped at the corner, looking up, his spirits revived and refreshed by the soft breeze that blew through the tops of the trees lining the avenue. It whipped up the tiny skirt of a young girl standing at the intersection, waiting for the light to change, showing her soft white thighs, the twin spheres of her rounded buttocks outlined beneath the little white panties she wore. John stared, then watched with a sinking heart as she walked off in the other direction. Then, he followed her discreetly, wishing he had the courage to approach her.
But when she turned and stared at him, oh Christ, just as if he were a dirty old man, he stopped before a newspaper stand and studied the magazines that were affixed to it. Then, a row of glossy covers, adorned with drawings of half-naked girls, caught his particular attention. He picked up one from a pile on the counter of the stand and started to turn the pages. There was a naked woman spread from one page to another as the centerfold, the staple that held the magazine together stuck straight through her navel. He stared at her voluptuously mounded breasts, thinking once again of Penny. And then he heard the vendor's harsh voice rasping, "Read it at home, mister. Come on, move it along. Buy it here and read it at home," A blush of shame spread across John's handsome features.
What did this character think he was, anyway? Some sort of dead-beat? Some oversexed satyr? A bum? Oh, Jesus! He glared across the counter at him, then plunked down a couple of coins, picked up the magazine and walked off with it.
As he waited for the light to change, he riffled once more through the pages of the magazine still clutched tightly in his hand. A title at the top of one page caught his attention, much as the cover had a few minutes earlier, and he read it with a quiver of excitement. "Join the club," it said.
More explicit instructions followed -an address, a coupon to be filled out, the group's rules, and then his eyes ran down the column of advertisements inserted by those who were already members, women looking for men, men looking for women. There were couples, too, couples looking for other couples, and it struck John, much as a beam of light might illuminate a page he had been trying to decipher, that this was the answer to his problems!
The light changed, and he rolled up the magazine and stuffed it in his pocket. He could put his own ad in. Why not? he asked himself again as he crossed the street and headed for the lot where his car was parked.
He climbed into it, pulling the magazine out of his pocket and laying it on the seat. And then he started the motor and drove off. Once home, he tucked the magazine back into his pocket before going inside. Penny was waiting for him, dressed in a long black hostess gown that clung to her curves like a racing car at high speed. He felt a flash of desire for her, an aching tenderness that made his loins blaze like a brush-fire.
God! He would like to screw her now, like to pull her down beside him right in the middle of the living room carpet and fuck up deep inside her. He stood in front of her, waiting for some sign of recognition of his overpowering need, but there was none, and he pecked dutifully at her cheek and went in past her.
Just as dutifully, Penny brought the cocktail tray, laden with the well-chilled martinis in a shaker, the stemmed crystal cocktail glasses, the little silver dishes of nuts and crackers. "Darling," she said, "You look tired."
John nodded. "I am," he admitted. "A little."
Penny poured a drink out for him. "This is just what the doctor ordered, then," she said. She smiled, sending sunlight through the room.
But the light seemed to fade almost at once, and John felt, as he had a hundred times recently, that they moved on separate wavelengths, in little worlds of their own, orbiting in their own spheres, passing close yet never really meeting.
He was grateful to Penny, grateful for so many things, and yet, there was a wide, yawning chasm inside him, an emptiness that ached unbearably. Oh, God! He wished that things were different, wished he knew how to make them so.
They had dinner by candlelight, one of the sophisticated touches that Penny had agreed to because it pleased her husband, although she secretly thought it was "rather silly". She had worked hard over the dinner, too, hoping to please him, but even she had to admit that the steaks were overcooked. John liked his rare, something Penny thought sickening, and the salad was tired and wilted. He groaned inwardly at the store-bought ice cream, but finished it off dutifully, and then lit a cigarette while Penny cleared the table. Later, they sat opposite one another in the luxurious living room, John reading a novel and Penny leafing through a confession magazine. She sighed at last and put the magazine down, stifling a yawn.
"I'm tired," she said plaintively, "I'm going to bed."
John looked at her over the top of his book.
"Are you coming up?" she asked.
He shook his head. "Not right away."
"Will you be long?"
\"No.\" Penny waited, not quite satisfied with his answer, then asked querulously, "How soon?"
John glanced at her with just a trace of annoyance on his fine features. "Not very long, I said," he repeated, and she at last turned and went slowly down the hall. As soon as she had disappeared, John found the magazine again, then poured himself a brandy before he sat down to thumb through it.
He stared admiringly at the models in it, all in scanty attire, showing their large and lovely breasts, their white rounded ass-cheeks.
There were even those who exhibited sparse patches of pubic hair for his delectation. He sighed, thinking that Penny would put any one of them in the shade, at least as far as feminine pulchritude went.
He turned the pages slowly, tearing himself away from the full page photos and then, at last, came to the column that had caught his attention. He read through the advertisements carefully, wondering if he would find exactly what he was searching for among them. None, though, seemed to offer just what he wanted, and at last, he went into the library and sat down there at his desk. With a paper and pencil before him, he carefully composed his own advertisement. He wrote out a check, slipped it into the envelope along with the letter and sealed it. Fishing in the top drawer of the desk, he found a stamp, licked it and affixed it to the letter.
And then he slipped it into the pocket of his jacket. He would mail it in the morning on his way to work . . .
Chapter Two
Lovely Kelly Brown Looked Up From Reading Crime And Punishment , And Caught Sight Of The Stain In the carpet that was so plainly visible in spite of all her efforts to arrange the furniture so that it would be hidden. She sighed, thinking that she should be more careful as a homemaker, make some greater effort at graceful living.
But she knew that Tom, her husband, really didn't appreciate the little touches that were so important to her. Flowers on the table, dinner by candlelight. They weren't for him. She knew it was because he'd never had such things at home. He came from a family of decent, hard-working people, the finest in the world, she thought, and they adored their son. But they hadn't been able to do much for him. Not like her own wealthy father who had sent her to one of the best private schools in the country and then on to a good college, where she had spent four years studying psychology and had graduated with honors. Tom, on the other hand, had left school in his teens to go to work. He'd had a good job then, as he did now, as a construction worker. And when Kelly had met him he had seemed so much more honest, so much more exciting than the usual college boy she dated, that she had fallen head over heels in love with him . . . There had been opposition from her family, but she had expected that, and in the end they had given in and even put up with her own demand for a simple wedding at home, rather than the big church wedding her mother had set her heart on.
But even as she had walked through the big double-doors on her father's arm, to the minister standing near the ornate fireplace, her mother's warnings had echoed in her ears. "Oh, it may be fine at first," she said. "You're young and in love, that Tom Brown has swept you off your feet. But just wait until later. Just wait!"
"Nothing will happen, Mother," Kelly had assured her.
"And that's just it," she had answered, almost spitefully.
"Nothing's going to happen. You have nothing in common with Tom, dear, nothing at all. Background, education, nothing. And when the first bloom wears off, and it will, it will . . . then you'll be stuck with someone with whom you can't communicate. You'll be complaining just about that -the fact that 'nothing's going to happen'. And you'll be bored, my dear.
So bored. Sitting around keeping busy with your tatting . . ."
Kelly had suppressed a smile. "Mother, no one had done any tatting for the last fifty years . . ."
"It was merely a figure of speech," the mother had snapped. And then she went on. "Mark my words, Kelly. No good will come of this marriage. None at all!"
Kelly's mother had been right, after all. The first year or so had been sheer ecstasy for the young woman. But then the rest of her prediction seemed to come true. There was nothing definite to mark the beginning of what now looked to the lovely blonde wife as the beginning of the end. But she had awakened one day to the fact that she was bored with Tom, that they had nothing in common any more, if they ever had had.
"There's nothing we can talk to each other about," Kelly complained to her best friend.
The other woman had shrugged her shoulders. "Why bother?" she asked. "There are other things . . ." she had smirked almost lewdly and Kelly had been offended.
She sat now, reading the thick novel. It was so interesting and she longed to share her thoughts with her husband. But she knew it was useless; he might or might not have understood her, but he certainly couldn't have cared less. She stared at him across the room, watching as he leafed through the copy of some girlie magazine he had picked up at a newsstand on the way home, saw the lascivious little play about his lips as he stared at one of the nearly-naked models, and read his thoughts accurately. He was longing to strip off the little loin-cloth draped over her young pink pussy and go plunging deep up inside it. She turned back to her book.
She leafed through the pages, too nervous to apply herself, and then something caught her eye. It was a chapter on marriage and what to do when it all seemed to go wrong. Wife-swapping was the suggestion.
My God, Kelly thought, and then, intrigued, she read on. Yes, the experts who had written the book insisted, that was often the solution when a couple seemed to be mismated. Kelly mulled it over. Mismated? But that was what she and Tom were, wasn't it? Mismated! And maybe wife-swapping would solve their problems. She looked up from her book and over at her husband, slouching in the big overstuffed chair that he preferred to relax in. He grinned lecherously as he read some especially spicy passage, then chuckled to himself.
Kelly opened her mouth, ready to read a passage from the book in her hands, and then suddenly clamped it shut. What was the use? He wouldn't understand. He would merely laugh at her as he so often did, mock the use of the technical language, tell her to "come off it". She shook her head. if only . . .
Tom; sitting opposite his wife, stared at the naked models, licking his lips lasciviously. Christ, they were built. But built! Man, oh man! He had to admit though that his wife Kelly was every bit as beautiful as any one of these bare-assed babes in the photos. As beautiful! Christ, she had them beat by a mile! But his life wasn't all honey and roses, in spite of that. Shit, something had gone sour somewhere, sometime. Tom scratched his head reflectively, wondering what it was.
Kelly had changed. She had changed, and it wasn't for the better, either. It wasn't that she'd really been acting "superior" on him, she was too nice a kid for that, but Jesus Christ, she sure managed to give that impression.
Like now, he thought. Like now. There she was, acting so goddamned intellectual, reading that big thick psychology book when he had other, and damn it all, better things on his mind. An intellectual, that was what his wife was, and Tom laughed disdainfully to himself as he remembered something that some writer, someone whose name he couldn't remember and one he probably couldn't have pronounced even if he had, remembered how some writer had defined the word. "An intellectual," he had said, "is someone who manages to think about something other than sex at least once in a while." The young construction worker looked over at his wife, staring lewdly at her lovely figure, her beautiful face framed by long blonde hair, her ripe plump breasts damn near popping out from under that tight see-through blouse she wore, her long and voluptuously curved legs curled up beneath her now while one slender foot hung free, waving back and forth provocatively.
Christ, he thought, no one could ever call me an intellectual. Just the sight of his wife sent sudden spasms of lust shivering up his spine, made him ache and burn at the center of him, stiffened his cock beneath his pants until he wanted to get up and grab her . . . Grab her, yes . . .
throw her down on the floor, strip off that little miniskirt she wore . . . oh, God! He almost had to laugh, he thought, feeling more like crying. He almost had to laugh at the way nothing added up, nothing made sense.
Here was this chick, this living doll -turning him on a hell of a lot more than the girls in the pictures did, and yet at the same time she acted as if she were above such basic indoor sports. Oh, God, he thought, groaning inwardly. Why had he married a beauty with brains?
He sighed audibly this time, and Kelly raised an eyebrow, peering above the page she had been reading. "Yes?" she asked.
"I didn't say anything."
"Oh, I thought you had."
"No, I didn't."
"Sorry."
"Aw, come on, Kelly . . ."
She closed the book abruptly, with a loud smack that reverberated through the room. "What is it, Tom?" she asked solicitously.
Her tone of voice angered her husband. Who the hell was she to act so high-and-mighty? Like a school teacher or something. As if she was better than he was! Jesus, he earned a good living, didn't he? Gave her everything she wanted. Unless . . . For a moment he doubted his own worth. And then he leaned back and laughed. Jesus! What the hell was the matter with him? He was as good as any guy on the block, wasn't he?
Better even. Jeez! He could hold out longer than any one he knew. So what was Kelly complaining about?
Oh, Christ! That's what women were like. He should have known when he married her that something like this would happen, but he hadn't, and now here he was, stuck with her.
If only he could have another woman tonight, he thought. He stared lecherously at one of the photos in the magazine and had the eerie feeling that the girl naked there on the bearskin rug was winking at him. He turned the page quickly, glancing at the headings of the articles that followed. He had a feeling that he'd read them all before, and he idly flipped the rest of the pages until he got to the end of the magazine. Studying it, Tom saw that it was a series of ads placed by readers anxious to meet other readers who wanted, as the magazine put it, "to swing".
There were a lot of singles who liked their sex in different forms, a lot of them exotic, and Tom felt a dart of pleasure course through his veins as he read some of them. "Young model wants to swing with partners of any and all sex . . . pictures provided. Write J.W. . . ." and a box number followed. Christ, he thought, she sounded just like what the doctor ordered.
He glanced again at Kelly and was ashamed of his thoughts. Damn it all, he'd married her for better or for worse, and even if it was worse, and God knew it was, he still loved her. He got up and went into the kitchen. "Want a beer?" he asked.
Kelly shook her head. "I don't think so," she said.
Her answer served to annoy Tom even more. Beer wasn't good enough for her, he thought angrily. She had to have one of those fancy liqueurs or something, like her family served after dinner. He still remembered with chagrin knocking back a small glass the way he would have downed a shot of whiskey in the kind of bar he like to frequent, and then found that everyone was staring at him as if he'd just farted or something. Christ! They were all sipping at theirs, acting so damned snotty, their pinkies curled as they lifted their glasses. Oh, Jesus! The way they all stared down their noses at him just because they had money!
Kelly had been different, of course. She'd always managed to make him feel at ease, at least in those days. But now! He shook his head. He was beginning to feel like the proverbial bull in a china shop whenever he was with her. Oh, shit! He picked up his beer and poured it down his throat, then opened a second can. "Sure you don't want any?" he called to the living room.
"No, thanks," Kelly called back. And then she added, "But you go ahead and have one."
Oh! So now she was giving him permission to drink! Well, screw her! He polished off the second can and opened a third. He had just lifted it to his mouth when his wife called out, "Darling, I'm going up to bed."
Fuck you, he thought again. So go to bed! Go up alone. You might just as well, for everything you're throwing my way! He carried his drink into the living room and sat down, this time nursing it.
So Kelly had gone to bed, had she? Well, how about that now?
And what was she planning to do there? Close her lovely eyes and pretend that she was fast asleep when he came up. "Oh, not tonight, Tom. I'm too tired."
The thought riled him. God, what a marriage! Why the hell . . .?
But he couldn't answer any of the questions he posed for himself, couldn't seem to think clearly. A sudden surge of anger tore through him. Damn it all! Damn her! Why, she'd even gotten around to pretending that he drank too much, as if no one in her family ever touched the stuff. Oh, sure, once in a while maybe he drank a little bit too much, but then who didn't? And maybe it did affect him a little bit. But not the way Kelly claimed. He never got drunk. And maybe he liked to argue a little more than usual when he had been "indulging", that's the expression her family would have used, but the hell with it. He never got real mean! He never blew his top the way some guys he knew did, never picked fights or stamped around or stomped on anyone. And Jesus Christ, he'd never punched his wife, never touched her all this time. Put up with her!
The thought infuriated him. Damn it all! He set the beer can down on the table and then with an angry gesture knocked it off. And then he got up and lumbered into the kitchen to get another. He drank it in the living room again, this time picking up the magazine while he drank.
Tom Brown turned to the picture of the girl which had attracted him before and, staring at it, he felt the familiar ache start in his loins, the lurch in his cock, the sudden hardening of it. Christ, he'd like to get some right now. He'd like to fuck a babe like the one who stared at him, pouting seductively. Jesus, better than that, he'd like to fuck Kelly upstairs in the bedroom.
He finished the beer. He'd like to fuck Kelly, all right. But not the way he usually did. Not just ploughing deep up into her warm and quivering cunt, his lust-bloated penis pushing the flesh back in soft pink waves, sawing in and out while her moistly pulsating vagina sheathed him like a glove. Not just that. Oh, no!
There were a dozen other things he wanted to do to his wife, had always wanted to do to her. But she'd been so puritanical, so uptight, that he'd never dared. But things were going to change around here, he vowed suddenly, smacking one huge balled fist against the palm of his hand.
Things were going to change. And soon, too. And soon, like tonight.
Tom looked again at the girl in the photo, stared at her large firm breasts, at the rosy nipples tight with excitement. Christ, she was good-looking, but Kelly, cold as she was acting these days, was a hell of a lot better looking. Oh, Christ! What was he waiting for anyway? His penis was throbbing now, his guts on fire with the need for his wife. Damn it all, he wasn't going to wait any longer!
He clumped off; heading upstairs and toward the bedroom. The door was closed and he rattled the knob before he turned it, yanking it open. He peered in and saw that Kelly was asleep, her lovely body clad in a thin and lacy nightgown, a light blanket pulled up to her shoulder.
"Kelly!" he bellowed.
She made no move, slumbering on. Tom walked onto the room and switched on the light, peering down into her face After a long time he spoke her name again, and now her eyelids fluttered open. "Tom?" she asked. "Tom? Is that you?"
"Who the hell else?" he bellowed.
Suddenly Kelly sat up, her eyes wide now. "Oh, Tom. What do you want?"
"Oh, for Christ's sake," he sputtered. "What the hell do you think I want?"
"I don't know," Kelly said, shaking her head. Her husband stared at her, excited by the sight of her warm soft breasts barely covered by the flimsy nylon gown she wore, by the gentle slope of her shoulders brushed now by the long golden strands of her silken hair. He swallowed hard, feeling the desire grip him again, making his flesh burn, the blood in his veins explode like little pins that pricked his flesh. Oh, Christ!
"What is it?" Kelly asked.
There was no answer from Tom, merely a muffled groan. And then Kelly saw that he was stripping off his clothes, unbuttoning his blue work shirt, ripping it from his broad shoulders, dropping it on the floor.
He unbuckled his belt then, unzipped his pants and slid them down over his hips. He stood before his wife then wearing only his brief jockey shorts and she saw the bulge there between his thighs. A tremor of excitement ran through her and then she gasped as he stripped off even his shorts and his huge fleshy penis soared out toward her. She knew instinctively that he would be cruel to her tonight, and she shuddered as he approached the bed.
"What's the matter, Kelly?" he asked suddenly, bending down, his lips twisted in an evil sneer. "Don't feel like getting fucked tonight?"
She shuddered at the obscene word. If only Tom wouldn't say things like that, she thought, as her eyes brimmed with unshed tears. She loved her husband, she really did. But he was so different from her, different from anyone she had known before. And she still hadn't been able to accept the uncouth, the vulgar, the obscenities with which he peppered his speech.
Watching her closely, Tom saw the small signs of distress, of disgust even, that flickered across her face. Damn her! Too good for him, was she? The hell with all that! He'd show her something . . . take her off her high horse! God, she was just like every woman . . . every woman on earth. And whether they admitted it or not, there was only one thing they wanted. Which was to be fucked, fucked silly!
Well, he would throw her a fuck tonight that she would never forget. He would make her grovel, the way she seemed to want to make him do. He'd crawled before her and her highfalutin' family long enough.
Now it would be her turn.
There was a wildness in his eyes that sent a shiver of terrified excitement through the young woman. Impulsively she burst out with, "Oh, Tom, you've been drinking again, haven't you?"
"Yeah," he said, mocking her cruelly. "I've been drinking again.
So what?"
"Oh, nothing . . . nothing," she answered quickly.
"Then why did you ask?"
Kelly shook her head and now one of the tears slid slowly down her cheek. Tom waited for her answer but none came. Then suddenly his hand shot out to seize the narrow strap of her nightgown, sliding it roughly down over her arm.
"Oh, darling! Don't! You'll tear it . . ."
"So . . . I'll tear it!"
"Please," she whimpered, recoiling from her husband.
"Please . . ." he mocked her again. And then once more his voice took on a tone of cruelty. "Okay, Kelly. Get naked. That's the way I want to see you. Naked. Your big tits quivering like jelly . . ." As if to emphasize his point, he slipped his hand beneath the gown to seize one softly trembling breast and began to knead it brutally.
Kelly winced and whimpered with pain. Even so there was an exquisite pleasure to it that seemed to set her loins on fire.
Tom's harsh fingers tweaked at the throbbing knobs of her nipples, rolling them until they stood in tight little peaks. And then his other hand shot out, tearing back the blanket that still covered his wife's hips and thighs. Suddenly he seized the hem of the short little gown and flipped it back over Kelly's smooth white belly, exposing the little golden triangle at the base of it. With another abrupt gesture he slid his hand in between her thighs, spreading them apart with the pressure of his opening fingers.
Once again a flash of pain shot through Kelly's lovely body and she gasped, "Oh, don't . . . don't, Tom."
"What's the matter . . . your precious pussy too good for my cock?
Is that it?"
"Oh . . . nooooo . . ."
Tom's hand left her breast now and curled around his massive member as he began to massage it lewdly, pulling the heavy foreskin back and forth.
A thick drop of cum seeped from the glans of the hardening tip. He stared for a moment at the narrow hair-lined slit between her legs, glistening now with her own moisture. Christ, he thought. He ought to ram it right up her, right now. But he had other things in mind, humiliating things to do to Kelly.
She seemed to understand that instinctively, because a new look of fright crossed her face, another tremor shook her body. "Oh, Tom," she moaned. "What are you going to do?"
He laughed coarsely, shaking his head. "It's not what I'm going to do," he said. "It's what you're going to do."
"What do you mean?" Her voice was scarcely audible.
"Suck cock, that's what I mean," he said brutally.
" What?!"
"You head me. You're going to suck cock."
"But Tom," she protested. "I never have."
"I know that, goddamn it. And it's time you did."
"Nooo . . ." Kelly's protest was scarcely more than a whisper now, but her eyes widened as Tom suddenly dropped down on the bed, straddling her cringing body. He slithered up over her then until his loins were poised above her face. "Open your mouth," he ordered. "Open it."
Kelly clamped her lips tightly together, more frightened than she had ever been, wondering what on earth had come over her husband. Oh, God! This was a shocking perversion, this thing he was demanding of her.
A shocking perversion. Her mind raced back in time and she thought briefly of her very proper mother, almost able to see the expression of horror that would cross her face if she were to learn of this terrible thing that Tom was about to do! She couldn't let him. She just couldn't!
But Tom's thick fleshy cock struck out like a lance that would cut her open, a sword that would split her in two. She jerked her head away instinctively, trying desperately to escape her lust-maddened husband. Oh, dear God! Why did he have to do something like this to her? Why?
Kelly didn't know. She only knew that flow Tom was rubbing the wet lubricated head of his blood-engorged penis against her tightly clenched lips. "Oh, no . . ." she moaned, parting her lips slightly.
Tom pressed forward, taking advantage of the moment to force his throbbing penis between her glistening lips. Kelly groaned and fought for an instant, flailing her head from side to side to escape her own husband's cruel impalement, but at last she relaxed, almost collapsing back against the pillow, giving in to him by opening her mouth and accepting his huge penis into its warm moist cavern . . . The blood-filled head slid deep inside as Tom flicked his hips forward, and a stifled moan escaped Kelly's lips around its desire-thickened girth. Oh, God! She couldn't breathe! She was going to suffocate!
She twisted beneath her husband, fighting against him with her last remaining strength, but it was useless. In spite of her struggles she was unable to break free . . .!
Tom tangled his hands in her hair, pulling her head closer, deeper into his loins. And now she was forced to begin a gentle sucking motion, her lips ovalling wide around the hard shaft of flesh that filled her mouth.
He began to saw back and forth until it seemed that his blunt bulbous cock-head brushed against the back of her throat.
Kelly sputtered, protesting, but now her cheeks hollowed and expanded with each stroke he made into her mouth and then cautiously, tentatively, she let her tongue trail along the underside of his cock, let it swirl briefly around the huge bloated tip. Oh, God! She had never imagined doing anything so depraved, so evil! And yet the very wickedness of what she was doing added to the excitement that was beginning to churn through her quivering body. Her eyes filled with tears as she worked over her demanding husband's penis plunging again and again deep into her throat, but stifled moans of pleasure escaped her lips at the same time. And now little explosions of throbbing desire seemed to ignite her blood, sending waves of heat to alternate through her body with other waves of cold.
Tom's sperm-filled balls slapped heavily against her chin, the short wiry hairs that surrounded his lust-filled member grazing Kelly's chin. She clasped her lips tightly around his plunging, ploughing cock and then brazenly licked at the thick white semen seeping from the tiny winking slit at the tip, swallowing it greedily.
She fought against the base emotions that seemed to engulf her now, suffused with shame, with the deepest possible humiliation, yet unable to wipe away the pleasure of the moment too. All the precepts that had been drilled into her in her childhood, all the values she had been brought up to respect, seemed to be wiped out, and she wanted nothing more than this terrible subjugation. Oh, God! She was nothing but a whore . . . nothing but a whore! And that was what she wanted to be!
She sucked on and on, again running her tongue over the sensitive swollen flesh of her husband's cock in a paroxysm of ecstasy. Suddenly she was almost unbearably impatient for Tom to shoot forth his thick hot sperm, filling her hot mouth with the pungent liquid.
And then at last that moment came. Tom jerked forward in his own wild spasm, his body arched and tense. His sperm-swollen balls spurted forth a steady stream of thick, viscous cum as he drove his throbbing penis deep into her mouth.
She continued to suck hungrily, struggling to swallow every precious drop as it gushed in little rivulets that over-flowed and seeped down her chin. Her little pink tongue flicked out to lick at them and then she sighed ecstatically, reveling in the very degradation to which she had been subjected.
As she felt her own loins convulse with enjoyment of the pleasure she had brought to her husband, felt her own orgasmic fluids seep forth, she cried out in her abandoned, joy . . . and then the moment was over, and Kelly relaxed, her pleasure ebbing. It was then that the knowledge of what she had done seemed to pervade her being, bringing with it sheer horror.
Oh, God! What terrible act had she committed? What had she permitted Tom to do?
She hid her face in the pillow, trying to evade reality. Tears welled up in her eyes again and this time she could do nothing to stem the tide as they flowed unchecked down her cheeks. She was evil . . . Tom was evil, too. But she was worse than Tom, she knew in her bones, worse because she knew right from wrong and had made no effort to resist. She could never face herself again, knowing what she was. She could no longer live with herself! She began to sob uncontrollably until at last, tears still streaming down her cheeks, she fell into a troubled sleep . . .
* * * The next morning Kelly arose early and hurried to shower and dress before Tom awoke. She was filled with shame, her body tense and aching from the way she had been fucked. It was so indecent, she told herself. Shocking and evil, and worst of all, she had enjoyed it. Oh, dear God! She truly was nothing more than a whore!
She scrubbed at her lovely white body, sending cascades of suds flowing over her ripely heaving breasts, then soaping the soft pink folds of flesh between her widespread thighs, and the hair-lined lips of her quivering cunt, as if somehow she could wash away the humiliation of the night before, cleanse and purify herself.
She stepped from the shower at last, patting herself dry with a thick and fluffy towel, then dusted herself with powder. She hastily pulled on her little white panties and her matching brassiere then a short ruffled housecoat. Staring at herself in the mirror, searching her face for some sign of evil there, some decadence, she brushed her long golden hair.
Finally she sketched her mouth lightly with a pale lipstick. Then she went downstairs, measured out the coffee and put it on to perk and squeezed two glasses of fresh orange juice When Tom awoke, he glanced quickly at the other side of the bed and saw that it was empty. He blinked, feeling puzzled, depressed and wondering why. Then everything came back to him and a wave of shame engulfed him. Oh, Christ! Why had he treated Kelly like that? What had made him lose his temper, inflamed him so that he treated his wife like some common whore, some slut he might have picked up!
Tom shook his head, not knowing, but wondering where Kelly was and how she felt about him now. Not so good, he thought, She probably hated him. He'd been a bastard to her. He really had! What a bastard he was! For a terrible moment he thought that she might even have left him.
Christ! He couldn't blame her if she did, if she'd gone home to her mother or something.
A terrible feeling of loneliness came over him, and he wondered how in the hell he could go on living without Kelly. Even when things were bad, even when she grated on his nerves the way she had the night before, he knew that he had to have her.
He sat up in bed, listening now, while his heart flailed against his ribs. Christ! If Kelly were gone there wasn't any use in even getting out of bed . . . then he heard her in the kitchen while the fragrance of freshly brewed coffee floated upstairs.
Oh, thank God! Kelly was in the kitchen making breakfast, just like every morning. With a sign of relief he rolled from the bed, grabbing for his trousers that he'd dropped on the floor the night before, then headed for the shower himself. Things seemed brighter now, even though he still hated himself for the way he'd treated Kelly. What a crumb he was, he thought as he stepped into the shower and the scalding hot water sprayed down on him. He sang as he stepped out and dried himself, as he quickly pulled on his pants, as he shaved and then slicked down his hair with lotion. But as he went downstairs, he suddenly stopped, again ashamed of himself.
He went into the kitchen eyeing his wife dolorously. He waited a moment for her to speak, then cleared his throat. "Hello," he said, while a feeble grin of embarrassment flashed across his features.
Kelly turned to him, her eyes wide and sorrow-filled. "Good morning, Tom," she said.
Tom winced. Oh, so she was going to be like that, was she? Cold, acting hurt. And then later she would forgive him. Christ, if there was anything that made a guy feel guilty, it was having his wife forgive him.
He wished they could have the kind of row he'd seen at home when he was a kid and get it all over with. But damn it all, that wasn't her way.
Christ, she wanted to suffer, that was all. But maybe that was just poetic justice, after what he'd done to her.
Tom sat down at the table and drank his orange juice while Kelly fried a couple of eggs for him and popped two slices of bread into the toaster. She poured his coffee and placed the cup in front of him, then deftly slipped the eggs on a plate and handed it to him. And then, still saying nothing, she sat down opposite him. She picked up her own cup of coffee and sipped at it, staring at Tom over the rim of the cup.
Her eyes hadn't changed, unless the hurt in them had deepened.
They reminded him of a dog he'd had once, a cocker spaniel, who used to give him the same sort of stare when he was left behind. It had made him feel terrible, too, just the way Kelly now did. Well, hell!
He wolfed down his eggs, caught a piece of toast as it popped from the toaster, and slathered it with butter. "We got any jam?" he asked, his mouth full.
"Why, yes, I think we do." She rose to get it, looking through the refrigerator. "Blueberry," she announced. "Will that do?
"That will do just fine," Tom said grimly. And then, as an afterthought he added, "Thanks."
"You're very welcome."
Tom bit back an angry retort, then spooned some jam onto his plate. He spread the toast and took a bite, then remembered Kelly. "Want some?" he asked, pushing the jam pot toward her.
"No," Kelly murmured. "No thank you."
You're very welcome, he thought. You're very welcome . But once again he bit the words back. She picked up her coffee again, sipped at it, then put it down. "Could I have the sugar, please?" she asked.
Tom passed it to her. "Cream?"
"Yes, please." She dropped two lumps of sugar into the cup, poured in the cream, then stirred the muddy mixture absentmindedly.
Torn finished the eggs, took a second piece of toast and mopped up his plate with it. "You not eating anything this morning?" he asked at last.
"Just coffee."
"Aw, come on and eat something, would do you good."
"I'm not hungry, Tom" "Oh, you're not hungry," he said, losing his patience at last.
"That's too bad, isn't it?"
Kelly flinched as if he'd struck her a stinging blow across the cheek. Damn it, he thought. I wish I had. And then again he felt the terrible guilt that had assaulted him earlier. He stared at his wife, watching a tear slide down her cheek again, just as one had the night before. Damn her!
God damn her anyway. He pushed his chair back and got to his feet, rattling the dishes on the table. Then he brought his fist crashing down onto it, making them jump. "Shit!"
"Tom!"
"Tom!" he mocked her. "Tom! God damn it, Kelly, I don't have to take any more of this B.S . . ." He turned around, almost knocking over his chair and stamped out of the room. He got his jacket from the closet, fished in his pocket for the car keys, found them, then stomped to the front door. He stopped there, listening, but there was nothing to be heard. The house was as quiet as a deserted church on a summer afternoon . . . and suddenly Tom felt like a heel, like the biggest heel on earth. Jesus! He didn't want to walk out on Kelly this way. He didn't want to walk out on her anyway. What the hell was the matter with him?
He had a brief sense of what it would be like to come home night after night if Kelly were to leave, to go home to her mother or something like that. The deafening silence night after night, the lonely hours with nothing but television for company. The solitary drinking, not for pleasure but just to get drunk, to blot out his guilt. And his shame, too. Damn it all!
And it didn't have to be that way, he thought. It didn't have to be! Not if he would go back and apologize to his wife.
Oh, sure, that wouldn't fix everything up. But if he did, they might be able to talk things over. And that at least would be a start, a step in the right direction. So why not?
He turned on his heel, marching back into the kitchen. Kelly was still sitting at the table, staring into space now, still absentmindedly stirring her coffee with a silver spoon that clacked irritatingly, incessantly against the china cup. Her face was ashen white and now her shoulders dropped with the weight of the burden it seemed that she must bear.
As Tom entered the room, she looked up at him with sad and frightened eyes. And then she looked away, saying nothing.
Tom shifted nervously from one foot to the other, trying to think of something to say. He cleared his throat, hoping she would look at him again. But she kept her eyes on the floor, minutely inspecting a scrap of paper that had fallen to it. He cleared his throat again, then wiped his sweating palms against his trouser legs. He swallowed hard then and finally blurted out, "Kelly, I'm sorry."
She kicked at the scrap of paper that she .had been examining, then looked up at her husband and their eyes met. Suddenly she burst into tears.
"Oh, Tom," she sobbed. "Oh, Tom!"
He put his arm around her shoulder, tilting her face up to him.
"Don't cry, Kelly," he said, more gently than he had spoken to her in months. "Don't cry, sweetheart."
She wiped at her tears with the back of her hand. "What are we going to do?"
He patted her hand. "We'll find something," he said. "It will be all right."
Kelly continued to sob quietly though. Once again she wiped at her tears, smudging her make-up a little. It somehow made her vulnerable and to Tom irresistible. He hated himself even more for what he had done to her, wanted more than ever to find some way out of this impasse the two were trapped in.
"What?" Kelly demanded suddenly. "What will we find?"
"I don't know," he said. "I don't know. But something."
"Tom, we can't go on like this."
"Now don't say such things," he scolded gently. "Don't say such things."
Once again Kelly burst into tears. "It's all my fault," she insisted.
"All mine."
"I was a bastard to you last night," Tom said. "A real bastard.
Maybe that's all I am, anyway."
Kelly thought about it, tapping her fingers on the table reflectively.
"We're different," she said at last. "That's all. Different."
Tom had an impulse to say, "Sure. I'm a man and you're a woman." But he resisted it, knowing that flippancy at this point would only make matters worse. "Yeah," he said. "I guess so."
Maybe we never should have married," Kelly said. It was as much a question as a statement, and Tom quickly denied it. "But we have such different backgrounds, darling," she said. "My mother always said it wouldn't work, you know."
"I know," Tom said glumly. What a bitch his mother-in-law was, he thought. Typical. What a bitch!
"But maybe we can make it work?" Again it was a question, and Kelly raised her eyes to Tom hopefully.
"I guess so," he said at last, mulling over her words. "Maybe if we try hard enough . . .
There was another long silence, finally broken by Kelly. "It won't help," she said in a sad and almost broken voice. "It won't help, Tom. You need someone else . . someone who is . . . well . . . more like you." She doubled her fist and put it up to her mouth, chewing on her knuckles.
Tom wanted to deny it all, wanted to say it wasn't true. But it was true and that was the hell of it. He eyed her once more, shifting his glance from her face to the wall behind her, and then to his own scuffed shoes.
"You need someone, too," he said at last. Kelly thought about it, still chewing on her knuckles. "I guess I do," she admitted.
There was another long pause. The girlie magazine Tom had read the night before somehow loomed large on his horizon. There had been all those advertisements, all those stories of wife swapping, all the letters to the editor which extolled the idea. He thought it over, examining the pros and cons. And finally he broached the idea. "Honey, I was reading in that magazine last night . . ."
Kelly's own mind flashed back to the book she herself had been studying, the psychology book which had advocated a switch of partners from time to time as a means of strengthening a faltering marriage. Why not? she asked herself. And yet the idea of suggesting it herself was out of the question.
She shook herself, forcing herself to concentrate on what her husband was saying. "Yes?" she asked. "Yes . . ."
"Well, there were a lot of things in it . . . in that magazine, I mean .
. . about, well, about wife-swapping."
He dropped the word as if it were a bombshell. When it didn't explode in his face, he went on. "I mean, they seem to think it's a good idea. You know what I mean?"
Kelly nodded. It seemed obvious that they thought wife-swapping was a good idea. "Yes, I guess so."
"Well, what would you think of it?" Tom asked her suddenly.
She was both surprised and puzzled. "Of what?" she asked.
"You know . . . like I said. What would you think of wife-swapping?"
"It sounds to me like a perfectly valid means of establishing a more or less perfunctory relationship," Kelly said.
Tom looked at her in dismay. "What?"
"I said it does seem perfectly valid," Kelly repeated.
"What does that mean?" He felt a surge of anger which drifted away into bewilderment. And then that was dispelled, too. "Honey, I'm asking about what you would think of wife-swapping . . . for us."
"For . . . for us?" Kelly stammered.
"Yes. For us." And when she said nothing he asked, "Why not?"
Kelly shook her head. She couldn't think of any reason why they shouldn't. After all, some very valid authorities had encouraged wife-swapping. And on the most basic possible level, what had they to lose? Not one damn thing, she thought with a sudden surge of emotion.
Nothing. Oh, God! It might save their marriage, might make their lives tolerable once again.
"I . . . I think it might be a good idea," Kelly said, suddenly ashamed to discuss the matter. "I mean . . . well . . . you know. . ." Her words faded away, and she sat twisting her fingers together until the knuckles cracked. She stared at her hands as if alarmed by the sudden pop.
"You mean that, Kelly?"
"Yes," she said, nodding vigorously. "Yes, I do."
"That's great," Tom said. "Because I think so too. I think it might be just about the best thing that could happen to us."
Once again Kelly agreed. "Yes." And then she stared again at her slender white hands. When she raised her eyes to her husband's, they were filled with doubts. "But Tom," she began.
"Yes?"
"But . . . but how would we . . . well, go about it? You know. Find people? Another couple? You know . . ." For once she was inarticulate, unable to express herself.
"There are ads . . ." Tom answered.
Kelly didn't understand. "Ads?"
"Yeah. You know. In the back of the magazine."
"No, I don't know."
"Look, I'll show you." Tom lumbered into the living room, found the magazine he had been reading the night before and turned to the back of it. He carried it to the kitchen, holding it out to his wife. "See. Right here!"
She scanned it briefly, then handed it back. "Yes," she said.
"You're right." She thought about the matter briefly. "Do you think we should put an ad in?" she asked.
"Maybe, maybe not. Let's see if there's something here that we might be interested in." He ran his finger down the column, pausing once or twice. "There's something here," he said. And then he shook his head.
"No, it's a swinging single who wants to meet another swinging single."
"That's not for us."
"No," Tom agreed. "That's not for us. And here's someone . . . No, that won't do, either."
"No?"
"No. 'Swinging couple interested in bondage' . . ."
"No!"
Tom turned the page and ran his finger down another column. He stopped once or twice, seemed about to speak and thought better of it.
"Yes?" Kelly queried.
"Naw. It's no good." Tom had almost given up when his eye chanced to light on a small discreet advertisement that began: Married couple seeks other couple for fun and games. Wife a rare beauty, former chorus girl, husband well educated.
Tom stopped, suddenly excited. A beautiful chorus girl? A dumb and beautiful blonde, maybe? What more could he ask? What more?
He read on. Husband well educated . . . then looked questioningly at his wife.
"Educated?" she asked. "Sounds good."
"Oh, yeah!" Husband successful businessman. If you think you can match us, then let's meet. Tom scratched his head, still not certain. "What do you think, honey?"
She shrugged. "What have we to lose?" she asked.
Tom thought that one over. "Nothing," he said at last. "We don't have anything to lose, do we?"
"No, we don't."
Tom put the magazine down. "Shall we get in touch with them then? Shall we answer the ad?"
"Why not?"
"No reason." He stared at the magazine again. At last he said, "Do you want me to do it?"
"Yes. Yes, I do. Is there a box number or something? An address?
A telephone?"
"There's a telephone."
"Let's call them then."
Tom looked at his watch. "It's a little bit early," he said.
"Can you wait a while?"
"I guess so."
Tom stared at his wife again. Christ, she was lovely. And maybe . .
. just maybe . . . this would all work out. They sat staring at one another again, neither saying anything, each absorbed in his own thoughts.
Time ticked away slowly, marked by the rhythmic sighing of the clock over the kitchen stove. And then at last the sighing seemed to stop, as if it were a signal, and Tom got up and went to the telephone.
He dialed the number, waited for the answer wondering what on earth he would say when he finally reached the guy who had inserted the advertisement. Kelly realized his uneasiness and went out into the other room, leaving him alone with the telephone to negotiate the transaction, whatever that would be.
A little while later he found her sitting on the couch. She looked up expectantly. "Well?" she asked.
"He sounds like a great guy," Tom said.
"Will we meet him? Him and his wife?"
"Sure."
"When?"
"It's all arranged," Tom said with a touch of pride. "He's asked us out to dinner, to meet him and his better half. He laughed at his stale joke, and Kelly humored him by smiling.
"Where?" she asked.
"At Pierre's," Tom said.
"Pierre's!" Kelly sucked in her breath. "Oh, Tom . . . I've never even been there."
"Well, you're going there now, honey. You're going to the fanciest restaurant around."
"When?" Kelly asked.
"Wednesday night," Tom said, smiling.
Chapter Three
Kelly brown brushed her hair until it gleamed like molten gold streaked by sunlight, and then slipped into the outrageously expensive little dress she had bought for the occasion. It was stark and simple, the sort of thing that never turned her husband on, but she was sure that John Whitmore would go for it, and even Tom, she knew, would appreciate what the pure uncluttered lines did for her figure, showing off every voluptuous curve and making her look like a million dollars.
She decided not to tell Tom what she'd paid for it, though . . . he would probably explode and tell her that he only wanted her to look like a million dollars, not to spend it. She stared at herself in the mirror as she applied a light touch of make-up, then ran her finger across the row of perfume bottles on the dressing table, trying to decide between Channel No. 5 or Joy. She decided on the latter, remembering that it was advertised as the world's most expensive perfume. If she was going to look like a million dollars, she might as well smell like it, too. Kelly got up at last, after pinning the small diamond clip that had belonged to her grandmother on her shoulder, and then went downstairs to find Tom.
He was waiting for her in the living room and had been for a good twenty minutes. He gave an admiring whistle as he glanced at her and his eyes roved lecherously up and down as she walked gracefully across the room, the firm little mounds of her ass-cheeks undulating seductively beneath the expensive fabric of the dress.
When she turned around, he stared crudely at her soft full breasts outlined beneath the tight bodice. Christ! His wife had class, he had to admit that. Even in what she was wearing, which wasn't his cup of tea at all, he had to admit that she had class. He sprawled in his chair, an unfinished can of beer in his hand until Kelly asked, "Ready?"
"Let me finish this," he said, nodding at the beer. "Then we can go."
He gulped it down while Kelly stared at him. She wished that he'd chosen something a little more conservative than what he was wearing, a bright blue-and-brown checked jacket, a green striped shirt and a wide, flowered tie. He would certainly be out of place at a swank restaurant like Pierre's. She wished he'd worn a plain dark suit, the kind she was sure Mr.
Whitmore would wear, and then she shrugged. She and Tom were so different, so very different. But then, wasn't that just the reason they had answered that advertisement, just the reason they had made this appointment with the other couple? Of course it was, and she was suddenly impatient to meet the two.
Kelly glanced at the tiny gold watch on her slim wrist. "We'd better leave now, Tom," she said. "John and Penny are probably waiting for us already."
Tom shrugged. "So?" he asked.
"It's not very polite to be late, especially when it's our first meeting with the Whitmores," Kelly said. "Come on, darling."
A surge of anger welled up in the man. Damn it all! Why did his wife have to rub in all the time the fact of her own good breeding, and by implication, his own lack of it.
With a little gesture of annoyance he silenced her. He was impatient to meet this other couple, too, but he wasn't going to let Kelly have her way. "They can wait," he said. "I'm going to have another beer."
He got up and went into the kitchen and got one from the refrigerator, plucked at the metal tab and tore it open. And then he gulped it noisily.
He could hear his wife pacing nervously back and forth in the other room. "Let her wait, too," he muttered, but at last he finished the drink, then wiped his hot mouth on the back of his hand. "Okay," he called. "You can cool it, Kelly. I'm ready, too."
He walked into the living room and through it, while Kelly followed contritely. She was sorry she'd offended him again, and it depressed her. But there was a tide of excitement rising in her body nevertheless and her heart beat fast as she climbed into the car.
They drove quickly to the restaurant, Tom maneuvering with skill through the heavy traffic, running the stop lights much to Kelly's consternation. They found a slot in the parking lot behind the restaurant, and Tom eased the car into it, cutting the motor and pocketing his keys. He straightened his tie as he got out, brushing off his jacket. "Well," he said, "here goes."
He strode ahead of Kelly who hurried quickly after him, her high heels beating out an eerie tattoo on the asphalt top. She caught up with him at the door and waited for him to open it for her, ushering her in. But he hung back and she opened it herself, blushing a little at her husband's lack of manners.
They walked in and looked around, peering through the semi-darkness of the dimly-lit room. In spite of it, the white damask of the tablecloths beyond gleamed like stars in the firmament, the silver sparkled like waves washing against the shore.
Kelly waited for Tom to speak to the head-waiter, who bowed obsequiously in front of her, giving him a cold glance. When he said nothing, she asked for Mr. and Mrs. Whitmore. "We were to meet them here," she explained. "Have they arrived yet?"
The head-waiter glanced again at Tom, obviously undecided as to whether or not to ask him to leave. But when he realized that he really was with Kelly, he decided to let him in. "Yes," he said, still eyeing Tom suspiciously. "They're waiting for you." With a backward glance at Tom that annoyed and embarrassed Kelly, he led the way to a table in the corner.
A distinguished-looking man, still handsome although a few years older than Tom and Kelly, rose to his feet, extending his hand to the young wife. "How do you do, Mrs. Brown," he said. "I'm so glad to meet you."
He turned to Tom, shaking his hand. "And Mr. Brown."
"Tom . . ." he said.
"Tom, then. And I'm John." He turned to the heavily made-up brunette woman still sitting at the table. "And this is my wife, Penny."
"Pleased to meet you," Tom said, nodding in her direction. He slid into a chair as Kelly herself nodded to Penny. And then John held a chair out for her, and she settled herself gracefully on it.
"Drinks?" John asked brightly. He nodded toward the head-waiter who appeared at his side as if by magic, and the older man ordered martinis all around.
Kelly was staring at Penny, trying to find something to say to her.
The brunette looked like a chorus girl, Kelly thought. Her features were still lovely, her figure superb, although she found something more than a trifle vulgar about her, about the low cut, flashy red dress she wore, covered with the sort of frills and flounces that Kelly's mother had always pronounced "common". Still, she was a vibrant, alive person, and it was obvious that Tom took to her at once.
Tom was sitting next to her, staring admiringly at Penny, his lips twitching with the merest hint of lasciviousness as he leaned forward to whisper something in her ear. Penny howled with laughter and nudged him with her elbow, leaning forward herself so that the full plump mounds of her white breasts were almost completely exposed. Tom stared at her again, a leer spreading across his face. "Oooops . . . sorry," Penny laughed at him, pulling her dress up over her breasts, hitching it high. "Sorry."
"No need to be," Tom grinned" I kind of liked the look I got."
"Oh, you . . ." she burst out laughing again. "You!"
Sitting next to Kelly, John averted his eyes while a faint blush spread over his face. He hid behind the huge menu, studying it until the drinks came, and then put it down to toast the others. They clinked glasses, then sipped the icy concoction. At a signal, slightly raised eyebrows and a whispered consultation with Kelly, John ordered for all.
Kelly picked at her food. It was delicious, but she was almost too thrilled to eat. She felt completely at ease with John, found him delightful and charming, and he excited her, too. She looked forward with bated breath to what would happen later in the evening. He was handsome and just as virile as her own Tom. But he was a gentleman, too, like her father, she thought. And he would never force her to do anything wicked or perverted, the way her husband had a few nights before. Suddenly she was immensely grateful to Tom, though, for having suggested the idea of wife-swapping.
She watched her husband and Penny across the table, saw the flicker of excitement that leapt like an electric spark between the two of them. They would be great for one another, she thought, and she was glad of it. And John Whitmore seemed to be just the kind of person she had always longed for.
He knew just what to order, chose exactly the right wines to go with the meal and even though she would have liked to hurry to their house, she appreciated the brandy he ordered for everyone. But the meal was over at last, the bill paid discreetly by John, the waiters handsomely tipped, and then the party was ushered out, over the carpeting that seemed almost ankle-deep, to the side door that led to the parking lot.
"Why don't you come in my car?" John asked Kelly, indicating his Lincoln. "Give us a chance to get better acquainted. Tom can take Penny back. She can show him the way." He looked at him for his approval, saw him nod enthusiastically. There was once again a hint of lechery about his lips and his eyes roved the length of Penny's shapely legs, then back to the flared hem of her short red dress. She was just his style, he thought, feeling a sudden ache in his loins, a shiver of excitement ripple up his spine.
In the car, Tom watched John and Kelly drive off in a swirl of dust, then started the motor of his own Dart. Impulsively Penny reached over and squeezed his hand. "Oh, honey," she said, breathing heavily, "this is going to be fun."
Another thrill went through Tom and he said, "You're damn right, Penny." Jesus, she was already turning him on, sitting there beside him stroking the palm of his hand as she was now.
Reluctantly he drew it away to maneuver a difficult curve, and Penny let it fall to his thigh. He sucked in his breath, staring at her in the rear-view mirror, then glanced down at her raven hair. Jesus! His cock was already lurching in his pants, going stiff as a poker while his balls were beginning to ache. Jesus! And they weren't even near the Whitmore place.
Penny's dress had ridden up above her thigh now, and he swallowed hard as he caught sight of the rippling golden skin between the top of her stocking and the edge of her fancy black lace panties. And then she moved closer to him, pressing her bare thigh sensuously against his own. "Honey," she purred seductively, her voice as soft and warm as the fur of a well-fed kitten, "honey, I sure go for you."
The car lurched and Penny's body lurched with it, falling against Tom's shoulder, her firm wide-set breasts brushing his body. Oh, Christ!
He was almost ready to fuck her now, ready to drive off the road someplace and park, then put his hand up under her skirt, between those soft warm thighs, insinuate his fingers beneath the edge of her panties until he found the hair-lined slit of her pussy.
He gulped, then shook his head. It would have been great, fucking her there in the back seat of the car, and he would do it one of these days.
But that would have to wait. He would try her out first on her own bed, hers and John's, and the knowledge that she shared it with her husband would make the screwing he was going to give her that much better.
He stepped on the accelerator, his palms wet with sweat now as he raced toward the Whitmore home. God, his balls ached like they were crushed in a vise, his loins burned like a house on fire.
They reached the large sprawling house at last, the lights from the front window shining a warm welcome to them and lighting up the curved driveway where Tom parked the car behind John's Lincoln. As he slid from the car, he studied the house. Jesus, what a place! It sure as hell went with the car Whitmore drove.
Penny had descended on her side and started up the flagstone path, bright in the light from the house that mingled with the light from the full moon overhead. "Hurry," she whispered breathlessly over her shoulder as if she, too, could hardly wait for the moment when Tom's strong fingers would explore her voluptuously curved body,. cup her fine firm breasts, trail along the swell of her gold-flecked belly.
She stopped suddenly, spotting a small stick on the path, then leaned over to pick it up. The short skirt she wore flounced up over the twin half moons of her undulating buttocks, giving him a full view of her black lace bikini panties, the fabric caught enticingly in the narrow crevice between her ass-cheeks.
Christ! He moved quickly toward her, caught her around the waist and pulled her upright, turning her and crushing her to him until her throbbing pussy pressed hard against his aching rigid cock and the hard buttons of her taut little nipples bit into his chest like steel bores. Penny gave a moan of erotic pleasure that made his flesh break out in goose bumps, and then lifted her head to his. He mashed his lips against the glistening moistness of her mouth and his tongue pried it open, sinking deep into the warm cavern for just a moment. And then, with a wink that was an invitation to all the lewd pleasure in the world, Penny broke away and went on up the walk, her buttocks beneath the red dress undulating gently, signaling still another invitation.
The door was on the latch. and she pushed it open noisily, beckoning Tom to follow her. "John and Kelly must be in the library," she said. "Want to go in?"
"Why not?" Tom shrugged.
Penny led him down the hall to a book-lined room with a huge mahogany desk in it, flanked by a polished leather sofa and a couple of big leather chairs. A log burned in the fireplace at one end, giving off little sparks that snapped like corn-flakes in the mouth. Kelly was sitting near the fire while John stood before a long bar fixing drinks from the bottles on the large silver tray on top of it.
He dropped a couple of chunks of ice into heavy crystal glasses, poured a few fingers of scotch over one, added a squirt of soda and handed it to Kelly. "What's yours?" he asked Penny as she entered the room.
"On the rocks," she said, wrinkling her nose at her husband. "As if you didn't know."
He grinned and poured it for Penny. Then he nodded to Tom.
"Your poison?" he asked.
Tom shook his head. Christ, he didn't want to stand around drinking now. He had other things in mind. "Nothing," he said, shaking his head. "I'll take a raincheck on it."
"Oh, come on, Tom," Penny said, rubbing up against him again and sending new bolts of lightning through his quivering body. "You can take it with you if you want."
He grinned sheepishly, wondering what Whitmore thought of the obvious invitation. And then he shrugged. Hell, wasn't that why they'd come here?
"The same," he said, as John poured another for him. He took it with a nod. "Thanks."
Penny Whitmore laughed raucously as he juggled it in his hands.
"Come on. Like I said, you can take it with you."
Tom glanced at John who nodded indulgently, then picked up the last of the glasses. Why not? he wondered. Cradling the drink in his hand, he followed Penny out of the room and down the hall . . . she opened a door near the end of it and went in, switching on the light. In the center of the room was a king-sized bed, flanked on either side by small tables.
There was a bureau, too, and a dressing table, all set on a deep-pile white rug.
Tom Brown crossed it hastily, putting his drink on one of the bedside tables. He took Penny's drink from her hand, over her sputtered protests, and placed that on the table, too. And then, staring lewdly at her he ordered, "Get naked."
"What?"
"You heard me!"
Penny shivered apprehensively, her eyes widening in admiration of Tom. John would never have ordered her around that way, never have dared to! She'd hooked up with a real man this time, a man her own type, and she could hardly wait to feel his thick cock skewering deep into her, ploughing back the soft pink flesh of her cunt in small warm ridges, withdrawing, pulling them out with him!
"You heard me!" Tom repeated, stepping forward as if he meant business.
Penny gasped, knowing she had at last met her match and now more than willing to submit. She reached behind her to the zipper that ran from her neck to her waist and struggled, trying to pull it down. "Oh, God," she wailed suddenly. "I can't. It's stuck . . . it's stuck."
"I'll bet," Tom said cynically.
"It is, Tom. It is!"
"Well, what do you want me to do about it?"
"Help me!"
He stared at her through half-closed eyelids, then stepped forward and yanked viciously at the tiny metal tab at the top. It swooped down, leaving an open path behind it that showed Penny's softly tender skin.
There was a sudden sound of ripping fabric and then she gasped. "Oh, God! Now you've torn it!"
"Sure," Tom said laconically.
"But you've torn it!" Penny said again, calculating the cost of repairing the expensive dress. "You've torn it!"
"Yeah," Tom said.
"But don't you care at all what you've done to it?"
"Why should I?"
"Because . . "" Penny stammered, surveying the ruins of the dress.
"Because . . ."
"The hell with 'because'. Take it off!"
Once again Penny was overwhelmed by Tom's blunt arrogance, thrilled by his earthiness. She did as she was told, slipping the dress down off her shoulders, easing it over her hips until it fell to her feet. She stepped out of it and stood before Tom in panties and bra, in stockings and high-heeled black pumps.
"Take your bra off," he ordered, and with a small whimper of protest Penny reached behind her to undo the fastenings there. Suddenly the restricting garment opened and her firm full breasts sprang free.
Tom stepped forward, cupping each in one large hand, then flicked his head forward and down to fasten his mouth over one quivering nipple.
His tongue laved at it sensuously and little chills tiptoed across her trembling flesh. And then he nipped at it with his teeth, sending a sharp sensation of pain through her. She yelped and pushed him away, while he grinned obscenely at her . . . and then he slid his hands beneath the waistband of her lace panties, tugging at them. "Take these off, too!" he ordered.
Penny Whitmore shivered with fearful delight, then did as she was told, rolling the little panties slowly down over her quivering buttocks, her thighs. Once again, as they fell to the floor at last she stepped out of them.
And then she stood before Tom wearing nothing but her stockings and her garter belt.
He stepped forward once more and now he ran his hands lewdly over her softly trembling flesh, down from her lovely white shoulders, along the valley between her soft white breasts and over the plane of her belly. They reached the sparse dark triangle of her pubic hair at the base of her belly at last and teased briefly there. And then he placed the flat of each hand against the soft smooth skin of her inner thighs and spread them apart.
Penny stood before him for a moment, almost motionless and then she sucked in her breath. "Tom," she moaned.
"Yeah?" But he had stepped back, taken his hands away from her palpitating flesh.
"Don't," she cried suddenly.
Tom smiled broadly. "Back in a minute," he said. And then he started to tug at his broad, multicolored tie, tearing it off quickly. His shirt came next and then he eased his pants down over his hips. He stood before Penny for a moment in his jockey shorts and she stared in fascination at the obscene bulge beneath them. "Think you'll like that?" he asked, patting it with his huge hand.
"Honey," Penny said, her eyes twinkling with lecherous mirth, "I know I will."
"Okay, let's give it a whirl," Tom told her. He pulled his jockey shorts down and his huge thick cock sprang forth.
Suddenly he sank to his knees and his hands shot out at the same time to part once more her softly quivering thighs. And now he leaned forward, pushing his head between them, opening them wide to his sight.
"Oh, God!" Penny gasped. "What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to suck that sweet little pussy of yours," Tom said.
Penny could think of nothing to say. She sucked in her breath as Tom's tongue shot out, crawling along the soft smooth flesh of her cuntal lips, licking at them with a lascivious delight that set her flesh to creeping.
It ran the length of the soft pink folds, darting out from time to time to sink between them, sink deep up into the narrow slit there while she cried out in startled ecstasy.
"Oh, God! Tom, what are you doing? What on earth are you doing?" she squealed.
"I'm sucking your little pink pussy," he said. "Just like I told you I would. Like it?"
For an answer, Penny merely mewled with pleasure.
"Thought you would," Tom said. "Haven't been getting much good fucking lately, have you?"
Penny shrugged. "What do you think?"
"I think you never got anything as good as what I'm going to throw your way tonight."
Penny laughed harshly. "You may be right," she said.
"Better take care of that then, shouldn't I?" Tom asked. His head flicked forward again and his tongue pressed deep up between the hair-lined lips of her soft moist cunt.
Penny quivered with ecstasy at this unexpected invasion while bolts of white-hot lightning seemed to set her on fire. Tom pushed forward, burying the full length of his flicking tongue deep up between the walls of her hotly throbbing pussy. And then he withdrew it to lick upward, the soft tip of his tongue circling her aching little clitoris, turning it taut and hard with unsatiated passion He placed his hands firmly against her thighs, his thumbs on the soft fleshy edges of her pussy, opening the pink folds even wider to his slaving tongue. A thrill of the most intense excitement she had ever known swept over Penny's tensed body, and she shuddered uncontrollably, then leaned down to tangle her hands in Tom's slicked down hair, pulling his head deeper into her proffered loins.
Oh, Christ, he thought. She loves this! She really does! His mind flashed back to his wife Kelly, and her reactions whenever he had even faintly suggested some form of lovemaking a little way out of the usual pattern, the way she stiffened with horror, turning cold and withdrawn, repulsing him, making him feel like a heel. Christ! And here was this gorgeous brunette lapping it up like a kitten at a bowl of cream, loving every single second of it!
There was moisture seeping now from between her wide-spread thighs, and he felt her soft wet pubic hair grazing his cheeks as he drove his tongue faster and faster, working it up and down maddeningly. It slithered deep up into the small opening, retreated, slithered in again while Penny mewled with undisguised pleasure.
Christ, he thought. He couldn't stand this much longer and neither could Penny. He looked at her lewdly, saw that her nipples were taut and hard with erotic excitement, that her full ripe breasts were swollen, throbbing. Any minute now he was going to . . . "What am I going to do to you?" he asked suddenly.
"Huh?" She seemed to break out suddenly from the spell induced by Tom's wildly flicking tongue against her soft cuntal lips, the world of erotic pleasure that he had created for her, allowed her to enter.
"What am I going to do to you?"
"I . . . I don't know," she whimpered, startled now.
"Yes, you do. You know I'm going to fuck you. But you know something else, Penny, honey?"
"What?" Her voice was low now, and she moved her loins close to Tom again, trying to pull his head deep into them.
But he moved away, looking up at her, a flash of cruelty in his dark eyes compelling her attention. "You know you're going to beg me to."
A shiver of excitement ran through Penny at the idea of being humiliated by this man who was still little more than a stranger to her, being humiliated in this way! John never would have, she suddenly realized, and yet it was this that she had longed for, longed for ever since the night when she was still a high-school kid, when her date had driven her to an isolated spot off the highway, pulled her little panties off and then rammed his cock so deep and so hard up inside her that she had thought he would split her in two! And now Tom's words were echoing in her ears. "You're going to beg me to."
"Oh, no!" she protested, knowing that she would, of course, and soon.
"Yes!" Tom understood and went on, willing to play Penny's game. "Beg!"
"No!"
"Yes!" He reached up suddenly and gave her a sharp swift slap on one quivering ass-cheek. "Beg!"
"No!"
"Yes!" Another sharp slap brought a stifled cry of pain from Penny.
"No . . ." she began, then suddenly changed to "Yes . . . yes, Tom."
"Okay, go ahead!"
Penny ran her hands through his hair again, and leaned forward, her bright eyes shining, her lovely lips half-parted. "Fuck me . . . fuck me like I've never been fucked before. Put your big fat cock right up inside my cunt, Tom. Ram it in. Oh, God! Fuck me!"
Tom Brown stood up suddenly, seized her by the shoulders and pushed her backward onto the bed. "The pleasure will be mine," he said as she fell onto it, her legs splaying out to reveal again the fleshy hair-lined lips of her cunt, moistly glistening as they quivered with her desire . . . he dropped to the bed above her, kneeling, straddling her voluptuous white body. His swollen cock jutted forth from his loins, the heavy blood-engorged head aimed straight at the tiny entrance to her vagina.
He pushed forward then, and Penny gasped as she felt the fleshy rod pop through the tight elastic opening, then sweep deep up into the soft moist channel of her cunt. He lunged again and now the blunt rubbery head battered deep into the secret depths of her womb.
Impaled on the thick, lust-stiffened cock, Penny began to writhe and twist, riding up and down on her partner's iron-hard flesh. Tom thrust in an out, withdrawing, plunging in again, withdrawing once. more. His rhythm quickened into long hard strokes, and he began to breathe heavily.
Then, suddenly, he reached down beneath Penny and the mattress, sliding his hand the length of the narrow moist crevice between her white pumping ass-cheeks. He found the tiny puckered hole of her anus then and probed briefly at it. She whinnied with pleasure, then held her breath. In an instant Tom forced his finger tip through the little brown nether ring while Penny sucked in her breath sharply, then moaned with the sudden pain that caused her so much pleasure, too. And now, as she became accustomed to this new and unnatural invasion, she began to writhe and twist again, screwing her flaming rectum back onto his finger tip, her burning cunt onto the hard thick shaft of his throbbing cock.
Tom continued to fuck in and out, matching the rhythm of his plunging finger to that of his rampaging penis that sank deep up into her belly.
Close to ecstasy now, Penny reached down beneath his thighs to take his lust-inflated balls between her hands, cradling them in her soft smooth palms, cupping and squeezing them until he too groaned. And then he knew that he couldn't hold back any longer. Jesus! She was stroking his balls until he thought he would go out of his mind. He could feel the white-hot sperm churning there, ready to explode, ready to shoot the length of his penis, to gush forth deep up inside her quivering white belly.
He plunged in again, tortured by the ache and throb and anguish in his loins. And then at last the welcome relief came and his thick boiling cum spurted in a burning, jet-like stream while he quaked and pumped, his body pounding against hers.
He felt her tense as she came to her own climax, heard her groan in her overwhelming joy. And then a shudder racked her spasming body, convulsing her as her own wet cuntal warmth seeped from the walls of her vagina, bathing his still crazily jerking cock.
They rocked back and forth together, clinging to one another in the moment of their fulfillment. And then at last, both sighing heavily, they relaxed, their bodies spent, exhausted. Tom sighed again, then withdrew his now deflated penis, rolling over to lie beside Penny's outstretched body. She turned toward him, cradling her head on his shoulder, and then she closed her eyes, drifting off to sleep.
Tom, lying beside her, ran his finger gently across her still warmly excited body. Jesus, he thought. This was better than he'd thought it would be . . . she was fantastic!
* * * Meanwhile, in the study, John Whitmore refilled Kelly Brown's glass and watched her sip its contents contentedly. She was a beautiful woman he told himself once more. A beautiful blonde not that his wife Penny wasn't beautiful, he added hastily. She was gorgeous, too.
But Kelly had a certain something extra, and he identified it as breeding. And then he hated himself for being such a snob, but he couldn't help it, he admitted to himself. He'd been brought up that way after all.
And so had Kelly!
John wondered for a moment what she would be like in bed, then laughed inwardly. He was going to find out, wasn't he? Wasn't that why she was here?
Of course it was, and he smiled benevolently at the lovely young woman, nodding toward the highball he had just mixed for her. "Is it all right?" he asked solicitously.
"Oh, yes. Quite," Kelly said, smiling gently.
"Enough ice?"
"Yes, thank you."
"Enough soda?"
"Yes," Kelly said. "It's perfect, John . . ." She felt a little ill at ease at calling this handsome and distinguished man by his first name when she knew him so slightly. But the idea that she would soon go to bed with him amused her and she smiled again, her eyes crinkling up, her perfect nose wrinkling slightly. "John," she repeated, staring at him almost insolently for a moment, then dropping her eyes demurely.
"Kelly," he murmured, letting his eyes rove over her. She was exquisite, he thought. Absolutely exquisite. Her figure was perfect, her breasts high and firm, her waist slender, tiny, her hips flaring. She turned and crossed the room to take a canap� from the silver tray on the bar.
Whitmore stared, his mouth suddenly dry, He licked his lips, breathing heavily. God; he'd never seen anyone so graceful, never seen anyone so sensuous and yet so unobtrusive about it. She was just what the doctor ordered, he told himself passionately, just what he'd been waiting for all these years. And now he'd found her. Why wait any longer? There was no reason to, he thought, stepping forward, taking her glass from her and setting it down on the top of the bar.
Kelly looked surprised and opened her mouth as if to protest, but suddenly John flicked his head forward, fastening his mouth on her warm moist lips. She recoiled involuntarily, and then relaxed, letting him press his loins up against her pelvis, parting her lips willingly as his tongue darted out to probe at them, then press between them.
It found hers and swirled around it, then shot forward deep into her throat until Kelly was afraid he would choke her. She struggled briefly against him, gasping for breath. And then when she caught it she relaxed, feeling the little darts of pleasure shoot deep into her as John crushed her to him, mashing her firm little pointed breasts, the nipples hard as diamonds, against his chest.
Kelly felt a tingling in her pussy, the beginning of a moistness there that she could hardly comprehend. She wished desperately that it would go away and then knew that only John could make that happen; at the same time she knew that she wanted just that . . . that she wanted to submit to him completely as she had never wanted to submit to her own husband . . . she felt his fingers pressing into the soft white flesh of her shoulders, felt his hands as they slipped beneath the neckline of her dress, then down to the ripe mounds of her breasts.
He slid them gently beneath the sheer fabric of her brassiere and then he began to stroke her soft skin; Gently, tenderly, but relentlessly too he went on, until the tingling between Kelly's legs grew and spread throughout her quaking young loins.
She pressed her soft white thighs together in a desperate effort to quell the agonizing quivering there, the little flames that seemed to lick at her most secret parts, then to set on fire even her narrow cuntal passage.
The flames of desire spread through her helpless flesh, and she mewled with pleasure as the pressure of John's fingers against her softly ripe breasts increased, as he cupped them now, kneading them until new bolts of excitement seemed to set off tiny explosions in her blood.
He took her tiny budding nipples between his thumbs and forefingers now, rolling them with teasing and tantalizing motions that made her gasp almost breathlessly. She seemed to come alive beneath his touch, she thought with wonder, to spring into a quivering ecstasy, to respond as she never had with her own husband!
She gave a little sigh, almost inaudible, in regret for all those lost years when she had been as unfeeling as a marble statue, all those years during which she had waited for just such a moment as this. An unwanted chill spread through her, heightening the fires that burned within her, then suddenly she tilted her face up to John's again.
He bent down to whisper in her shell-like ear, "My God, but you're lovely," and his very words excited her further. She was trembling uncontrollably now, wishing desperately that he would slip her dress off, unfasten the hooks at the back of her bra and release her throbbing breasts.
"Oh, John," she murmured, her voice small and quivering. "Oh, my God!"
"Kelly, let's go into the guest room. Would you like that?"
"Yes," she whispered, nodding. "Oh, yes!" She glanced up at him, her eyes bright as twinkling stars now.
John led the way from the library and down the hall with Kelly following willingly, her heart flailing against her ribs. It seemed so wicked to her in so many ways. She was being unfaithful to Tom after all, no matter what fact was put upon the adulterous act she would soon commit, and yet it seemed right, somehow. John Whitmore was such a fine person, such a gentleman, how could he possibly do anything wrong? Or ask her to do anything wrong? It just wasn't possible, she thought, anymore than it would have been possible for her father to do so.
John opened a door far down the hall and Kelly peered in at the twin beds covered with silk bedspreads, at the matching draperies, the thick carpet. The furniture was graceful, the other furnishings in the best possible taste. Kelly relaxed, whatever qualms she had had earlier now stilled. She felt at home here, in a way she had never felt in her own small house. And again, she felt her blood raging, rampaging through her veins.
She went in as he held the door for her and looked around. He quickly followed her, closing the door softly but definitely behind them.
And then once again he moved close to Kelly, pressing his loins up against hers . . . she felt the bulge there beneath his trousers now and shivered a little as-the full realization of what she was about to do, all the implications of this act, reached her. And yet she brushed away all doubts, all fears. There would be no humiliation with this man as there had been with her own husband, merely because John would have none of the sense of inferiority she knew that Tom had in relation to her. There would be none of that and their lovemaking would be beautiful and fulfilling, just the way it was described in some of the psychology books, those that dealt primarily with the psychology of sex, that she had been reading recently.
She shivered again in anticipation, feeling a little weak with the erotic joy of the moment, while the nearness of John fanned the flames that seemed to burn within her, consuming her loins like brushwood in a forest fire. "Oh, God," she moaned, and then felt his hands go behind her to fumble with the zipper at the back of her dress.
He drew it down slowly in a thrilling, tantalizing motion that sent little feathers of delight tripping across her trembling skin, teasing her until it seemed that every nerve end responded. She felt the cool air of the room waft across her and sucked in her breath with the pleasurable shock. And then he eased his fingers beneath the narrow shoulders, the tiny cap sleeves to slide the dress down her slender white arms.
It fell to her hips and John ran his hands slowly down the flat plane of her belly to the small folds of fabric there, then smoothed it down over her quivering thighs, her softly undulating buttocks.
She stared at him, her eyes wide in her lovely face, her blonde hair hanging angelically about her shoulders, and waited. Oh, God! He was so gentle with her so . . . so . . . she searched for the word. So considerate, she thought, remembering the rough way in which her husband so often took her.
Tom had fucked her, she thought disconsolately, remembering the obscenity he so often used and which she still heard with a slight shock.
He had fucked her, but John would make love to her, the way ladies and gentlemen did, the way people of her own background, did. It was what she would expect of a man who lived in a house like this, and her eyes suddenly darted around the room, taking in all the small luxurious details which she had overlooked before. It was what her father and mother had done and not the terrible and shocking carnal act that she and her husband performed together.
She had thought that she and Tom could be happy together, had thought she could escape the stuffiness of her own family background with a man like him. He was rough, like an uncut gem. But she had scratched the surface and found, she thought, the wonderful qualities beneath the crude exterior. She had thought they would be enough, and she had been mistaken. But such a thing would never happen with John Whitmore.
Kelly stood before him now, trembling slightly still, in her little white brassiere, her little white panties. An electric current seemed to flow from one to the other, making them both glow with a heightened sensuality. And then John moved closer to her again, running his hands lightly along her soft white throat, down over her lovely shoulders, teasing quickly, expertly at her throbbing breasts still encased in the little white bra.
Once again his hands moved behind her and now he fumbled momentarily with the hooks that fastened the bit of lace and elastic.
Suddenly they gave, and her lovely breasts were freed from all constriction.
With a quick deft movement, he pulled the small brassiere completely away from her body and let that fall to the floor too, on top of Kelly's dress. In a sudden moment of girlish modesty, she covered her throbbing breasts with her hands and a faint flush suffused her cheeks.
And then, as quickly and easily as he had removed her brassiere, John pushed them away so that her breasts were fully exposed to him in all their lush ripeness.
He flicked his head forward then to fasten his mouth over one small quivering nipple bud, swirling his tongue delicately around it, laying it into a taut little erection. Kelly tensed at the first contact, then relaxed, sighing happily. He began to suck on the quivering tip now while Kelly, quickly becoming accustomed to this new excitement, moaned ecstatically.
Little flickers of fire seemed to sputter up and down her spine, spreading through her limbs again. They seemed to go weak as she responded to the now maddening tongue laying, and when John's hands caressed her body urgently, his fingers like small flames trailing across her skin to leave burning embers in their wake, she made no effort to resist. With her eyes closed, she floated off into a world of pleasure she had never known before. A fleeting memory came back to her of the terrible night when Tom had forced her to perform the shocking perversion with him, when he had sunk the bloated rod of his penis deep into her mouth and made her suck on it until he came. But John, she, was certain, would never hurt her in that way. He would be "considerate", she thought again. Then, she realized now that he had slipped his hands beneath the elastic waistband of her little white panties, that his fingers were gently stroking the white flesh of her soft-skinned belly.
Once again she shuddered with sheer delight while little fingers of joy touched her as gently as little cat feet, and then there was a delirious moment when his fingers slipped down to the tiny vee of golden pubic hair between her thighs, then on to run the length of the hair-lined slit there, pausing for the briefest of moments to tease at the tiny bud of her clitoris, sending new and even more ecstatic waves of pleasure through her!
She was still in a state of stunned euphoria when he slipped the panties down over her thighs, then helped her to step out of them. And then he led her across the room to one of the beds. As quickly as he had undressed her, as skillfully, he had pulled back the bedspread and turned down the covers. And then he eased Kelly onto the linen sheet that covered the mattress.
As she lay there, her eyes still closed, there was a soft and strange sound in the room. When her eyes fluttered open she saw that John was undressing hurriedly, unbuckling his belt, pulling off his trousers, his undershirt, his shorts. And then she saw that his huge cock was erect, throbbing, ready. She moaned slightly, then closed her eyes again and lay still, waiting.
She felt the slight shift of the bed, the almost imperceptible groaning of the springs as John settled himself on it, above the young woman's nakedly palpitating body. He thrust his head forward and whispered, "Spread your legs, Kelly. I want to see you."
A shudder of forbidden joy spread through her and she did as she was told. She waited again, waited for the moment when his huge lust-swollen cock would brush against the soft curly hair of her yearning pussy.
And then she opened her eyes and saw that his head had dropped forward and now his tongue flicked out to probe hotly at the quivering pink lips of her vagina.
Another sudden shudder swept through her, but it was of horror now-sheer horror at the idea that John Whitmore could demand that she submit to him in this way. Oh, God! It was almost as bad as what Tom had demanded of her the other night, and for a moment she was afraid that she would burst into tears, weeping uncontrollably. She bit her lips, holding back her sobs, then ground her hips deep into the mattress, trying desperately to escape his sinuously worming tongue. Oh, dear God! She had never expected anything like this! From Tom, yes. But not from John Whitmore!
Once again a repressed sob shook her body as the handsome man's snaking tongue licked lewdly at the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, then moved upward to lap at the tiny bud of her clitoris. Oh, God, Kelly thought, on the verge now of hysteria. This couldn't be possible! It just couldn't be! What was he doing to her? But the lewd licking of her pulsating cunt went on and then John's tongue sank deep up into her moist cuntal passage.
In spite of her dismay little showers of excitement like bursting fireworks exploded in her blood, making her moan with involuntary pleasure. Oh, no, she thought! This was wrong! This was wicked!
John's perverted act was as evil as anything Tom had ever done to her and yet she knew-to her everlasting disgrace-that she was beginning to enjoy it, to respond to the thrilling tongue fucking to which she was being subjected!
She closed her eyes again and a salty tear slid down her cheek, and she brushed it away angrily with the back of her hand. "Stop, John," she suddenly begged him. And then she knew that was the last thing she wanted.
To her relief he went on, sinking his tongue deep up between the soft flesh lips of her moistly throbbing cunt while she continued to moan mindlessly. And then he slipped his hands under her quivering buttocks, cupping the soft skin then squeezing them in his palms while his tongue continued to lash out, slithering deep up between the wet and clasping walls of her vagina.
As Kelly relaxed beneath John's wild assault against her defenselessly quivering pussy, a sudden thought floated across the blankness of her mind like a single cloud across a soft blue sky. It was all right, everything was all right! This was John Whitmore hovering above her, flicking his tongue up against her throbbing clitoris, sending waves of unwanted pleasure breaking over her until she was almost submerged in them.
It was all right! Somehow nothing John could do could be depraved or vile. Never! Now little mewls of pleasure escaped unbidden from her lips to encourage him, to spur on his lashing tongue. Her body was wracked with a new and wondrous delight, one she had never dreamed possible, as he continued to suck hotly at her pussy.
Her throbbing cunt was drenched now with the warm moisture that seeped down onto her open thighs and dampened her soft pubic hair. She tensed her body, holding it taut, immobile for a long moment. And then, with a wild cry of pleasure, she began to move beneath John's punishing tongue, thrusting her hips up, twisting her loins, sinking back deep into the mattress.
Hovering above her, his head burrowing deep between Kelly's thighs, John Whitmore had a sudden sense of power over the lovely woman, a knowledge of his own personal triumph. To give erotic pleasure to his wife was common place-and he had an uneasy knowledge that he was only one of many who had, one of many who still would. But Kelly was an exclusive as far as he was concerned, like a custom-tailored suit, whereas Penny was merely one off the rack!
John grinned inwardly at the mental image and renewed his efforts, urged on by Kelly's whimpers and muffled cries. Jesus! He was bringing this statue to life, turning her from marble into a creature of quivering flesh and burning blood. And she in turn was sending him off on an ego trip, the likes of which he had never known!
He licked again at the rosy little bud of her clitoris, swirling his tongue around and around it, withdrawing briefly to snake it deep into the warm narrow walls of her cuntal channel. Her moans were music to his ears, her wails an inspiration.
And then he felt her tense again, fluttering for a moment on the edge of her ecstasy. Her hands shot out, her fingers entwining his hair as she pulled his head deeper and deeper into her own nakedly quivering loins. And then at last .her moment came and she cried out, unbelieving, "Oh, my God! I'm cumming . . . I'm cumming . . ."
Her body contracted in another convulsive spasm and then another as the full ecstasy of her climax took possession of her. An enormous shudder shook her lovely body, a ripple ran through her that was almost visible. She quaked beneath John, caught up in her own wild abandon in an instant that went beyond time.
Satiated at last, she fell back against the bed, her voluptuous body relaxed now, drained and exhausted. A sense of the most complete fulfillment she had ever known engulfed her and she closed her eyes, still breathing heavily. At last she slid off into a sleep of deep contentment while John Whitmore slithered up her body, flicking his tongue out one final time, but now to lave the small buds of her nipples . . .
Chapter Four
There were moments when a deep sense of shame filled kelly brown's troubled mind. Not only, she knew, because of what she had done, what she had permitted John to do to her. Oh, dear God! He had fucked her as if she were no more than a common whore! But far worse was the fact that she had enjoyed being fucked in that obscene way, had been close to ecstasy as his tongue had lashed out to worm deep up into her moistly throbbing cuntal passage.
Kelly shuddered for the past, but she dreaded the future. They would all four meet again, there was no question about that. And then what would happen? Would John fuck her again in the same shocking manner? Or would he demand an ever greater submission on her part?
And if he did . . .?
She hardly dared to think of what would happen next. In a sudden flash she realized how naive she was, how innocent in spite of all the knowledge she had gleaned from the reading of innumerable books. Oh, dear God! She was little more than a babe in the woods when it came to matters of the relationships between men and women, when it came to sex.
Sometimes she railed against her strict and puritanical upbringing, against the hypocrisy of her well-bred family. Dear God! Her mother had taught her that people of their type were not interested in sex, making everything connected with it seem somehow unclean. In spite of the older woman's constantly reiterated admonitions . . . "We have better things to think of . .
." Kelly had frequently let her mind wander to the desires, the needs of her own body.
She had even, from time to time, let her hands wander across her softly trembling flesh, seeking out the little triangular zone of pleasure there between her legs at the base of her belly. She had stroked the small bud of her clitoris into a taut erection, ashamed-oh, so ashamed-of what she was doing, yet unable to stop!
She had an eerie sense that the same thing was happening again, that her own personal history was repeating itself. She couldn't stop! She would let John do anything he wanted, would welcome it, accepting it because she was powerless to resist! There were times when she contemplated in horror the depths to which it seemed she had fallen, other times when she resolutely made up her mind to end the affair. But she didn't want to . . . she really didn't want to.
She compared her husband to John, time after time. She thought of the ecstasy when the former had ravished her so obscenely, thought of her horror when she had been forced to suck greedily at Tom's thick and rigid cock.
Would John ever ask her to suck at his? She shook her head, wondering, trying to assure herself that she would never, never agree to degrade herself to the point of doing so. And yet, she thought with another shudder of horror, she was weak and being weak, she would be willing.
There were times when she thought she would go out of her mind if she had to see the Whitmores again, repeat her own depraved performance. But there were other times when she was just as certain she would go out of her mind if she didn't meet them once more.
Preoccupied as she was, she became listless and lost her appetite.
Her nerves seemed frayed as an old lamp cord, and she was startled by the slightest sound, the least commotion. In spite of her fears, her premonitions of imminent disaster, she found herself waiting for the telephone to ring, hoping against hope that it would be either John or Penny, asking to arrange another evening like the last they had spent together.
When it turned out to be someone else, Tom calling to say that he would be late for dinner or her friend Cynthia calling to suggest lunch and an afternoon of shopping, she felt a terrible let-down after the surge of excitement that had first welled up in her.
Kelly was sitting in the living room with Tom one night after dinner, idly turning the pages of a book she had bought only that afternoon while her husband leafed through the latest issue of his favorite girly magazine when the telephone rang. Kelly sat bolt upright, then started to her feet to answer, but Tom was already on his way to the hall to pick up the instrument. His voice floated back to her, cautious at first as he said, "Hello," and then becoming animated. "Sure," he was saying. "Sure. You bet we would. As a matter of fact, I've been hoping you would call."
There was a pause as he listened to the voice at the other end of the line and Kelly called out, "Who is it, Tom?"
"John Whitmore, honey," he called back and Kelly's heart plummeted. Oh, God! He'd called after all! She knew then how devoutly she had wanted him to, and knew at the same time a moment of complete and utter despair. He shouldn't have, she thought bitterly. He shouldn't have!
But John had called, and Kelly knew it would only be a matter of time before she would give herself up to the enjoyment of whatever depravity he wished to subject her to. Oh, God! He would fuck her just the way he had before, she thought, and the memory set off a delightful tingling there between her legs again! She pressed them together, trying desperately to suppress the unwanted pleasure, but it was useless. She remembered then the sight of John's huge thick cock jutting from his loins, thought of the way it had hovered ever so briefly above her own open and welcoming pussy. An unexpected, unwanted tremor of joy coursed through her limbs and then with a tremendous effort she calmed her trembling body.
"We doing anything Friday?" Tom called from the hall.
"I . . . I. . . don't know," she stammered, knowing what would come next, desiring it and dreading it at the same time. "I don't know."
"Look and see, will you?"
Kelly got up and found the small calendar on which she wrote down the dates she made. With a sinking feeling, Kelly saw that the calendar was blank. She stared at it, momentarily mute, then was prodded into answering by Tom's insistent voice. "Did you look, Kelly? What have we got?"
"Nothing," she managed to murmur. "Nothing, Tom."
"What?" he asked again. "I can't hear you, Kelly. Have we got anything planned for Friday?"
"No," she said at last, shaking her head as if he could see her. "No.
We haven't got anything planned."
''Great!'' It was an explosion of scarcely-concealed pleasure from Tom. And then he added, "Well, we have now, so write it down, will you?"
Write what down? Kelly thought resentfully. What? He hadn't told her yet. But he would, she knew. He would. She heard her husband speaking into the telephone again, heard him saying, "Sure thing, John.
You bet. Wouldn't miss it for anything. Not after the show your better half put on for me. Jesus Christ! She's a great little number when you get her in the sack. But I guess I don't have to tell you that, do I?"
There was another pause and Kelly wondered miserably if John was returning the compliment. He wouldn't, she told herself. He was above that. And yet he had thought nothing of subjecting her to a shockingly demeaning perversion!
Oh, God! Kelly closed her eyes briefly, remembering his punishing tongue as it had licked at the soft lips of her cunt, as it had swirled around the small bud of her clitoris . . . Tom's voice startled her again, bringing her back to the present. "Friday then," he was saying. "Yeah, it's going to be hard on me to wait that long . . ." he suddenly burst into a guffaw of ribald laughter. "Hard on . . . get it?" he asked. "That's what I get, just thinking about that luscious chick you're married to." There was another pause and Kelly blushed in embarrassment at her husband's crude comment, and then she heard the telephone being cradled.
Tom strode back into the room, a lewd grin spreading across his face. "That was John," he explained as if Kelly hadn't known. "We're invited there again this Friday."
"I know that," Kelly said with a hint of irritation in her voice.
But Tom was too pleased with the other man's call to notice. "Gee, honey," he said, "I can hardly wait . . ." He looked at her lewdly, licking his lips. "How about getting in a practice session before then?" he asked evilly. "Get you in shape for the big night."
"Oh, Tom . . ." Kelly's eyes were stark with mingled terror and horror. How could she, after what he had said to John Whitmore? How could she ever again?
"Well . . ." Her husband stood before her, still grinning obscenely and she saw with despair that there was a bulge beneath his trousers.
"No," she said in a low, frightened voice.
"Aw, come on, Kelly. Practice makes perfect . . ."
"No!"
"It doesn't?" Tom shrugged cynically. "Okay . . . have it your way .
. ." Goddamn her, he thought bitterly, stomping off through the room and into the kitchen.
He took a beer from the refrigerator, pulled back the tab to open it and then drank it down quickly. He wiped his mouth on his shirt sleeve, tossed the empty can toward the trash basket the room-it fell short and rolled across the floor, and Tom kicked at it savagely, sending it hurtling under the table-and opened another. He drank that quickly too, hurling the empty can after the first one. And then he sat down heavily on one of the kitchen chairs.
Goddamn it, he thought. He ought to go into the living room right now, rip his wife's dress off and pull her panties down. And then rape her.
Goddamn it all! Rape her right there in the living room, under the glare of the overhead light, the three lamps that still burned brightly. Fuck her silly, out there in the open-and with the blinds up, the shutters open, giving anyone who wanted it a million dollar view. Jesus, that would sure as hell humble her highness-lying there with her legs spread wide, her pink little pussy exposed to the passers-by. Christ, she would learn her lesson and learn it good!
He laughed coarsely at the thought of his wife twisting and writhing beneath him, humiliated almost beyond endurance. The stuck-up bitch! Oh, Christ! Why had he ever married her? And why did he put up with this crap she handed out?
Well, he wouldn't any longer, he thought. Christ, he'd had it up to here!
Staggering a little, he strode back into the living room. "Kelly?" he snarled, looking around.
The chair she had been sitting in was empty, all the lights but one turned off. He blinked, wondering if she had gone up to bed and was lying there, her naked body quivering passionately while she waited for him.
Jesus!
But he knew instinctively that that wasn't true. Instead of waiting for him with her legs spread wide, ready to welcome his raging penis deep up inside her, she had probably locked the bedroom door and was crying herself to sleep. Oh, Christ! He thought of going upstairs anyway, knocking the door down then screwing his wife just the way he'd wanted to before. But he knew that it wouldn't be any good . . . he would hate himself later almost as much as Kelly would hate him. And so, consoling himself with thoughts of Penny and the fucking she was in for on Friday, he finally curled up on the couch and went to sleep. . .
Chapter Five
Dinner friday night at antoine's passed quickly and pleasantly. Even Kelly was excited by the prospect of the evening that lay ahead, her anticipation heightened by the quantity of alcohol she consumed during the meal. As before, it was John who drove her back to the luxurious hilltop home in his softly purring, luxury car while Tom and Penny followed in the Brown's smaller one. And as before, they waited for the others in the library, sipping at the nightcaps that John mixed.
"How about one for you, Penny?" John asked as his wife finally arrived, her lovely face flushed with her erotic expectations.
"Oh, yes," she answered brightly. She took the glass in both hands, peering over the edge of it as John mixed still another for Tom.
Tom drank quickly, feeling it warm his veins the way alcohol always did. Not that he wasn't damn near ready to explode already. And from the way Penny had acted in the car, letting him put his hand up under the hem of her dress, spreading her legs wide for him to give him greater access to the thin strip of fabric that outlined the lips of her quivering pussy, letting him tease thrillingly at the fleshy folds beneath, he figured she was too. He grinned lewdly at her now, sitting halfway across the room.
Jesus, he was going to show her something tonight he thought.
Something she wouldn't forget in a long long time. Suddenly a gross idea welled up in his brain. Show her, sure! But why not show the others too?
The thought of fucking this dark-haired broad in front of the others brought his thick cock half-erect beneath his pants. He caught Kelly glancing at the bulge there and turning away with an embarrassed look and a feeling of cold anger suddenly gripped him. What the hell did she think they'd all come up here for, anyway? To drink tea or something? Damn it all. Now he really would fuck Penny in front of the others, just to get even with his own wife! And not only that, he licked his lips lasciviously, thinking there was more than one way to skin a cat, and more than one way to screw a broad! He got up and crossed the room to the bar. "Mind if I make another one?" he asked. Without waiting for an answer, he poured himself a stiff drink of whiskey and drank it neat.
"Me, too," Penny said. He turned and saw that she was standing beside him now, holding out her glass. He poured a second drink for her, a third for himself. When she had drained her glass, Penny put it down on the bar, then moved close to him, leaning over provocatively.
Tom Brown stared down into the cleavage of her dress, the neckline exposing her soft white breasts. With a lewd grin, he slid his hand beneath the fabric, slid it beneath her black lace brassiere and cupped one breast in his strong hand, squeezing it painfully.
"Hey," Penny gasped, then tried to push him away.
"What's the matter? Don't you like that?"
Penny's cheerful laughter rippled through the room and she slapped playfully at Tom's hand. "Hey, you so-and-so," she said. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"Guess!" Tom said.
"I can guess all right, honey," she said, winking to show that she both knew and highly approved. "I can guess. But you aren't going to do it here."
"The hell I'm not!"
Penny's eyes sparkled with amusement. Oh, Lord, wouldn't that be something? she thought. Wouldn't it be something if Tom really did fuck her out here, right in front of John and that stuck-up bitch Kelly? She could just imagine the look on the other's face when she saw her own husband's thick cock ploughing up into her own throbbing pink pussy, saw her trembling ecstatically under his brazen assault. Oh, God!
She shook her head coyly. "No, you're not," she said, wagging a reproving finger at him.
Tom shrugged, squeezing her breast hard now until she winced with the pain. She let out a stifled cry and suddenly John turned to stare at her. His eyes widened with barely concealed disgust at the brazen exhibition and a ripple of added excitement washed through the lovely wife. Oh, God! What a show the two of them would put on for the others.
Having an audience would make being fucked by Tom twice as good as it had been before!
Penny trembled as Tom squeezed the soft white mound of her breast again, feeling little clouds of butterflies swarm around in her stomach. He tweaked at one rosy nipple now with steel-strong fingers, rolling it between them, while John stared at him, open-mouthed, dismayed.
Then Kelly looked up and choked back a little scream of horror.
Oh, no! Why did Tom have to do such things, why did he have to paw lewdly at this woman's breast in public? It was true, of course, that he'd come up here with one thing in mind and that was to take Penny to . . . to fuck her. But why out here? Why didn't they go into the bedroom as they had before?
"Tom . . ." she began diffidently, wondering how to suggest that he and Penny leave. But she could think of no way to ask. She shook her head, still watching, almost mesmerized now as Tom ran his other hand down Penny's black-clad back, cupping one softly undulating buttock to pull her close. He pressed his loins hard up against her pelvis, pressed his bulging cock against the small mound of her pussy.
"Tom . . ." Kelly began again, and then shook her head. Oh, God!
She couldn't sit here and watch this! She just couldn't! She stood up and turned toward the door. "John," she said. "Let's go in . . . in . . ." she nodded, ashamed to say "Bedroom".
"Yes, Kelly."
But before they could leave, Tom whirled around to order brusquely, "Stay here."
Kelly tugged on John's arm. "Let's go," she whispered urgently.
"Please, John."
The tall handsome man hesitated, a sudden excitement lighting fires in his loins. Oh, Lord! He'd never counted on anything like this . . . never counted on watching his wife get fucked by another man. Wifeswap, yes . . . Change partners, okay. But this?
This was insane!
It piqued his interest, added a filip of sensuality he hadn't counted on. He brushed impatiently at Kelly's hand on his sleeve.
"Please, John," she begged him.
"Wait a minute."
Kelly tapped her foot impatiently, scarcely breathing now at the sudden thought that John Whitmore might somehow be persuaded to stay and watch this indecent performance! What on earth had come over him?
He was . . . oh, dear God! He was acting like Tom, himself.
With a terrible sigh that signified her disappointment, Kelly released John's arm. She averted her eyes, staring at the floor now, concealing the pain in them. She waited as John had asked her to-waited for what seemed an eternity. And then he stepped forward, stepped toward his wife and Tom, at the same time motioning Kelly to a nearby chair.
"Let's stay awhile," he suggested to her. "This might be . . ." he had the grace to blush slightly, ". . . this might be fun."
Fun!
Kelly thought disconsolately. Oh, dear God! John Whitmore really was as lewd, as depraved as her own husband. She bit her lip, choking back the angry words that rose to them. And then she shook her head. No, she couldn't believe that. It just wasn't possible.
She had had a sudden inclination to turn and flee from this place, but now she changed her mind. John couldn't be so depraved, so . . . so . . .
uncouth! Not John Whitmore!
The harrowing experience of the week before, when he had sucked at her trembling pussy so voraciously, came back to her. And yet she couldn't-wouldn't-believe what seemed too obvious! She put her hand to her head, as if somehow that could untangle her thoughts. Her forehead seemed warm and her head seemed to spin.
Almost as if propelled by some exterior force she crossed to the bar and poured herself a drink. She swallowed it quickly. It helped, she thought. It helped. And another drink would help more, would enable her to survive the outrageous scene that was already unfolding before her. She poured it, then sank down onto the chair as she heard her husband suddenly order Penny, "Okay. Take it off . . . get naked!"
Well aware of her past in the chorus, Penny whirled around as if playing to an audience. But she was the star now, and she began to strut back and forth across the room, grinding her hips, thrusting out her pelvis.
Oh, God, Kelly thought. She's . . . she's doing a striptease! It had to be that. It just had to be! She had never seen one herself, but she had heard some of her friends in college talking about them, snickering behind their hands, winking slyly, giggling like the ninnies she considered them.
Abruptly John Whitmore, recognizing the act, too, began to applaud. "Take 'em off!" he urged his wife. "Take 'em off!"
Penny wiggled her hips sensuously, parading up and down now as if on the runway at some burlesque house. She shot her husband a lewd glance, nodding at him as if in answer to his request, then quickly reached around behind her back to pull down the zipper of her form-fitting dress.
With a shrug and a kick she shed it, swaying a little, thrusting out her hips as she aped a sexy posture she had seen on stage. The dress fell about her feet and she kicked at it but missed. With a half-whispered, "Damn!" she bent down to pick it up and toss it across the room and onto a chair.
Her quivering ass-cheeks, like two plump melons, encased in their black mesh panties were thrillingly exposed to the full view of the others, the narrow crevice between them plainly visible and even accentuated in outline by the fabric.
John Whitmore felt the cold sweat break out on his forehead as he watched the lewd performance and he sucked in his breath. Jesus! He hadn't seen anything like this since . . . since when? Since those early days of his marriage, he realized! His own cock lurched beneath his pants in a sudden response to the provocation of his wife. He felt a moment's pang of jealousy, knowing that she would be Tom's tonight-that it was he who would fuck Penny silly. And he would, he thought, looking over at his guest, seeing the leer on his face-he would give her everything she was asking for which was plenty.
But he forgot about Tom momentarily as he continued to stare at Penny. She had straightened up now, cocking her head to one side, shrugging her shoulder slightly in a suggestive pose that sent new waves of excitement rolling through him.
His beautiful brunette wife was wearing only her panties and her tiny brassiere now and once more she paraded across the room, whirling about and pirouetting. At the side she leaned against a door-jamb, just as if it were the proscenium at one of the old burlesque houses he had entered furtively when he was still not much more than a kid, leaned there like any of the hot strippers whose names had been up in somewhat dim lights on the marquee, like them thrusting out her loins and rotating her hips lewdly, suggestively.
In spite of himself, John burst into applause and then was startled by the sound of his own clapping. Good Lord! His own wife was practically setting him on fire!
Penny shot an appreciative glance at her husband, her own eyes beginning to sparkle with lewd excitement now as she continued to undress. She made another quick, lascivious movement of her own flaming loins, then suddenly reached behind her to tear open the fastening at the back of her brassiere. Her large firm breasts sprang free, and Tom and John in unison sucked in their breaths, loudly, sibilantly, the sound rolling across the room the way it had rolled across the footlights in those distant days at the shabby, rundown burlesque houses both had frequented.
Penny smiled brightly, as if basking in their applause, then caught her falling brassiere on an outstretched finger and began to whirl it wildly, rotating her hips at the same time, grinding her pelvis as if she was accepting some huge thick cock deep up inside her cunt, thrusting against the lewd invasion of her private parts.
And then slowly, seductively, with the utmost sensuality, she eased her little black panties down over her still pumping hips and thighs, let them slither down her long slender legs and drop to her ankles. With a quick kick she stepped out of them and flung them across the room. And then she stood before the two men, her arms raised high above her head to firm and accentuate the two snowy mounds of her large breasts.
John's eyes searched across her body, down from her now throbbing nipples and along the softly rising and falling flesh of her flat belly, down to the little patch of dark hair at the base of it. He swallowed hard, seeing that it was exposed so nakedly to his view-in the burlesque houses, he remembered, the striptease artistes were always required to wear at least a G-string-and felt a sharp stab of desire shoot through him, searing him like a flame.
He took a step toward her, suddenly wanting to run his hands over her silken-soft skin, to stroke the snowy mounds of her breasts, to press his own loins, his burgeoning cock still encased in his clothes deep up against her naked pussy.
Penny glanced at him as he approached, a cynical little smile playing about her wetly glistening lips, then dismissed him with a shrug and a backward glance over her shoulder as she stepped gracefully across the room to Tom.
John swallowed hard again at the sight of her softly undulating naked buttocks, marveling at the grace with which she walked. Oh, God, he thought! He'd never wanted anyone so much in his life as he wanted his own wife right this minute!
He made a wry face and laughed bitterly. It was right this minute that he couldn't have her! It was right this minute, practically, that his guest, Tom Brown was going to screw this voluptuous brunette wife of his, going to shoot his hard throbbing cock deep up into her tightly clasping cunt.
She was standing in front of Tom now, turning slowly and gracefully before him, showing off her good points-they were myriad, John thought-myriad-the way female slaves on the auction block must have paraded for the benefit of potential buyers. But now Penny spoke in a husky voice. "You like?" she asked lewdly.
Tom gulped, nodding, too excited to trust himself to speak.
"You want?" she stared at him provocatively, rotating her hips again, making it plain just what it was she had to give. And as Tom gulped again, nodding again, her hand went out to unknot his tie and strip it off, to unbutton his shirt. . . . Her hand dropped to his trousers then and with a lewd little laugh Penny began to stroke the hardened bulge beneath them while tiny points of ecstasy seemed to explode all across his skin. Jesus, he thought, as her question, "You want?" reverberated in his mind. Did he ever! He wanted Penny so much he couldn't wait much longer. His balls ached viciously and his loins burned like a blast furnace. With a shudder and a groan he began to tear at his clothes too, wriggling out of his jacket, ripping off his shirt, unbuckling his belt and pulling his trousers down. He stepped out of them as Penny's soft warm hand insinuated itself beneath his jockey shorts to maneuver his rigid cock out into the open.
Her fingers curled around the hugely throbbing shaft and she ran a nail along the sensitive underpart of it. Oh, Christ! This broad sure knew the score! But he did too, he thought boastfully, and by God he was going to give her the kind of fucking she'd never had in her life, never even imagined. "Daddy's gonna be good to you, baby," he said between clenched teeth. "Real good!"
Penny had dropped to her knees now and was stroking his raging cock with renewed energy, pulling the heavy foreskin back, running her fingers across the bloated, sensitive head. She looked up, giving him a mocking smile. "Then what's daddy waiting for?" she asked.
"No one goddamned thing!" he sputtered, pushing her away in order to strip off his shorts. "Not one goddamned thing!"
He stood before her then, his huge thick cock jutting out like a pole from his burning loins. Oh, Jesus! Was he ever going to ram it up into her quivering cunt! Was he! Suddenly he bent down, slipping his hands beneath her arms and lifting her to her feet. She stood before him for an instant-Christ! There were little electric sparks shooting from her body to his, like fleas leaping from one dog to another, burning his skin-when he suddenly spun her around. He ran his hand lewdly down her back, drawing one finger quickly along the narrow crevice between her two quivering ass-cheeks, then pushed her forward urgently, marching her across the room to the desk there.
Penny looked around over her shoulder at him, her face now masked with her surprise. What on earth was he doing? What?
She cleared her throat, stammering, "Tom. Tom . . ."
"Bend over," he ordered harshly.
Penny looked at him again and now she saw a glint of cruelty in his eyes, a sadistic twitch to his lips. "Bend over," he ordered again.
Penny opened her mouth to protest but no words came.
She felt Tom's naked loins pressed against her quivering buttocks now, felt the rigid flesh of his huge cock pushed deep into the crevice between them. "Oh, God," she moaned. "Oh, dear God!"
Her muscles tensed and she recoiled instinctively as Tom's hands slipped forward to stroke maddeningly at her snowy breasts. His fingers trapped the ruby-like buds of her nipples, teasing them until she gasped with pleasure . . . and then one hand left her naked breast to trail down her softly quivering belly, down to the wisps of dark pubic hair at the base of it. He reached beneath her, into the "vee" there between her legs, one fingertip gliding tantalizingly over the tiny bud of her clitoris, sending shock waves of pleasure through her trembling body.
She jerked forward slightly, and Tom slid his hand farther between her legs, running a fingertip along the narrow hair-lined slit of her cunt now, sparking off new and even more thrilling sensations. He paused to part the fleshy lips, to let his middle finger worm its way up into her narrow clasping pussy.
As he pushed forward, his huge throbbing cock pressed deep up against the narrow split of her ass-cheeks, his middle finger teasing deep into her cunt, Penny groaned and whispered, "Oh, God! What are you going to do to me?"
"It's obvious, isn't it?" Tom hissed.
"Oh, yes!" A sigh of resignation escaped Penny's quivering lips.
What on earth had she let herself in for? she wondered. And then shaking her head she reflected sadly that she knew full well. But why? Why? And for that, she realized, there was no such ready answer . . . but Tom insisted, for some reason of his own, to spell out the details of what he had in mind.
"I'm going to fuck you from behind," he announced suddenly.
"Oh, no."
"Oh, yes. . . !" he insisted and then as if to prove it suddenly dropped to his knees to flick his tongue out against the quivering white skin of her straining buttocks, hurtling it down the length of the sweating crevice there.
Penny moaned in shocked delight, then seemed to fold her body up in a strange forward position, leaning her elbows on the desk now, supporting her body on her hands. Tom's tongue flicked out just then once more, now darting up into the tiny puckered ring of her anus.
Again she groaned and in a sudden reflex motion she screwed her buttocks back against his licking tongue, reveling in this new and intense sensation. Oh, God! She had expected ecstasy from Tom one more time.
But this was something beyond her comprehension, something she had never felt before. Oh, God! She'd never even dreamed of anything that would ignite her the way his perverted assault upon her defenseless loins now did, never imagined the sheer and all-pervading joy that resulted from it!
But a moment later the joy turned to a chilling dread as Tom stood, pressing the thick bloated head of his penis into the split between her widespread buttocks even more insistently. Suddenly she was aware of its inordinate size, its unbelievable thickness and length. A shudder ran through her and she cringed forward, trying to escape the cruel impalement which she knew would inevitably follow. "No," she whimpered through clenched teeth, shivering with the fear she could no longer conceal. "Oh, Tom . . . no!"
He laughed coarsely, closing his hands around the tops of her thighs, digging his fingers into the soft flesh.
"No?" he said.
"No!"
He laughed again, sending a wave of fear through Penny. And then he ordered coldly, "Reach behind you, Penny. Reach around behind you and put it in!"
"Oh, no . . ." The full horror of her situation suddenly dawned on her, the awareness that the other couple was watching, the full ignominy of leaning forward this way, about to be fucked from behind like-oh, God, like an animal-like a bitch in heat! Oh, God!
"Oh, no . . . !" she whimpered again, then felt the sting of Tom's palm as he delivered a swift slap to her nakedly cringing buttocks. Sobbing audibly now, she at last placed the throbbing head against the tight little opening of her vagina, then moaned as Tom began to probe the soft fleshy lips, working his huge member back and forth until at last it popped through the tiny entrance and slid deep up within her clasping cuntal walls.
Penny struggled helplessly against the cruel impalement that seemed to burn in her belly like a two alarm fire, swinging her buttocks back, around. But she was hopelessly impaled, skewered on his long thick cock like an animal on a spit and could only sob out her anguish as he began to fuck in and out with long, cruel strokes.
Tom panted with delight and his eyes narrowed lewdly at the sight of the woman bending before him, accepting so unwillingly his perverted assault upon her. The knowledge that John was watching, transfixed, while Kelly stared in ill-concealed anguish added to his own feeling of power.
Oh, Christ! This was something! He'd always wanted to take a woman this way and now he was doing it practically in public!
Tom pressed forward, holding Penny's hips down in absolute subjugation to him while he plunged deep up into her belly, feeling the soft ridges of flesh give way before his huge cock that pounded her without mercy. His hands dug into the soft flesh of her thighs, making her whimper with pain, and then she seemed to take a certain masochistic pleasure in the terrible anguish that shot through her, and now, with a whimper of delight, she began to undulate her buttocks in a lewd little circle, catching the rhythm of Tom's fucking cock.
Suddenly she dropped forward against the desk, pressing her soft breasts against the flat surface, while Tom continued to drive forward with all the force of a charging bull. Her nipples were stung into a painful hardness that increased her pleasure and waves of joy seemed to sweep through her, compounded by her now abject humiliation. She had never known such shame, she thought, and had never known that shame could excite her so, could carry her to such heights of ecstasy!
Only one thing remained to crown this glorious assault against her quivering loins. She waited with bated breath for that moment-the moment when Tom would at last spurt his thick hot cum deep up inside her tortured pussy, her burning cuntal channel!
And then she sobbed in disappointment as the thrilling rape of her quivering loins stopped. She looked behind her, imploring Tom with a trembling voice to continue. And then she saw that John, her own husband, was standing next to him, grasping at his shoulders, pulling him away. "Oh, no . . ." she sobbed out. "Don't stop . . . don't . . .
* * * Neither of the men seemed to hear Penny Whitmore, and now she straightened up, turning to learn more precisely what had interrupted this obscene pleasure she was experiencing . . . it seemed to her that the two men were arguing . . . and then she understood that they were arguing over her. She caught words from time to time and let them sink into her consciousness. "My wife . . ." "We agreed . . ." " Mine . . ." and for a moment she was afraid the two would come to blows. And then the raised voices were calmed and she heard one of them say, "Share and share alike!"
Oh, dear God, she thought, rotating her buttocks back now, but against nothing but empty space. Oh, dear God! What did that mean?
She felt John's hands on her shoulders then, lifting her up and spinning her around. She stared blankly into his eyes, seeing the lechery in them, wondering what on earth he planned to do. She had never seen him so excited she thought and then looking at him again, it suddenly struck her that he was just as naked as Tom. And just as aroused, too!
His huge cock stood out stiff from his loins and he trembled with his excitement. "Oh, God," he murmured between clenched teeth. "I'm going to give you everything you've ever asked for . . . just like Tom here .
. . only better!"
"But John . . . !" Penny could think of nothing else to say.
Whatever was happening was beyond her understanding. She only knew that the ache in her loins was relentless, crying out for relief, that the tingle between her legs was unbearable. And that there was only one way to end it; she had to be fucked again, and had to be fucked out of her mind. "But John . . ." she burst out and then her voice caught in her throat.
"But nothing . . ." He spun her around suddenly, pushing her toward Tom again. The latter moved forward to press his naked body against Penny's, mashing her aching throbbing breasts against his chest.
She quivered, pulling him closer until his still rigid cock probed at the narrow little opening to her cuntal channel. With a quick sharp thrust he sent it spearing deep up inside her once again, filling the yawning cavity that he had so recently deserted. Shudders of exquisite joy crept up and down her spine and she thrust her own pelvis hard up against Tom's, mewling with contented pleasure now. He lunged again and his rigid cock swept deep up inside her, impaling her once more, his huge expanding penis seeming to bring forth an explosion in her quivering belly.
He began to saw in and out, his hands snaking around her thighs to clasp her buttocks, pulling her closer. And then she felt John's hands on her shoulders once more, felt them descend the length of her naked body to her waist, then to the firm round curves of her hips. Pushing aside Tom's hand that still clutched at her quivering white ass-cheeks, he began to stroke the smooth skin.
Then suddenly, brutally, his thumbs forced their way along the narrow crevice between them, pulling the straining mounds apart until the tiny puckered hole of her tiny anus was clearly visible. His thumbs pressed into that to until it was spread wide open to his lewd stare. Suddenly he pushed his loins forward to send his rigid cock probing into the puckered little opening.
Penny screamed at the first electrical contact of the blunt bulbous head against the sensitive nether ring, then began to get her husband to stop, "Oh, don't . . . don't. You're hurting me . . . you're hurting me!"
She heard a mirthless laugh from him, then screamed again as a second thrust sent his blood-engorged member popping through the tightly-clenched orifice. "No!" The word was wrung from her dry mouth as she felt the searing pain flash like flame through the soft fleshy walls of her rectum.
"No?" John asked calmly, quietly, and with a terrifying coldness.
"No?"
"No!" She shook her head in panic, imploring him to stop. He laughed again, then seized her hips, forcing her more firmly down onto the massive head of his quaking cock which was firmly embedded in her flesh.
She screamed at this new invasion of her burning rectal passage and then felt another forward lunge into her seared and throbbing vagina as Tom shot his own cock deep inside her. "No . . ." she screamed. "No . . ."
But the two men strained forward, each of them pressing his iron-hard penis into one of her quivering passages, each filling her, stretching her beyond endurance.
Their two cocks slowly disappeared up into her squirming body, worming their way deep inside and her flesh bulged as the swollen penises burrowed in, setting her on fire again. She shuddered uncontrollably, then cried out as the two massive cocks rammed farther into her accepting passages. They continued to fuck into her with long hard strokes, pumping her up and down now while she thrashed about. Her legs dangled above the floor and she reached for it from time to time, scraping the thick carpet with a stiffly extended toe.
All the fear had drained from her, the shock at the horror of being possessed in this obscene manner had lessened. And now she knew nothing but the joy of the moment, increased by her own agony. She gave in at last to the most lewd impulses that had ever taken hold of her, hanging limp, impaled on the two penises that ravished her, buffeted about like a weathercock in a storm by their pounding bodies.
Penny was moving up and down on their jutting cocks now, squirming, writhing, thrashing about of her own volition, wanting nothing more than the exquisite pleasure that engulfed her softly receptive body.
Oh, God! If only this could go on forever . . . if only .
Even better, she wanted to cum . . . wanted to accept. the boiling sperm of each of them deep up inside her, wanted to react, respond as they shot forth their semen. "Oh, God!" she wailed. "Oh, God! Yes, fuck me!
Fuck me! I'm cumming!"
And then she felt the white-hot sperm of her husband as it spurted forth, propelled by his jerking hips that bucked forward. It filled the burning passage of her rectum, then seeped down over the white rounded spheres of her ass-cheeks while she shuddered in joyful delirium. A moment later she felt her belly filled with Tom's roiling cum as he lunged forward deep up inside her, releasing his own thick semen to bathe her trembling cuntal channel.
Her own orgasmic fluids gushed forth to mingle with his while she gave a shudder of the purest joy, the most intense ecstasy, and then, at last she collapsed, drained of all energy, her body still writhing.
There was a soft sucking sound as Tom withdrew his now deflating penis from Penny's satiated cunt and then a second such sucking sound as John at last withdrew from her forever stretched anal passage. With a sound that was half cry, half whimper, Penny sank to the floor in total collapse . . .
Meanwhile, Kelly had watched, wide-eyed, as her husband possessed Penny, stroking her soft body into a quivering ecstasy, bringing it into bloom in almost the way a flower unfolded. She had watched as he forced the woman to bend over, to lean against the desk while he sank his huge throbbing cock deep up inside her hotly moist vaginal passage. The sight had sent shivers up her spine, had set the tight little triangle between her legs to tingling. She had pressed her thighs together in an effort to quell the fire that raged there, but it had been completely useless. The fires continued to rage, blazing up into holocausts it seemed to her, and then as a last resort she had let her slender white hand wander down, plucking at her dress, pulling it up to her waist, bunching it there.
In another quick motion she had reached down between her legs and slid her hand up beneath the elastic legband of her panties. She groped toward the little patch of pubic hair concealed beneath them toward the moistened split palpitating within. And then with the tips of her fingers she parted the narrow crevice there, slipping the tips into it.
She cringed, aware of the frightful act she was performing, of her own utter degradation. But nothing seemed to matter to her anymore. Not when John himself, John Whitmore, who had seemed to her such a paragon of excellence, was willing to lower himself to the level of the others! The thought shocked her into sudden sobriety. The others! Tom and Penny! She abruptly thought of her mother, identifying with her, realizing that her thoughts were those of the older woman and not her own.
She looked down on her husband and John's wife just as her mother would have. And yet she envied them . . . envied them their earthy acceptance of joy, of pleasure, of life itself!
Kelly's fingers stroked again at the soft folds of her quivering pussy, almost unconsciously, involuntarily. Her middle finger slid along the wet cuntal lips until at last it reached the small blooming mound of her clitoris. She sucked in her breath, shocked at what she was doing, vowing to stop. But her desire overwhelmed her and she began to tease at it with the tip of her finger while little ripples of pleasure crept through her trembling body. Forced to continue now, she dropped her finger lower until she found the small orifice of her vagina. She paused momentarily, horrified by what she was doing. And then she began again, unable to stop herself!
Her slender fingers parted the folds of her warm moist pussy, stroking the edges while new waves of unwanted pleasure rolled through her, and then she slipped one tip up into her tight little vagina, working it deeper and deeper while she listened to the others, watched as the two men drove far up into Penny's receptive belly. Oh, God! In spite of herself she was caught up in the frenzy of the moment!
Her finger worked feverishly now, in and out, back and forth, then in and out again. She gasped at the relief she felt at first as it plunged in, then gasped again as it seemed to stoke the fires already burning between her legs until they had gone out of control . . . she slipped her little panties down, giving herself greater access to her pulsating vagina, her quivering little clitoris, and then with an impatient gesture and an almost breathless cry she began to pull her clothes off. She tore at the simple but expensive dress she wore, almost ripping it in her haste to be rid of it. She worked at her brassiere next, stripping that off too until she wore nothing but a transparent slip.
Her hand slid beneath its hem again and once more her fingers toyed with the pulsing pink edges of her cuntal lips then slipped into the narrow crevice there between her legs. As she had before, she teased the small bud of her clitoris into a taut little erection, moaning as she did so. It was wicked, she thought! More wicked really than anything she had ever done, giving herself this pleasure right here in this room with all the others present! But a bitter little laugh welled up in her throat, then escaped her lovely lips. As if they would notice, she thought. As if they would notice!
Her own husband was standing across from her, plunging his huge cock deep up into Penny's clasping cunt, fucking in and out, his back arching, tensed with his unquenchable excitement, and Penny was responding like the whore she was . . . like the whore she was, Kelly thought!
And John! Oh, dear God! John, Penny's husband, so charming, Kelly thought, so distinguished, such a gentleman ; John had sidled up behind Penny, pressing his own burning loins up tight against her undulating buttocks.
And then, while Kelly watched in horror, and while her own husband fucked deep into Penny's vagina, he had pressed his huge throbbing cock deep into the split crevice between her ass-cheeks. As his wife had screamed in anguish, he had sent the tip of it plunging through the tiny puckered ring of her anus, sent it deep up into her rectal passage.
Now the two of them . . . oh, dear God! The two of them . . . were fucking deep into the terrified and struggling woman. The indecent assault horrified Kelly, but it excited her too; and once again her hand lashed out and down toward the little triangle of blonde hair between her thighs, groping toward the moist split between them.
Again she found the tiny bed of her clitoris, caressing it into a taut erection, again her fingers parted the narrow crevice there to slip deep into the wet warmth of her pussy. Her head lolled to one side now and she stared in fascination at the three bodies pressed together in their lewd perverted act.
They rocked back and forth as John and Tom lunged deep up into Penny's burning cunt, as the helpless woman was buffeted between them, and now Kelly crammed her own fingers deep up into the glistening little hole of her own cunt. She began to rock back and forth on them, just as the other three rocked, matching her rhythm to theirs, and, as Penny groaned and whimpered in her abandoned ecstasy, Kelly gasped out her own mounting excitement.
She had a sudden wild desire to be in the other woman's place, to be fucked as she was being fucked in her burning cunt and in her quivering ass, and a groan of desire escaped her lips. She raised one hand to them to stifle it, and then, seeing that no one had heard, no one had even noticed, she relaxed, her body going slightly slack. Her eyes were glazed now, filmed over with lust and without thought she let the hand that had flown to her mouth descend to one soft white breast, cupping it almost cruelly.
She began to squeeze it, enjoying her self-inflicted pain, then stroked the nipple, gasping at the pleasure it gave her. Her fingers tweaked at it now and she rolled it between them until it stood up in a stiff little erection.
But the obscene sight of the other three inflamed her even further and she at last let her hand drop, almost without her knowledge, to stroke her softly quivering thighs, then sliding it around under the mounds of her undulating buttocks. She searched the sweat-moistened crevice between them, shuddering with a forbidden erotic pleasure, trailing a finger along the small valley between the two cheeks until she found the tight nether ring of her anus.
As she watched the others in lewd fascination, her own finger slipped deep into the tiny hole, making her cry out with anguish. But she was too excited to draw it away in spite of the pain and now her fingers fucked in and out of the two little secret passages of her body while she stared mesmerized at the others.
John and Tom were still fucking into Penny with long hard strokes, pumping her up and down. She thrashed about, impaled on their jutting cocks, lifted off the floor now so that her feet dangled above it. Her whimpering cries crescendoed until they became near-screams of ecstasy as she abandoned herself to the most lewd and overwhelming joy she had ever felt.
It seemed that millions of firecrackers were exploding in her blood at the same time, that every nerve ending in her body tingled with her erotic excitement. Her mouth hung open and her eyes fluttered closed and a shudder racked her limp and tortured body. Oh, God! She'd never known anything like this . . . never believed such sheer ecstasy possible! She wanted to scream in her delight, shout out her delirium. And then it seemed that the excitement mounted even higher like a fever about to break and there was a long moment when her mind went blank as her burning, pulsating body strained for its climax. And then she knew that she wanted to cum . . . that she had to . . . that she had to find relief from this exquisite torment that was driving her mad!
She moved again up and down on the two jutting cocks, squirming, writhing, feeling the slap of the two sets of balls against her cunt, against her buttocks. And then she screamed, "Oh, God! I'm cumming . . . I'm cumming . . ."
The two men began to buck and thrash in their own growing climaxes. Their pistoning cocks speared in and out, matching one another in their own relentless rhythm as they came close to touching through the sensitive membrane that separated the two hot moist channels.
Together their pounding hips jerked forward, and then as Penny screamed again, they shuddered; each of them sending his own long thick jet of boiling white sperm deep up into her contorted belly. And then at last it seeped slowly down over the pink edges of her quivering cunt, over the rounded half-moons of her white ass-cheeks. With a wild shiver, Penny's body contracted in a final orgasmic spasm and she went limp, drained of all strength.
There was a soft sucking sound as Tom withdrew his deflated penis from her overflowing cunt, and John withdrew his from her forever stretched anal passage. As Penny fell to the floor in total collapse, her husband turned to stare at Kelly on the other side of the room.
Her lovely face was contorted with her own rising lust and he saw her tearing at the slip which she still wore, pulling it off frantically. He blinked, amazed and perplexed, and then he saw that the fingers of one hand slipped down to the base of her belly, quickly parting the lips of her softly gleaming cunt, searching desperately for the small glistening hole of her cunt. And then first one finger and then a second plunged deep up inside and she began to thrust it in and out . . . At the same time she had reached behind her, reached down between her white and trembling ass-cheeks to find the small rubbery opening of her puckered little anus.
One finger popped through the small entrance while she writhed involuntarily with the sharp pain of the penetration, and then as it ebbed she began to moan, sawing her fingers in and out of the two throbbing, burning channels, her eyes closed as Penny's had been, her mouth open.
Mindlessly she plunged her fingers in and out, in and out, still moaning in her unrestrained passion.
John felt a stab of excitement rush through him and once again his thick cock lurched. Oh, God! He'd never expected to see this! Never! Not Kelly! He stepped across the room, his loins a ball of flame again, his testicles aching unbearably.
Suddenly he grasped Kelly by the shoulders, startling her so that she screamed. She seemed to come back from the distant world in which she had been caught up, suddenly ashamed and frightened too. "What do you want?" she stammered, staring at John's lust-filmed eyes, glancing inadvertently down to see his huge cock thick and hard once more. "What .
. . what are you going to do?"
For an answer, John merely twirled her around, then shoved her slightly, pushing her to her knees.
Kelly gazed up at him, looking back over her shoulder while a quiver of fear that melted away into an irrepressible longing consumed her, and then he placed his hands on her shoulders, pushing them forward too. She reached out, supporting herself on her hands and knees now, then realized with a shock of revulsion that John had dropped down beside her, his loins close to her buttocks that waved lasciviously in the air behind her.
She felt his hands stroke the soft smooth skin of her asscheeks, then cup them, pulling them apart until the small hole of her anus was fully exposed to him. "Oh, God!" she moaned, the reality of what was to happen suddenly affronting her. And then he trailed his middle finger down the narrow furrow that lay open to him, pausing at the tiny orifice.
He probed at it while she held her breath, then slipped the tip inside the warm rubbery flesh, beginning to probe lewdly at it.
A surprised rapture pervaded her being as she became accustomed to the cruel invasion and then John dug a second finger deep up into her anal passage. She jerked forward, then relaxed, screwing her buttocks back against the two fingers.. She began to moan, feeling a third finger enter her, feeling them all rotate deep up inside her soft clutching passage, stretching and expanding it.
Kelly winced as he at last extracted his fingers then shivered with fear as the bloated head of his cock prodded at the dark ring. John strained forward then, sending it through the tightly constructed opening while Kelly screamed out, "Oh, God no! No! It hurts . . . it hurts!
" But he continued to lunge forward, summoning all his strength while he pulled her waving hips back tightly against his own pelvis.
As the hard fleshy rod sank deep up into the rubbery opening, John sawed back and forth until his pistoning cock was buried deep in the inflamed passage, and now Kelly relaxed as the terrible pain ebbed and began to move back against him, meeting his forward thrusts.
John's huge penis plunged on until it was sunk to the hilt in the stretched and burning channel. In spite of the still occasional flashes of pain, Kelly began to moan in a growing pleasure. The sound incited a further assault from John who trailed his hands over her soft white buttocks now, kneading and squeezing the smooth resilient flesh and leaving a patchwork of cruel red welts across it. He breathed heavily now as he increased his efforts until at last he was thrusting with an almost superhuman force, driving his pelvis into her softly yielding buttocks with hard vicious smacks. His balls swung against her heavily, ready to explode, and sweat dripped from his face until it fell in huge wet drops over her hollowing back.
Kelly moaned again, thrusting back against his pounding hips. Oh, God, she thought! If only he would cum, shoot his sperm deep up inside her! She had never believed that she could accept this degradation and yet she knew now that it was all she had really longed for! But John's climax, sunk deep there in her anal passage, would be the ultimate joy for her and once again she wished desperately for that moment . . . she felt his body jerk convulsively, then heard him begin to utter weird, half-crazy sounds.
Oh, God! He was cumming . . . he was cumming! Just as she had wanted him to, she thought, tears of gratitude welling up in her eyes.
And then John surged forward one final time, sending shattering waves of white hot sperm spurting deep up inside the tightly constricted passage. She felt it fill her, and felt fulfilled at the same time, quivering ecstatically. And then her own soft fluids seeped from the seared walls of her vagina, bringing her the same peace and comfort that John had found.
Kelly felt his still warm sperm drip down, running along the crevice of her stretched buttocks. She was grateful to John, grateful for something she didn't yet understand. But that hardly mattered. She only wanted to rest now and she curled up in a little ball on the floor, closing her eyes wearily, and fell asleep.
Kelly had no idea how long she lay on the floor, bereft of her senses, bereft of all emotion too. But at last she stirred and got to her feet.
She saw Tom across the room and suddenly had an overwhelming love for him. It seemed strange to her-she had wanted to escape him before. But now she wanted him to take her home, wanted to be alone with him.
She raised her hand in a silent signal, then searched quickly for her clothes and pulled them on. She watched, nodding her approval, as Tom pulled his clothes on too. He crossed the room to her and she wondered if they must bid their hosts good-bye. Both of them were sprawled in chairs now, John with his head cradled on his hand which in turn rested on the arm of the chair, Penny curled up, her head on her shoulders. Both seemed exhausted, their thoughts, if they had any, on themselves and nothing else.
Kelly decided against it and beckoned to Tom to follow her. The others would hardly notice, she told herself; and they certainly wouldn't care.
She opened the door and led her husband out. The fresh air that blew across her face gave her a sudden jolt, and she breathed deeply, feeling her head clear, the force flow into her limbs. They went down the steps and climbed into their own little car, and drove off. Kelly watched her husband in silence, wishing she could read his thoughts, but his face told her nothing. They rode in silence, with Kelly tormented by a spate of new feelings, new ideas.
Something had gone wrong with her life, she told herself, and she had the uneasy sensation that she herself had been to blame. She had wanted, for what reason she could not now fathom, had wanted to get away from Tom. He had seemed to her vulgar, somehow . . . crude . . . and well, yes, "oversexed".
Someone like John Whitmore, she had thought, would be different.
But he wasn't at all. And with a shudder as the truth at last sank in, she realized that she didn't want someone exactly like her father-someone who cloaked all his real desires in a mask of propriety. Oh, of course! He was charming, polite, "well-bred" even. But did it matter so much?
No, she thought, shaking her head. No, it didn't. He was no better than Tom when you came right down to it, no better, and probably not half so fine and decent and wonderful. Without thinking, she reached out her hand to her husband and touched his arm. Things would change, she thought. Things would change and for the better. .
* * * It was John Whitmore who first realized that Kelly and Tom had gone. He roused himself from the torpor into which he had subsided and looked around. Then he yawned. And finally he asked Penny, "Where are they?"
"Who?" Penny asked, opening her eyes and looking around too, blinking in the glare of the lights still burning in the library.
"The others. Kelly," John said, "and Tom."
Penny yawned too. "Don't know . . ." she said sleepily. Her tone of voice made it clear that she didn't really care, either.
John opened his eyes wider, staring at his wife now. She somehow looked vulnerable, curled up in the chair, looked like a small and charming child . . . he started at the idea and then his thoughts went back to that first night he had seen her, dancing across the stage. She had been lovely then and he had considered her the most sophisticated woman he had ever met.
She had certainly given that impression, with her hard, cold stare, her searching eyes, her brightly painted mouth. But somehow, tonight, all that had been stripped away. And as it had, a lot of his own false pride had gone. He saw it now for what it was. False pride! He had set himself up as being somehow better than Penny. And why? Because he was a snob, that was all. He had thought that he and Kelly would have something in common, some mutual interest to share. He laughed bitterly. They had, all right. They had. And they'd had just what he and his wife had in common.
It was a three letter word. Sex. And it ended up as a four letter word.
F.U.C.K.! Not that it hadn't been great. But it had been just as good, even better, with Penny. John raised his shoulders, hunching them forward in a gesture of resignation.
It was funny, he thought, how everything came full circle. He'd been absolutely crazy about Penny at first and then his ardor had cooled.
He'd wanted something else and had found Kelly. And now. well, now he knew that it was Penny he wanted really! He looked over at his wife again, and his loins began to burn . . .
