"Marriage differs, of course, from other sex relations by the fact that it is a legal institution. It is also in most communities a religious institution, but it is the legal aspect which is essential. The legal institution merely embodies a practice which exists not only among primitive men but among apes and various other animals."
Bertrand Russell stated this in his masterpiece, Marriage and Morals (Liveright Publishing Corp., New York). That his rare insight and keen wit, producing a common-sense solution to a cultural neurosis which threatened conventional morality, caused a furor is by now well-known.
With characteristic pungence and unassailable logic, he chopped away at the Church's sterile and inhumanitarian codifications of morality, trying, as always, to ameliorate the onerous burden of the distinct individual who is forced to conform to an outmoded and often cruel set of behavioral precepts. Personal happiness within the framework of personal dignity and personal honesty seem to be the consistent goals of the late Lord Russell's teachings (and may his name and memory be revered by mankind).
Hopelessly outnumbering this humanitarian but never reaching his heights of gentleness, wit, generosity, or intelligence, we have the moralists, those who have never written a book and quite possibly have never read one. His detractors. They are the Champions of a Nation's Moral Rectitude. Comprised of anything from medicine show evangelists to octogenarian spinsters, this group would have everybody do as they, the moralists, believe.
This is not only unreasonable, it is annoyingly presumptuous! Yet, we are faced with this deplorable situation, and it is difficult to extricate ourselves, even with Lord Russell's help. That the dictation and enforcement of morality should rest with beings who tend to be emotionally immature and insecure, rather unintelligent, and basically inhumanitarian is a vast social crime in itself, but such seems to be the case. Moralists have favored brutality and imprisonment to understanding and rehabilitation since the time of Christ's unwarranted crucifixion. The zeal with which the Holy Office of the Inquisition and the Anglican Church expunged more than ten million "witches" in the short span of three hundred years attests suitably to this assertion.
In Marriage and Morals, the venerable Lord Russell, not a great admirer of any state or church, explains that marriage is necessary for the nurture of children, drawing a lyrical parallel between the parents of a small baby and the parents of a small bird. There is a biological necessity for dual parenthood in both cases. But he denies the efficacy of involving the Church and State in any relationship between two people that may conceivably involve love or romance or coitus, provided that the last does not lead to parturition. Romantic love and tender affection are to be desired, he asserts, as is the biological consummation of those beautiful sentiments. That children must result is horrendous nonsense, based on First Corinthians, chapter seven, Verses 1-9, the psychotic basis of the infamous but powerful Pauline Doctrine. It seems to escape the vapid attention of the moral that the Corinthians seemed to have a proclivity for making love to their step-mothers, of which they had quite a few, and that St. Paul was one of the most flagrant homosexuals in history. It was St. Paul's contention that marriage was preferable to fornication, but only just. Both, to him, were a sin. Russell, on the other hand, advocates marriage not as an alternative to sin, but as a proper and necessary requirement to the raising of children in a patriarchal society such as ours.
With truly Christ-like tenderness and understanding, he says that extramarital relationships may not only be beneficial for the partners of a marriage, but, in some cases, necessary. We, underneath our sheen of conformity, can readily accept this if we consider such problems as impotence or frigidity or physical illness. He also maintains that such extramarital love should not result in the production of offspring since morality has been so thoroughly inculcated in the married male that it seems instinctual, and no true father-child relationship can reasonably be expected to result.
This might be called the advocation of immorality. Since it strikes at the very core of what most of us believe to be innate, or instinctual, we tend to reject it. Yet we know that it is true. That married people do indulge in extramarital relationships should come as no surprise to anyone old enough to read about so-called infidelity. We supply Thurber's fabulous line: "Where were you all night, Chastity?"
In prose form, we present to you an exciting, thought-provoking, fast-paced drama which revolves around the dilemma of two decent and nice people, common people, who are extremely moral. They have accepted the tenets of conventional morality so completely that they regard any deviation from that line as heinous and unforgivable. Now then, the more moral a person, the more sins he can isolate and the more severely he will react to them. Obviously, if a person does not identify sin, he will not sin. (He may find an unhappy end in prison, but he will not sin). This is because morality, like sin, is subjective, assuming the validity of sin.
Being extremely moral, the Wilsons are faced with an illustrious catalog of sins, priced outrageously high.
Pastor Wilson is a dedicated man of the cloth. He is also a man. As it happens, he is also humanitarian. This paradox plunges him into a devastating fix; like the blonde in the lumber camp, it's a question of "damned if you do and damned if you don't."
His virtuous but introverted young wife is not faced with the same choice that he has. With her, it seems to be a question of do or die. Being reasonably intelligent, she opts not to die.
But the matter doesn't end there. We have a classic clash of the opposites, yin and yang, fire and water, good (God) versus evil (Devil). The moral Wilsons struggling against the tentacles of the immoral Clarkes, commanded by that devious voluptuary, Rebecca.
Well, this is a classic struggle which most of us are fortunate enough to experience at least once in this interesting sojourn on earth. The plight of the Wilsons struck responsive chords here, among our staff. We trust that you will be immersed, living every second with them, and possibly with the Clarkes, who attain flesh and blood and depth in these following pages.
You can reasonably be expected to make value judgments, of course. It's difficult to condone Jack's initial cruelty, but when one considers his mandate, then realizes his overwhelming lust, one can perhaps appreciate, if not wink at, his ill-advised thrusts.
A final word on psychosexuality, on the behalf of Diana Wilson: The libido, when stirred, rises from deeper in the spirit than morality. It is the prime motivator. It makes the world go 'round. Now then, take a biologically healthy but morally debilitated woman. Rape her. You will see, it is said, a distinct component of cooperation, since she equates sex with sin, fornication with immorality. Heightened sexuality results, with truly inspiring abandon causing her to forget herself. This has been recognized for at least two thousand years. Diana didn't know; she never studied Pliny or Kramer or Sprenger or Ellis. We feel that she should be forgiven.
-THE PUBLISHERS
CHAPTER ONE
The golden rays of the late autumn sun crept in through the sheer, diaphanous curtains and cast roiling shadows on the slowly moving blankets of the bed. And urgently growing passion began to fill Diana Wilson as her lithe, lissome body blended burningly against the excitedly eager flesh of her husband. She groaned deeply at the knowing touch of his firm, strong hand as it coursed up under her nightgown and tenderly touched her body up to the upper reaches of her firm, full breasts.
The mere touch of his feeling fingers sent lusty shots of pure, provocative pleasure flashing through her electrically and her dormant breast buds sprang to happy little nibs of tingling flesh, puckered and rosy pink. She twisted, moving sinuously onto her back, the warmth of his passionate body commanding her to respond sensuously, willingly, without a spoken word.
"Oooooo, Peter...." After murmuring his name she wriggled down slightly in preparation for love. She could feel the rock-hardness of his lust-inflamed penis as it pressed against her eager thigh. As his mouth covered hers new thrills raced through her and she returned his searing kiss with an abandon and passion that matched his.
Moving in eager haste, Peter covered her body with his, pressing his raging groin against her. His penis wedged tantalizingly between her smooth willing thighs, making his heart thump and his pulses throb. Diana was filled to bursting with sexual urgency, and spread her legs as she sucked his tongue.
Suddenly the phone rang. The electrifying jangle shook them.
"NO!" he angrily grumbled as Diana broke the passionate kiss.
"Peter, you must!" she breathlessly cried, herself agonized by the untimely intrusion. She knew that it might be important!
Despite his attempt to clutch her while trying to ignore the strident and demanding jangling, she twisted away.
"Damn!" he muttered. His bitter frustration was intense.
"PETER!" she cried in horror, unaccustomed to his using profanity.
"Well, I'm sorry! But God made me a man, and a man I am!" Leaving the rest unsaid but clearly implied, he squelched his anger and twisted to reach for the annoying source of interruption. It had rung seven times. "Hello?" he asked in greeting, his voice not betraying his impatience. He glared at his wife, though, fuming.
"PASTOR WILSON!" the shrill voice cried, "YOU MUST COME!"
His lust-hardened pastor's cock suddenly shrank and he cast a hasty glance at his lovely young wife who was now standing beside the bed, nightgown down. She was so incredibly beautiful! And remote!
"Who is this? Is this you, Mrs. Clarke?" He frowned at the white receiver and looked back at his wife. It was Wilson's nemesis.
"YES! YOU MUST COME! RIGHT AWAY!" The stridulent reply came.
The sexual arousal that had raged in him a moment earlier was now transformed to alarm in the pit of his stomach. "What's wrong, Mrs. Clarke? Can you tell me?" He was now glowering miserably.
"NO! NOT ON THE PHONE!" came the unhesitating cry.
He was about to reply when he was shocked by the click of a broken connection and the steady hum of the dial tone. In a brief instant many conflicting thoughts raced through his mind. He saw his wife standing close, so alluring, so promising, so distant now. He slowly replaced the receiver, pondering the possible nature of Mrs. Clarke's urgent problem.
Deep exhaustion pressed down on him like some cruel and unseen hand, for he had been three nights without sleep, searching incessantly for one of the young girls of his parish who had run away to Omaha. After having found her, he had driven her the seven hundred miles back home, arriving only two hours before. He was tired but the first kiss from his happy wife had sent a thrill through him that couldn't be left unnoticed. He had to make. love. And now there was a conflict. It sounded bad.
Duty called. A member of the congregation was in desperate need of his help. He was in desperate need of love and rest. His mind balked and he shook his head wearily.
"No rest for the weak," he observed mirthlessly, hoisting himself up to a sitting position from the warm promise of their bed. Rage lingered in him now.
Reading the distress on his face, Diana moved close and ran her fingers lovingly through his tousled hair.
"What is it, Peter darling?" She ventured close to him, her hand out.
He looked up, staring dully at the beautiful face. Those pouting lips and wide green eyes meant so much to him. Her long golden hair hung in a neat cascade, the tips brushing the crested material of her nightgown at the level where her still-puckered nipples pushed the lace out. "Mrs. Clarke," he said, shaking his head. "Something wrong. Don't know how I'll make it."
"You have to go over?" she cried. "But that's not fair!"
"I know." Saying this, he stood, grasped her arm meaningfully, and then moved quickly toward the dresser.
It was only six-thirty in the evening, and the sound of crickets came into the abjectly silent room. An electric tension born of bitter frustration sparked between them for a second, and then Diana sighed.
"Honey," she said in an attempt to soothe him as she watched him dress, "I'll be here when you come back."
Hearing this, he turned slightly and threw her a smile. "Yes, you will, won't you?"
"Some coffee?" she asked, moving toward the door.
"No time, Diana," he replied, the edge now completely gone from his voice. Now he was, on the surface at least, Reverend Peter Wilson, bound to serve his flock. His own pleasure would simply have to wait, along with the much-needed rest.
Dizziness from his exhaustion swept over him and his ears rung annoyingly. His eyes burned, feeling like they had hot sand in them. As he stepped into his black trousers, one leg at a time, he had to lean against the dresser. Grabbing his coat, he moved quickly to his wife, cupped her round and exciting breast, and kissed her.
"I'll be back as soon as possible," he said after breaking the light affectionate kiss.
"Drive carefully, Peter, but hurry back!"
Casting her a quick smile that said everything he knew she wanted to hear, he turned and left. As he made his way through the rush-hour traffic toward the Clarke house, his mind was divided into many parts. He had dedicated himself to a life of altruism, unselfishly serving others. This path was difficult for him as a husband, since his time was not his own. At any moment of the day or night the telephone might ring. Then there was the routine of managing the church, conducting three services a week while also handling the two confirmation classes. Adding monumentally to this workload was the construction of the new church. And his position in the community as a youth leader consumed those last crumbs of his time, leaving him almost nothing to spend as a husband and as a man. His sex-drive, he knew, was healthy and normal.
Making love to his wife was, to him, a beautiful thing. But it was too seldom.
His penis would often strain against the material of his pants, itching for the normal healthy release demanded by his testicles. And now, as he drove toward the Clarke house, it was doing just that.
The palms of his hands were wet against the black plastic of the steering wheel, that wheel he had held just like this for so many hours on end without respite.
His mind wandered as he tried to concentrate on both the dense traffic and Mrs. Clarke's possible problem.
She was an attractive woman, a widow with three children. He knew her to be in her late thirties although she might easily pass for twenty-eight. Chagrin would flush his cheeks as he would look at her as any other man might, but he didn't consider it lusting after her body as hard-core Baptists might. He realized that he was a man, with all the desires a man might be expected to have. And he had eyes.
They came close to offending him when he would happen to see her very full breasts, her narrow waist, those nicely-flared hips and her shapely legs. But what struck him most about her was her terrible plight. It showed in her soft brown eyes. So much trouble to endure!
Rebecca Clarke had spent many hours in his study, trying to receive some help with her children. They were all known as bad types, but Peter Wilson couldn't accept that. He had spoken to them all about their futures, had invited them to express themselves freely, had tried tirelessly. Not willing to accept their apparent reticence as a sign of hostility, he had tried to work around the problem. All he could see was one thing: They were poor, living among the rich. And they were too proud to accept what little charity the church might offer.
Both Bill and Jack Clarke seemed to like to scandalize him, fibbing about their sexual exploits with the rich girls of the congregation.
"Aw, hell," Bill would say, "I fucked her silly last night!"
And Peter Wilson knew it was just only a fib!
Jack and the girl in question had been a hundred miles apart that night, since the girl had been with her family in Madison, Wisconsin. So Peter tried to find out why the boy would lie about his sexual prowess as though it were a badge of manhood.
At this thought, Peter's mind burned with seething discontent. He hardly had a chance to prove his own manhood! Diana was the perfect wife, keeping the parsonage perfectly neat, preparing delicious meals, helping with the bookkeeping, playing the church organ. But she also had her hobbies, and good thing, too! She liked to while away her lonely hours painting with oils, and had achieved a high degree of excellence.
Wondering about her as he drove along, he involuntarily winced. It irked him to realize that Diana would become very aroused right at first when they would make love, but then she would hold back, as though she didn't completely trust him. Why is that? he wondered. She would respond and become very excited, as though she would give him anything and everything. But then she would tighten up as though frightened, become as stiff as a board, and only seem to tolerate his love-making. This naturally made him question his manhood and her affection but his mind wouldn't let him believe that she didn't love him.
They had been married for only a little over a year, and since she had been a virgin he had to believe that her lack of total response was due to inexperience and maybe even innocence. He was beginning to doubt that. It was becoming painfully clear that she might be frigid.
Turning into the weed-sprinkled driveway of the Clarke house, Peter sighed. I wonder what this will hold? he asked himself.
Confident that her husband would return shortly, Diana left her nightgown on and wandered into the small bedroom that served as her painting studio. The set-up was perfect, with two northlight windows and plenty of space. Her current canvas was a copy of Salvador Dali's Christ, a painting that she loved. The deep blues used in the copy she had received from England were giving her trouble, and she now mixed thalo and ultramarine in still another attempt to get depth without murkiness. Quite by accident she mixed just a sliver of yellow oxide into her weak blue with the pointed pallet knife and cried out in delight. Perfect!
But her joy was crushed, replaced by a crashing fear that made her skin crawl with gooseflesh, made every hair on her body seem to spring straight out like quivering wire, made her eyes flash wide and her breath become strangled in her choked-up throat. Somebody is here! Watching me! OMIGOSH, NO!
Rooted to the spot like a statue by stark terror, she fought to remain conscious.
Leaning sullenly against the door jamb was a young filthy boy of about seventeen, smirking evilly as he observed the lush womanly body moving under the sheer nightgown. His eyes burned with lewd delight as they fastened on the proud breasts that he could see silhouetted by the light from the windows. She had been moving, revealing much of her torso to his sex-hungry eyes unknowingly. His hot glance would fall to the dark crack between the whiteness of her buttocks and fall a bit in an attempt to distinguish the pubic hair that he knew covered her pussy.
He was a callow youth, sullen and pale, dirty and carelessly dressed in blue jeans and a sweatshirt. His hair was slicked back and thick with the grease he used. Dirt and grease was caked in crescents between his bitten fingernails and the torn cuticles, and those unkempt fingers idly tossed a five-inch stiletto from one hand to the other, making a dry clicking noise. A chuckle escaped from his throat as he saw her freeze in fright.
Hearing the noise, Diana whimpered and turned slowly, still close to fainting. The thought of a prowler in the same room with her was one too terrible for her to even imagine. Fear gripped her stomach, twisting it into a cold tight knot. Then she saw that it was Jack Clarke, the son of the woman Peter had just left to see only a few moments earlier.
Her temporary relief was drowned as though by a bucket of cold water as she identified what he was holding. A KNIFE!
Her terror had lessened as she recognized him, but sprang up again inside her as her eyes fixed on the large knife he tossed so expertly from one hand to the other. It lured her glance hypnotically, horribly, and she had to tear her eyes away. Her lips trembled as she raised her eyes and her glance met his. Matching the cold steely glint of the long blade was that in his eyes. She knew that he was up to no good.
"J-J-Jack," she finally managed to stammer, "wh-wh-wh-what-du-do y-y-you ww-waaaant?"
It was a low groan that finished the question since something inside her told her that she knew what he wanted. He wanted to kill her. Murder her, dismember her and scatter her bloody parts in various sewers. She immediately realized with a stunning clarity that everything people had said about him was true!
Automatically, her hand dropped the pallet knife and went to her breast in a gesture of desperate self-protection.
This move caused Jack to chuckle once again, and his cock bulged out against the soiled material of his pants even harder. Seeing the pastor's wife naked had been Jack's obsession ever since he had first seen her, about a year ago. He had told his older brother Bill that he was going to see her cunt if it was the last thing he ever did, and now the time was right.
Everything was just perfect, because he knew from listening to his mother and Bill that the good pastor would be indulging a little bit himself, and wouldn't be back for some time. The time was just perfect!
His hand went down and rubbed the lewdly straining member as he reveled in her terror. Silence was his game, backed up with a very sharp blade that would cut tissue paper as though it were air. Advancing toward her slowly, he raised the blade and pointed it at the faint little spot that he knew was her navel. Diana's heart seemed to stop in frozen horror. Commanding her body to move proved hopeless, and she stared at the evilly gleaming point, trying to cry out and plead once again. The pleas strangled themselves in her throat painfully.
A mocking leer contorted Jack's face as he inched closer to her quivering form. His tongue flicked across his dry lips, moistening them. His gaze fixed on the faint rose of her nipples just visible through the lace lattice-work of her bodice. The most fantastic of lewd and lascivious pleasures shook him, making it hard for him to breathe. The obscene delight he was taking in his terrorization and subjection of the quivering beauty made his eyes feel as though they were actually smoking.
BY CHRIST, I'M FINALLY GOING TO DO IT!
Thinking this, and seeing just how frightened she actually was, he began to think of fucking her, something that had crossed his mind more than once. He didn't know if it would be possible since she might put up too much of a struggle, but the depraved thought of raping her began to sear his mind, making his blood run even hotter. As he began to entertain that delicious thought he abandoned his former plan of just toying with her and viewing her naked body. This caused him to harbor ruthless thoughts, and his gaze narrowed menacingly.
Reaching out, he took the filmy material of her sheer nightgown between his grimy thumb and forefinger and pressed the knife into it, piercing it. Then, with a quick upward thrust he gashed it straight up, renting it to the neckline so that the two parted halves dropped apart, revealing the cream-white upper slopes of her lust-inciting breasts.
"NNNOOOOOO!" Diana screamed, terrified to the point of revolt. Cold nausea swept over her, making her jump back involuntarily. Her fright had crested to such a height that she was ready to fight or die, no longer willing to be paralyzed and face certain death.
Her jump carried her against the easel, which tripped her and sent her sprawling in utter confusion. Seeing her down like that incited Jack even more since her hem went up over her knees, revealing her crotch to his hot hungry view.
Oh, God, is this the end? was all she could think.
Looking up a bit, he saw that one of her breasts was also exposed to the rose-ringed nipple. Mixed with his lust was a new surge of hatred for this holier-than-thou bitch. His blood boiled, filling his already throbbing penis.
Glancing back, his eyes fixed on the barely visible pink slit hidden by the golden wisps of her pubic hair. She saw that he was looking at her crotch and recovered enough to thrust her legs together and roll, trying to escape, find some weapon to protect herself. The brutal authority of his knife was hard for her to challenge and she hoped against hope that she could somehow reason with him or make it to the phone to call Peter or the police.
Panic now galvanized her to attempt an escape, and she found her hand closing on the pallet knife. His mocking laugh cut into her ears, making her realize that a knife-fight would be hopeless and stupid. Gradually, slowly, her fight draining away, she released it and looked pathetically up at him.
"Jack, please," she pleaded, trying to reason with him as a last resort, "don't do anything rash. What have I ever done to you?"
Her eyes flooded with tears and her pale lips began to tremble uncontrollably as she cowered on the floor.
Ready to break the silence since he knew he was the utter master of the situation, he spoke, his voice one of cruel authority. "Not what you've done to me, bitch!"
"B b but, wh-wh-what, then?" she stammered, tears now running down her cheeks in twin streams.
"You and that high-class do-good husband preacher! Always talk a good game, now don't you? What the hell do you ever do for someone, huh?"
"We try, Jack, don't you know?" she asked.
This was received with a gruff laugh, raucous and piercing. "You'll try, all right! Or you'll eat steel!" He brandished his blade menacingly at her and smiled as she flattened against the braided rug on the floor. The sight of the luscious woman clad only in the opened nightgown filled him with lewd excitement that he was finding hard to contain.
"Jack!" she cried out as she shook her head. "No-no! Now you go, please, and I promise that I won't say a thing! I mean it, Jack, not a word!
Pleeeaaaasssseeee!"
"Aw, fuck that! You think I'm some sort of idiot?" Saying that, he threw himself upon her with savage force and ground his mouth down upon hers in a sudden, searing kiss, his lips burning against hers.
She tried to twist her head, fighting against the alien intrusion of his tongue, but he seized her lower lip between his teeth and bit cruelly. Yielding was her only alternative, and a wave of revulsion shook her as the tongue entered her mouth. A new spurt of determination animated her threatened body and she struggled under him, managing to force him away and scurry from his indecently grasping hand. But he was young, determined and quick.
His hand darted out and grabbed the hemline of her nightgown, ripping it off as she crawled so frantically. Quick as a flash, his hand encircled her ankle and he pulled the struggling woman back toward him. The tangled garment was thrust quickly aside, leaving the hapless victim stark naked.
OH GOD, HE'S GOING TO RAPE ME! she thought.
Twisting her leg, Jack glanced up her crotch, reveling at the sight of her completely exposed genitals. As she thrashed the hair-covered slit seemed to open to his view, the taunting pinkness of her cuntal mouth thoroughly gorging him with the most profound lust he had ever experienced. Bill just won't believe this!
"All right, bitch!" he growled, "if you want to fight, you have one minute to say your prayers!"
The words burned into her, leaving her quivering in confusion.
Prayers? Is he really going to murder me? A final resignation swept through her muscles and she slumped dejectedly onto the oval rug, hoping that it would all be over soon. Her glance revealed that the point of his knife was now close to her navel and she closed her eyes, praying silently.
Then she felt his hand grasp her breast and an involuntary whimper escaped her lips. That the loathsome and arrogant young rapist should handle her before murdering her made her want to die and die quickly, without humiliation or degradation at his hands. Then a new horror crashed in on her as she felt a cold sharp metal object lightly brush her other breast.
A gasp of disbelief burst from her lips as she saw that he was teasing her breast with the cruelly honed tip of the knife.
"NNNNOOOOOOOO!" she moaned.
"How's about a whacked-off tit, bitch?" he asked, his voice heavy with leering sadism.
"NNNOOOOOO! Anything! ANYTHING!" Her voice cried the words out seemingly of its own volition, uncontrolled and unwilled by her rebelling mind. Simultaneously she tried to force her body down into the wood of the floor, hoping to escape from the taunting prods of the terrifyingly sharp instrument.
This was exactly what Jack wanted to see. The naked woman was almost crazy with fear, lying on her back, telling him that he could do anything. "Bet your sweet ass I can do anything!" he gloated, his evil leer sweeping the voluptuous contours of her svelte body.
Her breasts jutted up like two soft mountains, quivering from building volcanoes deep inside them. Her roseate nipples crested the breasts, smooth extensions of the soft aureoles. He tweaked one of them with the tip of his stiletto and grinned, his face only inches from hers.
His alien breath almost gagged her as he spoke directly into her face. Gazing up, she saw that the hatred in his eyes had been replaced by something she feared more than anything-a raw, cruel, savage lewdness-an animal lust that meant only one thing. He was going to possess her naked, defenseless body like a fiend, a sex-maniac, a rapist. And she was stretched right beneath him.
God, oh, God, where's Peter? she asked herself.
She wondered if Peter could protect her from the boy with the knife. So many bad things had been said about this Jack Clarke, and she was prepared to accept all of them as utterly true!
"You got one choice, bitch! Tell me which, this blade, or my cock!" he sneered at her.
And now she knew. The grim realization that she was facing a cruel choice between submission and death caused a mutiny of her trembling body.
God, what can I do? I can't let him defile me, but I don't want to die! Thoughts of Peter crashed into her, disturbing her. Thrusting them away since they all meant betrayal, she looked up into Jack's hardened eyes beseechingly, searchingly, trying to find some small speck of mercy. None was there, and she closed her eyes.
Peter, forgive me! Forgive me! she begged silently.
"Well, hotsy-totsy, which would you rather have stuffed up that high-class ass, huh?"
"Not the knife," she heard her voice say. It didn't sound to her like her voice, but like that of some doomed person, talking to nobody in the dark night.
"Not the knife? Then what do you want?" He pressed the bone and steel handle of the knife against her lower abdomen.
"OOOooooooooo, not the knife ...!"
"WHAT THEN, BITCH? TELL ME! C'MON, SPIT IT OUT!" He prodded her cruelly with the handle, terrifying her even further.
"THE COCK!" she cried, her voice betraying her into saying a word she had never said before.
"You want my cock up your high-class ass?" he taunted, still prodding her, his excitement mounting. "YES! YES!"
"SAY IT!"
"I-I want your cock-up my high-class ass....." Saying this, she began to tremble and cry. Shame filled her as she spoke the degrading and vile phrase. Once again she pleaded silently for Peter to forgive her.
As she said it she felt him move away from her. Her eyes were tightly closed and she bit her lip, trying to endure the hopelessness of the lascivious situation. Although her heart was thundering in her ears, she could hear the dry swish of clothes being pulled off, followed by the metallic rasp of a zipper being pulled down. She clenched her eyes more tightly shut and moaned, knowing what was about to befall her.
Jack gazed at her as he removed his clothes. He knew that he was doing something very dangerous and gave it even odds that she would tell the preacher. But nothing would stop him, especially now. The sight of her naked body filled him with thunderingly lewd anticipation, making him shake with eager anticipation.
That she was the preacher's wife made it even better!
As he stepped out of his shorts his blood-filled penis sprang out like a huge flesh spike. His balls were so hard that they might have been used with some success on the golf links. His scrotum tingled maddeningly as he contemplated fucking her in a variety of ways.
Now ready, he knelt at her ankles and wrenched her long, slim legs apart with brutal force, baring the delectable pink furrow of her pussy to his hot gaze. The sight hit him like a punch in the guts and he ran his tongue across his suddenly dry lips. The hair-lined outer folds of the petal-shaped opening tried to stay closed but he opened them, inserting two fingers and spreading them to bare the cunt to his lascivious gaze. His cock throbbed and bounced wildly. His knife lay close at hand, ready for instant use if needed.
Diana, lying fearful and subdued before him, shuddered at the intrusion of his fingers. Shock forced her to open her eyes and they immediately saw the long, thick protuberance of the young boy's prick, jutting out from the dark mass of his abundant pubic hair. The sight seemed to capture her gaze, and she couldn't force her eyes from the cock. The thought of that huge weapon thrusting into her with unbridled lust sent shudders of revulsion through her in quaking spasms. His penis was so long, so thick ... and yet, the boy was so young.
Looking up from her finger-spread cunt, he caught her looking at his cock. "So, you like it, do you?" His hand grasped it and he waved it at her tauntingly. "Ten inches, bitch! How's your old man's cock? Anything like this?" he hissed sarcastically.
The stale sweaty odor of his genitals assailed her nostrils. She shook her head, more in horror at the effrontery than as a negative reply. No, Peter's cock wasn't anything like that! She was wrenched up by a piercing pain that seemed to explode from her pussy and shoot up her spine like lightning.
"I asked you a question, lady! Is your husband's prick anything like this?" The words came out like boulders falling.
"NO!" she cried, her eyes once again trying to force the horribly defiling reality of what was befalling her from her mind.
"You like huge cocks?" he asked, his voice teasingly leading.
"Yes ... I like huge cocks!" she cried out, trying to give him whatever his sadistically perverted mind wanted. She already felt completely degraded, lying there with his fingers invading her vagina, not resisting, ready for whatever might happen.
"Glad to hear it. And how do you like to get fucked? May I ask that? On your back? Doggie-fashion? A wall-job?" Tormenting her as he probed the hot recesses of her cunt satisfied Jack like nothing else ever did. He wanted to hear filthy words spew from between those pure and holy lips of hers, knowing that she at least knew them, knew how to pronounce them.
Once again he jammed his finger ruthlessly all the way up to the palm because she was slow with her reply, and once again he was rewarded by the sight of her body bucking up and the uttered reply. "On my back."
"WHAT?" and he gouged his finger back, hooking it and pulling.
"I LIKE FUCKING ON MY BACK!" she wailed, arching up and wriggling back to ease the incredibly intense pain.
"So be it, as they say," Jack spat savagely, pulling his finger from the hot wet sheath it had just plundered so cruelly. He sniffed the fragrant odor of his finger then licked it clean.
Relief at the withdrawal gave Diana a speck of hope that her ordeal would soon be ended, and she tried to will her ravaged body into numbness. That would make her degradation less humiliating. The incredible filth that he had forced her to speak intensified her shame to boundless depths, and she earnestly wished that she might die.
Why the boy was torturing her so brutally had ceased to matter, and that he had forced her to submit to him so completely occupied her mind. She felt utterly depraved, and a merciful numbness began to creep into her body.
Then, as she felt the rubbery head of his huge penis press against the cringing folds of her pussy, she gasped. She could feel the knuckles of one of his hands as it pressed against her sensitive inner thigh while guiding the throbbing penis between the defenseless flanges of her delicate pussy. A low groan of abject misery escaped from deep in her throat as she felt the bulbous head move up and down in the wide-spread slit preparatory to its degrading penetration, and a whimper of despair sounded from her tortured lips as she endured the first agonizing pressure of the lewd entry. Her moan seemed to inflame Jack, and he lurched forward in a merciless thrust, spreading wide the walls of her quivering vagina as his long, thick protuberance rammed into the hair-lined mouth.
"AAAARRRRGGGGHHHH!" Diana cried as the thick cudgel crashed into her and sent stabbing pains all the way up her spine.
"Glad you like it!" Jack quipped evilly. Looking down, he saw that he was only about halfway into her hole. The hot wet walls of her vagina clasped the knob and shaft of his penis very tightly, causing him to smile lewdly.
Her cry increased his excitement, and he eagerly withdrew his enormous and throbbing weapon until only the massive head remained, wedged tightly between the quivering lips of her pink nether mouth. He thrust her legs apart with his hands, lifting her buttocks from the rug as he did so. Prepared now to ram almost straight down, he braced himself. Then he slammed forward, plowing his thick cudgel all the way into her moist hot vaginal sheath. His balls slipped obscenely between the spread buttocks as the bulbous knob of his penis reached the end of the trail against the tenderness of her outraged cervix.
"IT HURTTTTSSSSSS!" she screamed, trying to squirm and twist away from the weapon that seemed to be nailing her to the floor. But her agony only served to increase Jack's lust, and he grasped her full, ripe breasts, squeezing the soft, yielding flesh in a vise-like grip.
Leaning forward, he let his full weight press his penis even farther in, shoving it so that Diana was certain the walls of her vagina would burst. Then, still grasping her naked breasts, he withdrew his cock almost all the way from her hot wetness, and brutally plunged forward with his savagelyinflamed prick so hard that he would surely tear and rend the delicate inner flesh.
Her breasts ached, but their ravaged pain was nothing to compare with what she knew was hurting her crotch. She cringed at his grunt of approval and tensed herself as she felt his slimy pole once again vacate her pain-wracked vaginal passage. The withdrawal left a searing pain that made her tight and breathless in agony.
The helpless young wife's plundered body was alive with a thousand searing pains and her mind reeled at the unspeakable devastation she was suffering. Intense bitterness held her as she wondered why all this had to happen to her. Her vaginal walls had been so sorely stretched that she wondered if she would ever be quite the same. She hadn't done anything to deserve being raped and degraded, and Peter spent all his time trying to help people, especially young people exactly like the youthful rapist like this. She hated what he was doing to her and fought to numb the pain.
"UUUGGGHHHNNNnnnnnn!" she grunted as he slammed into her once again with unimaginable force, his long thick protuberance seeming to become hot and even larger while inside her. As she thought about her debased position under him, impaled by his penis, a flood of unchecked tears cascaded down her cheeks.
She clearly realized that she was being raped by a lust-crazed youth and there was nothing at all that she could do about it!
Jack began a brutal, savage pummeling in and out of her ravaged channel which was stretched to accommodate the thickness of his respectable instrument. Each forceful intrusion produced a dull ache deep inside her and a rawness on the walls of her tortured vagina. His cruelly kneading hands continued to send jolting flashes of undiluted pain to her heart as they squeezed the ivory globes.
His fingers began to roll and tweak the nipples, massaging them painfully until they were hard little knobs. His dirt-lined nails dug at the pale orbs of her breasts once again as he continued to slam his slippery cock into her, leaving small red bruises where they assaulted the tender defenseless flesh.
He fell forward as his lewd passion mounted, grinding his lips against hers in a hot branding kiss.
His tongue forced its way into her mouth, seeking her organ, teasing it with hot wet swipes. This made her mind reel and she realized that insult was being added to injury by his effrontery. She was now being used and sullied by the youthful rapist for reasons she couldn't imagine, soiled forever.
As he continued to saw the long hard length into her she suddenly became aware that the dull aching had almost vanished. He was surging it in and out of her tight-stuffed hole with a relaxed rhythm, quickly and effortlessly, letting it rotate slightly in the velvet-like canal of her womb. The relief of the rescinded pain was like the lifting of a giant burden from her and she sighed, letting her tensed muscles relax. This relaxation of her muscles increased her own relaxation a hundredfold, and suddenly she noticed something else. Something she had not expected, something she flushed at.
She noticed a pinprick of pleasure like a small burning lamp in darkness, and a rush of warmth like some comfortable breeze began to waft through her. This was something she had not expected at all. All pain had vanished and her agony of only a few moments before was now replaced by the sensation of floating in a soft raft on some peaceful sea.
The boy's lunges were now like fiery tongue-laps that spread unimaginable sensations cascading out from the relaxed nerves of her vagina, sensations that radiated out deliciously, throbbing to every cell in her body. Automatically, answering an age-old call, she lifted her open pussy upward to meet his slithering weapon more completely, anxious to engulf him and have all of that penis inside her tight hot body.
"OOOooooo, mmmmmmmm," she moaned, her juicy vagina now contracting as his slippery cudgel would begin its outward slide. The feeling of his long rangy instrument buried up inside her was now something that her body demanded.
Her turnabout was apparent to Jack, who was tempted to laugh, but his own lust forbade that. A small corner of his mind did seize the importance of his conquest.
God, will Bill be tickled when I tell him what a sexy bitch old lady Wilson is! His lascivious excitement mounted as he thought, imagine-this pretty bitch enjoying being fucked by me!
Plundering her, he felt her entire insides open like a flower to receive him. She was groaning and grunting, murmuring incoherently as he thrust his juice-slick prick into her now-receptive slit, her body following his with wild abandoned jerks. His hands moved down and cupped the soft resilient spheres of her buttocks, pulling her up toward his forcefully plunging prick.
Looking down he saw that her face was contorted in passion. A light film of perspiration covered her forehead and her mouth moved continuously, murmuring and uttering things that he could not understand. No force on earth could now stop her in her wild race for sexual fulfillment under this brash youth who had forced her at knife-point to submit to this forbidden act of adultery.
Somehow, none of that mattered now. Her earlier feelings of mortification and overriding shame had evaporated. Now her body demanded satisfaction at the expense of her mind and morals. Her body controlled her now as it never had before in her life. Not even Peter, whom she loved dearly, had ever managed to whip her to such heights of sublime erotic arousal.
The boy slashed his prick into her slobbering slit with a true fury, squirming ever further down into her with all the strength in his young hips. He could feel the smooth wet flesh of her slippery cunt as it clasped and unclasped around his plummeting prick. She was writhing and quivering under him, either unwilling or unable to control her wild passion. Her lust was inflamed to hitherto unknown heights.
The humiliating pleasure that the savage young boy was giving to her with his big slick cock intensified her arousal to a thunderous pitch and she reveled now in those brutal, forceful hip thrusts.
The fucking he was giving her defenseless body, coupled with his brutal contempt, brought out a strain of naked lust in her that she never knew she possessed. This shameful realization-that she was actually enjoying the fuck!-quickly passed from her mind, serving only to further increase her debasement.
She found herself muttering the word, fuck! aloud. Shamelessly, her muttering became a vocal scream, a lewd demand-"FUCK! FUCK! FUCK ME! OH, GOD, FUCK ME HARD!"
She threw her arms up and embraced him, pulling his chest down tightly against her breasts, her mouth finding his hungrily. She was now nothing but a dynamo of ravenous lust, a thirsty vessel demanding its fill from his throbbing cock, an almost inhuman fucking machine. Thrusting her legs out spasmodically, she grasped his upper torso between her knees and locked her ankles on the small of his back, kicking down on it with her heels as though she were riding a horse at full speed.
"OOOoooooo, God!" she panted. "Harder fuck me harder!" She knew she was nearing her orgasm and her cunt fluttered and her pelvis ground up at his wildly slamming young prick in shameless abandon.
"I'm cumming! Sweet Jesus, I'M CUUMMMIIINNNGGG ... ARRGGGHHH!" she cried out, her body arching up and off the rug. She clung to him like a 'possum, quivering and trembling beneath him in an epileptic-like spasm, spewing her orgasmic fluid in a steaming shower down his throbbing, pulse-pounding cock.
Jolt after jolt of unbearable pleasure flashed through her nakedness, making her body undulate in a wild rhythm. The dizziness in her head was like a tornado heightening and intensifying the pleasure-waves that threatened to tear her senses to shreds.
The shattering force of her orgasm triggered Jack's, forcing all thoughts of degradation from his mind. Tender now, he fell forward and covered her mouth with his, branding her lips as his release approached. The aching pressure in his balls grew to unbearable heights as he slammed his slithering cock viciously into the soft but calling slit of her wet pink cunt. And then he was cumming!
He felt the explosion burst up from his loins and he slammed rigidly against her with a wrenching grunt, shooting his cargo of scalding white sperm deep into the velvety depths of her madly sucking cuntal mouth.
Wait until Bill hears about this! was his final rational thought before he slumped into a post-orgasmic daze onto the quivering nakedness of the preacher's wife.
CHAPTER TWO
Peter flicked the ignition switch off after he parked the car in the driveway of the Clarke yard. Ready for almost anything, he hurried up the wooden steps of the small frame house, strode across the front porch, and pressed the doorbell.
Blonde Linda, a chubby fourteen, answered the bell. A serious pall was cast over her normally smiling face, alerting Peter to the fact that the problem was a family affair. "Come in,." she said. "Mom's in the living room." Then, without another word, she hurried down the front hall and disappeared into the kitchen.
Peter walked into the small living room and saw Mrs. Clarke sitting on the flowered sofa. She certainly didn't look terribly distressed to him, and her frank smile further aroused a hint of suspicion. "Glad you could come," she said breathlessly, motioning him to a place beside her on the sofa. "Would you like a spot of Scotch with me?"
Her question was legal in his case, since it was common knowledge in the church that Peter not only smoked, but took a drink on rare occasions. Yet, it aggravated him.
Masking his dismay, but ready to take something to keep him from flying off the handle, he said that he would. "But what's the problem?" he continued, talking to her as she made her way to the top of the buffet that served as a small bar. His eyes followed her form and his dick throbbed in his pants and the tinglings of a forbidden desire sprang up in him as he saw her as a woman. As usual, she was dressed scantily, with a low neckline and high hemline, two factors calculated to enhance her desirability by making her obvious assets quite visible.
"You'd better have a sip of this first," she said over her shoulder, and then she returned with two respectable Scotch Mists. Handing one to her pastor, she purposely allowed one of her fingers to cover one of his, gazing meaningfully into his eyes as she did. Then she called into the kitchen. "Linda, you go out and play while Pastor Wilson and I chat."
The called reply was immediate. "All right, mom! I'm going over to the park for a while." Following that was the sound of the rear door slamming.
"Well, now," Rebecca Clarke said, sitting pretty close beside him, "here's to you! Boy, do I need this!"
He frowned and watched her over the rim of his glass. Seeing her empty the drink in a series of swallows, he drank, trying to blunt the edge of that annoyance building up inside him as his cock twisted and lengthened in his pants. Finishing half the drink, he reached forward and placed the glass on the low table. "I'm awfully tired, Mrs. Clarke. Can we make it short?"
"My, my!" she said in a sweetly mocking voice, "aren't we being formal today! Mrs. Clarke!"
"Rebecca, then," he said, edging away slightly, embarrassed by the sweaty heat of her inviting thigh against his. Her perfume was heady, and served to underline her all too obvious femininity. It occurred to Peter that she was a sexy woman, one who would probably be willing to satisfy her husband as much as he wanted. The odor of her sex and a feeling of excited uneasiness swept over him and he looked away from her and reached for his drink again, trying to will his uncooperative dick to stop hardening.
The astringent alcohol burned pleasantly down, relaxing him. Then he held the glass and glanced once again at her, trying valiantly to avoid her seductively exposed bosom. The fragrant scent of her perfume once again wafted up and filled his nostrils, causing his dick to jerk and throb again. The palms of his hands had begun to sweat, and he rolled the cool glass between them, feeling more nervous than ever.
She sat in silence beside him, watching his discomfort. When he glanced at her she smiled. "They've served eviction notice on me!" she said, sounding almost happy about it.
"What?" Peter asked, hardly able to believe that she and the children might be forced out of their home.
Now Rebecca's face turned serious and that pathetic daze dulled her soft brown eyes. She ran a hand through her perfectly combed raven-black hair and flipped her head simultaneously in a gesture of despair.
"That's right! Being tossed out! In one week! Now how do you like that?" she asked.
"How far behind are you?" he asked, wondering if her back rent was something he might be able to handle.
"Two months. Three hundred dollars." She shrugged, and then went on. "The boys won't work, but they sure enough eat their share. And on what I make at that cruddy office, it's a wonder any of us eat! A crummy dollar sixty-five an hour! Another little drink? With a friend-?" She placed her hand on his arm and looked at him pleadingly.
He shook his head. "No, no more. Whew, I wouldn't be able to handle another one, not tired as I am."
"Tired? I got just the thing for you! Here, lean forward for a minute," and she helped him by rotating his shoulders so he was facing away from her. Then she placed her fingertips on the sides of his temples and began a slow, soft, sensuous massaging that made Peter close his eyes and wish for sleep. All the while his mind turned the question over. Three hundred dollars. Hard to spare from the family cash, which was always low. There has to be a way!
Aaahhhh, that feels good! But why couldn't she have told me over the phone? Perhaps she has a party-line. Lots of people in this suburb do. That has to be it!
Suddenly something happened that made his breath catch. He felt the unmistakable pressure of her breast pressing against his arm, rubbing it in rhythm to her hands' movements. He tried to move forward without offending her, and that insistent force remained hot and soft on his upper arm. The feeling of his temples being massaged was almost sinfully good, and it was causing a sweet relaxation of his tensions. But that unmistakable pressure annoyed him as much as it aroused him.
He had never had intimate physical contact with a woman since meeting Diana, not being so liberal a minister as to condone or practice adultery. But now, alone with a very attractive and lonely woman, close to her and being touched by her, his mind saw that there was an ugly problem rising for him. A bulge of his prick was growing in his pants, despite his continuing efforts to keep it down. He grappled with the mutiny of his penis, realizing that the reaction was perhaps normal but certainly immoral.
At least, he reasoned, abandonment to it would be immoral. Man, he argued in his own defense, is a sexual animal-that's what keeps the species going. But man's sexuality should only be enjoyed with his mate, his wife-not with another woman! Why, then, is this happening to me? Asking this, Peter confessed to himself that he had, if only fleetingly, entertained certain lewd notions about the shapely brunette, notions which constituted sin. A sin of the spirit, if not of the flesh.
And, rooted to the spot for some reason he couldn't see very clearly, he mused at the passage: The spirit is willing, but the flesh indeed is weak!
Her hands caressed his weary temples, draining him of any will to move. Then they began to move down slowly, over his ears and onto his freshly shaved cheeks. Her voice startled him, since it was a low sensuous whisper emanating from right behind his ear. "What I wouldn't do to have a husband like you!"
This alarmed Peter, and the puritan overpowered the man. He twisted away from her soft manipulations and frowned at her with unmasked annoyance. "I didn't come over here for this!" he said, and stood.
Then he relented, wanting to bite his tongue off; Rebecca burst into a fit of uncontrollable crying, burying her face in her hands. Hunching forward, her shoulders shook and the sound of her tortured sobs speared right into Peter's heart.
Angry with himself for making her cry by objecting to such a nice compliment, he sat once again and put his arm around her comfortingly. "Forgive me, Rebecca! I didn't mean it, but I'm tired and cross...."
He felt like scum as she looked accusingly at him, her face that of an injured and heart-broken cherub. She seemed, at that instant, to be nothing but a lost child, and an overwhelming desire to comfort her pressed on his heart. Ignoring her sexuality, he pulled her to him and kissed her tenderly on the forehead. That only made her cry harder and made him feel worse.
Pulling away, she looked at him with an agony-contorted face, tears still streaming down her cheeks. "Don't do that, Peter! For God's sake, don't you know-?"
"Don't I know what?" he asked, genuinely ignorant of her meaning.
A low moan escaped her full red lips and she shook her head while gazing at him from her tear-filled eyes. Her hand shot out and grasped his. Then she burst into a fresh fit of tears and threw herself onto him, embracing him and kissing him on the side of his neck.
Stunned by the erotic attack, Peter gazed helplessly at some unseen observer as if to ask what he could do. He had to admit that, as a man, he didn't really mind. After all, his manhood had been in some doubt as a result of Diana's frigidity toward him.
II is nice, he said to himself, to have this happen!
But the question framed itself ominously: WHERE DOES A MAN DRAW THE LINE?
Sexual intercourse with her would be strictly impossible. What about heavy petting? Light petting? A small kiss? There seemed to be no line that could be drawn short of absolute abandon to sin or equally absolute rejection of all contact. And yet he sat there, accepting her embrace and responding to it on the gross animal level dictated by his body. Never having been in a compromising position such as this, he was faced with a novel conflict. Mind and morals versus natural and instinctive biological responses. Why? he silently asked God. Why does there have to be such a conflict? Why is this so good and so bad at the same time?
Her lips nipped his neck, sending a cascade of chilling goose pimples down his arm and leg below. His penis was stretching in a mutinous disregard of his mind's orders. Below them, his gonads ached and throbbed. Fighting with almost inhuman strength, he resisted the urge to take her into his arms, mash his mouth against hers, and make love to her right there on the sofa.
BUT HE REALIZED THAT HE ACTUALLY WANTED TO DO IT!
When her hand went on to his knee, he was jolted by an electric shock of arousal and his hand covered it, at first with the intention of moving it away. But the intimate contact melted something in his line of resistance, and instead of moving the female hand away he caressed it, allowing it to move slowly up toward his aching groin. Father, forgive me, he prayed silently, for I truly know not what I do!
Saying that, he was lost to her, and his other hand moved up her back, up her neck, into her hair. He grasped a handful and pulled slowly back, bending his face forward and toward hers. His hot lips pressed against hers passionately and immediately her wet tongue darted into his mouth. Her hand flashed up and grasped his eagerly throbbing penis so hard that he almost ejaculated.
She bit his lip tenderly and moaned, mixing her breath with his. She ground her breasts against him slowly and demandingly until he reached up and grasped one through the material of her cheap rayon blouse.
As this happened, Rebecca Clarke knew that he was at her mercy.
You'll regret this day, Wilson! she silently swore.
Fucking him and fucking him good and proper was her plan, or at least it was the first step in her plan. And now it looked as though it was going according to the plan. That he was fairly attractive to her helped matters for her, and that she was always very sexy improved them even more. But the frosting on the cake was the final move! It all had a reason, beyond fucking.
The electrifying contact he was making with her dissolved every iota of his resolve and determination, leaving him morally naked and nothing more than a sex-starved cave-man. He snaked his hand into the top of her blouse as she unzipped his fly, and two more joltingly arousing contacts were made.
She grasped his lust-hardened prick with her cool hand and he covered the generous orb of her magnificent breast with his. The size and firmness of that breast made his mind reel and a series of tremors began a deliciously satisfying chain-reaction in the pit of his stomach as her hand began to pump the shaft of his penis.
Their lips were welded together desperately all this while, but suddenly Rebecca tore hers away and gasped. "OMIGAWD!" she cried, looking directly at him and shaking her head in disbelief.
Then, without another word, she threw her face down over his lap and took the bulbous knob of his penis into her mouth, still grasping it at the base of the shaft.
Peter almost fainted.
Once, while very sexy with Diana, he had wanted to eat her while she ate him. Certain studies by psychologists had said that mutual oralism wasn't detrimental but, on the contrary, was fun and stimulating. But, as usual, Diana had resisted so vigorously that he had given the idea up, especially after what she had called him.
The words rang in his ears now, making them burn and turn red. "A PERVERTED LECHER!"
Now he was feeling what it was all about. The sensation of teeth on the knob and shaft of his lust-gorged penis made his stomach tighten like a monkey's paw on a hauser.
Sin, sin, sin! he muttered over and over again, shaking his head in amazement at the fantastically fine feeling.
Aroused beyond sanity's limit, he freed his hand from her large breast and reached forward with both hands and pulled the hem of her short skirt up so that her panties were exposed to his hungry eyes.
Sin, sin, sin! he repeated in his mind as he hooked his thumbs into the elastic band of those panties and shoved the smooth material down the soft whiteness of her gorgeous thighs.
Now her buttocks were open to his view and his hands caressed them lovingly. His fingertips worked into the hot wetness of her forbidden valley and he thought about Moses. Moses, with his ancient reputation for backsides. There was something alluring about Rebecca's backside, something that called Peter's excited hands. Each time his fingertips moved up that crack they did so a bit more searchingly, a bit more forcefully.
He couldn't quite bring himself to put one finger against the puckered little anus and press it in, even though he realized that he wanted to do that, too.
It was another thing that Diana wouldn't let him do!
And it was only natural for him to wonder if Rebecca would object. The idea burned in his mind intriguingly. After all, she is doing that down there! Maybe she won't mind! With that, he spread her exposed orbs so that he could look between the creamy oblong buttocks, down the faint tan trace, to that magic circle that called so strongly to him. The sight combined with the feeling of her lips and tongue and teeth on his almost-bursting cock made him grit his teeth to fight back an immediate orgasm.
The fingertip of his index finger slipped toward that small knot of puckered flesh and pressed experimentally. Pressing in harder, he watched as it went in just a bit. Heat surrounded the part of the finger that went in, and that heat inflamed his senses to a degree that he couldn't believe. He slowly pushed, watching as the heat engulfed the intruding finger, and then it was all the way up in her asshole.
The sequence was incredible for Peter, and his mind was fighting with itself. It was no longer a mind-body struggle; part of his very mind was rebelling, urging him to do perverted and lecherous things, just as though wanting to prove Diana right.
"You can always fuck her in the cunt!" part of it screamed.
"Have you lost your mind?" the other part shrieked in reply.
Through it all, Peter was prepared to admit that he probably had lost his mind. But he was finding something else. Real, roaring sex. Uncut pleasure, and with a real woman!
His finger was trapped in her rectum and he thought about the mess it would cause if Diana knew what was going on. At first, on leaving her, he had been in a hurry to return, to make love and catch some much-needed sleep. A smile reflecting irony crossed his face as he thought of going home, undressing again, trying to arouse her, and then making love until a point where she would just freeze and become as stiff as a board. Thinking this, he wondered if Rebecca had orgasms, and wondered if he could bring her to one.
Peter's blood had gushed up to his ears in a thundering roar of amazement as he felt the entire length of his blood-filled prick become engulfed in the warm wetness of Rebecca's oral cavity. He knew that the head of his cock must be up beyond her tonsils and into her very throat. Teeth nipped the base, right down in his pubic hair, and he stretched upward in agonized pleasure, groaning. His finger roved in a small circular pattern in the hot and soft confines of her rectum, feeling sex that was almost unbearable.
"Oh, Lord!" he groaned, and threw his head back on the top of the sofa.
Suddenly an unpleasant shock hit him. His penis became cold as she raised her face and released it from her wildly sucking mouth. "Lord is right!" she gasped. "What a delicious cock you have! Can I bring you off all the way?"
The question hit him like a hammer-blow and he found that he could only stammer. But his hand knew! It gently pushed her back so that she could once again take the cold abandoned protuberance of his stiff prick into her hot moistness. And then the blissful sensation covered his cock, spreading the delicious warmth out to every cell in his lust-crazed body.
Working furiously, Peter removed his finger from her clasping anus, bent forward, and sandwiched his face between her thighs from behind, moving to a prone position on the sofa in the process. The pungent aroma from her recently pillaged anus greeted his nostrils, making them flare with animal delight. His tongue darted out and speared the puckered brown knot, going in slightly. This caused thunderous crashes of excitement to pound through him.
His nose was pressed tightly into the lush pink wetness of her cuntal slit, the pubic hairs both tickling and arousing his nostrils. The scent of her pure sex whipped him to insane limits and he lapped broadly from her anus to the aromatic slit that called so urgently for his tongue.
Fair's fair! he observed, thinking that he might well fry both on earth and in hell for his temporary insanity with the sensual woman. His tongue moved slowly into the hair-covered lips of her bottom. He ground his chin against her anus. All this while his hands coursed over her smooth legs, learning them, sucking sexual pleasure in through the palms and fingers.
The buttery depths of her cunt secreted those juices that lubricated her and he sucked them greedily into his mouth, lost to any semblance of control. Now it was everyone for himself, and he just wanted to prolong the keen pleasure as long as possible.
Incoherent moans were stifled in his rapidly working gullet as she flicked her tongue snake-like against the tiny glans opening at the tip. Then she teased the turgid flesh with licking, darting swipes. And then her mouth would take the rubber-like knob, her teeth would clamp the shaft gently right behind the knob and run down the length of the throbbing rod right to the base, inflaming his groin as never before.
Her hand moved down to massage the soft, wrinkled skin of the sac covering his balls and then, with precision born of lust, she lowered her face, releasing the burgeoning head in favor of his scrotal sac. She licked and slavered against the excited testicles, her hand pumping the turgid shaft furiously.
Ovaling her lips and opening her mouth wide, she took the sac all the way in, mouthing his bloated testes eagerly.
This new sensation made Peter's mind reel drunkenly. His tongue shot well into the delicious depths of her cunt and one of his hands snaked up under her blouse, worked the brassiere up and over her prize breasts, and began to fondle first one tit and then the other.
Both were locked in the grips of sexual arousal, working for the common goal of mutual gratification. Rebecca had temporarily shelved thoughts of her ultimate plan as she sucked his nuts.
And Peter's mind was nothing but a useless bystander, muted by the raging demands of his lust-filled body. The strange new sensation of having his nuts sucked had drained the last particle of resolve from his eager body. And the demanding pumps of her hand were bringing him to orgasm rapidly.
The intensity of his arousal bordered on rage, and he grasped her tits roughly, savagely, not wishing to hurt her, but also unable to control himself.
Rebecca's orgasm was burbling up rapidly and she sensed that Peter's was. She released his balls and once again took the ready head of his prick into her mouth and began to go up and down on it, masturbating him orally. She grasped his scrotum and fondled it with a pumping movement.
Suddenly, a guttural groan escaped from deep in Peter's throat as he felt the first tearing away of his load of hot sticky sperm from its safe in the darkness of his balls. He felt the headlong rush as it boiled through the tube of his pumping prick and then it spewed out in a hot, frothy explosion into Rebecca Clarke's wildly sucking gullet.
An incredible desperation shook her as he ejaculated and she gulped, tightening her lips around the palpitating shaft in an effort to swallow every precious drop of the hot squirting man semen.
Her own orgasm had been evoked by Peter's oral manipulation of her labia and clitoris and by the somewhat bizzare sensation of his chin against her asshole. Thrashing wildly, she tried to capture his head as she sucked the last drop of his cum out of the spewing shaft, and finally she managed. Bucking back and forth, she banged her cunt against the bones of his chin and then up to his teeth, releasing her own steaming torrent of orgasmic fluid into his eagerly receptive mouth.
Drained and exhausted, the two slumped as though dead and lay in their lewd puzzle for what seemed like hours. Finally Rebecca roused herself. A wet smear of fresh cum covered her lips and she licked it off. "God, was that good!"
Utter shame suddenly filled the Reverend Peter Wilson, a shame so profound that he was too disgusted to speak.
After putting himself together he stood, walked to the hall with his head hanging, and then he turned. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Clarke. About the money-I'll try to have it for you by tomorrow." With that, he left.
"LINDA!" Rebecca called immediately, pulling her panties up.
The young girl entered, carrying a very small camera, one about the size of a pack of gum.
"Did you get the pictures?" Rebecca demanded, an impatient edge in her voice.
"Yes, mom," the young girl responded. She had practiced with the miniature camera long enough to be fairly certain that she had filmed the entire sequence to her mother's satisfaction.
All business now, Rebecca walked briskly to her daughter. "You bring that camera right over to Bill, understand? Have him-and only him-develop it at his friend's house! I want the prints back here right away. Now get a move on!"
The young girl turned to go but her mother grasped her arm. "One more thing, Linda. You're to be here tomorrow, understand?"
"Why, mom?"
"You're going to have some fun with our reverend!" She rubbed her hands together and laughed. "Yes, my child, we're really going to fix that boy's wagon!"
"Will he do anything to me, mom?" From her tone, it was obvious that the girl was frightened.
Rebecca tossed her a reassuring smile. "Now would I let him put that dirty thing of his into my precious little baby?"
Thus reassured, Linda ran off to find Bill.
And Rebecca poured herself a very stiff drink. Talking to nobody in particular, she said: "Now would I let him put that dirty thing of his into my precious little baby? Damned betcha I would!"
CHAPTER THREE
That evening as she was preparing herself for bed, Diana was strangely reticent. Her defenses were up, so she didn't notice that Peter's behavior was odd. She undressed behind the locked bathroom door, something that she had never done before. Now covered by her nightgown and a housecoat, she puttered with her make-up while sitting at her dressing table. Or so it would appear. In actuality, she was looking at herself closely, wondering how she could have done what she did that evening.
She hadn't let it slip her mind that she'd been raped at knife-point by a savage young devil, not at all! But deep inside her she wondered how she could have enjoyed it at all, let alone so much.
When Peter came into the bedroom she quickly dispelled the guilty thoughts and went about the business of cleansing her face with cold cream.
"I thought you'd go right to bed," she said to him as she dabbed and rubbed with facial tissue.
"Ummm, I had this thought for a sermon that I had to get down on a piece of paper. But I'm pretty groggy right now." He frowned at her, wondering why she was concealing herself so carefully from him all at once.
Quickly rejecting the idea that she knew what he and Rebecca Clarke had done as purely impossible, he had to seize on the mortifying thought that she was once again rejecting him. This antagonistic belief infuriated him, doubling his self-inflicted pain. He was already defensive about what he had done earlier that evening and had sulked in the church office, afraid to be too close to his wife.
Something alerted him to a strangeness in her attitude, though, and he wondered if she might suspect. Woman's intuition!
Crafty, he moved about the room and watched her. "Umm, honey?" he asked, still keeping his distance.
Without looking up, she responded. "Hmmm?"
"What say we make love tonight? Without answering the phone?"
With a gesture of supreme impatience, she threw the facial tissue down onto the mirrored tabletop. "No, Peter. I think that it's my time of month! My cramps are killing me and I'm going to start flowing at any second, I just know it! I even have a Tampax in me-" and she eagerly added, "-would you like to look for yourself? You can see the string, y'know!"
"Well holy cow!" he grumbled, "you don't have to snap my head off! Who'd want to see that string anyway?"
He thrust a cigarette between his lips. His hands shook as he brought the butane lighter up and thoughts raced through his mind at the speed of light. He had made love to her on the first day of her curse many times two anyway-and she had never been so cranky about it. Thoroughly upset now, he stormed out of the room and went into his study, slamming the door behind him.
He felt drained and friendless, wretched beyond words. He didn't feel exactly right about praying, so that ruled Jesus out. He couldn't talk to Diana, that was painfully clear. So he just sat and licked the wounds he had inflicted on himself by romping in the hay with the shapely widow, Mrs. Clarke.
Searching deeply, he tried to decide if he did or did not regret what he had done. It was clear that he hadn't hurt Rebecca in any physical sense. Equally plain was the realization that he was that biological man who had a sex drive and required release. Some small vindication of his adultery was presented by his wife's obdurate reticence about fulfilling one of her marital obligations and making love to him, whether or not she was menstruating.
If he hadn't made it with his paramour, his nuts would be exploding right now, this he knew.
He decided to read for a while, and mixed himself a small drink to calm the jangling nerves and chaotic thoughts that were screaming at him.
In the bedroom Diana sat dejected and horrified. She had told her first lie to Peter. Afraid that he would come home immediately after that scoundrel Jack Clarke had slipped out the back door, she had put in a plug, certain that his vast charge of cum would drip out of her for hours. Then she had immersed herself in the tub, soaking the degrading filth from her very pores. But she didn't have cramps from menstruation, not at all! She had cramps for the vicious little savage because she had ENJOYED being fucked.
He had fucked her with contempt, used her like a toilet, wantonly, brutally, humiliatingly, cruelly, bestially, wonderfully. He had brought her to heights hitherto unexperienced, boggling peaks of lascivious satisfaction that lingered smolderingly in her mind and chafed, burning pussy.
Her loins ached, both from the plundering rape and from the lonesome pain of missing that wildly slashing penis.
OH, GOD! she thought, HOW COULD I HAVE?
But the dull craving of her pussy and thighs screamed back just as loudly. Her breasts burned and her nostrils flared. She was fidgety and flushed, irritable and unwilling to be touched by her own husband, loving him but afraid of two things.
First and foremost, she was afraid of being exploded, found out. He might slip his penis in and discover that remaining discharge. And then, of course, it may not be any good at all! It may spoil her burningly erotic recollection.
So she sulked at the dressing table, caught up with the desire to have Jack again and equally determined never to speak to the obscene little monster if her life were to depend on it!
She pulled a pair of elastic panties on, threw her housecoat onto the pink velvet chair by the window, and climbed into bed, so close to the side that she was in danger of falling off. She went to sleep, facing that same side of the bed.
Peter went over the building fund books for at least an hour before he figured out a way to slice five hundred dollars out of it with virtually no chance of discovery for embezzling.
"God forgive me," he said, and glanced at his watch. Ten-fifteen. He pushed the business button on the body of the black telephone down and stared as the clear plastic became illuminated from below. His hands were wet with perspiration and trembled. His mouth was dry.
Shaking his head abjectly, he slowly reached for the receiver and then pulled the hand back, slumping. Despair plunged him to miserable depths that he didn't know existed, miring him in slime of his own design and manufacture. He had to call Rebecca, talk to her, offer her even more than she wanted, than she had said she needed. BUT WILL SHE THINK OF HERSELF AS A WHORE?
The second oldest profession, ranking right behind the priesthood! This thought cheered him somewhat, and he pushed himself away from the desk and poured his empty glass almost full with good twelve-year-old brandy. Liquid courage, it burned down his guilty gullet and washed some of the lingering recriminations down with it. Ready now for the big step, he walked to his desk, sat, pulled his chair up, and dialed her number.
The very sound of her voice made him tingle with forbidden excitement and his groin began to burn.
"Hello?" that low sultry voice said.
"Rebecca, it's me; Peter Wilson. I can bring that what you wanted tomorrow morning about nine. Okay?"
"Gosh, Pete," she replied, "that'll be wonderful." The joy in her voice changed abruptly to a note of sadness. "I don't care about the money, but couldn't you come over for just a while tonight? A teensy while?"
He sighed. "I wish I could, and I really mean it-"
"Troubles on your end?" she asked lightly. "Nothing that time and good brandy won't cure.
See you about nine.
"Nice hearing your voice, Pete, really ...."
"Nice hearing yours too, really...." he said.
He felt like a high school boy just then, crooning sweet nothings into a telephone. The difference was that those were not exactly sweet nothings. They were meaningful as far as he believed, and for the first time in his married life, he seriously entertained the notion of divorce. He heard the small sound of a kiss against the mouthpiece on her side, and returned it, feeling strange and tremendously aroused.
Then he heard the click as she hung up and he smiled at the receiver, thinking that a phone was a two-way device, bothering as well as pleasing. For a moment he held the receiver, equating it with Rebecca. Replacing it, he sat back and slowly finished his brandy, exhaustion overcoming him.
Rather than going up to bed, he merely walked to the leather sofa he had in the study and threw himself onto it. Less than a minute later he was sound asleep, enjoying the dreamless repose of the innocent dead.
The next morning found him feeling seedy but well rested. After he got his bearings he glanced quickly at his watch and saw that it was a bit after eight. Hurrying, he went into the kitchen, half expecting to find the coffee already brewed in the electric percolator. It was disappointingly cold and half full. He grumbled and cast a glance toward the silence of the bedroom, then plugged it in without even bothering to remove the grounds basket.
His wife hadn't slept in for months, not since their vacation at her parents' house in January. He thought about her curse-it had never affected her this much. But a part of his mind tussled with the question: COULD SHE POSSIBLY KNOW OR SUSPECT?
Running his thumb and finger over his cheeks and chin, he decided that a shave was in order so, as the percolator began its tenor bloop bloop bloop, he walked quietly to the bathroom, where he shaved. Then he changed his shirt quietly, selecting a bulky wool sports shirt.
His glance fell on the still-sleeping form of his wife, huddled quietly on the very far edge of the bed, and he shrugged his shoulders. Boy, she really must hate me! What have I done, that she could know about, that is?
After filling his cup with brown sludge, he walked into his study, where he drew a check for cash in the amount of five hundred dollars from the building fund. Then he left the house by the back door, leaving it unlocked and closing it quietly.
All the way to the Clarke's he was bothered by a haunting premonition that foretold unfortunate things.
Diana had been pretending to be asleep all the while. When she heard the car drive out of the yard, she slowly roused herself and went into the bathroom, where she undressed leisurely. Standing before the full-length mirror, she appraised her reflection, musing that her shape was pretty fair after all. Cupping her breasts in her hands, she swung her upper torso coquettishly back and forth, trying alluring smiles.
The night's sleep had destroyed a good amount of the lingering guilt, and she wondered unashamedly if Jack Clarke really did think she was pretty.
The very thought of his huge rampant penis aroused her, and she blushed at the reflection of her face and washed it. After brushing her teeth, she threw her robe carelessly over her shoulders and walked to the kitchen, humming as she went.
WILL I EVER SEE HIM AGAIN? she wondered.
Her pussy had begun to itch as she relived the previous day's debauchery. Looking at the half-cup of sludge that was supposed to be coffee, she decided against coffee and walked slowly back to the bedroom, pulled irresistibly by some force she felt but couldn't identify.
A sudden flushed breathlessness crashed down upon her like a solid warm rain of luxurious cotton and, before she knew what she was doing, she had thrown herself down on the bed on her back. Desire raced through her and she closed her eyes, trying for all her worth to conjure up the vision of Jack's long cruel penis. As she attempted to capture a mental picture of that wonderful weapon the events of the day before flooded back in a sudden surge, charging her dreamy consciousness electrically.
The vicious rape, and then her own shameful excitement, then her actual acceptance of the boy's humiliating defilement, and then her final abandon and prurient desire. The alien thought of the boy's strong and passionate body pressed tightly against her naked flesh sent shivers of obscene delight through her, to mix dashingly with the thoughts of revulsion that remained.
Thinking about it was almost painful, and her mind rebelled. But her psyche was not to be put off! The mortifying memory kept returning repeatedly, against her will. Images of the scurrilous youth with his virile young body and his out-sized penis crept doggedly back into her mutinous mind.
Obscene images of his long, thick prick danced before her tightly-clenched eyes, along with companion images of his dirty hands kneading her breasts, bruising her thighs-bruising her thighs bruising her thighs.
Involuntarily, fastening on that recurring thought, her hands began to squeeze the excited flesh of her inner thighs together. Meant as a protective move, it only served to make more vivid the boy's onslaught and now her vague restlessness crystallized into sharp focus. In a dream-like manner, the sensations and images of the young rapist's erotic conquest stirred her keyed-up body.
She could almost smell his breath and his sweaty sex, taste his alien saliva, feel the penetration of his searing tongue, the manipulations of his rude hands, the forced entry of his red-hot prick.
Her consciousness suddenly recalled the reason why she hadn't called the police on the boy, and why she hadn't told Peter. She had liked it! She had enjoyed being fucked, used like a common whore! This realization made her heart pound and her cheeks flush. Swirling through her activated imagination was a replay of the day, with his lewd cock ripping up into her mercilessly, ravaging her womb until she was certain that it would be broken apart.
This thought sent delicious shudders up her backbone and her breathing became labored suddenly as the initial symptoms of arousal burst through her.
What's happening to me? The thoughts she was having filled her with nauseating revulsion, but they persisted evilly, taunting her, leaving her trembling and breathless. Struggling to eradicate the image of the scruffy boy with the large cock grinding wetly up into her ravaged vagina. The whole lurid picture was obscene and dreadful! But it simply wouldn't leave!
She shuddered violently at the salacious recollection of her own naked surrender and lascivious collaboration with that long, thick protuberance that had almost killed her. She didn't want to think about any of it-the whole thing had been sinful and filthy, but nothing she tried would prevent the depraved entry of those vile and humiliating images ... nothing she tried would prevent their insidious entry ....
Jack Clarke gulped and tried to control his breathing as he watched her from just behind the bedroom door. His eyes burned at the incredible sight. He had found out that she was sexy, but this??? At her age????? He suppressed a laugh and settled onto the jamb to continue his hidden vigil.
Diana had settled into a dream-like recollection of the previous day's assault and vivid images hovered before her eyes. She also felt with breathtaking lucidity, reliving the bone-like probings of the boy's lust-hardened prick deep inside the now-hungrily empty womb. It wasn't strange that these insistent recollections were having a slowly growing physical effect on the young wife.
Twitching spasms began deep inside her belly and her delicate cuntal lips began to lubricate themselves with tiny drops of steaming juice. She tried to squelch that tide by squeezing her thighs together and scissoring them back and forth but that only seemed to intensify the insidiously burning itch. Rubbing her thighs together only seemed to heighten the tight knot burning down in her belly, and she gasped when she realized that she was trapped.
In a trance-like daze she slowly began to massage her itching crotch and one burning breast. A fevered shudder shook her supine frame and a dull lethargy mixed with the dizziness and confusion possessing her mind. For the first time in her life she noticed that her breasts felt terribly heavy, almost distended and swollen.
While one hand massaged the moist pussy to growing wetness, the other lightly stroked the nipples of one breast and then the other, bringing them to burning erection.
STOP IT! her mind screamed ... stop it ... STOP IT!
But her pussy and breasts demanded their due. While still trying desperately to evacuate all thoughts of the swarthy young boy and his thundering penis, she continued to work on her body, inflaming it to a fever pitch. A tantalizing need was rampaging through her lust-aroused body, a need so intense that it frightened her.
With grim resolve she tried to hold her breath in a last-ditch attempt to quell the raging fire in her loins, but the climb to lascivious summits of auto-aroused eroticism would not be stopped! Her body screamed out in agony for satisfaction and fulfillment and her hand kneaded one breast and then the other while the other worked her buzzing clitoris into raging ecstasy. Moist clicking sounds emanated from her crotch, rhythmic sounds timing the hot thrusts of her trembling hand. She gasped and panted, beads of perspiration springing out on her forehead.
"GODDDDDD!" she cried, "OOOOHHHH GAAWWWWDDDD!"
Lurid flashes of pure sensuality blazed to all parts of her lust-agonized body, making her writhe and shudder on the very verge of consciousness/unconsciousness perilously, but she didn't care at this late stage. Satisfaction! Gratification!
Her voice cried out, shattering the stillness! "JACK! WHERE ARE YOU, JACK??"
Hearing this cry, Jack blanched and quailed at first, but recovered sufficiently to realize that HE was the crux of her lewd fantasy. Watching her, he had reached quite a state of heat himself, and had freed his male flesh and was stroking it meditatively, just to get it good and big for the right minute. IT HAD COME!
"You called?" he smugly asked, sauntering into the sacred chamber of the Reverend and Mrs. Peter Wilson. His cock's tip preceded him by a good eleven inches, waving up and down as he walked.
"ARRCCKKKK!" Diana gasped upon realizing that he had been standing there the whole time! He had seen her! Seen her playing shamelessly with herself, like some underprivileged adolescent with acne! What would she do?
Shocked by the rude intrusion of the very same boy who had raped her just the day before, she reached for her housecoat and thrust it to her breasts in-an alarmed effort to protect herself from a recurrence of that humiliating scene. Her color rose to a more vivid red and she sputtered at him. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?"
His thumb went to his mouth and he clicked it against his upper tooth. "HAH, BITCH! BEATING OFF, WERE YOU?" He followed that cruel observation up with a raucous laugh redolent of some lower east-side barroom.
"NO!" she gasped in a desperate attempt to kid him.
"Caught in the act, you zany bitch," he said while smirking at her in a superior manner. He feasted his hot hungry eyes on her shuddering frame and exhaled in a prolonged chuckle. "You know, you really are something! Here you are, married to a husband who's hornier than a goat-"
"HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT?" she screamed defiantly, resenting his callow allusion to her pure husband.
"Never mind, never mind." He waved her to silence like a Neapolitan, but didn't divulge his knowledge. Not yet, not yet.
Something about his intrusive manner bothered Diana, but she couldn't quite put her finger on what it was. Looking at him, she wondered what she had seen in him yesterday, but as her eyes fell and fixed onto his male column, she suddenly remembered. That penis. What a tremendous jewel!
But she couldn't let her body betray her again. She knew now that he wouldn't knife her at least she was fairly certain that he wouldn't, so she ordered him out.
"OUT!" she said, through jaws tensed like braided steel, hoping half-heartedly to intimidate him to leaving or at very least being civil and forgetting about what he had just witnessed. Her finger pointed imperiously toward the open door.
"You got that all wrong, Diane-" he said.
"Diana!" she hastily corrected, snapping at him.
"Whatever! You got it wrong. I'm not going nowhere but in! Into your precious bod! You know, IN. Eye, enn, IN!" he said.
"I demand that you leave, you scruffy rapscallion!"
"WHOOEE-SHIT! Now what's that mean? Is them words meant to burn me off?" He smirked at her, but not with the hatred that he had felt the day before, and he moved forward-unarmed with any weapon but his blood-filled one-and sat down beside her reclining form on the large king-size bed.
He had spent a good portion of his night thinking about her, going so far as thinking about her as he screwed little twelve-year-old Lizzie Helm, vacationing a hundred miles away with her parents in Madison, Wisconsin. Her parents had gone out to dinner, leaving her there with a professed headache; Jack had entered before they had passed under the canopy of the swank motel. He had thought about screwing Mrs. Wilson while plowing the tender vagina of the virginal child. He had accordingly determined to like her, but be a bastard if she gave him the least shit. He couldn't help smiling at her.
His smile almost disarmed Diana and she groaned. "Oh," she sobbed in the depths of desperation, "why don't you just leave me alone?"
His hand reached out and touched her hip, showering sparks of hot excitement through her as it bit in knowingly, kneading her still-excited flesh into flash-point eroticism.
"DON'T!" she cried.
"WELL THEN, GO FUCK YOURSELF, BABY-YOU SEEM TO BE PRETTY DAMNED GOOD AT IT!" He got up and made his way for the door, knowing that she would ca "JACK!"
As though he were a very tired two-hundred-year-old Russian wheat-bale toter, he turned, his lips pulled to the sides in a wry expression of exhausted patience.
His eyes surveyed her and his upper lip curled unmistakably on the right side. She saw this and correctly interpreted the histrionic display as a mere gesture.
"Nothing," she said, playing him off, "just leave me-kid...."
"What's this kid shit, all of a sudden?"
"Nothing, Jack. Yesterday was a mistake. OUR mistake. Best we forget it, I think, child."
"CHILD?"
"Well, are you sixteen?"
"What'n hell does that have to do with the price of beans in Boston?"
"I feel terrible about-about what I did to you-yesterday."
"Aw, come on, lady! No shit!"
"Well, I did allow you to vent your youthful ... er ... youthfulness on me ...."
"Tell me you didn't like it."
"I'll go one step farther and tell you that I thoroughly despised it!"
"And that's why you called my name while you were getting it on, eh?"
"You're a beast!"
"And you're a dirty old lady!" he said. "Why do you torment me so?" she asked. "You really want to know?" he asked. "I don't know."
"I'll tell you anyway...." he said. "Well, damn it, do it then!" she said, loudly. "I like the way you say 'fuck'!" he said. "That's enough! You're the most filthy, rotten, debased, perverted-"
"I'll bet that's your favorite word, that 'perverted'. But most people who call me that call me pre-verted, if you can dig it."
"I fail to-um-dig it, as you so graphically put it!"
"Well, shit on you then! I fucked you once and, in my opinion, you're a bum lay! I can see why your old man whores around!"
"STOP THAT! HE DOESN'T!" she said.
"Would you bet your ass on that?" he asked.
"Stop that filthy talk this instant!" she said.
"Oooh, you two-sided twat you! Boy, are you fucked-up!"
Diana didn't feel fucked-up.
"I'm not," she protested, her voice faltering and its strength feeble suddenly.
Jack's long penis was curving downward and had shrunk to a mere eight inches, embarrassing him. It was like a cut-off piece of sun-heated garden hose, worthless for anything but a piss.
He stuffed its resilient length into his CLEAN jeans and leered at the semi-nude fucktress cowering beside him. Damned right he wanted her, but he wanted her to beg, to get down on bended knee, to plead with him for it, to kiss his hand and then he would debase her, use her, humiliate her, fuck her. Then and only then. He surveyed her skeptically. "You really want me to go?" he asked.
"No ... I don't. I don't know. I do, and I don't."
"Like I said, you're fucked-up. Now get over here and sit on the side of the bed. Spread you knees apart for me."
OH, GOD, WHAT'LL I HAVE TO DO? she wondered.
She tried to cover her nakedness with the bunched-up robe as she crawled toward him, but his hand flicked out like the head of a striking snake and seized the quilted garment, yanking it roughly from her kneeling form.
"AHHGGG!" she cried in surprise, now completely naked. The innocent young blonde wife looked up at the pale youth, her pretty young face contorted with fear. She could easily recall the details of her defilement of yesterday at this young villain's hands, the pain seeming to burn even yet. As she moved forward, on hands and knees, her pendulous breasts felt twice their normal size.
The glistening sheen of perspiration on her forehead felt cool but, as a few strands of her golden hair stuck to it, she brushed them aside. As she did, she looked down and saw that his slowly deflating penis was still out. A surge of raw animal lust coursed through her, making every nerve end in her body tingle and every muscle shudder. The whole insane conflict crashed in on her again.
Adultery. Thou shalt not commit adultery. A sin against God, a violation of her marital vows, and a terrible thing to do!
And her upper thighs felt as though liquid fire were flashing through the veins. She didn't want her body to betray her, but her body crawled steadily forward, mutinously, toward the boy who had harmed her so terribly just the day before. Her eyes were fixed on the rubbery-like tip of his penis as she inched forward as though it were a beacon directing a lost ship.
God, she thought, I feel like a slut! Crawling toward him! My degradation is complete. I hope Peter never finds out about this! He would kill me or divorce me just like that! I wonder if he has ever done anything like this, like the terrible thing this boy is doing to me. Has he ever-fucked another woman since we've been married? If he has, I certainly hope that I never find out about it! I'll bet he has!
She was nearing the edge of the bed.
Sure he has! I can feel it! He's fucked other women! All the time he spends at their homes their husbands away! I wonder where he is right now? Well, if he's fucking, I guess that I can too!
NO! NO YOU CAN'T! something inside her cried.
But her vaginal furrow was moist and hot, itching for the boy's young penis, that rangy weapon. Looking from his male flesh and on up his body to his eyes, she shuddered. They were hard, reflective, merciless. They told her silently that she was going to be ripped right up the middle as never before, that her furrow would be plundered and ravaged as though by a chain-saw. A whimper escaped her pouting trembling lips and a chill rushed through her body.
Then she was there. She sat as he had directed, thinking that she was nothing but an animal, an automaton, bound to obey any order he might give. He was more of a master than any man she had ever known, more than her father or her teachers, more than Peter, more than anyone! A mere child, a vicious savage without mercy, a masterful rapist! Her stomach was churning as she sat and spread her creamy white thighs to receive his demanding body.
That limp protuberance, once so taut and rigid and long, somehow now seemed pitiful, like a dying little animal. Diana felt sorry for it in a strange, psychotic way. She tentatively reached for it and took it into her hand, holding it as though it were a dead, featherless bird. Her thumb caressed the rubbery-like knob as her hand fondled the warm veined shaft and she could feel the slow vibrations of the blood as it began to fill the shaft and bring it once again to proud erection.
Moved by a compelling force that the young woman couldn't understand, she bent forward and lowered her trembling lips toward the slowly expanding penis. Tenderly, she placed a kiss on the roseate velvet of the exposed knob, still holding the slowly growing shaft. A surge of passion crashed through her and suddenly the betrayal of her mutinously hungry body was complete!
All defenses crumbled like ash as that wave of erotic passion coursed through her and, animal-like, she began to suck the huge cock wildly. Still soft but growing harder by the second, it inflamed her to mind-bending lust, and she tried to take all of the soft tube of flesh into her oral cunt. The expanding knob pressed hard against the back of her mouth and she depressed her tongue and bent forward, trying to force it down her wildly working gullet.
The taste and feeling and scent of his prick aroused her, making her body seem to burst into flame as though it were tinder-dry shavings. Lost in her maddening whirl of passion, she reached around the boy with both hands, caressing his hard youthful buttocks. Gradually, with a supreme thrill, she felt that she was making progress.
Jack arched forward and groaned as the length of his excited manhood was engulfed by her oral wetness. "AAAAHHHHHH!" he moaned slowly as the delicious sensation of her wildly licking tongue and lightly nipping teeth worked on his eager excited flesh.
His hand went to her graceful throat and felt the slowly moving bulge that was his cock's bulbous head. Moving it down, he began a slow rhythmic kneading of her breast. As he did this, he noticed that she wriggled her bottom forward, anticipating some attention there. By bending quite a bit, he could just manage to reach that eagerly receptive crotch, and his fingertips began to work at the wet furrow, four of them becoming drenched with the manual manipulation as her lubricating fluids began to run generously.
His extreme delight with her depraved sensuality was beyond anything he could imagine. At first, he had expected to frighten the woman into showing him her naked body. His first try at such a thing, it escalated rapidly into an almost chaotic sequence that might well have resulted in violence. He didn't really want that.
Seeing her nakedness was what he had planned on doing. But during the showdown, having touched her in several places, having seen those magnificent breasts, having looked up into her defenseless hair-lined furrow, it had just escalated out of control. And that kiss! His tongue in her mouth!
Jack had screwed his share of girls, and several other people's share as well, but none was as exciting as the trembling preacher's wife. At first she had been frightened, and her fright served to show him that he was the sole master of the situation. Then she registered horror and disgust as he fondled her and finger-fucked her. When he threatened to fuck her she was in writhing agony, but that agony was nothing compared to her screams of pain as he shot his proud long prick right up to the hilt in her tight hot cunt.
Screaming and crying like she was being brutally mutilated! And then, as the fuck became really hot, she slowly became aroused and began to enjoy it. And there, at the very end, she screamed out like a common whore to be fucked! THE PREACHER'S WIFE! Imagine it! Hotsy-totsy butter-wouldn't-melt-in-her-mouth preacher's wife, screaming out to be fucked like any common whore! This thought made Jack shake his head in disbelief.
Well, he had said to himself on the way home, one never knows!
After having fucked her he had been frightened about her telling the police. He had no fear about the preacher after having talked with Linda, his little sister. Linda had told him in lurid detail what went on, and when Bill came in with those wild pictures, then he knew that he was safe. But right after having raped the young wife, he hadn't known if his mother had succeeded in seducing the pastor or not. So, playing it safe, he had spent a few minutes with her on the floor, kissing and playing with her tits.
Something about the way she returned his kisses told him in no uncertain terms that she wouldn't tell. Her voice said other things. She had told him that she never wanted to lay eyes on him again, that he had committed a crime and a sin-making him chortle-that he was despicable, detestable, vermin, and other things. But she returned his kisses.
Yet, there was a chance that the police might be called, so he took off for Madison almost right away, after seeing those obscene photographs of his mother and the preacher.
"How did you do?" his mother had asked him.
Since Bill was there he lied. "Boy, is she a cold bitch!"
"Oh, well, to blackmail Wilson we really don't need her anyway, but it would somehow have been better. Did you see her ass?"
"Yeah. And her jugs, too! But she just did what I said and that was it."
"You didn't tip our hand, did you?" she asked.
"You think maybe I'm crazy?" he had asked in reply.
"Don't ask," she answered, frowning slightly.
So he went to Madison, but all the while he thought about the prize he had snagged so luckily. Without a doubt, she was the wildest fuck he had ever had and, in his short sixteen years, he had reckoned with some two hundred different girls. None was anything like this sexy bitch! This one had more lust in her little finger than any of those others had in their whole bodies! . These thoughts passing through his mind, Jack stood there having his cock sucked while fondling a breast and working her cunt into a steaming torrent. He hadn't wanted to tell Bill about it since his older brother would probably be here right now, taking her in the cunt, in the asshole, even in the nose.
A sadistic bastard, Jack thought, one I don't want to share this nympho with.
Girls had sucked him off before this, but none had ever succeeded in taking his whole length. Now his cock was all the way, straining as though it would burst. Delicious needles of pure pleasure filled him from the knob and shaft of his saliva-soaked cock, making every nerve end sizzle.
His rapidly working fingers had found her clitoris and massaged it ceaselessly. His other hand kneaded the lush flesh of her full ripe breast, whipping her into erotic ecstasies that were making her more bestial and lusty by the second.
His cock had wedged into her throat, and she was groaning and clawing at his back, nipping the base of that thick male shaft. Suddenly her hands circled him and came around the sides to the front, where her fingers struggled desperately to undo his belt. Fumbling with it in her eager haste, she finally unbuckled it and then she unbuttoned the top of his jeans. Her hands clawed the pants and underpants down, and she immediately thrust one of those nervous dove-like hands between his legs and seized his balls eagerly. She began a slow pumping, rolling the sperm-filled balls in the wrinkled skin of the pink scrotal sac. Then she moved her head back, releasing the cock completely.
"Oh, it's lovely and big now, just like it should be," she murmured. She continued to fondle his rock-like balls with one hand and with the fingertips of the other, she grazed the hard, bulbous head, teasing the spongy flesh. Shivers of illicit delight made her tremble and groan as she ministered to his massive genitals.
She had never known that such ministrations even existed before Jack came into her life; now she knew what Peter had been talking about!
"Does this feel good?" she asked, bending forward to flick the very tip of his organ with darts of her wet tongue.
"Aaaahhh, you know it!" he replied. "Does this feel good?" And he rubbed her tingling bud of a clitoris harder.
"Ooooooo, magnificent! God, what have you done to me? What have you done to me?" She shook her head and looked up at him.
Her body was completely aflame, burning with erotic desire for his cock. She wanted it to fill her, slash into her evilly, fuck her to a death of pure pleasure. Her orgasm the day before had been so intense that she thought her arms and legs would fall off. The memory of it wouldn't escape!
Why can't Peter satisfy me like this? I love him, I really do! Do I love Jack? God, I don't know! I love what he does to me! I've never felt like such a depraved animal in my life! I wonder if whores do it because it's so good! I feel right now like no whore has ever felt! And I am a treacherous wife! I've committed adultery and I ENJOYED being fucked! I was actually looking forward to being fucked by this demon again! The utter debasement of the whole thing makes it so much more sexy! What kind of animal am I that I want to be defiled even more? Am I a masochist? No! I don't like to be hurt! But I want this one to fuck me hard, make me see stars, fuck me into delirious unconsciousness, split me right up the middle with this delicious weapon!
Thinking these thoughts, she brought her wide-ovaled lips over the smooth fleshy head of his cock, enclosing it completely in the hungry wetness. She began to caress the wetly trapped head of his prick with her excited tongue and then dabbed at the tiny glans opening at the tip, trying to force the pointed tip of her tongue into its pink softness. Her hand massaged the soft, wrinkled skin of his balls and her other hand coursed up and down his hairy, well-muscled leg.
She began to move her head back and forth, taking the burgeoning head of his cock well in and then slowly releasing it, dragging her teeth along the shaft in a strangely exciting raspy withdrawal. Hearing his groans of ecstasy, she knew that he liked it and this thought was further reinforced by his accelerated ministrations on her wildly flashing clitoris. She felt an orgasm rumbling deep in the pit of her stomach, a low growling warmth that threatened to explode in a flying spray of white-hot sparks through her whole body.
She hummed deliriously and shivers of eager anticipation shook her as she sucked harder and harder on the thick, long pleasure-giving weapon in her mouth.
Above her, Jack moaned continuously. "OOOOHHHHHHH! GOD! GOD! GOD! GOD! HURRY! I'M MAKING IT! I'M MAKING IT!" He bucked forward spastically and thrust his fingers as far into the steaming depths of her exploding cunt as he could, grasping her tit and twisting it in a cruel but exciting way.
Thunderous waves of pure pleasure crashed through her and flashes of lightning-like voltage illuminated the backs of her eyelids, making her think that she was dying, actually dying, from a vast sex-stroke. Hands seemed to be all over her, a million rough grasping hands raping her, plundering her pure body, seizing and grasping her breasts, bending her forward, tipping her, going over her buttocks and into her backside.
Caught in the toils of this gigantic climax, she almost lost consciousness as strange pains intensified the roaring magnitude of her biological revolt. Shots of red pain flashed up her quivering backbone and hands grasped her breasts, twisting them.
God, she thought, her mind reeling, will my body or mind be able to take this? .
"OOOHHH, CHRIST!" Jack shouted, and jammed his cock all the way into the throat of the tilted young woman. His nuts released their load of speeding sperm which raced down the tubular tunnel of excited flesh and squirted out in a steaming gush, flooding her throat.
"MMMMMMMMNNNNNNNGGGGGHHHHH!" Diana growled, her body and mind completely disintegrated and floating after their vast twin-explosions. She gulped the hot fresh cum as though it were nectar of the gods, not missing a drop!
SHE DIDN'T HEAR THE LAUGH.
All she felt was the ministrations of those millions of hands twisting her into a fantastic vertigo. An alien stab of pain was shooting up from her ass, further dizzying her by adding to the utterly incredible series of orgasmic explosions. She had never felt so torn apart in her life, and finally opened her eyes as a post-climactic daze began to settle. Looking to her right, she let out an involuntary scream of surprise.
Jack frowned that way too. When his brother had stolen quietly into the room he had just begun to make it, and no force on earth could have stopped him, not even a steel-jacketed bullet from an elephant gun. Not even Bill.
And Bill continued to rotate his long index finger up into the preacher's young wife, grinding as far as he could into the clasping hotness of her rectum. His other hand was almost ripping the tender flesh of one of her breasts right off.
Looking up at Jack and smiling cruelly, he said: "I knew you were lying, you sonofabitch!"
CHAPTER FOUR
Wretched but excited, Peter Wilson drove slowly toward the humble Clarke residence. He tried to justify his mission, which was one that would be hard to explain to any court of law, let alone God or Diana.
Speaking aloud as he drove, he said, "If man sins, let God judge!"
Somehow it made him feel better, even though he knew enough about people to realize clearly that man would judge, and man was a harsh judge, at that! That made him feel instantly worse, and his stomach tightened up.
Adultery and now embezzling, he mused. WHAT NEXT?
His penis was stretching in his pants, happy with eager anticipation of what lay before him. He could justify sex with Mrs. Clarke by telling himself that he loved her. How will she be dressed?
Will she have only a robe on? Will her little girl be there? No! There's school today! Good! I'll have to pay this five hundred dollars back somehow. Heck, maybe I'll do part of the painting! Sure! I can paint! Maybe-no ... Diana doesn't do that kind of painting. She screws around with little brushes. If only she would be sexy! She just won't let herself go! Other guys have it made! I have to be so-so-so damned holy! This preacher business isn't all it's cracked up to be! God might understand that I'm a man and that I have a penis and testicles, that I like to kiss and hold breasts as much as the next guy, but tell it to my congregation!
Sometimes I wish that I could quit this rat-race and open a fishing camp or something up by Hayward. Yeah! Then I can take a leak without sinning! Now, if I want to make love to my wife, it's like I'm a heathen, worshipping a calf of gold!
Preachers should all have their balls cut off so they can live a chaste life, like some harem-guarding eunuchs! The Catholics had their fiction about chastity for a while, all right, but boy! what went on in those convents would make a Marseilles streetwalker blush! Well, good for them!
The money? Poor Mrs.-no!-I shouldn't call her poor! I mean ... mmmmmm ... well, Rebecca needs help. I don't care about yesterday-not much I don't! I loved every minute of it! Wish I didn't have to feel bad about it, but that's life. Guess we always have to feel bad about something that feels good, or something like that!
BUT HOW CAN I DO IT? HOW CAN I?
His hand rubbed his excited penis, frictioning it against the material of his shorts. Thoughts of Rebecca's lips around his cock thundered through him, making him tingle with eager anticipation. He could visualize her tremendous breasts, those twin hills of creamy white softness.
God, did he love breasts! Diana's breasts had thrilled him when he had first met her. On the large side, they were perfectly-formed orbs of pleasure-giving softness, high and full. She hadn't needed a brassiere and she didn't need a brassiere. The only reason she wore one was because it was immoral to not wear one! Those jiggling orbs under a sweater might lead some poor sinner to unclean thoughts!
His mind wandered back to the first night he had managed to see them. Parked out by the St. Croix River, they had been talking about their future. Peter was mad about her and thought that she liked him. He wanted to go through life with her, and told her so, proposing in that way.
"Do you mean it?" she had asked, suddenly breathless.
"I want you to be my wife, Diana. Would you be the wife of a lowly preacher?"
She had begun to cry and nodded her head, her eyes shining through their tears of joy.
And one thing led to another after that. Except, she wouldn't let him go all the way. He could understand that, even though he thought at the time that marrying a girl without making love to her first was taking a rather big chance. Breast-fed, Peter had often thought that he had never been weaned. He loved the pneumatic softness of breasts. Something about them excited him tremendously, and he liked all breasts. Big ones and little ones.
PROVIDED that they were well-shaped breasts.
That night by the river he had kissed her and one of his hands brushed her breast lightly-but on purpose! That light touch incited him to bravery, and he had become aggressive, deaf to her pleas that he stop it-stop it! He had no intention of stopping it, because he had to cup those gloriously exciting globes so full and firm. His hand had slipped under her sweater while their lips burned together in a hot wet kiss.
Ignoring her struggle, he managed a steady succession of plays that resulted in yardage. His hand burned against her soft cool skin, and finally, while soul-kissing her, he shot it right up under the elastic bottom-band of her brassiere and achieved a soft, cool breast. Having lost that struggle, she had nothing more about it to hide, and from there on it was an easy matter for him to hoist her sweater up, lift the brassiere cups up, and feast his hungry eyes on the proudly rising globes of cool soft flesh. But when he had tried to suck on them, she had objected, and was adamant.
Touch them yes, suck them no.
This irked Peter, and the fact that it irked him irked him even more.
Mechanics can get mad, he thought, and nobody minds. Even doctors and psychologists can throw a fit now and then! But men of the cloth-HAH! can't. We always have to act so holy, so benevolent! We're just as human as truck drivers or criminals. We like to screw our wives and kiss and feel boobies just like anybody else. Only thing is, we aren't supposed to. Even Diana believes that! But, AAAAAHHH, here I am!-and the delicious Rebecca Clarke doesn't believe that!
He wheeled majestically into the unkempt driveway and snapped the ignition off smartly. His blood had already begun to run thick and hot, and his penis was erect, embarrassing him to no end. His Pendelton shirt covered the aroused bulge of his vertical prick, though, since his shirt-tails were out casually. He wanted to see Rebecca more the closer he got, and he was almost running by the time he arrived at the wooden steps that led up to the gray-painted floor of the front porch. Mounting them quickly, he was just about to finger the doorbell when the front door swung open so abruptly that it startled him. It was pudgy little Linda, the fourteen-year-old daughter of Rebecca.
"Come in!" she said.
Peter looked at her and frowned. She was home, after all! And she was dressed in nothing but a sheer nightgown that barely covered her genitals. He could see that she had neither a brassiere nor underpants on, and her innocent young body was open to his view, hazed only slightly by the thin material of that nylon garb. Despite his honorable position about looking at semi-naked young girls, he found it hard to unweld his eyes from the supple and pneumatic curves of the girl's plump breasts and commodious hips.
The faint darkness of the triangular patch that crested her pubis softly was patently visible, as were the distended roseate points of her youthful nipples. Her breasts were huge, like those of her mother, and Peter's mouth went dry.
"Is your mother home?" he asked.
"No," she lied in quick reply. "She told me that you were going to come, and asked me to be sure that you'd come in and stay until she got back from the office-about fifteen minutes, she said. I think more like a half hour, though, if you wanna know the truth."
He looked at her and his eyes involuntarily swept over her body. "Well, okay. Why not?" Yeah, Pete, why not? What am I getting myself into? Looking at this nymphet is going to do super bad things to me! Good grief!
"Nobody's home but me," she crooned, her voice low like her mother's. "I stayed home from school cuz I got a bad chest cold."
"Well, that's too bad, Linda," Peter said, following her as she led the way into the living room. "Is there anything I can do?"
She turned, regarded him seriously, then walked out of the room hastily, without answering. A moment later she returned with a small blue jar of Vick's VapOrub. "You could put some of this on me," she told him, handing him the jar.
"You mean on your chest?" he gasped, suddenly very worried.
"Well not on the soles of my feet!"
"Eeerrrrr, well ... all right, but leave your nightie on, won't you?"
"Of course! I mean, you're not exactly my dad, you know!"
This relieved Peter, who was already trembling. He judged the pudgy young blonde's bust measurement to be at least a thirty-eight D, with or without a brassiere, and her tits were driving him crazy, wobbling liquidly as they were every time she moved. And he could see a strange fire in her eyes as she looked at him, a fire that told him that she was in heat, perhaps experiencing the first painful pangs of adolescent sexuality.
She stood before him, her legs apart, her shoulders moving back and forth in some nervous rhythm as her dark brown eyes fixed on his. She seemed to him to be very nervous-And she was!
"Will he put it in me, mom?" she had asked.
"Don't worry about it! I won't let the bastard touch you!"
"All right, mom," she had said.
But now, seeing a glint in his eyes, she only hoped that her mother had the size fourteen frying pan ready in case the pastor got out of hand. She had a sneaking hunch that he might get out of hand and go too far! Go all the way! Suddenly, she regretted the whole thing. The sheer nightgown, the lie about the chest cold, the jar of Vick's, everything.
Fear coursed through her young and innocent body, making her tremble as she watched him unscrew the cap from the jar.
GOD, I KNOW HE'S GOING TO DO IT TO ME!
She was covered with cold sweat as he handed her onto the sofa.
His breath was coming in staccato chuffs and his temples were pounding like drums. Rub this on her chest? Ye gods! I had better hurry. Rebecca might be back at any minute!
He placed her on the sofa and turned her away from him, mainly because he wanted to stretch her neckline out so he could gaze at her magnificent young tits. He knew that he would be able to fondle those priceless jewels of feminine flesh after all, if a guy rubs Vicks on a chest-especially on the breast of a nubile young nymphet shouldn't one fondle a bit? A tit-man, Peter lost no time ....
"Right here, my dear." And he positioned her.
His hand eagerly slipped onto her chest and moved away, drawing the flimsy nylon out so that he had a clear view of her creamy white globes.
MY GOD! Look at those tits! OOOoooouuuuhhhh! Like melons! Forgive me! What the hell! Damnation is worth it to touch a pair of boobs like these!
His hand held the garment out, his eyes burned at the view, his fingers scooped a generous nurdle of Vicks out, and moved with incredible precision into the tented-out opening and down to the twin mounds, clasping one with undisguised sexuality.
He cupped the breast and the taut nipple burned into the palm of his hand. He caressed it, sinking to new lows of utter depravity. His hand squeezed the soft, yielding coolness of her youthful gland, sinking a bit into the pliant orbs of tit flesh. Then he began a slow, rhythmic massaging of that breast, beginning at the bottom, coming up over the full, milk-filled softness, and over the tight and hard little nipples, and then all the way up those creamy slopes. Each sensation-filled stroke up those breasts aroused Peter to heights of excitement while plunging him to lower depths of bestiality.
His quivering hand stopped, finally, and unabashedly he began to tweak and tease and roll her dormant little nipples until they were as hard as a pair of marbles. All this while he had been sitting behind her, looking down her neckline over her shoulder. He had been looking down at her full, white tits, capped with those puckered buds of pink sensuality.
Lust had begun to overpower him completely.
HE WANTED TO SEE THE REST OF HER!
The pastor's hand crept down her belly front slowly and his fingers grazed the golden fuzz of her pubic triangle. That hair itself seemed to be hot; flames crackling up from the subtle mound of her adolescent pubis. She trembled and shook, her brown eyes misted over with fear as she looked at him. His face burned, he felt every throb of the blood in his body, he was breathless and nervous as hell.
He was bent on raping a young child!
His hotly itching cock knew that her tiny cunt wanted him badly. Armed with this data, he sent his probing finger down over her proud virginal bulge, through that exciting little thatch of pubic hair, and onto the tender pink flanges that guarded her hot wet secret.
The touch of her hotness on his finger excited Peter to new heights of erotic arousal. His mind reeled as he realized what he was doing with the young girl. His hand was right down the front of her filmy nightgown, his hand pressed on her proud bulge, his middle finger probing the delicate hair-lined flanges of her cringing pussy.
He could feel the young child's heart pounding wildly and her breath coming in short dry gasps, and incorrectly assumed that she was excited. No, she was FRIGHTENED!
Believing her mother, Linda hadn't expected the pastor to put his finger on her pussy. Her mother had told her what to do, and had been specific.
"Let him see your body, and make sure that he gets a good look at your bottom, understand? He'll rub your chest, all right, so let him, and act as though you enjoy it. Be sure that you get your hand onto his cock and, for pity sake, if he kisses you, which he might, stick your tongue into his mouth as far as you can. If things get out of hand, I'll come in and help you. You got all that?"
And little Linda, frightened, said that she did understand. But now she was more frightened. The thought of her mother watching made things worse, however, because her mother never tolerated disobedience. Grasping the man's cock was a dreadful thought-it looked so big! Seeing it the day before had aroused her, but now, as her hand went to his thigh, she was terrified at the thought that he might try to put it into her untouched bottom or her little mouth. She didn't want that!
Her trembling hand moved slowly up the warm material of his trousers and crept inside his leg's warmth toward his crotch. She didn't know anything about what she was doing, but some unknown force guided her hand with incredible precision in its search for the excited male flesh.
Feeling her young hand creep up toward his deliciously stretching prick made Peter sure that she was hot, willing to do almost anything, so he moved, turned her after dislodging his arm from her nightie, and lifted her so that he could pull the sheer nylon material up and off. As he saw the look of tortured disbelief in her wet eyes, he was inflamed to further lust.
He pulled her nightgown up and achieved a modicum of cooperation from the trembling young child. Raising her arms, she allowed him to remove the garment, and then she was stark naked, her shapely young body open to his hot hungry view.
Sweeping her lush form lewdly, Peter trembled. His hot gaze sucked in the sight of her full breasts, those luscious globes of soft flesh capped by puckered little nipples. They were much larger than Diana's, but a bit smaller than Rebecca's monumental set. The nipples were dark pink, like her mother's. Looking down he could see that she had a slight pouch, a small and seductive bulge right below her navel. And her pubic hair was so light and fine that the triangle appeared to be nothing more than a wisp of morning haze.
Looking closely, he could just make out the front of her virginal cunt, a mere slit unhidden by the wispy thicket of golden fuzz. Her legs were twin columns of smooth, stout flesh, on the large side but certainly shapely. She was, in all, a young replica of her mother, albeit with blonde hair. Sweeping up the luscious form of her innocent young frame, Peter looked at her face. The smooth, blemish-free oval was framed by the shining tresses of her dead-straight blonde hair and decorated by wide, innocent brown eyes, a pert nose, and full, pouting lips that belied her youthfulness.
Those were the lips of a woman, gracing the face of a mere child. Fixing on them, Peter wondered just what things those lips had done. Had they done what people had said? Had she really sucked her brothers off? Had she really made Lesbian love to her mother? Were those lips tools of the flesh? He had to know, and drew her to him slowly, grasping her arms and pulling gently to him. His lips met hers in a hot, crushing kiss and his tongue thrust into her buttery wetness.
MOM SAYS I HAVE TO DO IT!
She sucked his tongue into her mouth and quivered with fear at the alien intrusion. Weird tinglings of arousal electrified her lower body, down by her pussy and in her thighs, and she found that her trembling little hand was making its way for his manhood. She clasped him to her as the hot, searing kiss continued and her own erotic arousal skyrocketed, and her hand came to rest on the hot, thick tube that she knew to be his penis.
At the touch something she couldn't explain took over in her innocent body, a feeling more intense than that which possessed her when her brother Bill would make her jack him off. This new feeling caused her to tremble and become dizzy, as though her legs wouldn't hold her up!
Peter kissed her and as he felt her small hand grasp his hot itching prick, he let his hand course down her back and rove onto the cool smoothness of her youthful buttocks. His fingers slipped into the warm wetness of her rectal crack and unashamedly pressed where she was hottest against her cringing anus.
Will she let me DO it?
Screwing one finger forcefully against the tightly-puckered asshole, a thrill shot through him. He wrenched that finger in and the tip to the first knuckle was suddenly surrounded by warmness. His tongue mingled wetly with hers during this intrusion of her anus, but as he made the unnatural penetration, she tore her face away and screamed.
"AAARRRGGGHHHHH!"
Her cry of agony only served to intensify his unbridled lust, and her trembling, cringing asshole's workings pulled his finger farther in rather than ejecting it!
Peter forced it in all the way to the hilt, grasping one of her lush breasts as he did. Lost now to insane passion, he once again smashed his lips against hers in a red-hot kiss, his tongue forcing its way into her youthful wetness. Her struggling inflamed him, making him shed every thought of the immorality of what he was doing.
Pederasty, in a way. She was illegal, jail-bait.
But he didn't give that a thought-after all, hadn't she invited him to play their lewd game of melting flesh? What man wouldn't take advantage of a situation like this?
Their tongues began a wet ballet as she became accustomed to the lascivious presence of his digit in her rectum. His hand was roving over her breast, smashing against it in rotary movements that sent thrills of pure provocative pleasure racing through her virginal frame. From deep in her breast she groaned in animal delight. She had a burning itch in her pussy, and her hand went involuntarily to that troublesome cleft to quell the annoying source of her sexual agony.
His finger in her rectum sent shots of excited arousal up her spine, dizzying her head and threatening to disintegrate her body. Whatever was happening to her, she wanted more, and her mother's will would be fulfilled in spirit and letter, but to the highest degree.
Ironically, as this thought struck her, Peter pulled his finger out of her asshole, thrust his face away from hers, and gasped.
"No!" he cried. "I can't do this! What am I doing? Am I going insane?"
"YOU HAVE TO!" she cried in reply. "Oh, God, you can't stop now!"
Feckless on the sofa, Peter's body demanded that he continue, but his strong sense of Christian morality balked. The thought of his finger up an innocent young child's asshole boggled his mind and sent shudders of self-recriminating revulsion burning through his soul. It also sent shots of erotic arousal burning through his veins and he whimpered aloud at his dilemma. Looking at her pleading eyes, he shrugged and shook his head in hopeless despair. "What can I do?" he asked in abject resignation.
"Oh, please," she replied, knowing that it was necessary for her mother to capture the whole lewd sequence on Super 8 color, and knowing that she wanted his hands on her aroused body because she was burning with sex, "Pppppllleeeaaaassss ...."
Looking at her blonde innocence, Peter was faced with the biggest decision of his life. Do I fuck her? What will happen if I do? Can I fry in hell worse, especially after yesterday? Adultery is a sin, and I sinned. But then, yesterday, I hadn't consciously embarked on that sinful path! Now I am contemplating it-I am actually contemplating breaking a Commandment! To do it in my mind is to do it in the flesh! Ergo, I have done it! I have already broken that command delivered to Moses by God on Mount Sinai-but Moses did his share of screwing! And in the ass, as well! He is the most infamous ass-fucker in the history of anal sodomy, after all! I've never fucked a girl in the ass ....
"You really want me to-to touch you?" he asked hesitantly.
HE WAS THINKING LEWD THOUGHTS.
"OOOoooohhhh....YYYyyyeeesssss...."
Despair and resignation drained every iota of will power from the abject pastor. He thought about that fishing camp as the young girl began to unzip his fly to free his hot column of male flesh. He thought about all the interesting people he might meet in hell, and about the dull ones who'd mope around listlessly high on those harp-festered clouds beyond the Pearly Gates. Choir music for an eternity! Too much to bear! And harps! Gabriel, the rain-maker, playing his organ for thunderstorms! Man, it all sounds pretty ridiculous, now that I think about it!
Now this, he said to himself, looking down at the lush form of the erotically aroused young girl, is reality! She is something I don't have to believe in! I can see her, touch her, smell her, taste her, hear her breath coming in such excited gasps!
His hands reached out quite slowly.
He sat on the flowered sofa, his legs apart. She knelt between them and was just taking his cock out of his trousers.
At this very moment, four and a half miles away, Bill Clarke, brother of Linda Clarke, was just walking into the Wilson bedroom, where he saw his younger brother Jack fucking the preacher's naked wife in the mouth!
Call it what you will, but the coincidence was there.
Peter wanted to fuck Linda's asshole.
"Take my pants off," he harshly commanded.
She worked hastily, tugging the gray flannel slacks off. She removed his shoes and stockings as the trousers doughnuted at his ankles, and then she removed his shirt, baring him. A deep red flush had crept over Linda's normally pale cheeks; her little nipples were like pink grapes, erect with happy anticipation. She was afraid of being fucked, but wanted sexual contact of some sort.
As a last resort, she realized that she would let this man of God fuck her! And she was a virgin!
Naked, Peter slouched back, his erect protuberance up like a red-knobbed flagpole. He didn't look at it, but rather at the comfortable flesh of the child standing before him.
"Come," he said, motioning for her to sit on his lap. She turned and eased herself down, guided by his firm hands. Just as she stopped to make contact with the tip of his turgid erection, he stopped her.
"Careful, now," he said, and reached down to spread wide those gorgeous globes of white flesh.
"WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO?" she gasped.
"Never mind, my child. Just relax for a moment while I put this thing into you."
"BUT NOT MY BEHIND!"
Disregarding this nonsense, Peter spread the orbs of white flesh and eased her down so that the rubbery tip of his bulbous knob pressed demandingly against the cringing knot of her pink anus. He proceeded without noticing her continuing objections, her asshole calling more loudly than her voice.
Rape was his game now, but Linda was terrified. She wanted him, but she was young and her first encounter with sex devastated her. As the hard knob of his penis pressed obscenely against her nether ring, she shook violently, wailing out in unmitigated grief.
"NNNnnnooooooo!" she wailed loudly.
His answer was a cruel thrust upward that sent the head of his blood-filled cock popping into her resisting flesh. Incited by this lewd intrusion, he reached upward and placed his hands on her hips, grasping her pelvic bowl and forcing her brutally downward so that her weight and his strength countermanded her futile cries and feeble flailing. Hotness covered the upper half of his eagerly throbbing shaft as the penetration became real, and he forced her pelvis down even harder, jamming his lust-hardened shaft all the way to the hilt so that her pure clean buttocks were tight against his generous thatch of curly brown pubic hair.
Fantastic warmth covered the sensation-hungry shaft of his prick as it was suddenly surrounded by her warm biological hotness. Peter's balls ached for sexual release as that sensitive pole sucked in the tremendous sensations of warm goosh. His hands slid seductively up her sides from her hips to her full, heavy breasts and they grasped them tenuously, fervently, desperately; all the while Linda was screaming in agony, inciting him to bestiality!
"GGGAAAWWWWDDDDD!"
"AAAHHHOOOOMMMMM ...." Peter retorted, loving every minute of the forbidden pleasure. Not even in his wildest dreams had he thought about plowing a backside furrow, and now he was doing it! Actually fucking a child in the asshole! and she had taken his big cock in, even though she was writhing like a distressed eel. His hands grasped and seized and twisted the lushness of her ripe breasts as he flexed his blood-filled penis in her velvet-like rectum.
The soft heat surrounding the head and shaft of his cock was demandingly exciting, and her sphincter's contractions around the base of his luridly wedged shaft were maddening. He tickled her nipples and rolled them until they achieved erection, springing out like hard pink marbles. Still she cried out.
"Oh, please, please stop!" she sobbed, "you're killing me ... I can't stand it ...!"
Her pitiful pleas further aroused his lust.
His arousal channeled his lust into a desire to begin sawing into that luscious hole, and he began to rock back and forth slowly, each movement resulting in a delicious friction of his lust-hardened shaft as it slid in and out of her tightly-cringing asshole. One of his hands slid slowly down over her belly and wedged itself into her innocent blonde pubic hair.
Wet, her pussy slit struggled to close, the trembling flanges palpitating in the futile attempt. His insidious middle finger crept into the defenseless wetness of her hot little vagina and began heathen ministrations, rubbing the dormant little nub of her clitoris slowly.
"AAAaaarrrggghhh!" Linda cried out in anguish, her rectum feeling as though it would surely split from the stretching caused by the pastor's huge cock. The rocking motion was making it even more horrible, and she couldn't realize how women could possibly subject themselves to something that felt so terrible! Each backward movement meant further impalement by that horribly slicing cudgel, each forward movement caused a painful withdrawal. Her tortured little anus was stretching unbearably, and she knew that it would never be the same.
Gradually the pain began to deaden and, as it did, Linda became slowly aware of a small pin-prick of pleasure down where the pastor's lewdly occupied hand wetly massaged her tingling clit. Not understanding the nature of this tingling pleasure at first, Linda tried to fix on it, to concentrate on it and understand just what it might be. As she concentrated determinedly, the small point of passion grew, becoming a hotness that radiated delicious little waves of warm pleasure through her very body.
She found that she could increase this pleasure by rocking faster, since the passion and arousal seemed now to have something to do with that thick hot shaft sliding in and out of her so lustily. His hand working against her clitoris also fanned the flames into incredible hotness, and her demanding sensuality began to intensify incredibly. Now she wanted to be fucked in the asshole!
"AAAHHHMMMMmmm ...." she groaned, her eyes tightly shut, every cell in her body threatening to burst into liquid flame.
Filming this from a small hole in the wall, Rebecca Clarke smiled. Watching her daughter get screwed wasn't the easiest thing in the world, of course, but she knew that the time had come for her initiation and it would be much better to have the young girl broken in by the pastor than by some scruffy little boy in the back seat of a car at a drive-in movie. This way there would be a lot of money, besides.
At least twenty thousand dollars-because Rebecca Clarke intended to blackmail Reverend Wilson for that amount, the money to come from the church's building fund. She knew that there were some very rich widows in the congregation, horny old ladies who would be only too happy to shell out ten thousand dollars for a screw. So, she had said to herself, he may just have to go out and fuck his way into that money!
And now, watching as the camera rolled relentlessly on, she smiled knowingly as she heard her daughter's groans of erotic arousal. She knew just what the poor girl had gone through, but was vindicated as she realized that the pain-pleasure line had been crossed finally.
The sight of her own young daughter being fucked in the asshole by a man twice her age and size aroused her, and as she watched the accelerating rocking and wildly working hands, she could almost imagine that it was she herself being fucked. She could feel his hand on her breast, and the other working her nervous clitoris. She could just feel that thick protuberance of his cock as it pummeled up her own sex-hungry little asshole!
GOD, HE HAS TO DO THAT TO ME!
Her hand went to her vaguely demanding pussy and began to rub, first against the material of the dress and then she scooped lower, came up under the dress, and inserted her hand into her nylon underpants so that she could have a wet direct contact. Watching eagerly now as her daughter was moaning in the grip of elevated eroticism, she massaged her clitoris in rhythm with the fucking in the other room.
Her other hand went automatically to her large full breast, which had suddenly felt very heavy, and she caressed it, rubbing her hand over it in a slow, grinding rotary movement.
"OOOOooooohhhhh ...!" Linda cried, her body revolting in the grip of an all-consuming passion. Wave after wave of blinding pleasure shot through her, making her insane with lust-inspired desire. She tried to twist her head to achieve the lips of the pastor, to kiss him, to send her tongue into his mouth.
"UUUuuurrrggghhhh!" Peter grunted, his balls aching for the lewd release of straining sperm into her forbidden sheath. He saw her twist to kiss him and bent forward, meeting her lips in a searing kiss. They nipped each other and traded tongues and saliva, their bodies now welded together as though by sexual magnetism. Rocking in unison, engaged in a forbidden act of pederastic anal sodomy, their lips smashed passionately together, both were on the same roller-coaster of sex. And the crashing climax was just around the corner for them! Peter broke the kiss.
"I'M CUMMING!" he uttered gutturally. "GAWD, OH, GAWD-SO AM I!" Linda cried, humping as though her very life depended on it.
Rebecca was dimming too! Her hand was drenched with lubricating fluid as it massaged the delicate flanges of her hair-covered vagina!
"HHHUUURRRRRYYY!" Linda screamed, and branded his mouth with another kiss as her steaming hot orgasmic fluid released itself in a torrential gush that triggered a series of spasms like she had never realized possible. She bucked downward with all her might, demanding the quenching gush of hot sticky sperm that she instinctively knew would squirt in searing spurts from his plundering protuberance.
Bucking upward to impale her mightily while in the agony-like throes of his release, Peter shot his load of white-hot semen up into the thirsty depths of her rectum, splashing the soft dark membranes so that she cried out and quivered in unmitigated delight.
"OOOHHHAAAHHHMMM!" she cried, grasping his hand down between her thrashing thighs and slamming it upward against her cringing crotch. "OOOUUUUUUuuuuu ...!"
Just then, Rebecca walked into the living room. And just then, Bill and Jack were driving into their driveway, a rather worried Mrs. Wilson between them.
Upon seeing her husband's car, she was really frightened.
"Don't worry about it," Bill told her.
Just as Peter Wilson and Linda Clarke had finally decided to have sexual intercourse together, Diana Wilson was shocked to see the leering face of Bill Clarke right beside her. Startled out of her post-orgasmic daze, she immediately responded by recalling the sensation of a million pains and hands, and she screamed out. "NNNOOO!"
His finger was still wedged into her tightly-puckered anus, and he was rotating it cruelly. His other hand squeezed the naked smoothness of her breast.
Jack, upon achieving his stunning orgasm, had been forced away from the defenseless woman by his sadistic, lust-crazed brother. Supreme anger and anxiety filled him, but there was nothing he could do because Bill was a lot tougher than he was and would undoubtedly beat him up if he said a thing.
"So, you lying sonofabitch!" Bill chided him, "hiding a nice piece like this, are you?" He thrust the helpless woman over onto the bed so that she was on her hands and knees. His finger was still in her cringing pinkness, grinding into the rebelling flesh between her buttocks.
Jack, lying to save himself a fat lip or black eye, replied: "Gosh, Bill, I just put it on the line for her! Told her to suck me off or else eat steel! Just a few minutes ago!"
Bill surveyed his younger brother narrowly, unsure of what he was saying. Then, without a word, he turned his sex-oriented attention to the quivering nakedness of the captive woman.
He had been planning on taking her if Jack hadn't succeeded, especially after having seen the photographs of her husband and his mother locked in such a lewd series of oral embraces. Not an iota of mercy softened his evil eyes, and his smile was one of lewdness.
"I got just the thing for this piece," he said, giving his index finger one final cruel twist before pulling it slowly out.
"AAARRRGGGHHH!" she cried in agony and surprise.
Slapping her trembling buttocks smartly, he ordered her to get up and get dressed.
"Any booze in this house?" he garrulously growled.
"Ye-ye-yes," she stammered, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I-in-in the study."
"Get it!" he snapped at her, and laughed raucously as she ran from the room, trying futilely to cover her nakedness. In a moment she was back with the half-full bottle of brandy, and thrust it at him, her lips trembling, her cheeks still bathed with the salty wet tears.
"Here."
He snatched it away gruffly and twisted the cap off, arched back, and took a long, burning drink. Then he thrust it at his brother, who also drank. Jack gave it to Diana. "Here!"
"But I don't drink!" she protested feebly.
"Damn it, I said here! Now drink!" he repeated.
Trembling in fear, she hesitantly took the bottle and raised it to her lips. Drinking, she shuddered as the liquor burned down her sensitive throat. The brandy had an immediate effect of nauseating her while relaxing her at the same time. After what she hoped was a sufficiently humiliating drink, she gave the bottle back to Jack, and a feeling of defiance crept into her confused, degraded body.
She wondered what more could happen to her, how she could possibly be defiled farther by anybody. She knew that fighting would be pointless, and searching her new tormentor's flint-hard eyes for just a glint of mercy. There was nothing there but raw animal lust, and she knew that her degradation was far from complete. With this realization, a grim hopelessness replaced the defiance, and a low groan escaped her lips.
"OOOOooooooooo, NNNNnnnnnooooo ...."
Bill took his lust-hardened penis from his trousers and aimed it at the quivering woman's unexpecting belly. His. balls were aching dully for release, but he wanted to pull the grand coup, the master stroke of complete degradation. Prodding her with his cock, he once again snarled at her to get dressed.
"And be quick about it!" he added, leering lewdly and sadistically.
CHAPTER FIVE
After making her finish the brandy, Bill ordered her and Jack into his shabby old car. They drove carelessly across town, and then entered the Clarke driveway. Panic seized Diana in its cold toils as she recognized her husband's car. At the same time, a slight glimmer of hope suffused a fraction of that panic.
"Yes," Bill growled rudely, "it's your old man! And just forget any idea of calling to him for help-as you'll see soon enough, he's our prisoner-!"
Now a horrible terror shook her. Prisoner? God, why are they doing this to us? Peter has always liked them! He has always tried to help them! And now they've taken him prisoner! And the Lord only knows what they have in mind for me! OOOoooo, I wish I were dead!
Desperate, Diana knew that all avenues of escape were brutally blocked. Savage hands grasped her and forced her toward the back door of the house. Stepping into the shadowy interior of the small house, an intense flood of apprehension filled Diana. She was thrust roughly into a small room off the hallway, a room that apparently adjoined another one. She sat down uneasily on the small bed in that room and looked up tremulously at her youthful captors.
A faint smile played on Bill's face, Jack was sullen and morose. From somewhere in the house she could hear hushed voices, one she knew to be that of her husband Peter.
Straining, she tried to hear, but a sudden shock shook her as both Bill and Jack simultaneously jerked down their zippers, filling her hearing with the ominous metallic whine that foretold such horrible expectations.
"Well, well, well," Rebecca said to Peter in the other room, "that certainly was something! You like little girls, I see!"
Peter was embarrassed and even frightened. He had been caught in the act, and could see no way out. His slowly deflating penis was still tight in the hot softness of the little girl's rectal tube, grasped tightly at the base by the contracting anus. She was gasping and trembling, still in the last stages of her post-orgasmic daze. Peter's daze had been abruptly shattered by the unexpected entry of the girl's mother. "I-I-I. .
"Well, Mr. Man of God, you've just got your cock into one peck of trouble, you did!" Arms akimbo, she smirked superiorly at him.
Admitting abjectly to himself that he well might have, he removed the girl from his lap and gazed sheepishly at the shapely matron. "Can't win 'em all!" he lamely observed.
"Well, Peter, you certainly didn't win our little game! I won. You got some money for me, by the way?"
"Five hundred dollars. Figured you could use a little extra this time."
She had been tapping her foot imperiously, impatiently, but as she heard this a flicker of kindness warmed her eyes. "Five? That's not too bad." Smiling at his nakedness, his shit-streaked cock, she said, "You obviously don't have it on you."
"In my shirt pocket. The right one."
As she found the check, she was tempted to soften her stand. After all, he had been more generous than he had to be. There was some decency in him. But that didn't help her too much. She wanted some financial security, and knew that he could supply it without too much bother. She had her plan, and was going to stick to it!
"Right," she said, folding the check. "Installment number one. The first of many, I'm pleased to say."
"I'd say that five hundred dollars should be sufficient pay for what I've done."
"Your opinion, Peter, your opinion." She had heard the boys come in, and knew that they had Mrs. Wilson with them. Hearing them, she went to the small radio and turned it on, playing some music rather loudly.
Peter's shame was vanishing rapidly, replaced by a burning dread of what the woman could do. He scooped his clothes up without looking at the young girl who sat beside him and was about to dress when Rebecca walked to him, an envelope in her hand.
"Five hundred pays for these," she said, handing him the white envelope.
He took it, frowned, hefted it, and then opened it. Photographs! Looking at them he gasped.
"Oooohhh, Lord!" A sudden despair sent him dejectedly back onto the sofa, where he gazed alternately at the pornographic pictures and then at the serene but evilly smiling woman.
"This, this is blackmail!" he finally managed to utter, his voice shaken by disbelief.
"Blackmail is such an ugly word-"
"It's a very ugly thing!" he interrupted.
"And what you did?"
"Not ugly, Rebecca; not like this! You know that there was something like love involved. Passion, anyway."
"Tell it to the judge!" she said sharply. "Will I have to?"
"No. I doubt you will. We're both honorable people, aren't we?"
"Honorable, dishonorable, what difference does it make?"
"I hope-for your sake-that you realize what a difference it might make. You know, the head of the synod would just love to see those, not to mention the movie I just took of you and innocent little Linda here. Super Eight, in color yet!"
"Oh, no! Not Bedell! You wouldn't!" he said.
"Oh, but I would! And to your sluttish wife-!"
"NOW THAT MAKES ME MAD! Show her, but she's no slut! How dare you-"
"Oh, come off that horse! Who the hell are you to bluster at me, sitting naked there next to my poor daughter, your miserable worm of a cock still dirty from her?" She waggled her finger at him as though he were a child.
Utter disgust filled Peter's mind as he realized that he was, indeed, trapped.
CHAPTER SIX
Diana found herself less terrified than she thought she'd be when she felt Bill's hand go to her shoulder. She was relaxed, and responded to the touch with a small tingle of anticipation. Of course, the drink tended to lull her into relaxation, but as the young man's hand moved confidently to her plump breast and began kneading it under the thin material of her blouse, she felt the familiar sensation of a rising warmth. This flush began to creep up her body, making her sigh and tingle with the beginnings of pleasure.
Lying back on the bed, she allowed the young boys to remove her clothes, going so far as to lift her buttocks from the bed to enable them to slip her skirt off. Amazed at her own detachment, she even helped them remove her brassiere and underpants. The strength of her building desire frightened her, and she felt a blissful sense of disembodiment, as though she were two separate entities. Each seemed to be in complete control of itself, her mind and body.
Automaton-like, she helped them remove their clothes, something that would have been unthinkable only the day before. As she did this, she found herself wondering just how depraved she could get. A sudden new rush of hot desire flushed her as her eyes glued to the exciting appearance of Bill's thick, lust-hardened prick which jutted up from his bare pelvis like a savage weapon.
Suddenly his mouth burned against hers as his weight smashed her tightly against the old bed. Excited by the tight hard kiss, she felt his hot male flesh press against her thighs and a moan of desire escaped from her eager throat.
"OOOooohhhhhhhh...."
Jack's cock was up at ready as he watched his lover under the muscular form of his brother. When Bill motioned for him to lie beside them, he lost no time, and as he stretched out on his back, he was suddenly covered with the weight of the young woman, whom Bill quickly threw onto him. She quivered at the familiar touch of Jack's long, lithe body, and tingled as she felt his sinewy arms embrace her. But then something else happened!
She felt an experimental pressing against her anus and winced.
"Spread those cheeks, honey!" Bill ordered, pressing his finger against the tight little orifice nestled between her soft white orbs.
Diana gasped.
Bill's eyes bulged as he watched her hands reach around and spread the quivering globes apart. He was ready to plunge his cock right into her secret depths, but reveled in the slow torture of the cruel subjugation he had in mind for the beautiful young wife of the pastor.
Under her, Jack was wriggling up, the tip of his rock-hard shaft now a bulbous knob. It pressed tantalizingly against the slavering furrow of her cuntal slit, dripping with the lewdly excited juices of eager sex. God, was she sopping from the sex juices flowing through her cringing and ridged vaginal walls! Golly, how could she enjoy lewd humiliation like this? Was she really an out-and-out slut?
Oh, it made her shiver with animal lust to think so, and she fought it valiantly, like a fine Christian girl should! But inside, deep inside, she knew, yeah, really knew, that despite all the moralistic teachings of her parents and the church, her body wanted it. Yes, she really WANTED it!
She felt that lascivious penetration. Oh, Jesus Lord, it was all so wrong! Wasn't she married to the pastor? God, what was she doing, then, submitting to the lustful sadism of these two delinquent youths? Wouldn't it be better-more honest-to die?
Oh, God, she thought, let me die! Don't let me enjoy this sinful rape of my weak, betraying body! Oh, what's that boy doing? Is that called jerking off? She just couldn't believe her eyes! His hand was sliding up and down on his erect penis, moving faster and faster!
God, she thought, would these nice people maybe screw me? Oh, no, she sagely concluded, they wouldn't do something like that!
Suddenly something happened to the lewdly betrayed young wife! God, was that something touching her fanny? Was there a lascivious finger toying with the tingling and sensitized flesh of her creamy white buttocks? God, no, not there, for goodness sake! Oh, this is all bad enough anyway, but there?
But she felt that salacious probing and she knew deep down in her heart that that finger was up to no good! What would a finger be doing down there like that, anyway? AAARRRGGGHHH, GODDD! She found out! He had jammed it right in her asshole, into the wet, mushy hilt!
Slowly, the sadistic youth began to rotate the finger back and forth deep inside the velvety depths of her tortured sheath, widening and stretching it out almost to the breaking point.
His other hand worked his tremendously enlarged cudgel to firm readiness. Looking down, he saw that Jack's cock was almost all the way into the pink lips of her cunt. The sight incited a new outburst of lust in him, and he dislodged his finger and placed the rubbery-like tip of his thick cock against that now-exposed brownish knot. With a cruel lunge, he slammed up and forward, wedging his bulbous head tightly into the warmth of her rectal sheath.
A piercing shriek split the air. "AAARRRGGGHHHHH!"
Incited by this scream, Bill clapped his hand brutally over her mouth and jammed all the way up, sinking his obscenely intruding shaft all the way so that his pubic hair ground against her violated buttocks.
The searing pain almost killed Diana, and she struggled at the lewd penetration. The jarring pain seemed to cripple her entire nervous system, leaving her on the verge of unconsciousness.
Enjoying her vulnerability, Bill wriggled up even further, the entire length of his body pressing against her smooth form. The tops of his feet pressed against her heels and his hands worked themselves down from her mouth and onto her squashed-out breasts.
Almost crushed under his human blanket, Jack had to muster all his strength to work his sex-itching prick in and out of her vaginal sheath. He felt the brutal penetration of his brother's inhuman cock into her rectum and felt genuinely sorry for his young lover. But duty had to rule, and so he began a slow, grinding series of thrusts, smashing his mouth against hers in a hot, passionate kiss meant to squelch her cries of anguish.
I can't stand it! God, they're splitting me open!
Bill's blood-laden prick began to saw in and out of her tormented asshole savagely, pummeling the tender anal sanctum with a blazing fury.
Diana was finally forced to abandon her futile struggle, and lay between the two youths in quivering agony. As she relaxed, part of the pain subsided, and she found that she could only just make out the first tinglings of sexual arousal. A warm flush began to possess her and she returned Jack's kiss with a passion that matched his.
She gradually responded to his thundering protuberance, and found that she could almost completely disregard the pain from her wildly-stretched anus. As the pain subsided, she was suddenly shocked to realize that she was automatically thrusting back, that she was actually cooperating with the lewdly throbbing penis plummeting into her ravaged posterior!
GOD! HOW COULD I? HOW COULD I?
The rampaging prick was causing her to shake in uncontrollable spasms of pure animal lust, and the one plundering her aroused vagina was giving her unbearably good pleasure.
Playing her cards like a true professional, Rebecca had wandered to the back of the house from time to time. She was now advised by the mewls and groans of pleasure issuing from under the closed door that the time to strike was at hand. Walking briskly back into the living room, she stood, arms akimbo, and smirked at Peter Wilson.
"A few moments ago, Reverend, I said that your wife was a slut. Remember that?"
He frowned. "I remember," he answered her.
"Do you believe that your wife fucks? I mean, that she fucks other guys?" This was said tauntingly.
"The very thought has never entered her mind! I know her!"
"You think so, huh? Well, my friend, step right this way! Linda, you come along too. No need to dress...." She led the way through the kitchen and to the small room off the hallway by the back door.
Approaching, Peter could hear grunts of animal-like pleasure. He couldn't relate to the noises, but found them faintly disgusting. Then, as though struck by lightning, he suddenly stopped and turned pale, chills of panic and revulsion possessing him brutally.
"FUCK ME! GOD, FUCK ME, FUCK ME!"
It was Diana's voice! But it couldn't be! He gazed at Rebecca dumbly, wanting to see but afraid to know the dismal, shocking truth! My Diana?
"HURRY HURRY HURRY!" came the unmistakable sound of her voice, guttural and demanding, coarse from lust.
Peter looked away from Rebecca's smirking smile and his eyes went to the door. What kind of depravity can be going on in there? he wondered, sick to the very marrow.
"FUCK, OH, FUCK, OH, FUCK HARDER, YOU NASTY BASTARDS!"
"NNNnnnnoooooooooo," he groaned. Bastards? Bastards? More than one? In my precious Diana? OOOooohhhhhh, nnnoooooo ....
Slowly, sweat-covered and trembling, he made for that ominous door. A vast sickness overpowered him as he touched the knob.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Oblivious to his own nakedness, he twisted the cold little doorknob. He had to see for himself, find out that it wasn't true ....
Wrenching the door open, he gazed in and his eyes rolled up into his head. His voice broke in a low moan of tortured disbelief at what he saw. Then, focusing again on the horribly bizarre scene, he staggered forward, almost falling because of the weakness of his legs. Sheer horror mixed with violent loathing at what he witnessed transpiring on that small bed.
His precious Diana was between a naked tangle of arms and legs, two boys fucking her to heights of sexual delirium that her screams and obscene commands verified with incredible strength! He couldn't believe his eyes, and his mind tumbled, struggling to force the sight out of its consciousness. He didn't even hear Rebecca's mocking taunt.
"Some sexy wife you have there, Pastor! Have you ever been in on a double-fuck with her?"
Stunned and utterly sickened, several thoughts passed through Peter's wracked mind. Murder was one, flight was another. It was apparent that she was enjoying it.
"HARDER! I'M CUMMMMING! UUUUUUOOOOOOOO!"
And she was thrashing as he had never seen or imagined anyone do before. As though seeking some help, he turned away from the horribly stunning spectacle and looked at Rebecca.
"Turnabout, Pastor, is fair play. Can't you see that she's really enjoying it?"
To his amazement, his voice actually worked! "I just don't know! She is enjoying it! Ooohhh, God, what can I do now? Why did you do this to us, Rebecca?" He shook his head sadly.
She moved to him and her hand slid slowly down his naked belly to his penis. Slowly, without answering, she began to pump it up and down, smiling as she felt his immediate reaction to her manual manipulations. Blood ran into the slowly inflating tube of male flesh, and Peter just shook his head, completely drained of any shred of decency or morality.
He knew that he had hit rock-bottom, and the fact that he could actually become sexually aroused while watching his innocent young wife locked in the toils of such a lewd double-fornication was the ultimate degradation. Without a word he turned back to Rebecca and whimpered. Then he bent a bit, hiked up her short skirt, and thrust his hand into her nylon underpants so that his fingers pressed up inside her moist hot crotch. Her pumping accelerated, bringing him to heights of perverted desire. He wanted to get into the writhing mess on the bed, to jab his cock into his wife somewhere!
Tumultuous thoughts spun around in his head. He was caught in a web that he had spun for himself, but how had the pure Diana fit into this whole lurid mess? How had they managed to draw her into the scheme? And how long had she been fucking around? A day? A week? A month? Forever? Had she always been a wanton slut? Had Peter been wearing horns all the while, trying to play it straight with her while she was out fucking boys?
Suddenly things began to fall into place for him. No wonder, he wrongly assumed, that she has been so frigid! No wonder I run around with aching nuts all the time! Here she's been out screwing anything that wears pants! My God, what a fool I've been! Have I ever been blind!
He was about to tear himself away from Rebecca's wildly working hand, but she restrained him. "I know what you want to do," she said. "Don't! You'll have plenty of time for her later. Come on, let's you and me do it-you owe me that-!"
"I?" he spat back in righteous indignation, "I owe you? You have to be mad!"
"Mad? Listen, we turned your wife on to sex for you. She was a cold bitch-just look at her now! Come on!"
Peter recognized the logic of what she had said, but his mind was tearing itself apart trying to accept the unnerving sight of his wife locked in wanton adultery. The sight caused him to skyrocket to sexual summits of erotic arousal, and he found himself leading Rebecca Clarke to the floor. With eager haste he pulled her scanty nylon underpants down her smooth white thighs, and then he thrust her legs roughly apart, baring the delicate pink flanges of her vagina. Kneeling between her upspread legs, he slashed forward and, with perfect aim, sent his lust-hardened shaft right up to the steaming top of her eagerly receptive pussy.
"AAARRRGGGHHH!" she gasped, her voice lost in the confusion of grunts and moans and screams.
A tremendous series of orgasms was taking place on the bed above Peter and Rebecca. From the sound of it, it was mass-murder.
Diana was whirling in a warm sea, washed by wave after wave of pure sexual pleasure. Her climaxes thundered up one after the other and, just before the last fantastic crash, she happened to open her eyes. Her last conscious thought was a dim misty realization that a man who looked exactly like her husband Peter was on the floor, wildly fucking a woman she didn't recognize.
As he slammed into Rebecca with a force he never knew he could muster, Peter was imagining that he was the two boys, plundering his own wife's innocent form. This lascivious thought brought him to an energy that verged on sadism, and the wet slapping of his scrotum against Rebecca's wide-spread buttocks could be heard above all the moans and groans.
"NNNGGGGGHHHHH!" he grunted through clenched teeth, slamming his straining prick into her faster and harder. On his outward stroke he was coming completely out. Then, with a savage drive, he lurched forward, implanting the laboring cudgel all the way up into her soft hot wetness.
"NOW!" Rebecca cried, "DOWN A BIT! SLAM ME IN THE SEAT!"
Out it came, and with meticulous precision, he drove the rock-hard instrument straight into her quaking aperture.
"Uuuuuurrrrrggggghhhhh ...." Her astonished grunt filled the now silent room as the relentless instrument burst into her tightly-clenched anal orifice. God, it just shot right in and the instant sensation of clasping hotness made the lasciviously insane man of the cloth grunt like some mammoth grizzly bear. God, what pure animal lust was possessing him!
Rebecca was filled with a mindless animal lust that welcomed the sadistic pummeling of her rectum.
God, the spears of pain that shot up so devastatingly into her body from that forceful penetration of her sensitive asshole was so tremendous that it triggered a mammoth orgasm for her. How could she react so violently, with such bursting arousal? Every cell in her body quivered as that huge slick shaft slithered raspingly out and slammed with body-ripping force back into the welcoming lips of her sex-wet cunt.
Peter's rapidly fucking prick slammed into one sexual orifice and then the other and suddenly his nuts were also exploding their cargo of steaming semen, the gush rushing up that thin and sensitive tube at the very bottom of his bone-hard erection. God, as that spew of milky white cum spurted from the tiny tip at the end of his hotly trapped penis, he tensed like a ramrod of stainless steel, and his release was so earth-shaking and urgent that he dizzied and almost lost consciousness.
And then it was over. A hot rush of remorse flooded him as soon as he realized what he had done. He had sinned by being adulterous. God, that's a sin, all right, and he was the one to know it.
"Oh, what have I done?" he finally asked, abject despair heavy in his voice. He shook his head as he gazed abashedly at Rebecca.
"You just fucked me really well, darling, that's all!" A smile.
"That's all?" he asked in amazement, "I was straight, with an equally-straight wife. Now all that's gone. Our relationship is shot, and I certainly couldn't face the congregation-not after what I've done. So-?" and he left it open, hopeless.
Rebecca was having misgivings. "Oh, come on, nothing's ruined! What the hell, are you supposed to be God or something?"
"Well, I'm certainly not supposed to run around like some sex-starved satyr! And with this thing you people are holding over my head, well what's the use? I can't give you any twenty thousand dollars, and that's for sure! So you may as well give those photos to old man Bedell. But, if we can make a deal, I'll just resign as pastor." He spread his hands.
"What kind of deal?" she asked, feeling more terrible by the minute that he might actually resign. She hadn't foreseen the tragedy of the result of what she had done, thinking that he'd only pay up and then continue preaching as though nothing had happened. She could see that he was no hypocrite, and that very thought opened her eyes to him as a real man.
"Well, I can see to it that both the boys get work on the church. Labor scale is about five dollars an hour these days, and I know the contractor pretty well."
"You don't harbor hard feelings toward them?" she asked.
"Well, I don't know. Certainly I feel some mmm-twinges of remorse, I guess you could call it. But Diana seemed to be enjoying herself, all right, and she's a big girl. And, after what I did, who am I to cast a stone-?"
"Drink up, Reverend, and take your wife home. About this other matter, we'll talk about it. Don't worry about the pictures-you have my word that you're safe. And by the way, please don't do anything rash, okay? I mean, like resigning."
Peter was too depressed to feel a modicum of relief. He had seen a part of his animal nature that made him doubt his whole justification as a man. So, without another word, he collected his soundly-sleeping wife, put her gently into the car, and drove them home.
CHAPTER EIGHT
But now, he was hotly wondering, is it home? Is this woman a wife? Am I a husband? It was natural that he wonder how his wife could subject herself willingly to the sexual ministrations of two scruffy kids like the Clarke boys. Why, they weren't clean, they weren't refined-and at this, he stopped and a hot ball of anger began to grow in his tightly-knotted stomach.
Why, of course! he argued suddenly, seeing the light, that's just it! She engaged in animal sex! She didn't make love to them, she fucked them! Yes, it was carnal lust, a simple upsurge of her libido! Maybe I was too gentle with her! But, God, I loved her! Don't women admire that?
He cast a quick, guilty glance at his wife and realized at once that they had flown apart violently. He no longer saw her as the pure, innocent badge of female virtue. He smiled ruefully as he recalled that fabulous James Thurber line: "Where have you been all night, Chastity?"
Well, she was no longer chastity, that was a certainty.
As they drove across town, Diana came to. She groaned and her hand went instinctively to her sore crotch, which she mindlessly rubbed to alleviate the tingling soreness. The pink tip of her tongue flicked quickly back and forth across her bruised, pouting lips. That touch tickled her, flinging her mind back in time to a stark realization of what had happened.
Like she had suddenly been galvanized by a cattle prod, she started up and joined gray reality. She saw her grim husband beside her in the car, his jaw set, his eyes hard, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.
Oh, God, she silently cried, what am I going to do now? He saw me. He saw me! HE SAW ME! That was terrible! Lord, what will possibly become of us? I'm nothing more than a wanton slut! Oh, my bottom hurts! Why did I have to submit to any of this? She was overwhelmed with burning remorse and abject guilt that embarrassed her and made her groan out in utter anguish.
"Oooooohhhhhh, God, nnnoooooo!"
When he looked at her, Peter's frown was not caused by a stern, accusing attitude, but it was rather a reflection of his inner pain and anguish. He hadn't shed a tear since he was a little boy, but now he was on the verge. God, he had loved his lovely Diana with superhuman adoration. He had placed the divine woman on a pedestal. And, he wryly observed, that might have been just the problem! He had treated her too well, like a goddess and not like a woman. But are women just like men? Do they respond to carnal lust, to loveless lewdness?
He wondered if he had been wrong by characterizing his particular wife as someone apart, someone who would cherish love and affection more than a sweaty tryst with a total stranger.
Diana feared that he might be entertaining notions of this sort, and she wished that she could just disappear, shrink to the size of a speck, one that he could flick off the seat and be done with. It's true that she had felt admiration and affection for him, and she even held a certain respect-or was it fear? But lust? No! Why? Was he too holy? Was it a sin to screw her holy husband like a sluttish wanton? He had wanted to do lewd things, had been less than decent at times, suggesting lascivious and unnatural sex acts, like fellatio and cunnilingus and anal sodomy. But it had seemed impossible! Not with him! She couldn't have!
But yet, she had flung herself, body and soul, into the most depraved and indecent debaucheries with Jack and Bill Clarke, and she couldn't see why. Guilt and remorse welled up in her and she began to cry silently, hot tears beginning a slow, steady pair of cascades down her hot, flushed cheeks. She sobbed and her shoulders trembled. Her downfall was complete!
It was a bad drive back, and the low, slate-gray clouds that seemed to roil ominously at tree-top level rendered a particularly appropriate atmosphere for them. A blood-red horizon was all that would have been needed to complete the depressing scene.
They hurried to the house, Diana sobbing and clutching her coat to her breast. Not a word had passed between them, but the wall of ice was palpable. It was composed of guilt and hopelessness.
After the screen door slammed, Peter stopped. His eyes narrowed as he looked at the peeling white paint on the siding of the rear wall of their fairly new colonial-the parsonage. Theirs as long as he was the leader of that flock, that is. He felt an infinitely heavy weight press down on him. It seemed impossible to continue. The half-finished church, the youth-guidance work, the preparation of sermons and convincing delivery of them oooh, it was so tiring! Now it would be so hypocritical!
Most men, he wanted to believe, would be honorable and submit an immediate resignation. How can a man talk about God while harboring secrets like his? Oh, he had told his congregation that God is love, and is full of forgiveness. Yes, God would forgive what had been, but would God, in His infinite patience, forgive building surges of animal lust? This was the crux, Peter knew, because he now knew the grim, awful truth: He was merely a toy, manipulated by forces that he was powerless to fight.
Diana literally ran to the bathroom. She ripped her dress off, sending the buttons helter-skelter like small, pearl machine-gun bullets. She was now free to completely vent her sorrow and bawled heartrendingly, her nose running, tears hotly falling, her kiss-bruised lips pouting and quivering. She felt defiled but more, she dimly realized that she had no secure future. Her body had, in the end, determined her direction in life, an unthinkable and cruel fate! It occurred to her that her released passion was too strong for her to handle. After all, hadn't she taken Jack willingly this time, without the slightest coercion? Hadn't she plunged into lewd, indefensible masturbation just thinking about him? Hadn't she denied her husband, poor Peter, and lied too? Well, it was now over. Period.
Burning with sadness and self-directed rage, she twisted the handles in the tub, poured in lots of liquid detergent, bubble-bath oil, and Ajax, and stepped in, wincing at the almost intolerable heat of the scalding water. It was her hope to cleanse at least her body. Her soul could never be purged of the crime and sin it harbored.
Sighing as he heard the water running, Peter was glad that he didn't have to face her. Instead of that, anything! Brandy! He wandered abjectly into his study and then scratched his head. No brandy! Where could it have gone? Where was it, now that he needed it? Good Lord! No fair! He became almost furious, and stormed out of the house,, rushed through the chill, leaf-laden wind, and jumped into his car.
Wild-eyed, he snapped the ignition switch on, burned rubber backing out of the driveway, and raced to the nearest liquor store, mindless of the consequences of being talked of as a drunken minister. He didn't give a damn!
Not far from that store was his private place, a bluff high above the St. Croix River. It was a magic place, a place of peace. It was a place that, like the slowly running waters, soothed his often-troubled spirit. He arrived there without incident, broke the seal on his quart of Canadian Club, and threw down a long, burning charge of that strong anesthetizer. Tears welled in his eyes. He was alone. It was legal to cry, now. Sure.
When she stepped from the tub Diana was as red as a boiled lobster. She felt clean on the outside, but no more. Without any of her usual post-bath procedure, she hurried into the bedroom.
The sheets were still rumpled, reminding her of her sin against God and Peter. "Screw it!" she cursed, and slipped into black underwear, garments that she had very seldom worn. But she was now a different woman. She was a slut and, by God, she was going to be a damned good slut! Anything she got from here on out, she deserved. Death or mutilation, it didn't matter. Martyrdom had never appealed to her, but that was then. This was now.
Things, for her, had changed. Quite by accident she cast a quick glance out the window and saw that the car was gone. "Thank God!" she said, and a dry, mirthless chuckle strangely exploded from her lips.
The cookie jar! There was about two hundred dollars in it! Enough! To hell with Peter!
Dressing as she never had before, with dark nylons, a questionably short minidress with a scooped and daring neckline, and dark eyeshadow and mascara, she was filled with grim determination. It was fantastic luck that Peter was gone! That way, no hassles. No questions. No futile good-byes. This way, nice and clean.
She ran from the house, clutching her purse. About two hundred dollars. God, that cold wind! Cutting right into her, making her feel even more remote from the comfort of her previous life.
"Cabbie!" she cried after two blocks of escape down those old streets she had grown to love.
Settled families, proper and very respectable. Shaded in the summer by elms so green and peaceful, symbols of enduring strength, the enduring home, the enduring love. 'Bye 'bye, trees, she said to herself, fighting back burning tears.
"Where to, Miss?" the grizzled little cab driver asked, looking toward her with frog-like eyes.
Suddenly she realized that she didn't know where to go! "Just head toward downtown," she impulsively replied, clutching her purse and biting her lower lip. The full impact of this struck her, and she quickly realized that she wanted to go home. Home? No home. None, except cold anonymity-now. "Yes, driver, downtown."
Her mind raced. Tony Williamson, the architect? Walt Butcher, the druggist? Which men had made advances? They were all the same. Their faces now seemed to be blank. They had had the gaul to ask her to go to bed with them. Mousey little Diana! Oh, they just wanted sex. All men want sex. Nothing more. A fuck. So be it!
Impossible lewdness bubbled up in Diana, the recently liberated slut. Her mind was entertaining the most salacious of thoughts. "Driver?" she asked, moving to the right hand extreme of the rear seat so he could see her. Her pussy was once again steaming.
"Yes, Miss?" He glanced over his shoulder at her.
"Do men like women?" Her voice was low and voluptuous, thrilling.
"I guess so, lady," he replied, suddenly wary of her.
"Do you like women?"
"Me? I'm a little old for-well-goin' out. More'n I can handle at home! You know, I once said that to this pal o' mine, and he says to me, he says, 'So let's go to your house.' " He shook his head and sighed.
"Do you think I'm pretty?" Diana brazenly asked, wetting her lips and hiking the hem of her skirt up obscenely.
This upset the driver and he tapped the brake. "Look, lady," he said, "I got a wife to feed, a car payment to make, and rent each and every month. You know how it is, right? I can't get me involved with no hookers, see? I mean, I can't get me no involvements."
"I just asked you if you thought I was pretty." Now she pushed her hem back down, her ears burning, her cheeks flushing to a high red. She suddenly felt uncomfortable. "I'm going to pay you, you know! Don't worry about that!"
This changed things for him considerably. His right foot went down on the brake pedal as they traversed a quiet suburban street. When the cab was stopped, he turned and looked at her fully. "I think you're pretty, Miss. How's that?"
It was fine. "Do you think I have a nice-err body?" She was about to use the word "shape" but discarded it as being too common. It didn't suit her purposes, and she was now in control again, watching the movements of his eyes as he swept her with hot and flashing glances. His gaze bored into her titillatingly.
"Well, since you're asking me, sure! I think you have a hell of a body! But why ask me?"
"Would you like to touch it?"
"Aw, come on, lady! What you try'n'a do anyway?"
"I will pay you for your ride, but I want you to feel my tits!" The incredibly lewd request, coupled with her initial use of that word for her breasts made her almost cum just sitting there. This was not the old Diana at all. She slipped her hem up, watching his hot eyes sparkle as they feasted on the sight of her exposed inner thighs. She wriggled seductively, burning inside.
"Well," he began, gulping and licking his lips, his penis all of a sudden bulging hotly, "why not? Just bend forwards a bit an' I'll grab your tits for ya! With pleasure!"
Is she nuts! What guy wouldn't grab this queen's tits? His mind quickly riffed through the catalog of possible places that he could take her to fuck.
Tingling with the most prurient and corrupt sensuality, Diana uncrossed her long, shapely legs and leaned forward, offering her body to this wrinkled old man. His hand was trembling as it fished urgently down into the top of her dress and cupped first one of her ripe, firm breasts and then the other. God, the alien touch made her want to fuck, and fuck just for the sake of fucking, to have a prick, any prick, inside her lewdly desirous cunt. "God, yes," she gasped, bursting with hot desire, "grab them! Hurt me!"
His hands telegraphed the sensation of her vibrant pliancy to his cock and nuts, but his mind rebelled. "Lady, are you sick? I mean, wanting to be hurt by a stranger like that?"
"Oh, God, just grab all you want!" Saying that, she leaned closer and threw her arm over the back of the driver's seat and grasped his cock. She fondled it as it was pressing against the gray twill of his trousers, and she began to squeeze it and pump it desperately. It was hot and alive, hard like a long bone.
"Holy shit!" he muttered. Her scent made his nostrils flare and he pressed his face against her hair, wheezing and on the verge of fainting. Never, in all his years as a cabbie, had anything quite like this happened! Lost to his lust, he thrust his other hand over and slid it down the slick rayon of her short dress, his finger the tingling vanguard. It slipped down into her crotch, hiked up that hem, and thrust upward deliriously, seeking the juicy hotness of her cunt!
God, he almost came as his finger slipped into the crotchband of her slick nylon underpants and pressed up into the incredibly exciting folds of her sex-swollen vagina. His fingers webbed out down there, sucking in every bit of the arousing sensation! God, imagine what he was doing!
"OOOHHH, YESSSS!" Diana cried, responding to the touch of this strange and homely little man. Even his yellowed and wrinkled hands could whip her desire into a boiling froth, and she suddenly knew that depraved lust was her master, subjugating her totally to the animal hunger of her awakened body. His fingers were working madly on her body, making her feel incredibly filthy and cheap, a combination that could justify her continued existence! He was a chance encounter, but a man who responded instantly to her body! He could feel her and thrill her and fuck her and then walk away without so much as a "Thank you!"
No recriminations, no regrets! No love, no remorse, no guilt. A whore, pure and simple until the end, yes, until the ... end. The thought sobered her. "All right, that's enough. Let's go downtown." She pulled away just as he was about to shoot in his pants.
"Aw, Christ, lady!" he cried, astonished, "that's not fair! God, ya get a guy steamed up an' then just cut it off like that?" His bleary eyes blinked, registering incredulousness.
"Well, it just isn't right, right now. What can we do? I mean, here we are, on a public street."
"Lady, how's about twenty bucks for a quick piece?"
She laughed heartily. "Sure! Right here, too! To hell with it! Sure, get in back!"
He vaulted over the seat like a commando, his hand already unzipping his fly. His long, twisted old penis popped out, quivering lewdly upward from his bucking crotch. "Here," he said, "Just you face aimin' at me, an' throw that leg over, ya get it?" His hands pawed at her spasmodically at her soft, yielding breasts and ran over her creamy white thighs, then grasped her flared hips and guided her so that she was directly in front of him, her exposed cunt brushing the lust-hardened glans of his cock incitingly.
He gasped and gulped, bucking up. His hands pressed her hips urgently down and suddenly a delicious steamy moistness surrounded the head of his sex-sensitized prick.
"Oh, shit!" he cried, thrusting her all the way onto his impaling old penis. Her hotness swallowed him up so perfectly that his nuts exploded instantly, and he arched up to send that small, painful surge of sticky white semen all the way up into her tightly-clasping cunt.
"GGGAAAAARRRRHHHHH!" he exploded, tensed like steel, his hands now grasping her hips under her dress, his fingers digging desperately into the naked flesh of her rapidly gyrating body.
"OOOOOHHHHH, CCCCUUUUMMMM MMMMMORRRRRRRRE!" she urged, pushing down on him as hard as she could, her eyes crossed, a thin stream of clear saliva drooling from her parted lips. She could feel that emission of hot cum spurting up near her sensitive cervix, and a minor, frustrating orgasm hovered close, then dissolved disappointingly. She trembled and whimpered as she screwed her cunt down into the old man's lap, but it was no good.
She had just been fucked, but the thought of having twenty dollars for it enthralled her. Now she was a real, bona fide whore! She slumped as she realized that it was all over, and slowly pulled up, wincing at the tickling sensation of his rapidly deflating penis as it slid slowly from the cringing walls of her unsatisfied vagina. She sighed and shook her head.
The cabbie just slumped there, shaking his head. "OMIGAWD, OMIGAWD, OMIGAWD," he muttered, over and over again. His limp prick lay like a giant, slick earthworm on the cum-spotted crotch of his uniform trousers, and he shook his head. "OMIGAWD, OMIGAWD, OMIGAWD!"
"Let's go downtown now," Diana said, tucking a flowered kleenex up against her cum-seeping pussy, placing the folded tissue between those slick labia and the moist crotchband of her nylons.
"Uh, yeah. Holy cow! Hey," he went on, swinging out of the car and climbing dazely into the front seat, "where you want to go? I mean, if you are a hooker, you're damned good. An', ya see, I have this here friend of mine, see? I mean, he can really fix you up real nice and cozy!" He knew that he would get a cool hundred dollars and a free fuck for delivering her to J.J., an operator in women and entertainment.
Diana was open to anything. "What's the deal?" she coolly asked, settling herself in the back seat, her legs crossed.
The car started slowly back onto the street. "Well, this here friend of mine will give you a couple hundred for one night's work just like nuthin', see? I know he'd take you just like that!" and he snapped his fingers.
"It's fucking?" she asked, amazed now that she could let such obscenities roll from her tongue.
"I guess. I mean, it ain't for no kissy-face and hand-holdin'!"
She pursed her lips and gazed up at the beige headliner, lost in thought. Suddenly, not caring a rap, she said, "Sure! Let's go!" The commitment made another fresh series of waves of lust begin to crash over her. She realized that it must be pretty heavy sex required for a payment of two hundred dollars, but, she went on, I've already peddled my ass; I may as well do it in style!
The cab accelerated like a rocket, and went directly to a very disreputable section of the city, a place where each intersection sported at least three taverns advertising doubles for sixty cents. The place they stopped at was Big John's, a depressing bar if there ever was one. "Let's go on in," the cabbie said, and he held a twenty out to Diana between his index and middle fingers.
"O.K." She took the money. "For the ride?" she asked, her hand about to push the door handle down. She didn't show it but she was terrified now.
"Forget it! Catch me later, like tonight, late, when you leave. I'll stop in about four-thirty!" He leered hotly at her and winked.
God, she asked herself, what am I getting myself into?
CHAPTER NINE
Idlers slouched on the long mahogany bar gazed sullenly at her as she followed the slight and furtive cab driver through the rank, dark room toward the office in back. They focused first on her oddly innocent face, a face that certainly didn't belong, then on her tits, which jiggled liquidly, and then on her hips, which moved with a grace never seen in that particular establishment. Then, as one pair, all eyes slipped down her perfectly sculpted thighs to her calves and then to her ankles. Then she was gone. Some heads shook sadly and few bleary glances were exchanged, accompanied by mirthless shrugs. "Down that road," commented one retired college professor, a victim of marriage and alcohol.
Diana was trembling and her eyes were wide with fright. She had never been in a bar before, let alone a stinking hell-hole like Big John's! The overpowering stench of stale booze and old, clinging cigar smoke choked her. Her eyes were misty, partly from forming tears and partly from the acrid effluvium left by several generations of poor drunks and weeping wives. She knew that she was making a horrible mistake, but after all, it was her choice.
The cabbie knocked.
"C'MIN!" boomed a coarse voice.
They went in and Diana immediately looked at a pudgy, middle-aged man who sat behind a large, chokingly stinky cigar, at a large, cluttered desk. As her eyes met his she saw an instant change; his black button eyes seemed to glisten happily and he slowly removed that fuming cigar from the side of his mouth. He licked his fat, cherry-red lips and sat back. "Well, Emmett, what's this you got?"
"She wants a night's work, J.J. I says to her to see you."
"Awright, Emmett, go see Manny at the bar; he'll fix you up. Tell him I say it's okay, okay?"
"Right, J.J." He ran his hand over the smooth, silky material stretched over Diana's buttocks and then left, humming happily.
"Well, kid, c'mere an' let me see ya! You a pro?"
"I-I guess you could say so," she replied, wondering what kind of pro he was talking about. She walked to the desk.
"No, no, no, no, nofer Chrissakes! Aroun' here, by me! Chrissakes, I can't see nuthin' about you stannin' there across the goddamn desk now, can I, hunh? C'mere!" He pointed to the spot between his feet; his swivel chair was now aimed to his right.
Cowering and terrified, she slowly circled the old desk and moved to him, her pulses beating like drums, her mouth so dry that her throat ached. Walking right to the unsavory man was something she didn't really want to do, but she had made her decision before leaving home, before leaving her cherished husband, before all the trouble wrecked her previous virtuous life. She steeled herself for anything-absolutely anything-that might come at his hands.
And those hands went right up.
"Awright, putcher purse down onna desk and let's see ya cup your breasts and writhe like you're in pain, awright?" Saying this, he reached for her and took the hem of her flowered minidress in his thick, stubby fingers. Up it went, revealing not only her smooth, tender thighs, but also her proud mound of Venus, covered sheerly by the black nylon underpants. All this was framed by the lacy garter belt which supported the dark nylon hose.
"Not bad, not bad," he said, nodding appreciatively. "Come on, writhe! I said!"
If Diana had felt humiliated previously, now she didn't know what it could be called. It was just too degrading for words! Hot flushes of degrading shame welled up in her and she shook her head, a tear welling from her emerald-green eye. Biting her Up, she had to force herself to sway, something that was hard because she had never even danced in all her life. She hated this little tyrant who treated her like a piece of garbage, but she had no choice but to succumb to her own stubbornness, which now involved him and the promise of big-time prostitution. So her body began to undulate.
Her hands caressed her tits. She closed her eyes and threw her head back, her lips slightly parted, a low moan of female arousal coming up from her voluptuous throat.
J.J. gazed up at her. Goddamn nice broad, he was thinking, studying her. Her face was the very picture of purity, like she was that innocent little wife down the street that a guy would give his left nut to plow.
Yeah, he enthused, look at them freckles! Them neat lips! A nice small nose. My guys like small noses like that! And that long blonde hair is just fine. God, funny I don't know nothing about this one! I thought I knew 'em all! Well, she just might be slummin', in which case, it's her ass! Heh heh heh!
"Okay, kid! That's enough of that. Now I want you to take your clothes off nice and slow, see? Try to give me a hard-on. If you can do it, then I got a job for ya that won't quit, no shit! Why, you'll have minks and Cadillacs and diamonds that'll choke a horse, with no work at all, see? I mean, you got promise! No class, but promise ...." He rolled the cigar between his teeth.
Burned up, Diana glared at him. "What do you mean, I don't have class?" She struck an imperious pose, her fists on her hips.
"Don't getcher shit hot, hey? I mean, you're a a-machoor! I don't say that's bad, you know? You just ain't off Minsky's, is all. Whatcher name, anyway, kid?"
"Lulu!" she lied fiercely, determined to show him a thing or two about women. His desk was covered with papers, so she opted not to use it for her lewd disrobing; instead she went to the long leather sofa and sat down, her eyes hotly welded to his in an attempt to make him believe that he was the only man on earth worth a damn.
She threw herself back and began to lift one leg. Up it went and the hem of her blue and yellow rayon dress slipped down, revealing first the shapely thigh, encased in dark nylon, then the welt of her nylon, almost black, and then that pure white of her clean, white thigh way up by her crotch, -lined by the lacy black straps of her garter belt. She writhed and undulated, closed her eyes languidly, turned her mind to thoughts of her delicious young pair of lovers, the crude but lusty Clarke boys.
Oh, yes! That made it so easy! I'm undressing for them, making them want me! She even thought about her husband watching, perhaps chained to the wall, so he could only fume and sputter, but not interfere.
This last made her well-irrigated cunt begin to boil once again, and her body became a seething vessel of runny sensuality, animalistic and depraved, liberated, a mere thing to be toyed with. Yes, she had the secret of profound depravity and licentiousness!
J.J. had seen some pretty hairy displays of sex, but this made him stop and watch. He put the cigar down, frowning at the cone of blue smoke that curled inexorably up into his sweating face, and he began to tentatively rub the growing lump of flesh in his lap. Yes, she's something, all right!
He watched as she writhed on that sofa, her hands pulling that dress up so that her entire lower torso was exposed, a composition of black and white, material and flesh. His cock began burning. She mewled and groaned. He stroked slowly. She unhooked one nylon. He blinked and gulped. She cried out as though being taken.
OMIGOD! he thought, a property! She rolled away from him, sticking her nylon-encased buttocks out lewdly. Oh, shit! The other clasps for the other nylon came undone. MMMmmmmm, yes, I'll do her!
Her hands began pushing the black underpants down, revealing the nice shape of her waist as it flared so femininely to those respectable hips. Oh, Yaweh! her ass I'm getting first look at yet! Down those black panties went, revealing the pliant, smooth, white orbs of her tremendously lovely buttocks. Look at that crack-sheeeeeeee! She thrust her fanny out and shook it, her fingers moving those panties down, her thumb capturing that damp kleenex to the crotch. Aw, hell! Look at that beaver! She flung the panties and crossed her slender arms across her belly. Then she slid onto the floor and writhed like a snake just about to die.
Her fingers grasped the hem of her skirt and slowly pulled it up over her flat, perfectly clear tummy and over the black brassiere into which her burning tits were pressing so relentlessly.
Jesus H. Christ, look at that, will you? I mean, Sam, she's NASTY! Oh, yes, Jack darling, take me! God, hold me tight! Fuck me! Hurt me! Pppllleeeaaaasssseeee!
She writhed, in the phantom clutches of her youthful rapist-lover; it was real to her. As though she were furious, suddenly, she threw that dress over her head as she sprang to a sitting position, and cast it forcefully from her.
Christ on a crutch, imagine having something like that to come home to!
She rolled over onto her stomach and undulated slowly on the green carpet, thinking about being held by any hands now, not only Jack's. But she only wanted Peter to watch! Not touch, but watch, that fucking bastard!
J.J. unzipped his fly, the first time he'd ever done that himself during an audition. Diana unhooked her brassiere, but she didn't take it off. The full, rounded creaminess of her lush, ripe breasts swung free and pressed the black lace of her brassiere away excitingly.
Shit, I want to see your nipples, damn it, what's-yer-name!
Diana writhed onto her back and threw her legs wide, pulled her knees up, and slid both hands down her naked trunk over that incredibly smooth expanse of creamy flesh. Her fingers curled into the honey-blonde fluff of her moist and curly pubic fuzz and she began to work at herself, now psychotically oblivious to the fat little proprietor's presence.
Oh, balls, this is one I have to fuck. Emmett gets a free night on the house for her, no fucking shit!
Volt-like charges of sexual electricity were coursing through Diana's lasciviously writhing body, making her want anything stuck into her, anything at all! And, at that moment, J.J.'s resolve crumbled. He pushed himself heavily up from his swivel chair and trundled over to tower above that lovely goddess of pristine purity. His cock wobbled out before him, dark-skinned and throbbing with extreme arousal, the rose-red tip flecked with caked cum from last night's tryst with Jewell, the Negro favorite of South Fourth Street.
He looked down. She had a luscious patch of triangular pubic hair that was mouth-wateringly good. Her legs were like those of a young child. God, those tits were full of warm liquid made to be sucked and touched! Her full, ripe lips were made for a cock! He slipped down beside her, fastened onto her pussy with his wolfishly sucking maw, and thrust his cock toward the general direction of her face. Suddenly hot wetness covered it. He cried out, unusual for him, the steely one.
It's Jack! It's Jack, back to me! Oh, God, Jack, I love you so, you dirty bastard! Yes! Let me suck your cock. Jack! God, I have to have you, all of you, and I don't care if I hurt myself! God, I've waited all my life! Oh, you've returned to me! God, you taste sexy! Who have you fucked, my nasty young love? Do I know her? I don't want to know her! Oh, Jack, my lover, don't tell me! Lie to me! Tell me that I'm your only love! I only love you, Jack! God, yyyeeessssss, ooooohhhhhh, yyyyeeesssss, suck meeeeee! Ooooohhhh, yyyeeesssssss, dooooooo itt!
SOME sexy bitch! J.J. was thinking, his face pressed into the tender valley of her burning thighs, his lips working her moist, animated cuntal lips. He had his entire cock wedged all the way into the wildly working depths of her buttery mouth, and his hands were grasping her tits as though they were lifelines, he an overboard sailor swept off deck by a gigantic wave of cold, green water.
An overwhelming orgasm had been building in Diana, and as J.J. began to suck on her ready cunt, her floodgate burst, just exactly the same instant as his did. God, they were both cumming! Stars exploded, universes collided, gigantic tidal waves flooded them, earthquakes tore the very soil from beneath the foundations of that stinking bar. She showered her spew of broth into his mouth and he reciprocated, a rather weak but still meaningful little spurt of milky white cum spurting or, rather, oozing, into her wildly sucking mouth.
Then, as she made it, she slowly came back to her grim reality, and saw that she had once again experienced fantastic thrills at the hands of a strange man, aided by her own new outlook. She didn't shudder, no! Far from it! She turned on the floor and covered J.J.'s mouth with a searing kiss which made his slowly deflating cock jack up again, like spring steel, ready to plow her cunt, so pink and wet.
Peter was potted. He sat, his mind whirling, his vision blurred. No wood-nymphs came to comfort him this time. It was different. Now the river was treacherous, calling to him like Scylla or Charybdis, bent on devouring him anonymously.
What do I do? he asked himself as he sat there, sluggish and sodden with a quart of 86.6o Canadian in his bloodstream, do I accept it? Do I let guys come in? I mean, do I just say to people that here we are? Here she is? Tee-off? Yeah, tee-off! Her pussy is free, open to you. You want to fuck her?
Well, goddamn it, fuck her then! Go ahead! Right there, sure! On the carpet! Who gives a damn? She likes it! What? You have an advanced case of leprosy? So what? Screw it! Rip her off, friend! She likes fucking! So do I! Where's your old lady? Why doesn't she spread her thighs for me? Fill her cunt with your cum so I can smell it from her pores when we go to sleep. What? Do I mind? Hey, I LOVE to watch! What husband doesn't, dummy? Go on! Right there!
The Reverend was feeling pretty bad when he returned to his house. It's not unnatural that he bought another quart on the way home. He wanted to fall into his condition to see what condition it was in, and lots of booze was the easiest, quickest way. After staggering into the house and searching the various rooms, he relaxed, a bit relieved that Diana was not home. He knew how badly she must have felt, and figured her to go to town and see her sister or maybe even get drunk. Which she never did.
He shrugged it off and snapped the cap from the bottle and went first class, pouring the Canadian over some ice and adding-spring water.
The door bell sounded and he whirled, startled from his own world. An intruder! Grumbling, he trundled to the front door.
The smiling, wrinkled face of Clara deKalb peered at him, her thin lips mere crimson slashes in a face of flour-dusted dough. "Good morning to you, Reverend Wilson!" she bade, nodding oddly.
He stared at her and then laughed. "Clara! Well I'll be-doggoned! C'mon in here, woncha? An' have a drink!"
She was horrified as the words, floating on a magic carpet of astringent alcohol breath, hit her.
"REVEREND!" she cried.
He grabbed her thin arm, a mere stick of a broken kite clad in dowdy purple silk. She was old and very, very rich. She was the building fund, that little old lady with scarlet lips.
"REVEREND!" cried the frail old lady again, feeling herself yanked in so fast she almost lost her footing.
"Aw, c'mon, Clara, y' ole stickinnamud, you! Lesh have us a li'l drink-I know ish jesh gotta be five o'clock shummersh!"
He pushed her like a grocery cart, steering her madly into the living room. Down onto the sofa she went with a click of unfatted bones, with a puff of powder, with a whoop of outrage.
"PASTOR!"
Drunk as a lord, Peter sauntered with exaggerated care into the kitchen, where he prepared another drink, spilling only a bit on the gold-flecked and white formica counter top. Then, down, the clown vanquished his frown, shook his head, smiling, his ministry was dead. Good old Qara. His watch indicated eleven-forty-five.
He went back, almost toppling. "I drink alla time, Clara!" he lied, throwing himself down on the sofa beside her.
Not a vestige of mercy softened her granite visage. Her kindly old eyes, normally like two blue-yolked poached eggs, now gleamed with pointed and menacing threats. "I should say, Reverend, that your behavior is questionable."
"It's not questionable, sweetheart, it's outrageous! Here, take this drink an' lemme feel that fried egg of a tit you got there in that funny dress of yers!" He thrust the drink on her and grabbed her manifestly deflated pap, causing her to faint dead away, the drink tumbling into her lap.
"Hell'sh bell'sh!" he muttered, scratching his head, "I kilt her!" He pried her flaccid, baggy eyelid open and saw nothing but a creamy white and the lower sliver of black-ringed blue. "By God, she'sh dead'er'a doornail!" He chuckled and slurped up some of his drink. Then, on a sudden impulse, he fixed his gaze on her bony knees.
"Why not?" he asked, and flung the long hem of her dress up so that he could see those thighs.
God, the skin was pasty and wrinkled, the flesh hanging in it from those bones like unbaked bread dough. She was wearing white cotton bloomers, with a hole by the top, a gigantic yellow blotch at the baggy crotch. Without hesitation, the good pastor put his drink down and pulled them to her knees and ankles, his eyes fixed on the spare, straggly hair that was shaped like a manta ray's top view, the nose at her cunt, the tail at her large, twisted navel. He gurgled at the horrendous spectacle!
"God," he muttered, "you created this?" He shook his head and burst into laughter.
Utterly destroyed by the bizarre sight of her flaccid, bone-white thighs and that tremendous shag of mangy hair creeping over her lower torso, he looked away, gasping for air, and quaffed off the balance of his drink. Then he saw it. Diana, his ex-wife, had placed a thick candle on the mantle; it was one of those spiral candles, resembling a wax machine bolt with large threading.
A diabolical grin possessed his face and he lurched dizzily across the room, knocking a small table over and spilling the small bowl of hard candies that rested on it.
"SHIT!" he said.
He grabbed that candle, giggling insanely, and fled back like the Hunchback of Notre Dame. The candle was painted silver, an inch in diameter. The wick had never eaten flame. He glanced at his prey. Even in rest she had an expression of icy composure and austere dignity. She was as ugly as she was rich. Which was plenty.
When he woke up it was Friday, and sunlight was streaming in the window. He rubbed his eyes with his knuckles, groaned, stretched, and felt something warm. He smiled, turning toward his love.
"Good morning, lover!" she said.
And Peter Wilson promptly fainted dead away, just as the old woman beside him in bed had the previous afternoon. The candle was lying between them, the paint damaged slightly.
J.J., normally a grouch, was in fine fettle because first, he had found a small delicatessen where he could get a pint of genuine Greek olives for forty cents and, second, because he was with Diana.
He was now prostrate on his copious belly, sprawled between her widely-splayed thighs, his thumb and forefinger spreading the moist, pink lips of her cunt. His mouth was watering and his heart palpitated, fluttering like the wings of a butterfly. Never in all his days as an entrepreneur of fillies and impresario of "pork" had he had the sterling fortune to encounter such a contradictory woman as Diana. Or "Lulu," as she had named herself. The woman looked like an angel and sucked like a devil. She also fucked like a mink.
It was these types, the innocent blondes with freckles and wide, rather blank eyes, that drove his clients mad. But this one, this blonde, was so good that he was suddenly jealous, a sin that his father, Bless his soul, would never forgive. Business before pleasure! But he thought about her, about damage to her body, to her mind. With his keen insight he could realize that she was no slut, no hardened whore.
"Baby?" he asked. His fingers spread her pink, soft labia.
"Yes, J.J.? Oooohhhhh, blow into it for me!"
As she writhed he blew and then said, "I can't let you go through with an exseebish!"
"How come, J.J. honey?" She shuddered as his cool breath rushed up against the steam-hot walls of her vulva.
"You know what'd happen? No! Well, lemme tell ya! First, we have this bed, see? And lotsa spots pinned down on it so's these creeps who come can see clear, right? And guess who's on this here bed but you? It's this here huge spade cat! An' he's a prop himself, but he has this here snake, y'see? An' you know that the snake reams ya. How's them good apples?" and he chortled and slapped her thigh.
"No shit! This sexy snake! Water snake, y'see, who knows to go into wetness head first. Really drives a chick up the wall, an' some stay there, if ya know what my point is."
Diana was dreamy but now she felt a disappointment. "I lose two hundred dollars, then?"
"Naw, honey, I'll give ya two bills. Listen, you told me all about it, about you an' yer husban'.
Why not go back an' try ta make it with him once? I mean, be a regular whore in bed, hunh? I mean, you know, eat him, hum when ya do, let him get your asshole once in a while, get with it with 'im. Hell, he sounds like an okay hick. A lemesh, maybe, a hayseed for sure, but okay."
Diana rolled away from him, throwing a naked leg all the way over his head. She twisted and faced him, her expression serious. "I don't want to go back to him. Not for anything. I'd rather die."
"Well, it's a tough world, kid. If you want to go on tonight, suits me. But after the snake, you got a whole line of geezers, see? And these guys have all paid a good money for some action-you'd be the action. You'd never be the same ...." He went on and on, trying gentle persuasion. He really liked her.
But she was in a different world. "Just As I Am, I Come, I Come. " I cum, I cum. Playing the organ? Now it's the sex organ, not the pipe organ at the church. Hymn Number Fifty-Four: We Plow the Fields and Scatter, the Good Seed on the Land.
J.J.'s advice seemed to be falling among the thorns ....
We Plow the Fields and Scatter, she mused, changing it. We get plowed with scattered seed, all of it worthless. Screwed by men with no faces, who share no bond of the affectionate past, men ready with twenty dollars or two hundred dollars, men who will give counterfeit kisses and frantic fucks, only to disappear, still faceless into the dim light of the cold morning, paper-strewn streets their paths.
Before she knew it she was bidding the faceless J.J. good-bye, taking the two hundred which he pressed into her limp hand, and taking a counterfeit kiss. She went out into the dimly lit street, the wind cutting icily into her now bare legs. Her gift to J.J., one he could hold in his hands, was that pair of nylons. She idly tallied her score, walking down that paper-strewn street toward nowhere.
Jack, then Jack again, then Jack and Bill together, then that cab driver, and J.J.
Not her husband, not once.
Her pussy was sore, chafed, uncomfortable. Her stomach was empty; she hadn't had a single thing to eat, not since supper the previous evening-at which she merely picked. Peter's eyes had bored into her. Had he known? Even then? She diverted the flow of her thoughts and had to wonder about an ebony giant walking toward her.
He moved liquidly, from the hips. Loose. Leather jacket and a huge, wiry hair in an Afro, and small, round, wire--rimmed sunglasses.
"Hi," she said to him as they passed.
"Hi," he replied and waved his hand lazily as he walked on by, destined for some rendezvous of his own. His life, his world, with his secrets.
"Hi," she said again, mirthlessly, emptily, to herself, kicking a newspaper. She felt like a teenager again. She hummed, and words came to her and so did tears.
"How does it feel? To be all alone? Like a rolling stone, with no direction known?"
A block later, wet cheeks. "Baaaaabyyy, I need your lovin'-got to have all-all of your lowvvvin ...." Weary and discouraged, she leaned against a building. She heaved violently, retching until her head throbbed. Then, blackness.
CHAPTER TEN
A high, hot sun burned down, making the air pleasantly warm, the soft pine needles underfoot aromatic and inviting. The light breeze rippled the flat surface of the lake, making it appear to be blue and chrome. Crows over there were cawing, a family argument between brothers and sisters and cousins and the rest Jays scolded and squirrels chattered.
Diana was wearing a white sun-dress with small green spaghetti straps, a full skirted dress with embroidered flowers of red and yellow and green and blue, none of them larger than the size of a quarter. She was feeling fine and her heart was soaring-because Larry was holding her hand.
He wore beat-out Levi's and an old shirt. He even wore a hat, which was unusual, and in the band were dozens of flies and poppers, his favorites. Bucktails and hellgramites, glo-green popping bugs for bass in that part of their lake called laughingly-the "Bass Hole"; small mosquitoes for the sunfish who fed at precisely six under the huge willow by old Steiner's fence; large, grotesque frog substitutes made of bristle for the northerns that would strike at ten or so right in front of their cabins and lodge.
Nobody was at their fishing camp this fine morning. Nobody could have been, of course. This didn't bother Diana, and she suddenly whirled and threw herself into Peter's arms, her neck craning up, her lips moulded in anticipation of a kiss from him. Her heart was throbbing, bursting. She moaned:
Oooooohhhhh, yesssss, Peter, take me! Make love to me here, in perfect nature! Let the sky bless us, let the sun warm our naked bodies! Quick, Peter! Let's undress! God, I HAVE to have you! Love me like you've never loved me before!
They slipped to the soft, fragrant carpet of grass and pine needles, melting in a torrid, passionate embrace. His fingers fumbled and tugged at her dress and she arched, lifted her arms, and was suddenly naked, but for her panties, which she slipped out of while her tall, loving husband shucked his.
Suddenly she was covered by his heavy, muscular, masculine frame, eagerly kissing him, scraping her nails down on the firm small of his back, thrusting her pubis up to accept that wonderful penetration of his hot, throbbing erection.
God, it was so divine! It slipped into her receptive pussy, wedging her sex-hungry labia apart excitingly, thrilling her happy body to the very marrow of her bones. She shivered and cried out, rubbing her eyes in his tousled, brown hair.
Oooohhhhh, yeessssss, honeeeeyyyyyyy, do it to me! Make love to me! MAKE LOVE TO ME! YYEEESSSSSS, PETERRRRRR, DARRRRRRRLINNNNNNG!
"Perhaps I'd better leave you, Reverend, but don't do anything to disturb or tire her. She's been through a lot." Saying this, the doctor removed his glasses, wiped them, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. As he left the room he was heard to sigh heavily.
Peter moved closer to his wife, who was writhing on the bed, lost in her own twilight of morphine. His hand slipped onto hers and he brushed her washed, combed hair. "Honey sweetie, I love you! God, it's so good to be making love to you again! How good you feel under me! We'll never ever part, sweetie!" He squeezed her hand desperately, every cell in his body bursting with a love that knew no bounds.
Sure, she had been unfaithful, and so had he. They had reacted as humans to human situations.
Weak? Sure. Humans are weak, or else, Peter had come to realize, they are not humans, but programmed computers with burning desires buried, festering deep inside and scabbed over. She had probably been raped. The police didn't know; the emergency ward receiving doctor had thought so. Exposure too. Of both varieties.
Now, under heavy sedation, IV dextrose being fed into her left arm, she was dreaming, dreaming and talking about the man she loved deep down, her husband, Peter, the man who had kept a constant vigil on her for three days. After the call early Friday morning.
The room was his temporary office, from which he had called Bedell with his resignation, from which he had called the contractor to hire the Clarke boys at five-fifty an hour, from which he had called the Clarke boys to break the news, and finally, from which he had sewed up a deal on a ten-acre lake place near Hay ward, Wisconsin, a place that had a lodge, five cabins, seven rowboats, seven fair Evinrudes, lots and lots of pines, a dock and a beach, plenty of northerns, pumpkinseeds, bluegills, crappies, bass, and even a few muskies, for the lucky. And, of course, bait-stealing perch, which taste pretty good, the man told him, fried in butter.
Yep, Pete's Fishing Camp, Children Welcome. As he held her hand and gazed at her from the blurred lenses of his eyes, he thought, Yeah, children welcome. He kissed her and she opened her eyes.
"Mmmmm, hi, honey!" Suddenly she smiled. "Gosh, it's good to see you! I had this dream ...."
"I know," he told her, hardly able to control his emotions, "I did too-now we'll make it come true."
