Man's inhumanity to man is an adage and truism as old as time itself. It has proven itself to be true in every sense of the word many times over and unfortunately the greatest example of its truth lies in the relationship of brother to brother or husband to wife. In fact the closer the relationship the more volatile and self-perpetuating the adage seems to become.
Today's modern promiscuous society bears this out more than seemingly any other time in history. Mr. Allen Mahr has brought this point home to the readers of Liverpool Library Press more vividly than perhaps any other author in this century. We are extremely proud to present his story of a young typical American housewife who, when denied the necessary physical love by her young husband, turns to her only other available outlet: that of her neighbor. This is a cycle that has occurred over and over in America's rapidly growing suburban society and we feel it is a phenomenon that deserves the degree of attention that a writer of Mr. Mahr's caliber is capable of lavishing upon it.
-The Publishers
Prologue
"Well how about that ... the old bitch is finally leaving..." Delores Ford exclaimed. "Thank God!"
She half rose from her chair. Leaning far across the breakfast table she peered nearsightedly out of the big bay window. She refused to wear glasses, or even contacts, not only for vanity's sake but because the slight touch of myopia lent a child-like look of guileless innocence, a naivete, to her china blue eyes. Delores was about as harmless as a female cobra.
Not bothering to follow the direction of his wife's inquisitive squint at the activities of their new neighbors, Larry Ford continued to sip his coffee. Instead, over the rim of his cup Larry's eyes tunneled into the more interesting cleavage between her peach-round breasts. As she leaned forward the already plunging neckline of a black silk robe gaped wide, fully exposing her nakedness. Lush, twin mounds, crested by caramel-colored circles diffusing into hard rosy buds which seemed in a constant state of arousal, thrust out at him enticingly. He was thinking that the firm yet resilient flesh of his wife's cream-satin breasts looked especially sexy in their black frame.
He sat relaxed; not only in the well-fed contentment of an excellent breakfast but in a post-orgiastic glow. For Delores had perfected the art of satisfying the entire spectrum of the male appetite. This morning, no alarm clock, a malevolent monster able to send adrenalin shooting into the bloodstream, to tie the belly tendons into knots of apprehension, had exploded on his consciousness in the dark womb of sleep. He had been awakened by the gentle insistence of his wife's mouth on his cock, a muted, erotic clamor that could convert limp muscle and tissue into a human tuning fork vibrating with desire.
* * *
Such a delightful way to begin a new day. Mind still fuzzy with sleep, at first he lay passively, pretending sleep in one of their contrived delays, enjoying the prurient sensations her brushing lips sent spiraling up the ever growing length of his titillated organ. She knew damn well he was awake but she teased softly with her saliva-wet lips lightly, at its burgeoning head, grazing its coroneal ridge, sticky and protruding from the thick foreskin; then she slit the tiny hole in his smooth, bloated glans with the tip of her tongue until he could no longer stifle his groan of pleasure. With this admission of aroused awareness she withdrew the expert stimulation of her lips and tongue and took his up-thrust cock in both hands, rubbing the loose skin between her palms, then stroking its pulsating hardness with long sure strokes, alternating the manipulation from one hand to the other. His hips thrust upward, his prick endeavoring to meet the mouth breathing hotly on its now gasping, semen-soaked glans-tip.
He had reached out and entangled his hands tightly in her hair, trying to guide her head down, to force the red, wet circle of her mouth around his forward-lunging manhood. "Goddamn it, hurry up! Suck it, baby, suck it," he groaned, lifting his head from the bed so he could watch her lust-contorted face poised above his loins, and the sight whipped a mental image in his brain of the mushrooming head and shaft pummeling in and out of her ovaled lips; it sent the sperm boiling in his scrotum until her teasing went too far, forcing him to twist his fingers into a cruel, hair-pulling grip on her head.
In sudden, almost slavish, obedience, she gave in to his demands. Plunging her mouth down over his loins she drove the length of his massive cock deep between the soft, warm folds of her lips until the blood-inflated head thumped dully against the back of her throat. Then she began to suck him in a swift, hungry rhythm, employing the practiced expertise of a complete, dedicated sensualist.
She twirled her tongue in circles of liquid fire around its bloated tip and nibbled along the thick bulk of his shaft with sharp little teeth, convoluting her lips into a tight lewd elastic band as they wormed up its erect rigidity. All the while her mouth worked lasciviously on his cock, devouring it like a succulent banana, her caressing fingers beat a maddening tattoo on his swollen balls.
A man of truly remarkable sexual control, ordinarily Larry Ford would have prolonged the enjoyment of his wife sucking so assiduously on his prick. For he never ceased to marvel at the exquisite sensations of arousal her deft oral manipulations could invoke. On this particular morning, however, he had a business appointment he couldn't afford to miss no matter how sweet the provocation. He allowed his fast approaching orgasm to build unchecked in his balls, shoving his loins hard against her face as he fucked into her mouth in a fast and furious tempo, heedless of her mumbled protest. Within scant minutes he felt the first stream of white-hot liquid plummeting through the passage of his bursting cock. Body stiffened to a taut arch, he rammed her head down, hard, into the passion-dampened mat of his pubic hair, almost smothering her, and his cock began a wild convulsive jerking, spewing wave after wave of burning semen into her furiously gulping throat.
Bucking helplessly he cried, "Keep sucking, doll . ... aaagggghhhhh! Keep suckinggggggg!" His hands tangled tighter in her hair, shoving his cock farther and farther down her gullet. She went on sucking wildly, swallowing hard to keep from choking, mewling and purring at his thrusting loins as he continued shooting his load deep, deep into her defensively contracting throat.
With one final earth-shattering groan, he emptied the last of his sperm into the warm wet oval of her mouth but she went on nibbling gently, milking his testicles with loving hands, vacuuming every last drop from the spending gland. Gradually the satiated penis deflated in her mouth. Larry threw his arms out to the side in exhaustion, a deflating sigh of relief escaping from his lips. She lay for a long moment with her head nestled on his thigh, still nibbling gently at the flaccid cock settled down into the cradle of his balls, and then she crawled up over his belly and smearing his own orgasm there, kissed him hard on the lips.
"Now do me lover," she whispered against his mouth. "Eat my pussy and give me as much pleasure as I gave you, hmmmm?" Gossamer-like threads of his white, sticky cum were trickling down in thin rivulets from the corners of her glistening lips.
And he did. And of course that led to another erection, with him fucking her again in a quite prosaic, but even more exciting, manner.
Yet in spite of the fact that Larry Ford had been twice screwed, thoroughly and most satisfactorily by his wife Delores but a scant hour ago, looking across the breakfast table at her exposed breasts he felt a familiar hardening in his groin. And as he reached out his hand to roll one blushing nipple between thumb and forefinger, his cock jerked eagerly in his pants.
"Jesus," he told her, "the way you've been carrying on all week about that woman, anybody would think the old bitch staying with her was your mother!
He felt the nipple stiffen and surge into his tweaking fingertips, quivering there in its hard erectness like a hunter fixed on the scent of its quarry; but aside from that she kept her vigil, staring out the window.
Catching sight of his watch on the outstretched wrist, he realized there wasn't time to start anything now and withdrew his hand with a considerable reluctance.
"God forbid! It's just that every time I set foot out of the house she looks at me like ... like we were living in sin! Or as if she thinks I'm some kind of Parisian cocotte!" Delores said.
"Well aren't you?" he asked calmly. That got her attention all right...
"Why, you bastard!" And then she realized he was putting her on and she smiled. Delores' smile, a low-keyed pout that was knowingly sensuous, quickly dispelled any illusion of innocence in her eyes. "Oh, you know what I mean. It's been like living next door to a morals censor."
"Come off it, doll ... I know damn good and well what you mean. Ever since the Cranston's moved next door you've been itching to get Carl's cock into that hungry little pussy of yours! But that may not be so easy."
"Thanks a whole bunch, sweetie," Delores said. Her voice was soft and remote. Her eyes narrowed just a bit, the pale irises suddenly darkened, until they were almost as black as a cat's going out into a dense night; eyes that would swallow you whole. She preened the pink gold strawberry fluff of her hair and then in the same slow sinuous motion her hands went to her breasts. Cupping their rosy-tipped fullness she held the voluptuous mounds out to him in a suggestive offering, undulating the resilient flesh with her palms, somehow more dramatic than life.
"You think not?" she asked throatily. "You want to lay any bets ... say that scrumptious little ocelot coat at Joseph's against those golf clubs at the pro-shop."
"All right, all right!" Larry lifted his hand, silencing her, and grinned broadly. "You don't have to convince me, my darling sexpot ... but Carl and Lucy are, after all, just married and haven't had a chance to be alone together. But more power to you, hon. I'll have to admit he's always been a sexy-looking bastard ... if you go for that big, burly type!" he laughed.
Actually he wasn't even thinking of Carl Cranston, a man with whom he'd already had more than a passing acquaintance long before Carl rented the house next door; both had attended Stanford at the same time, although too dissimilar to have been really close friends. While contemplating his own wife's display of inviting breast-flesh, a quick image of Cranston's young puritanical wife flashed through Larry's mind. He hadn't been able to get next to her yet but what he'd seen so far seemed like pretty hot stuff.
Damn, he rhapsodized to himself, that one is something else! That kid is built, really built! Marvelous breasts and good legs, sleek thighs ... always did go for that long, leggy kind ... and her high round bottom with one helluva sweet little bounce. High, rounded mound in front too ... at the base of her flat little tummy ... I'm going to be the first one in the neighborhood to throw a fuck into that ... and that's for damn sure! And before the other tomcats in The Club get wind of a new pussy in their midst ... Now that her old lady was out of the way they'd have to work fast ... but with Delores hot for Carl, who'd been such a damn supercilious square in college it would serve him right if she ate him alive, between the two of them they shouldn't have much difficulty thinking something up.
Larry Ford usually let his wife take the initiative indoctrinating, or enticing, new members into what their intimate, and intimate in the ultimate sense, circle of friends referred to loosely as The Club. Because of his physical presence this stratagem was almost a necessity. He was quite tall but so very slender, fine-boned and with long sensitive fingers, that he seemed deceptively frail, almost sexless unless seen in the nude; then a steel-muscled tautness in his thin frame and the abnormally large bulk of his genitals, even in sexual repose, gave a lie to any illusion of delicacy. And although Ford was about as saintly as a stall-fed stallion and a hedonist beneath his outward facade, his countenance was that of an aging choir boy; a face so aesthetically pure as to make a sensual woman either shy away or want to be a mother, rather than a lover, to him.
The Club itself was quite simple; a group of married couples whose philosophy of sex had coalesced them into a tight-knit battleground of sexual freedom, freedom to love (or make physical love to) each others mates, to satisfy all of their sexual desires, without guilt, fear of marital misunderstanding, or restraint. They considered themselves a part of the now generation and went all-out, everyone participating in the action, and a hell of a good time was had by all.
Delores Ford caught the lecherous, faraway expression of her husband's face and as she covered her lush bosom rather sketchily she started to laugh.
"Oh, lover ... I wish you could see yourself!" she told him between gasps. "What are you doing ... sucking her or fucking her?"
"Why, I can't imagine who you mean," he said with a mock innocence.
These two knew each other so well that words were hardly necessary. But they kept up a parrying banter, one of the games that people play with modern variations on sexual tribalism, until she was helping him on with his jacket at the door.
"Don't worry darling, I promised I'd help you get Lucy Cranston on her back the day they rented the house," Delores reassured him. "Besides, as you said yourself, Carl is a sexy bastard and I'm going to enjoy some of that action with him just as much as you will with his new bride. Maybe more!" she teased. "Anyway, you know you can depend on little ol' me."
"That's my oversexed angel ... but the way things are over there it could take quite a while to get really personal."
"Like this you mean?"
Delores had been giving soft wifely pats to his coat, fingering the buttons, when suddenly she thrust one hand into his crotch, squeezing his balls hard. Carl let out a yelp and sprung back.
"You little vixen! You're always hot after it!" His accusation was made with a certain pride.
"We're two of a kind, honey," she giggled, pushing him out the door. And then as he started down the steps she let go with her parting shot, the coup de grace she had saved up for now to send him off in a really good mood. One of the Sutton's youngsters cutting across the back yard on the way to school, forced her to tender the news in a rather cryptic manner.
Lowering the tone of her voice, Delores called out to Larry's retreating back, "That little party may be sooner than you think, dear. She left in the cab, too. So the new groom is deserted already ... and when the cat's away! Bye now dear ... see you later..." Larry looked back over his shoulder and with a little wave she shut the door on his winner's grin.
Her husband got the message. He started the car and waited a moment for the motor to warm up, thinking how lucky he was to have such a wonderful wife. In over four years of marriage her ability to bring new excitement, new enthusiasm and added variety to their relationship, never ceased to amaze him. like that business of waking him up this morning ... with the delightful clarion call of her lips, hungry and moist, on his prick. He felt the hugely potent organ pulse with memory, and almost felt like saying to hell with the business deal and going back into the house. Of all the women he had known and made love to, and their number was prodigious both before and since his marriage, she had to be the most desirable, the most consummate-completely attuned to his deepest desires.
But by now Larry had automatically backed the milk chocolate Mark III out of the garage, his deceptively delicate hands maneuvering the elegant nose of the big car to the crest of the steep driveway; a sharp business acumen getting the better part of sex. For there was always tonight and as he drove into town a keen anticipation of then salved his immediate desire. Delores had put a special emphasis on the word "Later", a subtle innuendo that he wasn't to hurry home, to give her time to get Carl in a compromising situation. Ford enjoyed watching his wife's skillful arousal of another man, getting all worked up himself in a way that was strangely exciting and taking a few pictures for future erotic stimulation. He also got a tremendous kick out of fucking into her tight little pussy still hotly flooded and wet with some other man's semen; experienced a weird sense of heightened sexuality in its warm, glutinous envelopement of his cock.
"Oh, for Christ's sake! Shit! Goddamn it all...! " For several seconds the air inside of the sleek sedan was blue. Lara's lusting pleasure in Carl Cranston's imminent seduction suddenly evaporated like a middle-aged spinster's dream. The departure of Lucy's mother was no surprise to him since Carl had mentioned it the day before. But he had just remembered an offhand remark ... something about Lucy's quick round trip to Frisco ... that she would be back home in time for dinner.
CHAPTER 1
To come back from the honeymoon and find your mother making herself comfortable in your new home is hardly an auspicious way to start married life. The fact she hasn't met the bridegroom is not going to make things any easier. Not when you know for a certainty she would be disapproving even if he turned out to be Every woman's perfect man. (And you're not sure yourself but what you've married a bastard.) Such a situation may be the stuff of which farcical comedies are made, but to Lucy Carston it had been a very real tragedy.
Ten days later she settled down in the impersonal sanctuary of a jet commuter and fastened her seat belt. Feeling really at ease for the first time since that night she sat there with her head empty. The red "No Smoking" admonition blinking off before her eyes made her suddenly conscious of the fixed blankness of her stare. She shut her eyes and as the red flashes danced reflexively across the inner surface of the lids she could almost hear the cogs of her brain mesh back into high gear. For a moment she prayed for sleep, then her attention was forced to the man seated on her left.
"-you find it a bore?" he was saying, punctuating the question with a fleeting pressure of his hand on her arm.
"I'm sorry, I'm afraid I didn't catch--. " Lucy's muttered apology was coolly polite. She was aware of a rather massive bulk of gray sharkskin and the not unpleasant aroma of a blend of masculine cologne and good bourbon. A covert glance told her the man was somewhat elderly, (to Lucy almost any male over forty-five with silvering hair fell in that category), tiredly handsome and obviously affluent. Her quick appraisal was impressed primarily by the gray suit, hand tailored and expensive.
"Traveling alone I mean," the man repeated. "A pretty young thing like yourself. Naturally, I've become accustomed to it. Had to, y'know. In my business--. "
Gray suit left the bait dangling in the air. This opening gambit usually aroused a mild curiosity, at least enough to elicit some response. He turned the upper half of his body sideways towards Lucy and at the same time managed to shift his hips so one thigh rested firmly against hers. It was quite a tricky business of contortion but it worked. Although he was surprised at the instantaneous withdrawal of that shapely leg. He had looked her over before choosing this seat in the half-empty cabin and could have sworn she was a hot little bitch.
His close-up inspection now did nothing to change his mind. Pretty faces, even beautiful ones like this, weren't his prime obsession. After a cursory tally of fair skin taut over fine-chiseled bones, a winged sweep of dark brow and lashes and the mane of jet swept simply to her shoulders, his bold gaze lingered with brief satisfaction to adrnire' a definitely sensual underlip, then plunged cjownward.
Nope, he hadn't been wrong. This was one sexy bird! Jesus, just look at those tits! It must have been a man's idea to start the new trend to soft bras. And about time, it was getting so a fellow grabbing a quick feel never knew when he'd wind up with a handful of sponge rubber. But there's nothing phony about this kid, he told himself. He could almost see the pointy nipples holding out that sweater-sticking out like two little baby cocks, just begging to be sucked!
His tongue darted out and flicked over his lips. He prided himself on being a breast-man. Some guys went ape over long, swinging legs, a bouncing ass or even a plump belly or certain face, but not him, he'd boast. He was strictly for big bosoms, a real connoisseur of ripe breast-flesh. And right now he could taste these, the up-lifted sphere of yielding flesh warm and smooth as satin against his lips, its budding nipple erect and swelling, quivering eagerly in the moist cup of his hot tongue. Man! He felt a surge in his groin and spread his legs a trifle to ease the involuntary swift jerk of his cock.
But this time gray-suit carefully avoided physical contact with Lucy. His lewd inventory dropped to her crotch and although he saw only a blonde Viking selling cigarettes on the back cover of the magazine in her lap, he was visualizing a dark-haired, juicy pussy. And he was trying to decide what action to pursue. Whether to let his charm come across by exuding a fatherly interest or to plunge right into an all out pitch.
The dim seclusion of a cocktail lounge, his normal habitat, was a made-to-order setting for a guy trying tp snow a broad. Upon arriving at just how to get her and how quickly to get her to bed, it boiled down to his or hersno problem there. But not much chance of a quick fuck in a public air-carrier, he figured. Much-hell-it was nil! But this was a short trip. In thirty minutes--. His buttocks bunched on the seat and he crossed his legs to relieve the pressure in his balls.
It never occurred to him that the living essence of provocative sex here at his side might not be interested. Coming on with a captive audience was tantamount to breathing to his species of predatory male. He completely forgot he'd asked Lucy a question.
Her first impulse was to ignore the man for the one thing she wanted right now was to be left alone. Being incapable of out-and-out rudeness she finally murmured some noncommittal reply, striving to sound pleasant but not encouraging. Sleep was impossible anyway, not only because of this unwelcome stranger but because of her troubled thoughts. Presuming the press of his thigh accidental, she angled herself between the window and back of her chair. By this time the man in the gray suit had made up his mind and leaned toward her.
"I'd like to fuck you," he said distinctly.
Lucy could hardly believe her ears. She turned the full force of her incredible blue eyes on him and saw instead of a friendly old man, an aging voluptuary in graying sideburns on the make. From beneath the hooded lids of a snake, glittering eyes were stripping her bare and she had a horrible vision of fangs sprouting from between the lascivious grin that curled his lips tight under against his gums. He wasn't the first man to read invitation into the voluptuous rigging of Lucy's natural endowments, but since the cocktail sex-game was one she'd never played, his blunt obscenity filled the girl with momentary panic.
Dear God, she thought, what should I do? What makes him think he can talk to me like that!
She looked away in absolute terror, receding color leaving her face an alabaster mask. Then a swift, boiling anger came to her rescue. Who does he think he is to dare say such a thing to me! Twisting around to face him, she knifed through his lecherous gaze with a blazing ice blue stare.
"If you don't get out of that seat and away from me this instant I'll scream bloody murder! You-you-you nasty old man!"
Lucy kept her voice low but spat out each word with a clear, deliberate precision. They came at him like a slow but devastating barrage of lethal darts barbed with poison and the man in the gray suit got the message. The unkind adjective deflated his ego like a pricked balloon and suddenly the handsome suit seemed two sizes too large. His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. In the second it took him to gather his shattered wits, Lucy's anger encompassed him in a rising tide and he could almost hear the air gathering in her lungs. He catapulted to his feet and stumbled down the aisle.
She expelled her breath with a heartfelt sigh and the quick fury drained in a rush, leaving her spent and trembling. What a lewd, nasty, dirty person! Why, that vulgar man was old enough to be her father!
Old enough to be her father. ... that dirty old man ... her father ... old ... nasty ... man ... Ohhhh, no!
The words twisted and turned, round and round in her brain like wild horses on a merry-go-round suddenly gone berserk. She leaned back, closing her eyes, and a feeling of apprehension swept over her like an arctic blast. Memory came crashing through the years to fill her mind. She fought against it, but then, almost as if she were doing penance, she let it come and take her back.
It was the morning of her thirteenth birthday and the alarm in her brain jangled sharply. She was halfway out of bed before the cause of an immediate glow of excitement dawned on her. Father was home for her birthday! Thomas Moore's job took him away so much of the time she could never be sure whether he'd be home, even for special occasions like this one.
Lucy remembered the day well because she had thought birthdays the most special day of all, more so than Christmas despite all of its presents. A birthday was a day belonging to you alone; one small portion of each year when you could pick and choose, do anything you wished to do with this, your very own allotment of time. It hadn't mattered that she'd never had this luxury. Someday she would-when she grew up. And this birthday was extra special, a lucky thirteen-the first teen-age year. Although she was more excited over her dad's presence, for being "grown-up" was still a very nebulous accomplishment of the distant future.
In the here and now of that distant future Lucy could almost take a grim amusement in that foolish girl and her "Lucky" thirteen.
But the young Lucinda (she was never Lucy at home) was thrilled to reach that milestone, and so eager to share it with her father it seemed he'd never get up. Thomas had been relegated to a bed-divan in what his wife called the back parlor some months before their daughter was born. She hadn't yet realized this arrangement was out of the ordinary and could remember hovering impatiently between the old-fashioned, closed sliding doors and the wainscoted hallway to the kitchen. Evidently such eager vigilance had irritated her mother for she'd been dispatched to the store for some trifling thing.
Which had seemed pretty silly to her then. Because she'd come home to find her mother gone to do the weekly marketing. Betty, their part-time maid, was in the kitchen, taking advantage of this over a cup of coffee and a cigarette. Lucinda was rather enviously admiring of the girl, only a few years older than herself and boldly pretty in a blondeined, made-up way, but paid scant attention to her now. For the sliding doors were miraculously open and her father's bathroom tenor echoed down the stairwell. Her day was finally starting!
She'd gone into the parlor not necessarily with any intention of surprising him, merely to wait. But a filigreed screen, cumbersome and ornate, caught her eye. (Mrs. Moore had also relegated to this room a miscellany of objets d'art and overstuffed horrors, things she really didn't want but felt too good to give or throw away.) Lucinda told herself the time for these childish pranks was past but the temptation was too great to resist. Sliding behind the screen she stifled a giggle and stood listening intently.
Before long she heard a chair scrape on the hardwood floor. She was about to dash out from her hiding place when she became aware that almost directly overhead the shower was still running. Peering cautiously through an opening in the intricately latticed grillwork she saw Betty making the bed.
At least she'd taken it for granted that's what the older girl was doing, and she jerked back impatiently. But when she looked again, willing her to hurry, she was astonished to see
Betty stretched full length on the rumpled sheets!
Sprawled flat on her back with her legs slightly parted, she lay there completely relaxed. Her hands cradled her head, spilling the coarse yellow of bleached hair over the pillow. The uplifted pull of her arms stretched the thin fabric of her dress so tautly across the full pointed swells of her breasts that the nipples jutted sharply ceiling-ward. The twin peaks rose and fell with the gentle rhythm of her breathing, looking for all the world like she'd settled down for a comfortable nap.
What on earth! Lucinda's first thought was to get the lazy girl out of there before her father came down and caught her loafing in his bed. Since Betty was one of the few bright, pretty things in a muted existence, she'd hate to see her fired. She stood there in an agony of startled indecision but before her initial impulse could motivate her limbs it was too late. She heard the coupling thud of sliding doors and then her father's voice.
"Is that what you call ready? Goddamn! Seems to me you could do better than that when I've been gone a whole month!"
Lucinda frowned. The words sounded cross and made no sense at all, but she was quick to recognize the kidding intonation of his voice. It was exactly the way he'd tease her when she ran to meet him with a welcoming hug. Even Betty's answering giggle was reminiscent of her own response.
"But you can't say I'm not ready, baby. Take a look at what I've got for you," he was saying.
A quick stab of jealousy shot through Luanda's bewilderment. Flattening her nose against the screen, she peeked through the open work to see what sort of present her father was giving the hired girl. She hadn't the faintest notion what she expected to see and momentarily the sight which confronted her only complicated the puzzling scene.
Her father was standing at the foot of the bed, fingers working at a towel knotted around his middle. Lucinda had never before seen him not fully clothed for her mother was adamant about what was proper, "decent" attire, which precluded even a robe at breakfast or shirtsleeves at the dinner table. Until shock overcame all else she was dazzled by the sheer beauty of his shower-fresh maleness. Not a big man and with skin-coloring almost as fair and delicate as her own, he looked like a finely sculpted statue she'd once seen in a museum. It was her first glimpse of sensual man and it excited her.
But the swift thrill was gone in the flicker of an eye and all she felt was disbelieving shock as her father unwound the terry cloth swathe and tossed it aside with a dramatic flourish. Sticking out from between his legs was a blunt cudgel of flesh looking like a thick white snake. Almost at a forty-five degree angle with his body, the long, swollen member was bobbing around in tiny circles in the air and its scarlet, slippery-looking head seemed to glow from within like a lighted bulb.
Lucinda was fully aware that boys and girls genitals were nothing alike, but the only time she'd seen a boy's penis was when she was six. A neighbor's son about the same age offered to show her his pecker if she would show him where she peed. Since her mother had given her a severe whipping for even inspecting that curious phenomenon herself, she'd declined. But he had generously shown it to her anyway. In the ensuing years the mother had put the fear of God into her daughter about the sins of the flesh and the evil of sex. She had instilled feelings of guilt and fear of retribution that forced the maturing girl to ignore the natural fevers of pubescence as immoral temptations of the devil. Recalling that childhood scene, sometimes Lucinda secretly wondered what all the fuss was about, what in the world a male organ, tiny and limp, had to do with carnal sin.
So she stared, unbelievably bewildered, at this monstrous contradiction. Her popping eyes watched her father spread his legs wide. Feet splayed, the lower half of his body began a slow, almost imperceptible rocking. It swayed back and forth with the sinuous motion of a balancing seaman who accommodates his weight to the rhythm of a gently rolling deck. And then, as if they were too heavy for his slight frame to bear, he lifted the bulk of his genitals in a forward offering. One hand cupped the distended testicles tenderly, almost lovingly. The blood-weighted balls looked to Lucinda like two giant hickory nuts encased in an outer shell of fuzzed, wrinkled skin. With his free hand he was fondling the rigid staff protruding from the dense pubic hair at their base, rippling the skin up and down along its hard core.
Before her astonished eyes she saw the immense shaft growing even larger under the manipulation of his hands, swelling in size as if inflated with air pumped from the bellows of the furry sac. Its paleness diffused in color to a blush of pink, its blunt end to a cap of ripe-plum purple as his fingers curled and massaged along the taut, blue-veined skin. In response to his milking rhythm tiny droplets of whitish dew began to cluster in the small mouth gasping at its tip.
Without warning a bolt of vibrancy prickled through her body; starting deep down in her stomach it turned her legs to jelly and she felt the screen cutting into her fingers as they clawed for support. She chilled then flushed feverishly hot. She was conscious of a warm wetness down below in the region of her pussy. For a terrified moment she wondered if she'd wet her panties. What was happening to her? And then she realized what it was, and she knew this was horribly wrong, for her to be watching her father's penis grow big and fat, to be waiting eagerly for what would happen next. But she was trapped. There was no way of escape without being seen even if her legs weren't suddenly too weak to carry her.
And she heard her father saying, "Baby, I'm going to fuck the living hell outta you. My cock's so hot...."
Lucinda felt her heart give a bounding leap and her head felt thick. Betty's answer seemed filtered through layers of cotton batting wadding her ears. Mesmerized, she watched and listened in a limbo of fascination and shame.
"Why Mr. Moore, whatever would your wife say if she caught us like this?" Betty asked throatily.
"Fuck her." He laughed, "She wouldn't touch me if she had a ten foot pole!"
"Oh, my, but what a big pole you have, grandpa! So nice and hard. Mmmmmm ... that's lovely," the young maid breathed heavily.
They appeared to be playing some lewd, oft-repeated childish game. He braced his legs against the foot of the bed and his hips sagged forward, his massive penis thrusting. She pushed herself up on her elbows and studied his cock with a lidded, lascivious gaze, her red lips hanging open. Raising one leg she ran the high arch of her bare foot along the hardness of his swollen member. It reached out for her as if it had a life of its own as she teased its black, curling roots with the tip of her toes. She lay back, continuing to stroke him with the curved hollow of her foot, her knees up and wide apart, the hem of her dress fucked up around her hips. Since she wore nothing beneath Lucinda could see the hair where her legs met, a startling contrast to the brassy bleach job. The lips of her hot vagina slashed down the length of the dusky furrow like a raw, pink wound, glistening and wet between her spread legs.
She stopped her slow stroking and rotated the ball of her big toe on the seeping gland of his penis, smoothing its sticky secretion over the rubbery, sensitive flesh until he cried out.
"That's enough, you little prick teaser!" he protested hoarsely. "Suck it, baby. ... Suck my cock!"
As though she'd been just waiting for the invitation, in a flash Betty twisted around on the bed and brought her plump body to a crouched supplication at his loins. Her hands flew to his cock and as her head dipped Lucinda saw its bloated head being pulled avidly into the hungry recesses of her mouth. It disappeared into the hungry ovaled cavity with a wet, suctioning noise. Mouth working, cords knotting in her neck, inhaling in impassioned frenzy, she devoured the thick, sinewy limb almost in its entirety into her throat.
Lucinda watched the lip stick painted oval of Betty's mouth stretch to a thin red circle of elasticity around the enormous shaft, looking as if her contorted face would be split wide open by its huge girth. She saw her cheeks hollowing in and out, her throat gulping convulsively, and had the horrified thought that the girl would surely choke to death. But even as fright squeezed her lungs, parching her own throat, her father's long penis began to glide in and out of the tortured opening. Erratically at first and then with a smooth fluid rhythm as he snapped his loins forward and back in a rapidly quickening tempo. The flexing cheeks of his lean, sinewed buttocks clenched and cupped with each forward thrust and the firm flesh of his thighs corrugated with the ripple of straining muscle.
Betty's mouth snaked hungrily along the length of his cock, and in the convolutions of her swollen lips the expanded flesh glistened with its own lubricity and the hot wetness of her saliva. The clear liquid flowed down, matting his pubic hair and slicking her kneading fingers on the sperm-laden pulsation of his balls. He groaned and stiffened, grinding his pelvis hard against her face as a rummaging finger found his anus and wormed teasingly into the tight, rubbery passage.
"Aaaahhhhh. ... Christ! That feels good!" good!"
Eyes riveted on her father's hot, lust-hardened cock sawing into Betty's mouth, Lucinda was half-weakened from an almost hypnotic trance by his harsh cry. She squirmed in shamed agony at the prurient gnawings of desire wracking her aroused body. A wealth of moist sensitivity between her thighs was driving her wild with a fierce, aching demand and the budding nipples of her young breasts throbbed unbearably. It took every ounce of willpower she could command from her thundering senses to keep her fingers locked in the screen's biting curlicues, to keep from plunging them recklessly and sinfully into her aching cunt. Pressed tight against the heavy wooden support, of its own volition her burning flesh began to undulate in a slow, erotic emulation of the oral fucking as she continued to watch through glazed eyes.
Her father was muttering incoherently through clenched teeth as the tinsel-bright hair coruscating over his cock bobbed faster and faster with a frenetic fury. Until at last, breathing heavily, he choked out, "Oh! Oooo-hhhh ... God! I'm going to cum!"
No sooner had the words exploded from his gasping lips than Betty rocked back on her haunches. She glared at him, stormy-eyed, and her big breasts heaved as though trying to batter free of her dress. White fluid seeped from the corners of her mouth in thin, crystalline dribbles, the salacious lips still ovaled in the expanding image of his cock.
"Don't you dare, you bastard!" she shrilled. "Fuck me. ... damn you. ... fuck me!"
Her lips had left his near bursting penis jerking madly in the air, its pulsating head an angry purple from the lashing titillation of her tongue. The fleshy bone was ridged with a narrow white trail scraped by her nibbling teeth. A shudder of frustrated desire shook his lean frame and for a split second he swayed drunkenly, helpless on the brink of orgasm. Gaining control he made a grab for her, emitting the bellow of an enraged bull.
"Whoring little bitch!" he shouted.
Momentarily the young girl looking on trembled like an aspen leaf in the first blast of a winter storm. Betty had eluded his grasp, rolling away with a squealing shriek, and suddenly the bed was a roiling sea of flailing arms and legs. Lucinda caught flashes of his penis jabbing blindly into the mattress, stabbing the soft resilience of bouncing breasts and buttocks; a dimpled knee knifing vainly at his pendulous balls; strong legs scissored around his neck and his nose forcefully pulled into a steaming furrow of pink, hair-lined flesh.
The thrashing turmoil had frightened her but now she realized that the sounds Betty was making weren't sounds of protest ... they were groans of pleasure. She writhed and wriggled on the bed gasping out half-words and moans.
"Don't stop! Aaaah! Do it ... do it! Oooo-hhhhh, don't stop! That's it," she crooned. "Oh, yessss. ... lick my clit!"
He struggled to raise his head against the pull of her legs, managing to draw back slightly from the humid, smothering sheath as Lucinda watched with depraved tingles racing through her belly and loins. She was beyond all rationality now, transfixed by the sight and sounds of her father's slobbering tongue. As he mouthed the open, throbbing cunt-lips the tantalizing friction of her own pubic mound rotating heatedly against the screen aroused her to an excitement she could no longer control. Her fingers relinquished their death-like grip and her right hand began to slide down her body, down along the smooth plane of her sides and across her stomach to rest on the trembling mound, to press there and then to begin to rub back and forth, back and forth through the static material. Hand flat against the maddening area, knowing what she was doing was wrong but powerless to stop herself, rubbing with an ever-increasing rhythm her middle finger insinuated itself between the soft, tender lips of her quivering pussy. Through the thin silk of her skirt the moist, fleshy folds enveloped the probing finger with a sweet urgency, a delicious pleasure-pain unlike anything she had ever known before in all of her young life.
She could feel the wetness flowing freely now from her stimulated pussy and her left hand went to one burgeoning breast, cupping the swelling globe in her palm while her fingers strummed wantonly at the tumescent nipple.
The sounds coming from the bed filled the room with a mixture of hot, gushing pants and breathless squeals and moans. like a snake, the long, pointed tongue would dart in and out in and out of Betty's steaming cunt, pausing briefly from time to time to lick around the ragged edges in lewd, sensuous circles and to dart probingly into the furled brown bud of her anus. She was pumping her desire-drenched loins in utter frenzy against his skewering tongue, fucking it wildly, her thrusting hips lifting her body far up off the mattress. Every muscle surging to meet the frantic inquiry between her thighs, suddenly she wailed, "Fuck me! For God's sake, fuck me now! I want to feel your cock inside of me ... filling my cunt! Sweet Jesus, hurry! I ... I'm almost ... ready ... to ... cum!"
As Thomas Moore withdrew his slavering tongue from the wet, greedy cuntal mouth his daughter's untutored brain reeled with a swift comprehension of what was about to transpire. At least she knew what was going to happen-although she had no precise conception of exactly how it would happen and she watched with growing, shocked enlightenment as he straightened to a kneeling position. His body in the parentheses of Betty's legs, his engorged prick swung up, bringing its blunt head, pulsing angrily, to poise directly above the pink, gaping hole which nestled so invitingly between her splayed thighs. Its purplish, blood-pressured skin was stretched so tightly that it looked ripe to the bursting point. A dark vein running heavily across the ridge of muscle lengthwise on the underside of his shaft throbbed ominously.
A tremor of fear passed through Lucinda's befuddled mind. Oh, no, she thought, he isn't going to put that ... that monstrous, that huge ... thing! in the soft tiny opening beneath its hot, dripping mouth! It would never fit! Why, the thick, powerful rod would tear the narrow tunnel into a million shreds of raw, bleeding flesh! Her stroking finger came to startled halt in the untried youth of her own vaginal slit and, probing gingerly into its lush, moist outer depths, encountered a swift cringing of tight resistance. Trying to imagine the impossible bulk of her father's penis invading such a tender, vulnerable passage, to envision his wickedly hard and immense, stiff, long male member supplanting the tentative emissary of her slim finger filled her with sudden terror.
Overwhelmed by the enormity of such impossibly excessive violation of her virginal pussy, all sensual entrancement deserted her completely, leaving only a void of frightened horror. She tossed her head, breathing deeply, as if trying to dispel the erotic images sinuously twisting through her brain, but her transfixed gaze held her unwillingly captive to the lewd spectacle. It seemed like some evil demon was determined to subject her to the strangely ecstatic truth of that which was unbelievable and wicked, compelling her to watch in abject, shamed fascination.
Her father was again crouched low, moving up over Betty's wildly gyrating body. His tongue trailed upward along her belly into her navel and again slithered upward, leaving a hot, wet path as he swarmed over her until he reached the erected nipple of one breast, and then the other, sucking and inciting the coral tips to visible, aching delight. And when he brought his lips, open and shining with the girl's own cuntal juices, to her mouth, Lucinda was dumbfounded by the expression on her face. Head rolled back above the filmy muffler of the dress bunched at her chin, eyes closed and lips open and drooling, despite the ruined makeup smearing her passion-bloated features Betty looked incredibly, almost beatifically, overjoyed. The younger girl couldn't begin to understand what she was seeing; she just knew an impossible pleasure was there before her.
She saw the hungry mouth, tongue thrusting greedily, grind itself into her father's hot, open kiss, slavering and sucking at his imbedded tongue. And then saw her hands reached down between their sweating bodies to encircle his massive, pulsating shaft and guide it to the ready wetness of her cunt, parting the fleece-lined lips with its bulbous, blood-inflated head.
The pressure of the moist, glossy opening against his bursting cock had been all he could stand. He rammed forward unmercifully, smashing his full weight onto her as she drove her hips upward at the same time, and his long, thick cock plunged into the receptive depths of her womb with the savage propulsion of a battering ram. And Lucinda's little choking scream was lost in the loud smack of his sperm-bloated balls into the damp crevice between the cheeks of Betty's ass, in her shrill lusting cry of triumph and his mad, rutting grunt.
Crumpling to a pitiful heap on the floor, the last sight the thirteen year old remembered was the maid's hands digging into her father's driving buttocks, pulling him deeper and deeper between her flailing legs. And she heard the thick voice of passion pleading, "Oh, yesssss ... oooohhhhh ... fuck me hard ... harder!"
* * *
Lucy found herself automatically thanking the stewardess for a cup of coffee that seemed to appear from out of thin air into her hands. A quick glance at her watch verified that the flight was only half over-that memories, like dreams, can be infinite but fleeting. For several minutes she sat there sipping the aromatic, invigorating liquid, feeling suddenly as if a heavy load had been lifted from her shoulders. How she had ever allowed herself to think of her father as belonging to the same class as that gray-suited lecher was something she couldn't understand.
What was wrong with her? she asked herself impatiently. Just because some crude stranger had made a pass at her, however obnoxious, was no reason to come unglued. How stupid to dredge up a childhood incident that she'd had no business witnessing in the first place.
Catching a glimpse of her would-be seducer, looking rather glum and somehow not quite so insouciant, anger seethed over her as she remembered his lewd approach, but in spite of herself she felt a swift twinge of pity. Or perhaps the feeling was merely a projection of how Lucy had come to feel towards her father.
Due to one of her mother's convenient asthma attacks, with which Lucy was all too familiar, Mrs. Moore's surprise visit for a day or so, ostensibly to help her little girl "settle-in" the new house, had stretched out to over a week. And then she'd insisted that she was too ill to make the return trip to San Francisco alone. Lucy, who hadn't been home in three years, had been shocked yesterday when she saw the change in her dad. He seemed to have aged, was suddenly almost frail. He asked her so many questions about herself and Carl, and was so glad to see her, she'd been immediately aware that taking the next flight back to L.A. would be impossibly cruel.
Carl hadn't sounded too happy when she called to tell him of her decision to stay overnight, but she felt such a guilty relief in just getting her mother back home that she figured one more night couldn't really make any difference. It so happened that it did, although Lucy had no inkling of the repercussions her hasty change of plans would bring.
Back in the pristine frills of her old room, snuggled down in bed, she came to the growing realization that her father wasn't the one so greatly changed. It was she who had gotten older, who had finally grown up to see him as he really was, an ageless leprechaun with an underlying sadness beneath his Irish sparkle; a father for whom she can feel a new compassion and understanding. She fell asleep thinking, poor dad.
The next morning as she stared down into the coffee dregs settling in her cup, the same sympathy echoed through her mind.
Why has he stuck by mother all of these years? Lucy wondered. What sort of man would put up with a woman who is-might as well face it even if she is my mother-a domineering, puritanical shrew, and a cold, unloving one at that?
And all at once Lucy knew. Who else but a loving father trying to make some semblance of a normal home for his daughter? And who wouldn't dream of hurting her or intentionally destroying that illusion. It had taken her mother to do that, starting right after the episode on her birthday, when the significance of separate sleeping quarters in the dreary back parlor snowballed into an endless stream of unspoken questions and uneasy doubts along through the years. It flashed through her mind that evil, as much as beauty, can be in the eye of the beholder.
So many things seemed suddenly clear to her now. Her father had never been the lewd lothario she'd pictured him, but merely a normal male with human frailities, wants and needs of his own. She was glad he'd been able to find some pleasure, some outlet for a warm, sensual nature. Who could blame him, married to a frigid wife?
Good God! An agonizing thought struck her. I've acted so bitchy with Carl, is that how he thinks of me? And then Lucy knew-somehow, magically, intuitively-that she was her father's daughter, and was thankful. Thinking of Carl she was filled with wonder and hope and terror and humility. Suddenly she couldn't wait to be alone with her husband, free at last to prove to him unreservedly-even wantonly, that she was a hot-blooded, sensual woman.
The flame of being alive, of loving and being loved, burned roaringly in this sleek and superb female animal as the ten-fifteen flight from San Francisco landed smoothly at the Los Angeles International Airport. In her new mood of spirited abandon, Lucy's all-encompassing smile radiated benignly over the dirty old man in the gray suit, regenerating the poor fellow's ego. Given another chance, his vanity assured him, he could have scored.
CHAPTER 2
All things considered, Lucinda Moore Cranston certainly had matured during that flying trip to San Francisco and back. Until then, the wonder is that she dared venture into matrimony at all. Incredibly, still a virgin at twenty-four, she was a dreamer whose life had been a perplexity of inbred inhibition and combatant sensuality, torn apart by that same warring combination between her mother and father until she'd summoned an inner courage to strike out on her own.
If Amy Moore ever had, or indeed been capable of any physical love for her husband, it had been severed at the time of their daughter's birth as cleanly as the umbilical cord. From that day forward her severe yet cloying attention was lavished on Lucinda. The smothering fixation could hardly be called love, except perhaps in the abstract sense of a self-love outwardly channelled in hopes of infesting another with itself. Any warmth she possessed had long burned out, leaving only a warped, puritanical offering for the girl child; dictates of right and wrong which brooked no middle ground, no short cuts, no softening grace.
In nursery school Lucinda diffused automatically into "Lucy" through the osmosis of children's simplified wordage, but to her mother she was forever and implacably Lucinda. Amy Moore's conception of sex, equally rigid, was so distorted as to be almost obscenely unhealthy. She laid a blanket of sin over all pleasures of the flesh.
Traumatic though the experience had been at the time, watching her father screw the hell out of the sexpot Betty was probably a good thing. For shortly afterwards it came back to Lucy in a different form, a way that was the small beginning of doubt as to her mother's omnipotent wisdom.
Her class in school had gone on a field excursion to the beach, a rare privilege for Lucy for although the ocean was but a few miles from home, Mrs. Moore, a ship of a woman with an iron constitution, abhorred salt air-saying it was bad for her asthma. (According to time and place, this excuse for denial of pleasure was varied with her "migraine". ) Having learned very early that making friends caused needless heartbreak since she couldn't return their hospitality, Lucy wandered along the beach, taking off her socks and tennis shoes, feeling the warm sands with her bare toes and basking in a sense of infinite peace and solitude. She'd walked on and on, until it seemed almost as if she was in another desert, another world, perhaps another planet. It was only then, feeling her aloneness, that she paused and stood motionless. And then she turned her head as her eyes followed a sun-bathing lizard scuttle down from a boulder and cut a pale slithering swath through the shimmery sand. Something about the small creature, grayishly repulsive and yet conversely beautiful in its sinuous, reptilian grace, struck a responsive note. Suddenly she was overwhelmed by the sensation it provoked. The awful tearing apart inside of the very young who discover a swift beauty in what must surely be evil-and therefore ugly.
The transcendence into young womanhood, not easy at best, was especially painful for Lucy, unsure whether she was either fish or fowl. Her mother could make her feel guilty-although never quite sure why. Cloistered and guilt-bearing, she grew into a real beauty of eye-catching physical attributes, which made the opposing demands of sin and sex so hard to cope with she resorted to hiding a sensual nature beneath a thin, but formidable, veneer of icy reserve. There was much Lucy didn't understand about herself, and didn't dare probe, she only knew there must be more to living than her dull, limited existence. She even dreamed of something wonderful, quite naturally in the shape of a man, that would take her out of this meaningless void.
Surprisingly enough, she went to him, although Lucy never knew what it cost her father to make the way easy for her to leave home and find Carl Cranston. In the back of his mind Tom Moore had planned for years on leaving his wife the day his daughter went out on her own, but as the time came, forced into the realization that Amy would go to any devious lengths to make it distressing, if not impossible, for her to leave, he sacrificed himself. Showing more courage than he knew he had, he stood up to his wife, threatening to run off with an attractive widow down the street and promising to make damn sure the whole neighborhood knew about it, if she wouldn't willingly let go of Lucy. Melodramatic, pure corn as it sounds, the threat was by no means idle and it worked. As he knew it would, with a self-righteous woman who valued her image as a good wife-not to mention the protection of his name and the security he provided.
Through business connections he even secured a job for his daughter with a large corporate law firm in Los Angeles, far enough away to insure against any further interference by her mother. So at twenty-one, after two years in Junior College and then two more in a business school, Lucy finally emerged from a perennial schoolgirl into a young woman of the big city, expecting that something wonderful to happen any minute.
Only it didn't work out quite that way. Oh, she made friends and for the first year or so went out on plenty of dates and turned down a good many more. But inbred convictions-strict morality and puritanical inhibition-can be even harder to break than they are a long time in forming. Lucy wasn't a girl for wrestling in back seats with some human octopus whom she barely liked, and with the few adept males she more than liked, it was harder yet to fight them off. For she discovered a hidden depth of aching sensuality she hadn't dreamed she possessed, a response to raw sex, as insatiable as a flame, that frightened her. To a girl of Lucy's upbringing this seemed not only immoral but shameful. Because of this, and her gradual awakening to the fact that a healthy, aggressive male's primary objective was to eventually get her pants off, she took to dating far less than before. And she adhered to double dates with one of her girl friends, or an evening with an innocuous youth with whom she could feel comfortably safe.
Of course word got around through the interoffice grapevine that the sexy-looking dish built like a brick outhouse was so cold she'd freeze your balls, that she had hot pants but was a lousy lay, or that she was a real square, the most naive thing around-the stories varied with the teller but the invitations dropped appreciably in number.
So during the next year Lucy kept busy, she became secretary to one of the senior officers in the firm and liked her job, sharing an apartment with two other girls from the office, was never outwardly lonely. If there were nights when she felt like she'd been swallowed alive by the brave new world that was supposed to have been her oyster-well, that was between Lucy and the tears dampening her pillow.
Until the day Carl Cranston came to work for the firm, she had even managed to convince herself that she was reasonably happy. He was a lean, bull-shouldered giant with amber eyes and flaming hair-a close-cropped helmet that glowed like embers of red gold under the fluorescent lights; a man so physical, so lustfully alive that his animal presence drew Lucy to him like a magnet. As it did every female in the building. Whenever Carl came near her, her sensory receptors went wildly out of control and registered tilt. She felt as if something-an entity in her own body-were trying to remind her of sensations that had long been kept under lock and key.
And although the attraction between two such vibrant beings couldn't help but be mutual, having heard the stories Carl was wary. Outwardly a girl-eating tiger on the prowl, he was far more vulnerable and sensitive, also selective, than his appearance had led women to believe. Incongruous as it seems, he was not only modest, but, in Lucy's case not knowing which story to believe, fearful of being either sexually rebuffed or screwed to death! Then too, having served his time in the armed forces before going on to finish law school, he felt under pressure to make up for lost time in his profession. He put in long hours and took his work seriously. He had a few casual dates, but held his distance from Lucy.
As for her, with Carl's appearance on the scene she came to realization that her busy life had been a hollow world. For the very first time Lucy Moore, the untouchable, pursued a man-and was glad she was young and beautiful, grateful for the lovely tilt of her full breasts and for the swinging grace of long, firm-fleshed thighs and slender legs. Making trivial excuses to herself, she went out of her way to pass Carl's office, to arrange accidental encounters at the coffee wagon, in the elevator, around the water cooler. She even altered her pattern of arrival and departure at the office in an attempt to coincide with his whenever possible. Sometimes she thought she detected a look of knowing amusement in his eyes, but Lucy, quite simply, couldn't help herself.
Subtly, she hoped, and frequently inadvertently, she chased Carl Cranston. And when she finally caught him, which he allowed her to do willingly-oh, ineffably more than that, eagerly!-Lucy Moore was probably the only employee of Smith, Carruthers and Whittingham who was surprised.
He asked her to marry him the third time he took her out and being a sensible, adult couple, they set the date for the wedding two months hence, allowing time to get thoroughly acquainted with each other's personality, their-likes and dislikes. Quite frankly, Carl wanted her so badly he would have preferred finding the closest motel and taking her to bed right then and there. But he still wasn't sure which of the office tales were true. Not that it mattered or that he gave a damn, he told himself. Although secretly hoping Lucy was a virgin, Carl knew better than to expect such a prize in a girl of her age and sensual beauty. Saint or harlot, he was so completely in love with her that he respected her wishes. But not until some time later did it occur to him the waiting period had been mostly Lucy's idea. For ecstatic as she was and almost helplessly in love, the enormity of marriage suddenly frightened her, unconsciously prompting her to stall for time.
Carl spent those two months in an agony of frustrated sex, trying to figure out just what kind of girl Lucy really was. Each discovered their tastes were uncannily well matched, but she blew hot, then cold with such alarming, maddening inconsistency that the only thing he discovered with any sureness was her virginity. And even that was equivocal in the light of what happened the one time sexual intercourse was imminent between them.
They had gone to a football game along with a gang from the office, including Lucy's two roommates and their current men.
It was a gray, lowering afternoon and a brisk wind swirled up from the grassy floor of the Coliseum to sweep through the packed tiers in chilling spirals. But along with high spirits aroused by the game and the cheering crowd, the gay, friendly group was well immunized to fluctuations of autumn weather by a steady flow of coffee heavily laced with brandy. Caught up in the carefree mood of boisterous turmoil, Lucy, who was not much of a drinker as a rule, almost unconsciously drained her thermos cup each time it was refilled. Yelling herself hoarse and bouncing up and down along with the most zealous rooters, she hadn't realized just how often that was until on the way home.
Packed into the station wagon like sardines in a tin, she felt lightheaded and suddenly very warm, and knew she'd had too much to drink. When the gang stopped for cocktails at a bar within a few blocks of the apartment she begged off, asking Carl if he'd mind walking her home to pick up his car.
Mind? In the crowded car Lucy had been practically sitting on his lap. With his brain whirring with brandy fumes and the heady fragrance of her nearness, he'd felt tight. But it had nothing to do with the liquor. The sensuous swell of her left breast pressing hotly into the muscles of his chest and the exciting expanse of her hip and thigh tight against his leg had kindled a peak of desire that was torture. It was also downright embarrassing as he'd felt his prick, roused to a hard, rigid ache, stretch the material at his crotch to a thrusting protuberance. Wondering how the hell he'd get from the wagon into the protective gloom of the bar with an obvious hard-on, Carl welcomed the chance to walk it off.
As they piled out of the car he grabbed Lucy's stadium blanket, holding it awkwardly at his middle to hide the telltale bulge of his genitals. She clung to his arm and he almost dragged her away and up the street in the wake of his long, swinging stride.
Once in the fresh air Lucy began to feel more lucid. "Hey, what's the big hurry? Are you all that anxious to get rid of me?" she teased, struggling to match her steps to his.
A momentary surge of unreasonable irritation tempted him to blurt out the truth, to tell her that it was getting to be plain hell every time she touched him; especially as she was doing now, fitting the curves and hollows of her body into his side as they marched along in unison. He had the devilish impulse to say, "Dammit Lucy, you've got me so hot my cock's threatening to burst right out through my pants-and I want to fuck you so badly I can taste it!"
But as he looked down into her flushed laughing face and saw the azure brilliance of her eyes, eyes filled with adoring invitation and yet a young trusting innocence, "Looks like it's going to rain any minute," was the excuse he uttered lamely.
Without breaking stride, Carl's flaming head dipped to her dark one and he brushed a swift, tender kiss over Lucy's parted lips. They'd gone scarcely a few steps farther when the first drops of rain began to pattern the sidewalk. Then the heavens opened to spew an angry deluge of pelting bullets, cold and wet. Although the sudden, torrential downpour cooled his ardor, freeing Carl to hoist the blanket over their heads, by the time they reached her apartment building the makeshift umbrella was soaked through and both he and Lucy were drenched to the skin.
But it had been great fun and they came in out of the storm, laughing and shaking their wetness, like a couple of delighted, mischievous kids. Lucy raced up the stairs to the girls' second floor apartment ahead of him. Once inside she went directly to the fireplace.
"Dump that wet blanket in the tub, will you hon?" she called back over her shoulder.
She straightened up from lighting the gas log and turned to face Carl as he came out of the bathroom. Shrugging out of his wet coat he tossed it over the back of a chair and his shoes made a squishing sound as he walked across the room. A dripping cascade of curls had tumbled over her eyes when she bent down and as she swept it off her forehead, getting a good look at him, fresh laughter bubbled up in Lucy's throat.
"I'm glad you find me so amusing," he grinned back at her. "But it's damned uncomfortable, believe me."
Lucy sobered, at once contrite. "I'm sorry, darling. I shouldn't have laughed, but you-you squish so! Poor baby, you're puddling all over the carpet!"
"You look pretty much like a sick kitten that my dad had to drown once yourself."
He had taken Lucy by the hands and was holding her away at arm's length, running a critical eye over her from head to toe. "Mmmmmm. At that, I think maybe the kitten looked just a little bit better," Carl said judiciously.
At that precise moment Lucy became aware of how she must look to him. The loose jacket of her two-piece knit suit, which had peeled back in the on-rush of the driving rain, was hanging limp at her sides, and abruptly she was acutely conscious of the soaked dress beneath. She could feel the soft knit molded to her body like a second skin. As his strong hands tightened warmly, compulsively, on her slender fingers, sending an electric current shooting up her arms and into her breasts, she felt her nipples stiffen to instant attention against the clinging fabric. And then she heard Carl's swift intake of breath, and Lucy became aware of something else. They were here alone together . . , and she wanted him!
Carl and Lucy had been off by themselves before, but since each shared an apartment with others from the firm where they worked, real privacy was hard to come by. And in the confines of Carl's two-seater sports car, complete intimacy was a physical impossibility.
Feasting his eyes on the perfect proportions of Lucy's body Carl saw the urgent swell of her breasts and felt an answering response hardening in his groin, felt his prick give a swift, excited leap. He looked her full in the face and was immediately convinced that her thoughts were the same as his. God, how he wanted her! And as he put his arms around her, aware of the musk of her lips and mouth, her breasts flattened against his chest, her pelvis thrust forward to fix the body-length bond between them, he hoped for gentleness, barely controlling the impulse to grab and fuck.
When Lucy felt him against her, the hard throbbing bulge of his penis probing heatedly into the lower regions of her belly warned her that this was dangerous ground. It wasn't fair of her to tease him, to lead him on, when she had no intentions of going all the way until they were man and wife. But dear God! It was so marvelous to be held like this, to know that she was loved and needed! It was incredible how the whole of her, embracing the whole of him, was instantly and fully engorged. And putting him off wasn't really a matter of intent; it was simply some inbred, inner force that compelled her to wait, no matter how desperate her own urgency, for the sanction of the marriage bed.
She strained against him for a sweet, abandoned moment, feeling the hardness between his legs grow with the pressure of her belly, reveling in the delicious, erotic sensations tingling throughout her entire body. It wasn't until his hands slipped down her spine to cup her full ovaled buttocks, pulling her loins up tight against the swelling demand of his penis, that she came to her senses.
Somehow she managed to twist her lips away from the fervent pressure of his hot, thirsty kiss. "Wait, dearest ... don't," she gasped. "We better get out of these wet things before we catch our death!"
Under the circumstances the words sounded inanely bold and she was astounded by what she'd said. But at least Carl released her. So abruptly, in fact, that she stood swaying uncertainly, almost with a feeling of hurt bewilderment.
"Don't move a muscle, I'll be right back." His voice was a husky whisper and he turned back to the bath with a deliberately lewd grin lighting his face.
Her nerves were spindling off somewhere, and she was trying frantically to get them back in place. She stood there in the clammy dampness of her clothes, shivering, listening as Carl rummaged through the linen closet and hearing the hiss of gas flames roaring at her back. All at once she felt unendurably hot. The heat seemed to serve as a catalyst to the brandy consumed earlier, making her slightly dizzy, tipsy all over again. She had kicked off her ruined shoes and was struggling to slip out of the clinging wool coat when Carl came through the bathroom door.
He was stripped down to his jockey shorts, wearing a garish pink towel jauntily around his broad shoulders. As he walked toward her Lucy's startled gaze took in its much larger mate trailing from one outstretched hand and the sodden mass of his shirt and trousers dripping from the other.
"Carl Cranston! I ... I didn't mean--! "
As if an unseen hand had squeezed the air out of her lungs the sentence died in midair. Lucy's wide-eyed stare locked on the heavy sag in the front of his jockey shorts. His penis had risen up taut under the confining material, forming a tower-like point that protruded ominously from the general bulge. Eyes magnetized on that point, Lucy felt her stomach go hollow and then such a tremendous rush of longing gathered in a torment between her own thighs that she almost cried out in pain. Through the thundering beat of her heart his voice sounded miles away.
"Well, it was your suggestion, honey," Carl was saying. "And the only sensible thing to do anyway. So don't look so surprised." She knew he was laughing at her, teasing her, but her sense of humor had fled with her voice, leaving only this breathless tide of desire.
like it was the most natural thing in the world he had drawn a straight-backed chair up to the hearth, and was proceeding casually to spread his clothes over its surface to dry. Only then, with the hypnotic eye of his penis turned away from her sight, did Lucy find some of her wits. But as she made a desperate grab for the towel now draped over his arm he swung around and she found herself once more in his tight embrace.
"No, please. I'm all wet! Ohhhh, don't..." she was almost sobbing, trying to regain her composure.
Oh, God, she thought, I've brought this on myself. Acting like a cheap pickup! But we are engaged, and he's been so patient ... surely giving him just a little satisfaction won't hurt me ... and we can always stop before--.
Carl's fingers raced to undress her and he felt the need of more hands, preferably non-trembling hands. He had the definite sense that his cock was reaching out for her as if it had a life of its own, hurrying him along. The material of his shorts, soft though it was, felt harshly abrasive on the blood-filled head of his cock rotating wetly against it. He could feel the wild pulse in her body now, but knowing she was frightened he tried to be gentle, to soothe and excite at one and the same time. As his finger fumbled with the long zipper at the nape of her neck and tugged her dress down over her shoulders, his tongue moved hotly into the recesses of her ear.
Lucy's body jumped as her full breasts surged free of her bra and she felt a rush of air cool on the feverish tips of her swollen nipples. She squirmed backwards, away from his distended cock embedding itself into the soft flesh of her abdomen, and stared blindly up into his flushed, handsome face.
"Please don't Carl ... we mustn't! Oh, my darling," she pleaded. "The whole gang might walk in ... and you know I can't let you...! "
"Oh, God, Lucy ... just let me feel you, look at your luscious body! Baby, baby ... You know I wouldn't hurt you, wouldn't do anything you don't want me to do ... Please, darling!"
He wanted to mean what he was saying, wanted to believe the reassuring words. But even as he uttered them, deep within Carl knew that was all they were-just words. For nothing existed now beyond the pounding inside of him that refused to be denied, the hot driving urgency of his cock and the maddeningly desirable, receptive love in his arms. Abandoning himself against any judgment he had, Carl fastened his mouth on the bud of a coral pink nipple, completely absorbing it and the hard point of Lucy's breast within his lips. In one fluid maneuver his hands had smoothed bra, dress and panties to a crumpled circle at her feet and Lucy thought her whole body enveloped in a sheet of flame. Tiny fingers of heat darted out from the hearth to sear at her naked spine and buttocks, and his hot tongue licking at her breast burned like a spear of liquid fire.
"Ahhhhh, yes, yes! Carl, please ... Oooohhh, no no!" She heard herself muttering incoherently, not making any sense at all. She looked down at the beloved, coppery head sucking at her breasts, drawing one nipple to taut, quivering erection and then the other, feeling the rising tide of passion bound joyfully out of control. A momentary sense of shame swept over her even as her hands, of their own eager volition, tangled in his hair and pulled his face into the deep, moist crevice between her breasts.
"God, but you're beautiful!" Carl gasped into the soft, fragrant valley.
He kneeled before her as without knowing, without any conscious will she pushed his head downward, urging his mouth to pattern a hot moist trail over the flat plain of her tense abdomen. His hands kneaded the flexing cheeks of her buttocks, traced over the high, rounded hips swells and brushed slowly over her pubic area, pausing a moment to exert a caressing pressure in the fine, silken hair, then moved down to stroke the soft inner hollows of her thighs. The texture of the glossy flesh was like dew-moistened petals of a rose, satin smooth, filmed with the intoxicating essence of her seeping vaginal juice.
Tremors of tactile sensation surged through Lucy. Carl's mouth planting hot, wet kisses at the base of her belly, along the feathery edge of her pubic hair, was an instrument of exquisite torture. Automatically she spread her legs, opening her inner thigh to his probing touch. The stroking of his magic hands did strange things to her, igniting her flesh into a hot sheet of desire, causing the sensitive nerve ends inside her tight, burning vagina to tingle maddeningly. As the hot air of the gas flames wafted between her open legs to fan the dewdrop moisture gathering there she could feel the exposed hair-lined lips begin a slow spasmodic contracting, throbbing wetly against each other.
"Ohhh, Carl, Carl ... Noooo, my darling, you mustn't!" Lucy groaned aloud and squirmed against his tantalizing lips and fingers.
She felt his mouth inching downward, his tongue teasing hotly into the pubic curls, darting avidly into the soft dark hair, so close ... Oh, God! ... so very close to the access of her most secret being. And how she wanted to feel the fiery probe licking, sucking-yes, devouring-her pussy! But this depraved craving was all wrong ... she couldn't, daren't let herself give in to such wanton desire! Her brain swirled madly. She thought she was pushing him away but instead her betraying body was floating down through a red black haze. And the insanity of it was that she was reaching out for him, clasping his naked vibrancy wildly to her breast as they folded downward into the deep, furry rug.
Stretched out on the floor, Carl pulled her pliant perfection tightly against the bearishness of himself as he kissed her with fury. Flattening and spreading her lips open, he tasted them with the tip of his tongue, went behind them to her teeth, speared into her mouth, inciting her tongue to fence eagerly with his while her hot, sweet breath panted into his face. He caressed the small of her back, the rounded, ivory moons of her buttocks and, hands trembling, split the firm cheeks to run an exploratory finger tenderly over her tiny crinkled anus. A husky groan escaping from her throat, her body responded convulsively to the alien probe of her rectum, jerking forward against his cock and sinking the rigid shaft deep into the soft warm flesh of her belly.
Christ! A new sensation of excitement roared through him. He had never taken such intimate liberty with any woman, had never really wanted to, but as the cheeks of her ass writhed licentiously in his palms, he felt wild to plunge his finger into the tight hot resistance of Lucy's tight young anal passage. Instead, he withdrew the offending digit, no longer out of any fear of hurting her, but because his cock was jerking wildly almost out of control, and he wished desperately to make these ecstatic moments last, to give her a pleasure matching his own.
His hands slipped to her breasts, kneading, stroking, his fingertips rolling the erect nipples teasingly between them. The lush fullness of each perfect hemisphere, resilient, yet still strong and firm in their sleek, pulsating warmth, was more exciting to his touch than anything he had ever dreamed could exist. God, he was going out of his skull! She moaned, helpless beneath his hands, her pelvis grinding uncontrollably against the hard demand of his cock, crushing the full length of her provocative body into his lean, muscular frame with undeniable urgency. He knew then with ultimate certainty that he was going to fuck her.
As though she had read his thoughts Lucy twisted her face away from his scouring lips.
"Oh, no, no, no, nooo-o-o-o!" she whined, tossing her head from side to side. She gripped his shoulders, nails biting into the flesh, in a desperate effort to push him away. But she couldn't help the feverish undulation of her buttocks and hips, nor still their movement, wild gyrations as though to escape the fires ravishing her loins. Yet with every buffeting thrust the hardness of his aroused penis burrowing into her belly increased her desire to an unbelievable pitch. She felt his lips at her breast, his hot breath searing the tender flesh, and as he sucked the nipple deep into his wet mouth she felt it distend, reach out hungrily to capture every last sensation roused by his laving tongue. His hand trailed over the softness of her belly ... down the firm muscle of her hip and thigh, then smoothed over the light patch of soft cornsilk pubic hair to the very lips of her vagina ... feeling, teasing, tracing the warm, fleshy folds of the pulsating, fleece-lined furrow.
Dear God, how was she going to stop him now? When every fiber of her being was crying out to be touched, kissed, caressed! She sucked in her breath with a gasp as she felt his thumb and forefinger pressing outward, spreading the soft, thin lips of her vagina with a gentle insistence, and the coolness of air touched against her there. She heard the harsh, rasping expulsion of her breath, realized with a sense of horror that it was her own voice murmuring. "Ooooh ... yes, yes ... yesssssss!" And then all conscious thought, all will was swept away in a torrent of passion as his middle finger slipped into the moist, open flanges of her vaginal slit. She felt its tip probing with breathtaking gentleness into the narrow, viscous sheath. ... then making sudden delicious contact with the throbbing, tiny bud of her clitoris.
Lucy whimpered aloud, little delighted mewlings, gazing through slitted eyes down into his face that was kissing and sucking at her breasts, while her arms cradled his head tightly to her. Automatically, she spread her legs wide to make it easier for him to reach and rub her clitoris. Between thumb and forefinger he twitted the tiny, erogenous mound to swift quivering erectness, sending electric shocks of pleasure jolting through her body and causing her to writhe helplessly beneath his hand.
The fervent response of Lucy's body, after all the times she'd held him off, increased Carl's enchantment a thousandfold. The smooth, moist lips of her cunt were like velvet to his touch, thrilling his prick to a hot pulsation that was slowly driving him insane. His mouth worked frenetically at the magnificent peaks of her breasts, tasting their heat and feeling their passionate ache. A light film of perspiration in the warm valley between smelled of opium, hot sweet wine and exotic incense. As he delved deeper into the dripping sheath between her outstretched thighs his rummaging finger met with a swift resistance. Lucy uttered a sharp gasp, quickly drawing her legs tight together, and he felt a violent contraction in her throbbing cuntal passage repulse his questing fingertip.
What the hell! A sharp surprise penetrated the fog of desire in his befuddled brain. Christ Jesus! Was she really a virgin? This beloved, marvelous, luscious creature who had consented to belong to him ... Had there been no one else before him? The exciting wonder of the thought was enough to send a raging freshet of blood to his balls. His cock gave such a thunderous jerk that for an agonizing moment he thought he was going to cum in his shorts. With a deep groan he rolled away from her, tugging desperately at the elastic band around his middle.
"Oh, no!" Lucy cried out. His abrupt withdrawal from her wanting body was more than she could stand. She lay stunned, overcome by a desolation of loss. Hardly knowing what she was doing she reached out with imploring hands. And suddenly felt the full, round hardness of hot flesh.
Carl had taken her groping hand and placed it on his naked inflated rod, his own hand covering hers and enclosing her fingers around it. Inherently her nerves recoiled, alarmed at its angry pulse, and then she compulsively squeezed tight. Her hand felt wonderfully soft and cool on his inflamed organ and as its hot rigidity gave slightly beneath the tantalizing pressure an anticipating chill of excitement raced through him. He tightened his grip on her clenched fingers and flipped his pelvis slowly back and forth, causing her hand to massage the thick outer layer of skin over the rock-hard staff in an easy rhythm.
The initial realization that the erect column of flesh in her hand was Carl's penis had redered Lucy powerless to protest-had she wanted to. Her mind was observing in fragments now ... the size of his cock, unbelievably massive ... the feel of him, incredibly hot, fantastically desirable ... and the sinful act she was about to commit. She'd led him on until there was no turning back ... for either of them ... and, God forgive her ... she didn't care!
She lay as if entranced, lost in a world of physical sensation, an erotic paradise like nothing she'd ever known. And suddenly she was aware that she was caressing his penis, eagerly stretching her slender fingers to encircle its massive thickness while her hand drubbed feverishly up and down its enormous length. She felt it growing, swelling as if by some fantastic magic to her touch, and was filled with a strange, ecstatic wonder.
"Damn!" he gasped. "Oh, my darling, careful! Ohhh ... I've got to do it to you ... now!"
"Yes ... now, please ... now!" Lucy moaned, the lewd words like a spur to her overpowering desire.
Under the lust-inciting manipulation of Lucy's hand the tiny glans capping the bloated head of Carl's prick had begun to lubricate freely. Wet from the semen-soaked ridge traversing the underside of the inflated rod, her fingers were smooth and slippery. As he moved over her, fearful of losing him for even an instant, Lucy grabbed onto his cock with both hands. Hands that were still pistoning madly out of control in a natural fucking rhythm as she worked feverishly to guide the hard, fleshy shaft to the desire-drenched hole of her cunt. Her entire body was a huge, cavernous void urging her insanely on, demanding to be filled with the wondrous miracle in her grasp. She was only dimly aware of Carl's hot mouth on her lips pleading with her to wait, to hold still for just a second and give him time. ... She felt the necessary delight in her hands struggling as if to escape her. Squeezing onto his cock with all of the strength in her young fingers, she used his thick, blunt head to part her vaginal lips.
Oh, God! The electrifying contact was unbearably exquisite! Never. ... never had there been anything like this ecstatic sensation! For a fleeting instant Lucy lay passive, enraptured by the erotic bliss racing through every tingling nerve in her body, savoring the deliciousness of his satin-smooth, pulsating knob nestled hotly in the moist, quivering lips of her cunt. Then the thick shaft of rigidity in her hands surged to even greater proportions. She felt its bulbous head give a violent jerk and begin to probe with a massive, heated urgency into the wet, vulnerable sensitivity between her open thighs.
And suddenly Lucy was overwhelmed by a swift, driving panic. Whether it stemmed from a horrified realization of the incredibly monstrous size of the member about to invade the tight, hidden depths of her virginal passage, or if some moralistic demon had risen up to smite her with the evil of her wanton behavior-no matter; whichever, she relinquished his penis as if it were a red-hot poker. Her legs clamped together tightly, her strong thighs clasping his erect, pulsing cock between them while he wrestled frantically on top of her to get the blood-filled tip of his prick into the moist folds of her passion-dilated cunt.
She started to cry out, to plead with him to stop, but fright coupled with choking desire to contrive only small, unintelligible syllables. When she tried to rear up her hips it merely served to bury his penis more snugly into the soft yielding flesh of her thighs. For in spite of her panic the burst and blaze of passion continued to roar through her cunt in an unchecked holocaust. It had swept her beyond the realm of rational thought or decision when some primitive, female animal instinct seemed to take possession of her senses. As if she knew she couldn't leave Carl like this she stifled his agonized moans with her hungry lips. Kissing him with a savagery of exhilaration, she thrust her tongue deep into his gasping mouth, engorging him with the lashing, darting fury of an enraged snake. The driving force of desire in her loins flowed from her greedy mouth and as she engaged his tongue in an avid duel her hands reached hungrily to reclaim the heavy solid thickness of his straining cock, moving in simultaneous harmony with her hot, mouth-fucking tongue.
Suddenly, as she grasped his relentlessly boring weapon and he continued to buck wildly in a crazed, desperate search, he clamped his mouth down on hers, starting a low groan that swelled to a curious, high-pitched cry.
She felt his prick lurch in her clutching hands and his helpless gasps of climax exuded into her mouth again and again. He jerked convulsively in orgiastic upheaval and she felt the thick, hot stream of his sperm spurt from his exploding penis, saturating the splayed open lips of her raw vagina, and flooding into her pubic hair until she was drenched with the warm, sticky liquid. It covered the inner softness of her thighs, dribbling wetly down between her legs to pool on the rug beneath her buttocks.
She had writhed beneath him all through it, aching with the torment of her own frustration. When at last he collapsed heavily across her, his penis growing limp in her hand, shuddering like a child in the aftermath of an emotional storm, she felt an indescribable sense of loss. Yet she willed her unsatisfied body to be still, holding him tenderly while he murmured apologies for having failed her in a low, boyishly shamed voice. He seemed unaware of her resistance and she said nothing to dispel his illusion, taking some small comfort in that she had made him happy.
CHAPTER 3
Although the three-hundred-mile drive to the Gretna Green of Southern California hadn't in any sense been an elopement for Lucy and Carl, they had gotten married in Las Vegas. That merely seemed the most expedient means of lending some aura of the romantic to the ceremony. Lucy's nature balked at the sterile idea of a quick trip to City Hall. Then too, they could get away from the office only for a weekend, and although two days could hardly be classed as a honeymoon trip, just going to Las Vegas held a connotation of the exotic, of a wonderful and different happening.
Lucy had never been there before.
Carl didn't give a damn where they got married. After three technically celibate months all he wanted was to get the formalities over with as quickly as possible-preferably like two months ago. For he hadn't been able to get even close to the intimacy of that one almost regrettable incident which had merely whetted his sexual appetite.
They had started out for Vegas fairly early on a Saturday morning. Spirited and alive with anticipation, the rather monotonous drive across the flat desertlands had been a speeding adventure. They checked into the Desert Moors shortly past noon and from that prosaic moment on everything seemed to go wrong.
All arrangements taken care of by a travel agency, the wedding wasn't set until four o'clock. Lucy had known for several weeks that the motel reservations were made out to a Mr. and Mrs. Carl T. Carston and had thought little of it. Yet standing at Carl's shoulder while he signed the register, the concise and irrevocable Mr. and Mrs. flowing from the pen in his hand had startled her to an uneasy feeling of the clandestine. She stiffened and the look of a child caught with its hand in the cookie jar flitted over her face.
Perhaps the foreign atmosphere of the lobby, blending directly into the casino, had some bearing on Lucy's distress. The posh area was a strange melding of quiet and noise. Countless pairs of feet moved silently across a thick cloud of carpet, dealer's calls rose and fell in a lulling, monotonous chant and the serious gambler's declaration was a dead, muted murmur. The touchings of glasses and cards and chips, on green baize or against each other, merged into a sound unlike any other in the world, but low-not unpleasant. Then into the soft-swirling hush a cacophony of sound would swell-like intermittent skyrockets shot from staggered pinpoints throughout the room. A shrill noon whistle, a clash of cymbals or a clanging of bells would shriek out a winner, minutely preceding a metallic geyser of coins erupting from the bowels of a slot machine. These would be followed so closely by a high, staccato scream or a thundering bass that the human and mechanical were hard to distinguish one from the other.
Brought up on the doctrine that gambling stood high on the list of the world's deadly sins, although Lucy had outgrown that notion she was thrown off balance by the glaring diversity of sound, the enigma of daylight hours circumscribed by a nocturnal frenzy. These offbeat surroundings made the whole thing seem like a slightly tawdry, illicit affair. Had her moral standards been more sophisticated, it would have been a lark. Instead, once Lucy was alone with Carl in the wall-to-wall glamour of their rooms, an even greater sensation of furtive wrong-doing assailed her. Common sense told her this was not only unreasonable but ridiculous; but rising hysteria, whether over things real or imagined, is never reasonable.
Her actions acquired a devious cunning of their own. Pressing the assumption that it would take far longer for her to bathe and change, she urged Carl to freshen up first. A true and sensible idea, he made no objection. By now familiar with Lucy's conversity of reticence and sensuality, he even recognized her growing tension and suppressed a strong desire to entice her into bed with him right then and there. Prior to his falling in love with the illusive Lucinda, if anyone had told him he couldn't go without screwing for three measly months without climbing the walls, he would have said they were crazy; now he was beginning to doubt his own sanity, so hot for her he felt like a frustrated sex fiend.
Damn her big blue eyes, he thought ... and those big tantalizing breasts, too! Since coming into their room she'd carefully avoided the least brush of bodily contact, and even denied him her eyes; so he'd made up his mind to content himself with merely watching her add the final touches of dress and makeup. He loved to watch her, so physical he hurt to look. Tall and graceful and vital, each move was fluid, sexually exciting. She had an unconscious gesture of lifting the wealth of raven's wing hair from the nape of her neck, and each time she raised her arms he was newly aware of the magnificence of her voluptuous breasts.
Carl was deprived of even this. After hurrying to make himself ready, Lucy urged him, with such feverish nervousness, to go down to the casino and have some fun while waiting for her that he was forced to comply. The way she was acting, this didn't seem the time to tell her his only pleasure was right here. God! Just wait until tonight ... he'd fuck her so damn thoroughly she wouldn't be able to walk tomorrow! Tonight? Hell, with the wedding at four o'clock . ... .In swift calculation the cogs in his brain began clicking off the remaining hours, minutes, almost seconds ... to instant Utopia. He left her with a studied nonchalance, but with the fires of anticipation already smoldering in his loins.
So Lucy dispatched him to where the liquor flowed freely-to get a head start on a strong contributing factor to her final disillusionment of the day. She sent him away when every nerve in her body was crying out in sweet urgency. Futile, bitter tears distilled the perfumed water of her bath with an infinitesimal brine.
* * *
According to the brochure furnished by the travel agency, The Wee Garden Chapel was a little jewel of a wedding spot. Had Carl and Lucy been the only prospective groom and bride of the moment, or of the next hour or so, some illusion of sanctity might have persevered ; but not much. An hour's wait in a tiny, airless anteroom wasn't the only disenchantment. It may have been a miniature jewel box, but one too crowded for Lucy to really tell. It held a changing crowd which was nevertheless constant in its sameness; from the young boy and girl looking scared and too young to be out alone after dark-to the blase couple, slightly glassy-eyed and obviously on the marriage-go-round for their third or fourth time. And from them on to their attendants-even more glazed of eye, and most certainly louder spouting allusive and not so allusive bride-groom-bedtime stories.
As they moved up and down in an indeterminate line Carl was blocked momentarily from
Lucy's sight by an overstuffed, bosomy blonde in a red dress, and had the panicky sensation of being left standing alone in some weird game of musical chairs. After that she held tight to his hand-exactly like one of the frightened young child-brides.
Nearing the biliously green bottle-glassed doors of the chapel itself they were accosted in turn by: a sales pitch for a more lavish corsage, a wedding portrait genuinely hand-painted in oils, and a choice of recordings or stereo tapes of the ceremony. Somewhere along the line Lucy had longed for City Hall-and for a more sober Carl. More than pleasantly buzzed by the time they had left the motel, he went on to help somebody's best man, one of those ribald raconteurs whose speech was larded with four-letter words burning her ears, dispose of a pint flask of Scotch ... and he even laughed uproariously at the man's dirty jokes!
The marriage rites were anticlimactic. The sudden contrast of an ark of a room equipped to seat forty or fifty people, with only three in it, was dizzying. A recording of "Oh, Promise Me" as played on the mighty Wurlitzer came on too loud, at too fast a tempo; it raced up and down the empty pews like the lost chord, then converged into a hammering anvil in Lucy's already throbbing temples.
A breath away from hysteria, she must have made the proper responses, not knowing whether to laugh or cry; for the next thing she knew she was back out on the sidewalk, gulping in fresh air to cleanse the chapel flower's funereal heaviness from her lungs. She'd almost no recollection of the ceremony and wasn't sure if Carl had even kissed her until her tongue picked up the medicinal taste of Scotch on her lips. Walking the short distance back to their rooms she wondered if perhaps the anticipation of things ... not so much those of the senses ... but concrete plans, wasn't always more gratifying than the actual attainment. Her mind was attempting to pigeonhole this imagine when they entered the lobby of the Moors.
No matter what anyone else's conception of axiom may be, Las Vegas is The place where it is always three o'clock in the morning; a quiet desperation is ever lurking somewhere beneath its cacophony of sound. The noise level had escalated considerably since midday, but as Lucy preceded Carl through the heavy oak doors the ever-overriding blast of a shrilling whistle assaulted her ears like a tolling knell of doom.
With a sudden jolt the puzzle of expectation versus reality fell into place. She stopped short, causing Carl to pull her hard against him to avoid falling over her and sending them both sprawling. The feel of his strong arms around her, one hand pressed inadvertently into the ripe underside swell of her left breast; his hard muscular leanness flattened tight against her softly yielding body, brought the picture imprinted on the puzzle into complete focus in her mind. She closed her eyes and saw his penis as it had looked on that rainy afternoon, massive and rock hard, standing out from his groin like a huge, heavy spear ... some barbarous, atavistic weapon, with its smooth, rubbery head throbbing hotly ... shining in the flickering firelight, blood-engorged, like a giant purple plum ripe to bursting ... a white-hot lava bubbling from its unseeing eye. My God! This lewd instrument was going to attempt to get inside of her! It was too big ... it would never, never fit!
And then the picture shattered. Suddenly she couldn't face culmination of the anticipation she'd secretly harbored so long. Nerves almost frayed to the breaking point from the strain of the past few hours, and no match for Carl's rash, inebriate mood, she was wildly and desperately frightened. As he held her in that breathless moment, she felt the fingers on her breast move with a quickening of intent, shaping into a firm, insistent mold. His entire body seemed to spring to life with a forceful purpose; no longer merely supporting but thrust demandingly against her. And in the instant before she tore herself away and turned to face him she felt the swift hardening strength of his penis surge low into the pulsing hollow at the base of her spine.
"Let's have dinner first-, " she heard herself say into his chest and felt her face grow hot. The "first" had simply slipped out; she didn't even know where it had come from. First ... before what? But she was thinking ... maybe if she had a few drinks at dinner it might help her to relax ... embolden her, as the brandy had that day of the football game.
Lucy shivered. The next few heartbeats seemed an eternity. She could see his broad chest heave, feel his breath, hot and rasping on her forehead. When Carl didn't answer she was compelled to raise her eyes and look him in the face. He was staring down at her as if she had spoken Gibberish; but beneath a blank incomprehension she saw the naked hunger glittering in his eyes. Fresh panic struck as she wondered if he were seeing it reflected in her own.
"Carl, please..., " Lucy was almost begging. A tide of laughing couples surged through the doors, jostling them aside. But Lucy and Carl might have been on a deserted island for all the attention they paid the sudden disturbance.
Carl's gaze cleared until there was nothing in its amber depths but disbelief mixed with a cold, dispassionate anger. "Je-sus Ch-rist," he said, biting off the profanity slowly and icily with clenched teeth. "Dinner?" The word was tossed out like garbage. "In this town it's the middle of the afternoon ... Who in hell eats dinner then? What in the goddamn hell has gotten into you, Lucy?"
But she couldn't very well tell him that she was scared silly because of what was going to get into her ... that the time she had looked forward to with such heart-breaking desire was at this moment terrifying-unthinkable. And suddenly she was desperate to be alone ... feeling like she was about to fall apart and break into a million brittle pieces. Somehow she managed to stall for time ... pleaded a headache and said perhaps if she could just lie down quietly for a little while?
Carl had tried to understand but he simply couldn't; and although he told Lucy it was all right, he certainly didn't mean it. The word "alone" went unspoken, but it was there between them, an invisible barrier. He was bewildered and furious that she could be so unfeeling. But her desperation was so clearly visible that he thought what the hell ... he'd waited this long another hour more or less wasn't going to kill him.
Involved at the blackjack table with fast drinks and a fast blonde, somehow that hour stretched out into two. When Carl made his unsteady way up to their room, he was rip-roaring drunk, out of his mind and out of patience.
And time had run out for Lucinda.
As he fucked into the tender, cringing depths of her cunt in a savage, mindless fury, his maddened cock knifed through her virginity with the merciless thrust of an avenging sword. He vented all the pent-up frustration of endless nights into his untried wife as if she were some well-used whore he'd just picked up downstairs in the bar.
Had hers been a bolder spirit, indeed if she'd had anywhere else to go in this Hell town, Lucy would have left him that night.
Compared to the journey there the drive back to Los Angeles the next day seemed triple the distance to her. She and Carl were barely speaking; so she had little to do but watch an identical flow of Joshua trees creep by and sort out her thoughts. At the time of his animalistic rape she'd wished rashly that she had never married him, but the rationality which had deserted her entirely yesterday seemed to return with each slow mile. In the compact Lotus she felt his remorse like a palpable, living thing and could sense that his suffering, though of a different kind, was just as great as her own. And she had no doubts about his love for her.
A peculiar feeling of guilt had come over Lucy. How much of the terrible weekend, she pondered, had been her fault? If she had given in that time when she wanted to so badly ... .. Or if she hadn't insisted on waiting so long to get married, holding Carl off-making him wait when she was aware of how fervent, and frustrated, his need for her was. She realized men were different than women in that respect; that sexual gratification was a more necessary, physically important thing. Especially when the girl involved had never known. ... She thrust that aside, as yet unwilling to probe too deeply into her own sexuality.
For in spite of the excruciating pain of Carl's forceful entry, once the worst of Lucy's fears had been realized, beneath her shock and angry hurt, her sense of outrage at him for getting drunk and daring to treat her in such a vile, degrading manner, under the rape of his ravaging cock there had been moments of exquisitely pleasurable sensation.
Within a few miles of the little house they had rented, the first place she had ever felt really her own, Lucy had accepted her share of the blame for what happened; was ready to forgive Carl and try to make amends by being a docile, loving wife. If she had desired retribution or planned to revenge his drunken act, nothing she could have dreamed up would have accomplished that as well as the unexpected, unwelcome appearance of her mother. Her presence in the tiny, cardboard-walled house dealt a lethal blow to sex. She made Carl feel self-conscious even when he was urinating in the bathroom behind closed doors.
CHAPTER 4
On the day of his mother-in-law's leaving Carl Cranston thought he knew exactly how some poor innocent slob who has been unjustly incarcerated must feel upon his release from prison. By this time he was firmly convinced that Hell is indeed other people. He felt it was positively asinine for Lucy to have to take Mrs. Moore home and even as he watched their cab out of sight could hardly wait for his wife to get back to him.
Since the disaster of the wedding night they had come to a sort of armed truce. While her mother stayed on, and on and on and on, any attempts to achieve a satisfactory personal relationship had been downright impossible. But underlying the tension in the little house, which was thick enough to slice off in miserable chunks, there existed a tacit understanding of mutual forgiveness between them; it was as if each shared the secret promise of a second chance coming up, once this nightmare was over.
Carl went to the office that morning in a glow of well-being, and, full of that spirit, attempted to channel a driving burst of virility into a pile of legal briefs. He found it difficult to concentrate on the dry stuff; Lucy kept creeping into his mind. Hell ... he was more interested in their sexual encounter that night. Erotic images sinuously twisting through his brain, he waited anxiously for the interruption of her expected phone call. When it finally came the day went flat. He sat stunned and agreed to the arrangements to pick her up at the airport the next morning.
Afterwards he went into a slow burn, thinking of all the things he should have told her. Who the hell did she think she was ... some goddamned baby-sitter for her parents? Dammit all, she was his wife now ... and a wife was supposed to take care of her husband's needs, wasn't she? Not go traipsing off when what he wanted above all else right now was to ... to fuck her! Not like that cockeyed, drunken screwing in Vegas ... he'd been a stupid ass for giving her such a bad scene, and it certainly hadn't been his idea of pleasurable intercourse, either ... what little he remembered of it. But this time with love and tenderness ... to make amends. And he knew damn well she was made to enjoy it too. Oh, hell ... what was the use of even thinking about it!
Carl slammed out of the office early, wishing every stupid jerk there would stop with the stupid jokes and questions. "How's married life treating you boy?"..."Man, your ass is dragging, that gorgeous gal too much for you?"..."How's every little thing ... worn out yet? Ha, ha!" And so on, ad nauseam. Funny, but he'd never noticed before what a tiresome bunch he worked with.
On the way home he half-seriously contemplated stopping at a bar and getting really loaded. Maybe even getting drunk enough to pick up a girl and take her ... take her where? No, if he did have the guts to find sexual release with some strange broad, and this he very much doubted-even beginning to hear the old familiar refrain of "only one more night"-he couldn't take her home. He did have enough sense left to realize that even her mother hadn't been able to squelch Lucy's joy in having her own home. Though God knows she'd tried...! And the place wasn't really much.
The house Carl and Lucy had rented was the rustic, summer-cottage type of abode whose charm is somehow enhanced rather than detracted by a redwood antiquity which was slightly dilapidated, by once tended grounds regressed now to an undisciplined wilderness. It was nestled in a canyon of the Sierra Madre foothills. A few others like it, remnants of a by-gone day when this was a resort area, were scattered deeper in the canyon and a group of hippies had found these a natural habitat. Little modernized, inconvenient, almost inaccessible during the heavy spring rains, the location itself, clinging tenuously as it did to the skirts of an exclusive bedroom town, nevertheless provided a good mailing address for an aspiring young lawyer and his wife. And the neighboring houses to the south of them in the mouth of the canyon were newly built on a much grander scale.
Calling himself a gutless wonder Carl had settled for buying a bottle to take home. When he got there he felt almost as sorry for the empty little house as he was feeling for himself. It was dwarfed by the Ford's next door, a big ranch type crouched high on a hilltop. As he headed into his own overgrown driveway an unwitting pang of envy assailed him; not entirely for Larry Ford's patent success, that was only a small part of it, but for the obvious rapport existing between him and his gorgeous wife Delores. And theirs looked like a house people could be happy in.
Before entering the brown cottage he glanced again up the hill. Momentarily his perspective shifted and the sprawling house looked like a big, brooding trap, until he saw the glow of Delores' hair. She was standing near a bright overhead light in the kitchen and in its gleam her strawberry blonde curls shone from the window like a welcoming beacon. For some reason a tingling shiver ran up Carl's spine. He cursed the lock on the back door, which always seemed to stick, then shut it behind him with a vicious shove of his foot; a sliver of its peeling wood fought back, tearing his sock, and he swore again.
Once inside the first thing he did was open the fifth of whiskey and pour a tall drink, straight, over a couple of ice cubes. As he took a long swallow of the still warm liquor he caught himself wondering if that rather amazing sunburst was the natural color of Larry's wife's hair. Having eaten nothing since breakfast, reluctant to leave the office for fear of missing Lucy's call, the tepid alcohol landed in his empty stomach like a depth charge, then exploded, and he felt its immediate bracing warmth. He added more ice to the glass and refilled it from the bottle. Sipping, slowly now, but steadily at the dark drink, he could feel the alcohol work its magic on his tangled nerves, skillfully untying each knot. And as he relaxed he let his mind wander off in the direction it wanted to go, even though he knew it was on a path that led into forbidden territory.
Was the color of Delores' hair that same pink gold all over? Did it cover her pubic mound ... the tantalizing vee at her crotch so clearly defined by the slacks that always clung to her loins like a second skin ... a mound which stood out even more enticingly in the tight short-shorts she affected around the yard no matter what the weather? Christ ... they were so tight ... even the slit of her pussy, straining to escape the stretched fabric, was plainly visible ... he couldn't help looking down there. A man would have to be blind to resist the temptation! By God, if he ever caught his wife running around practically bare-ass like that. . .
Lucy. "Lucy ... dear God ... why aren't you here?" His own voice, sounding strangely harsh and thick in his ears, startled Carl to the awareness that he had half a hard-on. He had been standing in front of the kitchen sink, not touching it, but now he could feel its tiled edge rubbing against the growing bulge at his crotch. Or had he stood here doing the rubbing himself? Bringing his cock to erection with the loving aid of a kitchen sink ... of all the goddamn crazy things! Next thing he knew he'd be masturbating into it!
And thinking about his neighbors wife ... What in hell, he wondered, was he doing? ... Turning himself on with thoughts like that ... But ... what would it have been like?
Before Carl could guide his unruly thoughts back to the straight and narrow they had stripped Delores bare, had exposed the soft hair-covered mystery between her legs. And he could feel his sex-starved cock warming its cold hardness in a soft-lipped furrow of silken coals that matched exactly the color of her hair.
"Dammit, Lucy!"
The tender longing was gone from his voice. Carl reasoned that if his wife were where she should be, he wouldn't be forced to resort to erotic imaginings about some other woman. Until now, when left alone for no damn good reason at all, he'd been consciously unaware that he knew so much about Delores' anatomy. Certainly, he couldn't be expected not to notice that she was a strawberry blonde with a cantilevered construction, but beyond that ... He lifted his drink to take a swallow and was surprised to find it empty. He sloshed more whiskey into the glass, no longer bothering with ice, drank, and carried it to the back door.
The kitchen window at the top of the hill was dark, the other windows so heavily draped that nothing could be seen in the fast-falling darkness, but an uneven geometric design of dimly amber rectangles and squares. This time he shut the door gently, almost with the stealth of a teen-ager sneaking in after curfew.
He looked around the kitchen with the sudden impression, close to alarm, that he was in a strange place, in a room he didn't know. The room tilted, but only slightly. And as he started toward the living room his heart hastened with an excitement he did not understand.
"Hi! Is anybody home?"
Carl almost dropped the glass in his hand. He had gone two steps into the other room, and turned around now to find Delores Ford standing inside the back door, hands behind her on the knob. She had on a black velvet jumpsuit trimmed with some sort of glittering icing. Against the inky matte fabric, a perfect foil for her burnished tresses, her flawless skin was the color of heavy cream. A plummeting neckline, slashed almost to her navel, displayed the superb contour of high, full breasts and gently sloping shoulders. She was half leaning against the door, spine pressed to its aging wood, one leg bent slightly outward at the knee, with her pelvis arched in a strong forward thrust. The black outfit looked as if it was sewn on her.
"May I come in?"
With the best will in the world he felt mesmerized, could not take his eyes away, had to feast them on the superficially hidden version of the genital image in his mind.
"Something the matter, Mr. Cranston?"
Startled, he came to his senses, and saw that she was smiling at him in polite inquiry. He hoped the sudden flush in his cheeks was not too noticeable ... or the sudden bulge at his crotch.
"No, no," he said hastily. "Nothing at all. It's ... just that I didn't hear your knock."
He was finding it hard to speak over the tight constriction in his throat. His cock was jerking like a wild thing against his leg. He restrained the awful impulse to let the drink slide from his lifeless fingers and to cover the monstrous betrayal with his hands.
"Heavens, I didn't knock!" Delores laughed. "We're all very informal around here. An open door is as good as an engraved invitation! I'm afraid you'll just have to get used to us!"
She came into the room, a Venus at the prow sailing through sparkling seas. Remembering his manners, Carl intended to look down at his glass and offer her a drink but he found himself, instead, staring into the depths of her bottomless neckline. Christ, he was going to lose his mind! From their frame of glittery black, the satin cones of her breasts reached out to him, pulsing warmly like Pygmalion's life-given marble. The ruby nipples, springing from areolae of a muted pink, thrust at a barely covering fold of fabric, struggling to push it aside as though the filmy stuff were a harsh abrasive that was no longer to be endured.
He put out a hand, the one holding the glass, as if to ward her off, to stop her from coming any closer. Somehow he managed to find his voice, to dredge it up from his groin where it seemed to have settled along with most of the blood in his body. "May I offer you a drink, Mrs. Ford?" he asked.
"That's just what I came barging in to ask you! And it's Delores, please. Mrs. makes me feel so ... so staid!" she said prettily. "Like an old married woman ... not that I'm not married of course..."
My God, Carl thought. She knows damn well that "staid" would be the farthest from any man's mind when he looked at those half-naked tits ... and the way she said "married" ... as though right now she wished that she wasn't ... Well, of course he was married himself, but for a second there ... Anyway, it was one hell of an ego booster! He was suddenly aware she was still talking.
"Sorry, what did you say?" he asked her, realizing at the same time that he was getting pretty well loaded.
"I said I feel like we're old friends already, Carl. Larry has told me so much about you ... when you two were at college together. I would have come over much sooner, but with your mother-in-law..." Somehow, in that one phrase Delores contrived to describe Lucy's mother, detest her, and offer up a world of understanding. She went on, "But when Larry and I saw her leave with your pretty wife this morning..."
"Lucy flew up to San Francisco with her mother," he answered her unspoken question. "She's staying overnight with her folks." He didn't know what made him add that extraneous bit of information.
"Then you are all alone!" Delores strove to keep the note of triumph from her voice. She was gloating smugly to herself, fully aware of the effect the daring of her outfit was having upon him. He had been too busy looking down her neck to notice her hot gaze at the front of his pants. She could see his cock pulsing there, flexing spasmodically from time to time, pushing at his fly, and she felt warm droplets of fluid begin to flow from the sensitive wall of her cunt. This was going to be even easier than she'd hoped for ... and judging from the size of that bulge-more rewarding! Moistening her lips with the tip of her tongue, she smiled up at him. "So you simply must come for dinner, too ... I've got Manhattans already mixed, and the only neighborly thing to do is to take you home with me!" And throw a fuck into you, you won't forget my big beautiful neighbor, she added silently to herself with an inward smile.
"That's very kind of you, Delores ... sounds better than a TV dinner..."
Sensing his hesitancy she reached out and took his hand. "Larry and I insist," she said, tugging him gently towards the door.
The light touch of her fingers pressed a warming buzzer in Carl's liquor-fogged brain. Damn Lucy ... his preoccupation with sex was ballooning all out of proportion ... as a result of the frustrating hell she put him through. If she were home ... Hell, she'd probably be going along with him over to the Ford's ... the invitation was nothing more than a friendly-gesture, most natural thing in the world. He dismissed a vague, uneasy feeling of guilt.
CHAPTER 5
Outside in the darkness Carl took a deep breath, felt a slight cooling of his blood once the delectable front of her was turned away from him. She had dropped his hand and he followed the pale halo of her hair across the drive, the crunch of loose gravel underfoot only a decibel louder than the jungle beat of his heart. She picked her way so surely through the tangled underbrush of a thin strip of his own yard beyond that he realized she must have often come this way before, must have been familiar with the former occupants, and he felt a strange stab of emotion.
He was jealous ... Good God! How could he, a guy crazy about his wife, be jealous of some phantom he'd never known ... and over a woman who meant nothing to him? But what a woman ... what a gorgeous piece of ass!
Carl was instantly shocked by his lewd thought. They had come out of the shadows, into a light from above that spotted the remnants of dry-rotted log steps leading upward, and he'd found his eyes glued to the alternating clench of Delores' black-velvet-covered buttocks. But as she swung up just ahead of him with an undulating rhythm, there was no other place to look.
Once they were in the house she took him into a room at the back that would have held his whole cottage, with space left over. It was expensively furnished, but somehow oddly offbeat. Long, sleek leather couches lined the walls, but there were cushions everywhere, scattered around a very low table in the center and piled at random on the terrazzo floor, giant puffy toadstools, in place of chairs. He glanced around the room, taking in a lewd collection of bas-relief plaster of Paris nudes on one wall, a pair of gilt-framed erotic prints on another and a cluster of classical nude god and goddess statuary, licentious ancients almost larger than life, grouped at one end of the bar.
Which was the one spot he'd tried to avoid with his eyes, where Delores was pouring their drinks. But her image was so vivid in his mind, the room's erotic decor had the opposite hoped for effect of checking his runaway senses. Against his will his roving scrutiny fastened on her provocative breasts.
"Those stairs make you sweat a little, don't they?" she asked him, forcing him to take his eyes off her breasts and look her in the face.
Did she suspect ... had she been laughing at him? No ... she was looking at him with innocently raised eyebrows. "They certainly do, Delores." He swallowed, wiping a few beads of perspiration from his brow. Especially with you dressed like that, my girl, he added to himself.
She rounded the bar carrying two brimming cocktail glasses. "Bring the shaker, lamb. Which do you prefer, couch or cushions?"
That was a monumental question. His head spun and he clung to the crystal cocktail shaker in his hands as though it were a lifeline. The room was excessively warm, bringing the ample amount of whiskey in his bloodstream to a quick boil. And not just the whiskey accomplished that. In his half-sotted state he felt that to sprawl out on the floor (the only way he could think of it) with a woman who was, to all intents and purposes, naked, would be immoral in the extreme. In this Bacchanalian setting, especially, it smacked of a Roman orgy.
"The couch will be fine," Carl said after some hesitation, his own voice sounding strange to him.
They sat down and he knew instantly he'd made the wrong choice. One rounded thigh rested lightly against his leg and Delores leaned slightly toward him, drink in hand, presenting him with the magnificent panorama of her breasts. He could feel the heat of her body rising in enveloping waves around him and his nostrils flared with the insupportably delicious smell of her, an aromatic fragrance that was spicy perfume and fresh soap and warm, desirable woman. His throat parched. Realizing she had put a drink in his hand he downed it in one shuddering gulp, cherry and all.
As it slid easily down his gullet Carl realized the small preserved fruit was the bourbon's only claim to Manhattan status. After the initial shock to his stomach, he was grateful for its undiluted, bracing strength. Delores swiftly refilled the glass and he went through a quick repeat performance, though rather glad there were no more cherries in sight.
She finished her own drink and leaned forward to set the glass on a low cocktail table. Unabashedly now, Carl was watching her. The drinks had really gotten to him, engulfing him in an euphoric glow. As he looked at the voluptuous forward swing of her breasts, he thought wasn't this what he had wanted to do tonight? Get bombed and pick up a broad? Only Delores Ford was no pickup ... and not any broad, that's for damn sure ... Christ ... she was a beautiful woman! He'd really lucked out ... too lily-livered to go after a woman and then have this sexy creature come to him ... but not to fuck ... Lucy's husband ... not Larry's wife ... he just couldn't fuck her...
Carl's alcoholic thoughts were already streaking off in all directions, his prick, almost fully erected, was jerking spasmodically in his pants as Delores moved slowly back from the table. She more than moved, she performed. Stretching voluptuously, every sleek, lovely line and curve of her superb body writhed and undulated beneath her supple skin of black velvet with the fluid, sinuous rhythm of a preening panther. And when she came to a purring rest at Carl's side, her wayward ruby nipples tilted up at him, uncovered.
"You like?" She asked, smiling indulgently and pushing her shoulder back.
For one wildly insane moment, his empty glass clutched in his hand, Carl thought she was asking about the drink still burning his palate. Somewhere deep within he heard the silent cry of Lucy's name and he wondered, for the first time, where is Larry ? Then everything fled from his mind and he was aware only of the terrible proximity. He wanted to reach out and take her in his arms, kiss her, thrust his tongue into the melting depths of her lips, lips moist with invitation. Her breasts rose from the ebony folds like untouched melons just come of age and he wanted to caress them, to tweak the rosy nipples into crimson hardness, to find out if the creamy mounds could possibly be as incredibly soft and smooth to the touch as they looked.
He looked down, blushing, just as she raised one long slim leg to rest the heel of her foot on the couch, tightening the material across her crotch until it cut into the widening cleft of her vulva. He saw a slow spreading moisture on the matte velvet gradually darken the deep crevice to an inky, sheening gloss. Oh, Christ! He felt his cock lurch into instant, swollen, rigidity, straining to free itself of its cloth prison like a leashed wild animal.
"Go on," she whispered, "why don't you touch me?"
Torn between craving and guilt, his eyes flew to Delores' face. She was looking at the bulge in his pants.
"I-I" he said dryly.
She laughed, a low amused gurgle in her throat. But when she shifted her gaze to look him full in the face there was no trace of laughter, only a faint mockery in eyes that scorched him with hot sapphire sparks.
"I can see that you want to, darling. Why not?"
"I'm sorry, Delores," he said with a groan. "Oh, God, you can't know how much! Yes, I want to touch you, but..." Christ, couldn't she see what she was doing to him? Playing with him ... teasing him out of his mind. Swinging those big breasts around like a common whore ... but she had the face of a Madonna ... and was happily married!
Alcohol buzzed in his head like a swarm of angry bees. He could feel his balls begin to ache from the pressure of his gathering sperm, building to an intolerable agony. Carl couldn't have said why he was holding back, but in spite of Delores' bold advances, her uninhibited display of raw sex, somewhere, tucked away in a moral niche of his confused brain, he had her pegged as too restrained to go all the way. Larry was such a sweet, gentle guy his wife couldn't be otherwise. She was merely amusing herself, leading him on to titillate her vanity. He'd been turned back from the gates of heaven too many times by Lucy to risk another rebuff at the last minute. The provocative body pulsing hotly at his side was the pinnacle of any man's atavistic dream and Carl was afraid to test its reality.
And then she wrapped her fingers around his hardened penis through his clothes. He couldn't breath and a harsh cry, as if out of pain, broke from his lips.
"You want to fuck me, don't you, darling? With your big, hard cock," she crooned, breathing in his ear. "And I want you to fuck me ... to feel your lovely cock worming around deep in my soft, wet pussy. Feel down between my legs, lover, I'm soaked already."
It took a long strangling moment for Delores' lewd words to register in his brain. Although no puritan, that such crude language could flow from her soft, full lips was so violently incongruous, so incredible, that Carl sat motionless, caught up in time in a void of baffled shock.
Delores knew precisely what had happened, but she was mildly surprised that such a sensual man, one who exuded an almost tangible aura of pure animal sex ... and who had everything going for him in the way of looks, could be so artless.
With a knowing smile she leaned closer, and there was a subtle change of emphasis in her seduction. As though quite by accident her bare breasts pressed with an almost imperceptible insistence against his arm and her lips found his ear, moving over its outer surfaces in a gentle tracery of butterfly kisses. She relaxed her hold on his penis, her small slender hand smoothing over the rock-like bulge with a deft, easy rhythm. And when she felt it jerk convulsively under her palm, saw his mouth open and close in sweet agony, Delores came alive with a swift, instinctive urgency.
She twisted against him, crushing the ripe fullness of her breasts into his arm, their turgid nipples boring into his tensed muscles, and shot her tiny tongue whirring into his ear. Then with a quick, simultaneous movement, her fingers at his loins clamped in a tight, hard squeeze around his penis; the other hand reached for one of his and jammed it into the soaked velvet-soft furrow between her legs.
"How do you want it, Carl baby?" she asked. "Suck or fuck?"
Her voice broke out, urgent and compelling, savage like the crack of a whip. It tore at Carl, breaking him open from head to foot, and he felt his last defenses crumbling away. His loins throbbed from the vibrant grip of her hand on his cock; he could feel its heat searing the fleshy rod even through his clothes. Her wet velvet vaginal lips, slippery and warm, sucked at his fingers and the aphrodisiac effect of her salacious question excited him beyond endurance. Just as Delores knew it would.
The lewd words spiraled crazily in his head ... suck or fuck! Christ! His lust-incited mind tried to formulate an answer ... to tell her he was beyond caring what happened ... nothing mattered, nothing existed ... only the obscene demand of her voracious cunt and the violence of his need. But as he bent to kiss her only an incoherent cry tore from his throat. Against his hot mouth her lips were like orchids-crumpled, soft, cool and moist.
She pulled his face down and crushed her lips with bruising force against his mouth, opening her lips wide, hurtling her tongue with a silvery movement into his mouth. She gave little, crooning whimpers as he pressed and rubbed against her, pulling his own tongue deep into her throat with a voracious, suctioning force. Her hand began to move faster on his aching prick, sending gusts of heat soaring through his balls. He could feel the wetness of the seminal fluid seeping from the glans on the hardening tip. It smeared against his leg inside his pants until he was certain she could feel the wetness through the material. She continued massaging him with a practical thoroughness until he thought the head would erupt. It was jerking now almost out of control and he was afraid he would cum at the slightest extra pressure. He could feel it building with an inexorable force deep in his scrotum below. She sucked hungrily on his tongue, nibbling with tiny sharp bites of her teeth that sent shivers coursing down the length of his spine. He felt as if he were drowning in the honeyed well of her mouth.
With an effort he withdrew his lips from the exquisite torment of her tongue. He moved his mouth down onto her neck and he slipped his hands beneath her buttocks. Cupping the supple globes to pull her tightly to him, he shoved his pelvis fiercely against her, trapping her hand between the torrid press of their bodies in an effort to still its action on his screaming penis.
She threw her head back and the full neck strained against his mouth as his kisses bruised a moist salivating trail to the pulsing hollow of her throat. Her breasts dug into his chest, their hard little nipples boring into the pectoral muscle like tiny pneumatic drills. They reached out, begging to be touched and caressed. He was wild to explore the form and texture of the globular mounds, so firm and resilient, but he didn't dare let loose of her ass cheeks and allow her hand to pursue its incendiary stimulation of his cock. If she did, he knew for a certainty he would shoot his load into his pants. The indignity of such a sophomoric performance made him groan in helpless frustration.
He was holding her with such desperate passion, his strong fingers gripping her buttocks with a pulverizing pressure, that Delores was some what astounded. My God but he's horny, she mused. He's making me hot as hell ... and this is only the beginning of a long, long night ... Looks like little Delores has found herself a real gone stud in this gorgeous hunk of sex. That new wife of his must sure be balling it up ... and she looks capable of putting out plenty too. Its a wonder he isn't dragging his tail ... instead of going ape at the drop of a bared bosom ... with a hot little pussy like that around the house ... Or is it?
Delores was fully aware of her potent sensuality and had every confidence in her sexual prowess; nonetheless, Carl's reaction to both had been far quicker and more volatile than she'd expected. She felt his breath-wracked body shudder against her. And suddenly a finely-honed sensitivity to sexual response supplied the answer to her question. It also dealt a small blow to her ego, which was ignored in the quick delight of her knowledge.
The things Larry and I can teach these two innocents, she exulted, will be like fantastic! The Cranstons will jazz up the Club, too ... the whole gang has been getting a bit stale lately. This thought reminded her that Larry must be home by now, probably was in the back room-checking on film and camera equipment. She had better get Carl cooled down a little-before he shot that heavy load in his pants-or she'd wind up with a remorseful young husband on her hands and have to start again from the beginning.
Delores plunged in where angels would fear to tread, at a time like this, using a proven tactic with the uninitiated.
"Is your wife good in bed, darling?" she asked sweetly of the flushed, handsome face suckling like a greedy child on the swollen nipple of her right breast.
Carl stiffened abruptly, his hard lean strength pressed even tighter against her, if that were possible. His cock gave a rampaging lurch in her hand and his teeth clamped down, hard, on her breast, drawing a squeal of surprised pain from her throat. For a moment Delores thought she had bitched up the whole thing. And then he reared back, his face drained of color.
"What the hell has my wife got to do with this?" Carl demanded. He glared at her, breathing heavily. The bewildered anger of a wild bull, caught off-guard, and corralled, fought with the red haze of lust in his eyes. But Delores wasn't looking at Carl's face; she was examining, with relieved satisfaction, the bulge at his crotch. It was slightly less prominent now, but still a taut, hard pulsation.
The mention of his wife's name had momentarily shocked Carl to a sense of who he was and what he was doing. A sudden guilt assailed him. But guilt, quickly buried to grow again in its own time, was followed by an expiating anger ... subconscious anger at Delores for arousing guilt by mentioning Lucy, and a surface rage at Lucy herself.
Goddamn, he thought, if she stayed home where she belonged, I wouldn't be here ... with a hard-on that won't quit. Christ! I've never been so hot in my life ... not even with her. If only Lucy could let herself go ... like Larry's wife ... she knows how a man feels ... knows how to please him. What does Lucy expect me to do with my aching cock, for God's sake?
He closed his eyes as if by out of sight-out of mind, the overwhelming temptation of Delores' magnetic nakedness would disappear. Her voice penetrated a harried spiral of futile excuses and unanswerable questions.
"Your wife doesn't have a thing in the world to do with this," she told him softly. "Nor my husband. You want me and I want you. It's as simple as that, Carl. It's a short life ... why waste it? Look, darling, why waste this?"
There was a shifting of leather cushion and a whisper of fabric. Carl's eyes opened to see her coiled gracefully on her knees, leaning toward him. Slowly, provocatively, half closing her glittering eyes, she ran her hands up her body, letting them smooth lovingly over the voluptuous blending of line until they reached her breasts and held them out, nipples jutting, in a pagan offering of hot, fertile flesh.
"God, but you're beautiful!" Carl gasped. He watched, entranced, as her hands kneaded and stroked her vibrant naked breasts, pinching at the tiny, hard cherry nipples and rolling them between her fingers, molding the tumid flesh into miniature phallic mounds. He had never seen, or even dreamed of a woman playing with her own flesh, and the sight caused unknown, erotic fermentations to spasm excitedly through his whole body. He felt an infuriation of lust; his loins felt on fire and his prick was a hard, aching pulsation.
"You haven't changed your mind, have you Carl? You do want to fuck me don't you...? " she asked, staring down at him with an all-knowing Sphinx-look in her eyes.
Changed his mind? Sweet Jesus, he was going out of his mind! He wanted to rip that teasing black velvet from her white flesh and tear into her like some ravenous jungle beast. Yet somehow he knew that he had to control the ferocity of his need, that this luscious woman was offering sensual pleasures beyond his wildest imaginings. He looked up into Delores' eyes and saw the promise there, open, ready, reaching out to him, and was lost in the blind arena of sexual compulsion.
"Christ, Delores! Yes ... Oh, yes! I want to fuck you! My God ... I've got to fuck you or go out of my mind!"
She could have uttered the word Lucy a thousand times and it wouldn't have mattered now. His hands went out to her, grazed the tips of her breasts-but in a fluid motion she slithered from the couch and rose to her feet. "No, not here-the bedroom. Come, my darling."
Carl would have followed the lure of her soft, swinging buttocks through the gates of Hell.
She led him along a short hallway, fingers working at a zipper under her arm as she walked. He followed her unsteadily, weaving on his feet like a drunken fighter, with a strange feeling of ambivalence. The Carl Cranston he knew would have been appalled at this stranger lusting after another man's wife; but he was too far gone to give a damn. He found himself in a well-lighted bedroom, not quite knowing how he got there. Delores went around behind him to close the door. He heard it shut and turned to see her shedding the sexy jumpsuit. With a reptilian undulation of her body, a magic rippling that swept from her shoulders down to her feet, it fell to the floor. She stepped out of it, kicked it carelessly aside and padded to the bed. Lying back on its satin cover she spread her legs wide apart.
"Hurry, darling," she whispered in a voice husky with rising passion. "Get your clothes off ... I want to see how you look naked. I want to see that big, beautiful cock of yours."
Carl approached her with the gait of a somnambulist. He stopped short at the foot of the bed, staring, his rasping intake of breath loud in the room. He saw her buttocks squirming into the mattress, saw the almost unendurable magic of her heavy breasts and stiff nipples, saw the lavish splendor of flesh that was generous and beckoning. And he saw the triangle of red gold hair that awed him because it was even more glorious than the dazzling halo on her head. He quaked to own it. He stripped his clothes from his body with desperate fingers as he looked down, mesmerized, at the pink-petal lips of her vagina, open and ready, glistening with honey-like secretions. It was unbearable. Stepping out of his shorts he felt a fleeting self-consciousness as he stood there before her with his cock standing out in a naked erection, reaching out far ahead of the rest of his body. She looked up at him, her eyes riveted on the thick, blood-raged shaft cleaving the air, seeping fluid from its tiny mouth. For a moment she studied its engorged head-the glabrous tip almost purple and throbbing hotly.
"Oh, darling, it's lovely. Even bigger than I thought it would be." She was breathing heavily. "God, I want you to screw me with it, I want to feel your cock deep up inside me!"
Carl's self-consciousness vanished. With a small grunt he knelt on the edge of the mattress and began to stroke the smooth, moist flesh of her inner thighs, feeling the way they trembled.
"You want to put it inside me, don't you, Carl?" She breathed deeper this time.
"Oh, God, yes I want to!" The words tumbled from his lips in a guttural moan.
He leaned over and kissed her and her arms were immediately fierce and hard around his neck, and her mouth worked heavily and demandingly against his mouth. Then she fell back taking him with her.
"Tell me!" she commanded against his lips. "Tell we that you want to fuck me!"
"For God's sake yess ... Yess, I want to fuck you!"
"How?"
"Deep!" he cried in anguish. "I want to fuck you like you've never been fucked before! I want to jam my cock deep in your belly ... to make you scream for more!" He flung himself down on the bed beside her, their legs entwined, and she held him with all of her strength, moaning deep in her throat, as he ran his hands over her back and down to her buttocks. He let his fingers revel on the firm skin, his loins tingling, his whole body trembling at the feel of her nakedness, so firm and resilient. He stroked her breasts, drawing his fingertips gently along their bulging sides; they responded to his touch with a tautening of the nipples. The silky flesh was as full and firm as he'd expected it to be, fantastically smooth and vibrant and warm.
Her hand searched down between their tightly welded bodies, found the hardness of his penis. He gasped as the coolness of her fingers closed around his rigid flesh, and then her mouth locked against his. Her teeth bit into him and she sucked his tongue and forced her own between his lips; her tongue searching with a strong, rigid pressure, as if she wanted him to emulate her movement with his penis in her. She crushed the full length of her body against his and ground her pelvis hard into him, then suddenly twisting her body and pulling him over on top of her, opening her legs wide to take him between them.
She ran her hands over him with little searching, fluttery movements as if her fingertips were trying to commit his lithe, muscular leanness to memory. His cock was resting hard against her thighs, pressed into the narrow, hair-lined slit of her cunt. Her back arched in a way that pressed the insistent firmness of her breasts into his chest, levering them both up off the bed with a surprising strength. She reached under her buttocks, then, with both hands, pulling her vaginal lips slowly apart, giving his penis greater contact with the moist, sensitive flesh as it lay nestled in the full length of her wet, throbbing crevice. She relaxed, dropping her body back to the bed, his rigid member trapped hotly between her thighs.
He insinuated his hands between her shoulders and the bed and ran then down the long smooth silk of her skin, feeling the hidden ivory roundness of vertebrae, the clever flexing sheathing of scapula. There was a downy pattern of hair in the convexity of the small of her back, sending tremors coursing up his spine. He could swear her back had changed and flowered under his touch, sleek, flexing, hypnotic. The tenseness in the cords of her thighs pressed against the outside of his hips and he sensed their primitive strength, and wondered how those strong thighs would grip around him later, when he had driven his cock into the innermost depths of her.
"Oh, God ... but you feel good," she breathed, crushing her lips against his, straining upward, breasts aimed and tumid, writhing the flat plane of her belly against him. Her voice had become a sulky, whispering, raspy sound and tearing noises, like tiny snorings, had begun to accompany her rasping inhalations. Carl pushed his hands further down beneath her, cupping the fullness of her ass in the palms of his hands, and pulled her open crotch up hard against him. He moved slowly up and down the inflamed slit, sensing it grow wetter and wetter, taking a swift joy in the savage helplessness of her ever increasing need. Her buttocks began a more desperate, metronomic rotation up against his loins and he had the feeling of trying to herd something that was endlessly alert to pounce free.
And suddenly it did. Without warning her legs snaked out wide on either side of him, her calves locking against the back of his thighs, pulling him savagely into her.
"Oohhhh, fuck me!" she moaned into his mouth. "Fuck me now, darling, fuck me now!"
He started to move but she was quicker, her hands were already down between them, circling around his pulsating cock to guide it between the lips of her surging cunt. Carl groaned above her as her hands moved his prick up and down between her legs, parting the soft, silken hair of her vagina with the throbbing, blood-filled head. They grazed teasingly against the sensitive gland, forcing it to greater hardness. The pressure in his balls was excruciating now, and he knew he couldn't wait. He had to fuck her!
He plunged into her, driving his cock with a brutal force he seemed unable to control, the warm, velvety sheath of her cunted flesh clamping around his nerve-centered gland so moistly and firmly that he let out a low animalistic grunt.
"Agggghhhhhh!" she screamed beneath him.
His prick rode up in her, tightly at first, hurting along it's whole, hard flesh-and then more easily as the wetness of the passage surrounding him lubricated the way.
Suddenly, he hit bottom and his balls slapped sharply into the naked, upturned cheeks of her ass. She screamed again while her eyes rolled wild and all of her was supple in her torment. Her face contorted with passion, mouth working, nostrils flared, a light sweat breaking out on her forehead, moistening the tangle of golden hair to liquid topaz.
Carl felt the smooth raw flesh of her vagina holding him in, roiling and pulling all around his hot, bursting cock as he fucked into Larry's wife with long, hard strokes. He had been afraid that he'd cum at the instant of entry and tried to keep his mind blank and gray; but somehow he had regained control. He rammed his prick into her with pounding strokes while pleasure surged through his body like ocean waves rolling up a beach and he sent each wave of pleasure back where it came from. She strained back under him, arching her loins up at him, lifting them both a few inches off the sweat-soaked satin coverlet.
Her broken mouth was lost in a demented keening and mewling between the gasps that measured, by their frequency, her desperate climb to her peak or orgasm. She swung her soft thighs up and clasped his waist in a scissor grip with her calves, winding her legs around his body, waving her naked buttocks wildly from side to side.
"Ohhhh, that's ... it, lover ... ooohhhhh yessssss! Its good! Oooh God, its good! Shove your finger in my ass! Do it! Now! Do it, make me scream!" she coughed.
He reached under her between her buttocks as he drove his chafing rod rhythmically into the hot moistness of her cunt. He stretched the moons of her ass wide, searching with the tip of his middle finger toward her anus.
He found it. A small stream of warm moisture was running down the widespread crevice from where his lust-hardened rod was fucking into her. It lubricated the tight, puckered little hole and he probed experimentally with the tip of his finger. He pushed hard, feeling it give a little, and then suddenly the tight elastic nether ring gave way and his finger slid in up to the first knuckle joint. She leaped upward at the first lancing pain, screaming out at him, "Aaaahhhhh, God it hurts!"
He thrust again, sinking his finger to the second knuckle.
"Oooohhhhh! Yes, yessss! Hurt me! Hurt me more!"
Despite the pain, he felt her suddenly begin to screw her buttocks back on his finger until it was sunk to the palm of his hand. He rotated it inside the fleshy depths of her rectum, eliciting a babble of pain and pleasure from her throat. Through the thin wall of flesh separating her two passages he could feel the underside of his heavy prick reaming in and out of her and began skewering her between them in the same driving rhythm as she groaned on incessantly.
Carl could feel his cock growing and expanding inside of her until it felt as though it were going to burst from the exquisite pressure building in his balls. He had reached that point where he knew he had to cum soon or he'd blow his mind! Christ! He had never known it could be like this! He couldn't hold back much longer ... but he wanted her to cum too ... both of them at the same time. God!
He increased the pace and deepened his thrust, pumping his prick into her still harder, in tempo with his impaling finger in her rectum. Her hands had been running over his body like demented things, but suddenly they gripped his pistoning buttocks, her arms grew awesomely strong, and he knew that she was near. He continued his merciless thrusting with all his strength.
"Oohhh, fuck it, hard, hard, fuck it hard! Hardddd!" she intoned, chanting the words in an endless stream, spurring him on with the pummeling of her heels on his back. She had jackknifed her legs up to mash them against her breasts, offering him the full expanse of her vulnerable crotch. She tossed her head madly from side to side, her eyes wide and blind and monstrously blue, whining and whimpering like nothing human in her frenzy to accomplish the peak of her release.
And then suddenly-
"I ... oh God ... I'm there! I-I'm ... cuuuummmmmmiiimmmgggggg!"
Her body leaped upward with one great convulsive joining, her nails tearing at his back. Her eyes rolled upward and she screamed. She screamed again, cursing him. She screamed out her orgasm to him in a torrent of obscenity, as she screwed herself up on his prick with all the power in her strong thighs while her loins jerked spasmodically against his belly. When it was over she collapsed limply down into the mattress, lying still except for the uncontrol-able quivering of her cuntal flesh still locked tightly around his tortured cock.
Carl's drunken, lust-inflamed mind tilted and whirled with the spectral exultation madness. He had done it! He had subdued this goddess of temptation to quivering mass of mortal flesh!
After endless weeks which had begun to seem like a slow medieval torture of emasculation, he was triumphant in this undisputable proof of his virility. But the thrill of victory was measured in micro-seconds-all that remained was the agony of his sperm-bloated testicles, the hard urgency of his shrieking penis. My God, now what was he going to do with his fucking cock?
It took all his control to keep from continuing to screw into her. Jesus, he had never in his life seen anything like it; he had never felt anything like it either. He flexed his prick deep in her belly, hoping to bring her to life again.
"Mmmmmm ... that was lovely," Delores murmured, her buttocks giving a languid wiggle. "I haven't gone on a trip like that in a long time."
"For Christ's sake, hold still," he gasped, trying to hold out, hoping she'd make him cum with a more spontaneous action.
"Carl, baby," she smiled in approval, "you held back for a long time."
"But not much longer," he breathed hard. "I'm damn near there."
"Roll over," she smiled sweetly up at him. "I'm going to teach you things you never knew existed.
He withdrew slowly, reluctant to pull his hardness out of the moist warmth of her pussy when he was so close to shooting it into her belly. He didn't want to stop-but her promise intrigued him. Teach him? ... Perhaps some way to give Lucy more pleasure ... to...
Lucy. In an abandoned ballroom of his mind, countless naked images of her danced to forgotten music, improvising obscene parodies of music he could not quite hear. Carl closed the door to his thoughts, and sealed it off.
He rolled from the softness of Delores' body over onto his back, slender sticky threads of her orgasm following his cock across her thigh, and lay tense. His penis reached yearningly up to the ceiling.
She turned on her side toward him and, reaching out with her hand, began stroking him, sliding the loose flesh up and down in a slow, magical rhythm that caused him to grit his teeth to keep from groaning out his frustration. God! Her smooth hand felt marvelous on his aching rigidity ... but he was wild for the clinging sanctuary of her cunt!
He gasped in awed wonder as she rose to her knees and hovered over him on all fours, her face a scant few inches from the moist, bulbous head of his prick. She held it tightly between both hands, stroking it between the flat of her palms in a tantalizing up and down motion that caused his loins to undulate in time with her maddening rhythm. Her head dropped slowly toward his hardness and he held his breath ... My God! ... was she actually going to...
Suddenly her tongue flicked out, the tip boring teasingly into the nerve-centered wetness of the tiny gland on the end. The sudden unexpected contact was like a swift electrical charge on his aroused flesh, bringing a groan from his lips, sending chills up the back of his spine. She brought her mouth down all the way, enclosing the full pulsating gland in a soft, warm pressure. He moaned, thrusting his loins upward compulsively as the moistness of her lips closed over the throbbing, sensitive head, trapping it completely inside the soft, humid cavern of her mouth.
"Christ!" he gasped, lifting his head from the bed and staring down at her contorted face. The very sight of his hard shaft of flesh sunk halfway between her ovaled lips gave him as much excitement as the action itself. Still wet with the juices of her orgasm, it glistened like the stump of a wet tree along the part she hadn't yet taken between her soft lips. She held his prick with one hand, lying on his loins, while she began to suck it steadily, rhythmically. Up and down, with a twisting motion of her tongue at the apex of her withdrawal, the tongue flicking magically across the tiny opening of the gland on the end.
He flexed his buttocks, his head still raised, watching the coruscating motion of her head bobbing up and down. The sight of the action was driving him mad. She moaned and began to suck harder, nipping now and then with the edges of her teeth. His prick was white beneath the scraping suck and a rich purple at its smooth, spongy tip.
Delores could feel his throbbing reaction. She shifted her position without relinquishing his distended staff from her mouth and kneeled on all fours between his outstretched legs. She slipped both hands under the cheeks of his ass, pulling his loins up tighter to her face while she plunged her mouth down over him from above. Her tongue swiped round and round the growing gland voraciously, until Carl felt it near the bursting point as she took almost the full length of his prick deep into her throat. He was certain she would choke but she continued the maddening sucking-on and on.
Her lush breasts bounced and danced as he watched her working over him furiously and he felt towering swirls of heat building in his balls. He arched his body, pushing even farther between the moistness of her lips; thin pink ridges of inner flesh pulled out from her mouth, clinging greedily to his thrusting cock. His mouth worked insanely, spilling incoherent mutterings. And then he gasped.
Christ Jesus, what would she do when he came...? My God ... he thought crazily ... this is it!
It happened. And he was transported by the fantastic depth and breadth of the act. She thrust deep, deep over his cock, devouring it to its hilt in her mouth as the first rain of his molten sperm volcanoed into her throat.
Carl thought his head was going to be torn off, everything suddenly was no longer there, only this, and it was like dying.
* * *
In a small adjoining room, small only by comparison to the rest of the rambling structure, Larry Ford flipped off the tape recorder. He had switched off a home movie camera but seconds before, and with the sibilance of winding acetate stilled, the room was suddenly and peacefully quiet.
He unzipped his fly and with some difficulty extracted the massive bulk of his turgid cock from his underpants. A grunt of relief escaped the slack lips of his sensitive mouth. He fondled the huge tool absentmindedly, looking around him with pleased satisfaction, taking in a plethora of dark-room and electronic sound and camera equipment which would have been the envy of many an independent producer. His cock jerked in his hand and he looked down on the exposed member as if only then aware of what he was doing.
"Well, big boy, what do you think ? " he asked of the drooling eye staring blindly up at him. "Should we get started processing some of this film right now? No telling how soon you and I might need it as an introduction to Mrs. Carl Cranston's sweet little pussy ... if we know Delores, looks like she'll be busy for quite a while with her old man." Jesus, he mused, if Lucy is anyway near as hot for it as that husband of hers ... God almighty!
The lusting thought made it even more difficult for Larry to stuff his aroused prick back into his pants before he could get to work.
CHAPTER 6
Lucy Cranston was standing at the curb, impatiently tapping one foot, when Carl arrived at the airport to collect her. He had kept her waiting for well over an hour.
On this of all mornings Carl had overslept-not having had the presence of mind to remember to set the alarm the night before. The insistent ring of the phone woke him, but by the time he fell out of bed and groped his way groggily to the kitchen to answer it, it had stopped. So he'd merely stood there, in a shaft of late morning sun streaming in the window, peering stupidly around him, trying to get his sluggard brain to function. He felt like hell, his head throbbed and his tongue was like an old blanket lying in his mouth. When his eyes began to focus properly again they landed on the half-empty fifth of whiskey standing on the drain board.
Christ! I really must have hung on one, he'd groaned inwardly. Catching a glimpse of his reflection in the window pane, he sprang back to the center of the room, the quick motion making his head spin as he stared down curiously at his nakedness, feeling like a fool. What the hell!
The area surrounding the hard nipples on his chest was covered in love bites and a tracery of long thin scratches ran over his belly and rayed outward from the inside of his thighs, standing out on the tanned surface of his skin like some dusky-red leavings of a spider gone mad.
And then it had all come back to him. No ... not all. But all the bright hotness of Delores in his mind, coming so strongly and suddenly that it brought a knotted, aching tension to his loins that made him sick and dizzy, unable to drag his traitor body to the shower. He peered at his watch, knowing he was going to be late meeting Lucy's plane, then turned blindly to the bottle.
A stiff slug of whiskey, gagged down, had soothed his hangover and supplied the physical coordination to shave and shower and dress; and a second one on his way out the moral strength to go and pick up his wife.
He drove rapidly to International, speeding faster than he should, pondering the ridiculous euphemism for what he had done with his friend's wife. It was called making love, but whatever they had made; it was not love. Carl was numbed by the collapse of the image of himself but had no illusions on that score. The only certainty arising from his confusion of guilt and remorse was that his love for Lucy was in no way diminished.
Delores words pushed their way back into his brain. "Your wife doesn't have a thing in the world to do with this ... nor my husband. We want each other ... its as simple as that."
Not that her pat rationale made what had happened perfectly all right ... But for the first time he could remember-he thought, its only a lay. He had heard that from so many men who were frequently and unimportantly unfaithful to their wives, men who kidded each other about, as they put it, getting a piece from another store. Hell, he may be a drunken, whoring bastard ... but for whatever it was worth he still loved his wife.
The quick drinks he'd slugged down made the inevitable improvements in Carl's morale and the locker-room bromide abetted the liquor in salving his conscience. If needed the libido has a conscience; for the brute thrill of conquest was still hot in his blood.
Carl had already spotted Lucy's familiar yellow knit dress from a half block away, her shining hair blue-black in the sun, before his thoughts got to the crowning shame of the night. He had a quick vision of himself going back to his own house, reeling drunkenly down the hill-its a wonder he hadn't broken his goddamn neck!-naked as a jaybird. With Larry Ford coming down behind him, toting his clothes, making light conversation about the congeniality of the neighborhood ... about social activities they all enjoyed together! As if he and Delores had just finished playing a high old game of checkers ... Christ!
A rare infidelity was one thing. Even sexual permissiveness between an occasional husband and wife. But a whole neighborhood? This was a titillating headline; something you read about in Playboy. Not a situation you landed into in your nine to five life. But you did ... and with all four feet.
Dear God, how was he going to keep Lucy from finding out about last night? And did Larry expect her...? Oh no! God, no!
Carl pulled into the loading zone. With a taxi crowding him from behind, he leaned over and opened the door. Lucy ducked inside with a breathless laugh.
"Hi, darling ... Oh, its good to be home!" She leaned forward, receiving a quick peck on the check before Carl pulled out into the flow of traffic. The straight line of her nose wrinkled involuntarily. Had Carl changed his shaving lotion?
"I'm sorry I'm late, Lucy ... but that damned alarm..." he said, leaving that hanging in the air, to let her make what she would of it.
"I was beginning to think you'd run off with another woman," she laughed. "But as long as you're here now you're forgiven."
She moved suddenly very close to him, so that he could feel the warmth of her thigh, putting her hand on his leg.
"Dad was so happy to see me, I just couldn't turn around and come right back ... and I'm really glad I did stay, for his sake." And for mine, too, Lucy thought. With her newfound boldness she rubbed his thigh, feeling a slight reaction beneath her touch. "Did you miss me?"
A car cutting too closely in front of them, bringing a "Damn hot-rodder!" from Carl and causing him to swerve abruptly, then right the car, saved him from having to answer her loaded question. Miss her, he thought bitterly. I missed her so damn much I was out getting fucked and sucked by the neighbor's wife. Beneath her warm, slender paw, the scratches on his thigh felt like the mark of Cain and he trembled with a shame that no amount of rationalization could dispel completely.
She mistook the tremble for desire and suddenly wondered if she dared start something the minute they got inside the house ... if Carl didn't! Ah, but he would ... and now she was ready for him.
Something cool and afraid had been ripped out of her, leaving a feeling of hotness that was strangely bold.
In only a short while he'd be holding her tight. ... She could almost feel the strength of his arms pulling her to him until her breasts were flattened against his chest ... feel the throbbing length of his hard shaft probing into her belly; her breasts felt swollen, heavy and a warmth of inner moisture was suddenly wet between her legs. She had the almost unbearable urge to slide her hand up to her husband's trouser covered loins.
But the Jezebel role was too new to Lucy for her to play it well ... not here in the car, speeding along the busy freeway and in broad daylight. In front of God and everybody! she chuckled to herself, feeling a warmth flooding her cheeks, and quickly snatched her hand away from temptation. She looked up at Carl's rather grim profile, her eyes blurred with a tender longing. He was strangely silent, but in the quickening excitement of her own anticipation she was but vaguely aware of it. In less than ten minutes they would really be starting married life ... alone together at last.
In even less time than that, eight minutes and twenty-one seconds to be precise, Lucy found herself deposited on their front walk like a ... a ... like the Sunday morning paper, was the phrase that came to her stunned mind. She hadn't been tossed out of the car in exactly the same careless manner, but she felt just as discarded. Before he had even drawn up to the curb Carl had explained, in a rush of words sounding learned by rote, that much as he hated to do this, work was piled a mile high on his desk and he simply had to get down to the office.
It was the only excuse he'd been able to think up; he needed time to pull himself together. And Lucy must not see those marks of lusting, animal sex.
So she was left hurt and bewildered in a vacuum of suddenly meaningless excitement.
* * *
A while later Lucy stood at the kitchen door, looking out at the miniature oasis of semi-jungle greenery that had a wild beauty against the dark background of scrub oak and pine climbing the slow hills. A power mower somewhere nearby encountered a rock and wrenched and coughed, throbbing to a stop like an indignant insect, leaving the afternoon in sudden silence. She drank from the glass in her hand, the acrid murk of liquor a strange companion for the green with a strong smell of childhood in new-mown grass. From behind the hedge next door she heard a burst of laughter, gay voices raised, then abruptly, the sound of a phonograph.
A sudden hot fierce wave of envy startled her. There were a dozen things she should do inside. The clear sun, which belied a forecast of rain, reminded her of a hamper full of soiled linen, but she suddenly thought ... To hell with it! ... mixed her third drink-or was it her fourth?-and went out the back door.
Lucy had been rather surprised to find the depleted bottle standing on the drain board. A timid drinker, she had taken the initial drink out of frustration. It had such a heartening effect that she'd gone back for more. With the hot sun beating down now on her head she felt slightly dizzy. Across the quiet yard reverberated the insidious blare of jazz. The drumbeat throbbed insistently, persuasively, a sort of erotica which seeped under her skin. Despite herself she was drawn insidiously halfway up the Ford's hillside terrace.
Which was where Delores, with a sly, delighted grin, caught sight of her, sipping the amber liquid and feeling somewhat sorry for herself in a maudlin way. And exactly in the right mood to forget her shy reserve with strangers when Delores called down a warm invitation to get into her swim suit and come join the party.
CHAPTER 7
Although only shortly past noon the party was going full blast. A handful of people were scattered around the turquoise pool, taking advantage of the unseasonably burning late-winter sun. But most of the crowd was gathered in the big play room opening out onto the terrace, the room where Carl's initiation had begun last night.
Larry Ford had stationed himself in a strategic position to keep a lusting eye out for Lucy's arrival. But when she emerged from the top of the hillside stairway, holding slightly back in the ragged opening of oleander, Larry wasn't quite prepared for what he saw. The bathing suit she wore, two wisps of thin cloth the color of honey that clung to her shapely body like a second skin, brought a silent whistle to his lips-along with an instantaneous hardening in the groin. Until he drew closer she appeared naked; it was that deceptive. .
"You shouldn't be allowed to wear that in public," he said.
"I'm not out in public, darling. This looks like a friendly group."
Lucy responded with an unfamiliar boldness surprising even herself. The micro bikini had been bought on a foolish impulse and never worn. Only the courage of alcohol and a surge of rebellion at Carl's taking off the way he did prompted her to put it on. She had been startled, frightened somehow, by the way the daring suit made her feel-as sexy and seductive as it looked. She had almost lost her nerve, almost taken it off again, but now the open admiration in Larry's eyes made her glad she hadn't.
Lucy thought the deliberately lewd expression on his almost priest-like face delightfully funny. She was laughing up at him as he walked her inside with one arm flung carelessly around a large expanse of her naked bared flesh.
"Quiet, everybody!" he waved his free arm over his head. "Let me introduce Lucy. The new little pussy cat in the neighborhood!" he yelled, over the din of loud voices and blaring music.
Coming in out of the bright sun Lucy distinguished little more than a blur of shifting figures, and if the noise level declined with Larry's sweeping announcement, the drop was too imperceptible to be noticed. For which she was thankful, feeling a sudden embarrassment standing so nakedly in the shelter of Larry's arm. And then she was breathlessly, vibrantly, aware of his latent power. He squeezed her tight against him in a friendly bear hug. Clad only in the briefest of trunks, a narrow band circling his hips, every bone and muscle of his slim, sinewy frame felt hard and hot against her soft nakedness.
"Come along, girl, let's get you a drink," he said heartily. You're way behind!"
Although Larry wasn't too sure about that. The blue glitter of those amazing eyes of hers had seemed to be more than a reflection of the bright sun, her peach skin was so warm to his touch ... and her rapid breathing ... God, what tits! "You're going to drive me insane before this day is over, baby," he told her silently, looking down at her breasts, feasting his eyes on the rise and fall of full, ripe flesh. The tips of their perfectly sculpted roundness, barely covered by the sliver of bra, jutted out against the fabric. He couldn't exactly see her nipples but they were clearly defined, intriguing shadows which fell into place to paint an erotic picture in his mind. He could feel her magnificent breasts, soft as marshmallow, except for the tips which were hard and distended, trembling in the palms of his hands.
As he steered her toward the bar Lucy felt a sudden tightening of Larry's fingers on her hip. His touch sent a rush of sensual pleasure sweeping through her loins, an excitement so unexpected, so intense, her legs went weak. They had reached the bar at the same time and she leaned weakly against the padded leather, grateful for its support. For a moment her brain muddled. She thought she'd had too much to drink ... the sun had been too hot ... the room was too crowded, too stifling...
Had his hand stayed a split second too long on her bare flesh? Had Larry's fingers been intimate ... knowing?
"What'll it be, Lucy? Scotch, bourbon, vodka? Or anything else your little heart desires. We've got all the comforts of home around here. You name it. . . , " he paused, smiling at her warmly, his face alight with gentle eagerness to please.
"Thanks, no. I don't think I really should."
Lucy felt the strength return to her limbs as quickly as it had drained. It must have been her imagination, she thought, but even so ... what kind of idiot did that make her? Going all weak and trembling with her own hairbrained fancies ... She shivered. There was no denying a wet sensitivity between her thighs.
"You can't refuse this, try it, just to please me," Larry was coaxing her. "It's the specialty of the house, guaranteed."
He neglected to say what the potent concoction of layered rum, a mind blowing zombie with a subtle addition or two of his own, was guaranteed for-or to do. But Lucy found out, and before too long. By the time he had built her the third drink she was feeling marvelous, the party was delightful and Larry was most charming, entertaining and witty man, she had ever met. And the beautiful punch was delicious.
In a lull in the conversation among the group clustered at the bar he asked her, "What's Carl doing this afternoon?"
"Who?"
Then Lucy realized she was perched on a bar stool, her mouth hanging open in stupefied surprise. The sound of Larry's infectious laughter, mingled with an admonition not to go away-he'd be back shortly, was ringing in her ears as she watched him disappear across the room. She managed to close her mouth. Carl? Now that's a good question, she thought hazily. Well ... let him work if he wanted to do that ... rather than stay home and make love to her ... She was having a perfectly wonderful time without him ... And Larry would make love to her ... if she let him, wanted him to...
"My God ... Now what kind of crazy thought was that?"
"Damned if I know, but I'll give a penny for it."
Unaware that she'd spoken aloud, the answer to her question, coming almost directly in her ear, startled her. She swiveled around to find a vaguely familiar face staring down at her. Why, he looks a little like Carl, she thought, and then remembered that the tall redheaded man had been introduced to her earlier ... Stan? no ... Stewart ... Stewart White, that was it! How clever of her to remember!
"It wasn't worth it, Stewart," Lucy assured him. Looking up, her eyes blurred, and as she shook her head to clear her vision she saw they were alone at the bar. A strange giddiness seemed to pervade her whole body as she turned and looked around the room. The light had dimmed, making it difficult to see but the party seemed to have congregated at one end of the room.
"Home movies," Stewart said, as if in answer to the question forming slowly in her mind. "Larry promised us something new. Says its pretty damn rare ... let's join the crowd and find out."
She groaned inwardly, it sounded pretty dull to her. Lucy was feeling so good now, filled with a glowing exhilaration that made it increasingly hard to even sit still, that watching amateur pictures of somebody's trip to Hawaii or the Grand Canyon or whatever seemed silly. And besides, she wanted another drink. She held up her glass and saw it was over half full. Well, anyway-as soon as she finished this one.
Stewart was standing close behind her, his hand moving up and down her arm from shoulder to elbow, slowly stroking the smooth flesh. She didn't really want him to touch her, didn't even like him too much. The way he looked at her, with hard, bold eyes, made her feel totally naked, but pushing his hand away seemed too much trouble. She stared down into her drink, fascinated by its shades of rose and red and pink, swirling hypnotically with a tilt of the glass. Soothing, like the hand on her arm, lulling, making her feel as if she were enormously heavy, a sweet-swollen dreamy thing, protected and warm.
"There, that didn't take long did it?" Larry asked.
Lucy looked up and came out of her trance, glad that he'd come back. She was feeling so strange, floating, a pleasant lighter-thanair sort of helpless feeling. But he would take care of her.
"Buzz off Stew, we'll see you later," he said, then" turned to Lucy. "Come on, hon, finish your drink and we'll watch the picture. I think you may find it interesting."
She was almost too relaxed to move but drained the drink still in her hand with long, thirsty swallows, set the glass on the bar and slid down off the high stool. Feeling giddy, but suddenly light and gay as the hastily gulped liquor sent a glow of exhilaration speeding through her blood-stream, it sounded like a wonderful idea.
"All right. I'm ready, Larry," she agreed. The words struggled from a tight constriction in her throat in a breathy, barely audible whisper.
The only light at the far end of the room came from the picture projected on a large screen and they stumbled through a confusion of arms and legs.
Entwined bodies lay sprawled on cushions on the floor, while those still on their feet writhed and twisted in a pagan dance without music.
Lucy was grateful for the solid support of Larry's arm on her waist. It was difficult to keep her legs braced under her. They seemed detached from her body, as if they belonged to someone else. When he finally pulled her down with him on a loose pile of cushions she sighed with relief and snuggled against him, closing her eyes. She felt herself spiraling to the delicious heights of a free and easy drunkenness. In a far corner of her mind a small reasonable voice told her, "This isn't the behavior of a respectably married woman."
But the magical balm of liquor left no room for moral conjecture ... and the encompassing warmth of Larry's firm-muscled body felt so relaxing she hadn't the strength to move.
And then suddenly it wasn't relaxing at all.
He pulled her hard against him, slipped his hand up her side and cupped it warmly just beneath her breast. Everything quickened. She could feel her blood begin to stir deep within her body and a swift unwanted moisture formed between her legs. Against the light pressure of his hand her breast felt hot and swollen, heavier, larger than the other. Her mind was in a state of utter confusion, so astounded at her sensual reaction to his sudden touch that she was practically paralyzed.
"Watch the picture, darling," he urged in a soft whisper, but she didn't dare open her eyes.
Larry let his fingers brush softly against the tip of her breast and felt the nipple surge to quivering erection. As a low moan escaped her lips he grew more confident by the second. His eyes were glued to the screen, watching Carl fuck wildly into his wife's cunt, but lewd images of what he would do to this soft young body in his arms once it had reached the stage of total, helpless submission tumbled in delirious, kaleidoscopic images through his brain.
With a gentle tug at the scant top of Lucy's bikini, he pulled it around her waist, letting her full breasts spring free. He could feel the pressure building in his balls and as he began to manipulate her tumid nipples, rolling them like little balls between his thumb and forefinger, he reached down and eased his hardening prick out of his trunks. His lusting gaze still fastened on the screen, he rasped, "She sure loves to screw and he'd really putting it to her!"
Lucy could hardly believe what was happening. She felt hot and cold at one and the same time, like a block of ice that was wrapped in a sheet of flame, yet growing hotter and hotter instead of melting. The whisp of fabric binding her vaginal area was drenched and delightful shocks of sensation emanated from her nipples as Larry continued twisting and rolling them between his fingers. She knew she ought to stop him but she was powerless to resist. And she was enmeshed in a sensual glow so exquisite that she hated to lose it.
She was almost as stunned by Larry's actions and words as by her own wanton abandon. He had struck her as being, in the only basic and pertinent way, a gentleman. But the abrupt about face of his image was strangely exciting somehow.
"Jesus, look at him go! He's fucking her cunt like there's no tomorrow! Look ... Just look at that, will you!"
Larry's voice, urging, telling and gloating, rained lewd words into Lucy's fertile brain. They whirled in her head, inciting her desire until she wished feverishly to obey his command, but something held her back. When a shrill scream rose in the air and shattered against the ceiling, breaking into a myriad of brittle curses, she almost raised up involuntarily to watch the obscene picture. But his hands on her breasts held her down. And ... Ohhh ... they felt so good!
"She's cumming! By God, he's going to break her in two! But she's loving every bit of it ... her cunt's eating it up!" Larry paused and sucked in his breath. "Christ! Will you look at that! The guy's fucking prick is still hard! And after a screwing like that..." He paused again and a sly note crept into his voice. "It's probably just as well you don't see this part ... one look at that big cock might spoil you for some of mine!"
Lucy writhed in helpless torment, his lewd words pictures coming alive in her mind. She felt his hands stroking the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs, felt her legs spread wide of their own accord to allow his searching fingers greater access to the moist, wanting lips of her vagina.
"You can look now, honey," he whispered hotly in her ear. "She's going to suck him off. She's kissing his prick ... and then she'll take it in those soft red lips ... and God, how soft they are!"
As Larry's vicarious excitement mounted, his hands on Lucy's thighs inched upward and his voice rose in pitch. Her body shook like one with fever chills as she fought for control. And suddenly his fingers, strong and probing, were on the moist, fleece-lined lips of her cunt and he cried out.
"Jesus! That big rod of your husband's will choke her to death!"
Lucy froze, momentarily suspended in cold-sober shock. As the meaning of his crude exclamation exploded in her brain, she felt torn asunder; one part of her mind refused to believe what the other knew was irrevocably so. She wanted more than anything in the world to flee from that very real reality, to go back into the warm cocoon of sensual euphoria and lose herself in its blissful sanctuary. But that was no longer possible!
With a violent shove she pushed Larry away. Her eyes flew open and she lurched to a sitting position. In the dim light it took her a moment to bring the images on the screen into focus. She caught the picture just before Delores' mouth began its downward plunge on Carl's monstrously expanded cock.
Lucy stared in horrified disbelief. She saw the red, blood-engorged head of her husband's penis make contact with moist pink lips of another man's wife's mouth. Her tongue darted out, flicked lightly into the tiny slit at the tip, then her mouth opened wide and with a wild downward plunge of her head, the thick, glistening shaft of flesh was completely absorbed into the taut oval of her greedy lips.
"Oh, no ... no, no!" Lucy's moan of anguish was muffled by the recorded transmission of Carl's ecstatic groan. She wanted to scream out her disbelief, to get up and run away from the unbelievable scene, but her throat closed and she was frozen into immobility. And as she sat, transfixed, staring mesmerized at the rhythmic motion of Carl's cock sawing in and out of Delores' avid mouth, her own excitement quickened to a burning lust.
Larry's hands were rummaging expertly over her heated flesh, stroking and massaging her breasts, her belly, the moist flesh of her inner thighs. She was dimly aware of what was happening, and somehow managed to tear her gaze away from the screen.
Lucy closed her eyes tight shut and buried her face in Larry's shoulder, but still the vision of Carl's cock, wet and glistening, skewering into the red oval of Delores' lips raced through her mind.
"Oh, God," she groaned, "How could he?"
"You mean you didn't know?" Larry whispered in innocent surprise. "After all, you did come to this kind of bash..."
Know? How could she know? Lucy's confused brain reeled. And what did he mean ... this kind of bash?
She squirmed back in his arms, trying to make out the expression on Larry's face in the dim flickering light. "I ... I don't know what you're talking about..."
"Why honey, we have a little arrangement going ... sort of a good neighbor policy," he explained softly. His hand ground harder on her breast, his fingers giving the soft rubbery nipple a hard pinch sending a flash of pain and pleasure shooting down her spine. She uttered a low helpless gasp and squirmed her buttocks down into the cushions in an effort to stem the flowing tide of passion washing down between her thighs and through her loins.
She looked desperately around her, as if seeking a way out. Everywhere she turned she caught the gleam of flesh, naked and writhing, of entwined bodies. Positions varied but there could be no doubt as to what they were doing. Larry's skilled tutoring began to bear fruit.
"They're fucking!" His lewd word came unbidden from Lucy's lips. And suddenly she was aware of the sounds in the room, sounds that were like those emanating from the recorder, wet, sucking noises punctuated intermittently by small moanings and groans of total sensual pleasure.
"Of course. Just like your husband is fucking my wife," he whispered with his mouth against her lips. "Turnabout is fair play, baby."
"Oh ... oh! You can't ... we can't" she whimpered into the hot wetness of his mouth.
"Why not?" he demanded harshly. "You want my cock ... and I damn well know it!" Reaching for her hand, he took it in his and thrust it down between them, wrapping her fingers around his swiftly hardening penis.
Lucy's heart stopped and her soft body stiffened against him like Lot's adulterous wife. Without conscious will her hand tightened on the massive, fleshy instrument, holding it in a frantic grip. And she felt an emanating of lusting tremors from her hand on his penis rush like wildfire throughout her entire body. She did want it! ... Oh God ... how she wanted it! And she had been afraid to let her own husband ... the man she loved ... afraid to let him put his ... his...
"You do want my cock, don't you Lucy.
Don't you want to feel my cock inside your cunt." Larry's voice made a soft, decisive statement of the questions.
Yes, that was the word! Lucy's alcohol and lust-distorted brain tasted the foreign word, chewed it up, swallowed, and digested it. Her thoughts rambled on ... afraid to let Carl put his cock in her cunt ... and now she was going crazy ... absolutely out of her mind ... for the cock of a total stranger!
"Yes!" she hissed. "I want your cock! Ohhh, no ... no! I can't." She felt helpless, unable to cope with the torment wracking her mind and body.
"Why not?" he insisted again. "Carl's sucking my wife, now he's..."
"Oh, please-don't! ... I can't ... not here!"
She couldn't bear to hear any more, but an angry, wanton defiance came to life in her mind. Yes, Larry is right. If Carl could do this ... why not let Larry make love to her? But not here ... not with her own husband on the screen watching...
She seemed to lose contact with reality. Ford half-led, half-carried Lucy out onto the terrace by the pool, stopping at the bar on the way to pour her another drink. By God, he thought, Delores has one hell of a technique when it comes to softening up a couple of babes in the woods like the Cranston's. But then, he wasn't doing too badly, either. Get 'em without experience and teach 'em right, he chuckled to himself.
Once outside in the bright sun Lucy blinked like a startled blue-eyed owl. A light breeze was cool on her nakedness, causing her to cringe inwardly with an innate sense of embarrassment. But her shameless body laid down beside him, stretching out beneath the bright sky with sexual, relentless urgency. He leaned over her, running his hands lightly over the swelling mounds of her breasts, teasing the hardened nipples with little circling pressures of his thumb. His hand dipped to the bare skin of her flat stomach and kneaded gently at the smooth sun-warmed flesh.
Larry felt her tremble beneath him, felt her own inner heat rise almost visibly in response to his touch, his cock reached skyward, its blind eye drooling at the sun, and he knew she was ready for anything he wanted to do.
Lucy's hips began to squirm against the canvas deck pad and she turned her body toward him, pressing herself to him. And then she lifted her head, eyes squeezed tightly shut against the glaring sun, and offered him her lips, open and shining and wet.
He ground his lips onto hers, completely engulfing their softness with a moist, hard pressure, stabbing his tongue past her teeth and into her mouth to fence hotly with hers. A shooting star plummeted from the sky to explode in her brain at the sheer physical impact of his kiss and her hand clawed uncontrollably at the back of his neck to lock their mouths in a heated fusion. His hand was again at her breast, but no longer gentle, squeezing it until ridges of plump flesh oozed out from between his fingers. Tiny mewlings of the pleasure of pain sounded deep in her throat. They surged around his tongue thrusting in and out of her mouth in a simulation of coition.
And then Larry's hand dropped from her breast, slid down across the smooth flat abdomen to the first downy pubic hairs fringing the hip-hugging strip of her bikini. His fingers moved swiftly inside, lingering for a tactile moment in the curling tendrils of her soft, silken fleece. Then he let his hand slide lower still, his middle finger extended, until the digit came in sudden contact with the moist, humid furrow of her cunt.
Lucy's body jackknifed forward with the electric contact of his touch on her naked, vulnerable crotch. Her entire being peaked into vibrant, breathing aliveness. She began to moan, a low humming sound of hungry wanting. From a far periphery of the yawning abyss of her mind came a warning whisper from the reasonable voice. This is wrong ... this is all wrong. I'm not a common whore ... There must be some mistake ... some way of turning back before it's too late.
But she knew nothing could stop this. She was entirely incapable of protest or resistance. She couldn't stop him even if she wanted to. Which she didn't. She liked his touch on her genitals, she craved it! And his tongue in her mouth, his hand on her breast, oh God, there was no turning back ... And yet she couldn't wait to go on ahead...
Larry curled his middle finger into the wet, quivering passage of Lucy's cunt, teasing the bud of her clitoris, feeling it become immediately erect, toying with it; a sensual explorer lost in the enjoyment of what he was doing, marveling at a new discovery of warm, limitless abundance. Damn, he thought, she's really got the hots ... I was right, she sure is ready. She's ready for cock, all right. Dying for it!
"Sugar," he whispered smoothly against her mouth, "I want to fuck you, I need to fuck you, I'm going to fuck you like you've never been fucked before."
He lifted his head to catch the reaction in her face. The sun shrank the pupils of her eyes so that they were wide and blind and monstrously blue, it haloed her black hair sheening like spilled ink. Her moist lips, desire-darkened and loose, moved smally, fumbling for the words.
He knew she wouldn't, couldn't resist. She was too far gone now for anything else to happen.
"Oh yes, yes ... yes darling ... and I-I want you to ... to fuck ... to fuck ... me ... I need ... Larry darling ... darling..."
She had begun to lose the thread of her words. Her voice got softer and precision of her diction began to blur. Larry knew what was happening. Nothing else mattered to her now-but cock, nothing at all. And the lewd words, so basically alien to her lips, caused his prick to ache with excitement, to emit a sticky warmth of seminal secretion from its bloated glans.
"Go on..." The suavity of his voice had turned to a rasping file.
"I need you ... to fuck me, too ... as much ... as you need it. Fuck me, Larry ... fuck me fuck me ... fuck me..."
He slipped his finger from her cunt and stripped off the desire-drenched bikini. She automatically raised her hips to help him. He knelt down between her outspread legs and stared at her soft resilient pubic hair and the moist sheath of her open cunt. His eyes feasted gleefully on the thin lips, petal-pink, delicately edged with feathery black. A droplet of her seeping vaginal juice moistened its fringe, then two, and then more, and they glistened with the luster of precious pearls. By God, she was a beauty ... and completely at his mercy now! He ran his hands over the soft flexing hollows of her inner thighs, letting his fingers stroke the fluted pink petals of her cunt and dart in and out of the passion-flooded passage at will. Saliva dripped from his open mouth, mingling with her juices in the delicious narrow pit of her open vagina.
Lucy moaned continuously as she gave herself over completely to this man, this comparative stranger who was giving her such rapturous delight. Her hips undulated in frenetic sexual abandon as the expert ministrations of his hands stoked the fires burning inside her to a bright glorious blaze. Through half slit eyes she could see him kneeling over her. She watched with bated breath as his head lowered slowly, slowly ... Her stomach went hollow ... resistance seized her for a moment. What he was going to do to her was incomprehensible ... it was obscene. His breath was hot on her throbbing pussy, creating an icy chill that spiraled the length of her spine.
With a small cry she tangled her hands in his hair in an attempt to draw his head away. Yet even as she did she knew it was futile; in her helpless physical need she was no match for his strength.
"Relax, baby," His breath fanned a ripple of new prurient sensations on the nerve-centered opening. "I'm going to kiss and lick and suck your cunt. I'm going to bury my tongue in your hot little pussy and you're going to love it, baby. I'll make you cum like you've never cum before."
His vile words and his hot teasing breath were like fuel to the fire of lust, turning any thoughts of denial to dust. She was aroused to. a pitch of uncaring insane desire. She was beyond words; her loins leaped wildly forward to tell him of her unequivocalable surrender.
Larry drove his head savagely downward, his lips mashing into her vaginal mouth, splaying the lips open wide with the hard moist pressure of his mouth, his tongue ramming deep and hard into the burning crevice of her cunt.
"AAAAAggghhhh!" Lucy screamed as his long, hot tongue lashed into her defenseless crotch and her body responded with convulsive lurches. Her hands grasped his hair, tried to pull his face deeper into her desire drenched loins.
Ohhh, it felt good! It felt wonderful! How could she have ever denied herself ... denied
Carl ... such joy as this? ... It was lovely ... beautiful!
She was groaning incessantly, broken sounds, as though she were triyng to call out his name but couldn't fit the straining softness of her mouth to the consonants.
His agile tongue speared in and out of her widespread vagina, slipping back and forth over the tip of her throbbing clitoris. She writhed and twisted, screwing her pelvis up into his face in savage, total abandon. Larry took the erect, pulsating button of her clitoris between his teeth, holding it snugly there, and began to circle it with a swift lashing of his tongue, round and round until she cried out sharply at almost unbearable pleasure. He increased his attack, fucking her orally, faster and harder, sliding his long pointed tongue deeper and deeper up into her dilated, grasping channel, driving it in and out of the moist, velvety sheath with a hard, relentless fury. He drew her legs up and around his neck and her thighs gripped convulsively, pulling him still closer to her straining loins.
Every muscle in Lucy's body was tensed as she strained her hips upward to the maddening tongue that was licking insanely into her flame-seared cuntal passage. She thought she would go out of her mind from the intense ecstatic rapture in her love-starved loins. God, she couldn't stand it! She had to have release, had to have it soon!
As his mouth and tongue worked in slobbering animalistic subjugation at her seething cunt, Larry's eyes stared up along the sweat-slick valley between her sensuously quivering breasts, reveling in the lusting grimace on her face.
Christ, she was really turned on! She doesn't know it yet, but this doll's a real live fucking machine! He could feel the gathering waves of her orgasm roiling and churning ... rising.
Lucy screamed ... a high, rising cadence of sound that was somehow not quite human. Her body spasmed against him in uncontrolled violence as wave upon wave of torrential ecstasy ripped her wide open.
When at last it was over she sank back with a long, exhausted, satiated sigh. Larry raised up slowly from her reflexively trembling crotch, grinning down at her with a lecherous satisfaction.
"Well, baby?" he asked. "How was it ... did you like it?"
"Ohhh ... Larry ... God!" Lucy breathed, her eyes squeezed tightly shut. "It was ... perfectly marvelous!"
"That was only the beginning. Open your eyes, honey," he commanded softly. "Look at what I've got for you."
Dreamily, Lucy opened her eyes. She found herself looking at his thick, rigid penis standing out from beneath the slight paunch of his belly. Her breath caught in her throat. My God, it was huge!
"Like that, honey?" His lewd smile broadened.
Lucy tried to speak but she couldn't. She was trying to imagine that great menacing shaft worming itself into the soft, fleshy folds of her vaginal orifice. A quiver of fear crossed her face. God, could she possibly take all of that?
His hand began a lewd stroking of the heavily uncircumcised foreskin, back and forth, over the huge, bloated head. He saw an almost imperceptible, slow rolling undulation begin in Lucy's soft, white buttocks. Goddamn right, she liked it! he gloated, no doubt about that. And she was going to get it ... but good!
"You're going to love it, doll," he said. "Because I'm going to fuck you now. My cock is as hot as your tight little cunt, and I want to fuck you with it. I want to shoot my load of hot sticky sperm deep into your belly. I want to fuck you now, Lucy..."
"Oh! God, yes, do fuck me now, please, fuck me, fuck meeeee!"
* * *
Low, misty clouds were moving quickly, sometimes touching the tops of the rolling foothills. The humid air was cooling rapidly and a hastening wind tumbled down through the canyon, blowing all traces of the false early spring away and leaving a heavy curtain of rain in its wake.
Lucy was drifting through a long black tunnel in a boat. It was cool and clammy, and she felt as though she couldn't breath properly. The boat started to sink, but she really didn't seem to mind that, until it dropped below the surface, immersing her in the icy water. She felt the waves swirling around her with an arctic chill on her hot flesh and the sound of a rushing waterfall was loud in her ears.
Lucy moaned, shivering, and opened her eyes. Physically and emotionally drained she must have fallen asleep. She had no idea how long she had been lying there in the rain, but from the waist down her body was being sluiced with sheets of cold water. In the moment of waking she thought she was still in the dream and then it was coming back to her slowly. She was partially covered by an overhanging eave of the Ford's house, a rain-soaked beach towel clinging to her bared buttocks.
In the wet, lowering dusk, her first thought was to head for home, but as she skirted the swimming pool she was coldly aware of bared breasts billowing above the towel clasped around her middle. And it suddenly struck her that she couldn't go home to Carl-and he must have returned by now-like this. Confused, still lost in an alcoholic and sexual fog, she wasn't prepared to confront him with his infidelity. And at the thought of her own, lewd and strangely exciting images whirled through her mind, images that stiffened her bared nipples and moistened the swollen lips of her vagina.
Suddenly the cold, wet drizzle felt good on her hot breasts. And Lucy turned and half walked, half staggered back to the Ford's party.
CHAPTER 8
As Carl walked in the door he sensed immediately that Lucy had gone out. The little house had the same empty feeling it had the night before when he'd been there alone. And there were no lights burning. Although it was only four o'clock, a rather menacing darkness had abruptly settled over the afternoon sky.
When he'd gone to the office earlier on the excuse of work, there had been things he could have taken care of, but he'd sprawled in an easy chair and promptly fallen asleep. He awoke feeling cramped but somewhat better. A steak sandwich consumed in a bar on the way home, preceded by a couple of stiff drinks and washed down with three bottles of beer, improved his condition considerably more. By now he had about reached the stage of reasoning where he was ready to forgive her. But finding her gone not only surprised him-where the hell could she have gone to?-it rekindled his guilt.
Turning lights on and off he paced restlessly through the house. He spotted the bottle of rye and thought, hell, I might as well be drunk as the shape I'm in! About three drinks drained the bottle and turned his emotions from guilt to worry to anger. He wandered back into the bedroom, pervaded lightly with the perfume she wore, and saw her lacy bra and panties tossed on the foot of the bed. When he became aware of a hardening in his groin, he'd really had it and stalked out of the house to go looking for her. She might have walked the half mile or so to the store, he thought.
He felt a few drops of rain on his face as he started toward the car. He'd parked in back of the house and he was looking down, avoiding the chasmal cracks in the driveway when a lively burst of noise arrested his motion. It came down the hill from the Ford's. Perhaps Lucy...?
And although, subconsciously, Carl was positive that Lucy couldn't be next door, an overwhelming compulsion changed his direction and he turned away from the car and started up the hill, hurrying as the rain fell harder.
* * *
When Lucy came in out of the rain, looking like a wet sex-kitten, the party showed no signs of slowing down. Larry greeted her with a long, hard kiss. She crushed her body against him and stopped him from speaking with another long kiss.
"I was going to say," he whispered as she pulled herself away in sudden confusion, "You're the best fuck I ever had ... the goddamned best! But don't tell my wife I said that."
Her loins still thrilling with memory of the delight of his massive instrument of pleasure, Lucy couldn't help the depraved sensation of pride his lewd compliment gave her. It was like a dream, a wild heavenly nightmare. She wanted to look at him; to touch him because their sunlit orgy had become unreal and implausible. It was an episode she knew she should try to forget, yet, perversely, it had been so wonderful she wanted some confirmation from him that it had actually happened. She wanted to put her hand down ... and feel his cock ... Good God, what next? Had she no shame left?
But hadn't Carl ... No, that wasn't fair. She knew Carl loved her; that she loved him. Then why...?
Lucy's brain swam, trying to decipher the miniscule difference between right and wrong. And then she gave up trying altogether as Larry wrapped her nakedness in a woolly blanket, letting his fingers rummage in her cunt, stroking the rain-drenched curls and teasing the glossy bud of her clitoris until her dripping vaginal slit was wetter than ever.
Larry pressed a drink in her hand and she swallowed more than half of it needfully.
"Cigarette?" he asked, flipping open a small silver box.
Whatever he had given her to drink had taken her breath away and flash-flared in her belly, radiating deliciously through her body.
"No," she gasped. "I don't smoke."
"You will when you get through with this," he grinned suggestively. "Not that you need it, hon," he hastened to add. He extracted a clumsily shaped cigarette with both ends twirled close, like the fuse of a firecracker, and held it out to her.
"What is it?" she asked, although somehow she seemed to know.
"My private stock. Kept in the family cellars for generations at just the right temperature ... Vintage Acapulco gold. The best in marijuana.
He was laughing at her ... daring her with his innocent choir-boy eyes.
"Well fuck you," the liquor and his adept tutelage said through Lucy's lips. "Thanks, I'll have one."
"That's my girl. I knew you wouldn't let me down." He lit her up with the end of his cigarette. "Take a long belt, swallow it, 'til you've got to exhale and then let it out through your nose." He watched Lucy with a calculating eye as she did as she was told, then smiled with lewd satisfaction.
The smoke had a harsh abrasive taste, but she like the smell which reminded her of oregano.
Two cigarettes and another drink later she put an arm around his neck and pulled his face down to hers. Her mouth was wet and she ran her tongue along his lips, then closed her eyes as his head dipped to her breasts, where he grasped her stiffening nipples with his teeth, playing back and forth from one to the other with his mouth.
The lights had dimmed once more in the smoke-ribboned room, but the big screen was dark; the members of the club seemed to have settled down to the serious business of providing their own entertainment and the air was vibrant with the sounds of wet mouths and genitals locked together, the moans and grunts of copulation.
Lucy's drugged, lust-deranged body was hardly human, a mass of sheer sensual desire. She was pushing her hips up impatiently toward Larry's growing cock. It's hardness was driving her insane! She had to feel it in her cunt again! But he seemed to be teasing her, frustrating the wild searching of her hands and her inflamed body at every turn. Another couple, so close at her back that the man's thrusting buttocks were rhythmically grinding back into her own ass, increased Lucy's turmoil almost to the breaking point. She had already cum twice and was reaching for her third orgasm, but her drugged body was insatiable. The potent combination of alcohol and marijuana had proved to be a powerful aphrodisiac, inciting a lust that she was powerless to control.
* * *
Thank God Lucy wasn't over here, Carl was thinking as his cock sawed in and out of Delores Ford's educated vaginal passage. Christ! Look who's talking! ... He was a faithless bastard for being here himself ... but after last night
... and with Lucy not staying home long enough to ... Oh hell! Delores didn't mean a good goddamn to him. And right now he was too drunk to care. He heard himself moaning as she pulled in her abdomen in an expert way so that a marvelous new internal caress began. God, she sure knows how to use her ass. Whoever Larry's screwing there right in back of me sounds like quite a piece of ass, too ... a real nympho. And her smooth, warm bottom feels damn good.
* * *
Lucy was groaning, almost sobbing beneath Larry's teasing mouth, the tantalizing ministrations of his finger in her cunt. She wanted his cock ... not that small digital substitute...
"Quick! Quick! Oh, God," she moaned in a strangled whisper, "I want your cock! ... I want you to fuck me with it!"
"Is my cock better than your husband's ... is it bigger than Carl's?" he whispered hotly in her ear.
"Ohhh, yes, yes!"
"Yes ... what? My darling."
"Yes, it's better! It's bigger!"
"Then tell me. You want my cock don't you ? Then tell me it's bigger and better than Carl's cock is, Lucy," he droned.
In her tormented need, Lucy would have said anything Larry asked of her, without even knowing the words or what she was saying.
"Yes! Yes!" she screamed out at him. "Your cock is better than Carl's! Your cock is bigger than Carl's! And I want your cock! I want it, I want it, I want it!"
Carl's body stiffened behind his wife's back. Lucy! Oh dear God! It just couldn't be ... Not his own wife, getting fucked by Larry Ford ... And begging for it! When she would hardly let him, her own husband, touch her! ... And comparing him to Larry ... like he was some bastard stud! And where did she learn those words ? Why ... the little bitch! He'd show her who was top man around here!
But he had a hard time getting away from Delores. In his mad rage he had fucked into her like a wild bull, bringing her quickly to orgasm, and she had enmeshed him like an octopus her body convulsing tight against him, until at last her cumming was through. By the time Carl managed to get loose from her tenacious grip, Lucy and Larry Ford were gone.
* * *
Stretched flat on his back on the big bed, Larry looked up into Lucy's dull, drugged eyes, taking a sadistic relish in the dilated pupils, the electric blue of the iris now a pale, opaque wash. A thin threat of spittle drooled from the corners of her slack red lips. Wait till that prick of a husband gets a look at his sweet, innocent little wife. Christ! We'll have the Cranstons both ready to join the Club before I can say cunt ... and that's pretty damned quick. And with Stew and Doc riding her, too ... Where the hell is everybody, anyway ?
Larry didn't know it, yet, but after all of his elaborate planning to bring Carl in on the scene of Lucy's complete subjugation, his delectable, immutable bait, Delores had bitched it up.
Lucy was raised on all fours over him with her knees on either side of his hips, the up-tilted moons of her lovely buttocks waving hungrily in the air.
"Put it in! Put it in!" she wailed, her full, heavy breasts swaying and bouncing as she tried to skewer her lust-incited vagina down on the bloated head of his monstrous, towering cock.
"Take it, Lucy," he commanded. "You do it ... Grab my prick and shove it in your cunt!"
Her hands reached down between them like wild, frightened birds, searching, and finding the rigid pole of hot flesh. With trembling fingers she guided its fiery mushroom head to her hungry cunt-lips; and then he caught her waist and pulled her down on his throbbing prick with a hard violence. At the delightful shock of initial entry a small shriek welled up from deep in Lucy's throat. And then he jerked upwards, his hips driving his elongated rod into the soft velvety flesh of her unquenchable cunt. Her thighs shoved down to meet him, impaling the elastic opening full upon his thick shaft, sending his thrusting cock deep inside her up to her cervix.
"Ooooohhhhh," she wailed, feeling his bloated sac of heavy sperm smack vibrantly against her inner thighs, and her hands went eagerly back and around to his balls, fondling them with feverish delight.
Lucy was bouncing joyously up and down on
Larry's wonderful, ecstasy-giving prick when the two men walked into the room, too entranced with her mad, lusting pleasure to be aware of their presence. For a moment they paused, staring at the sensuous marvel of the young insatiable girl's dancing breasts with hot, hungry eyes.
Stew White, who had been drooling for this all afteronon, poked a salacious elbow in the other man's ribs. "See what I mean, Doc? Jesus! She can really shake that ass!"
Doc, a primeval ape of a man, with a wealth of coarse black fur that spread from his pectorals to the heavy underbrush at the base of his overhanging belly, didn't bother to answer; he merely ran his tongue over his slack mouth.
Leaning forward over Larry's writhing body, her breasts flattened against his strong chest as she hung on wildly, Lucy was too absorbed in her mindless climb to orgasm to be conscious of Stew's hands searching hungrily at her rectum. He knelt behind her, holding his swelling prick in one hand only inches from the tiny, puckered ring of her anus, while he watched Larry's impaling cock in her cunt with obscene fascination. His other hand went to the soft, white cheeks of her gyrating ass, stroking the smooth flesh, teasing her rectum with the tips of his fingers. Slowly and gently he inserted the tip of his forefinger into the soft, rubbery passage, riffling it around inside, drawing gasps of mounting desire from Lucy's throat.
Doc leaned over Stew's shoulder, eyes glued on brownish-pink hole, his blunt fingers tufted with black hair flexing convulsively. His fetid breath was hot in Stew's ear.
Stew looked up and rasped impatiently, "What the hell's the matter with you? Her ass-hole's mine ... Get around over there and fuck your cock into her mouth, dammit.
As Doc backed off and headed around the bed, he released his own cock and used both hands to draw the full, white cheeks of her buttocks wide apart, stretching the rubbery opening wide with his thumbs. When he leaned forward, resting the hot, fleshy head of his blood-pressured against the tiny, defenseless hole, Lucy jerked away. Her whole body contorted as she struggled to look back over her shoulder, trying to learn the source of this new, strange sensation, yet straining not to lose the delightful punishing instrument in her cunt. Her passion-blurred eyes caught a horrified glimpse of a huge, fleshy shaft poised above her tiny rear orifice. Her mind whirling with crazed lust ... she wanted it! But not there! God, it was too big!
She heard Larry's voice and it seemed to be coming from miles away.
"Stew is going to fuck you in the ass-hole, Doll. And you're going to like it, believe me. Haven't I always been right? You will love it," he assured her persuasively.
Stewart flexed his hips, teasing the moist head, pulsating hotly, along the sensitive crevice between her buttocks, bringing it finally to rest on the wrinkled, slightly cringing anal ring.
Lucy was trembling in an agony of indecision. Although in some far corner of her mind she knew there was no immediate decision to make, she had no conscious choice now ... All decisions had been made-signed, sealed, merely waiting for delivery. She felt the huge, bloated head of Stew's prick throbbing hotly against the tightly puckered lips of her anus, and she thought, It's going to hurt ... but I want it, I want to be fucked there. God, I'm so hot I can't stand it ... And Larry was right ... always right. . .
She screamed then, as a violent pain, a thundering, ripping, all-encompassing hurt blotted out thought, erased everything-was all there was in the world. Stewart had bored her ass-hole with a brutal thrust, had reamed the tight, virgin passage as though it were butter with his lust-hardened cock, to bury it almost to the hilt. She opened her mouth to scream again, and Doc waiting for the chance, drove his prick far into the depths of her open throat.
For a minute that seemed like an eternity in Hell, Lucy remained motionless. Doc's thick, heavy cock rammed in and out of her throat, almost choking her, and she could hardly breath. She felt a great splitting at her loins, a white heat from the two evil monsters that were tunneling between her legs, that would surely destroy her. Convulsively, she had tried to shift her hips, or draw her buttocks in to lessen the pain of her anus, but that had merely worsened it.
"Dear God! Help me! she pleaded inwardly, while they buffeted her between them like some slut they'd picked up on the streets, using her defenseless young body as a human receptacle into which they would eventually drain their lewd, animal sperm. She felt debased, dirty. Where had all the wondrous rapture gone? The supreme bliss ... a new-found joy in being finally a woman...
And then Larry's husky, panting voice reached her ears..."Relax ... just relax, baby ... It'll stop hurting ... in just a little ... while ... remember, I'm right ... I know ... just ... fuck back!"
Good God! Was he crazy? Relax, fuck back! With three men fucking...
And then ... a strange thing happened. His words brought a licentious mental image of herself being fucked by three men at the same time. The sheer perversion of her obscene helplessness began to stir her with a lurid excitement. She heard bits and pieces of their breathy, lewd exclamations being volleyed back and forth. Nice juicy cunt ... tight, budding ass-hole ... sweet, hot mouth...
She felt the blissful sensual tremors rising again from deep down within her belly. And then the fire of unfulfilled lust raged out of control and she began to wildly undulate her buttocks and squeeze with both cuntal and anal muscles at the hard throbbing cocks boring into her; she sucked and licked voraciously at the cock ravaging her mouth as if she were trying to devour it. Lucy was mewling and wailing like a depraved animal gone wild, lost in wanton, erotic bliss she offered herself to the exquisite instruments of pleasure plundering every orifice of her body with an enraptured, total abandon. She was completely and helplessly impaled ... her brain reeled ... nothing mattered but the tremendous sensations of subliminal exaltation about to explode within her.
And she wanted to milk these ravagers of her helpless body dry, to fill her belly and her rectum and her throat, to have them erupt with her own explosion in great torrents of joy.
Suddenly, magically it happened. The rod in her madly sucking mouth exploded, filling her throat with a delicious, pungent liquid. She swallowed in desperate, crazed gulps on the frothing sperm to keep from choking, as the vessel of her mouth filled and emptied, filled and emptied...
She felt the cock fucking into her from behind begin to jerk and fill her anus to overflowing, felt the seething liquid hot in the crevice of her ass cheeks, searing the tender flesh.
And as her own orgasm seized her, sending ecstactic spasms of sensation rocketing through her, she could feel the frantic contraction of the monstrous cock in her cunt spewing its thick jets of hot semen far into the depths of her belly, blending and pooling with her own secretions, adding the final touch of exquisite violence.
* * *
Carl found Lucy out on the terrace. She was standing in the pouring rain, with a sad-looking blanket draped Indian fashion around her shoulders, staring down the hill, trying to penetrate through the dark rain to their house. He was so glad to see her that his breath caught in his throat, and for a moment he couldn't speak. And then he said, "Where the hell did you go to? Dammit, Lucy, I can never find you when I want to."
"Oh, I was around," she said, not looking at him. "And you've found me now."
She wheeled violently around with a soft little cry and flung herself against him. Somehow the blanket got lost on the way and he gathered her nakedness in his arms. "You won't have any trouble finding me again," she murmured into his chest. Her hand reached down between them and took his cock in a fierce, warm grasp.
"Oh God! ... Lucy, darling ... Can you forgive me?"
"Forgive you, dearest? Forgive you for what?" Her voice was puzzled. "These little parties have nothing to do with us."
"You know," Carl said, "You look pretty much like a sick kitten that my dad had to drown once."
"Come on, darling," she said, leading him by the distended handle of his prick. "Let's go home and do our thing like the others!"
