The young American writer, Jim Morrison, first published his remarkable expose of the sexual perversions rampant in big business in England, as it was considered too censorable to be printed in this country. Sales of the book were very good the first two weeks it was in the London bookstores and then it was banned by the English censors. The book had a good "underground" circulation however, and it soon became a collectors item in the field of modern erotica.
Some of the motivations of the main characters and their unusual sexual relationships may be better understood from the following data from the case history files of the famous analyst, Dr. O. Berndorff:
"My husband always claimed I was frigid," Frieda M. an attractive young married woman claimed, "but I knew that the opposite was true. If anything, I felt I was oversexed, but for some reason I could not respond physically to him. As he was having intercourse with me and his rigid penis entered my vagina, he would become extremely excited. He would work his big organ in and out of my vagina, moaning with pleasure as he finally ejaculated his sperm in me. I could only just lay there and take it, since I felt no response.
"The only time I ever enjoyed sex with him was when he would perform cunnilingus on me. If his hot tongue only barely licked my vaginal lips and clitoris for a few moments, I would immediately 'come' with a very intense orgasm. I also would 'come' if he thrust his penis in my rectum, as I frequently asked him to do. As he ejaculated his sperm in my anus, I would also have an orgasm.
"However, my greatest sexual thrill would come when I saw a woman friend naked in the toilet or her bedroom. I would masturbate after seeing a nude female friend as soon as I was alone, and would experience a most thrilling orgasm."
This novel should prove enlightening and instructive to the reader's psychological understanding. Continental Classics presents the original unexpurgated version from this point of view. It is recommended only for the graduate student or the mature adult reader.
A. L. Saunders, M.A. New York City June, 1969
Archive Note: There were indeed two chapters labeled 'CHAPTER Eight' in the original pocketbook.
CHAPTER ONE
They say that the devil finds mischief for idle hands to do and the lovely hands of Jean Pierce were idly hoping they could twine themselves around a man's prick.
It was a hot, humid, boring summer's day and there wasn't much for the lushly attractive brunette matron to do but lounge around the house. Harrison City wasn't a small town, but her husband, Jack Pierce, was an important executive and she couldn't afford to take any chances playing around the local hot spots to get herself laid. He was spending more and more time out of town on field trips for International Electronic Corporation, leaving her yearning for male cock and affection.
It wouldn't take much to make her an unfaithful wife right now, she thought moodily. It would really be Jack's fault, too-he thought more of getting that Vice-Presidency that he did about spending a little time screwing with her. It would serve him right if she jumped into bed and fucked with the first man who came along.
The doorbell brought her an answer to her unspoken prayer. There was a tall, well-built handsome male standing outside, but a mere boy in years. It was Jerry Trent, delivering a package from Fowler's Emperium.
Jean remembered Jerry Trent, she knew him since he was a kid and was surprised at how he had grown up.
The house was empty. Her husband was up in Broughton, I.E.C. headquarters, ninety miles upstate, and the maid had just quit on her. As she opened the door for Jerry, she thought that now that she'd have to do some housework until they got a new maid maybe she wouldn't be so bored.
"Your package. Mrs. Pierce. Would you please sign the receipt?" Jerry asked.
"Glad to," Jean said as she looked the handsome young prick-pusher up and down. "You're Jerry Trent, aren't you? Come inside for a moment, it's nice and cool in here."
"I really can't-I'll fall behind in my day's delivery schedule."
"Oh, come on," she coaxed, "I'll give you some ice-cold lemonade to take the edge off this terrible heat."
"I guess it would be okay." Jerry said.
"Sure, cool off. A few minutes won't make any difference."
Jean took the package from him and went to close the door behind him. She stumbled as she passed him and fell against his muscular body for a moment. The sheer strength of his powerful physique, as he caught her arm and helped her regain her balance, sent a tremor of pleasure shuddering through her twat.
They remained face to face for a moment, the brawny, young college boy taking in the sexy attractions of Mrs. Jean Pierce. She could feel his eyes drinking her in and it gave her a thrill of feminine attraction. She was dressed comfortably for the house. If the pink, silk blouse out-lined her full tits, nipples and all, and the tight toreador pants displayed her lovely legs, thighs and ass to perfection-so much the better.
Her pulse quickened under the gaze of this boy in a man's body.
"Follow me to the bar and we'll squeeze some fresh lemons and get some ice cubes," Jean told him in a relaxed manner to put Jerry at his ease. "Come on, Jerry, and let's have that pause that refreshes."
"I dunno, Mrs. Pierce, I'm liable to get into trouble on account I've got so many packages to deliver today."
Jean thought, he's not very bright or I'm not getting myself across!
"Jerry," she told him firmly, "I want you to listen to my advice. It's a terribly hot day and I don't see how your staying in this nice air-conditioned house while we get some cool lemonade into you is going to make much difference to Fowler's Emperium one way or the other."
"Mrs. Pierce...."
"You're a big boy now, Jerry," she said. "You try calling me by my first name-Jean."
She leaned over to get some ice-cubes from the bar refrigerator and she could see him looking down her low-cut blouse, goggle-eyed at the deep cleft between her full, lovely tits.
"C'mon, say it-Jean."
"Okay, Mrs., er, Jean," Jerry managed to stammer.
"See how easy it is, Jerry. I think you and I are going to be great friends. You haven't any objections to being my friend, do you Jerry?"
"No, ah, Jean. You see, if I don't deliver all my packages for the day, it's held against me. And I can't afford to lose this job, even though it's only for the summer."
"Listen, Jerry," Jean smiled. "If they give you the slightest trouble, III take care of it. I'm a good customer of Fowler's and, anyway, I think I have a certain amount of influence in this town."
"Okay, I guess ... Jean," he said hesitantly.
Jean squeezed the lemons and poured the juice into two, tall, frosted glasses. She wondered why Jerry seemed so uncomfortable and ill at ease. He must be shy, she figured. Well, she had a gimmick to help him over that hurdle. She took a bottle of hundred proof vodka and poured a generous slug into each frosted glass.
"This'll be a real lemon cooler, Jerry," she said gaily as she gulped hers. "Drink up and you'll forget all about the weather."
As Jerry slowly downed his drink, she kept the conversation going.
"Are you twenty-one yet, Jerry?"
"No, I'll be twenty-one in March."
"Going steady?"
"You might call it that."
"Who's the lucky girl?"
"I think I've seen her around town. Very well-built, isn't she?"
"Yeah, Edie's stacked," Jerry agreed amiably. "Serious about her, Jerry?"
Jerry bashfully admitted that he and Edie did have marriage plans, but that they couldn't take that step until he finished college. He was planning to get his degree in engineering and then go into some sort of construction work, anything that would keep him outdoors. He didn't care for the idea of being tied down to a desk all day.
"That's a good idea," Jean agreed, 'Those big muscles of yours need exercise. Now, about getting married. Do you think you'll be able to handle that situation?"
"I don't see why not, once I have a good steady job," Jerry replied.
"Oh, I don't mean that way," Jean said eyeing the animal strength in his young body, "brides generally depend on their husbands to teach them about the aspects of physical love in the marriage bed. Do you think you'll be able to take care of Edie? That takes experience, like everything else!"
Jerry flushed, "I guess we'll make out all right. I haven't been a boy scout up to now."
"Do you really have any first hand sex experience?" she pressed.
"I haven't done anything like that with Edie," he replied, "and I don't intend to until we're married. But, I've been out screwing around with other girls around town...."
"Teeny boppers and bobby soxers!" Jean commented. "What can immature girls possibly know about satisfaying a man? They're like unripe peaches or green apples themselves. Take it from me. When I was that age, I thought I knew all there was to know about love and sex-but I was really quite ignorant. It took years of marriage, and other things, to give me the sex experience I have."
Jean looked meaningfully at Jerry, hoping that what she was saying was getting across. It seemed to be registering with him as he sipped his high-powered lemonade and gave Jean's tits and ass another slow up-and-down once-over stare.
She got up to freshen her drink and took care to display the full desirability of her lush asscheeks as she crossed to the bar. When she sat down, her titties seemed to be fairly hopping out of her tight blouse at Jerry.
She was pleased to see little beads of sweat forming on his brow, apparently the combination of seeing her practically naked knockers and the vodka in the lemonade was getting to him.
"I don't think you like me very much, Jerry," she said, crossing her legs and sipping her drink.
"I like you fine, uh, Jean. You're uh, very attractive," Jerry managed to reply.
"Well, since we both like each other and we're sort of exchanging intimate confidences, suppose we get a little closer together," she said, shifting her exciting ass right next to Jerry. He was flushed and the female closeness of her perfumed body gave off a heady scent that made him dizzy.
Jean leaned back lazily on the overstuffed couch, displaying her tits to their best advantage again and smiled like an experienced woman of the world. Actually, she was trembling inside at her own boldness in her hard-on-producting actions.
Other men had certainly fucked her at various times during her marriage, but they had practically raped her. She would have had too much to drink at some party and become separated from her husband, Jack, and there had been occasional discreet motel humps with I.E.C. executives passing through Harrison city. But she had never deliberately set out to possess a male cock by her female wiles as she was doing now. She was throwing her usual caution to the winds-she wanted Jerry to fuck her completely.
Jean looked younger than she was. At thirty-three, most women have lost the fresh bloom of youth, the glow of the teens and early twenties. Jean had not only remained looking no more than twenty-five, the years seemed to have made her sexier. The mature poise, added to her striking features, made her unusually appealing.
It seemed that every man flipped for her except her own husband, Jack. Three quarters of the time, and lately even more, he was too busy playing big company politics to give Jean the screwing she craved.
She had been somewhat thin as a girl and a little ashamed of her big breasts. But she had filled out in perfect proportion now and she had the time and leisure to keep herself that way by careful dieting and exercise. Her figure was like a model's now-at parties, she was the envy of the wives and every man under seventy went on the make to try to get his prick into her cunt. Her tits were firm and full, made for loving. The sensuous play of her unusual and magnificent asscheeks instantly invited the delighted attention of any male who saw her walk.
She had never given in to any of the local prick-pushers, but today was going to be different. Jack was just leaving her alone too much, he didn't realize that a woman's cunt had needs and desires ... and that she was all woman.
Jean sighed and leaned her head on Jerry's shoulder. Her act made the last shred of Jerry's resistance go up in the smoke of the flaming hard-on she had roused in this young, healthy male cock. She felt his hands sliding on the smooth silk of her pink blouse and then they were holding and kneading her, firm yielding knockers. His hands were beginning to produce some wonderful sensations in her pussy.
Jerry was strong, but she could see that he looked like he lacked technique and finesse in fucking. After all, what could the bobby-soxers he'd been running around with teach him? Or that little steady virgin of his, Edie? The thing that mattered was that he was ail man as she could see from the big bulge in his pants, though a boy in years. He was arousing her even with his crude fumbling. Jean planned to make him a real good fucker. He had the basics.
Jerry reached to kiss her, and Jean smiled to herself. It was as if he were giving his sister a kiss. And she closed her warm lips over his mouth and inserted her warm darting tongue between his clenched teeth. He opened his lips and she felt his pleasure as her busy tongue went further. Lesson number one.
He was still holding and trying to caress her tits as they were in a reclining position on the couch. His legs were working all over the couch in his mounting excitement, when Jean raised her head.
"Undress, me, Jerry. Now!"
Jerry practically ripped all the buttons off the pink blouse in his haste. Jean was wearing a lace-trimmed black bra that made the milkness of her tits stand out even more. Jerry fumbled with the snap a moment and then opened the bra.
As Jean shrugged it off her shoulders, she watched Jerry's face. She felt pleasure as she saw his eyes go around with wonder at the generous abundance, perfect form and delectable cherry-like nipples or her white knockers.
He looked at the delectable display of her naked titties like a kid at a toy window at Christmas.
Then he reached and fondled their soft, smooth delight. She shivered at the strength of his fingers. The backs of his hands were covered with curly black hairs and he brushed them lightly across her ruby nipples. They became even more rigid at the feel of the delicate hairs. It was arousing her, she had never had her nipples blossom like this when her husband, Jack, touched them.
She drew Jerry's head down to her breasts and his lips closed around one lovely nipple, then the other. As he kissed them and rolled his tongue over their ruby hardness, tremors of delight radiated right down to her cunt and over her entire body.
"Keep sucking them, it feels wonderful, Jerry," she whispered, "Just wonderful."
Jean was becoming so aroused by her student that her buttocks began to wriggle against the sofa. She felt the strength of him with her warm hands. Gently, she felt his flat, hard stomach muscles and reaching down further, she was amazed at the size of his throbbing, already rigid, prick. He had a bigger cock than any man she'd ever had, including husband, Jack. She pulled down the zipper of his pants and touched the head and stiff shaft of his protruding prick again.
Jerry shuddered at the touch of her gliding hands on his stiff dick and worked hurriedly to undress Jean. She helped him as he unzipped her toreadors by raising her ass up off the couch.
"Take off everything, Jerry!" she panted and put his hand to the waistband of her black panties. He pulled them slowly down her cute navel and she wiggled them off her full, womanly ass. She kicked them away with her painted toenails and was stark naked before him.
He could move fast for all his size. As she rec-lined back on the sofa, in all her nude glory, he was putting his shorts with the rest of his clothes in a pile on the floor. Jean was amazed to see a muscular, young Adonis standing over her, the promise of his cock that she had just felt a moment ago, more than fulfilled, as she viewed the hugeness of his fully erect dong and big balls.
She drew him down beside her on the sofa and his lips covered hers, his tongue seeking hers as she had just taught him. His hands caressed her tits again. Then he went to the curves of her waist, her buttocks and thighs-as she felt the strength of his hands on the softness of her inner thigh, she hoped she wouldn't be all black and blue. But she loved everything his rough feeling of her bush-hair and cuntlips was doing to her.
She was more gentle with him, running her hands up and down his thighs and tracing delicate patterns of pleasure on his fully erect cock and firm buttocks with her fingertips. Jerry groaned with pleasure at her delicate, experienced touch on his pulsing prick. The buildup of his hard-on was becoming too much for him.
"Jean," he panted, "My cock can't hold out. I want you right now!"
He placed his hands under the cheeks of her luscious ass and felt them tighten in his grasp. She moaned and nodded assent. Parting her warm thighs slightly, she gasped at the rough furious urgency with which he thrust his cock into her hot, moist cunt.
She thought that this must be passion-pit style, the way he's fucked floozy teen-aged girls in the back seats of cars. Still she tried to impart something to his raging fucking of her cunt. She began to work her belly and hips beneath him smoothly and rhythmically, watching his pounding thrusts into her twat. With each movement of his powerful torso, delicious sensation engulfed her. She moaned and twisted her head from side to side as Jerry's big dong thrust into her hot, wet cunt.
Suddenly, she uttered a little scream and locked her heels in the small of his back.
"Jerry, oh, Jerry, fuck me, fuck me like a man! Right now!"
Jerry quickened his pecker's fucking pace and flashes of passion she had never experienced before coursed through Jean's quivering cunt. Uncontrollable twitches and tremors were wracking her pussy as it frantically moved to Jerry's lunges.
She suddenly stiffened and screamed as she felt an ultimate crescendo of joyous orgasm surge through her twitching cunt and permeate her entire body.
"Me, too," Jerry moaned and-grunted mindlessly as his body arched, convulsed and joined Jean's complete ecstasy with spurting jets of hot creamy scum into her cunt-hole.
They lay locked in each other's arms on the sofa. Their heavy breathing gradually grew calmer and Jean coyly said to Jerry as she cradled herself sensuously in his arms, "How about humplesson number two, Jerry?"
"Wow, Jean. Let's wait until my pecker recovers from lesson number one."
"Doesn't this mature kind of fucking beat those corny passion-pit quickie screws, Jerry?"
"It sure does," he answered. "Holy cow! What time is it? I've got to get back on my route."
Jerry dressed hastily and giving a good-by kiss to Jean the way she had taught him, left the house.
Alone, Jean poured herself another vodka and lemon-juice and relaxed. She had wanted a little screwing, but never expected that just a boy could give her cunt this tremendous orgasm that she had never had with anyone else before. She smiled to herself as she envisioned his naked prick and balls once again.
"He sure is a big boy!" she said aloud and finished the rest of her drink.
Jean was very pleased with the way the whole hump-session had turned out. Jerry seemed to be just what she needed to get her out of the no-hump doldrums of her boring existence in Harrison City.
Now, Jack Pierce could stay away for weeks at a time up at I.E.C.'s headquarter's in Broughton. He'd get his Vice-Presidency, but little Jeanie had just gotten herself a lovely consolation prize-cock, Jerry Trent's.
CHAPTER TWO
Less than ninety miles away in Broughton, nationwide headquarters of the sprawling corporate giant that was Intercontinental Electronics Corporation, Jack Pierce was making time on his business trip. Like any smart executive on the way up, he was being nice to the boss' wife.
Jean Pierce's husband, Jack, was virile, clever and aggressive. In his early forties, he was handsome and well-dressed in an Ivy League sort of way, although he had never finished college. He had gotten a job as a lowly sales-correspondent with Intercontinental Corporation. By dint of hard work and being a good company politician, he had worked himself up to the point where he had become Northeast Area Sales Supervisor. It was a definitely big job, the obvious next step was a Vice-Presidency in Intercontinental-which meant sole control of any one of the associated companies run by Intercontinental.
Jack Pierce was hoping to be in charge of Harrison Products Division, I.E.C.'s branch in Harrison City. It was the largest manufacturing plant in Harrison City, where he and Jean lived, and employed about 1,700 people. So far, everything had gone well with him in his role of rising young executive. No mean feat in the "holier-than-thou" type of organization Intercontinental Electronics was supposed to be from the the top down.
Smoking was strictly forbidden on the company premises to all employees, shop or front office. An alcoholic couldn't possibly last on the payroll. Employees were encouraged to be solid, church-going citizens and executives were urged to become community leaders in Charity Fund Drives and Better Business Leagues. A juicy divorce was enough to keep a junior executive a junior until he was sixty-five.
"Of course, I'm not ultra-strict myself on these things," President Robert M. Satterlee would say to his Area Sales Supervisor, Jack. "You must admit, however, that a strict insistence on a high code of personal sex morality for our employees has given us the best corporate image in the country."
Jack Pierce agreed with the boss as usual. Every nod of his head, he figured, inched him that much closer to the Vice-Presidency in Harrison City he had his heart set on.
It was a most attractive position, so naturally there were plenty of contenders. There were other Area Sales Supervisors, administrative executives directly on President Satterlee's staff, of men throughout the country that Jack Pierce had to admit privately were as well-qualified as himself to handle the job. But Jack Pierce had an ace in the hole, so to speak.
Connie Satterlee, the wife of the president of Intercontinental Electronics Corporation, was his mistress.
He had been secretly screwing her for nearly a year now.
She had promised to look out for his interests. He knew she could do the job. A whispered word in the privacy of the I.E.C. Presidential bedchamber....
Satterlee would have his hands on her tits, all set to shove his cock in, and she would say, "Darling, who's going to get that Vice-Presidency that became vacant last month?" and he, all impatient to put it in her cunt, would say, "I don't know," and she would say, "Don't you think it could be a good idea to give it to Jack Pierce?"
Connie could swing it, she had real cunt-power.
Jack was positive of that. She was an aggressive, domineering kind of woman, who had a bigger voice in the running of the business than most people suspected. She could wind Bob Satterlee around her little finger. It would be no trick at all for her to catapult Jack Pierce into that Vice-Presidency he craved so passionately.
Jack had realized that from the start. And so, when it seemed obvious that Connie Satterlee was willing to be fucked by him, he had lost no time in taking advantage of that pleasant fact.
He had first shoved it into her twat on a cool September night, right in the Satterlee mansion. There had been a business conference with executives from every division there to discuss general problems. The meeting had disintegrated into several factions, and things were getting so sloppy that Jack Pierce had decided to take a walk, let everybody yammer away for half an hour or so, before he got things under some kind of control.
The Satterlee mansion was an ideal place for taking walks in. It was a nineteenth century structure of enormous size, it looked like it had about two million big rooms, most of them empty. You needed a road map to make your way around in it. A local legend had it that one of the previous owners had gone for a stroll when he first moved in and had been lost in the mansion for two days before his servants found him, groping his way through the basement. Jack believed it.
He walked along the second floor, past the meeting rooms and the huge ornate library, and found himself more or less accidentally entering the wing of the building where Satterlee and his wife resided.
A door opened. A woman stepped into the hallway, Connie Satterlee.
"Hi," she said. "Get bored with the meeting?"
"A little."
"Step in. Have a drink."
"Glad to," Jack said.
They went in. He found himself in an elaborate drawing room whose white, gold-trimmed walls and high cathedral ceiling bespoke the luxury of a bygone era. He noticed that Connie locked the door behind him as he entered.
She rolled up a portable bar. He told her what he wanted to drink, and she fixed it for him, mixing the drinks as efficiently as a man. He had always thought there was something mannish about Connie Satterlee. Not about her body, God knew; she was as supple and feminine as any cunt ever was. But her personality was a man's personality. She had an urge to dominate, to take charge. She wasn't designed for sitting around in genteel idleness and letting men make the decisions for her.
Physically, she was a short, broad-shouldered redhead, just under forty. She was graceful and sleek but gave the impression of having tremendous physical as well as mental strength. Her tits were round and full and high, her arms slender, her ass agreeably flaring. Jack Pierce knew all these things about her-and knew, too, that her legs were tapered and beautiful-not because he had fucked her, but simply because he read the newspapers. The First Lady of I.E.C. enjoyed taking photographs in bathing suits, the photographers enjoyed photographing her that way, and the papers enjoyed printing the photographs. She had even made the front pages once in a most revealing bikini.
But this particular night Jack Pierce found out a little more about Connie's anatomy than could be determined by the most diligent study of the newspapers.
They had a couple of drinks apiece. They sat close together on the couch. After a while Jack kissed her. She kissed back, tongue ramming aggressively against his mouth.
She said, and made it sound like a command: "Make love to me, Jack."
He didn't undress her. There wasn't time; he really had to get back to that meeting, he knew. So he simply lifted her skirt. He pulled it up around her waist, and was a little startled to find she wasn't wearing any panties. Stockings, yes. Garter-belt, yes. The garter straps encircled her waist, but between them nothing covered her but skin. She was stripped and ready for action, her cuntlips moistly pouting at him....
She laughed. "I just figured I might meet somebody with an interesting cock tonight," she told him, as he looked at her unexpected naked pussy.
He shoved his prick right up her cunt and started fucking her.
Jack Pierce was not the greatest and most virile lover in the world, but he knew how to please a woman. And Connie Satterlee was not a woman who was difficult to please. No lengthy preliminaries were needed.
And so that was a brief but most enjoyable screw as he shot his load into her writhing cunt and then Jack was getting up and adjusting his clothes, and Connie was lying there gasping and smiling a Mona Lisa smile, and then she pulled her dress down over her twat, still dribbling with his sperm and her cunt-juice and said, "I'll see you again some time, lover." He had gone back to the meeting and made it go the way he wanted it to go.
She had seen him again, and he fucked her again.
Again and again and again.
That had been September, and now it was the following July, and Jack Pierce knew every square inch of Connie Satterlee's cuntlips and cunt-hole by heart. His business position required him to make the trip to the town of Broughton at least once a week, and sometimes more often, to confer with the President of I.E.C. He did so. And he also found the opportunity for a little screw with the President's wife, once a week, sometimes more often.
And so, Connie Satterlee knew him pretty well by now, too. She knew the ways he liked to fuck and she knew what he liked to eat for breakfast, and she also knew that he was passionately desperate to have her husband name him as Senior Vice-President.
The place where they met, all the time, was a motel three miles from Broughton. The routine was always the same. Jack would drive out there and register for a room under the alias of "Mr. Rogers." Meanwhile, Connie would travel out to the motel aboard a municipal bus, or sometimes by taxi. She did not dare use a limousine, of course. The license plate would give her away. She always came in disguise: dowdy loose-fitting clothes, purchased especially for the purpose, and a big dumpy hat with a speckled veil, and whorishly thick make-up, and thick horn-rimmed spectacles. Nobody, but nobody, could recognize the shapeless, middle-aged woman as President Satterlee's chic wife.
They had been getting away with their secret humping for months, now. Jack had been a little worried at first, but not any more.
On this particular rainy July day, he reached the motel in mid-afternoon, checked in, and made himself comfortable. He had brought a fifth of bourbon with him, and while waiting for Connie he bought some mixer and some ice cubes from the vending machines in the corridor. She arrived half an hour later.
"Hello, gorgeous," he said.
She gave him a grimace. In her disguise, she looked absolutely hideous, and the high humidity contributed to the effect of the dumpy hausfrau.
"Wise guy," she said. "Fix me a drink while I get this garbage off me."
He poured drinks, while she stripped out of her formless clothes and scrubbed some of the make-up from her face. In a few moments, she was nude. He handed her a stiff drink. Walking to the window, he unslatted the blind for a moment, looking out at the driving gray rain. Then he looked back at her, taking in the supple contours of her nude, beautiful body.
She was good to look at, all right.
Her breasts were round as apples, only bigger than apples usually grow, and with luscious nipples. Her waist was narrow, her hips wide, her legs solid. Her asscheeks had a meatiness to them that Jack appreciated, but there was nothing blubbery about her; it was good solid hump, the kind a man enjoys getting his hands on.
"Finish your drink," she said. "Get undressed."
He nodded. He was accustomed to being bossed by her. He didn't really mind at all.
He removed his clothes. She came over to him and put her arms around him. They stopped facing each other, the tips of her breasts just barely grazing his skin. He was on the short side, only five feet nine, and he enjoyed being six inches taller than her. His own wife, Jean, was practically his own height, and that had always made Jack uncomfortable.
On the other hand, Jack had always regarded himself as the master in his own household. But here, this relatively small woman had a will that more than matched his own. She always called the tune.
They kissed lightly at first, then more passionately, his tongue caressing her mouth, her breasts rubbing against him, flattening against him, the nipples like two hard little drills in his skin. His arms enfolded her and slid down her back, down to her gorgeous asscheeks.
His hands played out over them. His fingertips crept about her asshole and then underneath to her cuntlips. He could detect the warmth of her wet cunt. She began to pant, to move her tits and pussy against him.
But she would not have been Connie if she had let him take the lead in their fucking. Jack waited for her to make her move, and it was not long in coming.
She pushed him gently down until he was seated on the edge of the bed.
Then she knelt before him.
Her head lowered. Her lips parted. Jack gasped in pleasure as she went into action, sucking his dong-head and then sliding her lips up and down his stiff shaft....
Sucking his cock like this was about the most subservient thing a woman could possibly do for a man. Yet somehow Connie did not seem subservient. She remained in charge, she remained dominant, even as she crouched there, giving him a blow-job in a way that could usually be interpreted as an abject surrender.
Jack's breath came in irregular little bursts as passion took hold of his burning cock. He wondered vaguely if Connie ever sucked off her husband. Quite probably she had. But Jean rarely if ever would give his pecker a blow job. She had once said, when he asked her to, that she didn't enjoy sucking him off and since that time cock-sucking just hadn't been part of their marital repertoire.
He closed his eyes.
He stroked her thick red hair.
He reached down, caught hold of her firm breasts, and gripped them tight, letting the nipples jut out between his fingers.
A long moment passed. The only sounds in the room were those of Jack's pleasured gasping, and Connie's lips sucking his cock wetly. Jack wondered if she intended to keep working right to the finish and let him shoot his load in her mouth. That would be out of character, he thought. Connie didn't go in for merely substitute fulfillment. She would want real pleasure at first hand, and she couldn't get that with his scum in her mouth.
He was right.
She got to her feet, and he saw that her eyes were horny and smoky with lust, that her lips were slack, that her breasts were rising and falling in agitation, that her tits were standing out in fierce rigidity.
"Lie down," she told him throatily. "On your ass."
Jack understood. He stretched out on his back.
This was one of Connie's favorite ways of making love. She had a number of favorites. They were all fine with her, all except the usual one. She found it somehow degrading and humiliating to let a man get on top and fuck her. That was good enough for millions of American women every night, but not for Connie. To her, that kind of fucking was a symbol of man's unwarranted assumption of mastery over women.
This way of screwing was a lot more agreeable to her, in a symbolic sense.
Because this way, Connie was the boss.
She moved to position, settling her moist cunt professionally on his stiff prick.
Jack Pierce gasped in passionate delight as she slid her hot cunt all the way down on his cock.
She began to work, gently at first, then more violently. Jack looked at her and saw her breasts, leaping and jiggling in front of his face, shiny with sweat, the nipples blazing like beacons. Her tits were doing a horny little dance of lust. He reached up and grabbed them. They were as hard as the breasts of a statue. When Connie became excited her knockers grew in some mysterious way.
She fucked faster, and then faster, spinning vigorously, using his stiff prick.
They were both sighing and panting, now. Connie was enormously skillful at screwing in this manner. She had had a lifetime of experience, a liftetime of demanding her cunt's pleasure from men. She knew exactly how to give any man's cock maximum stimulation, how to make the cunning cuntlips and clitoris ply their trade in the right way.
Connie brushed her breasts across Jack's chest, then raised herself a little and let his questing lips close over her hard, red nipples. Jack kissed one tit and then the other hungrily as Connie's belly, buttocks and hot cunt kept up a maddening rhythm. His pulsing prick was engulfed in the flame of her cunt's heat. She frenziedly began to quicken her humping pace and moaned as Jack nibbled those ruby nipples.
"I like that, lover," she gasped and her cunt went into frenzied working as a shudder shot through her body.
Jack groaned with each maddening grind of her pussy. His prick was reaching the point of no return.
Suddenly, Connie screamed "Fuck me all the way now, Jack!" as convulsive spasms of come ecstasy wracked her. It spurred him into shooting his load of hot scum into her cunt with a furious rush of intermingling mindless pleasure. She clung to him, her slippery cunt and buttocks still twitching spasmodically as they were both lost in the ultimate sensation of a sweet orgasm.
After their breath stopped whistling through their nostrils, the tycoon's wife asked her husband's star executive, "You like?" Then she wantonly swung her big, soft tits slowly across his face.
"Who says you can't mix business with pleasure?" the star executive murmured as his lips caressed each of Connie's tempting nipples. What a woman his cock felt ready for another hump-session.
CHAPTER THREE
Jerry Trent was at the age when the fires of physical hump-desire were so urgent and still so new, that there was the constant temptation to achieve joyful release all by his lonesome. As a matter-of-fact, until he had started working at Fowler's Emperium, the hot petting sessions he had with his girl friend, Edie Coleman, would arouse him to fever pitch, then it would stop there because he was very "idealistic" about her. So he'd go home, lie in his bed and before he knew it his own hands would give him the quick, sharp ecstatic release of masturbation. Heck, he thought, as he wiped the globs of hot sperm from his cock, it was better than maybe getting Edie in trouble.
But now he would see that the fancy tales about horny, cock-hungry housewives that the other delivery men at Fowler's had been leeringly telling him were not exaggerated. If he could judge by his own hump-experiences, they were being modest!
His first encounter had come on his fourth day at work. He had delivered a package from the department store to Mrs. Bruno, over in Oak Street. Mrs. Bruno was a little past thirty, and her husband, Vic Bruno, the grocer, was a little past sixty and had a grown daughter older than his wife. The current Mrs. Bruno had a pretty gaudy reputation around town, so Jerry was expecting some kind of horny excitement when he made his delivery.
He wasn't disappointed.
Mrs. Bruno's approach wasn't very subtle. As he came up the driveway, he caught sight of her watching from one of the ground floor windows. She was wearing a housecoat when he saw her in the window, but when she answered the door she was wearing nothing at all. Under the circumstances, it wasn't hard to take the hint, and Jerry went inside and gave her cunt plenty of the stiff prick that she wanted.
Unfortunately Rosa Bruno was somewhat pudgy, and smelled of garlic and worse things, and all in all was not the most attractive woman Jerry had ever seen, nude or otherwise. Still, he knew better than to turn her down. Someone had once warned him that you can get into trouble if you turn down a housewife who wants you to lay her. Shell claim you tried to rape her. Better to hold your nose if she has bad cunt-odor and go ahead. So Jerry obediently humped away with Rosa Bruno. A few days later, he had another package to deliver to her, but this time she wasn't home.
His second such encounter had come with a woman named Mrs. Lazlo, who was getting along toward twenty-eight or so, and by all reports was an even hotter piece of ass than Mrs. Bruno. The reports turned out to be slightly inaccurate. Mrs. Lazlo, like Mrs. Bruno enjoyed fooling around with delivery boys. But she did not want to fuck them in what Jerry Trent considered the usual method of screwing.
He found that out when he had stripped off all of her clothes and all of his, and had wedged his hand against her pretty pink cuntlips and was about to shove in his dick.
"No," she said.
"If you weren't going to fuck," Jerry said, "Why did you let me get this far?"
"Don't worry," she said. "I know other ways of making a man happy."
So she made love to Jerry with her lily-white hands for a while. Then her ruby lips descended on his dong and gave him a terrific blow-job, and he went away having shot his load right down her throat, though a mite puzzled.
Mrs. Bruno and Mrs. Lazlo, and then Mrs. Ross-three women frigging him in less than a month. That was okay, Jerry figured.
But the Bruno and Lazlo deals had been strictly one-shot quickies. But Jean Pierce-
A full-scale frigging affair!
She couldn't get enough of his big cock. That first day, after she had screwed him right, left and sideways, and he had told her half a million times that he simply had to get back on his delivery route, she hadn't let go of his dick until he had promised to come back and visit her the next day.
And he had.
And the day after that.
The woman was really insatiable. She was absolutely crawling. There was something sick, he thought, about the way she begged him to come and fuck her.
It puzzled the hell out of him. It also left him mildly fatigued, though not seriously so. A boy of nineteen is in his absolute fucking prime, and Jerry was a particularly healthy and sturdy boy. Still, a daily hump workout with Jean and a full-time job and studying on the side and his nightly dates with Edie-it kept him hopping.
He didn't fuck with Edie, of course. He was in love with Edie, so he kept her pussy pure. That way he could feel virtuous, and also save some energy for his daily hump-session with Jean Pierce. But he wondered how Edie would feel if she knew the truth.
Edie assumed he wasn't a virgin, he figured. But did Edie know just how often he was really fucking, and with whom?
Edie could be very innocent at times.
But it wasn't because Edie wanted to be innocent.
Jerry got a little bit of an awakening on Saturday night, when he took Edie to the movies. The place was a regular passion-pit, and Jerry had on at least two different occasions fucked a girl right in the car while ostensibly watching a film at the drive-in. When he went there with Edie, though, he was always the soul of chastity.
More or less.
She curled up in the crook of his arm, and they watched the movie for a while, and then when the movie started to get to be a drag, he began to open her blouse.
Edie smiled at him. She didn't object. She liked that.
Jerry had never gone further with her than that. It was purely through his own choice. He had no doubt that, if he wanted to be, he could make Edie fuck for him with the greatest of ease. But he wanted to keep Edie up on that pedestal, pure and with her cherry unbroken until their wedding night.
He unbuttoned her blouse.
He unsnapped her bra.
Edie made a little soft purring sound. She snuggled closer to him. Jerry nudged the cups of her brassiere out of the way and slipped his big hands down and around the twin mounds of her ripe young titties.
Jerry tenderly kissed the top of her head. Her hair was bright as gold, soft as silk. It had the sweet smell of freshly washed hair, unanointed with any sort of spray or gook.
His hands encircled her breasts. Edie had terrific tits, milky white, wonderfully smooth to touch. And big. She was only five feet four, but she had a pair of knockers as big as any that Jerry had ever seen.
He played with them. He ran the balls of his thumbs over her little pink nipples, and felt them turning hard. There was the throb of desire in his erecting pecker, but he fought it away with ease born of long practice. Edie wasn't to be fucked, he told himself. If he got heated up tonight, well, he'd just have to shoot his load with Jean Pierce.
"Jerry?"
Jerry smiled and leaned forward, burying his face against those two sweet-smelling swells of virginal young tit. He kissed the spot where her breasts met, and then he kissed the inside curve of her titties, and then he brought his lips down over each rosy nipple in turn.
Edie sighed.
Edie panted.
Then she did something that she had never done before-at least, so far as Jerry knew. She reached out and put her hand on his parts, right over his bulging cock.
Jerry was shocked.
He just didn't think of Edie as the sort of girl who would do that to a boy. But there she was. He wished there were some way of hiding, but there wasn't.
Jerry was embarrassed.
But Edie didn't seem to be. He lifted his head from her tits, and looked at her, and saw that her eyes were closed and her mouth was slack and her expression was a dreamy and lustful one. She puckered for him.
He kissed her. Her lips were soft and red, and when he put his lips to them he found that her mouth was open, and their tongues met. His hands went to her breasts again, cupping their soft tenderness. Jerry felt very confused all of a sudden. In his past necking sessions with Edie they had never gone quite this far. He had played with her bare tits, and he had kissed her, and sometimes it had been a kiss like this one, but she had never touched him, she had never looked quite so ready to let herself go all the way, cherry or not....
Jerry didn't know what to do. He lifted his head, looked at the motion picture screen as though for guidance, found no answers there. He glanced across at the car parked just to the left of him, and was rewarded by a glimpse of some girl's bare ass as she turned around to get into a more comfortable position, and a moment later a dark-tipped breasts gleamed barely in the moonlight for an instant, and then a boy's hand clamped it and the screwing couple disappeared from sight in the depths of car.
Jerry covered Edie's breasts again. Her hand was still touching as though she wanted to open his zipper but did not quite have the courage to take such a hold step without encouragement from him. He was half tempted to take her jeans off-he had never seen her naked below the waist-but he knew that if he actually saw her cunt there would be no holding back, and something would happen here in the drive-in that he had hoped would happen under more dignified and legal circumstances.
She took her lips from his.
"Jerry, honey?"
"Baby."
"Do you love me?"
"Of course I do."
"Tell me."
"I love you," he said.
"Then why don't you act like you do?"
"Huh?"
"You don't understand what I mean," she said. "You don't want me. I mean, like a man ought to want a woman."
"Edie-" he began uncomfortably.
"You think I'm ugly?"
"Edie you're gorgeous. It's just that-that oh, hell, Edie, it isn't right!"
"Why not?"
"We got to wait till we're married," he said, feeling like an idiot.
"I want you to do it to me!" Edie whispered. "I don't want to have to wait years and years Jerry. I'm getting older all the time. I'm going to be seventeen soon, you know that? That's old enough to kiss my virginity goodbye, isn't it?"
Jerry bit his lip. He fumbled around for something to say that wouldn't sound like the preaching of a Dutch uncle, and finally came up with, "We don't want to rush things, baby, do we? We might spoil some things that have been beautiful, so far."
"Or we might make them more beautiful."
"No," he said. "We'd just make them ugly and dirty."
"Is love ugly and dirty?"
"It can be Edie, in a drive-in theater. That isn't love, then. Just-just a dirty kind of fun."
"I think you're wrong, Jerry. That is, I don't mean I know for real, not yet, but I think love can be wonderful even in a place like this."
He shook his head. "For you and me, baby, things have to happen perfectly. And that means not there."
They were silent for a moment. She took her hand away. After an interval she said, "Are you very angry with me, Jerry?"
"Why should I be angry?"
"For saying what I said."
He shrugged. "I'm not angry."
"But you're upset. You don't respect me because ... because I wanted to be loved. You think I'm a tramp."
"That's not true!"
"Of course it isn't," she whispered fervently. "But it is. I want to know that I'm part of you, that you're part of me. We've been going together a long time, Jerry. Long enough so that we ought to-ought to start being part of each other."
"Maybe," he admitted.
"It isn't natural," she said earnestly. "Us petting part way like this. Everybody else goes all the way! Why can't we?"
"Because we love each other," he told her. "Because we're going to get married, and we don't want to start off on the wrong foot."
"Maybe you're right," she said.
She dropped the point. They cuddled up again, and he played with her heaving titties in a mildly exciting way, and when the movie was over she put her bra back on and he drove her home, and they went into her house for a snack. Jerry was in a troubled mood. He wanted to fuck Edie, always had, and now she obviously was getting impatient about her desires for him.
Should he give in?
He didn't know. All his adolescence he had believed that there were two kinds of girls, the kind you fucked with and the kind you married. Edie was the kind you married.
He could see her cooking for him, raising his kids-and sharing his bed. She was a nice, sweet, domestic sort of kid. But if he screwed her now, it would break up his marriage plans. He'd never be able to trust her. A girl who'd fuck with one guy before marriage would screw with a regiment, was the way he figured. Even if she was a virgin now and he was positive she was-how could he be sure she'd stay faithful to him between now and the wedding night?
Jerry wasn't having any part of that. He wanted to know that on his wedding night, he was the first to shove his cock in. He wanted his bride to squeal with pain as he broke her cherry with his stiff dick. If his cock broke her maidenhead a year or a year and a half ahead of time, he'd never be sure afterward.
On the other hand, Edie was obviously getting impatient. If he made her wait too long, he might lose her altogether. He didn't want that to happen, either.
He didn't know what to do.
He didn't do anything, that night. Except to kiss Edie good night and tell her he loved her. Then he got into his car and drove around town for a while, feeling mixed up about everything.
His cock and balls were aching, too. The feel of her soft breasts still tingled against his palms. There was the coppery taste of hump-desire in his mouth. He had a headache from frustration. He ached in other places too. The trouble with a really passionate necking session, he thought, was that it gave you a hell of a pain.
He kept on driving, more or less at random, and he found himself in a suburban district, the area of expensive homes where Jack and Jean Pierce lived. He turned up into their street.
It was past midnight on Saturday night, and he didn't really expect anything much to happen. But he came down their street and slowed the car and stopped it in front of the Pierce house, and was startled to see Jean standing by one of the upstairs windows looking out.
He stuck his head out of the car window. No other lights were on in the house. He waved up at her.
She saw him. She waved too. But it wasn't just a yoo-hoo wave. She was beckoning him. She was telling him to come into the house!
Jerry stared, not sure he fully understood. She continued to wave, more insistently. Then she vanished from the window. He got out of the car. He strolled up the front walk. As he reached the door, it opened. Jean stood there, wearing nothing but a nightgown of transparent fabric that showed off all the opulent splendor of her swelling breasts and solid ass. Jerry, his cock already stimulated to the bursting point, thought he would flip altogether at the sight of her.
"Damn, am I glad to see you!" she cried. "Come in!"
"Your husband-"
"He isn't home. You think I'd invite you in like this if he was?"
He stepped inside. A moment later, Jean had her arms around him. Her lips went to his; her lush, voluptuously full body ground against his bulging cock and balls. He thought he'd shoot his load then and there....
"How did you know I wanted you?" Jean asked.
"I didn't. I took my girl home, and then I was just driving around killing time."
"I've been alone all evening. Jack was called upstate for an important conference. And I've been standing upstairs, looking out the window, praying you'd drive along. I never dreamed you would. And then all of a sudden, you were there! It was like a miracle!"
Her eyes were sparkling. Her tits rose and fell in the heated agitation of passion. Jerry felt his own hard-on pounding triple-time, and the throb in his balls became uncontrollably intense.
He started to go toward her.
She said, "You want to have a drink first?"
"Nope, Come here."
She came to him.
He got the nightgown off her in two seconds flat, laying bare the tawny, flawless nudity of her. Then she stood there, panting and heaving, while he relieved himself of his own clothing. Her eyes glistened all the more at the sight of his enormous erect prick, thoroughly ready for fucking after his session at the drive-in with Edie.
His mouth crushed against hers. He wedged one hand between them to grasp her tits, the other shot down her back and took a firm hold of her asscheeks.
Her cunt moved against his prick. Her tongue flicked like a serpent's. She drove him half mad.
They toppled together to the carpet.
There'd be no looking at pinups or jerking himself off tonight. Boy, he thought as her heaving tits seemed to come up into his face, these real knockers are a lot better than pinups. His tongue closed around each, rigid, crimson nipple, and as he nibbled them wetly, Jean twisted and wriggled her cuntlips at the tantalizing sensations from her breasts. Her legs squirmed on the floor as Jerry's hands cupped and squeezed her full buttocks. She caressed his proud young cock with her warm hands. She parted the warm lips of her cunt and quickly guided him within her vagina. She encircled his muscular young torso with her legs and began to work her belly, buttocks and cunt up and down his cock with a steady grind.
"Jean, Jean, you're terrific!" he moaned. His hands on her asscheeks increased her frantic twat-movements and as his flood tide of jolting jets of hot sperm tore into her hot cunt, they came to the pinnacle of ecstatic orgasm.
Jerry felt like a real grown-up man as Jean muffled her joyous come cries against his shoulder.
CHAPTER FOUR
Today's appointment on her social calendar was something she had been awaiting with ill-concealed eagerness. Mrs. Connie Satterleee, wife of the President of International Electronics Corporation, would he having a friendly visit and tea with Mrs. Grace Richards. Grace's husband Walter B. Richards, was the young, energetic but stodgy Space Equipment Division Manager of I. E. C.
For a meeting that promised little more than the usual company gossip and playing of corporation politics, Connie seemed anxious indeed. She kept looking expectantly out of her huge sitting room window down the driveway to the Satterlee mansion.
Finally, the maroon Continental convertible she had been awaiting impatiently, rolled up the doorway. Mrs. Grace Richards had arrived.
Grace was only twenty-nine. She was a sleek, well-built girl with close-cropped dark hair, she dressed in the latest fashion and was something of a pace-setter in women's styles, though her attempt to appear chic, and sophisticated was marred somewhat by her tendency to gain weight. Grace looked a trifle pudgy. Her tits and ass were heftier than she was really pleased about. She was a soft, cuddly-looking girl, probably the prettiest wife any Division head had ever had. Her husband, like most of the current crop of important men in I. E. C. management, was quite young, just thirty-seven.
However, he had eleven solid years of field service behind him and when Robert M. Satterlee had headed up I. E. C. two years ago, Walt Richards had been picked to head the important Space Equipment Division of I. E. C. He knew how to play the right kind of big company politics-and his attractive wife was an asset.
The secretary showed Grace into the presence of Connie Satterlee. Connie smiled graciously. The tea-cups were all ready. The secretary smiled too, and departed.
After that, the script rapidly diverged from the standard afternoon-political-tea scene.
Connie locked the door.
Connie drew the blinds.
Connie turned to the younger woman, and wrapped her arms around her, drawing the voluptuous, cuddly Grace close.
"Darling," Connie murmured. "I've missed you so much!"
"I know what you mean. I've been counting the days till I could see you again."
"I could have kicked Bob when he sent you and Walt off on that stupid investigating trip. Three whole weeks without your sweet pussy, darling."
"Three weeks of hell. But I'm back."
"At last," Connie smiled. "Shall we have some tea, Madame Division Manager?"
"Let's have the tea later, shall we, Mrs. President?"
They chuckled, and they laughed, and then they embraced and kissed.
And then Connie opened an inner door, and they left the drawing room and went into the bedroom that adjoined it.
And then they took off their clothes.
And then they hopped onto the bed.
These little frigging get-togethers had been taking place for a year and a half now, ever since Connie had discovered that the wife of the Space Equipment Division manager had the same sort of inclinations that she herself had. Neither Connie nor Grace was a full-time Lesbian or ever had been. Men's cocks were too interesting and too useful. If you married the right man, you could get power, prestige, comfort. And, of course, if you married a man, you were supposed to fuck with him fairly often.
So they had humps with their husbands. And sometimes with other men too, when the inclination to try out a new cock struck.
But the best fun of all was frigging each other.
Connie had discovered the joys of the woman-to-woman frigging when she was only sixteen. Grace had not tumbled to the illicit pleasures of lesbianism until the age of twenty-three, at which time she found herself married to a hard-working young business man. By this time, both women had had plenty of practice in the art of humping with other girls.
They stripped fast. They swept into each other's arms. Connie sighed as she felt the hard points of Grace's nipples jabbing her own tits.
Grace had marvelous breasts, Connie thought. They were big, bigger than grapefruits and a lot more interesting to touch. Grace thought her breasts were much to big, but Connie thought they were just right. Connie who played the masculine role, liked a girly girl, a highly feminine girl, a soft and jiggly girl.
A voluptuous girl like Grace.
She filled her hands with Grace's abundant breasts. She drank at the fountain of Grace's lips. She caressed Grace's soft, overflowing body, drawing her fingertips sensously down the younger girl's satiny skin.
Grace repaid the compliments. She seized Connie's tits in her own hands, gripped them, toyed with them, made their ruby nipples stand up tall. She stroked Connie's firm, well-packed asscheeks. She put her lips to Connie's smooth skin, and drew the kiss downward towards her bush and cuntlips.
Grace was very agile, very skillful.
Connie gasped in pleasure as Grace supplied a demonstration of her skill of cunt-lapping.
Then it was Connie's turn to do the loving up. She dug her fingers against cool smooth flesh, and performed for Grace the delightful cunt-kissing that Grace had just performed for her. Turn about, after all, was only fair play.
Since they were well-versed in the art of giving each other cunt-pleasure, Grace and Connie soon moved on to the next stage in their amours, which involved a simultaneous bestowal of affection, or good old "Sixty-nine."
And then, when they were both panting and a little dizzy with passion, it was time for the grand finale.
They worked, wildly mouthing each other's clitoris and cuntlips.
They gasped.
Body thrusting, cunningly against body. Pleasure was duly obtained. Higher and yet higher, bodies rosy with excitement and glistening with perspiration, and then came the laughing, gasping moment of completion, the electrifying moment of mutual female orgasm.
The consummation of their strange desire swept over them like fire blazing through timber-dry prairie land.
Then the two women were lying in a naked, huddled, happy heap.
"Hell," Connie said. "I needed the taste of your darling pussy!"
"Three weeks! So did I."
"The stockholders ought to see us," Connie said. "What a front-page story a picture of our little frigging session would make."
"No," Grace said. "It wouldn't. No newspaper would dare to print it. Too hot to handle."
"You're probably right."
"I know I am," Grace said. She leaned forward and kissed the still swollen tip of Connie's left breast.
Connie said, 'Tell me about your trip. Did you meet anyone interesting?"
"Not really. Just a bunch of cigar-chewing business men and their middle-aged wives."
"How dull."
"It was unutterably dull," Grace said. "There was o e interesting girl, though."
"Oh?"
"Jean Pierce," Grace said. "Her husband's down in Harrison City. Do you know her?"
"I've met her a few times," Connie said. "I know her husband a lot better. Jack is up here pretty often on business."
"Jean's a gorgeous girl," Grace said.
Connie nodded. "She certainly is."
"But moody. I spent only half an hour with her, and yet I thought I could see right through her. She's restless and bored. Her husband neglects her sex needs for business the way Walt neglects me and Bob neglects you. Jean's searching for something. I got the feeling her life's empty to her."
"Maybe she's searching for a lover," Connie suggested.
"Oh, I imagine she's got some prick-pusher," Grace said. "But even that doesn't satisfy her. She needs something different in her life. You know, Connie? I bet that girl can be made."
"Jean? Made by whom?"
"You," Grace said. "Or me."
Grace had planted an idea in Connie's head. The more Connie studied the idea, the more she liked it. She poked at it from every angle, and it stood up straight and tall.
Jean Pierce. Why not?
Connie had met Jean at various business functions; they knew each other well enough to recognize one another without a name tag, but they were hardly close friends. That didn't matter; Connie had her ways of striking up a fast acquaintanceship.
Connie was always interested in some new form of titillation. And this was one notion that had never really occurred to her before, but which she saw had very agreeable possibilities. She was already fucking for Jack Pierce. Why not frig Jean now?
Screw with the husband, screw with the wife?
Why not?
From liking the idea to putting it into effect was, for Connie, a short and simple step. Two days after her little tet-a-tete with Grace Richards, Connie was on the telephone, calling long distance to Jean Pierce.
"Darling," she said, "I'm going to be down your way tomorrow, and I thought perhaps I might drop in to visit you in the early afternoon. Would that be all right?"
"Of course," Jean said immediately. Damned right it would be all right, if the boss' wife wanted to stop by for a spot of conversation! "But you know, my husband won't be at home tomorrow. He's got a meeting up in-"
"Yes, I know," Connie said. "Hell be seeing Bob, as a matter-of-fact. But that's all right. We can find plenty to talk about, just the two of us, I'm sure."
"What time can I expect you?"
"Say, half past one?" Connie said. "Right after lunch, that is."
The following morning, Connie ordered her limousine to be ready at ten o'clock. She didn't bother telling her husband where she was going. He was busy with his business preoccupations-why should he care? She simply said she was going to be away all day, and he nodded, and that was that.
It took a little over an hour to make the trip, via the turnpike. Connie spent another hour browsing around the downtown stores, then had a light lunch in midtown, and headed for the suburban home of Jack and Jean Pierce. She was there about twenty minutes to two. The day was hot and sunny, dry and crisp, a perfect summer day.
Jean was all aflutter. Clearly she regarded it as a Very Big Deal Indeed to be visited by so august a personage as the wife of the boss. The house, which was a handsome, expensive-looking one, was spic and span, and Jean looked delectable and eminently sensual in her best informal summer frock, which molded the supple lines of her breasts and ass in a fashion that Connie highly appreciated.
Jean had made tea, and caviar sandwiches, and various other hors d'oeuvres. They sat in the garden, behind the house, and nibbled daintily for a while, while Connie told her what a lovely house this was, and what a lovely frock she was wearing, and how delightfully lovely her hair looked worn the way she was wearing it.
Then a little while later, Connie decided to get down to business.
"I see a lot of your husband around I. E. C. headquarters," Connie said, apropos of nothing very much.
"Yes, Jack is always up there," Connie went on. "Bob seems to confer with him all the time."
"Yes, so I gather," Jean said.
There was an edge to her tone that revealed many things. Connie said easily, "I guess you must feel lonely at times, having to stay here while Jack commutes back and forth."
"It isn't so bad," Jean said. "I realize his work is important to I. E. C."
"Even so, a young, attractive gal like you doesn't enjoy being left to wither on the vine. You must feel like a widow half the time."
"Wei-"
"You don't need to pretend, darling. I understand your position perfectly, because I'm in it myself. These men, always busy, always dealing with the cares of the business world and-we're left to amuse ourselves half the time."
Jean sighed. "You're so right, Connie."
"And the more capable a man is, the more ambitious he is, the less his wife gets to see of him. There are times when Bob and I are like two strangers. He's too busy even to say hello to me," Connie said.
"Isn't it the truth!"
Connie studied Jack Pierce's wife with interest. She wondered what it would be like to get her hands on those two round delicious-looking titties bulging under the frock.
She wondered if Jean Pierce's legs were really as attractive as they seemed to be when she crossed them. She wondered if Jean Pierce were passionate when she was frigging....
She wondered a whole lot of things.
She pictured herself in bed, and Jean Pierce in the same bed, and both of them naked. And suddenly such a rush of desire surged through Connie's cunt that she hastily gulped down tea and bit into a sandwich and clamped her knees tightly together, to cover her confusion.
Then she said, "Jack is a very ambitious man, isn't he?"
"He's got his dreams," Jean said. "And he's got the ability to get to higher places."
"Yes. Yes, I'm sure of that."
"He's got some goals in mind," Jean said. "Of course, I know he'd love to be a Senior Vice President. He's terribly loyal to Bob, you know. He thinks the world of him. Just the other day Jack said to me that Bob was one of the three best business men in the nation."
Connie nodded. It was only to be expected that Jack's wife would put in a little buttering up. Connie didn't mind the obviousness of it. If she were in Jean's position, she knew she'd be doing the same thing.
Connie said, "I had a long talk with Jack one night when he was up at the Broughton office. He told me all about his hopes for the future. He told me how badly he wants to become a Vice-President for instance."
"Yes. That's his big dream. He'd give almost anything to be an I. E. C. Vice-President."
Connie smiled. She gave Jean a long, slow, searching look, beginning with Jean's jet-black hair and moving right down to her cunt at an unhurried pace over the lush hills and valleys of her well-stacked body.
Connie Satterlee's bold stare momentarily disconcerted Jean, and she looked at her clothing and wondering if something were wrong. She found Connie smiling at her enigmatically as she asked, "Are you sincere when you say you'd do anything to help Jack get the Senior Vice-Presidency at I. E. C?"
"Of course I would!" Jean answered. "But I don't quite see what you're driving at, Mrs. Satterlee."
Connie said, "My husband values my business intuition highly. If I boosted Jack Pierce as Senior Vice-Presidential timber, I assure you, Jack Pierce would soon get his heart's desire."
"I never underestimate the power of a woman," Jean said brightly, "but what can I do?"
Connie's eyes had a strange look of triumph as she brusied her hand against Jean's tit and said. "I'm going to go into "pussy-power" in great detail, Jean dear."
CHAPTER FIVE
"Here I am a red hot kid with a big cock and hot nuts and I can't get a broad," Joey Davis wailed to a group of Fowler's Emperium delivery men at lunch.
"Oh you got an inside job, that's the trouble." Jerry Trent told the pint-size expediter.
The others wasted no sympathy on Joey. They had him tabbed as a schemer strictly out for Joey Davis. Even though he was no older than Jerry Trent, he had conned himself into an easy chair job in the store, and was making more money than the routemen. He loved money and his furtive, foxy brain was always scheming for that extra buck for Joey Davis. Nor was he particular as to how or where he got it.
Despite this, Joey envied Jerry. Jerry was big and strapping and handsome. Joey was small and runty and scruffy-looking. Joey's skin was a sallow, unhealthily olive color, and his nose was a beak, and some of his front teeth had come in crooked, and his eyes were not exactly capable of looking directly into the eyes of someone he might be talking to. Girls did not precisely fall all over themselves to get laid by Joey Davis. He did get some pussy, somehow, but he did it by conniving, by hard work, and by endless maneuvering, whereas an Adonis like Jerry Trent simply had to wear tight pants over his cock and balls and girls appeared.
Joey had nothing personal against Jerry. Joey was just jealous of Jerry's ability to screw girls.
Jerry happened to have more prick appeal then brains. The situation was otherwise with Joey Davis. And so it happened, on a hot midsummer day, that Jerry started bragging to Joey about the women who had practically begged him to frig them while he made his delivery rounds.
"You really ought to get the hell out of the dispatching office and do some deliveries," Jerry told Joey. "You get the damndest hump propositions from women on the route."
"Do tell."
"They practically plaster their twats all over you to get you to go to fuck with them," Jerry said. "It's really disgusting."
"I bet it is," Joey said, considering that many of the women who were glad to fuck for Jerry were unlikely to fuck all over him. "You get any good phone numbers for me?"
"Well, there's the Bruno broad," Jerry said. "She practically raped my cock when I went there."
"Yeah?"
"And a dame named Lazlo. A real screwball, that one. She won't let you put your cock in her cunt, but shell do everything else. Lives over near Pine Lane."
Joey said, "Some guys have all the fuckin' luck."
"There's another one, too. What a piece of ass I must have screwed her ten times in the last two weeks. She can't get enough. Confidentially, that's why I'm running so slow on the deliveries. She's got to have a little cock almost every afternoon."
"Sounds like a cute cookie. Who is she?"
"Oh, I can't tell."
"You told me about the other two."
"Yeah, but they were just horny bitches, and everybody knew about them anyway. This one's different. She's got class. I couldn't tell on her. It wouldn't be like a gentleman to do a thing like that."
Joey was no gentleman himself, but he was an expert at the art of worming information out of those whose wits were not as quick as his own. He wanted to know the name of Jerry's piece of ass mainly so he could file the name away for possible action, but when he found out who she was, he realized he was on to something much bigger than a little cunt-action.
Jerry Trent and Jean Pierce!
Jean Pierce was Jack Pierce's wife. Jack Pierce was a top business executive in Harrison City, a wheel in that bluenose I. E. C. no less. If Jean Pierce happened to be fucking a local teenager, it was big news.
It was pure dynamite.
Joey mulled things over for a while, considering how best to profit from the situation. His first step was to find out if Jerry were merely bragging or not. The next day Joey went out on a delivery route. He had previously worked out Jerry's route, so he knew approximately what time of day Jerry would be getting to the part of town where the Pierces lived, and Joey saw to it that he was quietly waiting in a parked car, a hundred yards away on a diagonal from the Pierce house, when Jerry showed up.
Jerry went in.
Then he came out in about forty-five minutes with a satisfied smirk on his face, and drove away.
That tore it. Trent hadn't been just making noises when he bragged about humping Jean Pierce!
Joey considered blackmailing her, but on mature consideration decided against it. Blackmail was big-time stuff, and he knew he wasn't ready for it. If something backfired, he could be in real mess in a hurry.
It was better to take a limited kind of profit on the deal. Instead of soaking Jean Pierce, the safest thing to do was to sell the story to the newspapers, he figured, and live it up on the proceeds.
This called for some more planning.
There were two newspapers in town, the Harrison City Press, and the "Sun." They were both owned by the same corporation, but they were otherwise different and independent papers, with separate editors, separate staffs, and different scales of pay. The "Press" was the town's prestige paper; its reporters got paid well, and the top people of the town made a point of reading it. The "Sun" was a tabloid, rather sensational and shoddy. It actually had a higher circulation than its more sedate and respectable companion paper, but its staff got notably lower pay. Young reporters imcompetent reporters, and reporters who for some reason had fallen from grace, worked on the "Sun." When a man had served his time there and had distinguished himself in some fashion meriting promotion, he moved across the street to the "Press" and got himself a healthy raise.
The thing to do Joey figured, was to find a hungry reporter, somebody eager to score a scoop and get promoted to the "Tress." He studied a couple of issues of the "Sun", and spotted the by-line of one Bill Fogarty, who seemed to specialize in expose-type stories on civic corruption. Fine.
The next day, Joey presented himself at the "Sun" office and said, "I'd like to see Mr. Bill Fogarty."
The receptionist, a gum-chewing blonde whose big knockers stuck out like twin howitzers, gave Joey a what-rock-did-you-crawl-out from under look and said, "Do you have an appointment with him?"
"He's out covering a story now. He won't be back till later."
"That's all right. I'll wait here."
"What do you want to see him about?"
"I've got a tip for him," Joey said.
He waited. He waited an hour and a half, and then a long-legged jaunty fellow not too much older than Joey walked in, winked at the big-titted receptionist and started to go into the smoke-filled, dingy inner office, when she said, "There's somebody here to see you, Mr. Fogarty."
Joey was on his feet in a minute. "I've got a lead for you," he said. "My name's Joey Davis. I work at Fowler's Emperium. I've uncovered something big, Mr. Fogarty."
"A scandal in the bedspring department?" he asked.
Joey laughed. "It's nothing in the store, Mr. Fogarty. Can we go someplace to talk?"
"My office?"
"Is it private?"
"Not very," Fogarty said. "How about the men's washroom?"
"Sure," Joey said.
In privacy of the locked washroom, Joey spelled out the deal. He had, he said, uncovered information of an explosive sexy nature concerning the immoral behavior of the wife of an important local figure.
"It'll blow the lid off the town," Joey assured the reporter.
Fogarty said, "How solid is this lead?"
"I've checked it out. I spoke to the guy who's actually screwing this chick. I saw him go into her house yesterday afternoon and stay there almost an hour. There's no doubt about that he's really fucking her. None at all."
"All right," Fogarty said. "What'll it cost me?"
"A hundred bucks for the woman's name."
"You think I'm made of money?"
"The paper! I pay you for it."
"Not unless it's true," Fogarty said.
"Suppose you give me thirty bucks on account. I'll give you the name, and you go check. If it turns out I told the truth, you give me the other seventy. I get to keep the thirty in any case."
"Sorry, I've got a kid to support, and a wife with expensive tastes. I can't risk even thirty bucks on a wild rumor."
Joey shrugged. "Okay. I guess I got to go across the street and offer the story to them. You want to unlock the door and let me out of here?"
"Wait," Fogarty said.
"Yeah?"
"I'll give you twenty bucks for that cunt's name. And eighty more if the story's true."
Joey hesitated. "Well ... okay."
He held out his hand. Fogarty counted four grimy five-dollar bills into it.
"Okay. Who's the woman?"
"Mrs. Jack Pierce."
"Are you off your rocker, kid?"
"Go investigate," Joey said. "Don't take my word for it. Around four o'clock tomorrow afternoon a Fowler's delivery truck will pull up outside the Pierce house. A big prick-pusher name of Jerry Trent will go inside. Hell stay there a while. He isn't going there to play gin rummy with her, mister."
Fogarty looked stunned. "Jack Pierce's wife, fucking for an overgrown delivery boy! This really will blow the lid off if it's true."
"Go take a look," Joey urged.
Bill Fogarty went and looked. He saw the Fowler delivery van pull up. He saw-and photographed-Jerry Trent going into the house. Then he went around back, and shinnied through the garden hedges, and peered through the back windows and saw Jean Pierce stark naked on the living room floor, and Jerry Trent just as naked, the two of them fucking away like crazy. Fogarty took a quick photo of that too. Then he got the hell out of there, feeling dazed and shaken.
He drove back to the City Room. On the way, he pondered the situation, deciding what he was going to do. He studied every aspect of the off-beat romance.
If he wrote the story, he'd have a scoop and a promotion, and a raise of 10 dollars a week, 5 dollars if he was lucky. Plus a coveted job on the better paper.
That was nice.
But a different sort of deal might be nicer. Suppose he didn't write the story and made that pay off? He could earn his promotion and his raise on some other assignment, and turn these nude hump photos into good solid cash.
He was twenty-three years old, had one kid and another on the way, and debts aggregating about $5,000, which is a lot of money to owe if you're just making that per year. Joey Davis suddenly provided Fogarty with a way to make inroads into that mountain of debt.
So he kept the story to himself.
And he paid Joey Davis the other eighty bucks out of his own pocket. Which made him a hundred dollars out of pocket so far on this story, an expenditure he could ill afford to make at this point.
Bill Fogarty preferred not to think of the hundred as an expenditure, though. It suited him better to regard it as an investment.
An investment that he hoped would pay him very handsome dividends.
Joey Davis was happy.
He didn't give a damn what the reporter did with the story, now. He could blaze it across the front pages of the "Sun," or he would employ it for some private blackmail scheme of his own, or he could just file it away and forget it as too hot to handle. Joey didn't care. Joey had his hundred bucks, at remarkably little risk or outlay of effort, and the further activities of Bid Fogarty, Jean Pierce or Jerry Trent were of only academic interest to him.
Joey Davis knew exactly what he was going to do with that hundred bucks, too. It was something he had been dreaming of doing for a long time now, if a hundred bucks ever happened to drop from heaven and land in his wallet.
There was a gorgeous piece of ass in town named Dorinne Lee.
Joey Davis lusted after Dorinne's body. It was quite a body to lust after, too. She was in her early twenties, a slim, full-breasted brunette who was such a hot item she would give every man a hard-on when she only walked down the street. She liked to dress in skin-tight garments that displayed her tits and ass in an ideal setting. Her breasts were round and high and close together, her legs were calendar girl legs, her asscheeks were taut and succulent and maddeningly saucy.
Dorinne was available. For a price.
A damned good price, in fact. Dorinne was a call girl, the most expenisve in town. Her telephone number was in the little black books of many of the most important businessmen and civic leaders of Harrison City. They were just about the only ones who could afford to screw her. It cost a hundred bucks to spend the night fucking with Dorinne, Joey knew. If you wanted to spend less than a whole night, half an hour say, it would still cost you a hundred bucks. She didn't like "quickies" and she charged full rate for a fast fuck, to discourage them. If, by some chance, somebody hired her twat and other charms for only an hour or so, she would take the rest of the night off. Dorinne was fastidious that way. She didn't believe in fucking with more than one man the same night. It was a vulgar, promiscuous way to fuck, even for money.
When you make $700 a week just by exercising your cunt, you can afford to be fastidious.
Joey had been dreaming of a night fucking with Dorinne since he had found out about her, a year and a half ago. But it had always been in the realm of fantasy screwing for him. Not now. He dialed her number late that afternoon, a number that he had obtained through the greatest of efforts, and he tingled all over as her sultry tones tickled his ear.
"Hello?"
"Dorinne?"
"That's right."
"My name is Joe Davis," he said, forcing his voice down to his basso profundo. "I'm a business associate of several clients of yours, and they gave me your number. I was wondering if you were free tomorrow night."
"Day after tomorrow," Dorinne said. "Who did you say you were a friend of?"
Joey named three of the most important businessmen in the town, and hoped Dorinne wouldn't go to the extent of checking with them.
"Be here at midnight," Dorinne said. "You know about my rates?"
"Yes," Joey said. "I know all about them."
The hours crawled away, more than fifty of them, endless hours, until the day after tomorrow arrived. Joey had never been through such excruciating tension in his life. Every second brought him closer to shoving his cock into Dorinne.
The evening arrived. He showered, shaved, brushed his teeth till they gleamed. He put on fresh clothes and went out. He lived with his mother, who didn't give a damn whether or not he ever came home again. Joey was planning to come home but not before he was all fucked out.
He reached the swank downtown apartment house where Dorinne lived, rode upstairs in the sleek, noiseless elevator. He had brought her a bouquet of flowers. It struck him as partly a cornball touch, partly a good idea.
He rang the doorbell.
The door opened, and there Dorinne stood, wearing a black silk negligee that covered but scarcely hid at all the supple, lush contours of her body. High jutting tits made the fabric stretch taut. Lush hips flared her out at the ass.
She looked at him and said, "Who the hell are you kid?"
"Joey Davis. We've got a date in bed tonight."
Her eyes widened in astonishment. "You said you were in business!"
"I am," he said, and stepped inside. "Frigging business. Hello Dorinne. You don't know how long I've been waiting for this day to come."
"Get the hell out of here."
He shook his head. "Uh-uh. A date's a date." Joey took the money from his breast pocket-ten ten dollar bills and fanned it out. "See? A hundred buckaroonies. Cash on the barrelhead. Didn't you think I'd pony up?"
She ignored the money. "I'm particular about my clientele," she said. "I'm not in business to give hard-ons to kids."
"I'm no kid."
"You look like one."
"Try humping for me and see."
She pointed to the door. "Come back with your hard-on in ten years," she said. "And grow a new face before you do."
Joey didn't lose his temper. He said, "If you throw me out of here, you'll regret it."
"Oh?"
"I've got important friends. That's how I got your number. Suppose I tell my important friends you gave me a hard time? That you made a hump date with me and then tried to back out? Come on, Dorinne. Take the dough. Cut the crud."
"You think I'm afraid of you?"
"You ought to be. I could send a reporter from the "Sun" around to make trouble for you. Guy name of Bill Fogarty. How'd you like him to do a write up on local vice, with you as the star of the story?"
Dorinne sighed. "You friggin' little jerk," she said, "all right. I guess you get to lay me after all. Give me the money."
"Gladly."
She took the bills from him and quickly stashed them out of sight in a dresser drawer. When she turned to face him again, her manner had changed. She no longer seemed sullen and annoyed. Professional whore that she was, she had slipped into the role of an eager fucker. Men paid her to give them a good frigging time, and once she had taken their money, she did her level best to give their cocks a good job, blow, straight screw or trip around the world.
"Well?" she said. "What do you want me to do?"
"Get undressed, first. We can take if from there."
She nodded. With a sinuously fluid motion that was the incarnation of voluptuous eroticism, she drew the negligee over her head. An instant later, she was peeling away the shiny black silk bikini-style scan ties underneath.
And then she was wholly naked, and Joey Davis was finally seeing the body that he had dreamed about for so long.
She was a terrific piece of ass!
She was slender, and tawny, and graceful as a big cat. Her big tits burst out of her chest miraculously, two swollen melons of sensuous knocker tipped with dark, large nipples. The width of her hips flowed marvelously into the heavy globes of her asscheeks. Her bush and cunt eminently designed for love.
Joey walked over to her. He put his hands on her breasts. She stood there, letting him handle her, and he began rotating the nipples, pressing hard, feeling the nipples go stiff in response to the stimulation. Her tits began to go up and down in his hands as she breathed harder.
"Okay," he said, "undress me."
"Sure," she said.
He waited, letting her do the work. She took off his jacket, and draped it over a chair, and unstrung his tie, and opened his shirt. Her soft fingertips ran over his bare chest, and then she moved in close, rubbing the tips of her titties against his skin. Joey shivered in delight as his cock stiffened with a terrific hard-on. But he made no move to take her. They had all night to fuck and he wanted this hump to be good to the last drop.
Dorinne stepped back. She was smiling as though she were a bride on her wedding night, smiling a secret, mysterious passion-smile. That was the difference between a five-buck and a hundred-buck girl, Joey thought. Both of them hated your guts, but the hundred-dollar girl made you feel that you were the big love of her life, while the five-dollar girl just waited impatiently for the hump to end.
Dorinne opened his fly. His pants slid down his legs and he stepped out of them. She reached forward, put her hands on his hips, and swept his underwear down to his ankles. Naked now, Joey sat down on the edge of the bed, Dorinne knelt before him. The muscles rippling under her tawny skin as she crouched, and began to take the underpants from his feet.
Joey looked down, delirious with joy. Her jet-black hair was thick and glossy. She was kneeling in front of him, her big heavy tits dangling downward from her chest, swaying delightfully.
It was hard to believe that this lovely hump was actually happening to him.
Dorinne started to get up. But Joey had other ideas. He put his hands on her shoulders-the skin was like fine silk-and pressed her firmly downward.
"Before you get up, suck my cock a little," he said.
"Sure, anything you like."
She brought her head forward and lowered it with her lips closing over the head of his cock. He ran his hands through her thick hair, then stroked the sides of her cheeks, played with her earlobes. Joey closed his eyes after a moment. Surging sensations stole through him as she began sucking up and down the shaft of his stiff dick.
She was an expert, a real pro.
She knew how to give a beautiful blow-job and she knew her pacing. She didn't stop until Joey was gasping and red in the face from the cock-sucking excitement and then she looked up. As soon as he no longer felt the sweet warmth of her lips on his prick, he opened his eyes.
"You want me to finish?" she asked.
"No. Not that way."
"Good."
She got to her feet. His stiff dong and balls were zinging with desire now. Her naked tits and cunt hovered before him. He felt dazed and hazy. The sight of her bush and her pink, moist cuntlips burned his eyes as though she were a pillar of fire blazing in front of him.
Joey nodded toward the bed. "Come on," he said.
She lay down and spreading her legs, exposed her gorgeous cunthole completely. Joey moved to her, incredulous at the silken-smooth sleekness of her. She was cool, except for her twat and there she was a conflagration. He touched her breasts, one at a time, and then lower, and then, with a brutal, impulsive move, he shoved his big throbbing prick right up her moist cunt.
That was the greatest ever. Her cunt worked against his cock and little muscles somewhere in her vagina did things to him that Joey hadn't known were possible, and in a very few minutes he trembled and convulsed with delight as he shot his load of jet after jet of hot, creamy scum into her cunt.
He rested, in her arms, her soft pointed tits pillowing him. He felt very good after letting go of that first load ... he had a lot saved up in his balls.
The night was young, and he was a long way from being finished with her twat.
He made her put a record on and dance for him next. She did a slow, sinuous solo, her breasts swaying, her hips undulating, and when Joey had watched her for a little while, he was ready for another fuck. He came over to her, and pressed himself against her, feeling her tits, squeezing them, trapping the nipples in his fingers.
Then he said, "Get down on the floor."
"Like how?"
"Hands and knees."
She smiled as though it were the most natural thing in the world to crawl around on hands and knees. She got down.
"Crawl," he said. "Give that big ass of yours a wiggle."
She crawled for him, and she gave a wriggle. Standing with arms folded, Joey watched her, watching the muscles going alternately taut and slack under her smooth skin, watched the changing contours of her lovely asscheeks, the bobbing and swinging of her round heavy breasts.
He waited until his cock was stiffly at the peak of excitement. Then he came up and stood behind her, and looked at the heart-shaped curves of her taut buttocks.
He knelt.
He crouched to her ass and put his hands on her breasts, and drew her buttocks toward him, and pressed himself against the warmth of her and saw her work her cuntlips backward to trap his dick. She knew exactly what he wanted. Joey gripped her breasts tightly, and she worked from side to side. She let out a little gasp of mingled pleasure and pain as though he had harmed a vital nerve.
She twisted and sighed. Her soft firm buttocks still against him. The sensations drove Joey mad with cunt-desire. He plunged his cock right into her vagina, but she did not shrink from his assault.
When he shot his load as he came in her twat, it was overpowering in its intensity.
Joey was not sure whether or not she had really come as he shot his sperm in her pussy, or simply had faked that. He didn't care. He had fucked her, and he had fucked her royally, and that was all that counted.
When he was finished, he rested again. But he was a long way from being through fucking.
She said, "You want to take a shower?" And he said yes, and they took a shower together. She soaped him throughly, and then she took the soap off his cock and balls with a fondling that quickly gave him another hard-on. This time, when they reached that critical point, she looked at him to ask him if he wanted her to cock-suck him all the way to the finish. This time he nodded, and she sucked expertly away on his throbbing cock, in redoubled effort and Joey gasped his way to fresh delight as he shot his load down her throat and she swallowed it.
There was more afterward, he fucked her dog-fashion once more as soon as he could get it up again.
And finally, with the first streaks of dawn staining the sky, Joey decided he had had his hundred dollar's worth of hump. He rose from the bed, bleary-eyed and exhausted, and got back into his clothing.
A naked Dorinne accompanied him to the door. She did not seem eager to have him leave. She kissed him good-bye, her tits flattened against his jacket, and he ran his hands over her satiny ass one last time.
"Come back soon," she whispered huskily.
"As soon as I can afford it," he promised her, wondering where in the hell he was going to get another hundred bucks, and knowing he damned well was, somehow, and would be back soon for more of the most wonderful fucking he had ever had in his life.
He staggered out into the morning.
Joey made some rapid mental calculations. An hundred dollar broad like Dorinne was really a big bargain if you had been saving all your cock-juice for her for over a month. Timing and pacing, that was the ticket, Joey kept telling himself. Why, he must have given that doll a fucking like none of her other customers ever did. Seven times, he repeated to himself, seven tricks! He's bet that some of those tired old buzzards of business men who were Dorinne's regular humpers, barely had the strength to get their money's worth even once.
Yeah, man! He was starting to scrounge another hundred together as of right now. He hoped Dorinne didn't get some dopey idea like maybe she was really losing money with him because he was such a jack-rabbit type of fucker. Hell, he had given her the full one hundred smackers for the night-her going rate. Next time, if he were flush, Joey decided he would be a real sport and leave that cunt a five dollar tip.
CHAPTER SIX
Connie had cleverly steered Jean into her own bedroom. Before Jean could utter a word, Connie said, "Take off your clothes, Jean!"
Jean knew a thing or two and had sensed while they were talking what Connie was leading up to. But Connie's practically shoving her into her own bedroom and the direct request to undress still came as a shock.
"Come on, Jean dear," Connie urged. "You're a big girl now. Do I have to draw you a diagram? I like to frig with men or with women and right now, I've sort of taken a fancy to you, Jean."
Connie's eyes glittered with desire as they took in Jean's lush body again.
"You're very attractive, Jean. You really send me! Have you ever frigged or done anything with a girl before?"
"No, never."
"Not even in your teens?" Connie asked.
Jean shrugged. "I had crushes, yes. But never ... never anything like this."
"Does this idea disgust you?"
"It confuses me," Jean said.
"You don't have to, if you don't want to. And Jack doesn't have to be a Vice-President, either."
Jean's expression hardened. "Is it as blunt as that Connie? If I give in to you Jack gets a Vice-Presidency, and if I don't, he doesn't?"
Connie shrugged eloquently. "That's being too black-and-white about it, dear. If you cooperate with me, I'll do everything in my power to see to it that Jack gets the preferment he wants. If you'd rather not ... well, I'll just let Bob pick his own Vice-President. I wouldn't be so crude as to stand in Jack's way, but I wouldn't work terribly hard to recommend him, either. Do you see?"
"Yes," Jean said thinly. "I see."
She eyed the other woman. Swirling doubts engulfed her. This was like some kind of nightmare, she thought. The President's wife had come, dangling the Vice-Presidency for Jack, but there was a price.
A stiff price.
Would it be so bad, though, Jean wondered? To take another woman into her arms, to fuck around in bed with her? Was that much worse than screwing a nineteen-year-old boy as her lover? She had been desperately bored, she wanted some diversion. So she had fastened like a whore on Jerry Trent's big cock.
But she got nothing out of her fucking with Jerry except cunt-pleasure. If she succumbed to Connie's perverted wishes, there'd be a much more permanent benefit. And the possibility of physical pleasure besides.
Jean debated. She wanted that Vice-Presidency for Jack almost as much as he wanted it. She was tired of being a Sales Supervisor's wife. There was much more prestige in being the wife of a Vice-President.
Connie offered position, pride, prestige. All in exchange for a little fun in bed.
It would be a novelty to let a woman make her come.
It might even be a highly enjoyable novelty.
"Well?" Connie asked.
For answer, Jean began to remove her clothes.
Connie's eyes gleamed. "I'm glad," she said. "You have such a beautiful body Jean. I want you so very much."
Jean's fingers trembled. "Do you believe me when I say I've never done this before?"
"Of course I believe you, darling. Of course."
Jean peeled away her bra, baring her breasts to Connie's fascinated gaze. She began to roll down her panties, to unhook her garters.
Connie, too, was undressing quickly. Jean eyed the other, older woman's body with interest. Connie was shorter than Jean but her tits were as full. Her body was strong-looking and supple.
Do I want this? Jean wondered.
Yes, she thought. Yes!
Naked, they faced one another, breasts, rising and falling. For a long moment neither of them said anything. Then Jean said, "Can-I-can I touch you, Connie?"
"Of course."
Jean came forward, extended her trembling hands. Her fingers came to rest on the other woman's jutting, soft tits. She held them lightly, fearfully, barely grazing the nipples. It was a strange and oddly pleasurable sensation to feel another woman's full, ripe breasts in her hands.
Jean felt the excitement mounting in her from one moment to the next. She tightened her grasp, drew the willing Connie toward her, enfolded her in a tense hug.
Breast-tips touched. Jean's hand roved down Connie's back coming to the taut flesh of her asscheeks buttocks.
Connie put her lips to Jean's ear. Her breath was warm and loud. Jean shivered and tingled as she felt the moist tongue of the boss' wife encircling the pink shell of her ear, then dipping within, exploring roving. It was exquisite, a maddening sensation. She moved her body from side to side against Connie's as they embraced, feeling the smooth, cool flesh of Connie's bare middle against her own.
"You're shivering," Connie said. "Just a little."
"Don't be afraid. This is going to be wonderful, darling. For both of us."
"I'm not afraid," Jean murmured. "I'm shivering from excitement."
They moved closer to the bed, and stood by it. Again Jean took Connie into her arms, and they kissed for the first time. Not the sisterly kiss of two women, but a passionate kiss, deep and lingering, with hot vibrant tongues meeting. Jean drew her lips away, after a moment, and then found herself gasping for breath as Connie touched her breasts.
Connie was handling Jean's big tits the way a man might. She was forthright and even a little rough, her strong fingers aggressively cupping the tender globes of flesh. They stood close together, the tall woman and the shorter one, the jet-black brunette and the redhead, the novice and the experienced Lesbian. An onlooker would have been stunned by the sight of four breasts in contact, of two strikingly beautiful women caressing each other in a most intimate way, embracing, lips pressed to lips, breasts to breasts.
Connie said, "This is how we give each other pleasure.
Let me show you."
She led Jean to the bed, sat her down gently but firmly.
Her lips were like fire at Jean's cunt.
"How is that?" Connie asked. "Do you like that tongue on your cuntlips?"
"Yes, yes," Jean cried. "God, that's wonderful! The most wonderful feeling in the world!"
Connie pressed her to a recumbent position. Her head came forward again.
"And there's this," Connie said, letting her tongue go to Jean's clitoris.
Jean gasped in pleasure. She lay back, accepting the delight passively for a few moments. Fire raged in her veins. She had never realized that such exquisite pleasure was possible to attain. Jean tingled. Connie's caresses of her erecting clitoris and cunt-hole were so skillful, so precise. She knew exactly how to provide the maximum stimulation, the maximum pleasure to another woman's cunt.
"Let me do it to you now," Jean whispered.
In a hesitant, fumbling way, Jean did with her tongue on Connie's cunt what Connie had done for Jean. At first Jean was unsure of herself. But then she heard Connie's indrawn gasp of delight, and knew that she was doing the right things to Connie's twat.
Soon both women were in a frenzy. They embraced passionately on the bed. Over and over they rolled in a tumultuous tangle of limbs.
Body against body, mouths working on each other's writhing cunts.
Jean felt like a hopeless amateur, unsure of the way. But Connie took the lead, like a bridegroom instructing his virgin bride in the arts of fucking on their nuptial night.
Connie moved her hands artfully over Jean's lush ass, did incredible things with her frigging caress.
Their bodies pressed together. Jean reveled at the sleek warmth of the other woman's cunt. And she was willing to give, willing to surrender herself, holding nothing back, nothing at all. She no longer considered that she was doing this as part of a bargain, to secure a promotion for her husband. She was doing this for sheer joy, for the utter delight of being frigged by an expert in the ways of unnatural love.
Time went spinning into oblivion.
Passion was the only reality.
Jean cupped Connie's breasts, kissing the rigid, puckered nipples, enjoying the firm feel of them, burying her face against them. Then it was her turn, and she lay back while Connie caressed her.
Then the excitement mounted another degree.
Body twisted against body, and the only sound in the bedroom was the harshness of their breathing as their mouths clung to each other's cunts and they clawed at one another in the transports of their ecstasy. Had fucking ever been like this with a man, Jean wondered? With Jack, or with Jerry Trent, or with the half-forgotten humpers of her sinful teens? Had she ever known this all-consuming blaze of ecstatic passion?
Connie was a magnificent fucker, whether screwing with a man or woman. She was all fire and passion, and she knew exactly what to do to jazz up a woman, knew far better than any man could ever know, even Jack who had fucked with her for so many years.
Jean gasped and arched her body, drawing every muscle tense.
"Oh it's too much!" she cried. "I can't take this any more, Connie! I'm on fire!"
"Hold me tight!" Connie ordered.
Her arms seized Jean's limp, throbbing body. The two women joined in a feverish embrace. Jean could see Connie's body against hers, crushing, working furiously. Excitement roared through Jean's veins, pounded in her ears.
This was fantastic, she thought.
This was a better medicine for boredom than even the high-powered prick of young Jerry Trent.
Overpowering waves of vaginal fulfillment surged over her as come cunt-juice flooded from her cunt. She cried out, a high wordless sound, an undulating howl of delight, as the spasmodic orgasm swept relentlessly over her. And then Connie was panting and howling, too, as both of them raced together toward the battering oblivion of their comes. Time and all the universe was theirs, theirs alone, as they soared higher and higher, joined with their desires, vaulting toward the stratosphere in a dizzy upward plunge through realms unknown.
Bill Fogarty had made up his mind.
He had spent a couple of days considering the problem of how best to exploit the evidence Joey Davis had dumped into his hands. As a moderately consciencious, hard-working reporter, Fogarty had some gualms of conscience about stooping to sex black-mail. On the other hand he was scandalously under-paid, had a family on the increase, had bills to pay, money worries of a dozen different kinds. There came a time when you had to let your conscience go by the boards in the name of sheer survival.
Besides, he wasn't at all sure he wanted to turn the story in to his editor. A reporter had to draw the line somewhere. There were certain things better off not exposed. Okay, so the paper would sell 20,000 less copies, but the private lives of certain important people would remain their own.
So it was to be blackmail, Fogarty thought.
He looked at the photos he had taken. The photos of Jerry Trent going into the Pierce house didn't prove much, really it might very well have been a legitimate delivery of merchandise. But there was one photo that couldn't be explained away so easily. It was the photo of a stark naked Jerry Trent fucking a stark naked Jean Pierce.
The reporter had snapped the shutter hurriedly, at the fastest interval he could manage. He hadn't had time for niceties of focus. Still, the picture had come out well enough. Jerry Trent's face was slightly blurred, but Jean had been facing the camera head on, eyes closed in passion, and there was no mistaking her features. The photo was a lulu. It showed Jean's naked body in profile, one of her breasts visible as a flattered globe against the big boy's chest. Yes, no doubt about it the picture plainly and bluntly showed an unmistakable Jean Pierce, unmistakably enjoying the cock of a young man who was obviously not her husband.
So blackmail was in order.
The next decision Fogarty had to make was which one to blackmail? Husband or wife?
Jean was the obvious one to approach. Certainly she wouldn't want her husband to know she was fucking for delivery boys. But Bill Fogarty had covered enough crime stories and had read enough accounts of the working of extortionists to know that it was bad business to blackmail a woman. They panicked too easily. They were unpredictable and irrational. The whole deal could blow up in your face.
Besides, women didn't always have money of their own that they could fork over without their husbands finding out.
It was safer to go to Jack Pierce with the photos. True, that meant exposing Jean's little hump secret to her husband, but Fogarty couldn't give a damn about that. If Jean wanted to keep her husband happy, she ought to have been more careful about choosing a prick-pusher for her horny cunt. The important thing was the Jack Pierce would want to preserve his reputation. If the story got out that his wife had been fucking around, he would pretty much have to divorce her to save his own face, but by divorcing her he'd be messing up his business career at I. E. C.
Jack it would be.
Fogarty made an appointment to see him. Not everybody could get in to see Jack Pierce on a moment's notice, but Bill Fogarty had made his name well known in town over the last eighteen months, with his series of crusading exposes. A smart business man did not turn Bill Fogarty away from his office door, not any more, because he could be a dangerous enemy. That afternoon, Fogarty was on his way over to Pierce's office.
The executive put on an affable face as he shook the reporter's hand. "Good to see you again, Bill. Who are you exposing this week?"
"Well, I'm not sure," Fogarty said. "It may even be you, Mr. Pierce."
"Me?" Pierce scratched a plump cheek. "What have you caught me doing, Bill? Taking books from the public library? Stealing newspapers from a blind man."
"Oh, it only involves you indirectly," Fogarty said, trying hard to keep his voice calm. "So far as I know, you've got a clean record, nothing I could make a story out of. This concerns your wife."
"Jean? What in God's name are you talking about, Fogarty?"
The reporter took a deep breath. "I've got a photo here I'd like you to see."
He put a glossy five-by-nine blowup of the Jean-Jerry Trent hump-shot in front of Jack Pierce, and watched Pierce's face crumple in disbelief.
Pierce picked up the print and studied it with bug-eyed intentness, as though if he only looked at the picture hard enough, he would somehow succeed in changing the woman fucking with the boy into someone different, someone who was not his wife.
His hands shook as he put the picture down. He turned it face side down, in a pathetic gesture of hiding his wife's naked prick-filled cunt from the reporter.
"Who took this?" he said in a strangled voice.
"I did, Mr. Pierce."
"You? What were you doing snooping around my house?"
"I had a tip that your wife was screwing with a local boy," Fogarty said in a flat, level voice. "I went to see for myself. They were fucking away all right, as you can see, and I took the picture. You don't deny that it's your wife, do you?"
"No. It's Jean, all right. Who in God's name is this with her?"
"Kid named Jerry Trent," Fogarty said. "He's a delivery boy for a department store. Apparently he's the kind who likes to brag about the woman he fucks. He's been humping like mad with your wife for the last couple of weeks, or so it seems."
Pierce nodded. He appeared to have aged ten years in the last ten minutes. He fingered the edges of the photo for a moment, scowled, turned tortured eyes on the reporter.
"Well?" he demanded. "Why did you bring this here and show it to me?"
"To find out what you'd like done with the picture."
"What are you planning to do with it?" Pierce asked. "Run it on the front page of your newspaper?"
"No, sir." Fogarty smiled. "It's obviously an unprintable picture. But the story isn't unprintable. What would the people of Harrison City think of a prominent business leader whose wife fucks promiscuously with delivery boys?"
"If you run that story, Fogarty, there'll be hell to pay!"
"For you or for me, sir?"
"For both of us," Pierce said grimly. "It'll ruin me business-wise, but I'll see that you get broken anyhow."
"There's no need to threaten me, Mr. Pierce," Fogarty said easily. "I'm willing to turn over the negative and all the prints to you, and to give you my word that I'll keep the story a secret. You can then deal with your wife in private, as you wish."
"You'll do that, will you?"
"Of course I will."
"For a price, I suppose?"
"Of course."
Pierce's shoulders slumped. He turned the picture over and stared mournfully at the evidence of his wife's infidelity.
"How much?" he asked bitterly.
The reporter smiled. "Ten thousand bucks."
Pierce looked startled. "You must think I'm one hell of a swindler if you think I've got that kind of cash to throw around. It's impossible, Fogarty. You might as well as for half a million, while you're at it."
Jack Pierce saw his chances for the Vice-Presidency of I. E. C. evaporating by the second as Fogarty was talking to him. The humiliation of Jean's cradle-snatching fucking around being found out would result in his being laughed out of Harrison City. And here he was a big wheel in a company whose official policy was to project the I. E. C. image as highly moral and strait-laced. Why, President Satterlee would probably ask for his resignation in twenty-four hours.
He forced himself to concentrate on what this tramp reporter Fogarty was offering him. Right now he'd have to agree to anything. He needed time to think his way out of this one.
"I'll find a way to raise what you want, Fogarty," he said grimly. "Give me a couple of days."
"Okay, but don't keep me waiting too long," Bill Fogarty answered as he eased himself out of the plush office.
CHAPTER SEVEN
"I'll bet I'm the only guy in Harrison City with a problem like this," Jerry Trent muttered to himself. His girl friend, Edie Coleman was kicking up the traces about his insisting on her remaining a virgin until he was able to slip the ring on her finger. Most of the fellows he knew were always complaining how tough it was to shove their pricks in and score with a "good" girl, how all they wanted was to hog tie you for keeps and then give you skimpy cunt-rations.
Edie was really a passionate piece of ass and seemed to be growing more so as she matured. If he hadn't had Jean Pierce as an ever-ready safety valve for his cock, he would certainly have weakened by now. The way things were going, it looked as if the dam might break any night now ... Edie was insistent about that. Edie was seventeen now, and most of her friend were getting fucked all the time, and some of them had even had an operation or two and a couple had to get married. And here Edie was, full of jizzle, still a cherry and pretty damned unhappy about it. Jerry didn't know how long he could keep her on the string. If she got unhappy enough, she was quite likely to break up with him and find some other guy who would be less scrupulous about shoving his cock in her cunt.
Which would be a damned shame. Because it would mean that not only wouldn't Jerry marry Edie, he wouldn't even have scored with her. There was no sense letting her maidenhead get broken by somebody else. If he was going to lose her, he might as well fuck her before the breakup.
The change in his thinking was helped along by a sudden coolness about fucking on Jean's part. On the surface, everything seemed still okay between them, except that she started making excuses to keep him from coming around to get laid. One day, the story was that she had to go up to Broughton to attend some kind of function, and the next, she was having company and couldn't find time for him, and the day after that it was some other excuse.
Even when he got to her, she seemed moody and preoccupied. The old zing of passion was gone. When he touched her, she almost seemed to shrink away and part of the time she appeared to be bored with his cock.
Jerry figured that she had picked up a new prick-pusher that he had competition from another guy. That annoyed him. In the few weeks of their affair, he had come almost to depend on his daily hump from Jean Pierce. It made his days so much more lively. And it helped him to resist Edie's cunt-desires more effectively. Besides, it was a ball with Jean. He had never known anybody so cock-crazy before in his life, and the odds were very good that he'd never know Jean's equal later on in life.
In the meantime, he had now gone the better part of a week without humping Jean. And Edie was getting harder and harder to handle.
The inevitable was bound to happen sooner or later.
It happened.
It happened on a mild pleasant evening late in July. Jerry and Edie had gone bowling, and after that they had driven around town for a while, stopping off for a hamburger here and a Coke there, and then Edie said, "My folks went to a party tonight. They won't be back till five in the morning. We can have the place to ourselves. You want to take me home?"
"Sure," Jerry said.
They went to her place. The house was empty. Edie was the youngest of three children; there was a boy about Jerry's age, who had enlisted in the Army last summer, and there was a girl a few years older, who was married and lived in Detroit. Jerry and Edie settled down in the living room. Edie put a stack of LP records on the changer, some Sinatra stuff, and a bossa nova disk, and some show music.
They danced for a while, and then they sat on the couch, and then-as it was bound to happen-Jerry started fooling around with her.
They were cuddled up close. She lifted her arms, and he took her green and black polo shirt off, and tossed it to one side. She was wearing a black bra underneath. Jerry unhooked it and she shrugged it off.
Breathing hard, he reached out and touched her firm young breasts.
They had been at this stage of the game many times in the past-the two round milky globes of adorable tits bare to his hands, the flame-tipped nipples hard and aching, the small blonde girl moist-lipped and panting. But Jerry had always found the self-control to halt here, promising himself the future rewards of the wedding night.
Tonight, Edie spurred him on.
She twisted and wriggled against him. She put her f red lips up to his to be kissed and sent her tongue to his mouth. He filled his hands with her luscious breasts, and she moved her hand downward, and let it rest on him. An instant later she boldly tugged at his pants zipper.
Jerry gasped at her small, soft fingers. She had never done this before. She seemed timid, frightened of him, as much afraid of what he would think of her as anything else. But she kept her hand busy, feeling for his cock.
Jerry tightened his grip on her breasts. But he took his lips away from hers. He said hoarsely, "Edie, maybe we ... maybe we better dance some more...."
"Not now."
"We're getting pretty hot and loose, Edie."
"That's all right."
"We might get careless. We might do something we'd regret the rest of our lives."
Big blue eyes stared straight into his. "I wouldn't regret that, darling."
"It isn't smart, Edie. To spoil something that's been so perfect."
"Taking my cherry won't be spoiling it. I love you, Jerry. Show me that you love me."
"I do love you. And I respect you. And I want to go on respecting you."
"There's only one way you can show me that you want me," she told him in a soft whisper. "That's to fuck me and make a woman out of me, Jerry. Now! Now!"
He didn't answer.
All the old answers were on the tip of his tongue, but he kept them there. He realized he was the end of the line. He sounded like a damned idiot, preaching virtue at her. She wanted him, and he wanted to screw her. Almost a week of abstinence had left him keyed up and horny and Edie's cunning little fingers caressing his cock and balls had done the rest of the job.
He couldn't hold back now. His prick was fully erect and throbbing. The dam was bursting.
He struggled inwardly, then shrugged, told himself: What the hell, Edie wanted him to screw her he wanted Edie, and maybe he had best fuck her while she was around. He would still love her afterward. He wouldn't lose his respect for her provided that he found her a virgin. And, if he handled their humping in the right way, he wouldn't have to worry too much about the possibility that she would cheat on him once he screwed her.
"All right," she whispered. "I love you!"
"I love you!"
Her hands continued to play with his cock and balls. He kept his left hand gripping the ripe globes of her tits, savoring the warmth and softness of those two incredible mounds. His right hand moved lower. Down to the snap of her toreador pants. He opened it. He tugged at the zipper.
The pants fit tightly over the lustiness of Edie's hips and asscheeks. For a moment, they both had to work at the job of getting the pants off her. Then they rolled downward, over her ass past her knees.
She wore nothing now but her bobbysox and her panties. The panties were of black silk, smooth and shiny, forming a striking contrast with the milk-white paleness of her skin. Jerry's hands shook a little as he reached out to help her off with her panties. Down they came, rolling inch by inch, and as he slipped them off her he touched the skin of her asscheeks and his heart pounded until he thought he was going to choke.
Never had he seen Edie's body below the waist, except in shorts or bathing suit. Never had he touched her cunt not once.
Now she was completely nude.
He looked at her. She smiled shyly, keeping her legs close together and hiding her cuntlips as though after all she was changing her mind. His eyes drank in the lush youthful abundance of her body, the firm legs, the rounded waist, the deep-socketed navel, the blondeness of her bush, all bare and ready for him.
"Now you," she whispered. "Take all your clothes off, Jerry. I want to see all of you!"
He undressed. She helped him, eagerly, her fingers flying over his clothes, and in a moment he wasn't wearing a stitch. She still had socks on, at least, but he was totally nude. He felt a moment of embarrassment for her sake as she gasped at his huge cock and swinging balls. After all, she was a virgin, and she was getting her first view of a completely naked man. Virgins were supposed to be frightened of such sights.
But Edie didn't look at all frightened, Jerry realized.
Could it be that she had been fucked before, he wondered? She would have had to start awful young, in that case. He had known her since she was fourteen and he was pretty sure she hadn't screwed anyone since they had started dating. But before He decided, that if she turned out not to be a virgin, he'd give the lying little cock-sucker the beating of her deceitful life.
She stood there, joyfully naked, eyes bright, breasts rising and falling. She looked him over from head to toe. "Come on!" she cried. "Where to?"
"The bedroom," she said. "Let's not use the couch. Let's fuck the right way. Just as though this was our wedding night, Jerry. Let's go to bed!"
He let her drag him upstairs to her bedroom. On the stairs, he watched the jiggling of her bare asscheeks and found it terribly exciting. He had never watched a naked girl run up stairs before. It was a sight worth seeing.
He was swept away on the tide of her passions. Like some ele mental force, Edie had taken complete control of him. She wanted him, wanted his prick desperately, and all of Jerry's mumbles about waiting for the altar were dead words now.
They entered the bedroom. The bed was small, only a single bed. Edie giggled.
"There's room for us both," she said. "Yeah," he said.
They tumbled to the bed. Its frame creaked and groaned as Jerry's weight bore down on it.
"It'll be great if I break it," he said. "What'll you tell your folks?"
"It's an old bed. I'll say it just fell apart. Hold me, Jerry! Hold me tight." He held her.
He put his lips to her mouth and his hands to her breasts, and he felt her eager little fingers exploring his pulsing prick and balls, touching where it was forbidden for a virgin to touch. He was panting and so was she, their bodies heaving around restlessly. Now that the hump-fever was on him, barrier of throwing himself to her and doing away with her virginity in one brutal second.
But that wouldn't be right, he knew.
If she was really cherry, he mustn't rush things. He had to see to it that he brought her along to a peak of passion, that he made this first fuck an experience she would remember glowingly to the end of her life.
He kissed her tits, each in turn, caressing the rosy button of the nipples with his lips, tickling it. His hands swept back and forth across her body as his lips left her breasts and began traveling downward.
Edie made wordless little sounds of impatience, deep in her throat. She was wild. But Jerry knew that it was still too soon to shove his cock in her. He had to wait till she was right at her summit. No matter how much she seemed to want him, he couldn't jump the gun. He wanted her to surrender herself completely.
His kiss descended, and came to rest between her moist cuntlips.
Her hands were against the top of his head, pressing hard, as desire racked her. He heard her cry out, a soft amazed cry of pleasure, as he gave her her first lesson in what kissing her clitoris could do for her. She had never felt anything like this before, obviously, and the cry that was wrung from her was a token of her surprise and delight.
For a long moment he continued cunt-lapping her. He saw her throb and twist. He reached out, touched the skin of her waist and found it warm, the skin of a girl in fierce excitement.
"Jerry," she murmured foggily. "Jerry, honey, I'm burning up ... I can't wait...."
She was telling the truth, he realized. She wanted and needed his cock. This was the moment.
"Jerry ... please...."
He lifted his head and looked along her body, past passion-clouded blue eyes, and smiled at her, and nodded his head.
Then he lifted himself and moved until he was in position above her cunt. Her eyes were half closed, slits of passion. Her bps drooped slackly. They were shiny with passion.
He moved his stiff prick towards her moist cunt. His cock-head parted her cuntlips.
At first contact, she pulled away, her reflexes taking over to protect her from the strange invader. She drew back as though a sword were reaching out to harm her. But an instant later, she returned to him, and Jerry continued the gentle pressure of his dick up her cunt. Slowly, uncertainly, her cunt rushed to meet his cock.
His thrusting cock felt the resistance of a tough membrane in her hot cunt.
His heart soared. It was true! His prick was the first! The only!
He quickened. She shook, and he heard her whimper a little as though in pain, and then she locked her arms tightly around his back and pulled him closer.
He lunged with his cock all the way up her cunt.
He fought back the impulse to spare her, because he knew it would be a mistake to be gentle at just this moment. Instead he continued, thrusting his cock in and out of her cunt.
He forced his eyes to stay open. He wanted to see what she looked like at that moment.
Her eyes were squeezed tight shut, and her mouth was open a little, over her gleaming teeth. The moist warmth of her breath laved his face. Rivulets of sweat were running down her tits.
She didn't seem to be in pain, after the first wincing instant. Tears appeared in the corners of her eyes, but they were tears of pleasure. Her golden face was radiant. Jerry did not move. Now he wanted her to have a chance to get used to his big dick and to let the soreness ebb away from her tight cunt.
He put his lips to hers, kissed her lips, and then her lips parted gently, and he moved his tongue and touched the tip of hers, and for a moment she was still as death and then her lips hardened and pressed tight against his, and her arms locked around him again and she started working her cunt slowly.
He started fucking her twat too.
He thrust his big prick in slow rhythms. Her pussy, matched them, and together they screwed, solemnly, a minuet of humping rather than a twist or a ma'am bo. She was still shy, even now. The fact probably hadn't percolated fully through her that she was a virgin no longer. Not yet.
The fucking tempo picked up.
Being this close to her, having her in his arms after the long months of self-denial, set a war of self-control raging in him. He fought desperately to hold back, to bring her to the ultimate orgasm. For a moment, at the outset, it seemed as though he was going to bungle and shoot his load prematurely. But he contained himself, though every muscle in his body had to be strained and pulled taut in the effort.
Then she started to gasp. He knew something was happening to her, something brand new in her experience. Her eyes opened, and she looked at him, dazed and bewildered at the strange powerful forces that were being liberated within her hot, slippery cunt.
"Jerry," she said, her voice thick and hoarse with passion. "Jerry, I feel so strange-"
"Don't talk now."
He lunged into her vagina, more powerfully, quickening his rhythm as he sensed Edie was approaching her orgasm. Suddenly, he felt her asscheeks tighten, her belly began to twitch and her thighs and hips began to work in a wild dance.
He heard her scream joyously, "Oh, Jerry, Jerry, I'm coming, I'm coming and it's so wonderful!" as his own body was jolted by lightning ecstasy. His cock and balls contracted spasmodically in a powerful thrust and his hot scum spurted and surged into the welcoming warmth of her vagina. She held him in a vise-like grip, his groans of ultimate come-pleasure mingling with her joyous screams as she experienced woman's greatest sensation sweeping through her twitching twat and belly in churning bliss.
They lay sideway's still clinging to each other, Edie's legs still locked around Jerry's middle as if she would never let his cock go.
"Thank you, Jerry dear," she murmured. "Now I know what it means to be a woman."
"Did you like that?"
"Oh, Jerry, I'm never going to forgive you for holding out your wonderful prick on me for so long!"
She kissed him, and began to wriggle her sensuous young belly and full, firm buttocks as she still held him captive with her tight, hot cunt.
As she kept up the voluptuous grind, she urged his mouth to her breasts, and grinned mischievously, "Now that I know what it's like, you're going to make up for lost time right now."
Fire rose swiftly again in Jerry's cock as it stiffened to fuck her insatiable cunt yet once again.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Pacing his office like a trapped animal, Jack Pierce strove mightily to keep the roof from falling in on him. If a breath of hump-scandal were to be enleashed by that damned reporter, Bill Fogarty, not only would he never be Senior Vice-President over Harrison Home Products, he'd be politely booted out of his present position as well. And he didn't see himself starting at the bottom of the ladder again after all these years at I. E. C. Too bad I. E. C. had such a hypocritical puritan code of sexual behavior for its employees.
It was funny, in a way, that the threat of exposing blackmail should be aimed at him through Jean, his wife. He knew he was guilty as hell. He had been living with the fear of being caught in his motel fucking with Connie, his boss' wife. But that was a calculated corporation politics risk-he stood to gain the Vice-Presidency. Connie also gave him a sex thrill he had never had with Jean.
Now, if he didn't come up with something, Jean's naked humping with delivery boys, and maybe the milkman, the gas man and the TV repair man would be spread all over Harrison City.
But Jack Pierce was basically a sensible, rational logical man. He knew that he neglected giving Jean enough hump in order to build his own business career. He had left her alone, night after night, half a week at a time when the need dictated it. And even the nights he had been with her, he had usually been too exhausted from the strains and tensions of his burgeoning career to screw her properly.
Jean was a passionate woman. Pierce knew. A most passionate cunt. It was not the most astonishing thing in the world that she would fill up the emptiness of her cunt with extramarital cock.
Besides, Pierce knew, he was not in a position to seem holier-than-thou. Not after the many torrid nights he had spent fondling the tits and fucking the lush body of Bob Satterlee's wife!
So he could come to emotional terms with the idea that he had been wronged.
What he couldn't take was the notion of being blackmailed.
It was like sitting on a keg of live ammunition. So long as he remained in business life, Pierce knew, the reporter Bill Fogarty could smash him at a whim.
Just let a print of that picture get into the right hands, into the hands of church leaders, into the hands of the bluenoses who swung such influence in the community.
True, Fogarty had promised to destroy the negative. For a price. Ten thousand dollars. But what guarantee was there that Fogarty would also destroy every existing print? No guarantee at all.
Fogarty would probably squirrel a few prints
CHAPTER EIGHT
Pacing his office like a trapped animal, Jack Pierce strove mightily to keep the roof from falling in on him. If a breath of hump-scandal were to be enleashed by that damned reporter, Bill Fogarty, not only would he never be Senior Vice-President over Harrison Home Products, he'd be politely booted out of his present position as well. And he didn't see himself starting at the bottom of the ladder again after all these years at I. E. C. Too bad I. E. C. had such a hypocritical puritan code of sexual behavior for its employees.
It was funny, in a way, that the threat of exposing blackmail should be aimed at him through Jean, his wife. He knew he was guilty as hell. He had been living with the fear of being caught in his motel fucking with Connie, his boss' wife. But that was a calculated corporation politics risk-he stood to gain the Vice-Presidency. Connie also gave him a sex thrill he had never had with Jean.
Now, if he didn't come up with something, Jean's naked humping with delivery boys, and maybe the milkman, the gas man and the TV repair man would be spread all over Harrison City.
But Jack Pierce was basically a sensible, rational logical man. He knew that he neglected giving Jean enough hump in order to build his own business career. He had left her alone, night after night, half a week at a time when the need dictated it. And even the nights he had been with her, he had usually been too exhausted from the strains and tensions of his burgeoning career to screw her properly.
Jean was a passionate woman. Pierce knew. A most passionate cunt. It was not the most astonishing thing in the world that she would fill up the emptiness of her cunt with extramarital cock.
Besides, Pierce knew, he was not in a position to seem holier-than-thou. Not after the many torrid nights he had spent fondling the tits and fucking the lush body of Bob Satterlee's wife!
So he could come to emotional terms with the idea that he had been wronged.
What he couldn't take was the notion of being blackmailed.
It was like sitting on a keg of live ammunition. So long as he remained in business life, Pierce knew, the reporter Bill Fogarty could smash him at a whim.
Just let a print of that picture get into the right hands, into the hands of church leaders, into the hands of the bluenoses who swung such influence in the community.
True, Fogarty had promised to destroy the negative. For a price. Ten thousand dollars. But what guarantee was there that Fogarty would also destroy every existing print? No guarantee at all.
Fogarty would probably squirrel a few prints away-an investment, call it, against hard times to come. Why shouldn't he? Reporters got paid peanuts. They had no job security in this time of merging newspapers. Fogarty probably had a mountain of debts, kids to raise, bills to pay. His windfall now would net him ten grand, but how long would that last? He'd pay his current debts and still be behind a perpetual eight-ball. Another year, sixteen months, and he'd be back looking for more cash.
It wasn't the money that worried Jack Pierce, despite what he had said to the reporter. The business had been good to Pierce and he had plenty of money, no fortune but enough to live comfortably on. He could afford to pay Fogarty his ten grand, if he had to, and he could afford to go on paying Fogarty additional blackmail from time to time as the reporter exacted it. No, it wasn't the money troubling him. It was the insecurity, the uncertainty. How could a man build for his future with a time-bomb ticking away underneath him like blackmail. Suppose Fogarty needed a big scoop to save his job, a year from now? What better than to dig up a sordid little scandal involving Jack Pierce? If he happened to be Vice-President Pierce by then, so much the better. It was impossible to plan, impossible to strive, with something like that menacing him at all times.
Something had to be done.
What?
Pierce pondered the problem. After a while he thought he saw how he could do what needed to be done. He contemplated his plan for a while.
Then he went downstairs, around the block, and across into Wellman's Drug Store, where there was a pay telephone. This was not the sort of call you could make from an office telephone that could conceivably be tapped. Pierce called a girl he knew.
Her name was Dorinne. Her trade was entertaining men. She got a good price for it. Jack had screwed with her a few times, when the mood had taken him, and now and then he had employed her to go to fuck on his behalf with visiting party bigwigs from out of town, who needed to be shown a hot time while in Harrison City.
"I've got another job for you, Dorinne," Pierce said.
"Do tell, darling."
"It's a very special one. I'm willing to pay you three hundred bucks for your complete cooperation."
Dorinne sighed. "What new and distinctive sex perversion am I supposed to practice this time?"
"So far as I know, none."
"Then why the bonus?"
"You'll see," he said.
He told her as much of the story as she needed to know.
Then he made a couple of other phone calls.
Then he went across to his bank to take out some cash. There were payoffs to be made.
Bill Fogarty brought his rickety old Ford to a halt in front of the roadhouse, and let it glide down the slight slope into the parking lot. The raucous sound of the jukebox music drifted through the air. In the moonless dark, the towering trees behind the building looked like menacing, unfriendly giants.
He eyed the garish neon sign. "Manetti's," it said. "Beer, Wine, Liquors, Pizza, Clams, Steaks. Accomodations." Everything in a nutshell, and everything actually spelled right. Fogarty had never been here before, though he had passed it on the road many times. It was ten miles beyond city limits, on the northward road to Broughton.
The reporter felt a little apprehensive about going in. He scouted the place first. Eight or nine cars in the parking lot, all of them with suburban licenses except two. Old jalopies, for the most part. This was a place where kids liked to come. You filled yourself up on beer and pizza, and then you rented one of the five buck-a-night rooms and went upstairs with your piece of ass. Sure. A real hot spot.
Fogarty sighed, and thought of the wild teenage hump-sessions that he had never had. Married at eighteen, a father at eighteen and a half, moonlighting for years to make two lousy jobs pay some of the bills, now another kid coming. He felt like an old man at twenty-three, ten years past his youth. He had never had time to fuck it up with the chicks in roadhouses. The diapers and formulas had come much to soon, for him.
Well, things were looking up a little now. He felt dirty about having had to blackmail Jack Pierce but his own back had been to the wall, financially speaking. With Pierce's ten grand, he could pay off his bills and start to straighten himself out for the first time in five years.
And then, if he could dig up some other story, do something to earn a promotion and a raise
The temptation was great to take Pierce's money and then expose him anyway. That way, he'd get both the dough and the promotion. But Fogarty fought back that yearning. Even a blackmailer has to have some honor, he figured. He didn't want to dip any deeper into the cesspool than he had to. It was a risky thing trying to blackmail a powerful man like Jack Pierce in the first place; doublecrossing him might be equivalent to committing suicide. No, a deal was a deal. He would play square with Pierce.
But maybe tonight, a new story would materialize that would get him the promotion he wanted. That strange phone call from the girl, Dorinne, the most expensive call girl in Harrison City. "I've got some important information for you about political scandals in the state," she said. "It's hot enough to get you a Pulitzer Prize."
Bill Fogarty would settle simply for a promotion and a raise. What the hell, though it was a chance he couldn't pass up. He couldn't afford to refuse to come out. So here he was. He hoped Dorinne wouldn't be too expensive in her price for the information. The paper would reimburse him, up to a certain amount, but beyond that he'd be on his own. He wondered how high he could afford to go to buy a big story.
He went in.
There were fifteen, twenty people in the place, mostly teen-age couples out on dates, though there was one older couple, and three beefy-looking men who looked like truck drivers were sitting together over drinks in the far comer. Bored-looking waitresses ambled back and forth carrying pizzas and trays of drinks.
Fogarty glanced at the teen-agers with envy, and thought of how carefree a life it was. He had gotten to love only one girl in his life, and he had married her two months after he had first had her, and that was the sum total of his amorous experience. Now, with Mary pregnant again, Fogarty was hardly ever getting humped these days, and his cock felt the strain.
He wondered what Dorinne was like. And whether she had invited him all the way out here just to peddle some scandal, or whether he could tear off a piece of ass with her on the side. Jean Pierce didn't have any monopoly on adultery, after all. And nobody was going to blackmail him.
"Yes?" a waitress said to him. "I'm supposed to meet someone upstairs. Which way are the rooms?"
"Stairway to your left."
Fogarty went up. There were eight rooms along the corridors. The doors of seven of them were ajar; no hump rentals there tonight. He knocked on the eighth door.
"Come in," a throaty voice told him. "Door's open."
The reporter's hand shook a little as he turned the knob. He stepped in, and then gasped involuntarily as the impact of the call girl's beauty hit him like a battering ram right in his balls.
She was standing in front of a lamp, and light filtered through the gauzy black negligee she was wearing, to reveal as though she were naked the lush contours of the firm, pink body beneath. Dark-tipped tits strained against the filmy fabric. Full hips, voluptuous asscheeks, magnificent legs. Fogarty felt a gripping in his cock and balls at the thought that men were fucking a girl like this night after night, while he was condemned to share his bed with a thin, hypertense, over-aged teen-ager like Mary, permitted to touch her meager breasts and to know her scrawny cunt only on those rare occasions when she wasn't in the last three months of pregnancy, or down with a cold, or up with a headache, or whatever.
"Hi," Dorinne said. "I was afraid you wouldn't come. You're a little late."
"Sorry. I had a last minute story to finish writing."
"You'll have a better story to write when you leave here," she said.
"I hope so. I could use some front page exposure."
"Oh, you'll make the front page, all right." She indicated a bottle of bourbon on the nightstand. "Care for a drink, Mr. Reporter?"
He grinned at her. "I wouldn't mind one."
"Pour one for me too, while you're at it," she said.
He fixed drinks for both of them. He gave her a stiff one, so it would loosen her tongue for him. He started to pour himself a light shot, realizing that he needed to keep his head clear for whatever revelations she had called him here to impart, but then he decided there would be time to sober up later, and tipped an extra ounce and a half of the sour mash whiskey into his glass.
"Thanks," she said. She smiled seductively and clinked her glass against his. "Are you in a hurry to get down to business?" she asked.
"It all depends."
"On what?"
"On whose business it is well get down to first," he said. "Yours or mine."
"Yours?"
"I prefer yours," he told her. "I've heard a lot of things about you and your business, Dorinne. I wish I could afford to lay you."
"Maybe you can."
"Uh-uh," he said. "I know the rates. A hundred bucks a night, no discounts, no pro rata for short hours. I just about make a hundred bucks a week."
She smiled at him. "There's a special rate for important people," she said. "Cheaper."
"That's not how I heard it."
"Well, it's how it is."
"Am I an important people?"
The call girl nodded. "You're a big man in this town, Bill. You wield a hot typewriter. You could make me or break me with a single news story. I don't want to be run out of town, so I prefer to keep on your good side."
"Which means?"
"That you get a special discount with me, if you want it. For this night only, a hundred per cent off."
"You mean you'll fuck me for free?"
"Call it a business investment for me. I want to keep you happy, so you'll keep me happy. Okay?"
"Well, sure," Fogarty said, his heart pounding at the thought he was going to get a chance to fuck with this bagulous creature after all, and without paying a penny for it.
"Come here," she crooned.
He started toward her. Then he hesitated and said, "First, though, why don't you tell me a little about the story you want to give me?"
"Later."
"Just a hint?"
"Later-"
"But-"
"Everything in its own time," Dorinne said. She made a sudden graceful gesture, and the next instant her negligee was off. Fogarty found the sight of her nudity almost blinding. Her bare body radiated light, like the sun. He was staggered by the beauty of her, the splendor of her heavy, hard-tipped tits, the voluptuous promise of her ass.
He began to tremble. He had not realized until this moment how thoroughly bored he was with fucking his wife, how little true enjoyment of cunt he had known in his twenty-three years. Now he stood in a room with the prettiest woman he was ever likely to see in his life, and in another moment he was going to be allowed to possess her, to actually fuck her.
He moved toward her.
Her arms stretched to him. She glided into his arms. Fogarty shivered, overwhelmed by the burst of sensual bliss rising within him. His arms tightened around her. The skin of her back was smooth as satin. He could feel the heavy rounds of her lush tits pressing against his shirt. She was wearing a soft perfume, and that was all she was wearing.
He wanted to release her, to get his clothes off, but she held him. She did not want to end the embrace. Her vuluptuous nudity clung to him, and he answered her kisses with kisses of his own, panting as she ground her cunt against his loins sending the most exquisitely voluptuous sensations ripping through every atom of him.
Then she released him and stepped back a pace.
"Kiss my breasts," she whispered.
He cupped the left one, raised it a little, brought its firm tautness to his lips, the nipple, like a ripe cherry, stood out swollen and big. He kissed it, moving it around with his lips exciting her. Then he went to the other breast. He pressed his face forward against the sweet-smelling lavishness of her flesh. He kissed the other breast again, then planted his face between them.
He sank to his knees in front of her. He spread his hands out over the firm cheeks of her buttocks, and began cunt-lapping her.
After a moment she said, "Get up. Hold me again."
He rose, and she came at him, kissing him again, flattening herself against him with such intensity that she actually forced him backward, back toward the door. He yielded to her aggressiveness, moving three steps backward.
Then the door opened and things began happening very quickly.
Fogarty heard the sound of the opening door. But he was so drugged by Dorinne's beauty, and he had had so much to drink, that his reflexes were foggy. He let go of her sluggishly and started to turn, but he was only halfway around when an arm descended and something rock-hard crashed with stunning impact against the base of his skull.
He sagged and went limp. The blackjack descended a second time and the reporter dropped numbly to his knees. He was still conscious, his eyes open, but he was weak, paralyzed by the blows, unable to rise or speak out.
He saw the three men come into the room-the three whom he had thought were truck drivers when he saw them drinking in the cafe downstairs. They looked enormous now, three 200-pounders, grim and businesslike.
Dorinne was still nude. Fogarty caught the way the eyes of the three thugs lit up and gleamed at the sight of the call girl.
"Hurry up," he heard Dorinne say in a crisp, hard voice. "Get him the hell out of here."
"Sure baby," a gravelly voice replied. "We'll take care of him."
Another voice said, "You wait right here for us, honey. Don't you put a stitch on, neither."
"Yeah. You just leave that gorgeous cunt showing till we get back, you hear?"
"Some chance," Dorinee retorted. "Go on! Hurry it up!"
"Maybe we can chip in and buy some cock-time with you, huh?" the first voice said.
"You couldn't afford me," Dorinne said. "For you three, the price is a million bucks. And if you scraped up a million, I'd raise the ante to two million."
"Damn, Dorinne-"
"Get him out!"
Fogarty stirred, tried to rise, and drew a third slug with the blackjack. It nearly tore his head off. Stinging pains shot through him, forehead and nose, as well as skull. He sprawled forward and felt powerful arms lifting him, drawing him to his feet, hauling him out.
He got a last look at Dorinne, still flaunting her dark-nippled nudity with boldness.
Then the door closed.
Fogarty moaned. He struggled for words, but no words would come. His tongue lolled limply in his mouth.
Some sort of paralysis, he realized. The effects of the slugging.
They were taking him down a back way. Nobody had seen him leave, out into the night, out into the menacing woods that came right up to the back of the roadhouse.
The mind plays funny tricks on a man who gets slugged on the head, especially after also having some alcoholic slugs.
In the half-luminous haze that was swirling inside Bill Fogarty's skull, he saw Dorinne coming towards him again, nude and fantastically lovely. He was lying on his back in the bed and she leaned over him and caressed his face with her luscious breasts. He clutched her and gobbled hungrily at her large, strawberry-tipped breasts. They became hard in his mouth and he felt her sudden cunt-warmth surrounding his cock. She was astride his throbbing, erect dick. Her full, tender buttocks and thighs stimulating him with an expert erotic grind. Fogarty was breathing hard as he felt his cock pulsing with aroused desire. Before he knew it, her cunt was deftly working his dong with a sensuous hip rhythm. Fogarty felt her cunt begin to twitch and contract spasmodically, then his very being seemed to drain out of his cock and he was lost in overwhelming ecstasy and blackness.
CHAPTER NINE
Jerry Trent eased out of the Fowler's Emperium delivery van near Jean Pierce's home. He grabbed any package from the heap in the van so it would look like a real delivery to other neighbors. He walked confidently up to the door, thinking this visit to Jean was long overdue. His girl, Edie, hadn't given his cock a single night of rest in the past week, enjoying her new found womanhood. But he had enjoyed his sessions with Jean too, and figured they could have a hot hump matinee together once in a while. With all the fucking he was getting, he'd have to cut down someplace, or start eating four eggs for breakfast ... these hot babes sure could drain a guy's balls.
Jean was unexpectedly cool to him when he entered.
"I wasn't aware of ordering anything from Fowler's," she said aloofly.
So Jeannie wants to play hard-to-get all of a sudden, Jerry thought. Well, he'd play along.
"I won't come here any more if you don't want me to," he said.
"I wouldn't want you to do that."
"Well, why don't you see me more often?"
"I told you," Jean said, suppressing a slight yawn. "It's the no-hump mood I've been in."
"How long is the mood going to last?"
"I have no way of predicting that," Jean said.
"So I won't get to see you any more often than I'm seeing you now?"
"Does you cock feel deprived, darling?" she asked. "You've got your Edie to comfort you, don't you? Or are you still preserving her up on a pedestal as your own special virgin?"
"No," Jerry said suddenly.
"Finally!"
"I didn't want to," he said. "But you weren't seeing me, and she insisted that I fuck her, and I didn't have any choice. At least she enjoyed that."
"I'm so glad darling."
"You sound like you're making fun of me."
"I?"
"Yeah, you," Jerry said. "Listen, I'm not as dumb as you think I am. You figure I'm a kind of toy. You wind me up and I shove my big cock into you, whenever you want. Not whenever I want. A toy doesn't get to want anything. Well, I got news for you. I'm a human being, Jean, not a toy."
"I never doubted you were human, Jerry."
"You got to stop teasing me. I like fucking with you, but I got to know where I stand."
"You don't stand," she said. "You lie. Which is what I wish you'd do now."
"Will you tell me why you don't see me as often? I want to see you more, Jean."
"Maybe you will," she said lazily. "It all depends on my mood. Anyway, you don't need me to fuck all the time now. You've got your Edie. She can only lose that cherry of hers only once you know. After that, there's nothing but fun fucking all the way. Or ought to be," Jean yawned daintily. "This conversation is starting to bore me terribly, darling. Let's not talk any more right now, shall we? Why don't you undress me?"
"Yeah," he said. "I guess we talked enough."
Her body strained toward his. Jean closed her eyes and let his hands roam over her. She was tingling, eager for his touch.
Connie had not quite made a complete Lesbian out of her yet, she thought.
Certainly the affair with Connie had changed her in many ways. It had taught her new ways of cunt-pleasure, and had opened new avenues of delight to her. But she was not a complete convert to the Lesbian ways. Jean passionately enjoyed the frigging of woman and woman, yes, enjoyed it far more thoroughly and enthusiastically than she had ever dreamed she would.
But she had not lost her taste for hot cock, either.
It was just that there had been a shift of emphasis. Her hump relations with Jerry Trent were no longer so terribly important in her emotional scheme of things. The powerful need she had felt for his sturdy cock earlier in the summer was now served more directly by Connie Satterlee, no longer did Jean really need the big teenager.
It just was nice to have him around.
Nice to frig him, every once in a while, when the itch struck her. Like now.
He got her clothes off. She wasn't wearing much, just a skimpy sun suit, but, even so, he negotiated the clasps and buttons with a skill, a sauve self-confidence, that he lacked that first rainy day that he had come around to make a delivery. He was growing up fast, Jean thought. He would never exactly be a man of the world, but he was getting to know his way around a woman's clothing, and also what was inside the clothing.
His hands cupped her breasts, kneaded them, squeezed, toyed, played. His lips covered hers. He was turning into quite the lover, Jean thought. She was amused by him, by his earnestness, by his callowness.
And he was so useful. A woman didn't like to get her pussy-kicks the Lesbian way all the time. The time came when you needed the hot cock that a woman couldn't give you. A woman could give you only cunning caresses and a brisk, exciting cunt-lapping. But a man could give you the hard, twisting fury of real hard cock and sometimes a woman needed it in a bad way.
"Take your clothes off!" Jean commanded.
Jerry complied. In a minute he was as naked as she was. She put her hand on his hard-on. He grinned at her.
"Your prick feels good," she said.
"For you or for me?"
"For me."
"For me too," he said.
He put one hand on her breasts, one on her asscheeks. He tightened his big fingers, capturing the willing tit tweaking the nipple, digging at the firm nipple.
"That feels good too," he said.
"It sure does."
"Come close."
"I'm as close as I can get."
"No you aren't," he said. "Not quite. Understand what I mean?"
"Sure," she said.
She rubbed her cunt against his cock. She felt a little like a star-fish covering its prey, then unfolding, turning itself inside out in order to feed. She was very close to him, now.
But a closer closeness is possible.
They both knew what that is. And in another instant, they had achieved his cock in her moist, hungry cunt with a series of powerful acts of his big, rugged dong, and her cunt welcomed him with eagerness and that was the ultimate closeness.
They began fucking together towards a blissful orgasm.
Jean smiled, and gasped, and grabbed his powerful shoulders, and pulled him against her. She arched her back, straining. Breath mingled with breath. Muscular, hairy chest crushed against pink, tender, globular breasts. Thin hard lips encompassed soft moist ones. Eyes met, hers brown and mysterious, his blue and inquisitive, in a sizzling searing interchange of passionate glances.
Nerves tingled. Cock thrust into cunt. Breasts jiggled.
The hammer of driving prick smote her twat and she rejoiced. The eddying frenzy of delight came surging out of the smoky mists of her spirit, and she shook. She pulled her lips away from his, threw her head back, let out a long cry of ecstasy as the first volcanic surges of orgasm rushed over her.
"Yes!" she yelled at him. "Oh, hell, yes, Jerry, fuck me now, now, now!"
"Now!"
"Faster!" she begged. Jerry worked faster. "Fuck me, harder!"
Jerry thrust into her cunt like some energetic minion of Cleopatra, doing the Queen's bidding.
Passion enmeshed them both in its coils. Higher they soared, and then higher, and then the explosive orgasm came, the blissful moment of release, and Jean trembled and gasped and shuddered as his jets of hot sperm ripped her, and then that was over, and she went limp, and smiled, and ran her finger idly down his body.
"That was good," she said. "That was awfully good."
He didn't answer. He cupped the nearer of her breasts and pressed the softening nipple with his thumb.
She said, "You've improved tremendously since the first time you came here. You were all raw energy the first time. You fucked with your elbows, if you know what I mean. But you've improved. You're getting to be a terrific lover now, Jerry. Your girl friend Edie has a lot to thank me for."
"Don't mention her name here."
"Why not?"
"Not now. Wow while we're screwing naked like this," Jerry said. "It isn't right. Somehow it doesn't seem right. She trusts me. She doesn't suspect that I'm off frigging around like this now."
"You're sure?"
"Sure I'm sure!"
"She doesn't think you're a virgin does she?" Jean asked.
"I don't know."
"Sure you know. She doesn't think you're a virgin, and she doesn't even want you to be one. No woman wants to marry an inexperienced man. Edie believes that you've fucked around, that you've taken the trouble to get yourself a first-hand education so you can be a good husband to her."
"Well, maybe," Jerry admitted. "But even so, she wouldn't want to think that I'm still screwing with other women. Even after-even after sleeping with her-"
"Why not? A post-graduate course?"
"No," he said. "Look, I don't even want to discuss her here, okay? It's bad enough I fuck you in the afternoon and then I go to her at night. But I don't have to talk about her here. Let's just drop it."
"All right," she said. "Fuck me again."
"I got to get on my route."
"I thought you were so upset that I wasn't humping with you often enough," Jean said. "Here I am, asking you to fuck me, and you can't spare the time. Is that being consistent, I ask you?"
"Look," Jerry said, "there's a difference between not laying you in so long that I start to go outa my head, staying here so long the same time that I lose my job. I got to go. I'll come back tomorrow, if you like. But I got to go now."
"I'll be busy tomorrow," Jean said blandly. "Better come back oh, come back next Tuesday."
"As far away as that?"
"Next Tuesday, yes."
Jerry shook his head. "One minute you're hungry for my cock, the next you're telling me to go way till next Tuesday. I can't figure you out, Jean. I just can't figure you out at all, you know that?"
She sat up, then got to her feet and strolled around the room A cool summer breeze came filtering in, caressing her nipples. She leaned against the window, giving him a full, provocative view of her nudity, and said, 'The day you do figure me out, Jerry is the day it'll be over between us."
She watched Jerry put his clothes on quickly, and there was a curious mocking smile on her face that annoyed him. All right, he thought, so he wasn't so smart, although he was smart enough. Did she have to treat him like dirt?
Was she such a genius herself?
She was a good hump partner. That was all. No matter what kind of airs she gave herself, she was nothing but a good piece of ass. She wasn't even a decent person. She was a cheating wife, and she deserved to get slammed around some for it by her husband, if he ever found out.
Jerry did not have a very high regard for Jean's morals. In his eyes, she was a deceitful tramp. It happened that he was the one who was currently taking advantage of her trampishness, but that didn't make her any more virtuous to him. It was in the nature of women to be virtuous and chaste, except for the minority who screwed around, and they were trash.
Jerry had it all figured out.
In his book, Jean was trash, and he wasn't eager to take much curd from her. The only reason why he kept coming back was that she was a hell of a hot-piece of ass, and he needed the exercise. She had taught him things about screwing that he might never have found out in any other way. In that sense, she was right; Edie had good reason to be grateful to her.
But Jerry was annoyed. Jean was always grinning slyly at him, always looking down her lovely nose at him. He realized that she had as much contempt for him, as a big gawky dumb kid, as he had for her, as a cheating wife.
Which was fine, in a way. He used her cunt and she used his prick. And neither one had any illusions about what was taking place between them.
He went to the door. Jean, still naked, followed him almost into the street.
"Kiss," she said, in the vestibule.
He kissed her. The tips of her breasts grazed his shirt. Desire rose for him again, and he felt a powerful temptation to tumble her down on the hall carpet and fuck her once again.
Which was exactly what she was trying to maneuver him into doing, he realized.
To hell with her. He was seeing Edie tonight, and Edie might be in a loving mood. Might as well save a little bit of come-juice for her, Jerry thought.
He let go of her. "I got to go," he said. "I'm late on my route. I'll catch hell."
"Yes," she said coldly. "You'd better go."
"See you around," he told her.
He walked out of the house and started to cross the street to the place where he had parked the department store's van half an hour earlier. While he was still crossing, though, a big black Cadillac limousine that had been parked up the block pulled out and drove toward him and came to a halt right in the middle of the street.
The driver looked out. "You," he said.
"Me?" Jerry said.
"That's right. Your name Jerry Trent?"
"Yes," Jerry said.
"Okay. You want to get into the car? Over here, on the other side. I want to have a little talk with you, if you got the time."
Jerry stared blankly at the face of the man at the wheel of the long black Cadillac. You didn't have to be very smart to recognize that face, if you lived in Harrison City. It was a face everyone knew.
It was the face of Jack Pierce.
And Jack Pierce was the husband of the woman he had just left in the house twenty-five feet in back of him.
Big as he was, Jerry felt his knees starting to turn to water. He glanced uneasily at the limousine, then at the parked van, and said in a high, breathy voice that he scarcely recognized as his own. "I am sorry, sir, but I've got to get back on my delivery route. I don't have time to take a drive with you."
"Don't worry. I'll see that you don't get into any trouble at the store."
"But-"
"Get in. Nobody's going to hurt you, son. We're just going to have a little talk. I'm not going to make trouble for you. I'm just going to show you how you can avoid trouble. A lot of very big trouble. Get in."
Jerry saw that he had no choice. He went around the car, half fearing that Jack Pierce would suddenly back it over him as he crossed behind it. He wondered if Jack Pierce knew the full story about him and Jean. He wondered what Jack Pierce planned to do, if he did know.
Jerry got in. He sank back nervously against the astonishingly soft upholstery. Pierce started the car, and it glided away, moving as smoothly as a dream-car. Pierce did not speak. Jerry sat stiffly, wondering what he would do if he were an important businessman and had found out that some big geek of a nineteen-year-old kid had been screwing his wife.
They turned the comer and headed north. When they had gone a few blocks, Pierce said, "Do you know who I am, Jerry?"
"Y-yes. You. You're Jack Pierce."
"Right. And whose house was that you were coming out of when I saw you?"
"Y-yours, Mr. Pierce."
"And what were you doing there?"
"I was making a delivery. From Fowler's."
"My wife's been doing a lot of shopping at Fowler's lately, hasn't she?" Pierce said, his voice soft and even not an angry voice at all.
"I guess she has, sir."
"She's certainly been getting a lot of deliveries from Fowler's," Pierce went on. "People tell me that they see the Fowler's truck in front of the house all the time. A couple of weeks ago it was there practically every day of the week, so they tell me."
"I guess your wife does a lot of shopping," Jerry said lamely.
"I guess she does," Pierce agreed. "But the people who tell me about the truck in front of the house also tell me that it seems to stay there an unusually long time. As much as half an hour or more. Does it take that much time to make a single delivery, Jerry?"
"Well gee-"
"Does it?"
"Look, Mr. Pierce, I don't know what you're driving at, but-"
Pierce said in a feathery voice, "I sat in front of the house twenty minutes today, myself. You were inside all that time. You were there when I arrived, so you spent at least half an hour with my wife Jean today, didn't you?"
"Well, yes-?"
"What were you doing with her? Discussing baseball? Talking about the weather?"
"Gee ... well ... I mean...."
Jerry felt silent. Pierce pulled the car over to the curb, and looked at him with eyes that made the boy want to sink down into the earth. Pierce said, "You find it hard to put it into words, so I'll do it for you. "You've been screwing with my wife."
Jerry was bright red now, and shaking with fear. "I just want to say it was an accident the way it started. I never meant to-I mean, I didn't go there planning-that is, I mean to say-"
"Never mind," Pierce snapped. "I'm not interested in hearing how it started. I can pretty well guess. Do you admit that you've been fucking with my wife?"
"Yes." Jerry whispered.
"Okay. At least you're honest enough not to bluff. Because I know you've been screwing her. I've got documentary proof of that."
"What are you going to do to me, Mr. Pierce?"
"To you?" Pierce smiled bleakly. "Nothing. What do you expect me to do? Horsewhip you? Have you castrated? This is Jean's fault, obviously. You're just a stray cock she happened to find handy. I told you nothing would happen to you. That is, at this stage of the game. If you wise up and play it smart from here on in, you'll come out of it untouched."
"What do you want me to do?"
"For one thing, stop seeing my wife again. Permanently. I'll see to it that she does her shopping at some other store, so you won't even have to make deliveries to her. And don't come around on your own free time, either. Don't ever come around. Don't go near her. If you're out for a walk, and see her coming toward you on the street, cross the street. Is that perfectly clear?"
"Yes, sir."
"The second thing is a lot more important. I don't really give a damn if somebody is fucking my wife, but I very much give a damn if the whole county happens to find out about it. You've got a loose tongue, young man. If you're going to screw with married women, you've got to learn to keep your mouth shut about it. You didn't. You told people, and word got back to me. I can't have that. I want you never to mention to anyone that you even know Jean Pierce. Not to anyone. What's more, if anybody asks you if you do, I insist you deny it. Even if they force you to swear on a Bible, deny it. You get me?"
"I get you."
"Let me tell you what'll happen to you if I find out that you're still fucking around with my wife, or if you tell anybody in the world that you once laid her. I'll find out about it, because I find out about everything sooner or later. You'll be taken across state lines and a surgical operation will be performed on you, a small operation so that at least the rest of the husbands of this area will be spared any trouble from you. I have a very good doctor to do the job. I think he can handle this sort of de-balling, and the odds are pretty good that you'll survive the operation, that is."
Jerry looked at him, shaken. He was dead serious, Jerry realized.
Pierce said, "Have we reached an understanding, then?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. I'll drive you back to your truck, now. And remember, I don't want you ever setting foot on my street again."
The limousine started again. Within moments, Jerry was back in front of the Pierce house. He wondered if Jean Pierce had seen him get into her husband's limousine. He wondered what Jack Pierce was going to say to his wife now.
Jerry got into the department store truck and fumbled for the key. He was so jolted that he had trouble starting the truck, but he managed it finally, put it in gear and got the hell off the street.
Who had squealed?
Only one person knew. Joey, the little rat! But had Joey gone right to Pierce with the story? Not even Joey would pull a stunt like that except for money maybe.
No matter. Jerry figured he had gotten off pretty damned lightly with nothing but a warning. Jack Pierce was certainly a cool cat, Jerry figured. He didn't want any scandals, so he had moved in to put a stop to things without fuss.
Well, Jerry thought, it had been great fucking between him and Jean. But now it was ended. Fini!
That was for sure. Today had been the last round. The appointment for next Tuesday would never be kept now.
He began to whistle in the cab of the truck on his way back to Fowler's Emperium. Things were turning out for the best after all. Rolling in the hay with married cunt was all right, especially when they were as good-looking and experienced in dishing out real passionate hump like this babe, Jean. Jerry wondered if she sizzled and got as worked up while fucking with old man Pierce as she had with him. He'd heard that lots of these married guys couldn't make it with their own wives.
Well, he grinned, that was one problem he and his girl, Edie would never have. She just couldn't seem to get enough of his cock and was all right with Jerry. For a recent virgin, she was becoming a pretty experienced humper in a very short time, surprising him with some cute bed tricks. He felt a thrill of hump-desire go through him as he thought of their date tonight.
CHAPTER TEN
As he quietly unlatched his front door and entered his house, Jack Pierce felt smug and self satisfied. Now that Jean's delivery boy gigolo had been scared away, and that wise-guy reporter, Bill Fogarty had been taken care after a fashion, things were shaping up again. He'd be an I. E. C. Vice-President yet!
Now, he'd have to straighten out his ever-loving wife, Jean, the delivery-boy's hump-delight.
"Jean, where are you, Jean?" he called.
"Out here in the garden," she replied.
He went out to her. He had built the Japanese style sunken rock-garden for her a few years ago. It was circular, twenty feet in diameter, completely surrounded with a thick hedge of intermeshed evergreens. The garden was completely secluded, and, short of taking a helicopter ride, nobody could spy on her except from within the house itself. Jean spent a lot of time out there, even on mild days in winter.
He could see her as he passed through the television room that opened into the Japanese garden. She was lying on her back, stark naked in the hot summer sunshine. A tiny patch of white plastic covered each nipple, to shield the delicate rubies from the sun, and she had a towel draped across her eyes. Otherwise her body was bare and luscious.
And, he thought, her cunt was still full of scum from the hump of that kid.
"Very pretty." She laughed, and sat up, taking the towel from her eyes. The patches of plastic fell from her nipples, so that her nudity was entirely open to him.
"Just getting some sun," she said. "You're home early, aren't you?"
"A hot day. I didn't feel like staying late. Besides, I wanted to have a little talk with you."
"A talk?" she said.
"Five minutes worth."
"Fine," she said. "Mind if I turn over while I listen, darling?"
"Suit yourself, Jean."
She roiled languidly over onto her face and let her body go limp. Pierce let his eyes roll down the shininess of her body, down past the tanned shoulders to the tapered waist to the paler skin of her high rounded, thrusting asscheeks and then to the finely made legs beyond.
He looked at her for a long moment.
Then he said, "Jean, do you happen to know anybody named, Jerry Trent?"
Her only outward visible reaction was a slight twitch of the buttocks-as though he had jabbed her there with a poker. She did not look up.
"I don't think so, darling," she said.
"You don't?"
"Is he somebody in the firm?"
"No," Pierce said. "He isn't even old enough to vote, as a matter-of-fact. You're positive you don't know who he could be."
"Well, not positive," she said. "I can't say that. But the name doesn't ring any bells."
"Let me try another question then," Pierce said. "When I reached the house, there was a department store delivery truck out in front. Why?"
"I was getting a delivery."
"Of what?"
"Oh-oh, well-some stockings. Some nylon stockings I ordered."
"Want to show me the package?"
"What is this, an inquisition?"
"You said you had a package delivered, Jean. All I want to see is that package."
"I put the stockings away already."
"Really? So fast? But the delivery bus just left a few minutes ago."
"What are you getting at, Jack?"
"Don't you know?"
Jean propped herself up on one elbow, so she could look at him. Her face seemed drawn and tense, and there was a glare of mingled defiance and fear in her dark eyes. "No," she said. "You'll have to spell it all out for me, Jack."
"All right. I will. You've been screwing with a delivery boy from Fowler's. His name is Jerry Trent, and he was here today and he's been coming here every couple of days for weeks now."
"You must have a good detective, Jack."
"The best."
"Well get a better one," she said. "This is all crazy, and you know it. Why in God's name would I fuck with a delivery boy?"
"You're the only one who can answer that question," he told her.
"I can't. It isn't true."
"You're denying it?"
"Of course I deny it," she said.
"Let's see you deny this, now."
He took the photograph Bill Fogarty had given him from his pocket, and let if flutter down toward the nude form of his wife. Jean picked it up, stared at it in horror and obvious shock.
"Where did you-"
"A blackmailing snooper took it and sold it to me," Pierce said. "Isn't it pretty? Go on. Tell me it's somebody else. Tell me it isn't you getting fucked in the photo."
Jean gasped. She was speechless.
Pierce went on, "I just had a little talk with your teen-age boy friend. I told him to keep the hell away from you, if he wanted to keep his balls attached to his cock. He took the hint. He'll keep away. He thinks I let him off pretty damned rightly, and he's right."
Pierce crouched down next to her, inches from her sweat-stippled nakedness. "You stupid little cocksucker, are you trying to wreck me entirely?"
"I was bored. You were neglecting me. It was a rainy day and I was going buggy, and he came around and rang the bell. I couldn't help it. I've got strong sex needs, Jack. You know that. And you weren't around often enough to give me the fucking I crave! I'm a passionate woman, you know."
"I know. And a stupid one. If you want to get laid on the side, that's your business, Jean. But to pick a kid-a loudmouth kid who'd brag to all his buddies that he fucked Jean Pierce, you must have been out of your mind! There are grown men in town you can screw with, Jean! Married men who stand to get in trouble themselves if the news gets out. Men who understand the meaning of discretion. Don't you see what it could do to my business future if the town knew that you were a tramp who was fucking a teen-ager?"
Jean smiled bitterly. "I understand, Jack. It isn't a matter of morality at all. So far as you're concerned, I can make fuck with dogs and horses, so long as nobody finds out about it. You're worried about your future, not about your wife's cunt. Is that it?"
"That's exactly it."
"I think you're despicable! I think you're the most cold-blooded reptile in the world!" He hit her.
He hit her cold-bloodedly, with malice aforethought, slicing a chopped blow across her lips that sent her head snapping back sharply. Her eyes went wide, as though she were astonished that he would dare to lift his hand to her, and he lifted it again, belting her with a flat slap to the cheek that almost took her face apart.
"Jack-"
"Bitch!" he muttered. "Tramp!"
She huddled on her air mattress, naked and defenseless, and he moved in on her, crouching over her to rain a hail of blows on her soft, unprotected body. Two of his fingers, rigid and joined, sliced against her breast, leaving a diagonal welt crossing the nipple. She gasped and he hit her other breast, smiling at the whimper of pain he drew.
She folded up into a fetal position, huddling to protect herself. Panting now, losing some of his icy detachment, Jack found himself pulling his belt out of his trousers.
She had sinned.
She needed to be punished.
"Jack-no!"
He lifted the belt and brought it down with a snap against the soft, tender pink flesh of her bare asscheeks. She yelped and jerked away, but before she could roll over he had brought the belt up and down again, slashing mercilessly at the small of her back and the flawless fleshy cheeks of her ass.
"Don't scream," he warned her. "Don't raise your voice. It'll be worse for you if you do."
She moaned under the lash. Pierce began to gasp and sweat as the excitement of it took hold of him. There she was naked and twisting on the ground, all her loveliness exposed, her muscles knotting in pain. And he brought the belt down, again and again, now choosing to catch her simply with its metal-----rimmed tip, now letting her have the full flat of it across her legs or buttocks or breasts.
Sweat oiled her body. Criss-crossing networks of red welts appeared on her honey-dark skin. She crawled across the sun-patio to avoid him, but he followed her.
There was no escape from his lash.
He threw a storm of blows at her, catching her on breasts and legs, asscheeks and middle, as she moved to escape him. The frenzy grew in him. She had been foolish, suicidally foolish, and now it behooved him to beat some sense into her.
The belt rose and fell, rose and fell.
Whick! Thwack! Slap! Crack!
Quivering buttock-flesh tasted leather. Swaying, jiggling, red-tipped breasts knew the impact of the lash. Her cheeks, her mouth itself, felt the sting of his wrath.
"Stop!" she begged him, half-hysterical. "I'll be good, Jack I won't ever do that again! Please stop!"
He didn't stop.
He went on like some angel of vengeance, showering whip-blows on her, until his arm began to tire. He paused for a rest, a few moments later, and stood gasping, looking down at her. She lay on her buttocks, sitting up, her reddened breasts heaving.
As he hesitated, she said, "Please, Jack, stop it. I've got something important to tell you-"
"Shut your lying mouth!"
"-about your Vice-Presidency."
He was already starting to lift his arm for another blow. Then the import of her words hit him.
"What did you say?"
"It's about your Vice-Presidency. Important. But first stop it with your belt."
"If this is a joke-"
"No joke," she said, and there was something in her panicky look that made him believe her. His arm sagged to his side. He let the belt fall.
"Well, what is it?"
"I ... I wanted to tell you ... I've been talking to Connie Satterlee about you. I've asked her to speak to Bob on your behalf, about the Vice-Presidency."
"Am I supposed to believe that?"
"It's true, Jack! I swear it!"
"Even if it is true, why do you think it'll help me in any way?"
"Bob listens to Connie. She gives him a lot of advice that he takes."
"Sure. But why should she listen to you? Since when are you and she such good friends? Why the hell should she do me any favors?"
"Believe me-she will, Jack."
"Just like that? For no reason at all? Give me a
Vice-Presidency because a woman she hardly knows is asking her to?"
"There's a reason," Jean said. "A very good reason."
"What?"
"You wouldn't want to know it."
"Tell."
"No, Jack. You'll be even more upset."
"You started this whole line of conversation, Jean. Now you're going to finish it. What's going on between you and Connie Satterlee? What kind of influence do you have with her?"
"You'll be angry if I tell you."
"I promise not to hurt you."
"You'll be disgusted."
"Tell me or I'll whip you again!" he snapped at her. "All right," Jean said. "Remember, you asked for it, Jack. I've been frigging with her."
"What?"
"She's a Lesbian, at least part time. She took a fancy to me and made a special trip here to have me cunt-lap her. She said she'd get you that job if I gave in to her. And I did. You see what I'm willing to do for you, Jack?"
Jack swayed. He was stunned, staggered, numbed, by the revelation. Connie-his own mistress, the boss' wife a Lesbian? Fucking around with Jean as well as with him?
Monstrous!
Incredible!
"If you're making this up, Jean."
"It's gospel. You just wait and see. Ralph M. Spofford who's now Vice-President of Harrison Home Products Division here in town is ailing, and they're putting pressure on him to resign. Connie said the job's as good as yours. Maybe as early as next month. They'll be in touch with you soon, to sound you out on your availability. And it's all my doing. If I hadn't cunt-lapped Connie somebody else would have gotten the job."
Jack stared at her in shock. The world had abruptly become a much more unstable and insecure place than he already knew it to be.
Jean said, "I'll make a deal with you, Jack!"
"Deal? What kind of deal?"
"If I say the word to Connie, it'll all be off. No Vice-Presidency. On the other hand, you've caught me fucking for this kid and you can make a lot of trouble for me. So we'll have a mutual pact. I'll continue to push your job with Connie, and you'll forget about my humping with the delivery boy. I'll promise to stop seeing him and never to be so careless again. And you'll promise not to hit me any more."
Jack looked at his wife as though she were some naked stranger before him.
"And you'll go on cunt-lapping Connie?"
"I have to," she said. "If you want to get anywhere in your business ambition."
"You enjoy sucking another woman's cunt?"
Jean smiled. "It's interesting. I'll tell you all about it some time. But do we have a deal? No more delivery boys, no more whippings. And you get your job, signed, sealed and delivered, care of Connie and me."
Jack shook his head baffledly. "This is the screwiest thing I ever heard, Jean."
"You might as well agree. Otherwise well have to separate, you'll lose your chance, and there'll be a hell of a mess for you. You've got everything to gain and nothing to loose by agreeing to the arrangement."
"Which means agreeing to share my wife's pussy with another woman."
"It's not so terrible. It's better than sharing her cunt with a delivery boy, isn't it?"
Jack pondered that. The true obscenity of the arrangement was known only to him, of course. And to Connie. Certainly Jean could not be aware of the triple bonds of hump-lust that bound him to Connie and Connie to the two of them. Nor could he tell her. It made no sense to surrender such valuable information, to make such a damning confession, and get nothing in return. He had to cling to his moral superiority, in Jean's eyes.
"All right," he said in a choked voice. "It's a deal. You keep going with Connie. And we stay man and wife. No fights, no separation. And that teen-aged prick-pusher doesn't come around here any more. It's a deal."
"I'm so glad, darling."
"I'm not. But its the only way."
"Yes. Come down here and let's make a formal contract."
"What do you mean?"
"You know," she said, and her breasts rose. Her arms stretched toward him.
She wanted him to fuck her. Now.
And, he realized, he wanted her. His cock was rigid, aching with desire. The beating, her nakedness, had given him a terrific hard-on.
And somehow her confession of Lesbian love gave her a new and strange appeal. The old, familiar Jean whom he knew so well had vanished, and in her place lay this stranger, this twin, capable seemingly of any sin, of any strangeness, of any wanton kind of wanton fucking.
He began to strip away his clothes with urgent haste.
He lay down nude beside her on the sun pad. Her red nipples were hard and erect on her generous breasts, she nuzzled them in his face and the nipples were at his lips. His mouth closed over each, as he began to kiss them eagerly in turn.
She urged him, "Try to kiss them both at the same time." She caressed his thighs and back as he squeezed her tits together and flicked both nipples with his eager tongue. She brought her soft round belly and warm thighs next to him and began a tantalizing grind against him. Jack reached for her shoulders and moved so that they were belly to belly, thigh to thigh. He was grunting with the fever pitch of passion, his big stiff prick was throbbing against her glowing skin. He placed his hand between her squirming legs for a moment and Jean gasped at the sudden thrust of his huge cock into her hot hungry cunt. She quickened the warm rhythm of her twat, riding up and down on his prick, as he cupped her buttocks to bring her cunt even closer to his pounding pecker.
Jean suddenly dug her heels into his back, stiffening with the spasms of her beginning orgasm. Then she felt him arch and groan with delight as a completing rush of hot scum through his prick jetted into her writhing cunt. It was the most enjoyable come they had ever had in their entire married life!
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Lying in bed, Connie Satterlee had a way of being very cute. Her cuteness and guile, especially when she decided on a hump workout with Robert M. Satterlee, President of Intercontinental Electronics Corporation, was also very effective in getting her what she wanted.
"Bob, darling, what's this I've been hearing about a hospital checkup for Ralph Spofford? You know, your Vice-President at Harrison Home Products Division?"
"Well, Ralph's close to retirement age-and confidentailly, I think he's had a coronary."
"That means you'd have to replace him right away, doesn't it?"
"Looks that way," Satterlee replied.
He came to the bedroom. Connie was sitting up in bed. The sheets were turned down, baring her lush nakedness as far as her ass. The President looked at the volupuous curves of her titties with appreciation.
Connie said, "Have you talked to Jack Pierce about the job yet?"
"No. I guess I'll call him tomorrow, after I hear the hospital report on Spofford."
"The job's definitely his, then?"
"Oh, yes. You're suddenly awfully interested in getting him that job, aren't you?"
Connie shrugged, the shrug doing interesting things to the generous double mounds of her voluptuous knockers. "It's for Jean's sake. I told you. She wants Jack to have a different job. Something with more regular hours, fewer smoke-filled rooms."
"I didn't realize you and Jean were such close friends," Satterlee said.
"It's only recently," Connie said. "She's such a sweet girl. Jack is so lucky to have her."
The President made no particular reply, except to put his hands on the full, bursting swells of his wife's tits. Connie moved closer to him. Her nipples began to go rigid.
Then she took his rigid hard-on and sat her moist hot, cunt right down on it!
The President emitted a sigh of Presidental pleasure and squeezed her breasts all the tighter. Connie began to pun. She worked wildly against Bob Satterlee's cock.
Passion mounted for both of them.
So Jack would get his Vice-Presidency, Connie thought happily, while she moved through the early stages of the humping. That was nice. That was very nice. It had taken a little coaxing, but Bob had agreed, Bob never refused her anything, if she seemed to want it badly enough.
She was glad about it. Jack would be glad. Jack would think that she had obtained the job for him, as a favor to him, because he was her lover.
Jack could be wrong.
She was Jack Pierce's mistress because it pleased and amused her to be. But she had gotten him his Vice-Presidency simple and solely because she had needed to, in return for Jean's frigging, and it was Jean's cunt-lapping she really wanted.
Connie closed her eyes. Even while she worked with Bob, she imagined that she was really frigging with Jean. It took a fair amount of imagining. She had to pretend that the strong hands gripping her tits were actually Jean's soft, dainty ones.
In the end it took more imagining than Connie could handle. Try as hard as she could, it was impossible to summon up the image of Jean as the person with her. No matter what, she could not drive from her mind the fact that it was with her husband's cock and not Jack Pierce's wife, with whom she was enjoying the thrills of passion right now.
She would have to remedy that, she thought, by frigging with Jean at the earliest possible moment. Yes. To celebrate. To celebrate Jack's new job.
At eleven o'clock the following morning, Ralph M. Spofford telephoned President Satterlee to announce, in a quavery, barely audible voice, that he was resigning. "Make it effective as of September first. That'll give me a little time to get home from the hospital and clear out my office," the old I. E. C. workhorse said.
A little later in the day, the I. E. C. public relations office had a press release to hand out:
"Vice-President R. M. Spofford will bring more than three decades of Corporate service to a close on the first of September, when he will resign. The Senior Vice-President of Harrison Home Products Division has been in poor health for the past eight months.
"In announcing the resignation, President Satterlee declared, 'It's is a great loss to I. E. C. and I am deeply grieved to learn that this grand old man of business, must at last yield to the inexorable inroads of health, as must we all, and has decided to withdraw from business life. A successor to Mr. Spofford is expected to be named in several days.'"
A little later the same day, President Satterlee put in a person-to-person call to the office of Jack Pierce. Jack, as it happened, was already on his way up to confer with Satterlee on a routine matter of business. The call was relayed to the radio-telephone in Pierce's company car.
"I suppose you've heard about the Spofford resignation," the President said.
"I knew he was ailing," Pierce said, fighting hard to keep the exultation out of his voice.
"He phoned this morning from Morningside Hospital," Satterlee said. "He's stepping down as of September first. The press release went out a little while ago, and I guess the story'll be in the evening papers."
"He's ready sick, is he?"
"He won't last the year, I understand."
"Too bad," Pierce said. "He was really a good guy. We need more like him."
"Yes," the President said. "Listen, Jack, I was wondering if you had any suggestions about a replacement for him. Anybody down your way who merits a boost upward?"
Pierce nearly dropped the phone. Satterlee had slipped him an unexpected curve ball, and it took him unawares. Suggestions for a replacement? What the hell kind of business was that? Jean had said the job was supposed to be going to him. But he couldn't very well put forth his own name as a recommendation to the boss.
Faltering, Pierce said, "Well, yes, there are several people-I'd have to consider the matter more fully, of course, before I named any names."
"Why so modest, Jack?"
"I don't understand."
"I was thinking of you, Jack," the President said jovially. "Of course, if you think there's someone in your district more deserving of the job than you are, just tell me that name and I'll be glad to consider him."
"Thinking of naming me-"
"That's right. As of September one. For the full Senior Vice-Presidency at the regular salary. Subject to confirmation by the I. E. C. Board of Directors, of course, but I don't think you'd really have any problems on that score. On the other hand, if you prefer to maintain your present post, and let the Vice-Presidency go-"
So he had been joking, Pierce thought, when he had asked for "suggestions." The sadistic old goat! Pierce began to relax, now that he realized the job was in the bag.
He said, "Well, naturally, I'll have to talk to Jean about this, Bob. It's a tremendous step forward, and I feel a little humbled by it all. I simply hope that I'm capable of turning in the kind of job I know you're expecting of me."
"I know you are, Jack. Otherwise I'd never have brought the subject up."
"That's very kind of you, Bob."
"I'd like an official acceptance letter from you within forty-eight hours," the President said. "We'll make the appointment public by the middle of the next week. My congratulations, Jack. There wasn't a better man in I. E. C. for the job."
Jack Pierce doubted that. He could think of at least half a dozen who were better qualified.
But no matter. He had pulled the right strings-or had had them pulled for him-and the job was his. His!
Senior Vice President Jack Pierce. It sounded good. Good old Bob, he thought. Good old Connie! Good old Jean!
It had been a cooperative effort, he thought. Senior Vice-President Jack Pierce. In the bag!
The press release on the Spofford resignation reached the newspapers in plenty of time for that night edition of the Sun. A very junior reporter was put to work on the not especially difficult job of transforming the press release into a news story, which could be done more or less by copying the press release and throwing in a little biographical information on R. M. Spofford.
The Sun did not intend to give the story very much play-a place on the front page, yes, but way down where it wouldn't attract attention. The big story of the day was more of a house story: the disappearance of a star reporter named Bill Fogarty.
He had been missing a couple of days, now, car and all. At first, it was assumed that he was simply off on a bender; reporters do that, now and then, just as in the gaudy old days of hard drinking journalists. But Mrs. Fogarty, a pallid, pregnant, bewildered little girl, was sure he hadn't done anything of the sort. "He wouldn't have just gone away," she insisted over and over again. "He wasn't the type. He was hard working every serious and sober-minded-"
Everyone on the paper agreed that Bill Fogarty was hard-working and very serious and sober-minded. Which didn't explain a thing, really, because hard working, serious, and sober-minded young men were just as prone to going off the deep end as other sorts, and possibly even a little more so.
But then a story turned up that he had been seen at a roadhouse one night recently, that he had had a rendezvous there with a girl in one of the upstairs rooms. Nobody could identify the girl, and the people at the roadhouse weren't even sure that they could identify the reporter, though he "kind of looked like" the man in the newspaper photos.
Was it Fogarty? What was he doing at the roadhouse, then? Who was the mysterious girl? No answers.
A reporter named Ferdinand Hughes, who had been on the Sun for ten years, and who had long ago given up hope of getting promoted to some more desirable slot on the sister paper, was assigned to the Bill Fogarty story. He did some routine poking around, questioned a few people, drove out to the roadhouse and snooped a little, without accomplishing anything.
It was not until his third day on the assignment that he thought of looking in the missing reporter's desk-an oversight that did much to explain why after ten years Ferdy Hughes was still a nonentity in the world of journalism.
A quick look in Fogarty's desk turned up nothing.
But a more careful look, later the same day, produced something very interesting indeed. It was a small crackle-finish gray cashbox, locked. A gummed label had been affixed to its lid, and on the label, Bill Fogarty had typed: To Be Opened In The Event of my Death or Sudden Disappearance. B. F.
Ferdy Hughes' pulse pounded a little faster.
He fumbled with the cashbox, but it was locked securely, and not even a minute search of Fogarty's desk succeeded in turning up the key. A locksmith was called in, and he managed to get the box open in twenty minutes with a sliver of bent wire.
He began to lift the lid.
"That's okay," Hughes said quickly. "I'll take it from there."
In a private office off the dingy office, the reporter opened the cashbox. It contained only two things: a manuscript, typed single spaced on a cheap grade of yellow second sheet, and a black and white photograph.
Hughes looked at the photograph.
Hughes gasped.
Hughes blinked.
The photo showed a nude woman sprawled out with a muscular young man above her, just as nude. From their position, it was unmistakable that they were fucking, and the look on the woman's face was one of sheer joy.
The woman Ferdy Hughes realized in astonishment, was Jean Pierce, the business leader's wife screwing with some local kid!
Ferdy Hughes' hands shook so much as he unfolded the manuscript that he nearly ripped the sheets. He read, going over each sentence two and three times to be absolutely sure he was making no error. "To whom it may concern:
I have been playing an extremely dangerous game, and if you are reading this, it means that I have lost the game. I have been forced by circumstances of economic hardship to dabble in blackmail, for the first and only time in my life. But I am dealing with a powerful and ruthless man, and it is quite possible he will have decided to destroy me rather than let the risk I represent continue to exist. The enclosed photograph should tell much of the story. The woman is, of course, Mrs. Jean Pierce. Acting on a tip, I spied on her detected her in the act of adultery with a local boy named Jerry Trent.
I realize that such a story is dynamite. However, my private circumstances were such that I found it more suitable to approach her husband, Jack Pierce, and attempt to blackmail him. We agreed on terms of a thousand dollars a month for ten months, after which I was supposed to rum the negative of the photo over to him.
At the moment the negative is in Box 10 of the vault at the Harrison City National Bank, downtown office.
Jack Pierce is a clever and powerful man and he may think I represent too much of a danger to him. On that case he may choose to eliminate me, acting through thugs. I set this down in the hopes that he will be punished for such an act.
Tonight I am going to 'Manettie's Roadhouse,' north of town, to see the call-girl Dorinne Lee. She contacted me today, promising to reveal important information. There is the possibility that this is a trap, that she may be in the pay of Jack Pierce. In that case I may never return from the roadhouse. I suppose I will have brought this on myself, through my insistence on blackmailing him rather than going through more legal channels to bring his wife's immorality to public notice.
I hope that you who read this will see that the proper action is taken against this man and his henchmen, whoever they may be.
Bill Fogarty"
Ferdy Hughes read the document through several more times. Then he stared at the damning photograph, at the oh-so-clearly limned contours of Jean Pierce's frigging voluptuous body, the sleek lines, the ripe globe of her bare breast crushed lustfully against the chest of the boy whose cock was in her cunt!
He put the photograph in his breast pocket. He crossed the room, to the photocopy machine, and rapidly ran off two copies of Bill Fogarty's letter. He filed one in Fogarty's desk and one in his own. Then, taking the original and the photograph, he headed toward the cubicle of the City Editor.
The City Editor, a harried-looking, balding man named Mike Glennon, who regarded his job on the Sun as an advance installment of purgatory, was on the phone when Hughes approached. Hughes waited.
Glennon said, "Yeah, I've got it. Jack Pierce is in line for the Spofford job. Yeah. Appointment to be announced in a few days. Okay, we'll run it as a teaser. I'll have a man call Satterlee just in case, and Pierce too. The worst we can get is a no-comment. Yeah. Sure. Keep in touch and let's see how it breaks."
Glennon put down the phone and said, "What is it, Hughes? Anything on the Fogarty story?"
"I think I've got something pretty good," Hughes said.
"Well, let's get down to cases," Mike Glennon said impatiently. "We got a paper to get out today."
"Maybe I got something about that guy you were just talking about that will make you stop the presses," Ferdy Hughes said mysteriously.
"Maybe this'll change your mind," Hughes said and handed Mike Glennon his precious scoop, the photograph and the letter. "Bui Fogarty left these behind."
"Wow!" Glennon exclaimed, snatching the incriminating hump-photograph from Ferdy Hughes' hand, "little boys like you shouldn't be playing with pictures like that!"
He tore his eyes away from the picture and began to read Bill Fogarty's letter. Finishing, Mike Glennon turned to Ferdy Hughes and roared, "So you finally got us a 'stop the presses scoop', huh, Ferdy boy?"
CHAPTER TWELVE
The TV was blaring away in a comer of the fancy motel suite where Connie and Jack Pierce had shacked up for an afternoon of fun and fucking. They were celebrating the good news about Jack's finally getting the Senior Vice-Presidency he had set his heart on for so long.
"Here's looking at Harrison City's newest Vice-President," Connie crowed.
"Well, it's not quite official yet," Jack said.
"Don't worry, Jack dear, you have my stamp of approval. It's in the bag."
He poured himself another bourbon-on-the-rocks and thought he should be grateful to Connie Satterlee. If it weren't for her, he probably would have been knocking his brains out as I.E.C.'s Northeast Area Division Manager for the rest of his life. But there was an aspect to this whole situation which had been disturbing him deeply.
What Connie did not know, though, was that Pierce was aware of the existence of a third person, an intermediary. He knew, and she did not know that he knew, that the main reason he had been tapped for a Vice-Presidency was that his wife had succumbed to Connie's Lesbian frigging.
Pierce was faintly revolted, and yet at the same time morbidly fascinated, with the whole thing. The intricate three-way fuck relationship between himself, Jean and Connie had resulted in a superb business payoff, and he hadn't any gripes about that, but it had also created a strange sex tangle with him in the middle.
"I want you to fuck me," Connie commanded suddenly. "Hurry. Get your clothes off."
Pierce looked at her. She was naked already, had been nude when he first entered the motel room fifteen minutes earlier. She lounged shamelessly on the bed, her lush cunt on flamboyant display.
Suddenly he was sick of her, sick of her upside-down fucking preferences, sick of her man-traits, sick of her bossy tone, sick of her whole personality. Now that his job was in the bag, he decided to make a change in their relationship. No longer would he give in meekly to all of Connie's whims. No longer would he crawl around the floor for her, stand on his head for her. From now on, he would run the show, and she would knowtow to him, the way he felt a mere cunt ought to do.
And if she didn't like it-
Well, damn her. She could take it or leave it. If she didn't enjoy playing second fiddle, she could find some other sucker to push around.
"Hurry up," she said. "I'm waiting for you."
"Be patient," he told her. "I haven't finished my drink yet."
"Finish it afterward."
He shook his head. "I'm thirsty. You wait, Connie."
He smiled at her, and deliberately took a deep, slow sip of his drink. She looked startled. She wasn't accustomed to having her lover-boy talk back to her. In the past, he had been afraid to, because he needed too badly to stay on her good side until he had what he wanted from her.
Now he had it. The Vice-Presidency was his, and nothing she could say and do could take it away from him.
Let the crummy little lesbo pervert learn to be patient, he thought. Let her wait.
He finished his drink.
Then, moving as though this night were going to be at least a hundred years long, Pierce began to remove his clothing. He took each garment off with the greatest of precision and hung it carefully, to avoid even the chance of a crease.
Connie, naked and impatient on the bed, sighed and fumed. She said nothing though. Pierce smiled at her from time to time as he went through the deliberate process of undressing himself.
Then, finally prick stiff, he advanced toward the bed.
Connie rose to meet him. Her arms slipped round his shoulders, drawing him down, and her lips aggressively sought his. Her tongue began to search, but he met it roughly with his own, and pushed forward, forcing his way to her mouth instead.
His hands seized her tits. He gripped them as though he were going to hurt her. Her heavy, resilient fleshy knockers contracted in his grasp. Connie sighed. Connie panted. Closing his eyes for a moment, Pierce tried to picture what the frigging scene must be like with Connie and Jean in bed together. The two beautiful, full-titted wenches playing with each other.
The mere imagined picture of the two of them sent strange currents of excitement through him. He wondered if there might possibly be some way in the future that he could arrange to watch the two of them in their Lesbian acts. A command performance, staged for an audience of one.
A highly appreciative audience.
And then, he thought, after they amused each other for awhile, he would jump between and fuck them himself, first one, then the other, shuttling from one cunt to the other, creating an extricable tangle of flesh. It was a pleasant situation to think about, and he thought about it for quite a while, while fondling Connie's lush body, stroking the softness of her pussy.
But Connie was still impatient. Her nostrils were wide, and she was snorting with need for his cock.
And now she was starting to climb on his stiff dong again, assuming that dominance that she was so fond of, that man-humiliating position that could be such pleasant fucking for a couple as an occasional switch, but which was a denial of a man's virility when his woman insisted on that as a steady diet.
"No," he said, and shook her off.
She looked at him in amazement. "What's the matter, Jack? Something wrong?"
"We aren't going to fuck that way."
"But I like that way."
"I know you do. So do I, sometimes, but not all the time, Connie. I want to try screwing another way," he said. "You can't have cock your way all the time."
"Jack, you look so strange. Are you angry at me? I got you the job, didn't I? Why do you sound so bitter all of a sudden?"
"I'm not. I just want a little hump variety. Is that so strange?"
"All right," she said. "Well fuck any way you like. I want to please you, Jack."
He grinned at her. He had won the first battle, almost without a fight. Maybe Connie was so accustomed to having her own way that her resistance collapsed at the first sign of any opposition. Maybe she didn't really know how to fight back when someone opposed her.
She stretched out next to him in the bed, and spreading her legs waited for him to take the lead. But she still didn't fully understand what it was he wanted from her, obviously.
She was lying on her back.
But Jack Pierce had other ideas. Something he had long wanted to try, but he had never really had the guts to with Jean, or with anybody else for that matter.
Now he had a chance.
"Turn over," he said.
She gaped at him. "Huh?"
"You heard me. Be a good girl and turn over, or I'll turn you over."
"What are you going to do?"
"I'll draw you a diagram," he said. "But first turn over, will you?"
She started to turn. When she had her back to him, Pierce pressed against her, and pushed her the rest of the way. Her body was stiff and tense. She was very much ill at ease, now. Like most aggressive, domineering women, she was terrified at any situation that got beyond her control, and this situation was getting beyond her control very rapidly indeed.
Pierce put his hands on her firm, hot asscheeks. He squeezed them and kneaded them and caressed them. Then his forefinger began to play with her asshole.
"Jack no!"
"Yes."
"You'll hurt me.' "This'll be fun."
"I've never done that before."
"There's always a first time," he reminded her. "I don't want to."
"I do."
"I'll scream."
"Sure you will," he said. "And the motel dick will come running in and find the boss' wife in bed naked and getting her asshole reamed out with the new Vice President. That'll do us both a lot of good, won't it?"
"Please, Jack."
His stiff prick neared her asshole. She was tense, quivering. He said, "I thought you were supposed to be adventurous. That you liked to try different things."
"Not that."
"Why be so narrow-minded?"
"Please, Jack," she squirmed and tried to get away from him. "i don't want that."
"For once, it's what I want that counts," he said. "Make up your mind that you're going to enjoy my cock any place I want to shove it in.
He held her tightly. He moved close. He gripped and spread her asscheeks, held her so her rectum was exposed.
Then, he thrust his cock right up her asshole brutally.
She didn't scream. She made a little strangled sound of extreme agony, a sound that was beyond a scream, a soul-cry of tortured nerve-endings. Her body stiffened and she started to shake.
He put his hands around to cup her luscious, hanging knockers. He pulled her close against him.
She was so quiet that he thought she had fainted, and for one uneasy moment he was worried that he had seriously injured her asshole in his brutality. But she was simply gathering strength, it turned out. She lay still. He worked his stiff dick in and out. She went wild.
He was like a man playing a giant marl in.
She cried out. "Oh damn! My asshole's on fire, Jack! That big cock of yours hurts, and I love it."
Pierce grinned savagely. Good for her! For once in her life, a man had showed her something new, and she had the honesty to admit she was conquered.
Strange new sensations went through him. He wondered what she was thinking at this moment. His left hand abandoned her breast and moved down the front of her.
She gasped and began to work her anus up and down his rigid prick. He thought she would leap clear out of her skin.
"God!" she cried. "I'm burning up!" He clung to her.
"Go!" she begged him. "Go! Go! Go!"
He showed no mercy, for the more he hurt her the more she seemed to love him. Her arching, trembling ass pressed against his. He bit down on his lower lip until the blood was close to the surface, and struggled to prolong the passion.
But he could not. His over-stimulated cock could only yield to the flood of stunning sensations pouring over him.
He jerked and went rigid, and a moment later the heat of his spurting jets of sperm shooting into her asshole spurred her to her highest peak of frenzy yet. Pierce rode her ass like a bronco-breaker, clinging to her breasts as though they were saddle-pommels.
She sighed.
She lurched.
She erupted and came with cunt-writhing volcanic passions, glowed with a white heat around her rectum.
And then that was over, and she subsided, and they lay side by side, stunned at the magnitude of the forces that had been liberated by his cock reaming her asshole.
"Jack?" Connie said, after a long period of silence.
"Mmm?"
"Jack, I'm so glad you ... you made me take it up my asshole. I feel like a different person now."
"Variety," he said. "The spice of life."
She ran her hand over his limp, shit-covered cock gently, affectionately. "Can I get you a drink, Jack?" she asked in a tone of subservience that he had never heard her use before.
In a comer upstairs room at Manetti's Roadhouse, Edie Coleman and Jerry Trent were taking their ease on a double bed with a sagging middle. The noise of the juke-box and merry-making floated up to them, but they didn't hear it.
They were both naked.
"I love you," Edie whispered.
Jerry smiled. He looked down at her, seeing by dim starlight the luscious contours of her young body. With the tip of one finger, he traced little circles around each of her rosy nipples in rum.
Edie shivered. "Ooh, I like that!" she said.
He stopped tracing circles, and clamped his hands more firmly against her sweet tits. He could feel her nipples like little stones against his palms as he caressed her.
"Ooh," she murmured.
She was a good kid, he thought. Plain and uncomplicated. He told himself that he had been a damned fool to keep her cherry so long, while fucking around with Jean Pierce. True, it had been risky. Too terribly risky. He hadn't taken a realistic view of the dangers.
He shuddered at the thought of what Jack Pierce might have done to him, if he were minded to be vindictive.
Well, all that was over and done with, now. He had been a very lucky boy.
"Kiss them," Edie whispered eagerly. "I love that so much when you kiss my titties, Jerry."
He put his lips to her left breast, torturing the sweet rise of soft pink flesh, back and forth over her nipple. Edie made little moaning, gasping sounds, and ran her fingers tensely through his hair.
Jerry shifted to her other breast.
Edie said hoarsely, "After we're married, Jerry well fuck each other every night. None of this fucking in joints like this, or waiting for my parents to go somewhere. Just the two of us humping away. And a great big bed. Ooh, I like that!"
Jerry liked that too.
He lifted his head and put his hands where his lips had been, and brought his mouth to hers. They kissed, passionately and his right hand found her cunt was moist with cunt-juices and ready for love. He stroked the silkiness of her legs and she opened her cuntlips for him like a morning-glory joyfully to the sun.
He turned to her and shoved his big, stiff prick into her tight cunt easily, happily.
This was the ever-lovin' life, Jerry thought, as they began to fuck in unison.
His hands slid down, under her. He cupped her asscheeks and brought her cunt still closer. A little trick that Jean had showed him.
Good old Jean!
He wondered what had happened to her when her husband came home. Probably beat the daylights out of her, he figured. Knocked her around a little, to show her who the boss of the household was. Well, she deserved everything he gave her. Trash, that's what she was.
Jerry wondered if Edie would ever fuck on him the way Jean Pierce cheated on her husband. No, he thought.
It wasn't possible. Edie loved him too much. Edie had no love left over for anyone else. Besides, Jack Pierce had been neglecting his wife, and Jerry couldn't see how he would ever be able to go as much as a single night without fucking Edie's beautiful cunt.
On the other hand, Jack Pierce had probably felt the same way about Jean when they were newly weds, Jerry realized.
He put all such somber thoughts out of his mind. Right now he had other business to attend to.
His big dick thrust triumphantly into her hot cunt. He buried his face against her soft, sweet golden hair. Even though she had fucked him only half a dozen times, she knew exactly what to do with her cunt, how to pick up the right rhythms.
She was a fast learner, Jerry thought.
He locked his arms tight around her. The softness of her tits flattened against him. He wanted to hold her forever, to crush her to him until she literally became a part of him.
"Your cock feels so good in my cunt, Jerry," she gasped.
He lunged into her twat with redoubled energy. "Ooh!" she cried. "I like that! I-I oh, Jerry! Oh!
Oh!"
Edie was rolling and threshing around frenziedly in the bed and before he knew it, he was on his back and her cunt was straddling him. He felt her sweet warmth on his cock, riding him with a wild rhythm. She shook her breasts wantonly in his face, and he caught and kissed her cherry hard nipples.
"Edie, Edie," he groaned as he clutched her hips and quickened her cunt's pace. He felt himself beginning to stiffen convulsively and Edie screamed deliriously as her body joined his exploding, climatic surge of scum into her cunt. They were lost together in the peak of ultimate sensation as his sperm kept spurting into her vagina.
Jerry hoped fucking would always be this good with Edie. Even after they were married-because this was the living end.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Dorinne Lee, call girl de-luxe for Harrison City's upper crust, only opened her apartment door slightly. It was just after dinner and she was expecting one of her clients, a well-to-do businessman. But a foot had been placed in the door, it had been shoved open and two men breezed in.
"Headquarters squad," one of them had said to Dorinne, "come on, get dressed. You're coming downtown with us."
One of the men called Glennon, was bald, thickset and heavy; the other, kind of a wispy lightweight She heard the older man call him Ferdy. They were like no detectives she had ever met before, but in her exposed position she couldn't afford to kick up a fuss. She decided to go along with the gag whatever it was. She made her payments regularly to a bag man in the police department. Once she got downtown and saw a few officials, she'd be sent back in a police car, and these crumbs would get what they deserved.
She had been taken downtown all right, but it hadn't been to Police Headquarters. They had hurried her into the side entrance of some office building and hustled her into a service elevator. She shuddered with fear when she heard the man called Glennon tell Ferdy and another who had driven the car, 'Take her down to the morgue, it's real quiet there now."
She was a little relieved when she went through corridors stacked to the ceiling with bound copies of newspapers. Hell, this must be a gag, she thought to herself. These guys weren't detectives, they were newspaper reporters.
As the man called Glennon looked at her, she smiled with professional poise and said, "I don't know what you boys are up to, but there's been some mistake!"
"No mistake, Dorinne. We want you to answer a few questions."
"Is this some kind of a joke?"
"We didn't bring you down here as a practical joke, babe. We've got to find out what happened to Bill Fogarty," Glennon said.
"I never heard of him in my life. Reporters can't afford my rates."
Dorinne was sitting on a chair in the center of the room, the only illumination a single naked electric bulb in the ceiling. The place reminded her of some dungeon with its eerie atmosphere. When she got away from them, she'd use her pull in various places to fix their wagons, but good!
Glennon took a photo from an inside pocket of his jacket and thrust it before her face.
"Have you ever seen this man before?"
She was startled, took a second look at the picture and crossed and recrossed her legs in her nervousness. Now things were becoming clear to her. Bill Fogarty, the man in the picture, was that wise-guy reporter she had hired to the strong-arm boys.
"I can't tell you anything," Dorinne said trembling. Jack Pierce had told her they were only going to teach the reporter a little lesson. What had she gotten mixed up in here?
"I'm giving you one last chance to cooperate with us, Dorinne. I want to know what's with Bill Fogarty, who put you up to this and why? We're newspapermen, remember. The cops will be a lot rougher on you," Glennon told Dorinne.
The voluptuous call girl shook her head even more violently and repeated, "I don't know anything. I can't tell you anything."
Glennon shook his head resignedly, saying, "Okay, you asked for it. Strip her, Benny!"
Benny Dowd was short, but with a stocky brawny build and strong, well-muscled arms. He had a dark, greasy skin, and looked like a hood even though he was only the "Sun's" sport's reporter. He leered at Dorinne when Glennon spoke, stamped out his cigarette and licked his lips as he approached the attractive girl. Her gorgeous tits were heaving agitatedly and she was ready to fight him off. But the three reporters had her surrounded in a flash.
While Glennon and Ferdy held her wriggling body, Benny expertly unzipped her blouse, unhooked her bra and her luscious white breasts, tipped with her unusually large, dark-red nipples, were swinging free. Benny Dowd's eyes almost popped as he took in Dorinne's magnificent knockers. He was a hard-up bachelor and would enjoy what was coming.
Dorinne struggled and tried to cover her exposed tits.
She had always had one cardinal rule as a call girl. She had never gone in for orgies or fucking for more than one man at a time. She specialized in the romantic "girl friend" approach. Now, she felt shame as the three men drank in the beauty of her nude, heaving breasts and feared what was coming.
Glennon's hard voice enlightened her soon enough.
"So, reporters can't pay your rates," he sneered. "Well, Dorinne, you're about to make a most unusual contribution to the Reporter's Welfare Fund, by fucking for nothing with the three of us right here."
Dorinne gasped, "Oh, no!"
"Oh, yes," Glennon continued, "we're going to take a free helping of your stock in trade. The three of us can keep fucking you indefinitely in shifts. But that cunt of yours may be out of business for months after we're through!"
The hard-boiled editor reached out and clasped the luscious melons of her breasts in his hands. He rolled each of her protruding nipples between a thumb and forefinger and then squeezed them hard. Dorinne yelped with the sudden, intense pain.
"That's just a sample. Got anything to tell us," Glennon asked.
Dorinne defiantly shook her head.
"Okay, Benny, you take over," Glennon ordered.
Benny's stocky body and long arms made him look ape-like as he advanced on the half-nude Dorinne. She was panic-stricken as the smirking Benny grabbed her shoulders and started to push her towards a comer of the room. There was a cot there that she hadn't seen before in the dim light. He thrust her on the hard, blanket-covered cot. Even as she struggled and squirmed on her back, Benny quickly stripped off her tight toreador pants. Off came her panties.
There was a zipper sound and she saw that Benny's huge cock was ready for business.
As Benny quickly pulled down his pants, it mortified Dorinne as she realized that this brawny creep was going to get a hundred dollar fuck out of her for nothing and that his two pals were watching the whole show. Benny held her shoulders down as he got on the cot. Her luscious breasts flattened against his chest and her thighs and buttocks squirmed to avoid his thrusting, eager cock.
She continued to wriggle away, but as Benny roughly parted her legs, she decided it would be easier on her if she stopped struggling and got this fuck over with quickly. She let Benny's hands cup her full, firm asscheeks and then with practiced skill, guided his enormous cock to the woman heat of her cunt. With quick rhythmic grinds of her lovely belly and hips, she professionally worked Benny's pecker to its ultimate pitch. He made noise like an animal as he lunged into Dorinne like a pile-driver and then his scum-spurting cock was stiffened convulsively by a rush of peak pleasure as he shot his load into her cunt.
Dorinne just lay quietly under Benny until he had stopped heaving and groaning. When he pulled his limp cock out of her cunt, she wanted to sit up on the cot, but her shoulders were pinned down again. With dismay, she saw the wiry Ferdy Hughes, trousers already off, climb on the cot. His hands made for her tits and he began to caress diem. He pinched her nipples hard and laughed when she winced. That probably excited him she saw because he already had a big hard-on. Dorinne decided to follow the same "get the fuck over with" routine as with Benny. She drew Ferdy's throbbing dick into the warmth of her gently rhythmic cunt. As Ferdy thrust, Dorinne began a quick, frantic wriggling motion with her thighs and buttocks. She was giving him her "express train" cock-treatment. Before Ferdy knew what was happening he stiffened as uncontrollable floods of sperm jolted through his prick into her cunt He moaned with pleasure, then muttered, "Thanks, baby," and rolled off the cot.
Dorinne knew better than to try to get up. Now, the thick and brawny Glennon was upon her. He grabbed the cones of her breasts in his large hands and slowly and deliberately squeezed them until Dorinne cried, "Stop, you're hurting me!"
Glennon then put his lips over her strawberry-like nipples. After flicking them with his tongue, he bit down on their rigid perfection until she screamed out, sure he had drawn blood. Glennon was rougher on her than the other two men and this seemed to have roused his cock to a pulsating fever pitch. Glennon put his weight on Dorinne and she felt her breasts flatten against his hairy chest. She parted her thighs and enveloped Glennon's driving prick within her sperm-slippery cunt. As he was bathed in her twat's warm moistness, she engulfed him in a weaving, sensuous rhythm. With Glennon, she was professionalism at its best-cunt, thighs, and luscious buttocks a symphony of male desire being satisfied. Glennon groaned with pleasure as he ground her belly against him. Suddenly, his thick dick felt as if a jolt of lightning had struck him. As he felt the currents of spurting sperm drain out of him, Glennon, breathing hard said, "I've got to admit you're some lay, baby! But we're ready to fuck you like this all night unless you talk. And if I have to, I'll bring in another shift of prick-pushers!"
Dorinne looked up at the three men from the cot. She saw that the smirking Benny Dowd's cock was erect and was all ready to go again. He was so anxious to shove it in her cunt again, he hadn't even bothered to put on his pants. She realized that all they had to do was keep on fucking and it would be a long time before she would be able to screw for a living again, or worse. She sat up on the cot, heaved a long sigh, and said to Glennon. "Okay, I know when I'm licked. I recognized the guy in the picture, it was Bill Fogarty."
"That's a good girl, Dorinne," Glennon said. "Now, what do you know about his disappearance?"
She put on her panties, then her toreador pants. As she fastened her bra, Glennon handed her blouse to her. Now that this whore was going to talk, he could afford to be a gentleman.
"Somebody phoned me and told me to go out to Manetti's and I'd meet Bill Fogarty in a room. They'd give me three hundred dollars. I was supposed to fuck for him and show him a good time. And when three of the boys came to teach him a lesson, I was supposed to keep my mouth shut. Three boys did show up and took him out to give him a hazing-and that's all I know."
Glennon asked curtly, "Who was it that called you and paid you for the set-up at Manetti's?"
As Dorinne hesitated, he said, "Out with it, or we start the cot routine all over again!"
"Jack Pierce," she whispered. "Jack Pierce called me and told me it was going to be a kind of joke on a smart aleck reporter."
"His wife and kids don't think the joke was very funny ... neither will the police," Mice Glennon said.
Ferdy Hughes and Benny Dowd looked at Glennon with smug grins.
"Guess that ties up all the loose ends, eh, boss?" Ferdy smirked.
"An but one," Glennon muttered. "What the hell really happened to our man Fogarty? We've got Jack Pierce in this thing up to his neck ... hey, look, Benny, stay away from that broad. Funny as it seems, this is a newspaper assignment and not a frigging line-up any more."
Benny dutifully slunk away from Dorinne. She muttered imprecations and threats at the hard-boiled editor Glennon. He ignored her and discussed the case with his two reporters.
"You boys take Dorinne back to her apartment," Glennon was saying, when the door to the cellar cubicle of the "Sun" morgue slowly opened. A man's figure was out-lined in the dim light.
"Migawd, gimme a drink quick," Benny Dowd shouted. "It's Bill Fogarty's ghost!"
Dorinne gave a fearful little yelp and tried to flatten herself against the wall. The others were momentarily taken aback by the appearance of the skinny, long-legged figure of Bill Fogarty. Mike Glennon, bolder than the rest, stepped forward and peering at him, roared, "Behold, our long lost demon reporter, Bill Fogarty. Where the hell have you been?"
"Lost in the woods," Fogarty muttered weakly. "Then I worked on a farm for awhile. I think I must have had amnesia!"
Ferdy Hughes chimed in eagerly, "Now that we've got Bui back, we can hit the front page with the whole story!"
Mike Glennon shouted angrily, "I'm surrounded by nincompoops, birdbrains and halfwits! Don't you jerks realize we've got no story now!"
He turned to Fogarty and said bitterly, "Better you should have stayed dead! With you alive, Jack Pierce is absolutely in the clear."
"What about that hump picture of his wife, boss?" Benny Dowd asked.
"The picture! Do you idiots know what would happen if we flashed that picture? Jack Pierce would close this newspaper in thirty days with a combination of million dollar libel suits, defamation of character suits, invasion of privacy suits-do I have to go any further?"
He turned to Fogarty and said, "You still have your job, only because I feel sorry for your wife and kids. You got what you deserved with this blackmail jazz."
Mike Glennon looked hard at the little group of reporters and Dorinne and concluded with, "We all had better forget and bury this whole thing right here in the morgue-where it belongs!"
Dorinne called Jack Pierce as soon as she reached her apartment. She informed the surprised executive that she had news of a most pressing and urgent nature for him. He agreed to be up there within an hour.
Jack Pierce drove downtown to Dorinne's plush apartment as quickly as he could. He was a very worried man; Dorinne knew a little too much about him. Was a second blackmail front opening against him?
Dorinne's brunette beauty as she opened the door for Jack was refreshing. She had showered and changed to a filmy, baby-pink negligee which revealed more than concealed every seductive curve of her tantalizing tits and ass.
Jack Pierce was impatient as Dorinne motioned him to the sofa and poured him a double of his favorite bourbon-on-the-rocks. She gave him the drink and ran her fingers through his hair.
"Don't be so nervous, Mr. Senior Vice-President," she said soothingly, "I've got good news for you."
"It'll be the first I've had in some time," Jack replied.
"Well, listen to what happened to me," Dorinne said and launched into a running recital of the recent happenings in the "Sun" morgue.
"So you see, Jack darling, you haven't got a thing to worry about. Except for one thing...." she concluded. "What's that?" Pierce asked.
"You owe me three hundred dollars! If you're a gentleman, you won't let those cheap reporters have a free fuck on me!"
Jack Pierce laughed with relief, "It'll be a pleasure to take care of their hump-tab. The good news you've given me is certainly worth it."
Pleased, Dorinne snuggled up to Jack on the sofa. Her lips closed over his and parted them with her hot, deeply probing tongue.
"Why don't you take off your jacket and stay awhile," she murmured, nuzzling her soft breasts against him. Jack did just that, and his shirt and tie followed in short order. Dorinne moved sensuously against his chest with her firm, pointy tits and Jack's eager lips began to mouth her hard, jutting nipples. She slipped out of her negligee and unzipped his trousers. His cock erecting quickly, he stripped completely and left his underwear in a little pile on the floor.
Dorinne began to kiss his chest with warm questing lips, and as she delicately worked down to his navel, he thrilled as her tongue flicked around, then, into it. Her head moved lower and suddenly his lusty stiff dick was bathed in a warm, all-enveloping moistness. He held her head for a moment, then reluctantly guided her back to his navel, murmuring, "Not that way, doll...."
Dorinne rolled slightly and quickly straddled Jack's stiff dong. Deftly, she enveloped his throbbing pecker within her warm, wet cunt. She swung the hillocks of her breasts across his chest, her nipples leaving little pleasure trails as she worked her hot cunt and buttocks in a tantalizing rhythm. Jack began to gasp as wave after wave of pleasure swept over his dick. His hands cupped her jiggling buttocks and urged her cunt to a faster pace to match his mounting passion. She responded with a wild, abandoned dance of her hips and vagina in the most sensuous hump-grind Jack had ever known.
"Dorinne, Dorinne," he moaned, as his back arched and stiffened up from the sofa as a series of tremendous jolts of pleasure raced through his sperm-spurting cock. She was triggered into spasms of ecstasy as she felt his hot scum in her vagina that forced a scream of joy from her. Dorinne was surprised. She had never screamed or even had an orgasm before with a customer.
"Thank you, Mr. Vice-President," she gasped as she rested her head on Jack's still quivering torso.
She was content with her hump-relationship with Jack Pierce. He was now one of the most influential men in Harrison City. She could see him developing into her number one John.
At this moment, Connie Satterlee was ringing the doorbell of the Pierce's suburban residence. She was carrying a gift package under her arm; a handsomely engraved silver platter noting the occasion of Jack Pierce's taking over the Harrison Home Products Division of I.E.C. Jean Pierce greeted Connie warmly and explained that Jack had gone downtown on business and wouldn't be home for a few hours.
"Just as well," Connie said as her eyes traveled over Jean's voluptuous breasts and thighs revealingly displayed through a half-opened bathrobe.
"You'll have to excuse me," Jean said, "I've just finished bathing and really wasn't expecting company."
"Let's go to your room. I'd like to show you this platter while you're dressing," smiled Connie.
In the feminine security of Jean's bedroom, Connie unwrapped the platter and propped it up on Jean's dresser. Then Connie stripped and putting her arms through Jean's housecoat, kissed her full on the lips. She gently urged the unprotesting Jean toward the bed, as the housecoat dropped to the floor.
Connie's tongue began to kiss Jean's aroused, rigid nipples, flicking them lightly. Her eager mouth seemed to try to swallow each of Jean's abundant tits in turn. Little tremors went through Jean's cunt with every movement of Connie's lips. As Connie went to her navel, Jean began to shudder and moaned with expectation as Connie's tongue slowly tantalized her rounded belly. Suddenly, Jean could stand Connie's slow torture no longer and her buttocks tensed, boldly she guided her to her wet cuntlips and erect clitoris. Jean ground her hips and thighs in sheer frenzy as her lush body was convulsed with pleasure spasms greater than any she had ever known. She moaned joyously as she came and her hands caressed Connie's head....
The silver platter, looking down on the lush, entwined Lesbian-loving bodies of the two women, read:
"In honor of Mr. Jack Pierce-Senior Vice-President-Harrison Home Products Division, Intercontinental Electronics Corp."
What it neglected to say was, "NEVER UNDERESTIMATE THE POWER OF A WOMAN." All was well, that ended well-in Harrison City.
