He moved his hands from her breasts to her knees, stroking down her calves and back again. When her breathing quickened, he carefully unzipped the pants and peeled them down her thighs. Then he caressed her slowly and rhythmically as their lips met.
He moved his touch to the inner surfaces of her legs, and her responses became increasingly hungry. He advanced a little at a time, gauging her reactions, proceeding just a little slower than she wanted, sharpening her desire with an edge of frustration. She shuddered and whimpered when he at last reached the smoothly stretched panties.
"That's what I want!" she breathed. "Yes, do that for me."
CHAPTER ONE
"But, Doctor Lowry, are you sure-" The pretty young nurse gulped. "I mean, you're a cardiologist, not a gynecologist. Is it necessary to examine me, your own nurse? I had a complete physical three months ago. Believe me, I'm fine. I never felt better."
Mark Lowry kept his face expressionless and his manner professional, when he really wanted to grab Donna Gordon by her snow-white shoulders and peel the uniform off her. "I'm sure. If I'm going to start my practice off right, we need to know a little about one another. You may have a carryover condition from childhood you didn't even know about. So kindly undress and let's get this over with." He waited in some wariness, because he wasn't sure Donna would do it.
Her eyes flashed and she tossed her short blond hair, but Donna began to undress, stepping out of her nurse's shoes first. "Doctor, I am twenty-three years old!" she fumed.
Lowry permitted himself a smile. "I'm well aware of it. But some of us don't stop growing nowadays until we're twenty-three or twenty-four. Fact." He glanced at the examining room door-tightly locked right now. But in exactly two hours-, he'd unlock it and greet his first Harmony Place patient. The long, arduous business of transferring his practice from the District of Columbia would be, after four grueling months, completed. The clinic was ready, Donna was ready and he was ready.
No, that wasn't right. Donna wasn't quite ready. She'd stopped undoing uniform buttons and was glaring at him. "Why don't you be honest, Doctor?" she asked in probably her most scathing tone of voice. "Why don't you just come right out and say you want to play around?"
Lowry sighed, running a hand through his down-below-the ears brown hair. "Okay, I want to play around. But I honestly intended to examine you, no more."
"And if I refuse?"
He reached up from where he sat in a small, folding chair and yanked her into his lap. Donna went rigid, then relaxed, pressing sweet, moistly parted lips to his. The kiss was a long one, complete with tongues stabbing into mouths, his and hers. When he broke it, both of them knew where they were heading.
"I-want to!" she gasped, and twisted on his lap to reach him better.
So did he, but before they got too far along, he picked her up in his arms and carried her to a sofa-bed situated in the examining room so he'd have a place to stretch out on between patients. Philandering bothered a man a great deal less when it was carried out under comfortable circumstances. Putting her down long enough to turn the sofa into a bed, he laid Donna on top of it and climbed up to lie down beside her.
"How much time?" she demanded.
"As much time as we need," he assured her, smiling.
"You'll postpone the opening until tomorrow?"
Lowry shook his head. "We'll open or: schedule-two hours from now. We can't postpone the opening. What would people say?" Pulling her uniform blouse from its skirt, he opened her bra and buried his face between the breasts he found inside. He let her feel his tongue on her skin, licking first one breast, then the other. He lapped around them, his mouth over each nipple in turn, drawing the same response from both. Reaching beneath her skirt, he brought the garment to her waist and, before she could protest, casually rolled her panties off her hips and down her slim thighs, having to raise her a few inches to do it. Now he could press deep into her, past silken blond cunt hair to her clit. He massaged the clit the way he had her breasts. Laying his hand full along it, he used the middle finger to stroke. His finger moved back and forth, and so did Gordon. She was his to do with as he pleased.
Still playing with her clit, he raised his head and found her mouth with his. Donna struggled a little, moving her head from side to side, but he was persistent. His mouth covered hers; his tongue prodded insistently until her lips opened enough to allow him entrance. Now tongue and finger worked together, the one in her mouth, the other below. Helen came to mind then. Helen and her growing disinterest in him. Was she cuckolding him right now while he dallied with Donna? Lowry didn't think so.
Still kissing her, he pulled the blouse and bra off altogether, removing the skirt so he could see and touch all of her. While she waited, watching him, he got down off the bed and stripped away his own clothing until he stood in just his boxer shorts. When he dropped the shorts, Lowry almost wished he hadn't. He wasn't hard enough yet to make a good impression. Not even half-hard. In fact, Donna raised a skeptical brow.
"Off your feed, Doctor? Oi maybe you're worried about the opening?"
He flushed. "I'm a slow starter. Speak to me a little and let's see what happens."
The nurse shrugged. "You'll have to move back. Suddenly I feel tight myself."
Interested, he moved back to spread his naked frame in a comfortable chair. His prick was filling up hard now, but he was curious to see what she'd show him. Donna lay back on'the bed under one of the examining room's recessed lights. With a detached, almost dreamy expression on her face, she began to knead her breasts. She pushed the firm mounds back and forth, and Lowry, despite his erection, watched in fascination. Fie thought he could detect a certain rhythm in the way the big tits were being manipulated. The soft, flowing motion of Donna Gordon's succulent mammaries was almost soothing to the eye. He placed a hand on his prick and began masturbating himself. With tits like that in. the world, things couldn't be all bad. Right now, in fact, they were damned near perfect.
The action began to slow. Donna's hands were still massaging at the same rate, but the flesh of her breasts was moving less. The globes on her chest were becoming firmer, resisting a tendency to sag. Lowry, really excited now, could actually see the progress of their swelling.
Donna moaned, and with her eyes closed, began to squeeze her nipples between thumb and forefinger. The nipples were like tiny pricklets which, as she flicked them, erected in the manner of a man's penis. The sight inflamed Lowry's imagination. He was so stiff now it was hard to believe he'd had a potency problem a few minutes before. His cock positively ached to get inside this strange vagina. But he sat glued to his chair.
The skin high up on Donna's breasts was taut and shiny. The nipples were inch-high lighthouses, almost too tight to flip. As though suddenly mindful of her audience, she spun her body on the bed, pulling her knees up and presenting him with an exciting view of her genitals. She began to undulate her hips slowly, revolving her buttocks at the same time. The two pubic lips began to slip against one another. They ground on until the teasing action caused them to swell and turn outward. A generous amount of inner pink began to show. Lowry stared, mesmerized, his cock clutched forgotten in his hand.
Donna opened her mouth, but no sound came forth. A thin film of moisture appeared along her pubic mound and over the lips themselves. Her labia began to flutter. Lowry, his skin crawling, noticed that the lips were commencing a motion that resembled a toothless maw chewing an imaginary piece of steak. But the sustenance this mouth wanted wasn't steak. He'd bet his life and half his practice on it.
He was on his feet in an instant, placing the knob of his shaft against the grinding pussy. Donna boosted herself a little, and Lowry felt her vaginal opening capture and swallow the head of his prick. A sheath of elastic flesh devoured him like a serpent, strong muscles gobbling at his man-root until he couldn't have escaped without a struggle, and maybe not even then. Gritting his teeth, he jammed his hard rod in her as far as he could, which was very far indeed.
Donna whimpered, flexing her thighs to take more of him. With a final lunge, he rammed completely in, gripped by marvelously powerful vaginal muscles. Congratulating himself on having run an ad for "Efficient, attractive R.N. with modern notions on how a clinic should be run," Lowry ground and rotated until her pubic hair meshed with his. He felt the hot flesh of her buttocks caressing his balls, and the stimulation almost made him shoot his wad before he was ready.
Usually a young girl offered a man a snug fit, but this was a glove-tight, tailored-to-perfection fit. Donna, bless her, had fitted herself onto his prick the way a sock fits itself on a foot-he felt her everywhere, from the tip of his organ to the base. She wriggled underneath him, flexing her thighs again. Her cunt, like a pulsing glove of flesh, tried to pull him farther up the bed. The vaginal muscles worked again, and Lowry's teeth chattered. He was gripped in a vise which awed him with is power. Helen had never learned to control her secret muscles and he'd never found a way to ask her."
"Now you're ready, darling," Donna told him, wrapping her legs around his waist and constricting her entire body so that he had to fall forward.
Lowry grasped a breast in either hand and shook it hard as he plumbed the channel between her legs. To his chagrin, the mysterious muscles permitted him only what he could take. He suspected she could rip his manhood out any time she chose, and do whatever she wanted with it.
"Take it! For God's sake, take it!" he urged, working all the harder. "Quit playing with my pride and let me do a man's thing!"
When she relaxed her hold on him, he pulled his prick out, then jabbed it home again, mastering her by degrees until finally he could maul and rake parts of the sex canal he hadn't attended to yet. He kept this up until only a few inches of cock were left showing; then he pummeled Gordon's mound, withdrawing the whole length before ramming back in again.
Donna's eyes rolled under her lids and her hips churned furiously. "That's it, honey!" she gasped. "That's what I want from you! But can't you do it harder?"
Lowry thought so. He slammed in with all his strength and heard the breath go out of her like air from an accordion. Then he paused to catch his own breath. Donna fell back in a spread-eagle position, both eyes closed. Her fingers were opening and closing spasmodically. He'd screwed her to the breaking point, and she could no longer contain herself.
"Know-why I hired you!" he panted down at her. "Best lay west of the Washington Monument!"
"Don't expect me to make a habit of this!" she retorted, wiping the perspiration from her brow. "I won't. I may not even give you any again."
"I'll take the chance," Lowry chuckled, liking her more for the honesty. He pushed back in and worked his cock sideways, enjoying the feel of her vagina around his congested prick. Easing his frame against the spongy cushions of her breasts, he curled his back so that he could chew on a taut nipple. Donna gurgled and tried to turn herself inside out around his churning shaft. Lowry felt the soft flesh of her slit open and caress the sensitive skin around the base of his penis.
"Are you ready, Doctor Kinsey?" she hurled up at him, and then took charge of the action again.
He groaned at the way she was milking him-savage, rhythmic contractions that would soon wring him, unless he did something, drier than the Sahara. Lowry struggled to reassert command of the situation, but those muscles had had a ten-minute rest and now they came at him-at his prick-with new strength. "Give me a chance!" he begged, and wasn't ashamed of himself.
Donna taunted him with a laugh. "You have your chance, Doctor. Do something with it. Am I or am I not too much woman for you?"
"No woman-too much!" he rasped, but he was beginning to doubt his own words. The long sheath of flesh was mauling his poor prick the way Helen sometimes mauled his pride with that tongue of hers. He was able to see Donna's face dimly through the passion which clouded his brain, but the blood was fast draining from his head. Her eyes were open and her mouth was starting to form a triumphant smile.
"Almost there ... Doctor!"
Lowry, in near-agony, felt the first tricklet of cum leave his scrotum. "No!" he croaked, still hoping to maintain control.
"Honey, I'm going to get every drop you've got, see if I don't!"
For all his superior strength, he was helpless. He'd begun an uncontrollable shuddering, bouncing up and down on Donna's writhing body like a bag of feathers. He was in the throes of a terrific climax. Her vaginal lips were confident now; they toyed with his prick the way a terrier toys with a bone. "Killing-me!" Lowry whispered.
"But isn't this what you wanted? Isn't it?"
"You bet, you bet, you bet!" he chanted, no longer ashamed of having been bested.
She reached under him and ran the tip of one fingernail along the bottom of his ball sac. At the same time, she raised her head and bit him cruelly on the left nipple, hard enough to draw blood, although he didn't stop to check. Then, with almost casual ease, she clamped down on his thrashing prick, triggering an explosion. The semen rocketed from his burning body into hers.
The two went rolling and tumbling, fighting to free themselves of each other, yet never breaking the connection. For Lowry, the climax extended into a minute-far longer than he could remember having ever come before. Donna's lubricating fluid reached his balls and flowed around, seeping through her still-clutching fingers. With a final effort, Lowry stabbed blindly at the awesome place between her legs. Donna answered the stab with another vigorous squeeze, and the pair of them collapsed on the sheets.
"When you think about the best finish you ever had, think about me, Doctor!" she told him.
Lowry, realizing his cock was so swollen it wouldn't return to normal anyway, set his jaw and clambered back up on hands and knees. "Finished? Who's finished?" He knew he was a fool-he was risking a heart attack or worse-but he resumed strong, powerful thrusts just to see if he could. He could.
"Mark, you'll hurt yourself!" Donna warned, tightening around him again.
"Best-way to do it!" he croaked, and slammed into paradise with the last of his strength. There was no ejaculate to speak of-she'd already seen to that-but he climaxed again nonetheless. Donna smothered a scream when he gave one final lunge and collapsed on top of her. The scream expressed pleasure, he hoped, and not pain.
They fell apart in utter exhaustion.
CHAPTER TWO
Rex Adair, all six feet three of him, stretched out comfortably and raised the glass that seemed almost diminutive in his long-fingered hand. He looked at the clear liquid for a moment, then over the top of it at Helen Lowry. His sometimes smoldering black eyes captured her blue ones. He smiled. "I have it all figured out. Old Mark is in the employ of the Central Intelligence Agency, and both of you have been sent to Harmony Place to spy on us good folks."
"No," Helen denied, laughing, although actually she wasn't at all sure why Mark had moved his four-year-old practice from D.C. At the moment, she didn't care. She toyed with the fabric of her gown where it lifted above the swell of her breasts. She'd been waiting weeks for this moment-for this moment which she and Rex Adair were still, by unexpressed mutual agreement, keeping just a fingertip away-but now that it was coming, she felt something bordering on fear.
"Some of us are a bit subversive, I admit," Adair allowed. "We even fudge on our tax returns. Not me, of course, the others. But is that any excuse to invade us?"
Helen smiled politely. She was tiring of the drift of the conversation. Unconsciously lowering her eyes to Rex's crotch, she noticed for the first time that he had a pronounced erection. His prick thrust out unmistakably, pressing so hard against the material of his trousers that she could see a perfect indentation of it. She made out a long, swollen shaft, an almost imperceptible indentation, then the ridge and the huge knob of a head. She felt a shudder of anticipation go through her, culminating in a half-tickling sensation in her own crotch. Her hand moved of its own volition to cover one of her breasts. The other went to its mate.
Adair set his glass aside, the scotch and vermouth all but untouched, and got to his feet. He moved gracefully, his tall frame in perfect coordination. Standing in front of her, he reached out and placed a hand on each buttock, pulling her cunt up against his hard prick. They formed an uneven Y, lower bodies together but upper bodies slightly apart. Adair studied her face. He seemed to like what he saw. Helen's face, framed by golden-blond hair, was almost flawless. The azure blue eyes, large but not too large, were well-spaced. A straight nose descended to a Candice Bergen tip, and a small but full-lipped mouth changed in response to every emotion. He looked into her eyes and ground his prick against her. "That's what this is all about, isn't it? You invited me over here to fuck, not to drink."
Helen gulped and lowered her eyes from his face. Finally, in a voice so soft she could hardly hear it herself, she admitted, "Yes, that's why I invited you over. To fuck, not to drink."
Adair, smiling, massaged her buttocks, kneading the firm flesh between strong fingers. Then his hands moved up. The Y became and as his arms surrounded her body and his lips went to hers, her breasts crushing against his strong chest. His head was tipped to one side, his mouth slightly open. Helen felt his tongue flicking against her lips. She opened and received it, her own answering his. The kiss sent thrills through her entire body, radiating to and from her clitoris. Without realizing what she was doing, she spread her thighs a little more so that she almost engulfed his stiff prick between them. It was so effective that she felt the material of her gown press into her cunt. Helen raised her arms over Rex's shoulders as she strained upward for the kiss. She felt his hands on her breasts.
"Christ!" he exclaimed, taking his mouth away. "Let's get these damned clothes off!" He set to work, and almost in the same breath, inquired, "Are you sure Mark-I mean the good doctor-won't barge in on us?"
"Yes." Of course she was sure. She'd been working on this for weeks, scheming out all the details so that she could have Mark out of the house and herself in it. She wouldn't be denied now.
It had started one night at a party given by the Carsons. She'd glanced over to where Rex and his wife, Charlotte, were sitting side by side on a divan. Charlotte had had her hand in Rex's crotch.
Not with overt intent, just resting there, fingers curled over his leg. As Charlotte took her hand away, Helen had glimpsed something else: a huge hard-on pressing through Rex's pants. The same tickly feeling she was experiencing this morning had grown in her own genitals. Helen had realized then that she'd been watching Rex Adair for quite some time, and that she wanted to get into bed with him. Oh, yes, she was sure Mark wouldn't barge in on them. She'd thought this through every step of the way. Rex was here, wasn't he? That was a triumph in itself.
Luring him here hadn't been easy. She'd had to talk Mark out of a formal opening for the clinic, an opening she would have been obligated to attend as wife to the distinguished new cardiologist. Then there'd been Charlotte Adair herself, who was attending a club luncheon on the other side of town this morning. But even with these two obstacles removed, it had taken all the courage Helen could muster. After all, this was her first attempt at deceiving Mark. But then no other man stirred her as Rex Adair did. No other man made her want to be unfaithful to a husband who, in most respects, satisfied her.
Rex right now had sat down to take off his socks and shoes. He got to his feet and unbuttoned his shirt, pulling it off slowly. Helen saw his broad shoulders, barrel chest and hard stomach, his body lean but well-proportioned and quite hairy. The bulge in his pants seemed to have grown. She stared as he undid his belt and lowered the zipper. Her mouth hung open a little and her breath came faster. He slid pants and shorts off with the same even motion. When he was standing again, his prick stood up swollen and hard. His balls were huge-Hwo gigantic testicles in a leathery sac. Helen felt a moistness between her legs, the tingling sensation in her cunt.
"See what I mean?" Adair smiled. "About the subversive part, I mean. I'm infiltrating a marriage, and there's no one around to stop me."
Helen's heart beat so fast it pounded in her ears. She felt as she had the night she'd lost her maidenhood. She'd lain there, on that night so long ago, legs spread apart, watching as the boy-and he had been a boy; they'd both been but sixteen-lowered himself over her, pointing his big prick toward her slit. Then, as now, there'd been a mixture of fear and desire.
She knew that the moment she opened her gown, the decision would be made: she'd be disloyal to her husband. Helen sighed, running her tongue over her upper lip. She stared at Rex's huge prick. Her hands went to the cleavage at her neck. She felt the fevered flesh.-She sighed again. "Have you ever ... been unfaithful to Charlotte before?" she asked.
Rex chuckled. "Honey, we live in Harmony Place, remember. Don't you know what the Harmony stands for?"
Helen's eyes widened, but she shook her head. "No. Tell me."
"Harmony, sweetie. All for one, and one for all. Get it?" Rex grinned.
"You mean-?" It suddenly came over her. In the three months that she and Mark had lived in Harmony Place, they'd been invited to numerous parties by different couples. Mark always accepted, eagerly. They'd been impressed by the warmth and friendliness, by the casual familiarity that flowed between all these people. She realized now that Charlotte had probably coaxed her husband to a hard-on that evening, all in the spirit of things. Helen unconsciously stepped back a pace. Her hand went to her throat.
Seeing her lose composure, Rex sobered. "Hell," he said, "I thought you'd either figured it out or one of the girls had told you." He laughed. "Charlotte told me a couple of weeks ago that you'd soon be inviting me over-on some pretext or another. When you did ... well, naturally, I assumed it was a screwing session."
Helen shivered. She honestly felt as though someone had dashed cold water in her face. She felt naked, not in front of Rex but in front of everyone in Harmony Place. She felt as a child must feel when he's caught taking change from his mother's purse. Here she'd been ready, prepared and .softened by her own desires to enter into a forbidden affair, only to find that it wasn't forbidden after all and would almost certainly not be, as she'd expected, a darkly hidden secret.
Rex moved toward her, his balls swaying, his big prick bobbing.
Helen backed away. "No!" she gasped. "No! I can't do it!"
He didn't stop. He looked like a giant coming toward her. His prick seemed to grow even larger, a huge, hardened shaft standing erect and ready to take her. He reached her at last, when she was against the wall and had no other place to go. He pulled her to him.
"Please," she whimpered, but he didn't hear it.
Taking her in his arms, he grabbed for the gown himself. The garment fell open a little. His hand went inside. Helen felt the long fingers stretching out over one of her breasts. Rex squeezed and massaged it roughly. The flesh firmed at once in spite of herself. Rex's fingertips toyed with the nipple, flicking it until it was like a hard little prick standing out proudly. Then he swept her off her feet, carrying her across the room and laying her down on the divan.
"Please," she said again, but he merely pulled the gown off and buried his face between her breasts. She felt his tongue on her skin, licking first one nipple and then the other, lapping around them both. Then his mouth closed over the first and his tongue flicked out against its hardness. His hand strayed lower, delving into the blond, silken hair, pressing deep into it. He began playing with her cunt, massaging it as he had her breasts, then laying his hand full along it and using the middle finger to stroke. The finger moved back and forth like a dog concealing a bone, gradually going a little deeper. The finger struck her clitoris and flicked, sending shivers of excitement through her.
"Oh, please!" she cried out, but she wasn't sure if she meant for him to please quit or to please continue.
Still fondling her, he raised his head and found her mouth with his. Helen struggled a little, moving her head from side to side, but he was persistent. His mouth covered hers, his tongue prodded insistently until her lips were opened enough that it could enter. Now tongue and finger worked simultaneously, the one in her mouth, the other in her cunt. She found herself caught up in the passion of the moment.
"See, sweetie," Rex crowed. "You do want to fuck! You do."
He pulled the gown the rest of the way off and tossed it aside. Now he had freer access to her cunt. He took advantage of it by inserting three fingers and moving them in opposition to one another until she was incoherent with need. Finally he pushed her flat on her back and straddled her. She felt the warm, pliant head of his prick ease into position, the head spread her cunt lips. With a groan, she raised up to accept it. The groan intensified a second later as she felt it spreading her lips wider, inching slowly into her. He was so much bigger, so much longer than Mark that it was driving her nearly out of her mind. "Oh, God, yes, fuck me, Rex, fuck me!"
He placed a knee on either side of her and pressed her thighs together, making her cunt narrower than it had been, a tighter fit. The sensation was almost painful, his tool was so huge, but it was a pleasure pain. Each time he drew it out, the joy almost took her breath away. Then as he slowly filled her with it again, she had feelings such as she'd never known before.
His chest was hard against her breasts, but she enjoyed even that discomfort-Hhe feeling of a hard, strong man completely overpowering her. Yes, yes, she told herself. That's how it was. He forced me to do it. And with that, her hips began moving with his, freeing his big prick and then rising up to accept it again, freeing it, accepting it. Soon they were moving faster, their mouths working more desperately together.
Then she peaked and let her juices spew out as he drove his huge meat deep into her. "Oh, God, oh, God!" she sobbed, and fell back. Rex collapsed against her, his body relaxing. His prick went limp inside her.
They lay that way for several minutes, then he came up on his elbows, looked down into her face, and smiled. "Welcome to Harmony Place, lady sociologist. With a cunt like yours, with a set of knockers like yours, you're going to be a great one."
Helen shuddered. But she liked what they'd just done. And she liked the feel of his cock still in her. She slipped her arms around Rex's neck. In a pleading, almost begging way, she looked into his eyes. "Do the others have to know? Can't this just be between you and me? Can't it? Please?"
He seemed perplexed by the request. "You really don't want to be part of the scene here at Harmony? You don't want to go the route with the rest?"
She shook her head. "I don't think I could. I've never been a swinger. I can't start now."
"And Mark?"
Helen raised her eyes heavenward. Dear, square Mark. As conservative in his political views as she was liberal. Practically a virgin when she'd finally gotten him into bed after their fourth date.' Still shocked at some of the things she said and did, even in the privacy of their bedroom. "If Mark found out about this, we'd be moving out before the week was over."
Rex's brows hiked. "Well, I wouldn't want that to happen. You and I are good together. So we'll play it your way as long as we can. I'd better warn you, though. There's already been talk. There are plans afoot to, ahem, initiate you and Mark into the group. Get the picture?"
"Quash them," Helen said quickly. "Imean it. Mark and I came here to rest, and he'd never rest with that going oh."
Rex brushed her lips with his own. "Let's not borrow trouble." He smiled down at her. "But aren't you glad I 'forced' you to go through with it? I made you happy, didn't I?"
By way of answer, she squeezed her thighs around his relaxing organ. But she also reproached him. "This is the first time I've ever cheated on Mark. I wouldn't have done it if you hadn't come at me so."
"Me or my prick?" Rex asked. He chuckled. "Charlotte said you saw us two fooling around at the Carsons' drinkathon. That's when she said you'd be inviting me over. By the way, where is that leaky faucet? I didn't see it in the bathroom or the kitchen."
"It stopped the second you came through the door," Helen retorted. But she had to ask herself the same thing Rex had asked her. Had it been him or his prick? She wasn't sure. She hoped it was him. She'd hate to think she was that carnally minded. But she knew they'd soon be getting together again.
After Rex had left, Helen, still naked, crept through the house, removing all traces of his visit. She didn't want to; she would much rather have left little reminders that would have sent her reminiscing in the days to come. But she knew she had to. This done, she went to take a shower. Again, she would rather not have, only she had to remove all traces of him from her person-odors that she might not herself have detected. Before dressing, she allowed herself a few luxuriant moments of rubbing her body and remembering what Rex had looked like in the nude, what he'd felt like penetrating her, the beauty and power of their orgasm. She stroked her cunt gently and discovered that it was a little sore. But such a nice soreness! Rex not only had a beautiful prick; he knew how to use it.
Helen put on her gown again, mixed herself a tonic, and went into the living room to drink it. She glanced at the divan, and smiled. Funny that he'd taken her there, rather than in the bedroom. But maybe he hadn't wanted to enjoy her on the same bed where she did the identical thing with her husband.
She turned on the television, but she found herself thinking of the other couples-and men-of Harmony Place. Now that she knew the truth, certain coincidences and odd happenings began to fall into place. She had the feeling that what Rex had told her wasn't fantasy. What she and Mark had taken as mere friendliness might be a form of love. She'd heard of communal love, of groups who shared everything, including each other's bodies. Hippies. But these people weren't hippies.
Rex, for example. Rex Adair owned his own delicatessen. He was also Harmony Place's vice mayor, a purely honorary post, since even the mayor drew no salary.
CHAPTER THREE
Mark Lowry knew instinctively that something was wrong as soon as he stepped over the threshold. There was Helen, all right, dressed in her favorite gown and waiting up for him. But her eyes were larger than usual. They glistened with a strange light. And she held a drink in her carefully manicured hand. She rarely drank late.
He waggled a brow at her. "Hello, baby. Can I have one of those?"
She nodded, and jumped up to fetch him one. When she brought it back, she was smiling about something.
"Tell me the joke," he encouraged, sipping the cold drink and admiring the laugh lines around her eyes. Other men had told him how lucky he was to have Helen. He didn't have to be told.
She shook her head. "How was the opening?"
Mark laughed and kicked off his shoes. "It couldn't have been better. I must have shaken five hundred hands, give or take a dozen or two. Donna and I, we went through all the coffee and most of the lemonade. I think she's going to be a great one." He eyed Helen's flushed features and frozen smile. "Make that your last one, huh, baby? We still have a day ahead of us."
Helen's head wobbled on her shoulders. "Doing what? Dam it, Mark, I wish you'd tell me how we ended up here. Why Harmony Place? Why not L.A. or San Diego-some place with sun? Everyone likes us, but a few people think we're here to spy on them."
Mark hoped his discomfiture didn't show. "Nonsense. We're here to build a new life for ourselves. To play, too. As far I'm concerned, they're one and the same. I want to relax and think about things other than the practice. If I was spying, you'd know about it, wouldn't you?"
Helen smiled and inclined her head. "Of course, darling. I know about everything you do. And you know everything I do. We have no secrets from one another."
He moved casually toward her, still holding the drink. "No sarcasm, please. Too much togetherness, you know, can be as fatal for a marriage as too little. So the experts say. I wonder who told them?"
Helen's lip curled. "What do they know?" She finished her drink in a single gulp and put the glass aside.
Mark thought he saw an invitation in her eyes. He put down his own drink, inched closer, then pounced. "Know what I thought about for most of the afternoon? Yes. That's what I thought about."
"So did I," Helen murmured through clenched teeth. "So did I."
Lowry didn't find her reply the least bit disturbing, although he was to later. The drinks were forgotten as they drew together on the sofa. She came into his arms and a strap of her gown fell off her shoulder. As he kissed her, he eased a hand down from her face to the exposed breast, bared so invitingly. His hand closed over it until the nipple slid beneath his palm. Mark was aware of the tender bud growing erect, engorging. He stroked her gently, stimulating the beautiful boob still more until it was completely out of the front of her gown. He moved the mound and squeezed the nipple, probing for nerves. When he twirled the tip between a thumb and forefinger, Helen began to fidget, which made him try harder to please her.
"It's late, Mark," she objected, trying to push him away.
He glanced at his watch. "Only a quarter past eleven. Time enough." Time enough. His mouth watered as he thought about the things he wanted to do to her, Things he hadn't done in four nights. No, five. Hell, was a guy supposed to keep an accurate count?
"I'm too drunk to be any good to you," Helen protested, hiccupping. "See?"
Mark laughed. "Honey, more women have been balled drunk than by any other single means. Some of them didn't remember anything afterward, but that doesn't mean nothing happened."
She relaxed and lay back in his arms. His fingers continued to slide up over the cool flesh and to move the taut little nub. He kissed her eyes and nose, even trailed his tongue across her lowered lids. She quivered, then. He knew he'd reached her.
"Still want to call it a day?" he teased.
"No! If you try to stop now, I'll hate you! I mean it."
He had no intentions of stopping, so he pulled her closer. The warmth of her body seemed to flow more profusely through his. She pressed herself close to him as their mouths met and his touch went on sensitizing her left breast. Then he slipped her other gown strap down and worked the cloth off the other one. He aroused this one, too, with the same thorough-going patience.
Helen's hands tightening and relaxing at the base of his neck indicated her pleasure. "Mark ... my husband," she breathed.
"It's legal," he assured her, and then wondered why he had. Why should he be so concerned with convention, with the petty regulations of society?
Her hand left his shoulder. She slid a palm over him, detecting his excitement. "Oh, yes!"
Her touch was a signal to him to go further. He applied suction to the kiss, then placed his hand against her hip. For a few minutes he merely stroked the outer surface of her leg. Then he pulled up the hem of her gown, drawing it to her waist.
He let his hand linger about her bare knee for a moment. The area was smoother than usual. He supposed she'd shaved again. He moved the hand along her leg slowly, lifting the gown with his hand. He caressed both legs for several seconds, gradually working his way toward the more sensitive surfaces. His own tension made him hurry the caresses.
Surprising him, she shifted her legs, preventing him from reaching her cunt as quickly as he would have liked. But he did find her waist. He made the flesh tremble beneath the gown. "Ready to take it off?"
"I'll have to get up."
"Well, Christ, I must be worth a little trouble!" he flared, annoyed.
She stood up and raised her arms. He slipped the gown over her head and tossed it to a waiting chair. Then she stepped out of her shoes, and with a little smile came into his arms again. She was dressed now only in her green panties. He'd never before seen her so nearly naked in strong light. He stared his fill.
She made an exasperated sound. "Aren't you even going to undress?"
Mark had to laugh at himself. Here he was about to take her, and he still had all his clothes on. The absent-minded professor bit. She helped him tug the coat off his shoulders, then he pulled his tie loose and unbuttoned his shirt. He wore no undershirt tonight. When next they kissed, her warm globes flattened against his bare chest. He kissed her and played with her breasts for several minutes before undressing further. He never had been the kind to overwhelm a woman.
When they stopped for air, he leaned forward and clawed off his shoes and socks. Then he took his shirt the rest of the way off. He thought he saw an expression of disinterest in her eyes then, but he ignored it. He hastened to continue his kisses and caresses. Helen might be ripe to be taken, she might very much want to be taken, but she was still Helen. He had to proceed one careful step at a time, like always.
"Darling, are you sure you aren't too tired?" she asked in his ear.
"Not a chance," he said cheerfully.
He didn't give her a chance to say more. His hands busied themselves at her cunt. His lips coaxed a reluctant response from hers. His caresses went over her ribs, her sides, down along her spine. He slipped his hands under the elastic and covered the full extent of her waist. When she encouraged him with a look, he stroked her legs and then her buttocks, baring them, and then her legs again.
Helen moaned. She whimpered. She rolled in the curve of his arm. He lowered his head to her breasts, rolling both nipples between his lips. Then he went underneath the lower edge of her last remaining article of 'clothing. She responded to each pressure, each stroke, each exploration.
Mark thought: Not long now! Not long!
His tongue moved inside her mouth, touching the tip of hers. She uttered a little cry, twisting in his arms and pushing his hand away from her. Then she shoved her panties clear to her knees and threw herself into his arms again, her mouth seeking his.
In spite of himself, Mark began to wonder. Who or what had set her off like this? Helen didn't customarily lose herself in his embrace. She was an adequate, somewhat quiet answer to his needs, not a siren. That was shy he'd married her.
Now he wasn't so sure. One thing was certain: she offered not the slightest resistance now to his explorations, his delving fingers. Whereas before she was cool and a little distant, now she was all straining woman. Mark dismissed his suspicions, and pressed and touched everything that was offered to him. Tonight everything was offered to him.
Helen's eyes seemed not to see him. But her lips were eager. Her breasts seemed about to burst with need. "Oh, darling!" she gasped, and for the second time her hand closed over his hard.
Mark enjoyed the feel of her fingers around his prick, even while he failed to understand her new abandon. He started on his pants and shorts. He'd have her right there on the rug if she'd let him. He had the feeling she would. Tonight, anything went.
He shoved both his trousers and his underwear down his legs and off his feet. She immediately reached to touch and hold him. He felt as if he'd been seized by a live wire. The effect was devastating for both of them. He grabbed at the panties at her knees, and she kicked them away.
For the first time in a week, they were completely naked together. Naked and mad with need for each other. Only this time they'd leave the light on. He would have preferred total darkness, but he knew she'd probably object. This time he'd humor her.
He pushed her back on the sofa and lay down with her, careful to distribute his weight evenly so that she had no cause to complain. For a few minutes, they kissed and stroked one another, she locking her hands in his hair and pulling him down to her breasts.
"Take me," she begged. "Take me now. Don't wait another second."
He found the way without difficulty. She was completely ready to receive him. With one thrust, he went all the way in.
"Love me," Helen whispered. "For once in your life, give me a good loving. Do it. Don't be afraid to hurt me, just do it."
Mark had no time to reflect on the first part of her admonition. He began fucking as hard and fast as he ever had in his life. There was no pause to wait for better control. He was like a wild man, an aging adolescent out to prove, belatedly, his manhood.
He panted out a release that drained him of every drop he had, a release that drummed against her cervix for almost half a minute. When the spasms diminished, he became aware of her fists pounding a tattoo on his bare back.
"No, no!" she wept. "Not yet. Don't leave me this way. Please, Mark, finish me!"
He wanted to. He tried awkwardly to bring her to climax with half a hard-on. He couldn't. The erection vanished altogether, leaving him with clenched fists and a badly bruised ego. He was unable to meet her accusing gaze. "Sorry, baby," he mumbled.
He found his clothes and went to shower. He felt wretched.
CHAPTER FOUR
Helen Lowry picked up the phone. She dialed three digits, hesitated, then hung up. She returned to her mid-morning chores. Twenty minutes later, however, she came back to the phone to dial again. This time she twirled five digits before her nerve failed her. Furious with herself, she went to mix a cake she wanted to bake for dinner.
At half-past eleven, she suceeded in dialing all of Rex Adair's business number. She felt safe in calling, because Mark had driven back to the university to pick up two months' accumulation of mail. He wouldn't be back before dark.
"Adair's Deli and Health Food Shoppe."
"Please ... connect me with Mr. Adair," Helen said, and became aware that she was breathing hard.
"May I ask who's calling, please?"
"No! No, I can't tell you." As if the woman on the other end of the line could see her, Helen hurriedly replaced the receiver and kept it covered with her hands. Her face was burning. She felt as she had the night before, when stark naked and his huge prick swaying in front of him, Rex had started toward her. "It was a mistake," she whispered to no one in particular. "I didn't mean to do it."
Completely unnerved, she went into the kitchen and mixed herself a drink. It was really too early in the day to start boozing, but she needed one. After the letdown with Mark the night before, nothing had gone right. Long after he'd gone to sleep, she'd paced the living room, fearful that she'd alienated him for good. She had begun to worry then that Rex, encouraged by his easy conquest, might already have urged the others to move faster on their plans for their plans for the Lowry "initiation."
Charlotte Adair had called at nine, soon after Mark left. Charlotte had invited her over for coffee with some of the other wives. Her refusal had been accepted coolly. Helen simply hadn't the courage to go. How could she? How could she ever face Charlotte again now that she'd let Charlotte's husband do those things to her?
Steadied a little by the drink, Helen went back into the living room, lowered herself into her favorite wing chair, and stared at the rug. As she slowly sipped from the tall glass, a vision of Mark's handsome face formed there on the floor. Mark's eyes were pained. They seemed to be asking her to understand. He was saying something, top, but before she could make out the words, another image appeared. The second was that of Rex Adair. Rex Adair complete with a triumphant grin and a huge hard-on. Easily, almost rudely, he shouldered Mark aside.
Helen groaned and closed her eyes. Then she unzipped the housecoat she'd been wearing all morning. She wore nothing at all underneath it. She reached in and took hold of one of her breasts, then dropped a hand to her and stroked. Her legs spread wide, her buttocks moved to the edge of the chair. She continued to massage, inserting a finger and rubbing it back and forth. Then she added a second finger and jabbed more vigorously, actually getting a pleasure-pain from abusing her own cunt.
How long she did this, she didn't know. Nor did she know what made her stop. She halted the finger-play and opened her eyes. There, almost pressed against the glass of the sliding doors separating the living room from the patio, was a teen-aged boy. The boy wore faded blue Levis and a white tee-shirt. His mouth hung open a little and his eyes were riveted to Helen's crotch. Staring at her in deadpan fashion, he was slowly masturbating. Helen's eyes widened as she saw his hand moving rhythmically up and down on the swollen cock. Thoughts, some angry, some fearful, tumbled through her mind. What would happen if he went about the neighborhood, telling people that he'd observed her masturbating? What would Mark think? In desperation, she tried to plan a way out of the dilemma. She'd get him inside, she decided. If she could coax him inside, he wouldn't talk.
She moved cautiously, keeping her eyes lowered. Starting her own fingers going again to keep his attention, she got to her feet. His eyes traveled with her, staying with her as she inched toward the door. Now his gaze wandered higher and met hers.
She slid the door open. The boy seemed to freeze for a second, then he began trying to stuff his hard prick back into his pants. He turned to run.
"Don't be frightened," Helen said gently. "I'm not going to hurt you. I want you to come inside."
Her voice seemed to reassure him. He sauntered into the living room. This time she didn't make the mistake she'd made before-she drew the drapes closed. Then she turned to appraise her unexpected caller. She was pleasantly surprised. He was quite handsome for his age, which she supposed to be around seventeen. He had a hard young body which long hours in the outdoors hat? tanned to a healthful bronze. And he still had a hard-on which pressed out against his jeans.
"I'm real sorry, Mrs. Lowry," he said soberly "I came to clean the pool. I didn't know-"
"It's all right." Helen didn't seduce, she was seduced. It was as if her mind, her personality, had suddenly drifted away, she was mindless and without internal guidance. Just a body, and that moving toward the boy. Standing but a foot in front of him, she reached out shyly and ran her hand up and down his hard shaft. She smiled into his eyes, "Would you like to do that to me?"
"Well, I-" he began.
"What's your name?"
"Phil. I mean Philip."
"I can see you're a knowledgeable young man, Philip," Helen said agreeably. "I want you to keep quiet about what you saw a minute ago. If you will, I'll treat you better than you've ever been treated before. Have we a deal?"
"Gee, I-yes." He saw she meant it, and reached out to part the housecoat's folds and find her cunt. His fingers were skilled enough. When he had her palmed, Helen groped for the clasp on his zipper. She realized it would be difficult to get his cock freed from the tight material, so she was content to just loosen the top button. His pants fell open in a vee, pubic hair peeking through the vee's bottom. She felt a surge of excitement go through her. Philip's hand suffered the consequences-his palm got sticky with the secretions that trickled out.
Without pausing, she seized both sides of his jeans and pulled them down to his knees. He wasn't wearing shorts, so now his cock popped free. The prick was large for a boy that age, as long as any she'd seen but not so thick as many, a nicely shaped, beautifully swollen cock. Helen went to her knees in front of him, wrapping her fingers around the base and sliding her lips over the head. Her other hand crept up between his legs and gathered his balls. Inexpertly-because she'd never done this sort of thing before-she slid her mouth up and down the shaft. Philip expelled a sound of amazement and pleasure. His hands moved automatically to her head.
Helen sucked on him until she felt his excitement growing, until he began shoving his cock in and out of her mouth in perfect time with her own movement. Then she pulled away and smiled up at him. "Now you know what head's all about. Would you like to give me some?"
Philip gulped. "I'm not sure ... I don't think I can-"
"You can try." Helen threw away what little caution was still left her. She tore off the housecoat and tossed it aside, standing naked in front of him for a moment. Philip's eyes bulged at sight of her lovely, dangling breasts. Seeing his expression, she had to smile. "You can have these, too," she promised, cupping them both in her hands. "But right now...." She whirled to the wing chair and sat down with her buttocks on the edge and her legs spread out in front of her.
She placed both hands between her legs and rubbed, not touching her cunt but making it move by her motions alone. Then she carefully spread it open. "Come," she commanded. "It's waiting for you. Don't be afraid."
Philip's breath was raspy. Walking strangely, because his pants had fallen down around his ankles, he came to kneel between her legs. Her hands moved down to hold his head when she felt his lips press through the blond hair and touch her skin. She opened wider for him and closed her eyes in anticipation.
"Use your tongue," she urged. "Do it!"
Philip, inexperienced, licked lightly, running his tongue the full length of her cunt.
"Deeper!" Helen whispered. "Deeper, for God's sake!"
He pressed his tongue deeper between the folds of flesh and gnawed lightly, the sensations almost driving her mad.
"Harder!" she groaned. "Fuck me with your tongue!"
Philip stiffened his tongue, poked it around aimlessly for a moment, then found the right place and slid it in. Helen cried out in ecstasy, her body rising up to meet him. Experience wasn't necessary now-nature took over. He tongued her until she writhed beneath him, until she knew she'd pass out if he didn't stop. But he wouldn't stop, not even when she tried to push his head away. Frantically working, he kept his tongue sliding in and out of her cunt. Finally she threw her legs over his shoulder, pulled his face down hard into her crotch, and creamed until it ran down his chin and dripped to the rug.
She fell forward, toppling out of the chair and pushing him with her. They ended up together in a tangle on the floor. Philip sprang up in alarm.
"Jesus, Mrs. Lowry, did I hurt you?"
"No, silly, of course not," she laughed. She pulled his face down to her breasts and rubbed his face into them. Feeling his still-hard cock between her legs, she reached between them and brought it up to her saturated cunt. She rubbed the moistening head up and down, then positioned it, raising her hips high enough to let him know. He lunged into her at once, but the lunging didn't hurt because of the oiling she'd given herself. His cock sank deeper and deeper into her with each thrust. He began kissing her breasts as he slammed in and out of her.
She knew that he was getting his first real fucking, and it thrilled her. She tightened her cunt muscles and moved her hips to help hjm. In a few moments he was gasping and panting and discharging into her. Helen loved the feel of it, the hot come squirting into her nethermost regions and his young body shuddering from the fantastic sensations he'd just experienced. She smiled, hugging him to her. Philip had just had his first true sexual experience. It wasn't one he'd soon forget.
But reality returned. If her own mind and awareness had left her for a while, they came rushing back. Helen was suddenly horror-stricken by what she'd done. But she realized she had to keep calm, to avoid frightening him. After kissing him on the forehead, she gazed into his eyes and tried to swear him to secrecy.
Philip was fervent in his desire to please. "Christ, Mrs. Lowry, you don't have to worry. Hell, I wouldn't dare tell a soul. My old man would beat me half to death if it got back to him. But...." He paused, scanning her face. "Can I come a little early next time?"
She looked at his youthful body, his eager face, then she buried her face in her hands. "We'll see," was all she could say. A deep feeling of guilt was growing in her-the guilt of what she'd done with this youngster added to the guilt of what she'd done with Rex Adair the night before. But as Philip dressed and went out, she found herself blaming Mark, who'd really done nothing at all. If he would only forget all his notions about "averages" and "reasonably satisfying sex," his preoccupation with "norms" and "conventional outlets," then none of this would have happened.
She thought she hated him then. She looked at the glass sitting on the table beside the wing chair.
She wan led one more drink, but not if it led to another, and another. By nightfall she'd be soused, and then Mark would know something was bothering her. Right now he only suspected.
Helen shuddered and went to take a shower. She was beginning to wish they'd never come to Harmony Place. Harmony there might be, but not for them and their marriage. Not if she kept on the course she was on.
She knew she would. She was being drawn irresistibly on. She couldn't stop.
CHAPTER FIVE
Regina Trussell, her redhead's body pleasantly fitted into a playsuit that showed-literally-every curve she was born with, set her coffee cup back in its saucer and ventured an observation. "If you ask me," she mused, "Mark Lowry's the problem. Mark's every inch the Ice Age Debakey. I'd swear that Helen's ready to romp, or would be, but you so much as kid about someone else's wife having bedroom eyes, and he takes them home. Infuriating."
Charlotte Adair agreed. She was dressed in shorts and halter, and rested on a chaise lounge near the teardrop-shaped pool. Charlotte's dark hair was tucked under a wide-brimmed hat which protected her face from the sun. She was miffed with both Rex and Helen. Rex, because he hadn't gotten into Helen's drawers yet, the way he said he would, and Helen, because she hadn't let him. She was irked, too, over the turndown she'd gotten an hour before when she invited Helen to coffee. "But I'm not going to worry about it. If they want to stand off and watch the fun, let them."
Trisha Howard, dark eyes inscrutable behind green glasses, protested. She wore a two-piece swimsuit which showed off her flawless form for the other girls to see. "I couldn't disagree more, Charlotte, honey. It would be so much better if the Lowrys would participate, too. Then Harmony Place, this block of it, anyway, would be complete."
Charlotte hooted. "Well, if you want it complete, let's do something about it. Reggie, darling, you're just as attractive as any of us. Why don't you seduce the ice-veined Dr. Lowry and then tell the rest of us how it went? After we all confront him, he'll stop pretending and start living. Helen, too. Rex has the hots for her, I can tell you."
Jennifer Carson, the most thoughtful one of the group and the one who generally directed these brain sessions, finally spoke up. Jennifer was darkly beautiful, a fact which sprang from an Italian mother and an Irish father. "I think we ought to move slowly, girls. If you consider how green they are, you'll agree. I remember the first night Michael and I ... well, it was quite a shock. I almost died when Jim Howard sat down next to me and, with almost no warning, ran his hand up under my dress. If I hadn't glanced over and seen Reggie taking Mike's thing out of his pants, I probably would have screamed for him to come save me."
Regina laughed. "Poor Mike was so embarrassed. I finally had to get down on my knees and suck him for a few minutes to put him at ease!"
But Jennifer persisted. "I've watched them. I think we'll have to trap them one at a time. I mean, only one of us with one of them. That's the big thing, you know-Haking that first step. They're still hung up on society's 'Faithful forever' thing, both of them."
"You can't tell me Helen hasn't played around a little on the side!" Charlotte retorted.
Jennifer smiled. "But not with one of our husbands. Not to our knowledge, anyway. And if she's not with us, why are we wasting time on her?"
Charlotte sighed. "Up until she snubbed me this morning, I might have volunteered my Rex. She was goggle-eyed over his hard-on."
"Who wouldn't be?" Trisha chuckled. "None of our husbands got shorted down there, but I think we'll all agree that Rex is as well hung as any man we've seen."
The conversation went on in spirited fashion, much like a group of club women discussing their next civic project. Until Margie Prentice, at thirty-four the oldest of the group, voiced the idea everyone else was thinking. "Aren't we supposed to be able to talk our husbands into anything? I say Helen is the key. Get her involved, and she'll talk Mark into it."
Trisha Howard saw the merits of the blonde's proposal. "Margie's right, girls. Turn the trick with Helen, and we have them both. Charlotte, honey, you get Rex to pop his prick to the lady in question, and all our problems are over."
A chorus of laughter greeted this suggestion. The consensus was to follow through at once. Rex Adair was nominated and elected to use whatever means were necessary-up to and including romantic seduction-to entice Helen Lowry into the group, on the theory that Mark would soon follow. "If that doesn't work," Regina vowed, "I'll ask dear Mark over to look at some pictures with me. You know the ones I mean. Should get him warmed up in a hurry." Mark Lowry, she knew, was a very good amateur photographer.
The group dispersed in mid-aftemoon, following another lively discussion of ways to improve the state of things in Harmony Place. Evening was approaching, and so were their husbands. Each woman had to prepare, not only for dinner but for the man in her life.
Rex Adair liked to find Charlotte in the kitchen preparing dinner-in the nude. He liked to come up behind her where she stood at the drainboard or stove and kiss the back of her neck as he reached around and gently squeezed her breasts, running a hand down briefly to stroke her cunt. This greeting over, he could go shower. They'd take it from there later.
Allan Prentice liked to find Margie sitting in the living room, also in the nude and with cocktails ready. He would start their ritual by leaning over to kiss her on the lips. But as the kiss lingered a little, his hand would move down and fondle her breasts. Then, as they sipped the two cocktails they allowed themselves before dinner, they would play their game. Margie, the aggressor, would undress her willing conquest. The drinks finally finished, they'd make vigorous love on the couch. Then Allan, an efficiency expert for an accounting firm, would head for the shower.
Jim Howard, a civil engineer, liked to hear the sound of the shower running as he entered the house. Calling out a cheery hello that couldn't have been heard if Trisha hadn't been listening for it, he would undress in the bedroom and then join her. Their bodies would press together for a moment as he gave her a warm kiss. Then they'd take turns soaping and scrubbing one another. On some evenings, as a special treat, she'd go to her knees and blow him as the hot water sprayed over them both. But usually they made love standing up under the spray.
Mike Carson, a pharmacist, liked to find Jennifer sitting in front of her dressing table, garbed in the flimsy panties and bra he loved her in best. She would be applying the last touches of makeup. He would walk up behind her, look at her in the mirror, then lean over to kiss her warm, lovely shoulders. A hand would always sneak around to tweak her breasts for a few moments, and she would lean back against his hardened prick. She would press her buttocks into it and, catching his eye in the mirror, would send him an expression that clearly told how she felt. Mike, undressed, would stand just behind her so that she could look in the mirror and see his huge hard-on, then he'd go to the shower where the cold water always helped get rid of it.
Stan Trussel, a health salon operator, like to find his Regina lying naked on the bed, pretending that she'd fallen asleep. "He would undress as he looked down at her long-limbed body, studying the firm breasts, the flat stomach, the beautiful pussy. Once naked, he would sit on the edge of the bed and kiss her "awake." She would awaken and with a sleepy smile open her arms for him. He would roll over onto the bed, their arms would entwine and their bodies would merge. Sometimes they'd make love like this for a few minutes before he'd get up and go to the shower. At other times they couldn't quit; she'd open her legs for him, and as their kisses grew more passionate, he'd penetrate her and pump them to a finish. Then they'd go to the shower together.
This was marriage, Harmony style.
Mark Lowry, brow wrinkled in thought, watched the lines of the highway's median follow one another by the thousands past the Buick's fender. He was worried about many things, but mainly about the project. He hated to continue the deception insofar as Helen was concerned, but there seemed to be no help for it. How many parties would they get invited to if she leaked the news? Few, very few.
Still, he could chafe under the tag pinned on him by most everyone: prudish. Mark scowled and pressed the accelerator lower. A man could only take so much. Helen might not get into the swing of things with the parties, but he certainly would. He had something to prove to himself.
Lowry glanced at his watch. Half-past six. He was only twenty miles from home, so he'd arrive in plenty of time for dinner. Plenty of time....
He topped a small knoll and spied a lone hitchhiker up ahead. He'd almost passed the transient before he realized the latter was a she-a girl dressed in male attire and carrying a small bag. Lowry considered the odds, then pulled over to offer a ride. "Going into Eatonville?" he called out the window.
The girl dashed up, out of breath. "Yes-please." She climbed in the passenger side and tossed her bag on the back seat.
Mark noticed, before he sent them on their way again, that she was quite pretty, even with the short hair. She was brunette and slender, two qualities he admired in women. "I'm Mark Lowry. You're-?"
"Cecilia Hunter. I've been to visit my father in the next state." She smiled. "They're divorced, he and my mother."
Mark decided boldness was in order. Cecilia looked at least eighteen. If she bummed around the country like this, she surely knew the score. "Do you fuck, Cecilia?"
"Occasionally," was the girl's unperturbed reply. "Why?"
"Would you now?" he pursued. "I mean, you don't have to," he added lamely, falling back on the politeness he'd always felt was an integral part of the male-female relationship.
She laughed, although she looked strangely at him. "You don't do this sort of thing very often, do you?"
"No," he admitted. "I'm married." As if that, he reflected, explained everything. "Yes or no."
Cecilia shrugged. "I don't like to pay for a ride that way, but if you're curious ... "
"I am," Lowry assured her. "And it's not as if you're paying for the ride. You're young and pretty and I want you. And-yes, I want to get back at my wife for putting me down. It's not what she says, it's her attitude. Know what I mean?"
The girl sighed. "Yes. I've heard it before." She pointed to a little road ahead. "See that grove of trees?" You can take us there."
Mark pulled off the highway, aware that his hands were shaking, the palms clammy. He was unashamedly nervous. "Does it matter which tree?" he asked, trying to be jocular.
"Say, you really are up-tight!" Cecilia exclaimed, eyes widening.
"You may have the cure," he told her, parking and turning off the ignition. He moved across the car seat and covered her mouth with his. Fingers and palm slid inside the pants' waistband. He caught a wealth of warmth and softness.
She sighed again. "Yes. I couldn't stop you now even if I wanted to."
He unbuttoned the blouse and unhooked the bra. When he reached her breasts, he plucked lightly at the swelling tips and detected the answer of his own flesh to the call of hers. He stroked both breasts simultaneously, moving them with an outstretched palm.
Cecilia's eyes were brighter than ever in the fading light, but her lids had lowered a fraction. They continued to kiss, and her tongue sought his. Lowry's answered. He fondled her breasts, drawing them out far enough to be kissed. He dallied and delayed, almost hoping she wouldn't let him go further, even though his instincts were thoroughly awakened.
The curve of her pants-clad calves suggested that the rest of her legs might be just as attractive. He moved his hands from her breasts to her knees, stroking down her calves and back again. When her breathing quickened, he carefully unzipped the pants and peeled them down her thighs. Then he caressed her slowly and rhythmically as their lips met.
He moved his touch to the inner surfaces of her legs, and her responses became increasingly hungry. He advanced a little at a time, gauging her reactions, proceeding just a little slower than she wanted, sharpening her desire with an edge of frustration. She shuddered and whimpered when he at last reached the smoothly stretched panties.
"That's what I want!" she breathed. "Yes, do that for me."
By this time the strain on him was as great as it was on her, but still he resisted the temptation to hurry, though the pace of his love-making was naturally increasing. He waited for several minutes and then found his way around the edge of the panties, working the cloth to one side.
He found that she was completely ready. She squirmed and shook as he played with her, clinging to his shoulders and returning his kisses with a fervor that amazed him. Then she made him stop for a few seconds as she took off her panties to give him greater access to herself. Now he could insert two fingers and move them any way he chose in her tight, sweet-smelling cunt.
His concern over Helen and the project had all but disappeared. He was entirely involved in what he was doing and what he needed to do. Even his initial nervousness had vanished.
In another minute, Cecilia could take no more excitation. She had to rest. She pushed his hand away and leaned against him, panting. "Aren't you-going to undress?" she gasped.
"I want you to do it," he invited, smiling.
She found the zipper of his dress slacks and pulled. The belt prevented her from getting at him readily, so she unbuckled it, also unfastening his waistband. Then, with a little help from him, she got his briefs out of the way. She smiled as she fondled his hard-on. The erection became more so, to his surprise and hers.
He took her there on the front seat, slamming into her a sufficient number of times to make her cry out and gouge bloody trails across his back and shoulders. Mark had to marvel at his own staying power. He hadn't known he had it. Or maybe it was the enormous stimulative powers of a young and desirable female.
At any rate, it was a quarter-past eight when next he looked at his watch. "Great God!" Lowry sprang up to reach for his clothes. "I've got to get home, or my wife will put out an APB."
Cecilia, to his relief, seemed to accept the fact that they'd soon part and never see each other again. She got out, when they reached a midtown intersection, blew him a kiss from the curb, and disappeared into the crowd.
Mark, whistling between his teeth, drove homeward. He had found her a tremendous confidence builder.
CHAPTER SIX
Charlotte Adair, fork in hand, stood in front of the stove turning the chops. She had put on a tiny apron, but except for that, she was totally naked. Rex came in through the living room, paused in the doorway long enough to look and smile at her, then came quickly across the room to slide his arms around her waist and bury his lips in her neck.
Kissing her gently, he placed a palm around each full breast, tweaking the nipples until they stood out hard. Charlotte, getting into the spirit of things, nudged the impression in his pants with her naked buttocks. One of his hands came down to disappear under the apron. The hand slyly rubbed her cunt. "Evening, ma'am," he drawled against her throat. "Have a nice day?"
Charlotte considered. "Better than most. Not as nice as some."
Detecting the edge in her voice, Rex fingered her clit a few times and then suggested, "Want to tell me about it now or after dinner?" He let his hand come to rest, the palm over her cunt, the middle finger dipping inside and-toying with the inner lips, which became almost immediately moist.
"The girls came her today," Charlotte related. "Except for Helen You-know-who, who would barely talk to me when I called her. Honestly, I don't understand that woman." Charlotte glanced accusingly over her shoulder. "Are you sure she didn't call you ... and you refused to go over there?"
Rex squeezed a breast. "Did I act the lout, you mean? No. It's part of women's natures, isn't it, to be temperamental?"
He'd thought about it during the day, and now he was sorry he hadn't told Charlotte the truth. He liked the openness, the openness of the others. This playing of games that bordered on deceit wasn't to his liking. Now it was probably too late. She'd be hurt and angry if he told her tonight.
"Well, anyway," Charlotte went on. "We decided that there's really only one way to get the Lowrys into the group. It was Margie's idea, but the rest of us agree. You, my love, have been picked to initiate the hesitant Mrs. Lowry. You will proceed at the earliest and do your best. Do you understand?"
Rex's mouth fell open. "Now hold on, baby. Why me? Why not one of the-"
"And then she'll convince that Ice Age husband of hers. Bang, bang-two new members. Charlotte reached back with her free hand and patted her husband's half-hard prick. "We have confidence in you, darling. In you and your beautiful cock."
"I'm still not sure...." Rex's voice trailed off.
His resistance was crumbling. Maybe this was the best course. If the group wanted the Lowrys, but the Lowrys didn't want the group, then the solution was to persuade the minority. In a democracy, the majority ruled.
"It has to be," Charlotte insisted, lowering the heat under the chops. "The girls all agreed that you're number one in the prick department. That should do something for your ego."
"The ego's doing fine, thanks," Rex returned, thinking furiously. He drew away from her, frowning. He'd thought that last night would set the pattern for him and Helen. The moment he'd seen Mark Lowry wasn't home, he'd known what she had in mind. The nonexistent plumbing trouble had convinced him. His first impression had been that they'd have the private screwing session Helen had arranged, and this would be the Lowrys' entrance into the group scene. But her panic, once he'd gotten her going, had brought doubt. Her fears after it was finished, that Mark would insist they move if he found out, had intensified the doubt. He, Rex, had wrestled with it throughout most of the day and almost convinced himself the arrangement might be all right, that the Lowrys could stay out of the group activities while he and Helen met now and then for their own private sessions. After all, she was a tasty dish in her own right. He actually enjoyed balling her.
"Why don't you take a shower? We'll discuss it in more detail later." Charlotte turned to look quizzically at him.
"Right." Rex pecked his wife on the cheek and trotted off to the stall, still thinking about Helen.
There were some things about her which disturbed him.. She was outwardly quite sexy, but inside ... well, he could compare her with a volcano ready to go. She seemed repressed and discontented, as if there were questions in her mind for which there were no answers. She'd known of the swapping, she said, but hadn't been willing to admit it. Rex had attributed this to Mark's own attitude toward sex and marriage in general.
He wanted to believe that she was putting up defenses which she wished to see knocked down. Last night's workout on the Lowrys' couch, he hoped, had been her subconscious telling him to pull out all the stops. But he hadn't been able to convince himself this was the truth.
It was a strange damn position to be in. He'd slept with virtually every woman on the block, he'd experienced various types of sex with them, and he'd walked away without being concerned. He couldn't feel that way about Helen Lowry, yet he couldn't define how he really did feel.
Rex stripped down and stepped under the shower, spending more time than usual soaping himself, particularly his penis. He examined the organ critically for signs of wear. There weren't any. He chuckled. So this was the prick the girls considered numero uno. How flattering. But he preferred to remember how this vital part of him had reacted to Helen, of how her breath had quickened as he filled her with it.
Rex closed his eyes and let a vision of her float across his mind. He saw her perfect body-the firm, up-tilted breasts, the tiny waist, the flaring hips, the lovely, brown-blond cunt hair. He suddenly found himself with a full hard-on.
He had to steady himself before he faced Charlotte again, so he began slowly beating his meat. He hadn't done this in years, but now, with the water spraying over him, he spread his legs, stiffened them, and kept pulling until the globs of come spurted out and were washed down the drain. In that moment of climax, he almost doubled up. But the strain of having to stand while he shot seemed to only heighten his pleasure. Finally he was able to finish his shower and, relaxed, go back to the bedroom to dress. Charlotte came in before he finished, to tell him dinner was ready. They cologned together and went to eat.
Looking at her from across the table, thinking about what had just happened, Rex decided to confess. That's how he and Charlotte were-they had few secrets from one another. "Know what I just did? Something I haven't done since I was single. I just jacked off in the shower!"
Charlotte's eyes narrowed. "You selfish bastard," she said, half-jokingly. "If you felt that way, why didn't you call me?"
Rex shook his head. "I didn't feel that way, hon. It was a reflex hard-on. Men have them all the time." But he realized he had felt that way, only it had been Helen who'd provided the stimulus rather than Charlotte. A confession like this a man couldn't make.
The dilemma seemed insoluble. He could continue meeting Helen, but sooner or later he'd have to admit to the others that the Lowrys would never come into the group as a participating couple.
To hell with it. Adair attacked his chop.
Michael Carson stretched out in his chair. Sprawled was a better description, because his buttocks were directly on the chair edge and his . long legs out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. He was stark nude, because he and Jennifer seldom wore clothes when they were home alone. For comfort, he'd pulled his balls up from beneath his legs, and now his medium-long prick lay over them, hanging slightly to one side. Michael's hands were clasped tightly at his belly.
Jennifer sat across from him, her legs tucked I under her so only a rounded hip and lower buttocks showed. One arm was across the hip, another on the arm of the chair. Her nicely shaped breasts, rounded nipples pert, hung ever so slightly. She was quite serious, perhaps even a little disturbed. "It seems to me, the overtures were made, the Lowrys chose to ignore them, and that I should be it. Why do they have to be drawn into it? Maybe they aren't right for us."
Michael smiled, a slow, cryptic smile which brought comparison from some of his friends to a certain Welsh actor. "I have an idea the others were just like us in the beginning," he remarked. "The thought of having sex with anyone other than each other was appalling. But once you find out there's fun it it, that it can even strengthen a couple's love for each other ... well, the walls crumble. The Lowrys only think they don't want in. Once they try us, they'll enjoy it as much as we do."
Jennifer still seemed doubtful. "I'm not sure. I'm not sure at all. Anyway, Rex's been selected to initiate Helen, the idea being that onee she enjoys a little extramarital sex, she'll talk Mark into it."
Michael chuckled. "You women. If you don't scheme behind one another's backs, you do it in each other's faces. Lay off the Lowrys."
Jennifer shook her head. "I tried to tell them how we felt that first night. I remember when Jim stuck his hand under my dress, I almost screamed. But when I looked around for you and saw Regina pulling your prick out ... well, you can imagine my confusion."
Michael laughed. He closed his eyes in pretended nostalgia. "The first really decent head I ever had. Think I should call Reggie over so I can see what it's like again?"
"Hah!" Jennifer scoffed. "That thing of yours has been sucked so much since, I doubt you've forgotten what it's like."
"True, true," her husband conceded. "But that doesn't mean I don't like to be reminded. A guy tries to remember what it's like, but nobody can remember something so good. You know what I mean."
She looked at him and smiled. She knew. She forgot about the Lowrys then and thought merely about what a wonderful hunk of man Mike was, and how lucky she was to have wed him. She rose to her feet and padded across the room to sink between his legs. He'd spread them open when he saw her coming. She buried her face in his crotch, pressing her cheek against his limp prick. Then she raised up, glanced once at his expectant face, and began kissing it. The organ swelled and lengthened under her tongue, necessitating longer licks, and finally it was hard. Wrapping one hand around the base, she engulfed the head with her mouth, pursing her lips and sliding them down over the shaft. Michael's hands went to her shoulders, hard fingers grasping her. He groaned with pleasure as she moved her head up and down on him.
"That's great, baby! That's really great!" A moment later, his hands moved up to her head, holding it still. "But you keep it up and I'll be popping. Come up here and give me a kiss."
Jennifer crawled up on him, sliding her firm breasts across his belly and chest. Their lips met. He pressed his hard prick up against her cunt, halfway between her legs, massaging her back and buttocks while they kissed. Finally he worked his legs between hers and spread her, pushing his hand between their bellies.
Knowing what was coming, Jennifer looked up. She felt the head of his prick slide up and down her cunt, burying itself between the folds. When he positioned it right, she lowered herself onto it. They both gasped with excitement as the huge thing distended her lips and eased into the tighter, deeper inner cunt.
"Wow!" Michael panted, struggling to get still more of himself inside her. "All the others, all the kicks, but I still get the best fucking at home!"
He started thrashing his hips up and down to prove the point, and the feeling was so terrific that she began moving with him. He worked his hands along her sides, found the warm and rounded flesh of her breasts, drew back a'little from her, and began squeezing them in time with his thrusts. Their kisses grew passionate again, their hips getting into perfect rhythm. Each time their bellies met, he could feel the head of his prick jam up against the. deepest and warmest part of her. "That's the joy of you," he sighed. "Every time we fuck, it's like the first time all over again."
"Hush, and give me a good loving!" Jennifer commanded, tightening her arms around his neck.
He transferred his caresses to her buttocks, kneading the firm flesh. Then he seized a buttock in each hand and pulled her tight against him, sinking his prick all the way to the hilt and stopping their motion. "Let's not come just yet," he proposed, shaky with impending orgasm. "Let's lie here for a while, then finish off in bed."
She was agreeable, wriggling herself closer into the fit of his body. She obviously loved the feel of his swollen meat filling her, of his hands roving up and down her body, of her breasts crushed against his muscular chest. Lying there in such complete contentment, she began to realize that he was right. Sex with the others was fun, there was even excitement to it, but it only made her love and want him all the more. Those experiences were little pleasure trips, but this was coming home.
And home was where the heart was. But home, she conceded, might have gotten boring if it hadn't been for the trips.
She decided that the other girls were right: they should draw the Lowrys into their activities. If they didn't, neither of them, Helen or Mark, would know of the glory, the enriched marital relationship which might result from exchanging, for just one night a week, sexual partners. Everyone would benefit-the group and the Lowrys.
Michael suddenly dug his hands into her shoulders. "I thought that was a good idea, but honey, I've just got to fuck you now. Let's go into the bedroom."
Jennifer raised her hips first, slowly, with her feet planted on the floor. Both of them enjoyed the feeling of his hard prick sliding out of her tight cunt. It was what Mike called "the prescription bottle effect." As his prick popped free, he even made the sound with his mouth. They both laughed heartily, then he placed his hands on her shoulders and pushed her up, the warm breasts sliding moistly off his chest.
She reached for his hands and made the pretext of helping him to his feet, before he swooped her off the floor and with swaying prick carried her into the bedroom. Laying her on the bed, still bent over her, he shook a finger in her face. "Honey, you are about to be screwed silly, ready or not."
She spread her legs and closed her eyes. "How silly?"
They laughed again, then he straddled her, his big body completely covering hers. Jennifer guided his cock into her cunt as he lowered himself onto her. No sooner was the shaft buried than she wrapped her arms and legs around him and allowed him to roll her over onto her back.
Their mouths met and they began to love.
Trisha Howard washed each dish, rinsed it and placed it in the rack. Her arms were efficient, but with each movement her breasts swayed invitingly. She wasn't surprised at the lack of support; she didn't happen to be wearing a bra. She never wore one this time of the night.
Jim picked up each dish as she put it in the rack. He dried it and stacked it in the cupboard. This was an evening ritual; he always helped Trisha with the dishes. They exchanged many confidences during this time of their day. The talk tonight, as it had the night before, turned to the Lowrys. Trisha told him what the other women had said and what they'd decided to do.
Jim looked thoughtful. "I'll go along. And Rex would be the logical one. She did look like she was about to flip out when she saw the hard-on Charlotte gave him. But I'm not so sure Helen's the one Rexie boy should go after."
Trisha was puzzled. "What do you mean?"
"Well, I saw her face, you know. That's how I knew what was going on. I saw her face and followed her eyes. That's when I noticed the hard-on. But what I read on her face wasn't the itch to switch. It was cock hunger, pure and simple."
"And your theory is ...?"
"My theory is that she's not getting it from Mark. Or if she is, it isn't enough. Oh, I don't mean size. I checked that out one night. I accidentally went into the bathroom while Mark was taking a leak. He's got ample enough meat. I think he's just not pouring it to her often enough. Hell, from the way it's stacked, it has to be a nice cunt."
"No doubt about that, either," Trisha chuckled. "I followed her into the lavatory one night, and you don't have to worry about a thing. Bui what does it all mean?"
Jim winked. "Either the good doctor is wrapped up in a research project of some kind or another-and we ourselves might very well figure in it-or he's the thinking-type lover. He'd much rather think about it than do it. Weird, huh?"
Trisha laughed so hard she dropped her wash rag. "Jim, honestly! What kind of research project would we figure in? That's the most ridiculous thing I ever heard!"
"Maybe so," Jim allowed. "But it's worth thinking about." He stepped near her and let her feel one result of the conversation-a vigorous hard pressing through his pants. "So is this."
Trisha threw the washrag aside and pulled away from him. She took off her apron and threw it onto the drainboard before whirling to leave the room. Jim smiled and followed her, prick stiffly at attention. This would be one of their better sessions. Love-making for them was always better when it evolved from verbal imagery.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Rex Adair walked slowly toward the corner. Before he drew too near the Lowrys' house, he saw that it was in darkness. But for some reason, he kept walking. At the very least, he told himself, he'd enjoy the quietness of the evening, the freshness of the air, and being alone with his thoughts. He reached the corner and stood for a moment under the place sign, squinting up at it. Harmony Place, the bold black letters said, and Harmony Place it was.
He recalled when he and Charlotte had moved into their own house halfway up the block. The handsome blond-brick had been the first one finished, and they'd been the first to move in. Having worked so long and hard for it, having dreamed about it, they'd seen it as the beginning of a new life, or at least a new era in their lives. That first evening, he'd swept her into his arms and carried "her over the threshold, although they'd been married five years and weren't exactly newlyweds. They'd been so thoroughly pleased, so enchanted, that they'd ended up in bed with the feeling that they were newlyweds and this was their first time together. He'd fondled her well-developed body as if his hands and lips were experiencing it for the first time; she'd experimented with his with the same feeling. When he'd finally penetrated her, sending his huge prick as deep into her warm, moist interior as it would go, their first joining in this house that was all their own had drawn them closer than than they'd ever been before. The feeling of ownership was present now-ownership of property, ownership of each other.
The Trussells had moved in next. The tall, blond Stan Trussel with his beautiful redhead wife who'd once been an amateur tennis player of note and could still swing a mean racket. She was good with a 35mm, too. Charlotte had invited them to dinner almost as soon as the van pulled away, as a sort of welcoming gesture.
And that was how the swap scene started. It had been a warm summer evening, and Charlotte had suggested a swim after drinks. "If you don't have suits," she smiled, "I think I can find two more."
"Who needs suits?" Regina Trussell laughed. She got to her feet and proceeded to strip off her clothes. It wasn't drunkenness, it wasn't lewdness, it wasn't lack of modesty, it was just Regina being herself. But the Adairs had sat stupefied as the beautiful woman they scarcely knew undressed before them, her firm, white body like that of a statue come to life, complete with ripe nipples on the ends of firm, almost pointed breasts. Stan, by that time, was down to his jocks. He stood up when he threw them aside, with no attempt to hide his hanging equipment.
Rex and Charlotte had finally recovered, and they, too, had undressed. But it was a new experience for them. Rex had done his best to hide the nearerection the other woman's nudity caused. He hadn't succeeded. Regina had come swimming up to him underwater; he'd felt her hands on his legs and then her lips on his prick. Starting up in fear and desperation, he'd seen Stan looking down at them, hard cock sticking out in front of him and a smile on his face. Then Stan had dived into the water. A moment later his face was in Charlotte's pubic vee. Regina had come up for air then, rubbing her swollen breasts against his body and reaching for his prick.
Rex vaguely remembered their rationale-the talk about being modern, about love being too big to be restricted to couples only, and the joys of variety.
It had been confusing at first, but neither he nor Charlotte had had the courage to fight it. As they assured each other later, they leaned toward it themselves. In any event, he'd ended up on a chaise lounge with the many-talented Regina, and Charlotte quickly found herself on another with Stan. As the Trussells left, they were enthused by both the welcome and the prospects of the future.
Rex couldn't remember now who had come next, but one by one the other couples had moved into their newly completed houses, and couple-by-couple they'd been drawn into the group activities. Somewhere along the way, a wit among them had observed that Harmony Place had been well-named. Never had there been more harmony than here.
But that had been before the Lowrys came.
Rex glanced across the street at the darkened house, and the preceding twenty-four hours fell away. He was again sitting on the divan and looking directly at Helen Lowry, half-smiling as he studied her well-shaped body in the revealing gown and thought of the trouble she'd put them both to. He raised the drink she'd mixed for him and proposed a toast, to Harmony Place and the harmony of its residents.
Hand trembling slightly, Helen had drunk to the toast.
Recalling how she'd backed away from him with something akin to fear in her eyes, Rex felt a deep sympathy for her. The emotion was beyond his understanding. He usually felt triumph, not sympathy. She'd wanted to fuck, there'd been no doubt about that, but as he'd walked stiff-pricked toward her, some inner self had cried out to Helen, had warned her to stop. But she hadn't stopped. She'd let him fuck her, anyway, and they'd both enjoyed it.
But Mark mustn't know. Mark mustn't know anything about the sex in the neighborhood, or he'd make them move. Mark....
Suddenly it registered on Rex Adair's brain that there was no green Buick in the driveway, nor in the carport. It shouldn't have meant anything, of course. They could have gone out to dinner or to a movie. But somehow he Jcnew she was in there. Instinct told him so. He found himself crossing the street.
He didn't ring the bell. If she was asleep, he didn't want to disturb her. To put it another way, he felt he shouldn't. Instead, he knocked. Softly at first, and then with more authority-hard enough so that she would hear if she were in the front part of the house or awake in the bedroom, but not hard enough to wake her if she were asleep.
After half a minute, the door's latch slid open. Someone peeked out through a one-inch crack. "Who is it?"
"It's me-Rex." He waited, determined to let her make the decision. He was there, wasn't he? She knew what he wanted. After last night, she'd understand.
Helen hesitated, then she opened the door wider. "You can come in."
Rex stepped inside and closed the door behind him. He stood for a moment and waited for her to turn on a light. She didn't, so he was obliged to let his eyes grow accustomed to the gloom. He heard her move back to a chair, and finally he saw her.
"I hate Mark. I hate Harmony Place. I think I hate the whole goddamn world!" Helen buried her face in her hands and began to cry.
Rex wanted to laugh, only he didn't dare. He realized that something had happened between her and Mark, and that she was at least half drunk. He sensed her turmoil, her unhappiness, and discovered to his surprise that he wanted to comfort her. He moved quietly and carefully across the room and dropped to his knees in front of her chair. As he reached out to touch her legs, he discovered that she was naked. Her skin was warm and smooth, and her nudity caused his prick to quiver in response. She didn't react, so he trailed his hands up and down her legs a few times. "Want to talk about it?"
Helen trembled. "I don't know. I don't think there's anything to talk about."
His hands had been moving up and down the outsides of her legs. Now they went higher, to her hips, and he found himself desiring her. Reaching her hips again, the hands tightened. When they came down again, they brought her body with them. He tugged her buttocks to the chair edge and spread her legs out around him. Then he lowered his head and buried his face in her cunt. Helen shuddered for an instant, but she immediately went limp. Gently, he kissed all around the area: the inner sides of her legs, down between her thighs, and then the cunt proper. The hair down there was downy soft, with a faint smell of powder, as if she'd rubbed herself with talcum after bathing. Rex closed his eyes and licked her, running his tongue from the lowest point he could reach along the little valley between the two firm mounds. When he placed his mouth over her cunt and started moving his tongue from side to side, working it into her, she groaned and spread her legs wider. Her hands came to his head. He pressed his face harder against her cunt and buried his tongue deeper, rotating it around the warm, moist inner lining.
"Oh, God," she whimpered, twitching her hips a little. "If only he'd do that! If only he'd do that just once."
Still using his mouth on her, Rex began to stroke her legs and hips, her stomach. Now he strayed higher and found her ripe, beautiful breasts. He began to play with them. A breast in each hand, he drew the nipples to hardness, to where they were like two little pricks projecting proudly from the aureolas.
He placed his hands over each breast again and massaged. Helen sobbed with pleasure. Encouraged, he stiffened his tongue and worked her cunt a little more roughly. Her hips worked, she brought her legs up to and over his shoulders. He surmised from her tremblings that she'd experienced her first minor orgasm.
He took his face away, carefully removed her legs from his shoulders, then kissed his way up to her smooth, creamy belly to her breasts. He ran his mouth over both, moving his tongue in circular motions and trailing it across each swollen nipple, then burying his face between them, nuzzling. He felt her hand grope at his crotch, find his hard-on, grasp it. A sound of appreciation escaped her, as if she were touching it for the first time and was overcome by its size. Her fingers fumbled with his zipper.
Without taking his face from between her breasts, he reached back and pulled it down for her, even tugging the prick itself free. Helen wrapped her fingers around it and stroked several times.
"I'll do it," she announced drunkenly. "Do what?"
"Suck you."
Rex raised up. He'd been standing between her legs, and she couldn't get at him that way. She leaned forward, sliding to her knees as she fell from the chair. He felt her hand seize the cock's base and her mouth close wetly over the head. Her tongue lashed around it several times, then she took just the crown into her mouth and nursed upon it like an expert. Finally she worked her compressed lips down over it, tightening her other hand and forcing the entire shaft into her mouth.
He felt the head crush against the back of her mouth and force its way halfway down her throat. She gagged a little, but took it all. Then her hands worked and she got his belt loosened. His pants and shorts slid down his legs. Now her other hand came up to cup his balls and fondle them gently as she continued to suck.
Rex knew he couldn't take much more of that. "Stop," he told her. He pointed to the divan. "Over there?"
She shook her head. She didn't want to be taken on the divan. Instead, she sprawled out on her back on the floor. "Fuck me here," she gasped. "Come fuck me here."
Rex undressed, laying his clothes across the chair. He stood naked over her, and even without a light, he could admire her beautiful body. The picture had been stamped indelibly on his mind the night before, deeper than he'd realized. He saw her oval face framed in her blond hair, the quivering breasts, the narrow waist and flaring hips, and at the juncture of legs and body, that soft mound with its blond forest.
He straddled her, positioning his cock at her vestibule, then leaned forward and slid it into her as his chest touched her breasts and his mouth opened over hers. His tongue met a welcoming tongue, her arms went around his neck, and her hips began to move as soon as his did.
"Oh, give me all of you!" she cried into his mouth, and he gave her all of him. With each stroke, he sent his prick deep into her, slamming it against her warmest innermost parts. The sliding out was a pleasurable feeling for both of them, the next thrust another almost breathtaking one. Her cunt worked with him: it helped to swallow, it drew away, it raised back up to receive. They were climbing a mountain together, that was the comparison, and finally they reached the top. Helen cried out, pushing herself up off the floor. He panted as he lunged against her. Their pubic bushes pressed together and his prick exploded as together they reached a thunderous orgasm, collapsing afterward.
After a few minutes, still holding her so that his limp prick stayed inside her, he rolled them over, leaving her on top. Her breasts were still warm against his chest, his arms still around her. "Why don't you tell me what brought this on?"
She lowered her head and let it rest against his shoulder. His cheek was rough against her cheek because he hadn't shaved. "Not now. It feels good just having you inside me like this. Let me enjoy it."
She seemed calmer now, and he conjectured that the alcohol fumes had left her brain. He stroked her buttocks. "Whatever you want. But it might help if you talked about it."
Helen sighed. "No. I can't. You've helped me, though, and you can help me again."
"How?"
"Just come and ... love me like this once in a while. But don't let the others know. And don't let them drag Mark in. Promise?"
Rex hesitated, bewildered by the implications, but he promised. But he knew it was madness. How long could he keep balling Helen without Charlotte finding out? He didn't like the idea of deceiving her; he didn't like fraud. But still, for this woman, for reasons he couldn't entirely comprehend, he'd do it, at least for a while.
He ran his hands over her body, felt the warmth of her cunt encompassing him, sensed her weariness, and he knew he'd do it. But he raised his head so he could brush a kiss across her cheek, and commented, "But I hope you settle it soon, honey. It would be a lot easier if you and Mark would join the group and we could do our screwing out in the open. A lot easier."
She shivered, and he realized that this thing with Mark was more serious than he'd thought. Before he could pursue it, however, a car turned into the driveway. They could see, from a side window, the headlights stabbing into a shrub. The lights went out.
Helen wrenched free of Rex. "It's him! You've got to go!"
Adair jumped up to grab for his clothes. "Where?" He discovered that he was genuinely frightened for his life. If Mark packed a gun, he had reason to be. With someone like that, anything was possible.
"Out the back! Hurry!" Helen was almost wringing her hands in fear and mortification.
"You'll have to show me." He seized his pants, shirt, and shoes, and ran out the way she indicated. Only when he got outside and through the hedge to a protected corner of the lot next door did he dare stop to dress. And then he discovered that he'd left his shorts inside.
He swore softly, cursing Mark Lowry and his unexpected return home. Helen, too, although it really wasn't her fault. He still liked her.
Adair found that he was shaking and perspiring quite heavily. He had to laugh at himself. No other man in Harmony Place could do this to him. Only that screwed-up Mark Lowry. It was funnily tragic, or tragically funny, depending on how you looked at it.
Now the deceit really began. Hating it but knowing he had to do it, Rex forced his mind to work again. He couldn't go home just yet. Not just yet. Not being able to have sex if Charlotte had wanted it he might have handled, but he could never explain the loss of his shorts.
He walked the several blocks to a neighborhood bar, and went in. At the pay telephone, he called her. "Honey, I went by the Lowrys. The lights were out, so I walked on down here for a couple of drinks. I may have one or two more, so maybe you'd better turn in without me. Okay?"
Charlotte agreed. Rex hung up and went to the bar to order. As he drank the scotch-and-soda, a ludicrous thought occurred to him. What would happen to one Rex Adair if Mark found his shorts before Helen did?
CHAPTER EIGHT
After Rex left the house, Charlotte stripped and changed into a bathrobe, wanting to be more comfortable if she had to be alone. She curled up with a paperback edition of the year's runaway best seller, but found it hard to concentrate. The sex passages were explicit, only her mind kept wandering to mental pictures of what her own husband might be up to at the moment.
Still, there was no jealousy as she thought of Rex kissing Helen Lowry's breasts, ramming his big thing into her. He could and did screw other women, granted, just as she'd been screwed by other men. But in the final analysis, there was just the two of them.
Charlotte tossed the paperback aside. The mental pictures created by her own imagination were more exciting. Her hand went of its own accord to her cunt. Massaging gently, imagining how Helen Lowry must be feeling at that instant, she inserted a finger between the warm, full lips of her own cunt. Delving deeper, she encountered a moistness. She suddenly realized that if she intended to enjoy Rex when he got home, she'd better quit. And she would enjoy him. After a session like the one he'd probably have with Helen, he could never get more than half a hard-on. But she could love him with her mouth while he tongued her to a ripping climax. This, of course, after he'd given her all the details of the thing with Helen-details which would heighten Charlotte's own feeling until the secretions were almost dripping out of her.
The phone rang. She snatched it up and said hello. Then she listened. And her face clouded. She sighed, murmured a closing reply, and hung up.
Charlotte grimaced at the wall. So he hadn't fucked Helen Lowry after all. Now there'd be no emotional build-up for either of them. Nothing for him, nothing for her. Damn Rex and his shitty procrastinating!
She got out of bed to pace the room a few times. The pressure which had built up inside her wouldn't dissipate. She knew that if she didn't do something soon, she'd end up masturbating. She considered dressing and going down to the bar after him. Rejected the idea. Instead, she left the house and crossed over to the Carsons'.
The lights were on in the living room, so she rang the bell. A minute passed, then five. Charlotte realized that neither Mike nor Jennifer was sitting in the living room, or they would have answered the door by now. Her excitement growing, she placed a finger on the bell and left it there. She could hear the sound penetrating every room of the house.
Finally the door opened a crack, and Michael stuck his head out. "Oh, it's you." He added, half-laughing, "You just interrupted one hell of a good sheet session, but come on in."
As he stepped back and opened the door for her, she saw his tall, beautifully proportioned body. Michael was unashamedly naked, and his prick stood up stiffly at attention. Charlotte even imagined that it glistened from the moisture of Jennifer's cunt.
She suspected, moreover, that her timing had been perfect, if inadvertent. She opened the bathrobe, pulled it off and threw it aside. Standing naked before him while he closed and relocked the door, she dared him with a glance. "Well? Do I get to join the party?"
Michael rolled his eyes in mock horror. "Two sweet pussies and only one of me? Heaven forbid! But come along. The motto around here is Try."
Charlotte could imagine that it was. She followed him into the bedroom. In the light that spilled through from the living room, she saw Jennifer lying placidly on a bed, nude like her husband and smoking a cigarette. Jennifer turned to see who the new arrival might be. She smiled when she saw Charlotte.
"Darling!"
"I found her skulking around outside and made her come in," Michael explained. "For some reason that I don't understand, she shucked the robe as soon as she came through the door."
"Well, she'll have to wait her turn!" Jennifer retorted. "I get preferential treatment around here."
Michael laughed. He took Charlotte's hand and led her to the bed. "After you," he smiled.
"You mean-?" Charlotte's eyes widened. Menage a trois was rather advanced, even for Harmony Place. But she shrugged and climbed into bed alongside Jennifer. Never would she flinch from any sexual practice of the Carsons. Rex would never forgive her. She'd never forgive herself.
Michael lay between them for a minute, giving them both time to adjust. "All right, ladies," he instructed, "I want you to fight over me. All in fun, of course. No biting, scratching, or kicking. I bruise easily."
As if for a starter's gun, they set to, pressing a hot pussy against him from either side. Four hands groped and slapped one another for his big balls and heavy cock. Two sets of warm breasts flopped around on his arms and chest. Jennifer growled at Charlotte, and vice versa.
Michael whooped and tried to kiss both sets at the same time. He applied a hand to each cunt and caressed vigorously, although it was hard to tell who was the most excited, him or the women. Finally he could stand it no more. He forced them apart and got to his knees, waggling the object each seemed to want. "Who's first?"
Jennifer was, because she'd already dropped to her back and spread her legs, cunt opened a little and ready to receive him. Charlotte, not to be outdone, lay on her back too, and spread her legs as best she could on the crowded bed. Michael climbed on top of the other woman and shoved the prick into her. But he hadn't forgotten about Charlotte. As soon as he began moving, he found her cunt with his free hand and inserted a finger. While he prick-fucked his wife, he fingerfucked his neighbor. For minutes the only noise was their pants.
Finally, in a frantic, gasping and twisting intermingling of sound and motion, the three of them shot. The juice spewed out of Charlotte's cunny and down his finger, despite his efforts to stem it. At the same time, his prick detonated inside his wife. Huge quantities of come shot out of it to meet the spray that was coming from her own recesses.
They came so much, husband and wife, that Charlotte forgot about her own climax and stared in wonder, strangely thrilled. The come trickled out from around his prick and ran down between Jennifer's legs. Eventually he collapsed, his prick still buried inside her and his finger still resting inside Charlotte.
Some time later, Michael pulled them both free and muttered, "Christ, that can sure spoil a guy."
They were spent. They lay on the bed for longer still, but play was only cursory. Michael's poor prick was now little more than a piece of pliant flesh. The women were content merely to have a male hand on one of their breasts. But there was little conversation. Each seemed to realize that words would only detract from what had just happened.
"I have to go," Charlotte sighed at last, looking at her watch. It read half-past eleven.
"Glad you dropped by," Jennifer murmured, hands locked in Mike's hair.
"Yeah. Bring the old man the next time you come," Michael encouraged, tweaking the visitor on the thigh. He grinned. "Well have a merry foursome out back by the pool. Dig?"
Charlotte smiled and nodded. She departed for home thinking that she couldn't possibly again, that if Rex insisted on sex, she'd have to blow him. But she found him stretched out on his back, fast asleep. The smell of alcohol was so strong on his breath that she decided not to wake him. He wouldn't be any good to her or anyone before morning.
She went to sleep tormented by a nagging possibility: Had Rex found someone else in the bar? Someone he wouldn't tell her about? Someone who'd made him forget about Helen Lowry?
Charlotte amazed herself by feeling jealous. She liked the swap scene, she decided, only because it was open and above board. Ordinary philandering reduced sex to the sordid. Philandering was a step backward. She hoped Rex hadn't taken that step.
CHAPTER NINE
Mark Lowry trembled and opened his eyes. He wished he hadn't, because he had to hold his head and groan. One thousand little men with jack-hammers were at work in his skull. They promised to work the whole morning through, unless he took something to stop them.
And now he remembered. He'd let Cecilia out of his car, then he'd stopped at the next bar. He'd ordered one drink, followed it with another, followed that one with still another. In short, he'd gotten roaring drunk, for only the second time in his life. It was a wonder he'd been able to drive home. In fact, he'd better check his car to make sure it really was his. He'd-
"Mark! Did you hear me? It's eleven o'clock in the morning. I think you'd better get up. Up, up, up!"
Mark made his eyes focus. He finally glimpsed Helen standing beside his bed. Helen. She'd helped him through the house and into bed. He smiled wanly. "Mornin'. Never drink that much again. Never."
She laughed. "I should hope not. Now please get up and have a late breakfast. Or an early lunch. Someone called and asked for you an hour ago."
Lowry swung his legs out of bed and put his feet on the floor. The effort required real courage, because his head felt like a bass drum. "Yeah? Who was it?"
"Regina," Helen said, watching him. "Regina Trussell. You know, two houses down."
He yawned and felt for his shoes. "What did she want?"
"She wants you to come inspect her Minolta. I told her you had one just like it, and she thinks you could tell her how to use it."
Mark scowled. "Crap on that. She's as good a photographer as I am. Besides, I'm not fit to be seen on someone else's patio. Look at me." He indicated his night's growth of beard and the bloodshot eyes.
Helen clucked in sympathy. "You can go this afternoon. You'll feel better after shaving. I'm sure of it. Regina spent four hundred dollars on the camera and attachments, that's why she wants you to see it."
He was beginning to be flattered in spite of himself. "Okay. I'll go. You can call her back and tell her so."
Helen went to make the call.
"So you're an M.D." Regina looked critically at her visitor. "Somehow I'd never take you for one, Mark. Really I wouldn't. I'd expect steel-rimmed glasses, a Masonic ring-the whole bit."
Lowry laughed. He felt worlds better now.
Helen had fixed him a concoction made from tomato juice, Tabasco and headache remedy which almost completely cured his hangover. "I know what you mean. Now and then I have trouble believing it myself. But it was hard enough earning it, let me tell you."
She leaned forward. "And where was that?"
"Penn," he said casually, although he was prouder than he should have been to have an Ivy degree.
Regina eyed him with new respect. "Wow. Then maybe you could show me how to mix a real Eastern drink."
He smiled. "I'd be delighted."
He followed her into the kitchen, noticing how she cast occasional glances at his crotch. Is she wondering how many inches I've got? Maybe, Lowry thought, this wasn't to be a shutter session after all. His pulse began beating more like a pulse. He even began planning to take the initiative. A new image had to begin somewhere, and his might as well begin right her in Regina Trussell's kitchen.
While she watched, arms folded, he demonstrated the making of the dry martini, an Ivy League favorite. Also, the Manhattan. He complimented her upon her home, which seemed inordinately quiet, even with Stan Trussell away at work, and she thanked him.
They carried their drinks back into the living room, and he sat down on a sofa. She studied him. His headache was gone now, but he feared one more drink or two would bring it back. So he drank in tiny sips, letting the martini trickle softly down his throat.
"I'm not used to having a brilliant theoretician in my home," she confessed, smiling.
He scowled at bar. "Theoretician, yes. Brilliant, no. You're trying to provoke me."
"Not really." She put down the drink and unbuttoned the top of her dress. For a moment, she gave the impression that she was going to undress. "I suppose I should excuse myself to slip into something more comfortable," she said, "but the fact is, I'm comfortable already."
He saw why. Underneath the dress, she'd been wearing a skimpy sunsuit. The inner curves of both breasts showed, for only one top button was fastened, and another, between her breasts, was missing. He could see why she'd been a great tennis player; the weight she'd added since those days had simply rounded out her figure under the tightly stretched dress.
"You used to be a top-seeded amateur, didn't you?" he remarked.
"Once upon a time."
"Do you have any press clippings?"
"Hundreds. Why?"
"I'd like to see them." He smiled. "The camera, too, if you've forgotten why you asked me over."
Regina threw back her head and laughed. She left the room and returned a minute later with several large albums. With an expensive new camera, too, in its leather carrying case. She sat down beside him and put the stack of albums at her feet, except for one which she kept on her lap.
The camera she dropped almost indifferently in an adjoining chair.
"These are just a few," she said. "I don't think you want to look at them all."
She flipped the pages of the first album. It was composed of various action shots of a youthful-looking Regina who'd worn her burnished copper hair much longer than now. The youngster's backhand was captured perfectly, and so were her magnificent legs.
Mark commented upon the former, when he was really much more interested in the latter.
Regina gave him a look which he couldn't interpret, and picked up another album. "These were made at the 1962 U.S. Open. I was nineteen years old and seeded second in the women's singles. Wild, huh?"
"Very," he agreed, admiring the shots one by one.
"That's when I met Stan. He followed me from tournament to tournament until I agreed to marry him. That's what I liked about him-his persistence." Regina showed all her teeth in a big smile.
"I don't suppose you miss it anymore,"
"he said, to get the conversation away from Stan Trussell.
"Hardly. It's a girl's game." She suddenly leaned close to him in invitation.
Mark hesitated, then slid an arm around her shoulders and turned her face to him. As he kissed her, he slipped a hand into the front of her dress and found a bare breast. He stroked the full roundness and drew at the tautening tip, until he felt his own passion, dissipated the night before with Cecilia, returning.
If he'd expected at least token resistance, he was disappointed. He touched her lips with his tongue as he caressed her breast, and felt her mouth open. Then she surprised him further by dropping a hand on his stiffening prick. He figured that he was going to have her even sooner than he'd expected.
But she quickly pulled her mouth away from his. Her fingers slowed and were still. "Would you rather I behaved myself, Doctor?"
"As you will," he returned. "You're the hostess. I'm only the guest."
Regina chuckled. "I'm beginning to think the girls were wrong about you."
Mark's interest showed in spite of himself. "The girls?"
"Never mind." She picked up the last album, the one on her lap. "I think I'll show you some more pictures-if you're not squeamish. Are you?"
"No," he assured her, and sat forward in his seat, drink forgotten. He sensed that some unexpected revelation was imminent, and the possibility had an oddly frightening effect.
"Promise not to tell?" Regina looked hard at him, one hand on the album's lock. Of all the albums, only this one had a lock.
"I promise."
She opened the album.
He didn't see what he'd expected. The pictures were in color and they were certainly sensual. The details were often obscured, but each picture showed a naked man and woman, apparently in the early stages of love-making. The figures, their features almost impossible to make out, arched and curled and all but twisted with pleasure, as if the photographs were about to spring to life. Mouth pressed against mouth, and hands caressed breasts and legs and thighs.
"I've never shown these to anyone except our group," she said. "You know who I mean, don't you?" Her eyes trapped his.
Mark nodded. He knew. "Let me see the rest of them." He smiled crookedly. "I have at least a professional interest."
She continued to turn the pages.
The pictures which followed were no less works of art than the first, but Regina's face was much more distinct and other details were clearer. The man-or men-were shown from the front, with nothing hidden. The couple in each picture caressed each other in the most exciting ways. Kisses traveled high and low, missing no area.
"You can see I know a little about lighting and remote switches," she said proudly.
"I can see." The more daring pictures affected Mark as the others had. He wanted to be one of the men in the pictures. He wanted to be all of them.
Most of all, he wanted Regina herself. He even found himself blurting it out. "I wish I'd ... well, I wish I'd been that man with you."
She laughed warmly. "I'm happy to hear it. I wish you had been, too."
"I want to be part of the group, too," he went on, the words tumbling out. "I know the score here. I want to be in like everyone else." He felt his face grow hot, but he wasn't sorry he'd said it.
Regina's eyes gleamed in triumph. "You will be, darling. You will be."
He fumbled with the buttons on her dress, then the ones on the sunsuit. "I love you. I love all of you." He bared her breasts and bent to kiss the yearning tips. "I love you."
Regina shook her head, smiling. "No, darling, don't say that. We'll have no involvement of the heart. This is cool sex. The sex of the future."
Mark heard her, but he didn't care. He knew only that he wanted this woman in every way, he wanted her more than he'd ever wanted any other woman. He slid a hand under her dress, lifting it as he caressed her warm legs. His mouth went to hers and their tongues met. The album on her lap slipped to one side as he went further.
And suddenly he stopped. His wandering eye had settled upon something in one of the pictures. "Let me see the rest of those," he said, tugging the album out of her lap and into his own.
Regina tried to get the album back. "No, Mark, no! You've seen enough!"
He pushed her hands away from the album and turned the pages. The new pictures showed her in various positions, usually on a bed. The man was poised with her, occasionally on the verge of taking her. In some she was reaching for him or actually guiding him.
The album's last four pages showed the pair actually loving. Nothing was concealed.
As he looked at the pictures, Mark began to ache with the intensity of his need. Regina's understanding hand began to stroke him again. Then her lips moved against his ear. A shudder went through him.
"Mark, I command you to love me," she said, and her tone was peremptory.
He pushed the album away and it dropped to the floor. Then he kissed her, holding her close to him. His hands busied themselves with her breasts, and he knew her sounds of pleasure weren't faked. As he prepared her, she tore at her dress to get it the rest of the way open, hardly bothering with the few remaining buttons. Then she was beside him. He saw that she was even more attractive, more seductive, than any of the pictures he'd seen. His love-making was entirely without restraint, the credit for part of which could be traced to Cecilia. Regina struggled to make herself as available as possible.
"Hurry, Mark, hurry!" she panted, but he held back, trying to bring her to even greater heights of need.
"No hurry," he insisted, and he was actually prepared to spend the afternoon at it.
"Oh, you-you!" Regina ground her teeth in frustration. "Take me! Love me! Do it now, before I do it myself!"
He was about to comply, but he was a second too slow. Regina fell into his arms. She was amazingly strong, and he toppled onto the sofa. Then she was up beside him, naked all down the front but with the sunsuit still hanging down her back from her shoulders.
He felt himself consumed by fire as she settled downward, leaning forward slightly.
Within a few seconds, her every muscle seemed to snap tight. Again and again her chest expanded, the breath coming in noisy gasps. Regina's face went rigid from the sensations she was experiencing. Mark was so fascinated by the change of expression on her face that he forgot, almost, about his own pleasure. He hadn't known a woman could act like this at the summit. Helen never did.
Regina's orgasm tapered off, but she was far from finished. She pitched forward to lie heavily upon him, her hands clutching his shoulders. Then she began moving once more, lashing him with all the strength in her wiry frame. All thought was suspended by the waves of pleasure which flooded him.
Yet somehow he managed to contain himself. Regina slowed, fell against him, and gasped, eyes tightly closed, face pained. He knew she'd reached climax a second time. When she relaxed, he figured she was done, that she'd crawl away from him.
But she wasn't. And he hadn't shot off yet. He pushed himself into a sitting position, toppled her on her back, and moved again without ever leaving her. Now he was in control. He could master and dominate her if he chose to. He chose to. He thrust again and again with a savagery he hadn't known was in him.
Regina sobbed. "Mark ... honey ... almost ... there!"
They came together for the finale, he discharging lustily into her churning warmth and she eagerly receiving all he had to give. And still they loved, until both were drenched with perspiration and the clock on the wall read four o'clock. Stan Trussell would be home within the hour.
"Gotta go," Mark sighed, pulling free of her and looking for his pants. He grinned. "Can I ask a favor?"
"Anything."
"Don't tell anyone. Not just yet, anyway."
"Wha-at?" Regina looked at him as if he were crazy. "But I'm supposed to tell the-" She caught herself.
He nodded, understanding. "I know. But I want to break it to Helen first. My own way. And in my own time. Okay?"
Regina sat up and held her head in mock outrage. "Have I wasted an entire afternoon on you? Have I?"
"You tell me," he challenged her, smiling. "Have you?"
"I guess not," she conceded, eyeing his fast-shrinking prick. "You're pretty good with that stick of yours. You just need practice."
"Can I get it in Harmony Place?" he wondered, buttoning his shirt.
Regina tittered. "Honey, you sure can!" . He went away believing her.
CHAPTER TEN
After Mark dressed and left for the Trussell house, Helen lay down for a while. Between Rex's sprinting out the back door and Mark's coming home drunk for the first time in memory, she hadn't slept much the night before. But she couldn't sleep now, either. Rex's memory was still too strong, Mark's erratic behavior still too puzzling.
Finally, wide awake, Helen pushed herself out of bed and padded barefoot into the living room. Halfway across the room, her foot caught in something, and she almost tripped. She reached down to see what it was, and gasped. It was Rex Adair's shorts. If Mark had spotted them on his way out ... But she was sure he hadn't. He would have said something.
She picked up the shorts and sat down again where she'd sat the night before, in her favorite wing chair. She closed her eyes. In her mind, the lights were out and she was once more listening to a knock at the door. She would get up to answer it, and Rex would come in, dropping to his knees between her legs and burying his face in her cunt.
He would literally suck her out of her drunkenness, bring her back to at least near-sobriety with his tongue on her clit and his hands on her breasts.
Remembering the feel of it, she lifted the shorts to her lips, rubbed them into her face, then kissed the part where his prick had surely laid. The act sent shivers of excitement through her. Recalling how she in turn had gone to her knees there on the carpet and sucked him with the same lack of abandon, she found herself licking the shorts. Again it was exciting all over again; her cunt quivered and dripped moisture on her panties.
Eyes closed, Helen rubbed the shorts over her breasts and imagined that it was Rex's prick. Her excitement redoubled: Her nipples swelled and hardened when the short's material brushed across them. She dropped a hand between them where Rex's face had lain, then trailed it down her belly and to her cunt.
Without quite understanding why she did it, she began shoving the shorts up into her vagina, spreading her legs wider and using both hands to do it. Finally they were in, and she gasped and panted with all the intensity of actual intercourse. She fell back in the chair at last, spent. Then she remembered how it had felt when he was through and lay with his limp cock still inside her.
She decided she wouldn't take the shorts out. They felt good in there. She wouldn't take them out. When she went back to bed, she felt strangely content, as though she carried a part of Rex with her and was therefore protected against the despair of loneliness.
She drifted off to sleep for an hour. When she awoke, it was three o'clock. The house was still quiet, so she knew Mark hadn't come back yet. Helen began to be worried. If he was still with Regina, anything might have occurred. Two hours was too long to examine a camera, even a new, expensive one. What were they up to over there?
She considered calling, realized it was too late. Damn him! So she went back to sleep. When she awoke this time, the sound of the shower running full blast filled her ears. She immediately felt the fullness between her legs, and remembered. But by now she was disgusted rather than thrilled.
Great God! she whispered silently. I must be losing my mind! She hastily pulled the material out, repulsed now, especially since there was nothing of Rex left. There was just her own secretions, the material stiffened by it. Helen stared up at the ceiling and wondered if Mark's own prudishness about sex was infecting her, too. If he'd only get over his psychological block and give her a good fucking, there'd be no problems for either of them.
Before he had time to leave the shower, she took the shorts from under her pillow. She held them in her hands for a few minutes, looking down at them and for some reason feeling a great sadness. Then she realized that the sadness came about both because of Mark being what he was and because in doing what she'd done, she'd destroyed the part of Rex that was in the material of the shorts. It was all very confusing, mixing husband and lover in the same thought, and she wished there were some way she could separate them.
Knowing she couldn't, Helen went on with what she had to do. She wrapped the shorts in a section of the previous day's newspaper, stuffed the bundle into the kitchen incinerator, and turned on the switch, closing her eyes as she did so.
When she opened them, Mark was standing at her elbow, staring at her strangely. Helen colored, leaning to turn off the incinerator. "You stayed long at the Trussells'," she observed, fighting for a measure of self-control.
Mark's gaze slid away. "She has a camera collection you wouldn't believe. Press clippings, too. She's done it all."
"I can just imagine," Helen said acidly.
He flushed. "They're nice people. The Carsons, too. Maybe we should ... let ourselves go the way they do. Live a little."
Her heart leaped. But she raised her chin in the gesture of defiance he probably expected. "Now what does that mean?"
Mark's shoulders sagged. He looked relieved, as thought this was the answer he expected. "Oh, I don't know. We'll thrash it out another time. Since dinner's not ready, I'm going out."
Helen's eyes flashed. "Where?"
"Driving," he flung back, and stamped out the door.
She listened for the sound of the car leaving the drive, then she began to cry. When she was all cried out, she mixed herself a strong drink. And another. By the time she was halfway through the second, she was feeling better.
Trisha Howard tried to call Regina Trussell at three o'clock. There was no answer, so Trisha crossed over to the Carson house to have coffee with Jennifer, partly because she remembered Jennifer's suggestion the day before that the group move slowly with the Lowrys and partly because she wanted to get Jennifer's views on Jim's suggestion that Mark Lowry, M.D. and all, might be a latent homosexual.
Margie Prentice, who wondered where all the other girls were, went next door to the Adairs' to find out. Charlotte Adair was sitting at her kitchen table without a stitch, but the visitor didn't care. Margie got her own coffee and sat down across from Charlotte.
"What's up?" the latter inquired.
"What do you think?" Margie said wearily. "The usual." She sipped on her coffee for a minute, then looked deep into Charlotte's eyes. "Do you realize the way we're going, all of us on the pill so that we don't have to worry about getting pregnant, none of us will ever have children? Think about it."
Charlotte sighed. "I have thought about it," she admitted. "But can't you imagine what the men would do if we declared a moratorium-no more games until each of us got pregnant by her own husband? Then no games while the six of us-" she corrected herself, "-the five of us bloat out, deliver, and try to get back in shape. After that, with babies to take care of, we'd all be busy changing diapers, mixing formulas...."
They were quiet, each woman seeing it her own way. Each of them, the others, too, had gone into marriage with the usual view. The "norma!" view. Husband and wife, deeply in love, children born of that love, children growing up as husband and wife went into the twilight of life together. Like teenagers getting together for a party, they'd stretched it out. But like wise teenagers, they'd made sure that pregnancy didn't result from the party. Only now that the party had become life itself, children and parenthood had been forced to the rear.
"It's almost frightening, isn't it?" Margie said softly.
Charlotte was loathe to admit it, but it was. "Yes. And I don't want to think about it." She pushed her coffee aside and went to fetch back a bottle of gin. "Let's have a drink. If there's anything at all to deaden the pain, this is it."
"I'll call the others," Margie suggested, and went to do it. She returned in less than a minute. 'Jennifer and Trisha are coming over. I couldn't get Reggie. Do you suppose she's stoned to death ... or taken something?"
Charlotte laughed, and turned on the ice crusher. "Reggie? She holds her booze like a trooper. And I never saw her drop anything."
But both women wondered-until they saw the faces of Trisha and Jennifer. The one was thoughtful, the other jubilant. "Girls!" Jennifer burst out. "It's happened!"
"What?" Margie demanded.
"That high-and-mighty Dr. Lowry-we saw him sneaking out of Reggie's patio a minute ago!
He was looking both ways, so we know it wasn't a social call! Can you imagine?"
"No!" Charlotte gasped. She couldn't
"But it's true!" Trisha insisted. "Mark's been initiated. And by one of our own. Now all we have to do is go after Helen. We'll break the news to her some way, and then they'll both be ours. Isn't that marvelous!"
Margie Prentice clapped a hand to her head.
"Now I believe in miracles."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Helen Lowry the next morning determined to get through one day without drinking. Mark would be away all day-"Having some notes typed," he explained mysteriously-so that would help. She showered, then dressed in bright walking pants and a white blouse. Reverting to the housewife-a role she hadn't played well in recent weeks-she changed the linen on both the beds, put the washing in the machine, then started on the living room.
By noon she had the house sparkling, the laundry folded and put away, even the patio hosed down. And then there was nothing. The large, empty house and the hours of the afternoon lay ahead.
She thought about calling Charlotte Adair, even of running over there. But somehow she couldn't face the woman whose husband she'd frolicked with two evenings in a row. She thought of the others, but Rex's words stood out like a wall between her and them. Knowing now that they had their sex games, she felt apprehensive. She was afraid of what might happen. She was afraid of herself. Her own sexuality was like molten lava inside her-acquiescent now but nonetheless waiting to erupt. She didn't dare place herself in a position where it might go.
There wasn't anything else to do, so she fixed lunch for herself and ate it. Afterwards, she succumbed to temptation and made herself a drink, moving out onto the patio to drink it. The sun was warm, the air fresh and sweet. Helen stretched out on a chaise lounge and sipped the tonic slowly. After a few minutes, she loosened her halter and slipped it off, also coming out of her pants. Now the sun could kiss her entire naked body, the warmth seeping into her pores. With it came a drowsiness. Rolling over onto her back, Helen dozed off, lulled into sleep by the liquor and the ultraviolet warmth.
Something drew her out of a sound sleep. She felt herself moving slowly toward some unidentified point. When she opened her eyes, a stab of fear went through her. She gasped. But then she recognized the young boy standing beside the chaise lounge. Philip. Philip, bless him, had come back to visit her.
Helen's eyes moved from his tanned face down across his equally tanned chest and came to rest on the bulge in his swimming trunks.
"I didn't mean to scare you, Mrs. Lowry," Philip said earnestly. "It's just that I-well, I couldn't keep my mind on anything except what we did yesterday. So I left the truck and equipment on the other side of the block and slipped through the hedge." He smiled, as if he'd been cleverer than she probably gave him credit for.
No! a voice cried out in Helen's mind. But when she opened her mouth, no words came out. She swallowed, her gaze fastened on Philip's. Then it strayed lower. She noticed the mold of his balls, and stretching out past it, the full shape of his prick: the long, slightly thin shaft, the crown, the knob of a head. She even imagined that she could see the faintest hint of moisture through the material of his trunks-the preorgasm lubrication which came from concentrated thought on sex.
Philip licked his lips and stared hungrily at her. "Can, we ... do what we did yesterday, Mrs. Lowry? Can we?"
No, a thousand times no! the voice shrieked. But still no words would come forth. She lay there letting him look at her nakedness, trying not to see his stirring prick. Her mind was in turmoil. Yesterday, dazed by liquor, it had been easy. Yesterday, anxious to protect herself, she'd had no choice. Today, sober again, reason intervened.
He's too young! He's only a boy! You're a married woman! It's bad enough to have an adult lover, unheard of to have a boy! Beware, beware!
But he was staring at her genitals and she could see that hard shaft of his. A sensation was growing in her that needed to be answered.
Tell him to leave! Hurry, before it's too late and all your self-respect is gone!
But Helen found herself spreading her legs. Philip took it as permission granted. Moving quickly, he came up between her legs from the foot of the chaise lounge. He placed a hand on the inner side of each leg, spreading them wider apart. His mouth went to her cunt.
She almost cried out as she felt his tongue lapping at her like a child lapping an ice cream cone. The tongue lashed all around the exterior, even to the creases between her legs and body. Then Philip began sliding it from the lowest point of her slit to the highest. His head bobbed and he forced his tongue in deeper. Helen groaned with pleasure and spread her legs still wider, opening until she had no more to give. The tongue went inside now, exploring. Then it stiffened and began to imitate coital thrusts.
"Oh, my God!" Helen sobbed. Her hands went to the boy's head and grasped it. Almost reluctantly, she made him stop. "Come up here. I've more than just a cunny, you know. Much more."
Philip stopped what he was doing down below. Climbing on top of her, he began nervously kissing her breasts, rubbing his tongue all around them, gnawing the nipples, titillating them with the roof of his mouth until they were hardened. He nursed on first one and then the other.
Growing weak inside, Helen reached down to stroke his hard prick. She finally acknowledged defeat. "If we're going to do it, let's go inside. Get your clothes off."
He followed her inside, stripping off his swimming trunks as he went. While she pulled the drapes shut, he kicked off his shoes and pulled his socks off, then slid his shorts down and kicked them aside.
Helen looked at his smooth young body, the huge prick and sagging balls protruding from a nest of tangled black hair. Then she raised her eyes to his eager young face. No! You mustn't do it! You're not drunk this time! You have no excuse!
She hid her face in her hands. "I need a drink. Can you wait a minute longer?"
He nodded.
Before she could finish mixing the drink, he walked up behind her. She felt his warm, hard prick slide up between her legs as his hands came around to cup and squeeze her breasts. Helen thought she'd die from the pounding in her chest.
"You don't know how much this means to me, Mrs. Lowry," Philip said softly. He tried to reach her cunt with his hands and speak over her shoulder at the same time. He couldn't. "I'm scared to fuck the younger girls. They think I might hurt them."
Helen trembled. "Do you remember what I told you about not breathing a word of this to anyone? Do you?"
"Yes, yes!" the boy responded, tightening his grasp on her. "Let me do it to you, Mrs. Lowry. Please let me do it to you."
She drained her drink in one gulp, then pulled away from him and went back into the living room. The liquor took hold. At least she told herself it took hold. She wasn't responsible for what she did when she was drunk. She sprawled in the wing chair, head back against the cushion and eyes closed. If he did something, it wasn't her fault. She couldn't be blamed.
She felt her breasts rising and falling with her faster rate of breathing, then his hands on her legs again, his determined mouth at her cunt. The tongue roved around, licking her slit from bottom to top. Helen slid lower in the chair. Philip spread her legs wider with his hands, then buried his tongue as deep as he could get it. He'd learned at least a little from the previous session, because the tongue vibrated, sending sensations through her deepest parts.
She pulled his face even deeper into her crotch. Her legs went up over his shoulders and she started moving her hips up and down. Philip struggled, half-suffocated, then he resumed the tongue play. When she started coming, Helen thought she'd never stop. She pummeled his back with her bare fists while the juice ran out around his mouth and dripped down his chin. Where had he learned to give head like this?
She heard his voice as though it were far away: "Are you going to suck me like you did yesterday, Mrs. Lowry?"
Helen opened her eyes. Philip was standing between her legs, the same eager, earnest expression on his face. For the first time she noticed the utter youthfulness of his body. Tall, slender, his prick long but not too thick yet. Rex Adair when he was a boy, she found herself thinking. When Philip was grown, he'd look and act a lot like Rex Adair.
She leaned forward and cupped his balls in one hand, wrapping the fingers of the other hand around the prick's base. She gently kissed the head, then slid her mouth over the shaft. The cock was a lovely one, big but not overwhelmingly so. Helen stroked it with her hands as her mouth moved up and down on it.
Philip's own lips began to move wordlessly. His hands came to her head, grasping it with a young man's fervor. Now he was moving in rhythm with her sucking, driving his long shaft into her mouth, pulling it out, driving it in again. His hip motion grew faster, his hands tightened on her head. He was slamming his prick in and out so fast she couldn't keep a rhythm. Finally he was merely holding her head and screwing her in the mouth. Then he let out a cry, and she felt the hot come spew out into her mouth. He fell forward, pushing her back into the chair. His prick slid out of her mouth and down over her breasts, coming to rest on her cunt. Helen put her hand on his head and pressed his cheek into her breasts. She almost loved him now.
Awkward as it was, they lay there for several minutes. Then Philip ventured a-suggestion: "Maybe if we stretched out on the floor and rested awhile, we could fuck the other way. The real way."
Helen smiled. Poor hot-pricked, sex-hungry Philip. He might get no more of this for months. He wanted to make the most of it. "Was yesterday-the day before, that is-the first time for you?"
He looked away before shaking his head. "Just the second. I know I got a lot to learn."
She could have told him he hadn't a whole lot to learn, but she didn't. They stretched out on the floor, and she took him into her arms. His body was surprisingly muscular, toned by constant exercise.
She rubbed her hand up and down his crevice, pushing her fingers as far down between his legs as she could get them. His prick was soft against her cunt, but as she stroked him, it began to harden again. Philip pulled away a little and reached for her breasts, almost rough in his impatience to get at them. He leaned forward, head bent, and began kissing them, running his tongue all around the aureolas, teasing the nipples. Helen spread her legs, and when he was ready, opened wide for him. She felt the cock's head forcing her labia apart.
They moved at the same instant, the boy pushing his prick into her and she shoving her cunt up over it. When it was completely encased in her warmth, both rested for a moment. Then he slowly began to pump it in and out, following an instinctive male pattern.
"That's it," she encouraged. "Do it slow and easy. There's no hurry."
Philip's eyes widened. "Hurry!"
She figured she'd said the wrong thing, because he began balling with a desperation. He drove his prick clear into her with each thrust, sliding it out until only the head was between the soft lips, then burying it deep again. He screwed with an intensity that amazed her, finally shoving it deep inside her and leaving it there, his whole body quivering as his juices spurted. He gave a couple of concluding thrusts, then yanked himself out and leaped to his feet.
"What's the matter?" she asked, bewildered. "What did I say?"
"Gotta go!" Philip panted, looking about for his shorts. "Got eight more pools to clean!" He snatched up his clothes and ran out the door.
She'd almost forgotten about his job. She hoped he didn't get fired because of her.
But now she felt worse than ever. She lay naked on the floor in complete confusion. The last of Philip's love-making had been so violent, his exit so hasty, that she couldn't even savor what they'd done. She could only lie there, her brain half befuddled by alcohol, and feel as though she'd been caught up in a whirlwind and then cast aside.
Finally she rolled over and buried her face in the rug. "Jesus!" she sobbed. "I wish I were dead!"
She really didn't, but the sordidness of it all hit her again, just as the sordidness had hit her this morning when she'd found Rex Adair's shorts poked up her vagina and remembered what she'd done the night before. She had actually fucked with a seventeen-year-old boy!, A teenager! Helen rolled over onto her back and stared up at the ceiling.
Was she, as Mark's aloofness seemed to imply, becoming some kind of sexual degenerate? Was she teetering on the brink between sanity and insanity? She stroked her cunt, her breasts, and her belly-her torso from navel to thigh. Then she trailed a hand down to her cunt again and let a finger play with the lips. The pathos of her situation swept over her again. She cried out silently.
If only he'd give me a good fucking, that's all it would take! If only he'd be a man for once! If only....
She'd vaguely touched on the truth. Because of what he was, because of his own repressed, guilt-ridden background, Mark was inadvertently filling her with self-doubt. She'd had no choice but to seek other men to try to ease these feelings-Rex Adair first, and now the teenager. She'd satisfied herself physically and reaffirmed her capabilities as a sexual object, a woman capable of stimulating and satisfying a man. But still Mark was gnawing away at her, tearing down her self-confidence, her very awareness of herself as a person.
She was indeed moving from sanity toward insanity, and her soul cried out helplessly against it.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Charlotte Adair, watching her blender turn a rough sauce into a smooth one, wondered if she wouldn't be better off with children. Happier, maybe. Or more fulfilled. She and Rex had talked about having children when they were first married, of course, but they'd decided to wait until they could afford them-whenever that might be.
Having gone through those first years of marriage without them, they'd somehow quit talking. She could only wonder now if, soon after moving into the new house and with their finances on a fairly even keel, they might have started thinking about them again if Regina and Stan Trussell hadn't come along and started this other thing.
What would the men say if the women all suddenly decreed that there was to be no more switching? After all the fun and variety, would they agree to abruptly settling down with just their wives? Could they? Charlotte didn't know. She wasn't sure of male psychology. For that matter, she wasn't even sure of her own psychology. Could the women themselves suddenly back away from what had been so exciting and so thoroughly enjoyable?
For just a moment, she imagined it:
Okay, Rex, darling, there's going to be a moratorium. Until each of us becomes pregnant by her own husband, there'll be no more switching. Understand?
She'd have to ask Rex about it, see what he thought. Rex....
Funny, Charlotte thought, frowning, but Helen Lowry hadn't been around for several days now. Was it possible that she and Rex...? She'd never had reason to be suspicious of Rex with other women, not even in the early years of their marriage-and certainly not in the last couple of years. But now a strange, discomforting feeling went through her. In one leap, she went from supposition to near-certainty. Only the rationale escaped her. If Rex had balled sweet Helen, why would he say he hadn't?
She turned off the blender and poured the sauce on a waiting salad. Then she went to the telephone. She'd just ask Helen to come over for an afternoon cocktail.
The sound came from a long way off, persistent and disturbing. Helen, lost in a deep, rolling fog, crawled toward it. Her body ached so that it took all the energy she had, but still she moved toward it-something told her she had to. Her hand went out and touched something cold. She blinked. The ring wis louder now. She lifted the receiver. "Hello?"
"Helen, dear, this is Charlotte."
"Who?" Helen rubbed her forehead, struggling to think.
"Charlotte Adair. Helen, are you all right?"
"Yes! Yes. I was sound asleep."
"I thought you might want to come over for a gin and tonic before the men get home. How about it?"
Helen sat up. She'd lain down after preparing the night's meal, and now it was later than she thought. "What time is it?" she asked, noticing that the sky was beginning to darken outside. But at least her brain was functioning again.
"Half-past six," Charlotte replied.
"Oh, that's too late!" Helen exclaimed. "I'm expecting Mark by seven." She held her breath, afraid that Charlotte might know he'd be out later.
"In that case, why don't you two stroll over after dinner?"
Helen grimaced at the wall. Something was afoot, or Charlotte wouldn't be so insistent. "I-I'll have to ask Mark. He may not want to go out again. I'll call you back if he says yes." She hung up, not knowing if she was afraid of facing Charlotte with Rex or if she was terrified that one of them might say the wrong thing in front of Mark. Now that she, Helen, knew about the activities of Harmony Place's residents, things suddenly stood out that she wouldn't have noticed before.
As she brought herself back closer to reality with a cold shower, she realized that for the second time in as many days, a strange fate had saved her. Great God! If Mark had come home and found her passed out naked on the floor....
Charlotte Adair waited until seven-thirty, then she dialed the Lowry household again. This time Helen picked up the phone on the first ring. "I thought you were going to call," Charlotte said, in her friendliest, most cheerful voice.
"I've been waiting. Mark hasn't come home yet. I guess he's tied up somewhere. Sometimes he accepts speaking engagements without telling me."
Charlotte didn't know what to make of this. Speaking engagements? There weren't that many speaking engagements in Eatonville. She almost knew Helen was lying. But if Mark wasn't home ... Charlotte glanced across at Rex, sitting in his favorite chair with the sports section of the paper. His legs were crossed at the ankles, but she could see the mold of his genitals inside his trousers. Should she send him over there again. No, better not. "Well, why don't you leave him a note and come join us for a drink?"
Helen seemed to hesitate at the other end. "I-I don't know. Maybe I'll just wait for-"
"Won't take no for an answer. Just leave him a note. We'll see you in a few seconds." Charlotte hung up, smiling. Maybe it would turn out better this way. She could find out if there'd been anything at all going on between Rex and Helen, and at the same time, they could introduce Helen into the fold.
She glanced at Rex, who hadn't overheard a word. "Get sexy, honey," she called. "Helen's coming over for a drink." She watched for his reaction.
Rex's composure impressed her. If he was seeing Helen, she'd never know it by his expression. He was all cool.
"Look," he said, folding his newspaper, "I don't think it would be a good idea to try anything tonight. Not with her coming alone. If Mark were around now, it would be different."
Charlotte's eyes narrowed. "No threesome, you mean?"
Rex refused to accept the challenge. "I thought everyone agreed a long time ago that husbands and wives went into it together. No one goes in alone. Wasn't that the way we said it would be?"
Charlotte sighed. "Okay. Have it your way. But I should think you'd be hot to get into a nice little number like her!"
Rex smiled. "Yes, of course. Under the proper circumstances."
"Such as?"
"Well," he said evenly, "such as Mark having a go at you at the same time." He left his chair, moved up behind her, and pressed his prick into her buttocks, fondling her breasts at the same time. "Meanwhile, as long as you've invited her, let's be sociable. Once she's gone, I'll pour the meat to you!" He pushed her hair up and kissed her on the nape of the neck.
Suddenly Charlotte recalled her earlier preoccupation with babies. Feeling his arms around her, his hands on her breasts, his lips against her neck-and realizing that by her own doing, they'd been just a hair's breadth away from another multiple-sex scene-she wanted to say the words: Rex, darling, what would you think about giving all this up? A bout having a child?
But she didn't say them. She let them die in her throat.
The telephone rang and Rex went to answer it. "Hello?"
"Oh, thank God you answered!" a woman's voice said. "Rex, I can't come over there, and you know it. You must tell her. All she'd have to do is look at me and she'd know. I can't!"
Rex felt Charlotte's eyes on him. She was hanging on every word. His mind worked quickly. He didn't have time to question the ease with which he accepted Helen's statements, or the ease with which he reached for deceit. "Yes ... yes, I see. Certainly we understand. If Mark called and expected you to be there, you'll have to go. We'll keep the drinks for another night."
Helen seemed to gulp at the other end. "Rex, when ... when will I see you again?"
"We'll get together real soon," he double-talked, and then he had to get away from it-from the pictures of her that crossed his mind, from the pleading quality in her voice, from the deceit. "Give my best to Mark, will you?"
Helen heard the phone go dead. She realized that it was all he could do, but still it had been like a slap in the face. She'd hoped ... yes, goddamn it, she'd hoped that he'd say he'd find some way to come over this evening, right away. God, how she needed him. Him or a drink. Or both. She clasped her hands in front of her and paced up and down the room.
How could Mark do this to her! Didn't he realize she was human? If only he'd be human himself. If only....
"I didn't cheat on him!" Helen cried at the walls. "Honest to God, I didn't cheat on him! For six years, I tried! But I'm human. God knows I'm human. The effort I have to put out to get him interested in me! It isn't worth it! Damn him, damn him, damn him!"
She remembered the way Rex fucked. Honestly, with all the skill he was capable of. If only Mark would do it that way. And Philip. He was such a little kid, a young boy in most ways. And yet he got a hard-on just looking at her. He'd go wild. The way he sucked her pussy! The way he jabbed his prick in her! Why couldn't Mark do it that well? If only he'd fuck her, for once, with authority, with real feeling.
Just one good fuck, that's all she wanted from him. One good fuck. She wanted him to sink his shaft into her and give her one glorious screwing-and without making either of them feel guilty or unclean. Was that asking too much? Of Mark, it possibly was.
Helen recalled again how she'd felt upon finding Rex's shorts. She wished now that she hadn't ruined them. She wished she had them here with her so she could rub her face into them, run them over her breasts and down over her cunt.
She gasped. I'm not drunk, and yet I'm thinking thoughts like this! Great God, he is driving me out of my mind! She buried her face in her hands. I've got to fuck, that's all there is to it! I've got to fuck or else I'll get drunk again!
"Oh, Rex!" she moaned. "Please ... please come over!"
Rex Adair felt a deep sense of relief as he put the receiver back in its cradle. It would have been difficult-impossible, even-to sit quietly in the same room with Helen and Charlotte. Charlotte was his wife, and he dearly loved her. Theirs was as comfortable a relationship as a man could ask for. But he sensed Helen Lowry's desperation. He'd gone from merely balling her to balling her partially out of a deep, if not fully comprehensible, sympathy for her. Realizing her desperation, he'd allowed himself to stoop to deceit. Being in the same room with the cause of-and the victim of-that deceit could have been unpleasant.
Especially, he recognized, because whatever Helen's need was, it still excited and drew him like a magnet. Even now he felt a compulsion to go to her, to comfort her. To screw her, too, because that was what gave her comfort and him pleasure.
It was a strange mixture of the physical and the emotional, something he'd never had to grapple with before. The phenomenon disturbed the surface of his otherwise complacent and perfectly satisfying life.
"That was Helen," he told Chau'otte. "Mark called her from across town. Seems she can't make it after all."
Charlotte gazed at him, a strange light in her eyes. He knew then that she was suspicious. It seemed ironic, but there it was. And maybe he'd expected it. After all, it was human nature to accept what you can see, to fear what you can't see. It didn't bother Charlotte at ail for him to have many kinds of relations with the other women of the block, as long as she knew they were going on. What she was unsure of or couldn't see worried her. He knew he had to ally her suspicions some way.
"You've got a hefty batch of drinks there. Why don't we invite someone else over?"
"Who, for instance?" she replied coolly.
He put his arms around her at the buttocks, pulled her cunt up against his prick and smiled into her face, ignoring her near-withdrawal. "Oh, come on, baby," he said lightly. "What are you in the mood for? And who does it best?"
She pulled away from him, turning her face so he couldn't kiss him. "I'm not in the mood for any of that." She added, with scorn she didn't bother to conceal, "I forgot to tell you, but last night when you were gone, I went over to see the Carsons." She paused for effect. "They were busy, so I joined in."
Rex was neither shocked nor surprised. Nothing Charlotte did ever shocked him anymore.
Well, I can imagine you'd be tired. Mike really gets going when he's with two women, or so I've heard."
She relented, and let him take her in his arms. "Let's drink them all ourselves."
He expelled a sigh of relief. "You're on."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
A morose Mark Lowry found himself at mid-afternoon near a small bar on Eatonville's main street. He parked, turned off the ignition and gazed at the door for a moment, undecided about going in. Traffic on the street was heavy and so was the swarm of customers pushing inside. Everyone, it seemed, wanted to drown their troubles in booze these days.
When he happened to glance down, Mark realized just how uptight he was: his hands were gripping the steering wheel so firmly the knuckles had whitened. He wanted to laugh, only he couldn't. It was much too serious-his depression over the state of his marriage and the progress of rebuilding his practice. He was in danger of destroying both-the one because he couldn't seem to be the kind of man Helen wanted, and the other because they weren't being invited to the sort of parties he needed to get his name bandied about.
He was in a quandary. On the one hand, he had to be the staid, respectable M.D. reestablishing his cardiology practice. That was his image, and even Helen believed it. On the other, he wanted to let himself go and be the kind of man he'd always wanted to be. Pull out the stops. How to start, that was the problem.
There had been Regina, of course. She'd been a start of sorts. But she'd been merely a conquest. She hadn't helped change his image of himself. Worst of all, she hadn't talked. He needed talk if he expected to make a name and a reputation for himself. Not gossip, but solid evidence. What good would it do him to swing if only he knew? Helen would lose any remaining faith she might have in him.
Mark brooded, watching the people on the sidewalk without really seeing them. But one girlish figure caught his eye. Lowry stared. Then he grabbed the door handle and bounded from the car. "Cecilia!"
The girl didn't look around, so he ran after her, dropping a hand on her softly rounded shoulder. "Cecilia! It's me! Don't you remember?"
She looked around, and it wasn't Cecilia. This girl was even younger and much prettier. Much angrier, too. "I beg your pardon!" she flared, eyes flashing.
Lowry apologized, backing away. "You look exactly like someone I know," he said with a properly rueful smile. "Like someone I knew," he amended, since he was sure he'd never see the real Cecilia again.
The strange girl would have continued on her way except for this last. Her face softened. "Did you lose her?" she asked.
He nodded. "On this same street three days ago." He glanced at his car, and saw her nod, too. And he wondered, even as he experienced an exultant thrill, what it was he had now. Was it sex need, or was some intuitive sense of timing leading him to the Cecilias of this world? No matter.
Her name was Toni, and she directed him, after only one bar stop, to her walk-up apartment. Mark was surprised that a girl so young-the little brunette looked barely eighteen-had her own apartment. But he followed her up without saying it, and was delighted he had.
She fixed them another brace of drinks, and sat down with him to drink them. "You're a teacher, aren't you?"
He shook his head. "Doctor."
Toni leaned over and picked up her drink. She finished it in one gulp and set the empty glass back on the table. She seemed to be feeling the two whiskey sours now. Her face was flushed and her breathing rapid.
She held out her arms and Mark went into them, lowering himself over her warm body. His mouth covered hers and locked, his tongue darting out and meeting hers. They kissed hungrily, their arms and legs soon becoming entangled on the couch. He started on his clothing and hers.
When she was totally nude, like himself, he left her mouth and went to her breasts. He mouthed the nipples until they grew rigid with desire. Leaving the luscious mounds, he went down to her flat stomach and tongued the soft flesh between her navel and cunt. All the time he stroked her body and fingered her cunt, finding it slippery and ready for use.
He moved up again and rediscovered her mouth. As they french-kissed, he opened her legs with his knees, then crawled between them.
Toni reached down then and took his swollen prick in her hand, steering it over the target. He got to his knees and pushed inside her. The heat of her passion was sizzling. Mark could almost feel it burning his skin. He moved slowly in and out, in and out, pausing on a kiss.
She raised her legs higher and wound them around his back. He could feel her inner muscles twitch. A glorious feeling coursed through him. He'd suspected that she'd been without sex for days or weeks, and he knew he was right. It had built up in her. She let go, and Mark, feeling her secretions flood him, started to climax, too. They ended up together in a tangle of arms and legs.
He held her afterward, kissing her tenderly. For once in his life, he was overcome with emotion. Cecilia hadn't affected him this way. Neither had Regina. Toni did. She was so young, so trusting. "You were wonderful," he murmured in her ear.
"You've made me feel desired again," she said sleepily, relaxing in his arms. "And all because you mistook me for someone else."
"I'll never do that again," he assured her.
She went into the bathroom. After a minute, she stuck her head out the door. "Would you like to take a shower with me, honey?"
He jumped up to answer the invitation. "Would I! If you'll just scrub my back."
"I'll scrub you all over."
He went back to fetch their drinks, then joined her, stepping inside the stall with her and adjusting the water to the right temperature. They stood close together and drank like comrades, letting the needle spray cascade over their bodies.
Toni reached up when she finished hers and twisted the shower nozzle at an angle. Now the spray hit the side of the stall. She found a sponge and a bar of soap. "Turn around, please," she smiled.
Mark obeyed, and she began lathering his back. When she reached his legs, she moved directly to the front of his thighs-covering his prick and testicles with foamy suds. Then she dropped the sponge and let her fingers take over, massaging gently.
The feathery touch of her hands soon gave him another hard-on. He bent to retrieve the sponge, then turned around and took the soap from her hand. "Now you." He began applying white lather to her breasts, her stomach, even down between her legs. As soon as she was covered with it, he put the soap and sponge in a tray and slid his arms around her waist.
Her arms wound about his neck and their mouths met in a fiery kiss.
His prick rubbed between her thighs, slipping back and forth as she squeezed her legs together. The suds prevented their doing more than thinking about coupling, so he groped up and turned the spray higher. When they were clean again, he shut it off. They stepped out on a large, fluffy bath mat.
Mark grabbed a towel, intending to dry her first, then himself. He didn't quite make it. Toni was pulling at him to keep from falling down. Her legs seemed to have gone out, probably because of the three drinks she'd consumed. "Here!" she gasped. "Let's do it right here!"
He fell to the mat with her. He had no choice, because she'd suddenly become wild, unmanageable. She went between his legs and cupped his hard cock in her hands, guiding it into her mouth.
"That's it," he encouraged, shaking with excitement. He hadn't expected a girl so young to give head. He leaned against the shower stall, and under the cramped circumstances, tried to get comfortable. When she hesitated, he seized her wet head and pulled her down on him.
Toni ate him with an honest fervor, if not pure skill. Her softly scented flesh smelled sweet to his nostrils, evoking long-dead images of another time and another girl who'd done this for him. His scrotum in her hand, she went from his prick to his testicles, then back again, keeping a regular' rhythm.
Mark had a sudden urge to return the caress, only there wasn't enough room in the tiny bathroom.
He scrambled up, pulled her to her feet, then gathered her up in his arms and carried her back out to the studio couch. Their bodies were dripping wet, but he didn't worry. They'd dry from the air conditioning alone. Catch cold, too, as likely as not.
He worked her into an opposite position and knelt between her smooth young thighs.
Toni's mouth found his cock again and together they licked and sucked one another to a state of hyper-excitement. Their bodies thrilled at every nerve center, and neither cared that someone-a boyfriend or her parents-might walk in on them.
She'd wanted to love him, he knew, but he doubted that she would have gone this far without the alcohol. This was the first time, in his opinion, that she'd ever let herself go so completely, drunk or sober. When she felt the warmness of his spurts fill her mouth she continued to suck until she'd taken it all. Her cheeks filled, and she swallowed greedily in noisy, slurping gulps.
As soon as he'd come, Mark used his tongue and teeth to apply a stronger pressure on the hot folds of her flesh. She climaxed with her whole body. He could feel her thighs tossing involuntarily about his head, her toes curling in ecstasy. Moans of pleasure escaped her throat. She cried out a name, but it wasn't his.
When their trembling bodies had calmed down, they went to sleep without changing positions. Their heads were using each other's bellies for pillows.
Mark looked at his watch, then stepped harder on the Buick's accelerator. Christ, he must have been crazy to stay so long with Toni, nice or not.
What could he tell Helen? That he'd had car trouble necessitating a tow? Probably his best bet.
But he discarded the story when he saw the unlighted house. And he forgot about Toni altogether when he went inside and turned on a light, discovering the woman he'd married lying prone on the carpet. His alarm turned quickly to relief when he saw the empty gin bottle beside her.
He bundled her into a chair, and shook her by the shoulders. "Helen, wake up!" he commanded, trying to get her lids open. "Look at me!"
She stirred and groaned. "Wha-at? Who is it?"
"It's me-Mark," he told her. "What in God's name has come over you? You never drank like this before."
Helen opened her eyes. "Wanna-fuck?" she mumbled, reaching up for him.
"Fuck!" He stared at her, startled. This wasn't the Helen he knew, certainly not the Helen he'd married.
"Yes, fuck!" she snapped, head beginning to clear. "Or have you forgotten how?"
Mark began to tingle all over, angry and pleased at the same time. If she'd greeted him like this the night before...."Hell, no!"
"Prove it!"
He fumbled with his belt and dropped his pants, intending to show her an erection she'd never forget. But it wasn't there. Toni had taken too much out of him. Not even a resurging Helen could create something from nothing.
"If you won't fuck me, I'll find someone who will!" she spat at him.
Alarmed but still tingling, he grabbed her arm. "Now what does that mean?"
She leered at him. "What do you think?"
He tried to slap her, but she jumped away. "You're so goddamn drunk, you don't know what you're saying!" he blazed.
Helen hiccuped. "I know. Stand aside."
To call her bluff, he did just that. She ran out into the night and vanished, swallowed up by the darkness. His pride wouldn't let him go after her.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Regina Trussell had been having coffee with Charlotte Adair when the telephone rang. Much to Charlotte's surprise, Helen Lowry invited the two over to her house for brunch. After but a brief hesitation-having been herself refused by Helen, she wasn't sure that she should accept an invitation in return-Charlotte finally agreed. Rex and his love-making had almost convinced her the night before that there was nothing going on between her husband and Helen, but she wanted to be certain.
The morning was pleasant, so the three women moved out to the patio. Regina and Charlotte sat in deck chairs near a table, and Helen lay on a chaise lounge, relaxing in such a way that she could keep her legs slightly apart without attracting attention. The medicine cabinet pain-killer had been only partially effective. But Charlotte missed nothing as she watched and listened for possible clues.
"Helen, dear, are you ... well, are you having some kind of problem?"
Helen started, and tried to conceal it. "Problem? What kind of problem would I be having?"
"Well, I noticed ... frankly, you're sitting like someone tried to make a wishbone of you-and almost suceeded! How about it?"
Helen tried to smile, but a vision crossed her mind and the smile faded. She looked at her two guests, remembering Rex's revelation that both of them did a lot of mate-switching. She realized then that she'd invited Charlotte over for a specific purpose-to protect herself against herself insofar as Rex was concerned. With something bordering on logic, she'd decided that if she and Charlotte were friends, she couldn't go to bed with Charlotte's husband, even if she lost her new-found determination and slid back.
And this morning's brunch, of course, was an excellent opportunity to allay any suspicions Charlotte might have had about her and Rex. 'The truth is," she said slowly, "I ... well, Mark was late last night and I walked down toward the shopping mall. I-" Helen's mind moved quickly. Should she make it sound as if she'd been raped? No, she couldn't do that. They might insist she report it. But if not rape....
Charlotte leaned forward, eyes bright, as if she knew what was coming. "Yes? You walked down toward the shopping mall. And then?"
Helen glanced from one face to the other. Suddenly she had the feeling that if what Rex had told her was true, they'd enjoy the story. She threw caution to the wind. "Well, I ran into this attractive young fellow. I had no intentions, you know. I wasn't even thinking about it, but there we were, just the two of us."
"Yes!" Regina breathed. "Go on!"
"I'll be blunt. He was young and handsome, and when he got his pants down, it was the biggest thing I've ever in my life seen. At least ten inches long and so thick I couldn't get my hand around it."
"Oh, God!" Regina groaned, spreading her legs and rolling her eyes heavenward. "Lead me to it!"
"What happened?" Charlotte pursued. "Did you and he...?"
Helen found, to her utter consternation, that she was actually enjoying herself. "He was very nice, very kind. He ... the poor boy told me later that he's never been able to ... you know. Get his thing inside a woman."
"Well, I guess not!" Regina gasped. "But, heavens, I'd love to let him try!"
"Hush, Reggie," Charlotte chuckled. "Go on, Helen, honey. Tell us what happened."
"We started in the back room of a service station. It was awful of me, I guess. He went down on me and it was quite nice. But I noticed something: he was masturbating at the same time. I couldn't let him do that, so I pushed his head away. All that meat...."
"God, yes!" Regina gasped, thrashing about in a state of open sexual excitement.
"Go on," Charlotte coaxed. Her breasts rose and fell with suppressed excitement. "What did you do? Blow him?"
Helen smiled mysteriously. "Maybe. But it was strange. Huge as it was, I wanted it in me. I had the feeling that I just had to get it in me!"
"I guess so!" Regina laughed. Her face was flushed almost to her hair shade.
"Damn it, Reggie, quit interrupting!" Charlotte said in annoyance.
Helen felt like an actress on center stage, the spotlight shining her way. She had her audience in the palm of her hand. They were leaning on every word. She found herself embellishing the story with every detail, relating everything that happened in the back room of the filling station. "When we got to the motel and he was naked ... well, you should have seen it. Honest, that thing of his stuck almost to his waist. His balls hung down like a ... like a wineskin that's been drained. I could scarcely credit my eyes.
"Anyway, he finally straddled me. I felt the hot thing on my own belly. Oh, it was so big, so huge and hard I wanted to faint-only I knew I shouldn't. While he kissed, I reached, down between us, got hold of it, and pulled a few times. You can imagine how far off the bed he had to raise before I could get it straightened out between us. Then I felt the head running up and down my cunt."
Both listeners were open-mouthed now, neither making any effort to hide her fascination with the story and its ending. Regina was shifting position every few seconds, while Charlotte was breathing heavily.
Satisfied, Helen went on. "I felt the head going in. It was hard and pliant at the same time, like a big, slightly pointed rubber ball. It spread me-God, how it spread, me. But I took it. The entire head, that is, nothing more. When his shaft got there, the pain was simply too much. But the poor boy, he'd gotten so excited. He drove that huge thing into me. I remember screaming, then I guess I swooned away." I
"Oh, lord," Regina sighed. "What a lovely way to die."
"When I came to," Helen went on, "he was sitting on the bed edge, absolutely terrified. But he was sweet. He put hot towels on my aching cunny. Then he begged me to forgive him. Can you imagine?"
"Forgive him! Hah! You should have fallen at his feet!"
Helen smiled. "He was so remorseful, I had him lie down beside me for a few minutes while I cradled his head against my breasts. Then I realized I couldn't let him just end the evening that way, so I ... I-"
"You blew him!" Regina supplied. "Oh, lovely, lovely. But how did you ever suck on anything so big?"
"It wasn't easy," Helen recalled. "I had to use my hand on the lower part and my mouth on the other. You know-jacking him off and sucking him at the same time."
"Lucky girl," Charlotte observed. But her eyes began to gleam with malicious fire. "How do we know you didn't make all this up, darling? Can you prove there is such a prick, and that you had some of it? Can you?"
Helen's heart began to pound. "Of course. I could call the station and ask them to send someone to pick up my car for servicing. I'd ask for-Grady. That's his name."
Charlotte pointed to an extension phone on a table near the door. "Do it."
While the women waited tensely, the chimes rang inside the house. Charlotte pulled away, and Helen reached for the folds of her housecoat to pull it closed. But Regina had already leaped to her feet. "I'll get it. You two sit here like ladies."
A minute later, they heard loud voices from the front of the house. Then the front door slammed. The patio door opened. Helen looked up and gasped. The Grady she remembered from the night before-a nervous, bewildered Grady who was much taller than she'd realized, possibly a basketball player working nights to make ends meet-was being propelled toward them by a determined Reggie Trussell. He was dressed in slacks and a sports shirt-slacks, Helen noticed, that were loose enough to hide the hugeness of what was inside them. His handsome face asked a thousand questions, none of which were being answered.
"He didn't want to come, but I dragged him," Regina panted. "This is the one, isn't it, Helen, sweet?"
The latter's eyes encountered Grady's. She saw instant recognition there, but still she hesitated. She could free him. She could lie and say it wasn't he. But she could say that it was, and perhaps he'd find pleasure the likes of which he'd never known before. She studied his eyes, hoping to find the choice spelled out there, but all she saw was a pained look. She recalled his saying that he'd always wanted to ball a woman the regular way and she also recalled Regina's unfeigned excitement at mention of a prick so large. Had it been talk, or could the redhead actually take such a tool?
There was only one way to find out. Slowly, Helen inclined her head'. "Yes, that's the one."
Regina amazed the other women. She put her arms around Grady's neck before he realized what was happening, pressing her breasts into his chest and grinding her cunt against his hip region. "Honey, Helen here has already told us about it. I've just got to see if she was telling the truth! Do you mind...?"
. Grady managed to recover his discomfiture. "Why not?" He began on his pants.
The association with the night before was so strong that Helen had to close her eyes. When she opened them again, Regina, standing on tiptoes, had pressed her mouth to Grady's. Charlotte had gone to her knees, patting the prick with one hand and cupping his balls with the other. As Helen watched, Charlotte moved her head, stretching her mouth wide and sliding her lips over the huge, plum-like head. The muscles in Charlotte's throat contracted as she sucked. Grady groaned out loud. Slowly, majestically, his prick began to rise.
The two women half-carried, half-dragged him into the living room. Helen followed from a distance, concerned in a vague kind of way that someone might get hurt. Who, she wasn't certain, but someone. Grady, meanwhile, had been deposited on the divan. His pants and shorts were down around his ankles and his foot-long prick stood up like a flagpole.
Regina was literally ripping her clothes off in her haste to bare her beautiful, athletic body. Breasts proud, legs spread, she stood in front of Grady so that he could see her flaring cunt. "If you're curious, love, curious to know what you've been missing, you're going to find out! Christ, that's the biggest, most beautiful prick in medical history!"
Charlotte had stripped, too. She bent down and took off Grady's shoes and socks, then pulled his pants and shorts the rest of the way off. Regina, anxious to help, reached for his shirt and undershirt, pulling them both over his head. Now Grady was completely naked, his lean, finely muscled body appearing even taller without his clothes. Helen noticed that he was devoid of hair except for his crotch and legs. His prick shot up out of the vee-shaped bush between his legs; his balls, huge and heavy, hung down over the edge of the divan.
The action proceeded like the frames of a movie. Helen settled back to watch. Charlotte moved up between Grady's legs, reaching for his prick and pulling it toward her. As one hand came up to gather his balls again, the other held his prick at the base. Her mouth went over the purplish head. She began nursing again while Regina clambered atop the visitor, positioning her cunt just above his face.
"Want to try it with your tongue?" she invited, smiling. "You can find out firsthand what your prick's going to feel like when it gets in there."
Grady raised his head and jabbed a tongue into the beckoning orifice. He seemed to have forgotten about Helen, who certainly hadn't forgotten him.
It went on and on. They moved to the floor and then they took turns, Charlotte alternating with Regina for possession of Grady's massive prick and hungry mouth. He was in it now; he'd lost all reticence. He played with first one set of breasts and then the other; he squeezed whatever buttocks happened to be available. Lips and tongue worked busily at whatever cunt was there at the moment. Helen watched, fascinated and dumfounded. It was almost unbelievable. It was as if she'd walked into the wrong theater by mistake, but having started to watch the picture, couldn't leave.
The finale was eye-popping. Grady lay on the floor on his back, his huge rod aimed up against his belly. His head was toward Helen. As she watched, Regina climbed on top of him. Helen could see her reach down between them and push his prick straight. When she got it straightened to her satisfaction, she lowered on him, taking the big head between the folds of her cunt. Then she flung out her arms, forcing her upper body away from him. Breasts hanging low, a look of sheer pleasure on her face, Regina slowly swallowed him up.
Helen waited, feeling her own body tense. But there was no scream. Reggie wriggled a little, but gradually, inch by inch, the cock disappeared inside her. She took at least three-quarters of it, then she breathed deeply, looking down at him and smiling.
Now she began riding it, slipping off and on, taking it and releasing it, taking it again. After a while she was taking still more of it, and getting more, because Grady's hips had begun to move in rhythm with hers, As he groped up and began fondling her breasts, he was given an added attraction: Charlotte Adair straddled him at the neck, her dark-haired cunt just inches from his face. His tongue came out and licked all around under her legs. When she opened wider for him, he stiffened his tongue and lashed it into her. Charlotte sprawled out, her own breasts swaying forward, and as he and Regina writhed at the hip region, she moved up and down on Grady's tongue.
Then suddenly the three people on the living room floor were all coming at once, gasping and sobbing with pleasure. They bombarded one another with expletives foul and unfoul. Bodies churned, twisted, and turned, and then the three of them were sprawled like dolls.
Grady donned his clothes and crept away an hour later, a physically beaten man.
"How can we ever thank you, darling?" Regina murmured when the women were alone again.
"Yes, all our doubt in you has been dispelled," Charlotte said, smiling warmly at Helen as she sipped a fresh drink.
Helen took a deep breath. "In that case, I may as well tell you."
Charlotte stiffened. "Tell me what?"
"Rex and I, we've-well...." Helen couldn't bring herself to say it.
Regina shrieked with laughter. "I knew it!" She slapped her friend on the back. "Doesn't that prove you can't trust any man-especially your own husband?"
"It's quite all right," Charlotte shrugged. "At least you're honest." She glanced at Regina. "Now why don't you drop your little bomb shell?"
Helen's eyes widened. "You mean Mark ...?"
Regina nodded. "Yesterday in my living room, your husband proved something to me, honey-he's quite a man!"
Helen felt her face grow hot. "I'm-I'm glad!" she stammered, although she really didn't know whether she should laugh or cry. "Really I am!"
The other two women smiled at one another.
"That makes you, as a couple, practically one of the group," Charlotte commented. "You're entitled to all the privileges and rights of same."
"We'll plan something for tomorrow night!" Regina exclaimed. "A real bash none of us will ever forget, not even if we live to be a hundred!"
Helen held up a hand. "Wait. I'll still have to break it to Mark-in my own way. He may not want to come in that way."
The faces of her guests fell.
"If he doesn't, we'll get out the tar and feathers!" Regina threatened. She winked at Charlotte. "Right, love?"
Charlotte nodded. "Is a week enough? I should think you can make up your mind in that length of time. Yes, we'll give you a week."
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Helen sat at her dressing table combing her blond hair, brushing it stroke after stroke so that it fell naturally but fluffed out slightly from her oval face. She looked into the eyes mirrored there and smiled, then lowered them to admire smooth, creamy shoulders and pink-nippled breasts which moved with each stroke of the brush. She was attractive and she knew it. She had a beautiful body and she'd taken good care of it. She felt marvelous, too. The past few weeks had been happier than she'd ever dreamed they could be.
She heard whistling, and glanced into the mirror again. Mark, dressed only in a watch, had come out of the bathroom. He moved with assurance, making no effort to hide the genitals that swayed with his movement. His face looked more youthful than on the day of their marriage. The last weeks had been good to him, too. Helen studied his well-proportioned body, the flat chest with its tangle of brown hair, the flat stomach. Every muscle rippled as he took undershorts from one drawer, a shirt from another.
But then he spied her watching him. Their eyes met in the mirror, and he smiled. He moved quickly across the room and dropped his hands on her shoulders, drawing her warm and naked against his prick. His hands crept down to cup her breasts.
She leaned against him and sighed. "That feels good." She savored the sensations for a few seconds. "Are you sure its going to be all right tonight?"
"I'm sure," he replied without hesitation.
"If ... anything starts to bother you, just say so and we'll come home," she promised.
He gave her breasts a final squeeze and pulled away. "Don't worry. There won't be any problems."
In the nights following her "accident," as they chose to call the episode with Grady, her inability to have intercourse had proved helpful. Night after night they'd lain naked together while Mark, determined to find liberation, had grown stronger and stronger in his exploration of her body and in accepting her hands and lips on him.
While she was still sore but could move more easily, he had one night pushed her mouth from his own mouth to his chest. Thinking that she understood him, she'd kissed her way down his chest and hard belly to the waiting erection. She'd wrapped her fingers around it and kissed, then carefully lowered her lips around it and began moving her head up and down. It had been the test, the final test. Mark had tensed for a moment and then relaxed, only to tense again as his hands moved of their own volition to her head. His hips began moving in rhythm with her mouth. After a minute, he'd gasped and delighted her with his fluid.
He'd held her close after that, crushing her breasts between their bodies. Then he'd remarked, "It may sound funny, but after all this time, I feel that with that blowjob I do thee wed. I liked it, honey. I can hardly wait until we can do it the right way."
Three nights later, they'd done it the right way. After long minutes of loving, he'd rolled her over onto her back and mounted her. Reaching down between them, he'd positioned his cock and then gently moved his hips back and forth so that it could ease in. "If it hurts, stop me," he'd whispered.
Helen had sobbed out a denial. How could it hurt? She was so pleased that at last all of this was happening. It did hurt a little, but she endured the pain stoically. It meant too much. The ache kept her from having an orgasm of her own, but their union seemed to have been completed with the orgasm he had into her.
Little by little, he'd found it easier to move about the house in total nakedness, to accept her own. nudity. And now, tonight, still another test. Perhaps the test, although she was sure he could pass it.
He'd come in the evening before, all smiles. Kissed her as he always did now-not a peck on the cheek but a taking of her entire body in his arms as his lips came fully to hers-and then moved on into the bedroom to strip. Without a stitch, he'd come out for their before-dinner cocktail. And with a revelation:
"Oh, by the way, I ran into Rex Adair this afternoon. Seems we're invited to a party at their house tomorrow night. Nothing fancy, he said, just a neighborhood get-together. I told him we'd show."
Helen had swallowed, hiding her embarrassment in her drink. Then she looked across at him. Staring into his expressionless face, she'd known that he didn't know. But she asked, "Do you know what that means, Mark? Do you know, what their neighborhood get-togethers really are?" Because she knew: the other girls had been subtle but not subtle enough. They were still determined to get Mark and her into the swing of things.
He shrugged. "Just drink-and-gab sessions, that's all."
"They're swap parties, Mark!" she flung at him. "Swap parties!"
He stiffened. "Well, fancy that." Then he relaxed.
Helen held her breath. "Aren't you going to explode or something? Aren't you shocked?"
Mark smiled. "No. Why should I? What other people on this block do is their own business."
"But we're invited!" she almost wailed. "If we go, we'll have to do what the others do. Well have to ... swap, too! Don't you understand?"
Slowly, he nodded. "Yes. I understand." His eyes narrowed to slits. "And we're going."
She'd almost fallen out of her chair.
Dressed and walking hand in hand up the street toward the Adair house, she felt apprehension. She had to say again, as they reached the front walk, "If things turn out to be too rough for you, just say so and we'll leave."
He laughed and squeezed her hand. "Let me act my age, please. I may be better able to stand these things than you think."
She'd wondered about that. But the thought of being with Rex again, of seeing and feeling his stiff prick, was like a warm liquid flowing through her. She hadn't seen Rex for more than a week. He'd understood, after their first telephone conversation following that evening with Grady, that something was afoot. He seemed content to stay away. But now....
At the same time, she thought she more nearly understood the others, these women who went easily into relationships with other men and then returned to their husbands. There was something exciting about it, perhaps all the more exciting because there was no fear. Knowing that your husband was doing the same thing with another woman, there was no guilt, no thought of deceit, no need for it.
As satisfying as Mark had been these past weeks, Helen found herself thinking: You said you liked a good fuck, Rex Adair! I hope you 're ready for it!
And there was the secret, smile-bringing assurance that no matter what her husband did with another woman, when he came back to her, she'd have as much, if not more, to offer than the other woman. Why? Because she'd learned everything the group knew. Everything.
As sticky as the evening was, the Adairs had decided on a patio party. Rex himself met them at the door-handsome, casual, unrevealing. He led them through the kitchen where they stopped long enough for him to mix them a drink. Then he took them on out to where the others were. Music from a portable stereo greeted the new arrivals. There was a round of greetings, then they were drawn into the group. Mark was 'taken away by Trisha Howard and Helen was invited to dance by Stan Trussell.
The buffet table was beautifully set and a portable bar wheeled out as a side table. After Rex had mixed the first round, everyone was on his own. The patio itself was more dark than lit. Helen found herself torn between the need to keep an eye on Mark, to see that things did go all right for him, and the desire to move closer to Rex. She'd almost forgotten how tall and handsome he was. Seeing him again in slacks and sports shirt, she was not only reminded of his face and form but also of his prick.
Yes, Rex Adair was a handsome, wonderful hunk of man. For an instant, she relived other memorable nights. The excitement she'd felt that night as Charlotte Adair removed her hand and let Helen see the huge hard-on sticking through Rex's pants. The way he'd looked walking toward her a few nights later, body so beautifully nude, balls swaying between his legs, hard-on sticking up in front of him. How he'd carried her to the divan, laid her down, and gone to work on her with his mouth. Lips and tongue had done their magic with her breasts and cunt, preparing her for the hard prick hanging between his legs, the hugeness that would penetrate her.
But that had been a long time ago, and in another world. She'd been a frustrated, cock-hungry bitch, more than a little panicky by her first venture into extramarital sex but frustrated, cock-hungry bitch nonetheless. A lot had happened since then. She was a happy, contented wife now, with a husband who was satisfying and who was satisfied. She could look at Rex Adair, not with hunger, not with unsated lust, but with the interest of a woman who can appreciate a good man when she sees one. She started toward him.
Regina Trussell was obviously feeling no pain. She tottered near the pool edge, announcing to one and all that it was a beautiful evening and they should go swimming in the nude. Her husband, still dancing with Trisha Howard and openly enjoying the feel of her breasts against his chest and her buttocks in his hands, yelled at her.
"Oh, for Christ's sake, Reggie, knock it off! If we did that, the party would end in thirty seconds! Everybody'd be in the bushes screwing everybody else!"
Helen froze for an instant and turned to watch Mark. The latter was sitting next to Charlotte Adair. Helen heard Charlotte say, with a half-smile, "Reggie's quite uninhibited, isn't she?"
"Quite," Mark said drily, but his voice was untroubled.
Relieved, Helen turned to look for Rex again.
But not before she noticed that Charlotte's hand was on Mark's leg. She smiled, thinking how the hand would soon move up; the fingers would gently curl over Mark's prick, and if it wasn't hard now, it soon would be. Helen wondered what Charlotte and Mark would do together once they got beyond those preliminaries. She certainly knew what she wanted to do with Rex.
Mike Carson, tall and handsome as usual, blocked her progress. He smiled down at her. "Lonely lady, lonely gent. Care to dance, lonely lady?"
She couldn't be rude, of course, so she went into his arms. He pulled her close, his right arm encircling her waist and bringing her breasts hard up against his chest. Before she could protest, he danced them into the shadows. As they swayed, he took the expected number of liberties: his fingers explored the outer rim of her breasts, the fullness of her buttocks. She could feel the impression in his trousers, the rigid mound of firm flesh. But something was missing, and they both knew it. When the dance was over, he released her with a smile.
"It's plain you've got someone else on your mind," he commented, and walked away.
She liked that, even when it was slightly out of pattern. But she preferred to think that even under this arrangement, it wasn't just sex for sex's sake. She wanted to believe it wasn't simply two people balling. It was two people meeting and, for the moment, at least, being mutually interested.
Helen glanced around again, looking for Rex.
"Why don't you grab a handful of something? Or a mouthful?"
She jumped, and turned around to find Jim Howard studying her. There was a purposeful gleam in his eye. "I ... I...." Helen trailed off in confusion.
Jim chuckled. "Honey, you don't have to be nervous. Around here, we don't fuck unless the other persons's interested. I'm not going to rape you."
"I didn't say I was interested!" she snapped, and then wished she'd been more convivial.
Jim laughed, and started toward the bar. He patted his wife matter-of-factly on the buttocks as he passed her. Trisha was literally grinding her cunt into Stan Trussell's crotch as they danced. Her arms were over Stan's shoulders, giving him free access to her breasts. He was taking full advantage of it.
The sight was a disturbing one for Helen. With Rex still nowhere in reach, she felt like an outsider, an errant onlooker who had no business being there. What she'd looked forward to was going sour. Rather than Mark being upset by the party, she was.
Thinking of Mark, she glanced about for him. But he and Charlotte had disappeared. Helen felt a lump in her throat. Once he'd been all hers. Now he belonged to the group, same as she.
"Here, love, you look like you need this."
She whirled around. Jim Howard stood in front of her again, a drink in each hand. She accepted hers gratefully and put it to her lips.
"You know, you've made one mistake already tonight. A party like this, you have to just let things happen. Take things as they come. If you arrive and look for a particular person, chances are you'll be disappointed. We don't do it that way."
Helen swallowed the cold drink and let some of it seep into her voice. "Oh?"
"It's a fact. Like now. Rex, who you're probably waiting for, is in the bedroom screwing Reggie. It just happened that way. How do I know? Because I was just finishing up with Marg, that's how. We met them coming out."
Helen was disappointed, but tried not to show it. "The traffic seems to be heavy that way."
Jim laughed. "Look, we don't have to do anything if you don't want to, but let's at least get comfortable." He took her hand and led her away. They passed the dance area where Stan and Trisha were still wrapped in one another's arms, executing steps that looked more like intercourse itself than dancing. There was another couple off in the darkness, but judging from the sounds, they weren't even pretending to dance.
Helen followed Jim Howard into the Adairs' darkened living room. She fumbled her way to the divan and sat down with him. In the light from the patio, she looked up at him, at his somber, almost expressionless face. There was a faint smile on his lips and a slight twinkle in his eyes. Without her intending them to, Helen's eyes strayed to his crotch. To halt temptation, she closed them.
"To fuck or not to fuck, that is the question," Jim declared.
She heard the amusement in his voice and opened her eyes. Then she realized he was right. She'd made a big mistake in coming to this party with the idea of ending up in bed with Rex. That was the whole secret of swapping-they could intermingle freely as a group. But if any two were to get serious, the whole structure would be destroyed.
With a sense of deep relief came the knowledge that she'd been completely freed from Rex Adair-from the Rex Adair she'd leaned on in the desperation that was now part of her past. Smiling to show her surrender, Helen turned to Jim. "Let's go upstairs," she said.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
In the guest room at the end of the hall, Allan Prentice and Jennifer Carson, still fully dressed, lay on the bed side by side, stroking each other's hair. But there was no hurry, no haste. Both knew the evening had barely begun. Before the sun came up, Harmony Place would truly be a place of harmony.
One of Jennifer's hands left Allan's hair and came to rest near his dormant prick, which, suddenly, was no longer quite so dormant. "Aren't you glad the Lowrys decided to get in the swing of things?"
Allan chuckled. "Very. But neither of us had benefited yet ... if you know what I mean."
"We will, just give them time." Jennifer's hand moved away from its tingling resting place, but a minute later, it returned, nearer this time. Fingers began to creep until finally she was an inch, no more, from Allan's fly. She couldn't help feeling the hard shaft underneath. Full stomach or not, he had a semi-hard-on.
"Careful," he cautioned. "I might get cramps. You, too,"
"But isn't that a risk we all have to take? Kiss me."
Jennifer's lips parted as he covered them with his own. He thrust a tongue between her teeth and began searching for the peak of one nipple, feeling potent all of a sudden. She felt it, too, judging from the way her body started to tremble. Jennifer began to nurse quietly on his tongue, as though for sustenance. Both nipples responded at once to his easy fondling.
Allan thought about all the others pairing off in the different rooms, and a vigorous hard-on shot up through his pants, an erection so firm he marveled at himself. He wasn't a young stud and yet he was. After a quickie with Marg, he could still get it up. Get it up? He couldn't, for the life of him, keep it down. Not tonight.
Jennifer broke the kiss first. "God, Allan, I hope you're not fooling! You've turned me on good and proper, darn you!"
He took her hand and placed it on his cock. "Does that feel like I'm fooling, honey?"
She took her hand away, laughing. "No, it feels like a leg of lamb. A strange place to keep it, though."
Prentice slipped a hand under Jennifer's well-filled sweater, searching until he found the firm mounds of her breasts. He massaged them while nuzzling her hair. "No stranger than where you keep these." He planted soft kisses on her neck and under her ear, and slowly, dreamily, their clothes came undone. When he asked her to, she sat up and pulled the sweater over her head, allowing him to more fully investigate the spongy firmness of her breasts and their rotund tips. Jennifer moaned low in her throat as he mouthed first one, then the other of those succulent tits.
In the meantime, she'd gotten rid of his shirt and was busy rolling up his undershirt. Jennifer's soft mouth and sharp teeth worried at the nipples on his chest until he was rock-hard and ready to go. Carefully, Allan slipped his hand under the waistband of her panties. Smooth flesh and wiry bush hair greeted his probing fingers. Jennifer parted her thighs obligingly.
After his teeth started chattering, she got up off the bed and stood with her back to him. "Unzip me," she invited, indicating the skirt.
The tab was already halfway down her flank. Allan found it and pulled until the skirt flew open, falling at her feet. Jennifer stepped out of her panties, tossed them on a chair, and turned to smile at him. She seemed to want him to look his fill, so that's what he did.
"Do you think I have a beautiful body, Allan?" she inquired, pirouetting for him.
Prentice made an expressive gesture with his hands. "It'll get you there, honey," he quipped. "But will it get you back?" He enjoyed her shriek of laughter before reaching out for her, having to climb out of bed when she backed away from him.
Jennifer Carson's body would not only get her there, it would get her back and then some. No woman in or out of Harmony Place owned a more impressive bod. The pink buttons crowning her heavy breasts were fully erect right now, projecting half an inch or more from the brown aureolas.
Jennifer's waist, on the other hand, was ballerina small, her hips and thighs Ml but not solidly so. Between her thighs grew a luxurious crop of glistening black pubic hair. Without thought, Allan kissed his way down the curve of her soft, warm belly to the tangle below. Jennifer began to sway, rotating her hips as she brought his hands up to cover the taut mounds on her chest. Teasing, she backed away, then thrust forward, her hands in back of his head. Prentice didn't mind. Whatever she wanted was all right with him.
After a moment, she drew him up and began undressing him. She did it slowly, tantalizingly, but he didn't mind. Fingers that knew what they were about worked the pants open, then pulled the zipper down. "I love doing this for a man," she confessed with a laugh.
Allan grinned. "Any man? Or just the Harmony Place variety?"
"Just the Harmony Place variety. I'm loyal to the home-grown product, darling." The breath from Jennifer's nostrils was warm against his groin as she pulled down the jockey shorts, letting his prick spring free, naked and hard. "You're a-how do they say it?-a well-hung man, Allan."
"You know how they say it." He cupped one breast and squeezed, feeling the flesh swell and the nipple erect against his palm. She stirred in his arms, reaching out for some part of him, bowing her head as soon as she found it. Prentice's breath caught in his throat as he felt warm lips close over the end of his prick. A fiery tongue pressed against the tip.
With his free hand, he went searching for her clitoris, finding it between the moist folds below the matted tangle of pubic hair. Allan's eyes closed in pleasure, while his fingers busied themselves with her clit. There weren't many things in this world to compare with being eaten, he decided. Or eating, for that matter.
Jennifer's tongue continued its devastating caress. She began using the roof of her moutji to accentuate an already almost unbearable effect.
Allan listened for noises in other parts of the house-sounds of couples pairing off for the night-and concentrated on them to keep from coming. But Jennifer commenced a rhythmic motion that would send him, unless he fought it, into rapid orgasm. Allan fought it. He pulled away from her and pushed her to a supine position. Then he climbed on top of her. Jennifer was an armful as he struggled to master her, but finally he rested in the hot channel of her cunt.
He began frenching her while plumbing the depths of a wonderfully roomy hole, and she squirmed underneath him. At one point, he had to take his tongue out to catch his breath, not wanting to choke her or be choked, not with so much of the night ahead of them.
"God, Allan, but that feels good!" she exclaimed, wriggling so that her legs were up around his waist. "Is there anything better than this? Is there?"
"No," Allan grunted, and then lost the capacity even to grunt, because Jennifer had lowered about him. He felt the heat of her encompass him as her vagina walls stretched to take every inch he had.
"I-can't wait!" she sobbed. As though to prove it, she began clawing at him, hips moving like pistons of flesh.
Prentice went to work on her. She shuddered as he pushed his sausage in to the base. There wasn't any room for more, that's how closely matched they were. The head of his organ was snug against the back of her vagina. When he gave an especially vigorous lunge, he could feel the cervical opening. Each time he did, Jennifer leaped like a mare to whom the spurs have been touched.
"Deeper!" she begged. "Can't you put it any deeper?"
He put it in as far as he could and left it there for a few seconds. His belly was jammed tight against Jennifer's, his hair intertwined with hers. They were as close as two people could get without being sewn together, and the feeling was wickedly satisfying.
"Now go fast and hard!"
Allan heard it, he believed it. He began ramming the meat at her with a ferocity that astounded even himself. Jennifer began to sob with pleasure. Her hands fastened on his shoulders, tightening each time he shoved his cock in her. Soon she was lifting to meet every thrust and groaning as her own passion mounted. He continued to fuck her with brutal jabs that suddenly brought her to a climax. While she came, he could only hold on and pray she didn't tear him out by the roots. Prentice held back and waited for her to come again. She came twice more before his own self-control dissolved in the need for release. Then he slammed at her with enough force to hurt them both. There was no complaint, though, from either of them. His prick exploded at last in a shower of white-hot semen.
He knew, from prior encounters, that Jennifer's apparent satiety wouldn't last long. Ten minutes or thereabouts, no more. Then she'd want more of him, much more, until he had no more to give. But for now he fell out of her and lay down to fill his lungs with air. His prick shriveled to its normal resting size and the numbness soon faded. Allan even thought he might get it up again in a few minutes.
"Do you think I'm oversexed, honey?" Jennifer asked into his ear.
Prentice considered before shaking his head. "You have a lot of sap, but then so do a scad of other people. Myself, for instance. No, you're not oversexed."
"You're sweet, Allan." Jennifer, as though they were just lying down together, trailed her fingers through the hair on his chest, down across his belly and into his genitals. Carefully, proving her minute knowledge of the male reproductive system, she took hold of his dormant prick.
He tensed, but the sensations weren't entirely unpleasant. After a few minutes, in fact, he began to get a new hard-on. When he was sure, Allan poked a finger between her cunt's satiny lips, caressing her there for a few seconds before inserting his finger all the way. Jennifer twitched in appreciation, sinking back on the bed as his finger entered farther. "I can't believe it," Prentice joked. "A man of my age ... "
"A man your age?" Jennifer hooted. "Don't knock yourself, honey. You have lots of life left in you. I'll see to it personally."
"Is that a promise?"
"Me or one of the other girls."
"Wow. I'll have these moments to remember." Allan moved on top of her again, settling between unresisting thighs. When she saw that he was fully capable of penetrating her, Jennifer became all cooperation, lifting her legs high and keeping them there, snug around his waist.
"And these." She seized his prick and guided him back in.
Allan swiveled his hips, letting the new hard-on sink slowly into her. Jennifer's flushed face moved with pleasure. She said something up at him, but he couldn't make it out and he didn't want to make her repeat it. They lay belly to belly for a moment in a room that was beginning to feel steamy even with air conditioning. Then he began moving in no great haste-bringing his cock out until only its tip was inserted, then letting it slip, inch by inch, back in again.
Each time he did that, Jennifer expelled a long, shuddering sigh of pure bliss, wrapping her legs more tightly around his waist and lifting to meet him. By carefully timing each thrust and withdrawal, he was able to stay just this side of disaster. But from the way his prick was aching, he knew he couldn't hold off much longer.
"God, Allan, it's been a long time since anyone gave me this kind of loving! Keep it up, honey! I'll see that you get passing marks!"
He felt life deserved better than passing marks, but there was no point in saying it. He gave her his best, anyway, slamming into her as though each thrust would be his last. Then, with the cum surging to the head of his tool, he tried to hold off. The insistent need of a hungry woman beneath him wouldn't allow it. He had control, then he didn't. He was gripped in the vise of her legs, his shaft rammed deep, his sexual fluids convulsively spurting. Jennifer cried out and he smothered a groan, caught up in the maelstrom of her passion. With her vaginal muscles, she was literally milking him of semen.
He still had a hard-on, and now he knew what to do with it. Planting his palms in her armpits, shifting so that more of his weight was on her, he seized the initiative and kept it. For half an hour, he battered away at the slit between her legs, until she'd climaxed so many times he lost count and he was so bathed in perspiration his lashes stuck to one another. Then he crawled down and with his last wind, asked her for his score.
"A-plus!" Jennifer gasped. "I won't tell the others, but, honey, you're the best!"
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
"How do you feel, Mark, darling?" Charlotte Adair inquired, nudging Regina Trussell.
"Bursting with life," he replied, and enjoyed their shrieks of laughter. "Are we going upstairs, or is this just a tease session?"
The women snorted. "Take him upstairs," Charlotte told her friend. "If he tries to run...." She snatched something out of a blouse pocket-a length of Sarah Wrap. "Tie his feet with this. I'm going to the little girl's room."
Mark doubted that the Saran Wrap would be necessary, but he allowed Regina to lead him upstairs anyway. She seemed to know where all the light switches were as well as all the rooms. He wondered. Regina also, he remembered, had a mischievous side. She led him inside a guest room, turned on the light, and before he could even look about, slid strong arms about his neck, pulling his mouth down to hers.
"Let's not wait for Charlotte!" she urged. "I want you first!"
He couldn't think of any reason why they should wait for Charlotte, so he kissed Regina, almost bruising her lips and his. She quivered, going rigid in his arms. Mark felt the firm mounds of her breasts through the blouse and bra. The contact set him quickly ablaze. Tearing free of her, he picked Regina up in his arms and was about to drop her on the circular, king-sized bed when the door behind them burst open.
"Reggie!" Charlotte accused.-"You promised! I knew I couldn't trust you. Put her down, Mark, or the deal's off. Did you hear me? Pur her down!"
Lowry reluctantly put down his red-haired burden. "Maybe you'd better explain the rules to me," he grumbled, making no effort to conceal his unhappiness. Swapping was okay in and of itself, but not if he had to play the prick. But he knew he'd agree to almost anything. They had him by the short ones.
"You'll make love to me while Reggie watches, and vice versa. Anything we want to to, you'll do, and for as long as we wish. You can call it an initiation if you like. Fair enough?"
"Fair enough," he agreed, nodding his head. But he wondered if he had enough for both. He could easily drain his batteries down to a trickle with Charlotte and have nothing left with which to turn on Reggie. But then he'd be in violation of their cockeyed rules. For failing his initiation, he'd not only lose face with the men of Harmony Place, he'd lose face with Helen as well. And this was partly for her.
Charlotte closed the door and came back to watch him, arms folded across her chest, eyes narrowed. Mark shrugged and began undressing.
This wasn't the time to step into a closet, so he took everything off in plain view of the women. When he stepped out of his shorts and looked at them, one smiled at the other.
"What did I tell you?" Regina laughed. "Isn't he a credit to the medical profession?"
Charlotte gave a reluctant nod. With a thoughtful look on her face, she came near to run her hand the length of the organ. "Yes. I was wrong about you, Doctor. Please forgive."
Regina took a step toward them. "Well, aren't you going to prove you're sorry. If you won't, I will!"
Charlotte Adair began to undress and Mark watched, fascinated. The suspicions he'd had about Rex and Helen had turned out to be true, and he wanted to see what Rex Adair had gone prowling from. On the whole, he was impressed. Charlotte kept herself in good physical condition, and there wasn't a mark or a blemish on her. Her smooth brunette loveliness, in fact, made him forget how nervous he was. In less than a minute, Charlotte's clothing, from her blouse to her wispy panties, lay in a pile on the floor.
"Like?" she asked, pirouetting twice for him.
Lowry nodded rather than say it, realizing his voice would be hoarse with passion.
She held out her arms in invitation. "Then dig in. Give me the best...." Charlotte batted her eyes like a honkie stripper. "The best screwing a patient ever had."
Regina, who still had on all her garments, applauded. "But save some of it for me, please!" she cried. "I'm a patient, too!"
They were both patients worthy of a doctor's best scrutiny, Mark decided, and moved toward Charlotte to begin the "examination." If he'd ever nursed regrets over having moved his practice from the District, he forgot them now. Charlotte allowed him to pick her up and place her on the bed. Pausing to roll back the covers, he pushed her toward the center. "Do you want the anesthetic local or generalized?" he kidded her.
"I want to feel every single thing you do to me, Mark Lowry!" Charlotte declared, reaching up for him. "If I can't feel it, what's the point in all this?"
"I see what you mean-I think." He climbed up to lie down beside her, noticing that Regina had come so close she was practically on top of them. Mark didn't mind, unless the extra pair of eyes began to affect his performance. Calling upon a little concentration, he started out by using his lips on Charlotte. He kissed her lips, her eyes, her throat, the lobes of both ears. Then, as her arms tightened about him, he tongued her lips apart. As much to tantalize Regina as himself, he proceeded to explore every recess of Charlotte Adair's mouth. Before he finished, she had begun to moan, to thrash about in his embrace like a wrestler in a headlock. Nails which had been sheathed now dug sharply into the tender skin of his shoulders.
While he was trying to make up his mind about complaining, he kissed his way to her high, firm tits. What the breasts may have lacked in size, they made up for in erectile power. Using his teeth and his tongue, Mark made the points stand up until they protruded a good one inch from the rest of the breast. Charlotte hadn't been breathing with any great excitement before, but now she panted in race-horse fashion.
Then he raised to one elbow and stretched to reach her clitoris, she whooped and nearly jumped through the ceiling. Mark, who knew a thing or two about female anatomy, realized that Charlotte's clit was closer to the vaginal opening than most women's. Rex Adair, damn him, could probably drive his wife half-crazy with ecstasy with no more talent than that possessed by the average school boy.
Sneaking up on her clit, he fondled it more gently until Charlotte began to shake with passion. He realized that she'd never been more ready than she was now. After composing her torso and limbs for a better entrance, he knelt between her thighs and inserted, discovering the vestibule and passageway to be about as loose as he'd expected. Someone-perhaps every other man in Harmony Place-had been there before him. No matter. While Regina, somewhere off to his right, made some pleasure sounds of her own, Lowry inched inside until his pubic hair and Charlotte's tangled and locked. Balancing himself on hands and knees, he began to thrust.
This was an initiation, Mark recalled, with another "patient" still to go. He'd be judged this first time on results, not on style. So he kept his thrusts modest, varying them with sidewise, screwing movements each time disaster loomed. In this manner, he was able to make Charlotte come twice without ejaculating himself. But as he tried for Number Three, the cum came surging to the head of his tool. Hastily, he pulled out before the load was lost.
"You're good, Mark," Charlotte told him, gazing up in dewy-eyed appreciation. "Not great, but good. As far as I'm concerned, you've passed."
Regina Trussell snickered. "As far as both of us are concerned, he's passed, honey. You're forgetting that I've already had him."
"I forgot," Charlotte said, and rolled down off the bed to stand up and look for her clothes. "All I have is your word, darling," she added. "I'll have to see the proof with my own eyes."
Lowry sat on the bed edge and tried to make his heartbeat slow to a safer rhythm before it blew out on him. Regina, as though she realized the urgency of the situation, sent her clothes flying. She peeled her blouse away like an ape peeling a banana and dropped her slacks after it. Bra and panties followed. Totally nude, she climbed up on the bed with him. Mark looked at her. "The way we did it the other time?"
Regina shook her head. "I want to be on top. Do you mind?"
He stretched out alongside her, grinning wryly. "Would it matter if I did? No, I don't mind." He heard Charlotte approaching the bed to view the performance, but somehow he wasn't nervous this time, maybe because he'd already been as close to Rex Adair's wife as a man could get and therefore couldn't be embarrassed by anything she saw or heard.
Regina's lips were parted, so he thrust his tongue in, sucking at the underside of hers. Reggie's mouth went hot at his skilled exploration. He couldn't see them, but Mark was willing to bet that her earlobes had turned a bright red. She began to moan low in her throat when he concentrated on her breasts. The boobs were larger than Charlotte's and, he was discovering all over again, not nearly so firm. While she purred encouragement, he was able to flip them back and forth between thumb and forefinger. Seizing the nipples between his teeth, Mark shook, and felt them swell to twice their previous size. Then he took each breast into his mouth and stroked it on his palate, using his tongue to direct the stroking. Regina began to squirm and writhe as the stimulation took hold, There was no point in making her suffer, so he let a hand wander down to her cunt. Using first one finger, then two, he pumped the moistening passageway until her thighs gripped his wrist like a boa constrictor's coils. Lowry yanked his arm free and pushed her farther up the bed. "You want it now? If you want it now, say so."
Regina smiled up at him, a red-haired picture of wanton, suburban wife. "Yes! Yes, Mark I want it now. Please give it to me."
"At least you know what you want." Mark knelt between her flawless thighs and positioned them the way he wanted them. There was no trouble finding the entrance-she was helping him every inch of the way with words, sighs and wriggles. When there was nowhere else to go, when he'd thrust in to the hilt and their hair-his reddish-brown, hers copper-red-had met, he lay still for a few seconds, supporting himself on his elbows while she placed her legs high around his buttocks and locked them at the ankle.
Charlotte Adair was seated on the bed edge so close Mark could almost feel her breath on his bare ass. For an instant, he was tempted to ask her to wait under the bed, only he couldn't afford a black mark on initiation night. Because he figured Reggie wanted a man-sized screwing, with no dainty thrusts to prolong the embrace, he slammed into her hard with every lunge. Regina pounded soft fists on his back and yelped her approval. In less than a minute, she climaxed thunderously, gouging bloody trails across his back and biting his ear almost in half. Lowry himself climaxed a minute later, and the initiation was over. He rolled down off Reggie and she stepped down to snatch up her clothes.
"You can have him back, darling," she told Charlotte. "I'm going downstairs for a drink."
Lowry closed his eyes and sensed rather than saw Charlotte Adair approaching the bed again. Somehow he knew she'd get him up again and they'd end up screwing one another silly.
In the master bedroom down the hall, Stan Trussell, the blondest and fittest of Harmony Place's men, was also enjoying a double: Trisha Howard and Margie Prentice, one blonde, the other brunette. Still fully dressed but with drinks in their hands, they sat exchanging amused glances, studying one another's expectant faces.
Before Stan could ask them who would be first, Margie slipped both arms around his neck and twisted his head so that their lips would meet. It was either kiss her or throw her karate-style halfway across the room, and Stan knew how easily women broke. He kissed her and wasn't surprised to taste cherry liqueur. The women had been passing the stuff around like it was candy. But then he forgot about the liqueur and kissed her back, burning his lips into hers.
"Get it on, children," Trisha Howard encouraged. "Don't mind me. If I didn't want to watch, I wouldn't be here. Put more on that kiss, Stan, darling. Margie's not a high school wallflower, she's a grown woman."
Stan shut out the distracting voice and put more on the kiss until he was almost grinding his teeth into Margie's tender lips. When she tapped him on the back of the head, he stopped and began to undress her. Someone shrieked with laughter in a room nearby, and the women chuckled. When he drew the blouse away, Margie covered Stan's prick with her hand.
"Don't you think big Stan has the most personality of any man in Harmony Place, honey?" she asked Trisha.
"I'll have to see it first," the latter replied, evoking another round of laughter.
"Ladies, have a care with my pride!" Trussell protested, winking.
Margie held her arms straight out from her sides. "Undress me, dear, before I laugh myself to death."
Stan made his fingers fly with buttons, clasps and snaps. After removing Margie's blouse, he lifted off the bra and laid them both on the bar top. Stooping slightly, he began to manipulate the soft globes against the insides of his palms. He had to concentrate on something else to keep from coming right away.
"You won't go to sleep on me now, will you?" Margie teased.
He made his caresses rougher, squeezing the nipples hard enough to make them erect more but not hard enough to hurt. Stan heard appreciative sighs from both women when he bent to kiss Marg's massive, hanging breasts. He took first one, then the other into his mouth, running his tongue over their points, applying just the right amount of suction. His own excitement intensified.
"We're not there yet!" Margie panted, pressing close to him.
Trussell relinquished the magnificent boobs and reached for the zipper on her shorts. Getting them off her hips proved to be a struggle; the shorts were at least a size too small. But they dropped finally to her feet and Margie, with a smile for their audience of one, stepped out of them. Before she could straighten up again, he rolled her panty-briefs down her legs, put them and the shorts with her other garments. She stood, legs apart, smiling down at him.
Stan got off the bar stool in a hurry, before his pants burst. Thrusting a hand between Margie's awesome thighs, he worked two ringers inside her cunt. She was so wet and roomy he could almost have inserted his balled fist. He found her clitoris and stroked a few times, using an upward motion.
"I feel left out," Trisha Howard complained. "I can see you two enjoying yourself, but what does it do for me?"
Stan wanted to tell her to shut up, but not if it meant alienating both women before he'd had either. He felt extraordinarily potent tonight, maybe because he'd gone a night without. He'd asked Marg to come upstairs with him, and Trisha, to everyone's enthusiastic agreement, had tagged along after them.
Margie cleared her throat. "Don't you think it's time we inspected the machinery?" she asked, glancing down at the swollen place in the front of his trousers.
"Yes," Trisha echoed. "If we can't see it, how do we know it's there?"
Stan answered the challenge in less than a minute, tossing his shirt, undershirt, trousers and shorts in a little pile on the rug. Then he turned to face them, allowing them to view the eight inches that mattered. "I'll let you tell me whether or not it's there," he challenged. "Take your time, ladies. I'm not going anywhere."
There were excited moans from the women, then Margie climbed on the big double bed and got on her back. As well as she could with the headboard so far away, she opened her legs and held them high against her chest. "Come on, Stan, darling!" she invited, crooking her little finger. "I have something for you. Something I'm sure you'll love."
Trussell needed no further invitation. He moved nearer the thickly mattressed bed and leaned over it until he could support himself on one hand. With the other, he tugged Margie's haunches near enough to aim himself between-them. He reflected, while working his way inside, that he was doing himself-and Harmony Place-proud tonight. Not one but two local, ladies would have their pleasure of him.
"Oh, this is Stan, all right," Margie murmured, closing her eyes.
He gave her the rest of it and fought for control when she attacked him with secret muscles, trying to milk him before he was ready. For more than a minute, the contest raged. Then Stan asked himself, Why fight it? As he attempted a half-thrust, he heard Trisha Howard, six feet away, smack her lips in exaggerated relish. The sounds distracted him, but not enough to keep him from climaxing.
When he came the sensations nearly bent him double. But he recovered his rhythm and continued to slam into her. For almost half an hour, he lunged and circled, driving Marg to fits of frenzy which would have provided grist for talk for weeks if the others could have seen. Stan permitted himself to ejaculate just once more before pulling out. He wanted to be fair. There was another hill-or belly-to climb.
"You have my vote of confidence any time you need it, big man!" Margie assured him.
Trussell grinned. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that-if you'll pardon the expression."
Margie rolled down off the bed and scooped up her clothes, running to the other side of the bar to put them on. Trisha.Howard, meanwhile, got up out of the chair to circle the bed. "No one has my vote of confidence!" she declared. "But I'm open to persuasion starting now."
Stan held and kissed her a long time before starting on her clothes. By then, Margie had finished dressing and was sitting on a bar stool watching them. To prove something to himself, he used every arousal trick he'd ever learned or heard about. With his hands and his lips, he carefully explored the erogenous zones on Trisha's face, torso and legs. He tongued the roof-of her mouth until he could taste every drop of liqueur she'd had. He sucked her breasts until she vibrated beneath him, possibly climaxing. He fingered her clitoris until she came once by this manner alone. Then he mounted her in the way she expected and brought her to three ripping orgasms, experiencing another himself before falling backwards and staying there.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Jim Howard closed the bedroom door but made no move to lock it. He looked at Helen, then gave her a tolerant smile. "You need a drink," he joked. "There're laws against making love to ghosts. Or is it corpses?" He retreated to a stereo and turned it on, apparently to make things easier for her.
"No! No, I don't need a drink," she said, hearing music fill the room. Now talk wouldn't be necessary. Jim seemed to feel the same way, too, because he slipped both arms around her waist and pulled her to him, stooping to plant his lips on hers. His kiss was at first gentle, and tasted of the scotch that seemed to flow like tap water around the Adair household. Helen quivered at the contact, going limp in his arms long before a rigid shaft poked into her belly.
Because she wanted to be accepted in Harmony Place and would do anything he asked, no matter how bizarre, she kissed him back. The kiss quickly turned passionate for both of them. Jim's arms encircled her neck and brought her nearer, finally pulling her up tight against him. His mouth-a hard mouth, without a trace of softness-forced her lips apart. With more skill than she would have dreamed possible, he began to tongue the roof of her mouth. With every stroke, he seemed to caress her very soul.
After a minute, he drew back to gaze down at her. "Sure you don't need that drink? I can mix you something so randy you'll be floating for the rest of the evening."
Helen shook her head, smiling. "I want to float with you, not with a drink in my hand. And while we're on the subject of randy...."
Jim chuckled, bending to her lips again, this time applying more pressure. To encourage him, she returned the pressure with some of her own, leaning near so that her breasts imprinted themselves on his broad chest. Jim's arms tightened behind her back, almost crushing her in an embrace neither of them could have stopped now, not even with Mark outside banging on the door. He forced her lips apart and wormed his tongue between her teeth, inserting the powerful member as far as it would go. Then he began to rake it back and forth, now caressing her palate, now circling her tongue.
Helen knew the moan she heard was her own. She tried to stifle it, and found she couldn't. Her body, even her emotions, were no longer her own. She'd become an instrument in Jim Howard's hands, powerless to function except as he would have her function. And she gloried in the fact. This is the way it should be! A woman should feel alive and turned on, not half dead!
Jim broke the embrace finally and clawed at her breasts, trying to pinch the tips through the stiff fabric of her bra. "Gotta-see them!" he panted, and almost tore her blouse in his haste to open it.
"Let me!" she protested, and made her fingers fly along the buttons. Pulling the garment free of her skirt, she held her arms high to allow him to remove it. Jim flipped the blouse to a chair, and after fumbling with the clasp, sent the bra after it. Helen was glad then that her breasts were high and firm, with large, sensitive aureolas and nipples that thrust straight out when she was excited. She saw the appreciation on Jim Howard's face, and realized that he'd spend several minutes, possibly a quarter of an hour, lavishing hand and mouth attentions on them. The gleam in his eye was her clue.
He read the expression on her face, and grinned. "Yeah, I'm a tit man. I've never been ashamed of it. I think it goes back to the cradle or something. Know what I mean?" Before she could answer, he cupped each breast in a hand and squeezed.
Helen braced for pain, but he seemed to know exactly how to massage the soft globes, rolling the fatty structures skillfully. When he augmented the fondling with more open-mouth kissing-she had to rise slightly on tiptoe to reach him-Helen thought she'd nearly go out of her mind with pleasure. Twice she came near climaxing. Twice he slowed his caresses to prevent it. Then he let her come and the sweet sensations flooded her brain.
The music had stopped, but neither she nor Jim paid it any mind. Amazing her with his versatility-not to mention strength-Jim lifted her by the armpits until her breasts were opposite his mouth. Holding her there, he sucked and nibbled their points to hardness, until her cunt dripped with excitement and she begged him to take her.
"Can you be more specific?" he inquired, smiling up at her.
"Do me!" she wailed, hot with sexual excitement. If there was another Rex Adair in Harmony Place, she thought, it must be Jim Howard.
"Do you?"
"Fuck me! Please fuck me!"
Jim laughed. "We're not ready, either of us. There's much more to come." He set her back down and reached for the zipper on her skirt. The pleated rayon fell to her feet and she stepped out of it in her half-slip and panties while he watched with approval.
Helen remembered at this late moment that Jim Howard was almost a total stranger. She should feel ashamed, or at least awkward, at baring herself to him. She felt neither. While he stripped away his own clothing, she peeled off the half-slip and stood before him watching, clad only in white panties. Then he unsnapped his shorts and she came to rapt attention. Jim's prick, the object he'd try to jab into her most sensitive parts, was larger in circumference than any pipe joint-surely the thickest penis in Harmony Place. "You're-you're hugeV Helen gasped, going hot.
He stood straighter and waggled the thing a few times for her. "It's not the longest-but then I've never had a complaint." Jim looked surprised at seeing her still in panties. "Hey, you're not playing hard to get, are you?" Swooping before she could run, he swept her off her feet and carried her toward the bed, holding her with one arm and tugging off her remaining undergarment with the other. The panties' elastic waistband snapped. Jim put her down and stood poised above her, holding himself in check. "Touch me," he coaxed. "Then you won't be afraid."
"Who's afraid?" Helen countered, and reached out to grasp the head of his organ. Her thumb and forefinger would barely encircle it.
"Use both hands," he chuckled. "It's easier that way. No, it's harder." Howard winked and grinned. "If you know what I mean."
She smiled back at him, getting into the spirit of things. "I don't know anything. I'm a demi-vierge. Can you show me what I've been missing?"
"Baby, I can show you whatever there is to show," Howard declared. "Move over." He lay down beside her, resting a warm hand on her hip while distributing his two hundred pounds on the king-sized bed. There was a cat-like quickness to his movements which suggested unusual grace. Also, a concern for what she thought of him.
While the latter pleased her, Helen hoped he wouldn't ask her to suck him. She didn't think she could perform fellatio on such short notice, much less fit her mouth over Jim's oversized penis. Before she had time to worry about it, he ran his hand up her thigh and into the moist tangle of hair. Helen expelled a pent-up breath. Her excitement, which had begun to ebb, redoubled as soon as Jim's probing finger encountered the knob of her clitoris. But she jumped at the acuteness of the sensation.
"At least," he-remarked, "we're thinking About the same thing. What did you say the name was?"
"Trisha," she teased. "Trisha Howard."
Now it was Jim's turn to jump. "Don't" he begged. "Any joke but that one. Any name but that one."
"I'm sorry," Helen apologized. "I know I still have lots to learn."
"You're getting there, honey, you're getting there." While her fingers opened and closed spasmodically on his cock, Jim addressed her clit in a back-and-forth motion which made her twitch in time with his fondling. Spreading his caresses, he proceeded to knead the slippery lips of her cunt, inserting first one finger, then two, finally three. He seemed to be concerned about the very thing which bothered her-could she take his leg-of-lamb prick without screaming?
Not right away, apparently. Jim spread her thighs apart and buried his face between them.
"Wha-at!" Helen stammered, taken by surprise. "You don't have to-" But he'd already parted the lips of her cunt with his fingers and thrust his tongue into the opening. She went rigid. The sensations of a rough tongue sliding across her labia were more exquisite than anything Mark ever did for her. When Jim touched her clit, she thought she'd die. "Don't stop!" she whimpered. "Please don't stop!"
He seemed to have no intention of stopping. Working his hands up under her buttocks, gripping one in each palm', Jim applied a squeezing motion each time he jabbed his tongue at her clitoris. There was genuine artistry to his sucking, as though Trisha and possible Regina Trussell or Charlotte Adair had taught him how. He alternated the jabbing with a clockwise swirling which touched every sensitive structure within reach.
Helen began to writhe in time with his squeezing of her buttocks. Her excitement rose to a plateau which he'd keep her on for a few minutes before raising her to a higher one. She forgot about Mark, she forgot about Harmony Place, she forgot about everything except Jim Howard's hungry mouth. "Yes!" she moaned. "Yes, yes, yes!"
Jim took away one of his hands and brought it up between her thigh and his head. Then he applied just the shaft of his index finger to a place immediately above her clitoris. He rubbed with the finger and speared with his tongue. The effect was devastating.
Helen lurched and gave herself up to a wrenching climax. She came, literally, with her whole body. The spasms began in her genitals, spread to her breasts, then exploded joyously in her brain. In wave after wave, they drummed a message of ecstasy to her brain.
Jim seemed to know when she'd finished. He took his mouth away and got up to smile down at her. "I think we're going to be very good for one another," he said. "Shall we try?"
She wished she could be so sure. Under the circumstances, she could only stop her teeth from chattering, and hope he didn't tear her in half. She made room for him between her outstretched legs, then closed her eyes, not wanting to watch. Helen felt Jim kneel there and grasp her torso with both hands. Holding her with one, he used the other to spread apart her cunt lips.
"This is it, baby," he announced, and the choked tones revealed his own excitement. "I'm putting it in. All of it. One of us is stronger, so don't try to fight it."
Helen opened her mouth to tell him to hurry, but a velvety blunt instrument easing inside her vagina made her bite the words back. She shuddered. Delicious tremors racked her body. She tried to open wider for him, but Jim had anticipated her. Forcing her thighs farther apart, bringing her legs up over his shoulders, he drove himself deeper inside her.
"Almost there!" he panted. "Almost there."
When he was in as far as he could go, the two of them began to move together. Jim lasted less than a minute before coming, but the release served the function of providing him with the control he'd been lacking. Maintaining a jack-hammer rhythm, he continued to pound away at her until she climaxed too.
Helen realized later that she must have screamed, because Jim clapped a hand over her mouth. At the moment, she realized nothing. The room tilted, the furniture changed places, the lights blazed brighter. The orgasm was probably the most satisfying one that she'd ever experienced.
But she felt that way about the next one, and the one after that.
