The lack of sexual variety tends to make a loving individual become an automatic animal responder.
Variety gives erotic reactions to certain bodily zones which, when stroked or punished, allows for the gratification of the libido. Such as the taste or fragrance of a woman's vaginal fluids.
This is a story of a group with special tastes and interests. Special talents and desires.
Certainly, within the restrictive rules of our society, any one person's knowledge has to be very limited, very meager. Practically infinitesmal compared to all the available resources without disrupting anyone's personal sexual choices.
Phychologists constantly maintain that a healthy range of sexual experience is proper for the growth of man In this tale, there is a wealth of variety which will help you better yourself sexually, understand the needs and desires and fetishes of others-perhaps even your own mate!
Within the scope of this story, there are many examples of subjugation, domination, bondage, fetishism, and other exciting and thrilling demonstrations which will keep you enthralled.
CHAPTER ONE
The bitch was a female tiger. Panting, gasping, squeezing Gary's tool between tight, demanding thighs she scratched his back, raking fingernails across and gathering tiny curls of his skin beneath them while her sharp little teeth bit into his lip.
His thrust was strong, violent, needful. Driving into her again and again, faster, determined to hurt her as she was hurting him and thrilling from the effort, he suddenly melted his belly against hers and his whole being shuddered as she opened her mouth in a low ecstatic moan and hot streams of passion spurted from his body into hers.
Gary was a big man, massive-shouldered and tall. Mildred was petite, a close-cropped, fragrant head of hair now somewhere around his nipples as his body lost its hump and straining arm muscles relaxed, but not quite enough to crush her.
Then, with the massiveness of a just-felled oak, he dropped over on his side, pulling her sidewise with him so that the juncture of their passion-wracked bodies need not separate quite yet.
Tenderly his hand brushed the fluffy bangs back from her exqusiite forehead and his lips touched her there while her hand lightly toyed with his nipple.
Slowly the torrent in him subsided. His body relaxed. He reached back to the night table and caught two of the tiny hand towels he'd always used with Emily, knowing almost by touch which had "Guest" embroidered on it.
He caught his moist and dripping weapon in one, then gently opened the guest towel and, with his whole palm behind it, smoothed it lightly into place. Somehow it seemed urgent to him that the sheets he shared normally with Emily not have any of the stiff little spots on them that they gathered when I had mated with her.
Mildred seemed tinier than ever as she curled up in the nest between his left arm and his body and half-bent legs. She purred contentedly and soon the purring became regular, light breathing.
How fragrant she was! Now his back began to tingle slightly and he felt a single tiny trickle of blood running down it from a particularly deep scratch. "So I don't get any semen on the sheet but get blood there. That's a swtich," Gary thought.
Silence took over their apartment then. Even the familiar street traffic noises seemed to subside.
But then he heard them. He heard the sound of that one damned spring that squeaked.
How well Gary remembered that spring! His mother-in-law had come to visit and Emily, over his bitter protests, had insisted that she get their comfortable king-sized bed while they occupy the guest bed, an ordinary double bed that Emily had brought back when her mother moved to the smaller apartment.
"Please, darling. It's just for ten days. Won't you do it, just for me?" she had coaxed, letting her fingers walk up to the side of his face and then pinching his earlobes in a way she knew turned him on.
"Well," he'd replied, his need for her stirring, "okay, but just for this one visit "
Well, it hadn't been for just that one visit. After that, whenever she came visiting, she had automatically taken over their room and Gary had cursed himself for his gutlessness in not putting a stop to it.
That wasn't all, though. When Gary's hand had upped Emily's strangely cone-shaped breast that first night and he stirred so they could be in their favorite position, each on a side, facing, his right hand free to toy with her clitoris as he thrust into her and her left hand working the side of his face pinching his earlobe
-that's when he first heard the springs.
Emily had stiffened and withdrawn from him. "Mother will hear and she'll know," Emily had hissed.
"So?" Gary said, anger coarsening his voice, "Did she think you were still a virgin?"
"But to actually hear this sound. To know that we're in the bed she had shared with father," Emily said, her face white and strained. "I'd be ashamed to have breakfast with her in the morning. Let's just not do it while she's here and I'll make it up to you after she's gone. Honest I will, Gary."
Almost three hours he lay there, his fingers laced behind his head, thinking darkly about that thing that Emily was doing to him. "Hell," he thought, "sex doesn't mean anything to her but that she's accommodating me. That's all So she puts her mother's prudishness over her own husband's happiness."
If Emily suspected that he was awake or the darkness that lay within him, she gave no sign of it. She always slept with her breath coming sweetly and lightly and she breathed much that same way when she was awake.
If in her sleep she stirred and touched him during her mother's visit, Gary withdrew from her as though she were hot or contaminated.
On the fourth day of his mother-in-law's visit, Gary had brooded long enough to start action. It was one of those cheap tabloid newspapers that sell for from 15 cents to 35 cents on the newsstands that triggered An ad read "modern couple, looking for attractive young singles or couples for friendship, interests include photography, wrestling. Send pictures with first letter. Reply guaranteed."
He'd replied. It was clumsily worded. "My wife doesn't know about this, but perhaps she would be interested if you were really attractive people. I'm a pretty fair stud. The pictures and wrestling are okay with me! I'm a big guy and take good shots and I can whip most men and all women. But I'm hopeful that these are just the preliminaries to some real action."
Almost immediately a blue envelope marked "Personal" arrived. The people in the picture were older than Emily and Gary. The husband was a baldish man with big, square teeth and a face that always seemed to be grinning, though the eyes were shrewd. The woman was a blonde with her hair in a smart flip. Her artificial lashes were sexy looking and she was ample-breasted and full-hipped with a narrow waist. She could still be this side of forty, perhaps, but not much. Yet it was the picture of this woman, the promise in her eyes, something about a knowing, sure-of-herself quality in her pose that caught his fancy.
She had written the letter. Her husband hadn't even seen the reply, but this was the picture they sent out in response to their ad and it was an honest picture, she wrote. She'd leave it up to Gary to make the next move. If he called before six any afternoon, her husband needn't know about it. If he called in the evening, the husband would know and she would merely have forgotten to mention Gary's letter.
He was still seething from the mornings doings when Emily's mother had insisted that Emily be permitted to sleep late and she would fix Gary's breakfast. The limp bacon, weak coffee, runny fried eggs and almost dark brown toast were all proclamations of ignorance, not caring and hostility to Gary.
Stiffly he thanked his mother-in-law for the delicious breakfast and then picked up a day-old newspaper from the stand in his annoyance at her!
"Hello, Mrs. Taylor," Gary said into the phone in his deepest sexy-salesman voice, "Gary Worthington here. I just saw your picture and read your note and had to call. Lunch and cocktails okay?"
Lorna Taylor had been honest. Though the picture didn't reveal the tiny moist-wrinkles around the eyes and the mouth nor the slight sagging of the chinline, everything else was as represented. She was obviously a woman of wealth and beauty whose appetites were healthy and whose circumstances and her own boldness let her satisfy them. At their meeting place, she looked at Gary's broad shoulders and impressive height, his snub-nose, square jaw and gray-touched crew cut approvingly. "Kind of a dated hair style, there," she had told him, "and you look like a square trying to round out his corners, but you sure seem the sort who can cut the mustard. Let's not waste time."
They gulped down their single drinks and she was tugging on his hand. "Your wheels where they're okay?" she asked.
"On a lot," Gary told her.
"Come with me then," she insisted.
Grinning, he followed her, delighting in the positive way of her, as contrasted with Emily's 'whatever you say, dear, so long as it's okay with mother,' attitude.
The car was low, sleek and fast. The apartment was smart and efficient. The body was well-trained, shapely, younger than the face. And Lorna Taylor knew how to survey her quarry quickly. She found Gary's ear almost at once. She found, too, that he had a sensitive rectum, responsive to her touch, that she could give him a towering erection in seconds. Then her task was merely one of attaining her own satisfaction before he expended his capacity to gratify it.
That was their only meeting. Gary tried a dozen times afterward, whenever Emily's mother came calling, but at first Lorna evaded him, then refused him bluntly, then she no longer had that same phone number.
But Gary had cheated on Emily for the first time. After that promiscuity came more easily.
Now he was hearing his wife and another man and a squeaky bedspring. The beauty beside him, the trickle that flowed from his tip, the knowledge that it had all been pre-arranged by mutual consent of all concerned-he knew these facts, of course. But that bedspring seemed to drown out the awareness.
"Noisy, aren't they?" Mildred's little voice half-whispered.
Gary seemed startled that she was there and she sensed that his mind had been with his wife in the other bedroom.
"Been on the swapping circuit for long?" Gary asked.
"This isn't my first time, if that's what you mean." Mildred said, rising on an elbow and studying his face. "But I find myself bothered by that queston. Somehow it seems dumber than you seem to be. Let me study you some more."
Unaccountably, Gary felt uncomfortable under the grave gaze of the beautiful little brunette. His face reddened. What right did a little slut like this have to take psychological control like this? He'd just have to show her that men were the in-charge-here group and women took orders. That's what. He'd rape this beautiful little bitch right after their mating while her chalice lips were still wet from him and the recuperative sleep was still in her eyes.
He rolled over atop her, felt her hot, eager hands grabbing for his rod, holding it, working its tip like an automatic teat puller on a milking machine. He wanted to rape her and she was helping him. Helping him hold its hardness, helping him guide his muscle into her orifice.
Her legs wrapped around him, still in the silk stockings with the interesting pattern he'd hoped-successfully-wouldn't turn out to be panty hose. She was encircling him like a slender vine does a tree and she had him now, had him in her, hot and hungry. She rode him like a koala bear hangs from a branch of a eucalyptus tree, then as a sloth, then up again, tight and hugging and taking him into her, every damned fraction of an inch of the way.
He was the bronco and she rode it from underneath. As he sunfished and reared up, drove down, thrust and tried to withdraw, she rode him until he could stand it no longer. He had to unload his charge into her and she timed her release perfectly to respond to him that very second
"With training. Gary, you could become a great lover," Mildred's little voice said "If only you managed to hold onto your health."
Now he slept and she slept beside him. When he awoke, it was to find her on her elbows still staring into his face. The sound of the bedspring was continuing and Gary found himself hoping that the noise was inhibiting Emily and that bastard he'd let them euchre him into going to bed with her.
But even as the thought coursed through his mind, he recognized the unfairness of it. After all, hadn't he just taken Mildred for the second time? Or had Mildred taken him?
She was studying him and he looked at her trying to make the expression insolent. "What you looking at. gorgeous?"
"You look like you should be much more experienced than you are," she said. "May I ask a few personal questions?"
"Shoot," Gary said. "'I'll answer them only if damned well please."
"Ever had a guy?"
"Tried it once. Couldn't make myself do it, though. Didn't see how I could go that route."
"Give it to a girl up the ass?"
"Never could seem to want to get the thing all brown that way, especially without a clitoris there to let you know where home should be."
"Smoked pot?"
"Nope. No desire or connections."
"Gone down on a girl?"
"Tried it once and she peed while I was doing ft and I vomited, so I never tried it again."
"On a guy?"
"Best I was able to do even as a kid on the school ground was jack one off-and he said I had calloused hands and hurt him so that he couldn't come. Said, too, I squeezed too hard."
"Man, you're all front and, except for having honest hose equipment, you're not broad enough based even for high school nowadays," Mildred said bluntly. "I could teach you a lot more than I suspect you know about how to have fun for yourself and to help your lady friends enjoy themselves. Best trick you have is finger-fucking while you screw."
Squeak. Squeak. Squeak. The sound was slow, labored, as though the driving force on the bed was just about through. My God that had taken a long time. Maybe old Charlie was older than he seemed.
Now the sound of the spring had stopped. It seemed a reproach in its silence almost as much as in its noisiness. Almost as much as Lorna Taylor had reproached him by not granting him an encore. Almost as much as this thing that Mildred had just told him.
Was it possible that Emily really hadn't wanted to mate with him ever? That she was using her mother's presence as an excuse to escape some sort of ineptness or selfishness on his part? So if he had to lose his wife even momentarily to another man, at least maybe this couple swapping thing they were doing could teach him to make her happier.
"Would you teach me?" Gary asked.
"Only if you swear you'll do everything I tell you to do exactly as I tell you," the little beauty responded.
CHAPTER TWO
Poverty! What terrible things it caused. Mildred had known it, had known a mother who faded into gray fatness as she continued struggling unsuccessfully to learn to speak "good English." She had seen her father beaten down by tough bosses and his own devil-may-care ways, changing from a charming, dark-haired, darkeyed, personable sort to one whose eyes were red and whose body was thin. Lines had formed around his jawline and there was liquor on his breath most of the time. He'd retreated into silence before the TV when he didn't have the change required to make it in the corner bar.
The mirror showed Mildred tiny, sprightly beauty. Her complexion had never been blotchy, was always smooth, and the big, innocent eyes of her she recognized as a usable asset from the age of around ten on. Her hair, long and dull and tangled, was the first thing she worked on ever since a teacher stayed in during recess to wash, comb and braid it for her. From then on, Mildred's hair always shone brightly and looked neat, even if she had to get to school an hour early and use the soap in the dispenser in the girl's room on those frequent occasions when none was to be found at home.
A strange insight let Mildred sense that the insecurity she felt was felt by many around her for various reasons. One boy had it because of pimples, a girl because of braces, another because of her skinniness.
Dumb animals instinctively learn to fend for themselves early in life. So do poor children. They learn rules of the game that older and wealthier ones don't even know exist. But the fight against personal poverty sharpens awareness. Mildred knew. She knew that the pimply boy was a poor student and that his father was a day laborer, that the girl with braces had a divorced mother who worked in the woolen mills, that the skinny girl's father was a shoe clerk and her mother was a salesgirl in a department store.
Then her attention became focused on Thelma. It happened one rainy morning when Mildred trudged to school, her feet sloshy and her thin coat protected by a sheet of plastic she had put around her inside out so that the marking on it "Imperial Cleaners" would be harder to read.
There had been a long, black car with much shiny trimming on the front. A small, neat man got out from under the wheel and opened an umbrella. Then he opened the back door and Thelma got out and walked under the umbrella, while the chauffeur walked in the rain to the school entrance.
She smiled sadly at the driver and thanked him. Then went into the school. Mildred saw that look of sadness, not with compassion-that was for the rich-but as an opportunity. As a matter-of-fact, that was the first time Mildred had realized how large Thelma was!
For a girl in her mid-teens to stand fully six feet tall before the boys in her class had attained their full growth was a burden, particularly if the girl was of largo proportions. Thelma had to weigh a hundred sixty five. Yet she was intelligent. She did well on her written tests but rarely volunteered a reply during oral discussions because a student was expected to stand while replying. Excitedly Mildred took inventory of everything else she knew about this girl, all because of that expression on her face.
No dates, ever.
On no school committees.
No close friends.
And her father owned a small furniture factory.
"I was watching you walk down the hall, so tall and proud in your bearing," Mildred had told Thelma, her eyes wide with her favorite look of innocence, "and I was thinking how much like a queen you looked."
The slight frown on Thelma's face had smoothed out.
"It must be wonderful to be tall, to know that years from now you'll still be beautiful the way tall women always are. Have you any idea how people my size look up to people like you-and not just physically?"
Thelma's voice was definitely friendly then and it was musical and rich. "I'm afraid I've been so involved with thinking of the disadvantages," she replied, "that I hadn't even suspected the advantages of being a big Amazon." There was a pause. "My name's Thelma Garrison and all I know about yours is that it's Mildred."
"Sweeny," Mildred replied, almost curtseying. "Mildred Sweeny. Shall we check each other's math papers before we turn them in?"
That had been a lucky break. Mildred's was perfect. She caught a small error in Thelma's. Thelma, an excellent student, looked at Mildred with new respect.
That afternoon it was still raining. Thelma's father's chauffeur drove Mildred home at Thelma's request, but Mildred insisted on getting off at the corner.
No sense in letting others know how deep was her poverty.
That was the year Mildred's Uncle Martin had come visiting, looked at his drunken brother, his fat, ignorant sister-in-law and his promising, alert niece. "Walk me to my bus," he told her, "and give me a hand with my stuff. You carry my brief case and garment bag and I'll handle the suitcase and club bag."
"Look, kid," Martin had said, "I'm not rich, but I have a little set aside. If I give you something, you must promise me you won't let your dad drink it up or your mother know about it. Get yourself some decent clothes and make up a believable lie about where you got them."
A cab came by an Martin loaded his bags in front. Then he picked up the girl and kissed her and pressed a green wad into her hand. It was five twenty-dollar bills!
She went through the routine of asking for a work permit and waiting two weeks before she spent any of the money. How carefully she shopped the basements of the stores, the Salvation Army and the Goodwill Industries, looking for exactly the right things to play her role. Then she brought home her first outfit, hiding the rest in her school locker.
Each evening, the strange couple, the big, wealthy girl and the little poor beauty, would work on their homework together and Mildred would always leave just before dinner time, despite the invitations of Thelma's parents.
Friends. Mildred knew her goal. She saw that Thelma was hunched over for a long time doing her homework and her strong, expert little hands began massaging the kinks out of Thelma's back just as she'd seen her mother do with her father when he had a bad night.
That first innocent kiss on the back of the neck before she left was accompanied with, 'Oh, please don't bother to get up, Thelma. It's late and I have to run."
But then the next Monday Thelma greeted Mildred with a bear hug and a kiss on the forehead And on Wednesday they sat holding hands while they recited memorized material from school together.
It was just two days later, during a discussion on sex, that Mildred learned that Thelma was absolutely, com pletely, utterly innocent. She had never even masturbated.
"I haven't the slightest idea what any part of it's like," Thelma put it, her big round eyes making it a true statement not to be questioned. "And I don't see how I'm ever going to learn."
"Let me teach you, darling," Mildred suggested. She had read up on the subject, had learned a little from heavy necking on dates when boys' fingers had found their way up under her skirt.
With an almost comic, clinical innocence, the big girl lay back on her bed. her skirt up, her legs apart, while Mildred bluffed the role of the skilled lesbian. She knew where she loved to caress herself and have boys touch her. She did that as best she could approximate it to Thelma. There was curiosity at first, then a sense of awakening and learning, and then it was a special sort of love between Thelma and Mildred, Mildred's calculated and pre-planned: Thelma's not quite as innocent as it seemed. "After all." she told herself, "I don't really have any alternatives. What boys have even asked me for dates?"
With the passage of just two years, Mildred had penetrated into the Garrison family to the point that she rarely saw her folks. Mr. Garrison gave her an after-school job as a file clerk and she had learned enough about the furniture business to make a fair interior decorator when she was just seventeen. Thelma, a year older, had become one of the firm's designers even wb" they were both in college on a scholarship fund Thelma s father had set up expressly to get this opportunity for Mildred.
Even when it came to finding a boy friend for Thelma, Mildred had discovered a way to be useful. Thelma had pointed out the man she wanted. It was a tall, blond young man, very quiet, his features too large and irregular to appeal to Mildred.
"Are you sure he's the one you want?" Mildred asked.
"He fits my idea of a husband perfectly," Thelma insisted. "He's taller than I am. I think he could carry his end of a conversation. He looks like a real man who could gratify a woman properly. And yet he's not the sort, I feel, who could walk all over me. I am a strong and competent human being, you know."
Mildred knew. And also she knew that the ties that were already in effect between her and Thelma would be even stronger if she somehow managed to get Eric for Thelma.
Her approach was, to say the least, unconventional.
He lunched in a restaurant near the furniture factory almost every day. He usually lunched alone with a sheaf of columnar pages before him, some firm's business records which Eric read as a musician does the score of a symphony.
Mildred prepared herself well for the occasion, even planting tacks at a logical height in the post outside the booths.
Then she saw him inside and proceeded to walk by. Hardly had she reached the side of his booth, with him paying far more attention to the figures before him than to that walking by, before Mildred deliberately snagged her skirt on the tack and ripped it.
"Oh, dear," she exclaimed and she plumped herself right into the booth with the man.
He looked up startled and then grinned. "Trouble?" he asked.
"My skirt," Mildred said. "I just tore it on that tack outside your booth. And I'm wearing sheer red panties!"
"Sounds like a fascinating problem," he said. "Now I could get you a barrel and a needle and thread if you wished so you could go into the lounge and sew up the rip. Or I could get you less dramatic panties from the department store a few blocks away."
"You're teasing me," Mildred chided him, "and, really, I'm in a most embarrassing situation here. Could you smuggle me to my place where I could change?"
Gathering up his papers, Eric said, "why don't you lunch with me, while you're here, anyway? The crowd will be thinner later....That is, unless the bench is too cold for you."
Mildred managed a shy grin. "What can I say when you're logical?"
'By the time lunch was over, it was a joke between them and Eric had even charged Mildred those panties she was wearing as his taxi fare for taking her home to change. At meal's end, he wrapped his jacket around her and drove her to the little apartment she had all ready for this scene.
She showed him the torn skirt, the sheer red panties, offered him a drink, then another. She gave him the panties as a souvenir of this adventure. Then she called in and explained that she had had an accident and wouldn't be able to get back that afternoon.
Eric followed her cue and made a similar call.
The third drink and they were dancing to the music of Mildred's phonograph and soon Eric, his hands thrilling to the touch of her, his nostrils flaring from her perfume, his eyes dazzled by the sight of her, was unpantsed and in bed. He'd had a lot to drink. Mildred was exciting and knew how to gratify him.
It was three weeks later that Mildred arranged for the young interne whose home she had helped decorate and who found her charming to join her in her game. He called Eric at work and asked him to drop by his office that evening. Mildred had even arranged for the black lettering to be pasted in pressure-sensitive letters on the door to make it convincing, that he was a doctor.
"I can't say positively," the interne told Eric, "but should not be surprised if Mildred were pregnant. My first tests seem suspicious."
"Can we get this taken care of medically?" Eric asked. "She's so very young, you know."
"I know," the interne said drily. "If I were you, I'd either decide right now that I wanted to marry her or else get me another wife fast as protection." He studied Eric gravely. "And I'd go the latter route."
When Eric asked why, the young medico told him that there was alcoholism and insanity in Mildred's family and that chances were slim that any children she had would be normal."
"But I don't have any fiancee or anything," Eric said, his voice taking on a desperate tone.
The interne leaned forward and became a co-conspirator. "I haven't given Mildred the results of these findings yet," he confided. "She said something about having a wealthy friend, Thelma Garrison, she wanted me to meet. I'm engaged or I'd have taken her up on that. Thelma's a big girl, a really big one, but smart and unpregnant.
Eric received an invitation to dine at the Garrisons that week-end with Mildred there. Mildred had coached Thelma well. She played up her height with high heels and a dramatic pair of flaring black velvet hostess trousers and a wide-sleeved, deep-necked cream satin blouse that showed her magnificent breasts in a gleaming fabric nest. Make-up, long earrings, perfume were all part of Mildred's stage management.
She planned each subsequent date, where Eric was to take Thelma and what he was to do, what Thelma was to wear and what she was to say.
Everything to almost the point where she was the coxswain calling the stroke the first time they went to bed!
The picture in the paper, the wedding, the marriage, the sense of safety that Thelma presented to Eric and then, when he found that months went by without Mildred looking any bulkier, the sense of having been had. It was a marriage of inconvenience.
And in his relationship with Thelma it was a weakness that he showed alongside her strength, a sense of being taken by her at her will and pleasure. He was a thing she possessed as she possessed skill in designing furniture, in selecting flitches of veneer and sections for carving and solid planks for feature treatment, as she possessed physical strength superior to his and professional authority dwarfing his as bookkeeper with the title of controller for the furniture factory.
In bed, Thelma assumed the dominant role, mounting her husband whenever she chose, playing with his breasts to arouse him, forcing his head down between her legs, making him shave with a depilatory as a woman does rather than with a razor. It was soon apparent to Thelma that Eric hadn't married her entirely by choice. From that moment on, she dedicated herself to making his life miserable.
"I saw these nightshirts on sale," she told him one night, "and decided you should start wearing them instead of pajamas so that I could get at you more easily when I wanted you, dear." Thereupon she handed him a long-sleeved, high-necked black satin garment.
"But this is a woman's nightgown!" Eric protested.
Thelma pretended to examine it again and said, "So it is, Apparently the salesgirl mare a mistake, Well, I want you to wear it all the same, dear. They're not exchangeable. And I bought several."
Then she made him put it on and teased him through it so that he had an instant erection.
"Apparently; you like women's things, dear," she said. And then she sprayed him with her perfume and put a matching satin nightcap on his head.
That was the start. Soon she was requiring him to wear women's panties instead of men's shorts. She chose them for their tactual satisfaction, squishy-feeling pink or tearose rayon bloomers; gleaming black nylon long-legged panties, bargains after the mini skirts came out; pretty, flagrantly feminine things in the most fem inine of colors. Eric protested. Thelma punished him whenever he resisted any of her demands by putting him into what she termed "a new type of cage."
These were incredibly ingenious and always they caused him to be in a position where his head was buried under Thelma's skirts, his tongue in her chalice, unable to withdraw his head, compelled to gratify her without any reciprocal gratification as his most severe punishment.
What were these devices? There was a double-skirted dress, through the space between them in which Eric as compelled to go, his head at an opening exactly positioned. Now wide ribbons passed from where they were stitched securely inside the underskirt and passing through to the outside where they could be tied in big, beautiful bows. Thus Eric's shoulders and arms were tied in place; his head was in a fixed position; he could only lap at his wife's crotch, kneeling in subjection before her, his body trapped between layers of gleaming, heavy silk.
There was a dog collar riveted to the inside of a short leather skirt so that when it was padlocked around his neck and the skirt was chained around Thelma's waist, Eric could only submit once again to his ordeal of gratifying her but not himself.
There was a huge pair of red faille bloomers with a window in the front through which Eric's head went and then a ribbon was drawn around the window, pulling the fabric around his neck securely.
She had special panty hose made so that they fitted both her legs and body and his head. Handcuffs, chains, leather double-cuffs, and many other unusual implements held his hands useless. One of Thelma's favorites was to sew his hands between two thicknsess of heavy silk and then shape the material around Eric's body so that his hands were securely attached to his own crotch, or his breasts or rump, but his mouth was hers to command.
A dozen ingenious devices were Thelma's and, owning the furniture factory as, to all intents and purposes she did, she had no difficulty crafting for her use on Eric, stock? and pillories. Or, a favorite of hers, a big, padded board through holes in which were locked Eric's head and wrists. Thelma frequently made him kneel before her in this while she put her legs over the pillows and threw her full silken skirt over his head.
Mildred was soon made a party to these activities and Thelma took pleasure in parading the latest degradation she had conceived for Eric before her friend. They made him wear skirts whenever he was in the privacy of their home and called him Erika.
Was it any wonder, when Mildred first conceived the idea of mate-swapping years later, that she frequently chose Eric as her toy; she understood his weaknesses and training so thoroughly.
Charlie was different. He was a big man; not tall, but big. He was considerably cider than Thelma and Mildred, by some twelve years. But there was about him an aura of authority, of decisiveness, of strength that they just couldn't link to an older, plumpish man whose hair was a bit thin on top.
He had come walking into the little studio Mildred shared with two other interior decorators, an older, brilliant faggot and a hat-wearing, positive, arty woman. "I need an office done professionally to impress my clients," his large bass voice boomed.
His statement was made and left lying there, flat, almost as though he'd just spat on the floor.
"You're an attorney, then?" the faggot suggested.
"An architect," the arty woman proclaimed.
"Okay, buddy," Mildred said, talking out of the corner of her mouth, "what's your racket and how much you fixing to spend?"
"I pick you," Charlie said, his fat, strong finger touching her on the tip of her pert little nose. "I'm a liquor wholesaler and I dabble a little in prime meats for restaurants, the high-class, syndicate-controlled ones. I need a place that's a good front for whatever else I want to go into. You know, walnut paneling-and don't mean paper made to look like wood. Dark, rich, copper, brass and pewter, leather and wood and fine books and a good liquor set-up and maybe something green growing."
"Hell," Mildred told him, "you're a better decorator than any of us. You're more sensitive than you admit, too, Charlie Greco. So let's start out with me mainly a wholesale connection for you and see what I can shake you down for."
They left. "Well," the faggot said, "I'm certainly happy that ruffian didn't choose me. That's the sort of client I could live a long, happy lifetime without."
"He looks like a better stud than that to me," the arty lady said. "Wonder what he'd be like in bed."
"Migawd," the faggot exclaimed, "do you like your men butch too?"
Mildred finished the office and got a bonus of a thousand dollars. That night she asked Thelma's father about Mr. Charles Greco.
"Greco?" Mr. Garrison said, rolling the name about on his tongue like a drop of wine. "Interesting fellow. Graduated from two universities and taught in one of the colleges. Humanities, I believe. Then he heard of some student being rejected because of his father's criminal record. The boy's grandfather had been a bootlegger and his father was doing something in international monetary exchanges.
"Charlie Greco insisted that the gangster was a finer man for admitting who and what he was than was the Dean of Admissions and the president of the school for their visiting the sins of the father on the son. Greco even went to work and got a conviction set aside for the student's father.
"He went into pinballs and slot machines next, the numbers racket, liquor, muscling meats into the syndicate-controlled restaurants. Somehow neither cops nor competitors dared touch him. Once two men came to take him for a ride or maybe just a discussion with one of the bosses of the rackets. Both simply disappeared.
"When Charlie Greco changed; he changed completely!"
"I want to marry him," Mildred said. "Is he married?"
"He was once, many years ago when he was still on the faculty. But his wife drowned the summer before he changed so completely."
That was when Mildred set her trap.
"Charlie Greco?" the veteran member of the university faculty scowled at the name, then brightened. "Oh yes, the egghead who turned into a beetle-brow. I recall him. Lovely person until he decided to become a caricature of a toughie. Married a beautiful student we both had. I recall her; always wearing a bright silk scarf around her head or her neck. She must have had a hundred ways of wearing those big, heavy, bright silk scarves."
"Greco? Did you say Charlie Greco?" the old wholesale meat market operator was looking at her coldly. "An astute man. Hard. I did business with him. That's all I choose to tell you."
"Can't you tell me anything about him and women?" Mildred pressed. "I find him extremely attractive and would like to know what it is that excites him."
"He had a pretty wife. Used a special perfume that I don't mind admitting got through to me even at my age. I got some for my wife, but it wasn't the same effect. 'Seduction and Enslavement' was its name."
She had systematically gathered a dossier on his weaknesses, interests, favorite topics, foods, drinks, other apetites. In sex, it soon became evident, he liked variety but his women had to have certain common demominators.
"Okay" Mildred Sweeny said to herself, "if that's the way the game is played, I'll play it that way to win."
Charlie Greco received a letter in the mail, a passionate, sensual letter filled with invitation and promise and scented with Seduction and Enslavement.
Charlie Greco received a phone call, a sensuous, thrillingly vibrant voice, promising him pleasures beyond his wildest dreams.
Charlie Greco received a photograph of Mildred wearing a gorgeous silk scarf knotted on one shoulder, a short skirt, high-heeled shoes, the package scented with Seduction and Enslavement, and an inscription: "Passionately yours, Mildred."
Charlie Greco called Mildred for a date.
She saw that he was driving without his seat belt fastened. She snuggled over to him, and fastened his seat belt around the two of them. Her perfume, the proximity of her silken allure, the knowing way her hands explored him all had him panting and wanting in minutes.
They were driving along the water's edge, the moon rippling over its surface. She was sitting on his lap. She threw her scarf around his neck as well as her own, their mouths locking in a hot kiss, tongues entwining, hands exploring.
Now his was under her skirt and hers was inside his fly and he was hungering and ready for her.
"Marry me," Mildred commanded.
"I'd be cheating on you in two months," Charlie Greco said.
"Good enough. I'll help you. Now marry me."
"Wife, you just made yourself a deal."
Then she slid over on her back, pulling him over her with the scarf they had around their necks. And immediately Charlie knew that he had no occasion to regret that decision.
CHAPTER THREE
Emily Holt worshipped her father. Several days after school, she would go to his shoe store "to visit," and sometimes he would take her to the nearby chocolate shop for a fluffy, whipped cream-decorated soda.
These were important visits for her. He was big, handsome, impressive-looking to the shy little girl.
Then there was the day of the big PTA conference when the children were given the afternoon off. One of the clerks saw her and said, "Your father's pretty busy in his office today, Emily. Why don't you come back in a couple of hours."
"Oh he'll be glad to see me," she assured him with the confidence a 15-year-old beauty possesses.
The office door was locked. She knew there was a small window through which her father looked occasionally to see when the floor traffic was heavy enough to require him and to watch what was rung up on the register. She peeked through that window. The curtain was drawn.
But then a current of air from inside lifted the curtain for a moment and Emily saw her father, naked, atop a buxom customer, her plump legs encircling him, her blouse open, her skirts high, and her heels drumming on the base of his rump.
The curtain fell back again and, though Emily watched for a long time, no more cooperation was given her by the breeze. But that was enough. .
Stiffly she walked out the door of the store. The clerk was busy with a customer. In a dime store she bought a rubber hot dog and some vaseline. In the basement at home she undid her blouse, pulled up her skirt, put on black silk stockings and a pair of her mother's highheeled shoes. She lay on her back on a bench in the game room, her legs encircling an imaginary lover, while the rubber hot dog substituted for a big, handsome man. She even drummed her heels after awhile, after the thrill was beginning and the excitement was there.
But there were tears in her eyes while she did it.
Her fingers were light and gentle later as she searched herself for pleasures. She experimented with many devices, with a rubber filled with plasticine, with a bicycle handlebar grip, with a dozen devices, and always she was on her back, her heels drumming, the black silk stockings a part of the costume of pleasure, and the dream of a big. handsome man in her head.
It wasn't until college that she saw Gary Worthington, then a Junior, and she was a freshman. Physically he was the dream man she had always imagined. He would grab her, take her, enjoy her, do the wonderful things to her that her father had done to that buxom customer that day in the store. Of this she was certain.
From the women's dormitory to the lab it was a short, half-block walk. Gary had seen Emily, sensed the worship in her eyes, felt the need for this sort of appreciation. He was waiting when she came out, waiting with his big, colorful golf umbrella.
The library was three blocks away. Gary knew Emily had a lab class that morning. "May I escort you to your next class?" he asked.
"I was just on my way to the library," she said, looking up with violet eyes through long, natural lashes.
"Great," he said, grinning broadly. "That's just where I was heading."
They made a date for the next Epworth League weekend outing that day.
She wore his pin after that week-end.
They were married the day after he graduated.
A pretty little bride, sweet, gentle and adoring.
A big, handsome groom, self-confident and impressive.
A comfortable, king-sized bed.
The drinks had been strong and the music lively, the dancing had been spirited and the good fellowship plentiful.
Now Emily put on the beautiful white crepe gown with the lacy trim. Her hair was combed and brushed out, long and gleaming. She lay on the silk sheet, waiting while Gary shaved and showered, deodorized and brushed his teeth noisily.
He climbed in bed, kissed her, clambered atop her, pulled up her gown. She lay waiting, excited.
He knelt in the bay between her legs and began playing with himself, trying to get himself aroused. Emily gently took it into her own hands and began massaging it. Gradually it firmed up.
With sweet understanding she put her hand behind his neck and bent him over, fed it into her, squeezed him with her body. Awkwardly, Gary took about eight strokes, then he pressed against her hard and she felt the fluids quaking into her body.
He rolled over on his side, trailing a stream of lovejuice across her leg and gown and his own leg and the sheet. In three minutes he was sound asleep, snoring heavily.
Sadly the new bride went to the closet and opened her suitcase. Deep in the pocket in a corner she found a rubber hot dog from a dime store. Resignedly, she raised her gown to finish what Gary had started.
He was impressive looking. The company liked the way he got results. Promotions came, and then moves to larger cities, fresher, more inviting territories. Emily, shy and withdrawn, was a stranger long after Gary had made many friends there in town.
AB she had was Gary-and his insensitivity. "You know, Emily," he said one day, "you have interesting-shaped breasts. They're sort of cone-shaped. Different from other girls'."
"Have you examined many girls' breasts, Gary?" she asked her husband.
"Oh, sure, dozens of them. Some are like a spaniel's ears and some like cantaloupes. Some are almost the size of eggs and some are like orange halves. They're all sorts, floppy and sticking out, small and large, firm and flabby. Why if there is any part of the anatomy more varied than breasts, it would have to be ... "
He caught the look in her eyes then. His voice became less expansive and positive. "Of course all that research was before we were married, dear," his voice trailed off lamely.
"Of course," Emily said drily.
When her mother came to visit, she had maneuvered it so that they took on the guest bed and she could have the excuse of the squeaky spring to avoid his rabbit gratification that always had left her wanting and unfulfilled.
After Gary had left for work, Emily and her mother were sitting in the dinette having coffee.
"How is he as a lover, dear?" Emily's mother asked. "Fine."
"I've seen more enthusiasm over going into brain surgery," Mrs. Holt said shrewdly. "Can't you get some prostitute to come train him for you? Maybe join one of those switch and skip outfits that you always read about as lowering suburbia's morals?"
"Mothers aren't supposed to even think like that," Emily chided the woman.
"Listen, dear, your father and I had a good thing going between us for many a year. And I know that I didn't get all his business either. He was the world's least competent liar. Still that hanky panky of his taught him some things I benefited from, surely enough to offset the disadvantages of that time he caught crab lice and I had to soak in Blue Ointment, and make him do the same. How he hated it!"
Weeks after, Emily thought about her mother's advice and then she went downtown, looked on the newsstands for particularly lurid tabloid weeklies with national circulation and brought some of the more flamboyant home.
"Here's an interesting thing, Gary," she said as he finished a can of beer and shut off the TV set. "It tells about how the couples in an organization teach each other all sorts of sexual tricks so that they're better equipped to gratify their own husbands or wives. It even lists where you can get in touch with people like that. I wonder how such people get along after they've been playing around that way. Do you think it would be better or worse?"
"It all depends on whether their mothers-in-law drive them from their own beds, I'd say," Gary remarked, bitterly.
Emily rose, putting the paper on the footstool before him so that he could at least see its name. Then she sat on his lap and put her arms around his neck, trailing her full silken housecoat across him. She kissed him and started to go. Then she returned and picked up the paper. "I'd better throw this out," Emily said, "before you get any ideas and become an even worse Don Juan."
"Yeah," Gary said, archly, "get rid of that junk."
She noticed in the mirror how his eyes followed the paper in her hand rather than her own shapely behind.
If Gary had had it etched on his forehead, the time of his first infidelity couldn't have been more evident to Emily. Not that his technique had improved appreciably. It was mainly that it took him so long to complete the act that he used to finish in a minute or two that Emily actually had time to engineer her own orgasm.
"You get better at this all the time, darling," she had told him. "I have the feeling that you're on your way to becoming a great lover."
"Think so, dear?" he asked, pleased with himself. She saw the way he glanced at the mirror, actually giving himself a look of congratulations at having accomplished his duplicity this ably. Her reaction mingled amusement with annoyance and pity.
It was several weeks before she suspected Gary of playing around again. That was the time his laundry showed one pair of shorts missing-the count of undershirts and socks being one number higher. He'd fallen asleep as scon as he got home the one evening that week, claiming to have caught a cold, but his handkerchiefs were untouched and there wasn't a sign of sneeze or sniffle.
And hen she found pair of his shorts in the laundry that had a tell-tale area of stiffness in them a week later. Oddly, it was Emily, not Gary, who first made coa tact with-not Mildred, but-Charlie Greco.
She had answered an ad. "Wanted, beautiful girl to serve as receptionist for a big, loud phony in a fancy new office. I need someone to make me look good so my clients will think I'm respectable. Can you pull this off for me? If so, I'll overpay and underwork you. Passes guaranteed only if you appeal to the beast in me."
She was one of forty applicants interviewed for the job in the newly decorated offices. She liked the man who conducted the interview for his rough honesty. He wasn't particularly tall, not nearly as impressive as Gary in his appearance. Yet there was something of quiet authority in the way he spoke that you overlooked his incipient baldness and his tendency toward pudginess. Charlie Greco was all man.
He took Emily's name and address and asked her the conventional questions about her employee skills, shorthand, typing, PBX, bookkeeping. "You're a little light in the experience department, honey," he said. "I hope that's just confined to your office skills."
"If you mean by that do I screw around a lot," Emily said, her violet eyes innocent through their dark fringes, "the answer is I haven't yet, but there may be a time when I want the opportunity. I'll let you know. You're rather interesting."
Still appearing shy and soft-spoken, she gathered up her purse and coat and left. Charlie Greco spent several minutes thinking over that sweet little departing duff before he called in the next candidate. And Emily's application wasn't thrown away after he made his selection!
How did they get together? It was months later. Em fly was in the beauty parlor and she heard a voice in the next booth saying, "You'll find that your husband doesn't like hair that short, Mrs. Greco. I hope you have a few wigs around."
"Listen, darling, before I landed Charlie, I made a study of his special wants detailed enough to rate a Ph.D. if I could do it as a thesis," a woman replied. "I have four wigs, all long-haired. I'm a redhead, blonde, brunette and prematurely gray, and I style them differently every night. That man loves variety!"
Sitting there under the drier, Emily thought of Gary, tearing off his quick ones before he fell asleep, night after night. If Charlie Greco were in the market, at least he'd have some idea of how to pleasure a woman!
When a pretty little brunette, short-haired and sharp-looking came by, Emily asked, "Are you Mrs. Greco?"
Mildred stopped and took in the sight of a pretty face and shapely legs, a well-made figure and violet eyes in dark fringe lashes. "Did you know Charlie at some time in your past?" Mildred probed.
Emily smiled shyly. "Once he interviewed me for a job, but I wasn't experienced enough for him."
"I won't even ask what you mean by that," Mildred said. "I actually believe that you were referring to commercial-I mean office skills."
"He seems a mighty attractive man," Emily said. "You're lucky."
"Why?" Mildred asked, quickly noting Emily's wedding band. "What did you get? Quasi-what'sisname from Notre Dame?"
"No, my husband is the handsomest man I know," Emily said, fishing into her purse and producing a photograph of Gary.
Mildred studied it carefully. "Want to swap some week-end?" she asked.
"Might be fun," Emily sighed. "Your husband has my application in his files, I suspect."
"This time I'll not even ask 'application for what'?" Mildred said. "Whatever it says on the top I'll be suspicious."
Emily smiled shyly. "There are times when I almost feel that there's some foundation for those suspicions."
Mildred took another look at Gary's picture. "Tell me, isn't your greatest rival for his affections him?"
"There are times you'd almost think that," Emily admitted. "But probably the fault lies with me too. I'm really not very experienced."
"That, I can assure you, is something my Charlie knows exactly how to correct," Mildred said.
They exchanged names and addresses and phone numbers just before the operator freed Emily from the dryer and started her comb out.
After Mildred left, the operator asked Emily, "Have you any idea of what you're getting into when you deal with people like Mildred Greco?"
"I think I do," Emily replied. "It could be very interesting."
CHAPTER FOUR
Mildred started it.
She called on Gary Worthington at his office and said that his wife had shown her his picture. She wanted to go to bed with him.
"Well, gee," Gary said, flushing slightly and grinning with embarrassment and delight. "You sure are mighty pretty. This going to cost me anything?"
"Maybe your virginity," Mildred replied, "and the loan of your wife for either my husband or another man in the exchange circuit."
"Look," Gary said, unsure of himself, "I'm not very sophisticated about these things. What do you folks do? Do you have orgies on some sumptuous estate and everyone get blindfolded and take a partner? Or do you toss the car keys in a thing and the women drive off with whoever's keys they get?"
"Oh we get everyone drunk and high on dope and we charge you men up with strong aphrodisiacs and the women are all passionate and beautiful and we rape you in bunches," Mildred said, smiling.
"That sounds so good I wish it were true," Gary said. "But why don't you just invite me? I don't think that a sweet, innocent kid like Emily would go along with anything like this."
Mildred sat up straight thrusting her breasts out at Gary invitingly. She shifted the lovely scarf around her neck to one side. The fragrance of Seduction and Enslavement was wafted to his nostrils. She hiked up the hem of her short skirt slightly showing exciting, darkhosed legs.
"It'll be up to you to sell her on it," Mildred said. "That's your price of admission. Otherwise, forget it, and I mean it."
She pressed against him, stroked his face with her hands, looked deeply into his eyes and drowned him in the pool of hers. Then she walked out and her pratt in its tight skirt wriggled invitingly.
"I'll do it," Gary called after her, "somehow."
"Emily," Gary said that evening, after taking his wife out to an exceptionally fine restaurant and trying to draw her into the conversation more than usual. "I've been thinking how selfish I've been-in bed, I mean. Sex and like that.
"I've not mastered anything new and exciting that will pleasure you, because a man instinctively tries to remain faithful when he has a swell wife like you. And I've not let you have any basis for comparing a man's, I mean my, whatchamacallit with someone else's. You know lots of men aren't as big as me there and some women think it's interesting to be tickled to death that way, you know."
"No, I don't, Gary," Emily said. "Are you trying to tell me you want a divorce or something?"
"Good heavens no, darling," Gary said, his voice rising. "Don't be frightened. I'd not want to do anything like that to you, dear. I just thought it might be sort of fun to let you borrow someone else's husband so that you could have more variety, maybe learn some new experience, things you could show me."
Emily's eyes were grave and wide. "Do you intend to sell my body to strangers, Gary? Are you becoming a white slaver? I didn't know you were a pimp, dear."
"Hell, this isn't commercial," Gary shouted. "I only thought you might want to have a little fun with someone else beside me. I must be pretty dull sometimes, going off so fast and all."
"Did you meet some particularly attractive man you want to give me as a sort of present?" Emily asked, enjoying Gary's frustration behind her mask of serious inquiry.
"Well, not exactly," Gary said, perspiration making his shirt collar stick to his neck. "I met a fellow's wife."
"Oh, so now you want to make me into a lesbian, eh?" Emily reprimanded him. "I should think that, at the very least, so long as you want me to go to bed with another man, you'd get acquainted with that man to make certain that he's reasonably attractive and young and clean.
"Was his wife pretty?"
"Not as pretty as you are," Gary replied.
"Will you lie on your side alongside her on her side and do the same things with her that you do with me as fast and all?" Emily persisted.
"Look, Emily," Gary blurted out, "if you don't want to, you don't have to. I just sort of thought it might add a little welcome spice to your life."
"If either of us catches social diseases, shall we agree to get them fixed up before we pass them along to the other?" Emily asked.
"Alright," Gary shrieked. "I'll get a pencillin shot and get you one after we screw the Grecos."
"What's a Greco like?" Emily asked.
"Let's find out by inviting them over," Gary said. "If you don't like him, the deal is off. If you like him, it's on. Could anything be fairer than that? I'm not even considering my own feelings in this."
"At least you've seen and evidently talked to Mrs. Greco," Emily said. "Now, under these circumstances is it my or your prerogative to invite them for a weekend?"
"It'd be best if you did," Gary said, astonished at his success with this sale. So Emily did.
It was strange at first, these total strangers, sitting in their living room while Gary, the gracious host, served drinks from prepared mixes and Emily fluttered about in a hostess coat offering the Grecos hors d'oeuvres.
They hadn't heard Gary's stock of jokes before and Emily joined their indulgent laughter with nervous little laughs of her own.
She looked at Charlie Greco now, this close, this manly, with some apprehension. With a wife as beautiful, knowledgable and sophisticated as Mildred, what would he want her for? She could even understand Mildred being attracted to Gary, because he was big, bass and handsome, and Gary's finding Mildred an exciting prospect for bed.
"Come on, Emily," Charlie Greco said, "let's go for a nice, long walk and get better acquainted."
Mildred went into the bedroom with Emily while she changed. She sprayed Emily with Seduction and Enslavement, helped her select a beautiful, full-sleeved white silk blouse and a pretty scarf to wear with it, long earrings, dark hose and high heels, and she shortened the skirt fully four inches before Emily went downstairs to meet Charlie.
Gary looked at his wife and asked, 'How come you don't get yourself up like that for me?"
"Ah-ah, no jealousy or we'll just pack up and leave," Mildred warned him. "If you can't take it, leave it alone."
Gary looked at her, beautiful, sure and appealing, and he found solace in the sight. Then, hardly had Charlie gone out the door with Emily, before Gary saw Mildred coming toward him, slowly, panther-like, and he grinned happily.
"I just decided to take it," he said.
Sunsets do wonderful things to the world. They hang gorgeous abstractions on the walls of the world, the sky, artful works that blend into darkness above, that cast shades even prettier than candlelight on a woman's skin, that make men seem taller and more virile and women more desirable.
Sunsets cast the longest shadows in the most mysterious darkness imagniable. There's a touch of mystery and beauty as you walk through countryside touched with the magic of sunset, and Emily felt it even as she felt Charlie Greco's strong hand at first on her arm, then around her waist, then bringing her to him for a kiss that began as the last rays of light were fading and that ended when total darkness encircled them.
"You're quite a man, Charlie Greco," Emily said, her hands resting lightly on his chest. "You're very exciting."
"Let's head back," he said huskily.
Somehow, as they walked back toward the home she shared with Gary, Emily had the feeling that Charlie was getting more and more like the elder Mr. Holt, her father.
And yet that was what stopped her.
He sensed the withdrawal, contrasted it with the willing surrender he knew through her kiss. He actually was able to trace its cause. "I'm probably the first older man you've ever really considered going to bed with, am I not?" he asked.
In miserable silence, Emily nodded her head affirmatively.
"Something about your father, huh?" he coaxed.
Emily's frozen-faced silence was her assent.
"Then I'd not expect this to be a voluntary decision on your part, darling," Charlie told her. "Here, I'll make it easier for you."
They were in the guest room, the door locked, and he turned to her. Quickly he whipped off her scarf and then he threw her onto the bed, bringing her wrists in back and binding them together with the scarf.
Up-ending her, he slid her panties off of her, wadded them into a tight little ball which he jammed into her mouth and tied in place with his big, clean handkerchief.
Now he slipped her shoes off and swiftly took off Emily's stockings. He unfastened her garter belt, then used the stockings to tie her left leg to the loop in the foot of the mattress and her right leg to one in the side near the foot.
With quick, expert precision, he undid her skirt unbuttoning it and unzipping it. He unbuttoned her blouse at the front and the cuffs. Then he freed her hands, buttoning it and unzipping it. He unbuttoned her blouse at the front and the cuffs. Then he freed her hands, holding her tightly while he pulled the skirt off up over her head and took the blouse off of her. Next came the slip and brassiere.
Now the scarf was used again to tie her wrists together through ojienings in the headboard. Emily was absolutely helpless.
As swiftly and authoritatively as he'd undressed her, he shucked off his own clothing and then lay beside her, drinking in the sight of her beautiful, shapely young body.
"This is a thrill, just looking at you, Emily dear," Charlie Greco said. "To think that you can do absolutely nothing to protect yourself while I do with you whatever I wish! That's wonderful, darling. And, because you're helpless, you can accept no blame whatsoever. You must simply relax and enjoy whatever I decide to do with or to you."
Emily found her heart beating wildly and tenderness in her eyes toward this real man who knew exactly how to handle her. "I will probably have to spank you before I get through with you, Emily," Charlie Greco said His hand was in her nest and he felt the warm, sticky fluids emerging, showing him when he hit themes to which she was responsive.
"In fact, I know that I'm going to spank you, darling, because it delights me to see my handprints in that pretty pale pink bottom of yours," Charlie Greco said. Gagged and helpless, Emily could only feel her heart beating wildly in anticipation of this brutal treatment by this artist at understanding her.
His hands cupped her breasts delightedly, one at a time, and his mouth caught the nipples and worried them, formed a vacuum of delight that made them harden and jut beyond anything Gary had ever been able to accomplish.
Emily was tossing and squirming under this cruel, delicious punishment. Her one leg was freed, permitting her to be turned onto the bed face down, and then she felt Charlie's heavy hand pounding on her bottom, just as her father had once spanked her, making her squirm and suffer and thrill and want all at the same time!
Still holding her face down, Charlie's tongue began at the side of her threat in a vacuum, worked around to the back of her neck, formed a zigzag course down her back, crossing and re-crossing her spine, and then his big, strong mouth did exciting things on the insides of her hips, on the base of her spine, behind her knees.
When she turned again onto her back, he removed the gag. She was gasping and grimacing with want and pleasure.
Expertly, artfully, Charlie Greco stroked the front of this sensitive, responsive beauty. His fingers found her nipples once again, firmed them up by rolling them between his index fingers and the balls of his thumbs.
She was lying back, her lips parted slightly, moistly. Her eyes were feline and beautiful and Charlie Greco began to stroke her belly lightly, softly, gently with his hands. He kissed her forehead, her eyes, and then his hands moved downward, parting her nether lips with sure, knowing fingers, letting his other fingers enter the doorway, lightly, slowly, gently, surely.
High he worked. Well above the mouth of the vessel and yet where the nerves were most sensitive, where the hard core of delight was like a B-B of pleasure, a tiny version of a miniature penis, backed by one finger stroked on the underside by another, sending glorious ripples of emotional response through this helpless, hungering woman. just possessed, sought to stroke the captive's clitoris and thrill it to fulfillment. Her body shuddered with response to his warm, sweet tongue and he felt the gushing white salt-tart fluid coming from her, proclaiming her joy in his mal-treatment of her.
This was no giant tool like Gary's. It was an ordinary length, perhaps a little thicker than most, but he knew how to use it, how to hold its head just within the most responsive area of her person, how to move it slightly, lightly, to bring them both maximum pleasure, how to change the angle of his body in relationship to hers so that he was thrusting upward, downward, stroking the underside of his tool against her, the clitoris of this woman with the hair of his body or the penis itself. There was the sound of a bedspring now, one spring. It squeaked. But in the thrill of fulfillment, neither Charlie nor Emily seemed to care what happened to the silence. Let it be shattered by the sound of the squeaking spring!
Now there was no stopping, no respite to be had. The thrust and withdrawal took on a demanding, steady rhythm of their own. In and out, up and down, circling with the hips and rump, thrusting upward, then downward, with the body angle changing sharply to make certain that the whole sensitive area of this woman felt the hard, positive stroke of this man as she lay on the bed, bound by the wrists and ankles, compelled to let him do with her whatever he wished.
He brought her to fulfillment three times, then four. The sound of the springs shattered the night with its constant reminder that here was a mating couple. And Emily found a strange satisfaction in realizing that Gary was probably hearing this sound of action that had been denied him in the past. The insensitive, self-centered oaf!
"Charlie, you're quite a man," Emily said. "I only wish there were some way you could give my husband a short course in giving a woman satisfaction."
"I'm afraid that Mildred will be a better teacher for him than I could be," Charlie said. "I find the joy of a woman like you such a rare and wonderful privilege that if I do anything right, it's the inspiration you give me rather than anything I bring to you."
Emily laid back, happily drinking in these words of chivalry, her whole being vibrant and alive and thrilling to the knowledge she had gained through this understanding, artful man.
He was driving into her faster now, faster than before. She was able to work her wrists free, fingering the knot in the scarf until it was loose.
Now she reached around his neck with those freed hands of hers, pulled his face down to hers where she could kiss him on the mouth and let her tongue find the insides of his mouth again. There was the feeling of her breasts against his chest, the delight of squeezing him tightly between her suddenly-wiser thighs.
The scarf stroked his cheeks and rested around his neck somehow now. Her hands came down and caught him behind the rump, pulling him into her deeply while she squirmed her pleasure and felt her inner muscles grabbing and wringing him, making him feel the joy she took in his physical presence.
And then he had to let it all flow, had to discharge his huge, demanding load into the woman whose response to his assault was so total, so thrilling. Deep inside her he stopped while his body shook with the powerful emotions of the total orgasm.
"God, what a woman you are!" he gasped in pleasure.
"And you, Charlie Greco, are quite a man," she whispered. The sincerity of the compliment was inescapable. "Thanks, Charlie. That was almost my first and certainly my most satisfying series of orgasms."
"There'll be more," he assured her. "From me, from others, even from that pretty boy you married. He has a lot of learning to do, I suspect from what you tell me. He'll learn it."
Tenderly he untied her ankles. Then he fell asleep, his body cupped behind hers, his hand on her breast.
In the silence of the night, Emily kept on wriggling, a reminder that she had at last known total fulfillment as a woman, in her own right, a taunting of Gary with the continuing, slow, steady squeaking of the springs.
CHAPTER FIVE
"Case goods is the name given furniture that isn't upholstered and isn't bedding. Recently moldings of plastic wood have been replaced with other, similarly-colored simulation of fine carvings, panels, carved medallions and other costly, ornamental touches in the cabinet and furniture field. Today you're likely to find that the supposedly wrought iron grille-work on your television cabinet is plastic as is the wood, the gold escutcheon plate and the other details.
"Even the veneer, bonded to the composition wood base or the standard plywood interlayers is bonded with the modern successors to urea formaldehyde and phenol formaldehyde which were our first great bonding materials when plywood came into its own."
The big, handsome woman addressing the Society of Plastic Engineers on how their field could better serve the furniture one was absolutely self-assured, certain of her topic, her control over her audience and herself. Notes were being taken at frantic speed. Faces in the audience were turned up toward Thelma, fascinated, as she spun for them a picture of rich, ever-unfolding markets.
"While the most common fibers in the indoor-outdoor carpeting in use today, such as the Ozite Town 'n Country, are the olefin vectras, we must also recall that others, such as 3-M's Tartan and the U.S. Rubber Company's are pure plastic products.
"Transparent plastic furniture and blown up bubbles for pillows and upholstered pieces have come in and chromium tubing, the insulation, thin-wall material, now in refrigerators and ranges, foamed and sturdy. Today Borg-Warner is rapidly gaining acceptance for Cryolac. Gentlemen, the home of tomorrow will be almost entirely constructed of plastic!
"It will be your imaginations, your ingenuity, your technological progress that will bring the color, the beauty, the economy, the tactual satisfactions and the efficiency and cleanability of plastic totality to the American home of tomorrow."
At the back of the room Mildred sat listening, wondering to what extent she had contributed to this attractive, authoritative performance. Certainly she was responsible for some of the poise shown, the sense of being of personal value. That awkward, oversized kid in school was a far different person from the beautiful Amazon, her hair streaked artfully with silver to give her an aura of more mature authority, her beautiful satin blouse and smart black silk suit looking both feminine and professional. She had done things with her eyes, expertly applied artificial lashes, shiny liner, subtly smoky shading, that gave her an impression of real beauty.
At the projector, Eric sat. He'd caught her every cue, worked the carousel perfectly so that the visual material always matched her verbal presentation, that it was done unobtrusively without obvious bell cues or her having to hold a cord and button in her hand.
The ringing applause, the standing ovation were for Thelma and he took a strange sort of pride in this. After all, he was her husband. It was he, in his own strange way, who had given her the fulfillment she required as a woman, even though Mildred had been an invader in their romance both before and after it was consummated.
He thought back on this morning. What strange contrast it presented to this public appearance!
Thelma's king-sized bed was canopied with pink and gold taffeta ruffles at the top. Her sheets, too, were pink and gold, though satin, and she wore a beautiful green satin nightgown.
Eric's cot was at the foot of Thelma's bed, its sheets and piHow cases of black satin as was the nightgown she made him wear with its matching nightcap. She had caught him once taking off the nightgown at night. Now she insured against this recurring by slipping his arms into a black satin pillow case behind him and secured to his shoulders with wide, sturdy ribbons so that his arms were around in back of him crossing in an elbow square-cornered "U" and unavailable to him.
If he had to go to the bathroom, Eric had to wake up Thelma and ask her permission. Frequently she went there with him, pulling up his gown, directing the stream into the commode, or requiring him to sit down like a woman to urinate.
After that she insisted on wiping him off with a tissue and powdering him. Then she would tuck him back in bed, pulling the sheets up over his satin-covered breasts and stroking his nipples through the thick, smooth layers of voluptuous fabric until he was thoroughly aroused.
Then she would either go back to sleep or make him gratify her orally. On very rare occasions, she would straddle him and mate with him, at her pace, for her pleasure.
This was a special morning, though, so she simply awoke him and freed his arms. While she was bathing in the scented tub she had made him draw for her, he made their two beds, wearing the full-backed, flowing pregnoir of black satin Thelma had selected for him, an old reject of hers, and then he prepared Thelma's breakfast. While she ate it, he bathed and put on the lingerie she had laid out for him.
This was the tough part, having to squirm into this tight, long-line black girdle that pinched his crotch so cruelly and chafed it during the course of the day, then having to put on those opaque black silk opera-length stockings she had found somewhere for him. She always made him keep his legs shaved and she knew how to stir him by stroking those stockings. Yet, whenever she got him aroused thus while he was wearing that cruel girdle, it hurt him!
The long-legged black nylon panties she made him wear were gleaming, beautiful things and he had to admit that he loved the touch of them, but they, too, sensitized his skin to her demanding touch and made his every erection a cruel punishment.
The undershirt he wore had once been a white satin woman's slip. It was cut to the shape of a man's' undershirt so that if he took off his coat it didn't' show through his shirt, and yet the knowledge that there was a woman's satin garment stroking his nipples disturbed him in an exciting way.
While they were still around the home, Thelma insisted that he wear high-heeled women's shoes. In fact his bearing and his leg muscles had become so accustomed to them that he was uncomfortable in ordinary men's shoes, so she, despite his exceptional height, dressed him in elevator shoes when he wore men's apparel on the streets.
Thelma inspected her husband in his lingerie and smoothed out everything for perfect fit, lacing the flaps on the girdle in back so that it tugged him in even more tightly.
"I want you to be alert today, Erika," she said, "so I'm making this so uncomfortable for you that your attention will never waver a second from my talk."
She made him serve as her maid in dressing her, smoothing her hose up her legs with the hands she always made him get manicured in the beauty parlor while she went there for her own treatments, dressing her completely, applying her make-up, using the knowledge she had forced on him in the cosmetician's course she made him take.
He brushed her hair carefully, painstakingly, for he well remembered the time he had snagged it and hurt her. That was the time she had hung heavy fishing sinkers from the ends of clusters of his blond hair so that it was constantly being tugged and then made him jump rope five hundred times!
Then he dressed her, fastening her blouse, fitting her suit onto her, attaching her jewelry, buckling her shoes, even putting her gloves on her.
As he stood back to admire her beauty, she asked, "Why aren't you dressed yet? Come on, Eric, don't delay me."
With frantic speed he changed shoes, put on trousers, shirt, tie and jacket, grabbed up her brief case and the projector, rushed them to the car, ran back for her purse and his wallet, and then he drove her to the meeting and her talk.
Sitting there, listening, admiring, feeling the pressure of the tightly laced girdle, aware of the punishment garments she had made him wear beneath his men's clothing, Eric thought, "What an amazing woman that wife of mine is!" Then he had an afterthought. "But really I'm more her husband than she is my wife. Surely she posseses me more than I do her."
And yet he found it thrilling to see this commanding woman stirring this enormous audience, even though he was in physical misery and excitation.
But there was another member of the audience who looked at Thelma from a less familiar viewpoint. Mil looked at Thelma from a less familiar viewpoint. "Mildred told me that F had to be here," Gary thought, "and so here I am. But why? What do I care about plastics or furniture design that that big woman is talking about?"
Yet, despite himself, he found himself drawn into the meeting, intrigued by the occasional flashing smile, the intelligence in those dark eyes, the very size of the woman and the aura of personal authority she exuded.
The crowd gathered around the podium after the talk and Mildred came up with the blond man who had been working the projector to introduce Eric to Gary. They were almost the same height. Gary was broader-shouldered, stronger, more the extrovert. Eric seemed the more sensitive. "He's the husband of the speaker you just heard, Gary," Mildred said. "Wasn't Thelma magnificent? She's one of my closest friends."
Gary, ever the salesman, assured Thelma's' husband and closest friend that she had been, indeed, magnificent.
Now the crowd around the podium was thinning and the chairman had taken the microphone to make an announcement about the next afternoon session on reinforced plastics and Thelma was working her way through the last few human barnacles to her progress, toward the little group of three.
"Gary Worthington, Thelma Garrison," Mildred said, introducing Gary to her tall friend. "That was her maiden name, too, so when she married Eric, since she was the dominant member of the pair, she made him adopt her name, didn't she, Eric?"
Unblushing, Eric said, "When Thelma insists on any thing, good sense says do it now or she'll make you do it later."
Gary laughed uneasily. "I've always recognized that women had certain superiorities over men, but this is the first instance I've encountered where it seemed to, actually, be physical."
"I am extremely strong physically," Thelma said quietly, "and merciless toward those I defeat."
For some reason Gary's face turned red and his smile seemed to be a frozen thing.
"The reason I brought you here," Mildred told Gary then, "is that you and Emily will be spending next weekend as guests of Thelma Garrison and Eric. It's' their turn with you and, I suspect, you'll learn much that will prove valuable later in life to you. I've briefed Thelma on what I know about you so far from my own experience and what little Emily would tell me. Now I'll be briefing Emily about Eric."
"Wait a minute," Gary said. "That's not fair. Who's going to brief me about Thelma so that I can make like the great lover with her?"
"Thelma will take care of that;" Eric assured him quietly.
Gary had a strange feeling meeting the husband of the unfamiliar woman with whom he was going to go to bed, meeting him with the knowledge that he was going to cuckold him. And then the shock was doubled when he recognized that he, too, would be cuckolded when Eric went to bed with Emily!
To himself, he said, "And, really, Thelma's not my type of woman nor is Eric Emily's sort of man."
But he'd made a deal. He saw no reasonable way to escape it now.
They set their time, place, route. "Anything special you want us to wear or bring?" Gary asked.
"Dress your wife in a leather skirt, wide belt, and high-heeled, high leather boots," Mildred said. "She's going to beat hell out of Eric here and he's going to like it."
Eric's expression was bland. Gary's was shocked.
"And how about me?" he asked, gingerly.
"Just bring me your tender pink and white body," Thelma said. "I have everything else I need."
Involuntarily, Gary shuddered.
"Okay," Gary told her. "I may put up something of a fight for it, because I've had it so long.
"I'll take it when and as I please, I assure you," Thelma said, leading Eric away.
Emily lay abed, stretching cat-like, luxuriating in these stolen hours away from duty, from putting up with Gary's petty vanities and his quick self-gratification. Through her mind coursed memories of that glorious session with Charlie. The skill of the man! The understanding! He knew how to see to it that a woman had pleasure. And yet it wasn't that he was so very well endowed physically; it was that he was all man mentally, that he understood the mechanism of a woman and how to reach her sensitive regions as well as how to pleasure his own!
She thought of the sweetness of being in bondage while such a man worked on her, pleasuring her and himself and relieving her of all sense of responsibility or guilt for anything that went on between them.
And she contrasted it with big, handsome, impressive-looking Gary and Gary came out negatively.
Still there had to be other men in this world. Tall, short, fat, thin, older, younger, with all sorts of special tastes and interests, talents and desires. How much of this was any one person ever to be privileged to learn? Certainly within the restrictive rules of our society, any one prseon's knowledge had to be very limited, so meager as to be infinitesimal compared to all that was available.
"I'd like to know a hundred different men without messing up the values of home life," she insisted aloud to herself. "Then I'd know how to gratify Gary more, how to make him give me more satisfaction, how to live life to the fullest! I'd want them dominant and submissive, dark, blond, bald, every sort, every nationality, every degree of endowment. It'd be fun working up my own rating system for them, giving them various numbers of stars based on their performances, or maybe grades in numbers or letters. Maybe they'd have whole report cards, with desperate grades for their basic equipment, how long they can sustain action, their ability to reach sensitive portions of a woman, their ability to repeat the action, and perhaps something on special skills.
"I've heard about what they call 'going down' on women, where men pleasure them with their tongues. I'd love to have one do that to me, without a scratchy beard of course, just to say to myself I know how it feels. Maybe even Gary will do it."
She dozed off then and Gary returned home, sat beside her on the bed, played with her strangely cone shaped breasts and kissed her. "I'm home, Emily," he cooed softly.
"Bully for you," she said, stretching sleepily. "Knock 'em dead in the field again today?"
"As a matter-of-fact, I wasn't out selling much of this afternoon. I saw an old friend of yours and met a new couple."
Emily was alert now, listening carefully. "Mildred?" she guessed.
"Right, and then the Garrisons. Her maiden name was Garrison and she made him change to it. I guess he's the one who wears the skirt in the family." He laughed then at his own humor.
"Don't laugh, knobby knees, or I'll get you a kilt," Emily said, slipping out of bed and getting a robe from her closet. "Tell me about the couple."
"Big woman. Named Thelma. Tall blond guy named Eric. She evidently has the money in the family and probably the brains. He's quiet. I think she pushes him around something fierce."
"Doesn't sound like either of us is going to do too well this time. You never did give me a reading on Mildred."
"She says I'm square," Gary admitted. "Am I?"
"I don't really know yet," Emily said. "I had the feeling that Charlie Greco was a lot more experienced than you, but if we keep meeting many of Mildred's old friends, that won't be the case a lot longer!"
"Hey, they want you to wear leather boots and a skirt and a wide leather belt and look dominant as all get out," Gary recalled.
"Me dominant?" Emily asked. 'I hardly know how to go about it. Mind if I practice on you a little?"
"As long as you remember that it's just practice," Gary said.
"Then undress this very minute," Emily demanded.
Good-naturedly, Gary stripped off his clothes and stood there naked before his wife.
"Take down my pajama bottoms."
He unsnapped the pale blue crepe pajama trousers at the side and slipped them off of her.
Emily put one foot up on a footstool and beckoned to her husband. "Now I want you to put your tongue in there and stroke the outer, upper side of me with your finger the way you do when we're partying, dear."
"Not me," Gary spluttered. "I don't go that route! What the hell do you take me for, some lesbian or fruit or something?"
Pulling up her pajamas, Emily decided, "You're square, Gary. Real square."
He was wearing an open-necked sport shirt, white to set off his tan, when he arrived at the Garrison home. She walked beside him wearing a short, wide tan leather skirt and matching, high-heeled boots. Her yellow blouse was opened wide at the neck and she had a green and yellow silk scarf knotted to one side, cowgirl fashion, around her neck. On her head was a wide-brimmed Spanish style hat of brown patent leather, the cords from which hung down beneath her chin rather rakishly. She even had on elbow length brown leather gloves and brown silk stockings ran from her boot tops to under her skirt.
Eric looked out the window and licked his lips.
Thelma, beside him, watched the couple approaching their front door. "Go admit them," she commanded.
"Not like this, Thelma, please," Eric pleaded. The short-skirted maid's uniform and the little white-cap on his head, the black mesh hose and high heels, the strong perfume, eye make-up and lipstick still failed to conceal his identity as the projectionist Gary had met at the lecture.
"Alright then, if you prefer to go just dressed in your lingerie without the maid's uniform on top of it, go that way," Thelma said. "But either way go within the next thirty seconds or they'll be admitted to the sight of you sprawled over my knees while I spank you. One, two, three, four...."
"I'll go like this," Eric practically sobbed.
He opened the door while Thelma, in a flowing hostess pajamas with wide-legged pants and a beautifully full-sleeved printed silk top stood well behind him.
"Curtsey when they come in," she ordered.
Eric's face was scarlet.
"How do you do, Mr. and Mrs. Worthington," he said as they entered. Then he curtseied.
"Costume party or something?" Gary asked disapprovingly.
"Punishment," Thelma said. "He incurred my displeasure and so I'm punishing him." She advanced and took Emily's two hands in her own. Smiling, she said, "Emily, I've been looking forward to this meeting. I hope you find it fun."
"Thank you, Thelma," Emily said shyly, looking up at the tall beauty, violet eyes through dark-fringed lashes. "I hope that you'll teach me much that I don't know."
"I'll concentrate my principal teaching on Gary," Thelma said. "You see to it that Eric does anything and everything you tell him to do. You'll find that, generally, he's a very obedient girl, aren't you, Erika?"
"Erika?" Gary exploded. "What in hell is he, a damned faggot?"
"He is a well-trained and submissive husband, Gary," Thelma said. "Would you be less of a man if I called you Geraldine?"
"No, but you'd damned well better not," Gary said.
"Careful, Gary," Eric said. "You're getting off on the wrong foot with her and she can be dangerous."
"So can I," Gary said stiffly.
"Why don't you go with Erika into the guest house, Emily?" Thelma said. "You'll find him pleasant and amenable. Later you'll find Gary just as tractable."
"In a pig's ass you will," Gary snorted as Erika went to the car with Emily for her baggage.
"May I please take off this maid's uniform now that we are alone?" Eric pleaded after they hung up Emily's things in the guest house.
"Not quite yet, please," Emily said. "I never was with a man wearing women's things before. Please tell me why you dress like that or what makes Thelma want you dressed that way. And how does it affect you?"
Heaving a sigh, Erika sat on the footstool facing the easy chair in which Emily sat tall and straight in her leather costume.
"I must confess that I love it now. There's something about the feeling of feminine, perfumed silken things against my body that makes me feel closer to women, whom I simply worship. It's punishment, of course. To be seen like this is most humiliating. A man without his trousers is always at an extreme social disadvantage.
"Thelma makes me wear women's things under my men's clothing even in the business world. I'm in constant terror that I may get hit by a car and have to go to the hospital, or maybe snag my trousers or tear them, or be caught in the lavatory without the door locked or something. How can a man explain that he's wearing things that are obviously women's because his wife makes him?"
"Have you any idea why Thelma makes you wear those things?" Emily asked.
"She's a dominant woman. It puts her at a distinct advantage. At best I could never really pass for a woman. In women's clothing, I'm definitely and obviously inferior."
"And as an inferior, you carry out orders unquestioningly," Emily said, her voice hardening.
Erika's long lashes dropped and threw shadows on his cheeks. "Unquestioningly," he admitted.
"Then keep that woman's outfit on, Erika, and kneel in front of me," Emily said.
She stood now and the meaning of the leather costume was suddenly clear to her. Raising her skirt, she commanded, "Pull my panties down, Erika-with your teeth."
On his knees he pulled the front down, then the hips. On his knees he crawled around in back of her-Emily wouldn't turn around-and he pulled them down over her rump. Soon she could step out of them. Erika knelt there, the panties between his teeth like a well trained dog.
Emily took them from his mouth and slipped them over his head where they hung like a pink smoke ring around his neck.
"Leave those there, Erika, until you have made me have a complete orgasm with your tongue," Emily commanded. To help him remember to hold his head in the right place, she put her left leg through the leg of the panties not occupied by Erika's neck.
His tongue pleasured her again and again, curling upward, supported by expert, gentle fingers that parted the waters and brought the clitoris upward like a prize pearl to be lapped into its finest response.
Clad in his shameful costume, the man-maid served this strange, leather-clad mistress as eagerly as if she were a queen and he her lowliest subject. The feel of the leather against his cheeks, the sweet scent of her, the knowledge that he was granting pleasure to a superior creature inspired him to curl and point his tongue with maximum effectiveness, to probe and pleasure the woman so that soon she was squirming with delight and pulling on his ears, holding him in deeply, guiding his head, flowing sweetish-tart love juices into his vacuum mouth and delighting in the experience.
"Glorious," Emily said as she lay back still in her leather outfit, while Erika, his maid's cap askew and his make-up smeared ana raamg, lay on the bed between her legs.
"Now, Erika," Emily said, "I want you to put on just a woman's blouse and stockings and garter belt-nothing more-and then bring me silken bonds I can use to tie your arms and your legs to the four corners of this bed."
"Are you going to beat me?" Erika asked. "Cut me?"
"Silence, slave," Emily said, her girlish voice belying the positiveness of her statement. "You will know what I will do when I am doing it."
Even with this incertainty of what would happen to him and with Emily far smaller and physically weaker than he was, Erika obeyed and appeared before the woman in a white silk blouse and nylons and garter belt.
"Bind your ankles well," Emily insisted. He used sashes and scarves for this. Then he laid back and she lashed his wrists to the two upper corners of the bed so that he could do nothing.
His erection was firm and impressive.
Now Emily took her panties and made a nest of them around Eric's basket and his tool. She played with it with her fingers until it was as hard as she could envision it becoming, and then her lips encircled it, her tongue stroked its base, a vacuum was formed strong in her mouth.
"Tell me when I'm pleasing you by saying hot' or 'cold' 'dear," she told Eric. Thus, with her man-subject completely helpless, herself fully gratified, Emily began her research into the right way to give a man oral gratification.
Much was instinctive, such as the exact spot at the base of the head where the principal sensitivity reigned. Such as the use of her hands and the soft, fragrant silk to supplement the work of her lips and mouth and tongue, such as the letting of her long, pretty, scented hair stroke his bare belly as she studied the art of pleasuring him.
Much he taught her, as not to squeeze too tightly, and not to work too deeply on the shaft; not to let her teeth scrape and to fondle his nipples through the silk blouse he wore.
Then she felt it coming, felt the shock of spasms in her hand and in her mouth, far more specifically and personally than when she had been receiving men Gary and Charlie-in the customary place.
The fluid flowed and she caught it, swallowed it, enjoyed the knowledge of a new art she was just starting to master.
When she was through she looked down at the contemptible, helpless, effeminized creature with whom she had been experimenting-and the expression of gratitude and love she saw in Eric's eyes more than compensated her for the experiment.
Quickly she released him from his bonds and he brought her some strong, hot coffee with which to rinse out her mouth.
"You may dress as a man now if you wish, Eric," Emily said. "And thanks for the lesson."
"Would you like me better dressed as a man?" he asked.
"Frankly, I think you look fascinating like that, but you should put on panties and a skirt and high-heeled shoes," Emily divined by studying his face. The happiness he showed indicated that she had guessed correctly.
Then he re-joined her, his make-up and perfume freshened. He brushed out her hair and put the hat on her again. He used a suede brush to restore the nap to her skirt.
"Now come with me," Eric said. "Let's peek in and see what's been going on between your husband and my wife."
"Is that part of the rules of this game?" Emily asked.
"Thelma told me to tell you to come when we finished so that this whole thing can be as instructive to you as possible."
"Then let's go," Emily said.
CHAPTER SIX
In the main house, Erika led Emily in the back door, up the stairs, to the big, mirrored bedroom with the thick carpeting and the still thicker area rugs. Mirrors -lined the walls and the ceiling of the bedroom and Emily noticed that, at intervals, all around the room, these were two-way mirrors, ones that could be seen through but the viewer could not be seen by those on the other side of the mirror.
"This light will let Thelma know we're here," Erika whispered. "She may want to show you what he's learned so far."
The light flicked on and off quickly. Emily saw Thelma's glance dart that way and then back to the thing that was her husband.
"Do you still think you can whip me wrestling, Geraldine?" Thelma asked.
"You must be the strongest woman in the world," he sighed. "I just didn't have a chance with you."
"Well, come on then, one more try and this will be the last, Geraldine," Thelma said.
"Don't call me that, damn it!" Gary barked, his eyes blazing. "Just look at yourself in the mirror," Thelma said, holding Gary so that Emily could get a good look at him. His lip was swollen and one eye was a deep purplish color beneath it. There was a cut on his jaw and then she turned him to show deep welts and discolorations along his back where he had obviously been bound and whipped!
She looked at this in wonder Could any woman, even Thelma, have been strong enough to defeat Gary this totally? Well, she'd soon see.
Gary sighed, then he turned toward Thelma and, lowering his head and shoulders he charged her in his heaviest-shouldered, thundering-head football style. Emily, watching the charge, had a mental image of Thelma stepping to one side like a bullfighter and either hitting Gary on the back of the neck as he went by, driving him to the ground, or luring him to hit into the wall with a sickening crash.
But she was wrong. Thelma squatted and braced herself, caught the full brunt of his charge in her hardened stomach and, as he crashed into her, she brought up her powerful arms from under his body, rose and literally tossed him over her shoulder!
Gary sailed through the air and landed on his back.
Instantly Thelma spun and knelt on his shoulders. He tried to swing his legs backward, to clamp her head between his legs. She caught them and bent them double, catching his legs under her arms. He was trapped beneath her now.
Her hands crept to his crotch as she held his legs in her armpits and now she had a strong grip on him high between his legs.
"Eat me, Gary," Thelma commanded, "or I'D really make you into a Geraldine!"
"I just can't," he wailed from beneath her.
Thelma winked toward the window where she knew Emily and Eric were watching. She gave him one intense squeeze. "I'll do it!" Gary squealed. "I'll eat you!"
Eagerly he buried his face beneath the silken crotch of the big woman, nuzzled his way through the part in her hostess pajamas to where his nose and mouth had entrance to her person. Now his head disappeared completely in the silken trousers of her costume and Thelma eased the pressure on his center.
Inside there was much movement, much feeling of energy being expended, and Thelma gradually released her prisoner as he addressed himself to his new task She let his legs go forward, then slowly moved-her body forward on her hands and knees as his face came up behind her, followed her and now he was a creature on his elbows, his face between Thelma's legs, lapping and sucking and probing with his tongue while she knelt on the thickly carpeted floor, her weight resting on knees and elbows.
She winked toward the mirror and touched thumb and forefinger, indicating that Gary was learning his lesson well.
Then she was standing and he was on the floor below her.
She walked across the room. "Crawl to me, Geraldine," Thelma commanded. "Crawl on your elbows, knees and belly like a short-legged lizard."
He squirmed rapidly across the floor in this degraded, humiliated position to her feet.
"Suck my toes, Geraldine, one at a time," the dominant woman ordered.
There was no fight left in Gary, no protest. He took off Thelma's golden slipper and grasped her foot lovingly. Then, one toe at a time, he sucked and lapped and Thelma rocked back on her heels and beamed down, watching her latest victim.
He did it to both her feet and then, at her command, put her slippers back on. "Finish undressing, Gary," she ordered. "Strip completely while you're lying there on the floor. I want your body here before me as a little offering."
Emily watched, a grim smile, thin-lipped, and saw her arrogant husband humiliated by this authoritative woman. She saw him wriggling out of his clothing, saw his back, saw the stripes and she looked at them in wonder.
"Stand up here and let me see them," Thelma commanded. She aimed his back at the mirror and put a spotlight on it so that Emily could see even better. Then she proceeded to smooth some ointment on the back, ointment that evidently stung fiercely, for Gary was howling from the pain of it.
"Now, Gary, recite a little something for me, eh?" Thelma commanded.
"Women are my superiors-all women," Gary said. "Whatever you order, that I must do. The same applies to Emily and Mildred. I have no inhibitions or conscience, principles or taboos of my own. If you decree it, it is alright with me."
Thelma smiled as he repeated this message she had made him memorize while Emily and Erika were having their adventures in the guest house. Now in the corridor outside the mirror, Emily was standing behind Erika, stroking his nipples, watching the scene of her husband in total degradation with growing excitement.
"Is there any way I can communicate with Thelma from here and tell her things I'd like for her to teach Gary?" she asked.
"There's a microphone on the other side," Eric replied. "When we built this place, we thought it would be fun to use it for calling the shots and giving directions to the participants in wild parties and orgies. You may use it later if you wish, but I'd observe for awhile if I were you-and I love what you're doing to my nipples."
Silently Emily watched the humiliation of her husband as she toyed with the mate of the humiliation.
"Beg me to call you Geraldine," Thelma commanded.
Gary stood before her now, naked in red-faced silence. Thelma's knee came up suddenly, brutally, right into his middle and Gary doubled over in pain. She stood back, watching him while the agony subsided to a dull ache. "Shall we repeat that, my dear?" she asked.
Through pain-tautened throat, Gary said, "Please, Thelma, call me Geraldine."
"Tell me you Want to wear some symbol of your new, girlish name," Thelma ordered, "and that you'll wear whatever I pick out for you as that symbol."
"Please let me wear something to symbolize my new, girlish name," Gary echoed, "and Geraldine will wear whatever you pick out for her."
Slowly Thelma began to undress standing there before the cowed and cringing Gary. She was wearing a beautiful pale green brassiere, a large confection of satin and lace. As she took it off she beckoned Gary over to her and had him slip it on. She brought out a small hand riveter of the sort leather workers use and fastened the brassiere to him in back with it. She shortened the shoulder straps by the same device. He couldn't take it off without tearing it. "You'll find all the seams reinforced with woven wire," Thelma assured him. "I left openings enough for the padding to go in, though, Geraldine."
She took off her bright green silk panties and handed them to him. "Put these in the left cup, Geraldin."
She went to a drawer and brought out a similar pair in red. "These go into the starboard side, dear." And, dutifully, Gary inserted the panties against his nipples inside the cups, giving himself a surprisingly feminine jutting appearance in a trice!
Emily watched the transformation of her husband with fascination and a sneer.
"He'll be a lot different at home after this," she told Eric. "We girls understand, don't we?"
"He'll understand women much more from their own standpoint," Eric said earnestly.
"Science fiction," Thelma said, "has been showing people so small they could get into the bloodstream of other people and fight antibodies. It's been changing people to giants and all sorts of other monsters so that they could see things from a fresh viewpoint. Now that you're Geraldine, I want you to see what's inside a woman, simplified and enlarged to where even you can understand."
There was a frightened silence on Gary's part.
Then Thelma pushed a button and one of the mirrored panels slid to one side and showed what appeared to be a strange configuration in flesh-like material. It appeared to be a small cave. The entrance had huge, rubbery lips sealing it. At the top was a small fleshy sort of stalactite hanging down. Thick bushy hair was above and below and to the sides of the cave, but the hair was so large it was represented by telephone wire.
"Go ahead, Geraldine," Thelma commanded, "part the lips of the big woman and look inside."
Trembling and perspiring, despite pleasant temperatures, the big man with the striped back, the bruised face, and the padded green brassiere on, pulled the rubbery curtains aside, revealing a deeper pink interior and isolating the stalactite at the top from the curtains on the side.
"Go on, Geraldine," Thelma insisted, "put your head inside."
He obeyed and she pulled a switch which caused the lips to inflate. He was caught inside. Pinioned by the arms, by these swelling, rubbery lips. At the same time the musky scent traditionally associated with this area, was sprayed inside the opening by Thelma pushing a button. Eric explained to Emily what was happening.
Now the big woman took some raw liver warmed to room temperature from a large bowl and wrapped it around Geraldine's penis. Quickly, expertly, she worked the wet, smooth, factually hard-to-define meat back and forth over the organ of the trapped man until, even from where she stood, Emily could tell that Gary was having a massive orgasm.
Then Thelma took it all away, wiping Gary with a big, velvety towel.
"He'll identify the scent of a woman now with an orgasm and will be more likely to keep his head down there when you want," Eric, Emily's guide, explained.
At this point Emily pressed Eric's' head down under her leather skirt once again, thrilled and excited as she was by what she was witnessing, and Eric's tongue and fingers busied themselves bringing her the pleasures she sought.
When Emily opened her eyes again, Gary had been freed from the mouth of the super vagina and Thelma had him licking the device at the top. "He hasn't' had anything to eat or drink for quite awhile," Eric explained, "and that's sweet, wet and nourishing and it still is subtly flavored to be like what it represents."
Now Thelma brought Gary well away from the instrument in the wall and threw the switch which caused the mirror to slide back into place. "Sometime later, if she wishes, she may put him all the way inside that as a prisoner. She made me put on a costume like an oversized, flesh-covered rocket, and shoved me in and out of that thing once until she had everything going right and all the people who were helping me in and out were excited. Then she sprayed them all with a surprisingly convincing simulation of a woman's come," Eric confided.
Emily felt herself getting a little sick and yet she steeled herself for the new knowledge she was gaining so rapidly, for the understanding that a woman needn't accept secondary treatment from her husband, that she can take command if she is strong or imaginative enough and he needs it.
But with a man like Charlie Greco, why should a woman want to?
No, only such men as Eric, who needed to be subordinated, and Gary, who deserved it to break through his cocky self-centeredness, were the ones a woman should possess as slaves.
Now Thelma was lying back on a couch, her big, powerful body completely exposed. "Go ahead, Geraldine, my lesbian lover," she was saying, "show me what you learned."
And Gary knelt beside the couch, tenderly parting the rubbery lips at the entrance to the cave.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Family units, husbands and wives and, if they have them, children, have long been regarded not as understanding people in happy wedlock by some of our more caustic writers, but as veteran battlers still locked in combat despite long and arduous conflict over a thousand subjects.
But what of the family unit that has transcended tradition, found ways of interchanging personalities and personnel?
Charlie and Mildred had their understanding from the beginning. He was a rover and she would help him. He was all of a piece of strength and she was resourceful, beautiful and with rangy appetites. So theirs' was a pre-set plan of diversification.
Thelma and Eric, too, had their total understanding, with Thelma completely dominant, Eric the submissive one, admiring his wife for herself, respecting her wealth, knuckling under to her strength.
But now Emily was the wife of an entirely new Gary Worthington and she was determined to play the new role to the hilt. She had seen her husband in his ridiculous-looking brassiere, do that to another woman that he had refused to do to her. Now she, in her dramatic leather costume, was bidding Erika farewell. Gary, still wearing the damning, evident brassiere under his men's clothing, was brought to Emily by Thelma, a dog collar around his neck, padlocked in place, a strong leash attached to the collar, and Thelma had thoughtfully handcuffed Gary before she turned him over to his wife by handing her the handle of the leash and the key to the handcuffs.'
"Come on, Geraldine," Emily said.
"Listen, Emily," Gary blurted out, "I had to take that from Thelma because she literally tortured me into accepting it, but don't you start calling me that."
"Shall I repeat the pledge you made, you brassiere-wearing sissy?" Emily asked. "I saw much that went on through those mirrors, you know."
Gary heaved a heavy sigh. "Okay, Emily, I guess that I'm Geraldine then as long as and whenever you want me to be."
"That's better," Emily said, winking at Thelma. "And thanks for everything, Thelma, for Erika as well as Geraldine."
Thelma gave the beautiful little woman a big hug, squeeze and kiss on the mouth. "Next time you come we have new experiments to conduct. Make it the weekend after next, dear."
"I have a golf tournament at my club that week-end," Gary said.
"Well be back here that week-end, then," Emily told Thelma firmly.
In the car Gary said, "Well, thank goodness that nightmare is over. I'm sorry for my part in ever getting you into that, dear. Did you and that little queer get along alright?"
"I hadn't realized how wonderful a man could be if he understood a little more about women until I met Erika," Emily told Gary dreamily. "I hope that you learned to be more like him."
"Is that really what you want in your husband?" Gary asked.
He slunk low in the seat to avoid letting passing cars see the humiliating leash on his neck or the handcuffs and certainly the way his breasts were padded out.
"What I want in a husband," Emily said firmly, "is understanding. By that I mean understanding of my physical needs as well as your own. I want to have an orgasm usually when you do. I want you to be as interested in my pleasure as much as your own. And listen, Geraldine, the next time you come into me before I've had my fulfillment, your head goes down into that mess and you keep on working there until I've had my eruptions too!"
Gary shuddered. There was no question that Emily intended to have this mandate carried out by whatever means she found necessary to accomplish it!
The car was in the garage and Emily opened Gary's door, then led him by the leash up to their bedroom.
She took his shoes, socks, trousers and shorts off of him. Then, with his brassiere on him under his coat, his wrists manacled and his collar in place, she took off her own panties and nestled them around his penis and testes. In a surprisingly short time he was hard and ready for her.
Her tongue brought him to near the peak. Then she straddled the man and gratified herself on him, squeezed him inside her and brought him to fulfillment.
"See, Gary," Emily said. "I took lessons, too."
"You sure did!" he gasped. "Good ones."
She left the keys to the padlock in his collar and to the handcuffs on the night stand while she went into the bathroom to bathe and douche.
When she returned to the bed, he was free of the restraints and he had stripped himself down to the brassiere.
"What do I do about this? he asked Emily.
"Looks like you've got a problem," she replied. "Why don't you begin making it less noticeable by taking out those panties padding it and putting them on?"
She was secretly pleased with the alacrity he showed in carrying out this capricious suggestion of hers.
Then she teased his nipples through the satin cups of the brassiere and stirred him to the point where he used to mount her and ejaculate without considering her pleasures or needs.
Aroused and needful as he was, Gary let his fingers toy with Emily for long enough to bring her to near total satisfaction. Then his tongue took over down below. And, when she said, "Come on, darling, take me quickly now," he mounted her and continued, even after he'd had his orgasm, until she had hers and it had subside.
Then after Emily suggested, "Turn over and go to sleep, darling," he flopped over on his side, asleep, exhausted.
While he slept Emily carefully opened a couple of seams in the brassiere to free him from it and also she slipped the panties off of him rinsed them out in the bathroom, and hung one pair in each of their bedroom windows to dry. Then she gathered up all of his shorts from his drawer and the laundry, locked them in one of her suitcases, and busied herself in the kitchen.
It was more than two hours later when Gary came sauntering into the kitchen. "Guess I'd better get dressed now, dear," he said cautiously. "By the way, I seem to have misplaced my shorts."
"Oh, you'll not be wearing them again until after our next session with the Garrisons," Emily assured him. "I want you to keep on wearing Thelma's panties, alternating between them from day to day, until then. I'd feel terribly vandalous if I let you forget the new Geraldine part of your personality."
"Look, darling, I've been through a lot lately. That big woman actually had me lashed to screw eyes at the bottom and top of a doorway and she beat me with a braided leather whip."
"How did you manage to just stand there and let her tie you up that way?" Emily asked. "Did she drug you or something?"
"She had my head squeezed between her legs and she made me tie my own ankles as her price for freeing my head. Then she had my arm in a hammerlock while she handcuffed the one wrist up high like that. My one free arm wasn't a match for all her strength when she tied up the other one. And every time the whip hit my back, she made me tell her I was Geraldine! It was horrible!"
"I'm sorry I missed that part, Geraldine," Emily said, smiling. "That was when I had Eric tied up and I was experimenting with new ways of gratifying men.
"Tell me, was there any light inside that oversized feminine orifice she had you trapped in?"
"It had an eerie pink light," Gary said. "I had the feeling that I was a little kid making his way back into the womb, only this time it was for pleasure rather than for childbirth."
"Go put your red panties on," Emily said. "They should be dry by now. Then come show me what you learned."
In just a very few minutes, Gary was back and he was kissing Emily, his mouth probing and pressing, squirming and drawing against hers. She hadn't received a kiss like that since courting days!
Gently he drew her to the couch and sat down pulling her down in his lap. Now he laid back on his back with her on her back atop him and his teeth lightly chewed on her earlobe while his hands played with her breasts.
Slowly, drumingly, his fingers and hands glided down the satin-smooth skin of the quiet beauty to where they found the silken hair and the sweet, tender flesh.
Gary's left hand parted the gates lightly, slowly, with subtle pressure and then his right middle finger worked in deeply, as far as it could go. The knuckle of the thumb worked up along the sensitive surface of the little man in the boat as the finger was slowly moved outward and down along the little harder portion of her most precious anatomy as it was inserted.
Emily was surprised and delighted by the effect of the pair of red panties on Gary's alertness to what it was that made a woman feel happy to be with a man! He seemed to know, perhaps by the pace and intensity of her breathing, perhaps by the magic of a suddenly sensitive touch, when it was right and timely for him to move faster, when to press harder, when to impart variations in the movement of his two hands, when to relax the upward and outward draw of the left hand exposing the treasures in her womb tomb.
Now he arrested the movement of his hands and tenderly shifted his weight to the right, hers to the left, so that he could gently lower her directly onto the couch, as he knelt on the floor beside it.
Her legs were brought around his neck like an Eleanor Duse scarf and his fingers remained active in their probing and their parting, but for the special, glorious assignment of caressing her clitoris, his tongue took over!
What magical ecstasy this was! What glorious enchantment: It was impossible to believe that one person, less than a god, could impart to another such a magnificent totality of fulfillment!
Emily found herself tossing and thrusting upward against his all-wise fingers and tongue. Joining him in the vigorous pursuit of total thrill!
Then she felt the rumbling of thunder in the distance, the firing of a cannon inside her, the feeling of rockets of glorious passion discharging their flame and fire through her entire nervous system and her whole being began trembling uncontrollably.
The flow was strong and sudden, pulsing and marvelous, and Gary's thirsting throat drew it out of her and down into him, rewarding them both with the knowledge that a hard lesson had been learned thoroughly.
It would be re-learned every day, Emily resolved, and never forgotten, for lessons of this importance warrant constant repetition.
Two weeks flow by very rapidly when they're punctuated with daily delights of these dimensions. But suddenly it was Friday night and Gary was home and Emily had their suitcases packed.
"Thelma phoned to confirm our instructions to be there," Emily said. "I told her that we'd not think of missing it and you'd gladly forgo your country club outing for it. That was alright, wasn't it?"
Gary recalled the three times he'd forgotten that he was wearing women's panties and he approached the urinal without taking proper precautions against adjacent peers seeing the shameful garments. He remembered the young purchasing agent whispering, "Lovely, sweets. Come up to my place tonight and I'll show you mine."
His reaction hadn't been the expected one, a slug on the jaw. After all, the fruit had seen that he was wearing women's things. Or maybe it was what Emily had said about Eric. "Sorry, pal," Gary said. "I have a date with my wife."
The aggressive Mary looked at Gary's impressive, virile build, and said, "Well, all I can say is he's a mighty lucky boy."
Now, with a feeling of dread, Gary was going bade to confront the formidable Thelma. "Of course it's alright darling," he said. "I'll put these things in the car."
He packed the trunk and then got behind the wheel.
"No, I'll drive, Gary," Emily said. "I want to remember to return Thelma's dog collar and leash and handcuffs, so it'll help me if you wear them."
He submitted while she crossed his wrists high behind his back and manacled them together. Then she put the dog collar around his neck but didn't padlock it in place. But she brought the leash up between the handcuffs so that his wrists were held high and uncomfortably in back. The padlock had been used to secure the leash so that he couldn't lower his wrists.
In this miserable position he was delivered once again to the home of the Garrisons. "The way they rough a fellow up," Gary mumbled, "it could be called Garrison's garrison!"
They were standing on the porch awaiting Gary and Emily as Emily wheeled the car into the drive. Thelma looked young and actually girlish with her hair combed long and caught in back with a pretty, bright-colored scarf, her silk dress soft and gleaming, gray tie silk it was with a yellow paisley pattern printed on it; the skirt short and full, the bodice gathered and topped with a big, soft bow.
Eric was wearing tight-fitting purple velvet trousers that seemed to proclaim his manhood despite their feminine color and fabric and he wore an open-necked white satin body shirt with full sleeves and a big, bright scarf with a neckerchief slide around his neck. His sandals were of gold kid.
Thelma gathered up all the bags easily, the same bags that Gary had struggled with two loads to put in the car, and, his arms painfully behind him he watched Thelma and Eric kiss Emily a warm greeting. Thelma nodded to him curtly and then said, "Eric, give Geraldine a nice big kiss. After all, she is your date this session."
Gary instinctively stepped back, but Thelma pressed upward on his cuffed wrists, sending a shock of pain through him. He stood still. "Smile, Geraldine," Thelma said, "and be sure your tongue goes into his mouth when you two kiss now."
When the alternative is pain of that magnitude, you soon learn to obey! Gary kissed Eric and was surprised at the fragrance of the blond man and the warmth of his kiss.
"He's wearing your green panties today," Emily confided to Thelma. "He's alternated between the red and the green ones ever since we were here last."
"Poor thing must be bored with them by now," Thelma said deliberately so that Gary could hear it. "I've been saving a whole bunch of my nice pretty things for him to wear. Some will look very nice on him and most will feel simply delicious."
Gary looked at Emily imploringly hoping that she would spare him this continuing humiliation. "Smile at Thelma and tell her thank you and tell her how eager you are to try on her new gifts, Geraldine," Thelma said positively. Even while she spoke, she was taking off his belt and, with his hands helpless and high, he couldn't stop her at all.
He was licking his lips, trying to find a way to phrase the distasteful statement when Thelma slashed him across the cheek with his belt.
Words tumbled out as though an enormous total word scrabble game had been upset. "That's just great, wonderful, ginger-peachy," Gary blurted out in near panic. "It sure is nice of you to treat me that generously. I'd sure like to get into all those pretty silk things right away and see how I look in the mirror with them and have you girls feel me up in them, I would. Can I do it now, huh, please?"
Smilingly, Thelma ran the belt between her hands. "You did very well then, Geraldine. Maybe later Thelma will arrange for a fashion show for you to put on to entertain us all."
Gary's heart sank. But then he saw Eric's expression, chin down low, looking upward at him, smiling archly. He felt a wild sort of terror now, cursed himself for letting Emily handcuff him this way. And still he wasn't certain whether this was Eric's idea or he was as much a victim of these brutal women as Gary!
Compulsory homosexuality! Somehow it simply didn't seem possible!
And here were their wives arranging this tryst-with them watching!
"Take off his pants, Erika," Thelma commanded. "And yours, too."
With the belt gone, it was easy for Eric to unfasten and drop Gary's trousers, exposing the silken panties.
Eric, beneath his velvet slacks of purple, was wearing black, shiny panty hose.
"Rip off his shirt and undershirt," Thelma told Eric. "I'll give him a slip and blouse of mine to replace them when it's time for him to leave."
Like a lecherous zombie, Eric carried out Thelma's orders literally.
"Geraldine," Thelma commanded, "Erika is a beautiful blonde girl. She appeals to you. You love everything about her and she excites you. Tell her that you love her and tell her why. Remember, Emily still has your belt handy and I have some far more imaginative toys. I spent over an hour last night taping together a whip out of guitar strings, for example."
Gary was stunned into silence by this weird twist the day was taking. And then he heard Emily, his own wife, betraying him! "Erika," she said, "he loves to have his ears toyed with and his nipples are very sensitive. Stroking his legs and fingering him at the base of the spine also excite him more than I think even he realizes. And press that silk blouse of yours against his body while you're working on him. Be sure to give him a heavy dose of your perfume to smell."
"Thanks, dear," Erika smiled.
The handcuffs made him helpless. Erika caught Gary's head between his exquisitely manicured hands and looked deeply into the heavier man's eyes while Eric's fingers toyed with his ears. Then Eric's head darted forward and the mouth seized one of Gary's nipples in a gentle, tender suction.
The belt hit Gary just then, right across the rump, and the words began to come forth. "Erika, you're a beautiful girl and I love having you touch me," Gary began lamely. The other nipple was now caught with one hand while his mouth still dung to the original. This left Eric a free hand to stroke the front of the brightcolored, feminine panties Gary was wearing.
"You're a very beautiful, exciting, alluring girl, darling, and I'm lucky that you are willing to take this time to be with me and to grant me these wonderful satisfactions," Gary proclaimed.
Eric's' blouse was pressed hard against Gary's chest while the blonde's long arms reached around and toyed with the base of Gary's spine. Gary felt the front of his panties soaring away from him under pressure of a powerful arousal Eric was accomplishing with him. But by now he had taken on a devil-may-care attitude.
"Surely there are few women as exciting as you, who seem to know exactly where to touch and stroke a man to give him maximum satisfaction. I'd love it, darling, if you were to kiss me on my you-know and give me the thrill of knowing what a real woman's understanding is like."
Thelma and Emily gave each other querulous glances, then Thelma took the whip from her closet, the one she'd made by taping one end of a cluster of guitar strings together, and struck Gary with it hard across the back.
The front of the panties seemed to fall into a sudden droop.
"You're not a man, Geraldine," Thelma said distinctly. "You're a girl having a lesbian affair with another girl named Erika. You are as eager to please and gratify her as you want her to be in pleasuring you. So now start over again on that basis."
The guitar strings were still quivering and so was Gary's hurting back. "I'm a girl named Geraldine," Gary said, trying to keep his vocal register high. "You're my lesbian sweetheart, Erika. But you've tied me up this way so that I couldn't run away and re-join my husband. Now to weaken me still further, you plan to draw on my nerves and to drain me physically so that I couldn't find the strength to leave your beautiful silken embrace for his anyway."
Eric looked up at him from his kneeling position before the panties which were beginning to bulge again and said, "Let's pleasure each other, Geraldine." Then he caught Gary by his ankles, brought him crashing to the ground by pressing his shoulders against Gary's knee, and Eric began swarming over the fallen Gary. Lowering his panty hose and pulling down Gary's green panties, Eric exposed both of the tools of the men. Then their respective wives joined in, arousing their husbands with artful stroking, nibbling, kissing, and, silken, fragrant touches. Soon both men were aroused and, kneeling, each woman presented her husband's tumescent tool to the mouth of the other woman's husband.
Emily pulled up Gary's green panties over Eric's head.
Thelma did likewise with Eric's panty hose over Gary's.
"Ying and Yang," Emily said. "The oriental symbol for two matching objects trapped in a circle."
"And they look like six and nine, don't they?" Thelma asked. "Shall we loosen Gary's arms yet?"
"Not yet," Emily cautioned. "Wait until Eric has drained him. Besides, I think we should put one of those little things up his behind, don't you?"
"Little things?" Thelma asked.
"Like a miniature dildo or maybe a birthday candle."
"Great idea," Thelma said. And she inserted a plumber's candle dipped in vaseline up the rectum of each of her erzats lesbian victims. The women worked these in and out for awhile and they found it seemed to heighten the action considerably!
Then, exhausted, the two men stopped, each still holding the other in his mouth.
"Now we can unlock Geraldine's handcuffs," Thelma said.
Gary's arms, so long in that strained position while he underwent such a degrading, draining experience, dropped like leaden weights when the leash and handcuffs were removed.
There he was on the floor, his head still in the sheer front of Eric's lingerie, with Eric's head inside his panties. The sense of utter degradation, of absolute humiliation, of complete debasement had never been so great, not even when Thelma had defeated him in physical combat again and again.
"Work those candles in and out of each other's Tectums, girls," Thelma insisted. "That'll be the next phase of your little game. Then, Eric, I want you to take Gary to the mirrored bedroom and have him put on a one-man fashion show with the things I left there for him. Take color photographs of him in each costume without a wig. If you use a scarf over his head, have it far enough back so that his face is clearly visible. If you use make-up on him, I want to be sure it's just lipstick and eye make-up so that every picture is clearly and distinctly Gary Worthington as well as your lesbian girl friend, Geraldine."
This was too much., Pulling his head out of Eric's panty hose, Gary roughly extracted Eric's head from his green panties. Ridiculous as was the costume he was wearing, Gary rose and said, "That does it. I'm damned if I'll stand still while this faggot husband of yours sets me up for blackmail, perhaps makes me something grotesque you can force to do anything you wish with for the rest of mine and Emily's life. Forget it sister. Let's go, Emily."
Thelma cocked her pretty head to one side and looked at Gary objectively. Then she turned to Emily. "What do you say, Emily? Want to leave? To forget about the pictures? To let him out of the fashion thing? Consider that last experiment, his total homosexual training? I'll go along with whatever you wish."
To prove her sincerity, Thelma handed Emily the guitar string whip.
Emily thoughtfully ran the whip across her open palm. She tested it lightly against her own leg.
Then she said, "Clamp his head between your legs, Thelma. I'll give him three full across his bottom for insubordination. Then we'll go ahead with his training program."
Shocked and terrified, Gary could only struggle in vain in the powerful grip of Thelma, who held his arms high on his back once again. There was a whishing sound in the air and then an explosion and Gary felt his entire bottom burning.
Silence prevailed in the room save only for the pounding of blood in his ears under the pressure of Thelma's powerful legs. And then he heard it again, felt the explosive, terrifying pain of the descending whip.
"Don't, Emily!" Gary wailed. "I'll go ahead and do what you say! That HURTS!"
The third blow landed from the other side, giving an interlaced fan effect to the pattern of red, hurting welts on Gary's duff. It landed so hard that it drove Gary forward and Thelma had to take a step backward to maintain her balance, freeing his head.
The tears and the stinging took awhile to subside. Then Gary seemed a different person. Quieter. Puzzled.
"Why, Emily?" he asked. "Don't you see what's happening? We're ceasing to be human beings, loving individuals, with a strong interpersonal relationship between us. Instead, we're becoming a mass of automatic animal responses, of erotic reactions to certain bodily zones being stroked or senses appealed to, such as perfume or the taste or fragrance of a woman's vaginal fluids. This could become dangerous, darling. It could be the end of love and the start of an uncontrollable, transferrable promiscuity that can only ruin marriages and lives and values."
Emily stood back, astonished that these thoughts could come from the man who never realized that there was anyone else in bed but himself to be gratified. And yet she realized that he was hitting on something with truth values in it.
"Gary," she said, "I promise you that whatever happens in this series of adventures, it will cause me to love you more than I ever did before-has already caused me to do that. And I hope that, with the real love that comes from your gaining skill as a technician as well as insight as a human being, we'll build far better than we were doing before. A man with just a little of the woman in his make-up is certain to be a better parent than a cigar-passing idiot who wants his baby boy in a football helmet or baseball glove before he's out of diapers."
Thelma looked at Eric. "Do you feel like a five minute monologe, Eric?" she asked. "They seem in fashion around here nowadays."
"Come on, Gary," Eric said. "Let's go have a couple of drinks and cigars. After that you'll be Geraldine again and I'll take pictures of you in a lot of Thelma's pretty things."
"Sounds good," Gary said. "But first let me get this damned candle out. That last blow of Emily's knocked it so far in I think it's lodged in my throat."
As they left, Gary limping, Eric helping him, Thelma's huge hand cupped Emily's breast gently and the thumb and forefinger closed about the nipple. Thelma's lips found Emily's and her hand traveled down beneath the girl's skirt.
Emily relaxed, her eyes closed, in the sensuous pleasure of the larger woman's embrace. Then her hand began stroking the gray silk dress, finding the soft woman through it, knowing things that never had to be spoken or shown, for they are woman's universal, traditional knowledge.
When their lips parted, Thelma asked Emily, "Will you show Erika how to do that?"
Emily's violet eyes were soft and gentle. "I'd gladly put on a demonstration for him whenever you wish, preferably every day!"
Their lips joined again and both pairs of hands roamed busily.
Setting his cigar butt in an ash tray near the empty liquor glass, Gary said, "Okay, Erika, let's go see what I look like in your wife's clothes. That damned stuff feels and smells so good, though, that I'm afraid I could get hooked on it and be embarrassed Some day."
"The only embarrassment from that can come from your wife not understanding transvestism," Eric replied. "And by the time Emily gets through with this little experiment, she's going to understand everything off beat this side of necrophilia."
"Necrophilia?" Gary asked. "What's that?"
"Intercourse with the dead."
"If your wife invents many more instruments like that guitar string whip, that may be one of the first things she gets a chance to learn!" Gary said, rubbing the green panties' seat ruefully.
Thelma had a West Coast assignment. She had to see Eddy Feldman about space in the Los Angles Home Furnishings Mart and then to do what she could in San Francisco and Seattle. Some of the firm's retail customers were critical of design influences not coming close enough to the Spanish-slanted Western tastes. It would take six weeks.
Eric spent almost every day visiting Gary and Emily, visits characterized by the utmost decorum. He was a temporary bachelor and they were a happy couple inviting him to dinner.
If he knew things about them, had participated in adventures with them, there was nothing to show for it in the bearing, expression or conversation of the evening.
One night Mildred and Charlie joined them in Thelma's absence and they watched a recital of a renowned organist on television. "Man, that cat can play," Gary said.
"He seems to understand that instrument with the same delicacy and thoroughness that a virtuoso lover understands a woman," Emily said.
Charlie looked at her with renewed respect. "That's a fascinating and dangerous parallel," he said. "Too often the woman is a far smaller and more sensitive instrument. It requires a far lighter and more versatile touch."
Mildred said, "And the bigger the woman doesn't necessarily mean the heavier the touch, either."
The conversation veered away from the subject then, but the next day Eric phoned Gary for lunch. "What is it?" Gary asked, a new directness he'd learned as something contrasting with his customary evasive sales man's approach since he'd joined the circle of Eric's acquaintances.
"Thelma," Eric said. "That conversation about her being an instrument to be played on like a great organist works got to me last night the hard way. I wonder if I really understood her whole nervous system-with love I mean-could I give her more real pleasure, understanding and maybe earn her love?"
"Funny, I don't recall a single reference to her last night in that conversation," Gary said.
"Not directly, but, of us all, who has shown the least gain in understanding how to gratify and win the love of his or her mate?" Eric asked. "It has to be me!"
Gary's eyebrows rose. He hadn't given the matter any thought but obviously Eric was correct. "Have you any plans on how to go about it?"
"Somehow," Eric replied, "I must find a way to get her completely physically incapacitated."
"How about some of those stocks and pillories and other gadgets she had made in the furniture plant for you and that she used on me?" Gary asked.
"T need her stretched out before me, in some condition where I can, at my discretion, have access to either her front or back or sides, where I can part her legs, raise her arms, cause her to jut out her chest bring her head back to make her throat accessible to my kiss. I want her as close to a stretched out puppet as I can get her."
"How about getting her drunk and tying her up?' Gary proposed.
"She can drink any of us under the table," Eric said sadly. "She doesn't take dope and is suspicious of it, hates pot, keeps in top physical condition so that she can't be whipped by anyone I know and certainly not by me."
"Then you have to find a way to make that invulnerability your way through to her," Gary told him. "She needs to prove that she can handle some situation you've mastered so fully that she can't handle it. And if you think I know what the hell I'm talking about, Eric, you're dead wrong."
But Eric's mind was perking well now.
"Gary," he said, "I think you've given me the answer I was looking for. How can we introduce a couple into our group who really understands bondage in all of its refinements?"
"Well, you find the leather lovers have a strong leaning toward the barnyard, horses and the like." Gary mused.
"But this can't be a leather deal, fond as I am of leather. The material is far too masculine to meet the requirements I had in mind. Something silken would be closer to home."
'SBut there'" nothing about bondage itself that relates to-" suddenly Gary snapped his fingers. "Hey, how about those girls in the circus, the way they tie those knots on their high wire equipment so they hold and don't slip? Even their lives depend on it!"
"I was thinking of sailors and their ability to tie knots," Eric suggested. Then, suspecting the way Gary had his eyebrow cocked, "And I'm not talking about seafood either!"
They went looking, Eric for a man, Gary for a girl, and the experiment was on.
Thelma returned from her trip triumphant. She'd found Feldman a charming and gracious bachelor with a practiced eye for beauty and variety and he was able to give her choice space in the expansion area of the Mart. She'd found a Mexican designer with a good eye for the Spanish influence. And one of the big chains had given her a fat order based on the sketches of the designer she presented.
Business was whirring then and there was no time for extra-curricular activities. Eric set up new data processing facilities and even Mildred was able to get some contract business based on an article about her decorating skills that appeared in Home Furnishings Daily.
But then came a lull, a chance to breathe and relax.
Eric started it. "Gary and I met an interesting pair of people while you were gone," he told Thelma one evening. "I think they may be amusing."
"Are tbey attractive?" Thelma asked, staring at her husband in a way that guaranteed to her that he wouldn't lie.
"Exceptionally," he replied. "The girl is a fluffy blonde who does something in show business; an escape artist, I believe, and the fellow is a real dock walloper type, all tattooed, tanned and muscular."
"Which one did you go for?" Thelma asked him, keeping him pinioned in her glance.
"They're both mighty interesting," he said honestly. "And I think it would be fun to see how they would make out in a knot tying contest between them. They haven't met yet, you know."
"No," Thelma said drily, "I didn't know. Is that why you chose them?"
Eric grinned. "I'd love to see their embarrassment when they try to tie up someone as strong as you."
Thelma didn't smile. "Very well," she said. "Let's invite them over. Shall we also have the others?"
"That's up to you," Eric said. Thelma didn't miss the gleam of triumph in his eyes.
Charlie Greco had an engagement in Las Vegas and Mildred went along to do a little gambling, so only Emily and Gary were able to come visit that Friday. Eric drove into town and came back an hour later with Tony Brazzi, a man of average height in his late twenties, square-faced and hard-muscled. Despite his dock labor er's clothing, he wasn't ill at ease in the palatial home of the Garrisons. He looked around coolly, shook hands firmly, smiled warmly when introduced, and conversation flowed easily.
Each was introduced by his professional background and then he said, "Me, I'm a manual laborer. But we're so unionized it's as good as being a white collar worker. Guaranteed pay whether we work or not and we'r'e practically unfireable!"
He looked around pugnaciously to see if anyone objected to unions or working people, but saw nothing in their faces to offend him. Feeling more secure than ever, he said, "But you folks are all married and I'm a bachelor. Does someone have an unmarried sister or something?"
"We've taken the liberty of setting up a date for you I think you'll thank us for," Gary said. "Her cab will arrive any minute now."
As they gradually drew each other out in conversation,, trying to lure Tony into it more deeply, they saw him glancing nervously toward the door or out the window. When he sensed that they noticed it, he grinned. "I was married once, got divorced, and ever since I've been afraid of getting involved with another woman. You see, I'm sort of clumsy. I'm not as sensitive as a husband ought to be. When I love someone, I get pretty rough with them sometime. I know it's not natural for a man to have, as his only contact with women, the girls he kids with behind the counter in restaurants or whores he buys an hour's time from. I'd like to fall in love. But I'm afraid to. I almost hope she's ugly."
"She's not," Gary said. "But that quafity of yours that may not have worked with your first wife may work well with another woman. Lots of them, I understand, like a man who treats them rough. Or at least they think they'd like it.
"Me, I was far short of sensitivity, but a patient and loving wife and understanding friends have done much to correct that in me." His glance swept the room and Emily, Thelma and Eric all sat frozen-faced, silently and unexpressively acknowledging the compliment.
"But did you ever put your wife across your knee and spank her just because you were mad at a hiring hall boss and needed to get something out of your system?" Tony asked. "Did you ever want her so bad you didn't wait until she was all ready and tuned in to you but just jammed it in dry? Well, I did. And women just don't like it!"
"A smart woman can find ways to slow you down to her speed," Thelma said.
"She'd have to be bigger and tougher than I am," Tony said, "and they don't make a woman like that."
"Care to Indan wrestle?" Thelma asked, standing and extending her hand. Immediately Tony faced her, became her adversary and grasped her extended hand in his own big, strong one.
"Call 'Go,' Emily when you're ready," Thelma said.
Emily said, "Go!"
Immediately the right shoulders of both hunched. The strength seemed to flow into their hands and the grasp became stronger. Now you could see the strain in Tony's face as he pressed, then swung his hips and pulled sharply. Thelma was as though mounted on steel springs.
Then she gave a sudden hard yank, keeping both her feet planted firmly on the floor and Tony went sailing toward the door next to which Eric was standing just as Eric, in response to a knock, opened it. Tony found himself falling against a delicately beautiful little blonde unusually full breasted and hipped and narrow-waisted. Riding on the crest of those breasts, way out in front, was a huge taffeta bow.
"Whoa there, Buster," she said in a heavy, Ethel Merman voice. "Had one too many?" She caught him as he was falling, demonstrating strength far beyond her size.
She saw a look of fury in his face as he tried to thrust her back and go charging at Thelma. She caught him by an ankle and sent him spilling onto the floor.
"Easy, chum," she bellowed. "That's no way to treat a lady broad."
Tony squirmed around in his seated position on the floor and looked up at the blonde. "This my date, Gary?" he asked.
"Miss La Verne Carson," Gary said, "permit me to introduce Mr. Tony Brazzi."
Tony stood and extended his hand. "My pleasure," he said. Then suddenly he tried to jerk his hand back and send LaVerne spinning, but her hand caught the door frame with quick instinctive movement and Tony found his own strong pull bringing him back toward the beautiful little powerful blonde, who promptly caught him by the head and kissed him.
When she finally released his head from her grasp, she announced: "Mine, too. Hey, this is quite a man we have here."
She looked around the room, at Emily, Eric, Gary and Thelma. Her glance stopper! there. "Guess you're the one who tossed him that far. You're the only one here who could handle him, T suspect."
"I'm Thelma Garrison," she said.
"Oh you're the one! Gary was telling me about you," LaVerne said. "He even bet that you were so strong you could get out of anything I tie you up in." She looked around some more, then selected Emily. "And you have to be his wife! Imagine being at a luncheon discussion with a handsome guy like Gary and hearing half the time being spent telling what a great gal his wife is!"
"That would make you Eric," she said, going over to the blonde man. "Come on, you're the one I want to do my first little demonstration on."
"You'll demonstrate nothing on me!" Eric blazed.
"Oh come now, Eric," LaVerne said, patting him on both his cheeks and then fingering his nipples through the silk shirt he was wearing, "don't be like that."
Determinedly, Eric reached down to grab the two hands of the beautiful blonde and pull them away from his person, but it didn't work. For when he brought his two hands that close to each other, LaVerne slipped a pair of thumb cuffs over those two members and Eric's thumbs were securely cuffed to each other by the miniature restraining device she had palmed.
Quickly she moved behind him and drove her knee into the back of his, forcing him to bend his leg. No sooner did he do this than she caught the bent leg at the ankle, brought it up high and somehow managed to hook a rawhide noose she'd slipped over his foot onto the back of his belt. He was perched precariously on one leg and the whole attack hadn't taken a minute.
"Speed it the first thing," LaVerne said. "Skill is necessary, of course, but speed comes first. Poor Eric here didn't have a chance because he didn't know what I was going to do to him next."
She looked at Gary. "Hey, am I moving too fast here? Want me to make like more of a lady?"
Then she saw Tony's shining eyes and his broad smile. "Don't you dare, LaVerne," Tony said. "You're fascinating! "
"Want me to tie you up next, hon?" LaVerne asked, but her voice had become softer.
"I'm pretty good at that sort of thing, too," Tony said. "All those years in the navy and on the docks lashing harness and securing rigs, experimenting with holding cargo down and even running sails up masts, I feel at home with rope or anything else that ties anything."
"Even people?" Emily asked.
"Of course," Tony replied. "Look at this sash of yours. Okay if I borrow it?" Emily handed it to him. Tony held it lightly over the four fingers of his right hand extended outward with the fingers coiled upward and over the four fingers of his left hand pointed downward and inward toward his body. "Now watch," he told Emily. In a flash, still grasping the sash, the positions of the hands reversed, making two loops of the material one in each hand. Then they were passed through each other and interlocked.
As he completed this instant movement, Tony moved his hands toward Emily's breasts, still holding the inter twined loops of her sash. Instinctively Emily held her hands up and outward to protect her breasts and Tony slipped the two loops over Emily's hands.
Seizing the loose ends of the sash, he pulled them together tightly and quickly, tied them before Emily could separate her wrists and then they were knotted once more into a powerful square knot.
To complete his instant subjugation of the woman, Tony brought the two ends of the sash around Emily's waist and knotted them securely there where it would be impossible to reach with her wrists tied together with this same sash in front.
The entire action hadn't taken more than fifteen seconds!
"A fellow could get nervous with you two around," Gary said nervously. "If ever you joined forces, he'd not have a chance."
LaVerne grinned at Tony. He smiled at her. Tony dove for Gary's ankles and as he toppled forward, LaVerne stepped in as if to offer him support. His hands grasped her shoulders and she instantly slipped the clipped-on bow of her dress over his wrists, pulled the ends, the taffeta snugly t his wrists, the shining fab ends, drawing the taffeta snugly against his wrists, and knotted the shining fabric. The ends she secured around in back of his neck so that his grasping fingers couldn't work the knot loose. Then she let him fall to the ground. He had no way of protecting himself against the fall, for as Tony grabbed his ankles he also undid the shoelaces of both shoes and knotted them in one giant pair of tight overhand knots.
"And, to think we never ever saw each other before!" LaVerne called out.
"Hey, LaVerne," Tony insisted, "you're okay."
"And you're not bad either," LaVerne decided.
The two of them kissed then. And as they were kissing, Thelma brought out a net left over from their last luau and tried to toss it over the heads of the couple.
But their trained speed was too much for her. As she held it out and away from her body, cape style, LaVerne who was facing Thelma and saw what she was attempting, dug her nails into Tony as a warning signal. Hardly had Thelma begun her throwing action, similar to tossing a blanket onto a king-sized bed preparatory to making it before the two stepped back to the outer ring of the net, caught the edges and rushed it back over Thelma's head before she could even release the edge she held!
Instantly they tugged and pulled the loose ends and soon they had the big woman completely trapped in the net, utterly helpless in her struggles to free herself.
"If we were thieves, this would be a great chance to rob this joint, wouldn't it? LaVerne said, looking at Themla enmeshed in the net, Eric on one leg and his thumbs cuffed together, Gary with his wrists tied at his neck in LaVerne's taffeta bow, and Emily with her wrists bound at her waist in her sash.
"Hell, the one thing here most worth taking is you," Tony said. Then he saw the key to the thumb cuffs on a chain around her neck. Holding it in his hand, he said, "This is like handcuff keys, isn't it? A hollow shaft to go over the pin and a fin sticking out from the side. They can make things like this from the fillers of ball point pens, you know."
He used it to release Eric's thumbs and then he freed the captive leg.
"I've never had a pair of these," Tony said. "Here, let me see how this goes on my thumb." He locked his left thumb in it and put the palm against La Verne's right hand. Then he locked her right thumb into the other side. "Here, Eric, Tony said, tossing the blonde the key. "I hope we never get separated!"
Eric looked at it and said, "Thelma has a pair of those too. I'll go get it."
In a half-minute he was back and not a second too soon for Thelma had almost found an opening in the net. Eric moved with lightning speed to twist her into the encasement still more.
Then he proceeded to take off Tony's right shoe and sock and La Verne's left shoe and stocking and he thumbcuffed their big toes together!
"You two should be either mighty good friends or bitter enemies by the time I let you out of those," Eric said.
Tony's head had already begun to cup LaVerne's beautiful breast and hers was lightly stroking him low in front. They were like a pair of dancers as, together, they went out of the room in this strange embrace, and Eric directed them toward the mirrored bedroom.
"Think she can get out of those thumb cuffs?" Emily asked.
"I'm sure she could if she wanted to," Gary said, "but I'm doubtful if she's going to for quite awhile."
He knelt behind Emily and proceeded to free her by using his hands tied at his throat. Then she freed him from LaVerne's taffeta bow.
"So long, Eric," Gary said, looking at Thelma, furiously clawing at the net and finding occasional strands she could break. "Good luck."
Then he and Emily left.
"Alright, Eric," Thelma said. "You and your tricky friends have managed to get me in this mess, but I'm warning you, if you don't help me out of here, I'm going to find ways of punishing you so painful and embarrassing that you'll never dare face the outside world again."
Eric's lips were dry and his palms were moist. He knew well that Thelma was completely capable of carrying out such a threat. Yet he'd gone this far with his escapade and he didn't dare abandon it!
"I'll just have to chance that," Eric said, his voice light and uncertain. "Maybe, if I'm lucky, you'll believe that I'm doing this because I love you."
Reaching through the net he managed to begin undressing Thelma and, at the same time, keep entangling her in the folds and loops of the mesh that ensnared her. Then, looking at the mesh, he had his inspiration. Using some rope to tie Thelma, now down to a slip, girdle, panties and hose, in her net, he rushed out to the porch and was soon wheeling the big hammock into the room. Now he was in a position to operate with greater decision and authority!
The girdle was off. The excess folds of the net were peeled back. Then he had Thelma in the hammock, helpless, her wrists lashed to one end, her ankles to the other, her bare, big, beautiful body completely available to him.
What a heady experience this was to the man who had so long endured her authority! How exciting this was to the man she had degraded before her friends compelled to wear the silken garments of his feminine superiors, forced to suffer bondage and punishment for Thelma's sadistic amusement. And now Thelma was helplessly his to do with whatever he wished!
Eric created the setting well. Incense was burned. Soft, seductive music was played on the phonograph. The lights were turned down low. And, in a soft, loving voice he spoke and he began his action of touching his helpless, domineering wife with fingers and tongue.
"Thelma," Eric said, looking tenderly into the fury-contorted face of his cative wife, "please understand that all women-all people-aren't one individual but are many . I know this and, if you'll only admit it, so do you."
As he spoke he spun his wife face downward, presenting the broad, pure expanse of Thelma's back to his hungry gaze. Even divided by the ropes of the net, there seemed a clean, unbroken line of feminine perfection here, magnified to the point of unbearable excitement by the very size of the lovely woman.
Lightly, gently, Eric's sensitive fingers touched and stroked the skin presented to him, sought out the subtle little muscle lines, fluttered and patted, stroked and pressed the flawless skin with a sense of awe and delight such as the innocent feels when he first has the opportunity to stroke the bottom or the breasts of a woman clad in soft silk satin.
He was intoxicated with the joy of being able to do what he wished with this woman, his wife! He found a catch in his throat, a tone of awe, a feeling of reverence as he searched out the delights of her back, the thrill of her hips, the magnificence of her rump and legs, the smooth columns of her arms. He delighted at the line of her jaw, the corded muscles of her neck in this position, "So you're taller than most people, larger and stronger, without the petite features of little women. That's the way you see things, but not me. To me you're first a girl, a feminine, beautiful, desirable girl. Isn't it strange that I had to render you helpless to be in a position to tell you this, dearest? I'm afraid of you, because you've trained yourself to be stronger than I. But I love you; not just the dominant, cruelly sadistic one, the torturess who compels me to wear women's silk apparel as a sign of her authority over me and my inferiority to her. I love that, love you.
"But I also love a woman who lies in that same beautiful body, a delicate, sensitive little girl who has to be kept secret because you'd be embarrassed to confess human weakness. This little girl can be afraid sometime and cry. She can stop to smell a flower or to dress a doll. She can delight in a flounce or a ruffle or lace or femininity that is supposedly not to be the right or privilege of the bigger woman. To the big woman only tailored things are allowed, dull fabrics, harsh, masculine lines. After all, she's not size five and therefore somehow society chooses to deny her the right to be sensitive and feminine!"
Eric's lips began to pursue the course his fingers had just traveled, found places to kiss in the gaps between the net, places that were responsive all along Thelma's back, places that he found himself loving as one does a beautiful landscape with a lovely lake here, a glorious sunset through the trees there, here a pleasant stream, there a shady glen with wild flowers in one corner and soft grass in the middle. Or a tree with lichens on the side and a pert squirrel peering bright-eyed at him from one of the lower branches.
He found his tongue darting and stroking in the vacuum areas his lips had created and excited. How wonderful to smell her perfume and lick and kiss the areas she had perfumed or that had become immersed in it and her own wonderful natural personal odors in a glorious blending.
This was a special delight he'd never have imagined as his lips pursed in the crevice of the sides of her hips and his tongue became the middle finger stroking in the heart of the space excited by his lips. He loved patroling the channel down the small of her back with his mouth, even as his hands stroked her rump and found themselves able to make it twitch as they searched the inner area with a light, knowing touch.
"Mine was the role of the tall boy, not the tall girl," Eric told his trussed mate as his hands continued their activities while his tongue rested. "I know what it's like to be expected to be stronger, smarter, better coordinated, a natural leader, just because nature had given you a different growth pattern that it gave the other fellow. I can imagine how much worse that must be for a girl.
"She would have to be the one who took the lead when two girls were dancing together in class, even though the other might be far more aggressive. She would have to be the first on the rings in school and the one least likely to succeed because the others had their muscles better coordinated, more compact bodies, simpler missions.
"The tall girl going to the stores, looking for the things that were featured in the fashion magazines, being looked at by salespeople as though, by seeking what others had, she had violated a rule, gone outside her proper province. I can picture their saying, with a sickening smirky, smarmy smile, 'I'm sorry, dear, but we just couldn't carry that in your size,' and the way the big girl felt that she had been somehow stabbed."
Eric was kissing her rump now, kissing it not as a symbol of degradation but as a worshipper of beauty touches a famed statue with awe and reverence. He loved the thought of having the complete access to her behind as she lay there in her net, bound, atop the hammock. How it thrilled him to let his hands and his tongue know this beautiful back and behind as he'd always wanted to know them-as a possessor and admirer, with complete access, authority and control of the situation.
He loved being able to gratify himself and his wife this way, having total authority over his every action and over her person.
"Darling, do you know that I love you?" Eric said. "Do you know that I love all the people you are? The scared little girl and the authoritative executive, the commanding wife and the helpless captive. I love the sparkling mind that you have, so strong and sure of its decisions, and the sleepy girl you are in the morning, fumbling your way to the bathroom and potty in your pretty nightie.
"I love you when you'r'e punishing me and stroking me in the silk things of yours you make me wear and when you're sitting at your drawing board creating something exciting in the way of a design that will help the company and make .some consumer happier with his home.
"I love you lying there before me, helpless and perhaps hating me, unable to stop my doing anything I wish, including this."
His hand reached down between her legs to turn her over and, to his delight, he felt the moisture there. The touch, he thought, was beginning to get through to Thelma and it was also the words, although these were less contrived.
On her back, Thelma presented an even more magnificent spectacle to her enslaved captor!
The diamond-patterns in her skin from the pressure of the net pained him to witness and yet, truly, they were not unattractive. He hadn't been beating her in this state, although the thought of exploring her reaction to this, of finding a secret masochism in this domineering woman, did get through to him and interest him.
He was especially intrigued by the effect of lying face down on Thelma's superlative breastworks. These seemed to have become more distended by the pressure of the nipple through the net. How exciting those breasts looked like this!
Hungrily, eagerly, Eric's hands sought their out, fondled and stroked them, bringing the fingers up the mount of the cones from several sides all at once, feeling the hardness forming beneath his fingers, feeling the response that he thrilled to have helped create!
His hands had to cup the right breast nearest him, shaping and squeezing it to the perfect form to fit his mouth and then he encompassed it between his lips, caught the nipple in the cave of his mouth, drew it in deeply, thrilled to the way it was his, completely his, without her hands to push his head away or withdraw this prize from him! The tongue did its part in the vacuum and the nipple became hard enough to hurt if it hit.
The one hand was released now to work on the other nipple and then the mouth followed, leaving his second hand to continue the work mouth and hands had begun in shaping the new, terribly thrilling hardness in this nipple. Then they were both hard and Eric had to force them into his eye sockets, his to do with as he wished! He blinked and squeezed his eyes and loved what he was doing with this glorious new possession of his.
The belly of Thelma became a subject for study all completely unto itself! How soft and smooth and perfect it was! His fingers were thistledown as they lightly stroked and searched this broad, sensitive area and made moisture emerge, he could now see, a fine, glistening edge where the stream had its head-waters. For fully twenty minutes, Eric did nothing but finger, drum and massage the woman's' smooth belly from just below the rib cage to where the hair began and Thelma's reaction? Definite excitement!
Eric's eyes took on a wild new gleam. His lips required his tongue to moisten them. There was the start of a smile on his face, true happiness. He felt his heart pounding, his breathing becoming more hurried. What a thrill this was! To discover the roots of passion, the wellsprings of desire!
"Darling, I adore you," Eric said earnestly. "I love the idea of your being dependent on me, for once, for anything whatsoever that you wish. Do you want food, sleep, rest, sex, to have your nose scratched or wiped? Then you must let me know for only I can grant that wish, dear. Do you wish arousal? Relief from the buildup? Fulfillment of your sexual desires? Then you must make the request of me and I will decide whether to grant it."
Thelma's eyes were narrowed, and yet somehow wider than usual. Her beauty was never more intense than this. Looking at her, her back slightly arched, her legs slightly apart, her wrists and ankles bound in this position, suddenly Eric realized that the net was no longer needed. She was his now to do as he wished with anyway!
Tenderly, eagerly he cut the net away, leaving the smooth unbroken lines of her body before him now, only her wrists bound together at the head of the hammock mount and her ankles bound separately at its foot.
Thelma said not one word. Only her heavy, rapid breathing betrayed the emotions she was feeling, yet the betrayal was complete. Thelma was responding to him now as she had never done before. Previously it was the thrill of possession that brought her to a climax! Now it was the thrill of being possessed!
What a miracle the length of a woman's legs can be! The full, sensuous thighs with their promise of glorious juncture, their width of hip and its exciting sexual meaning, the way it narrowed to the knee in a smooth, unbroken line and then swelled to fullness in the calf, imparting to nylon hosiery the magic qualities that ensnare and enslave a man and make a woman a thing of rich joy and fulfilling mystery! Then the ankle, slender and graceful as the space between the dot and the upper portion of an exclamation mark!
Eric's exploration had brought him now to Thelma's feet. His hands stroked them lovingly and his mouth sought out each of her toes, individually, to suck them and tongue them to the delight of both man and woman! It was, for all the world, as if each toe was a new-found sex organ capable of transmitting its nerve signals to the entire erotic being of the woman!
Thelma's hips were gyrating in joyous response to the excitement Eric was generating in her as she lay there helpless before him. Her eyelids were kissed and her upper lip, the corners of her mouth and her throat. Eric knew the spots he'd noticed, studied, worshipped, wanted from afar and now, at long last, he was fulfilling those deep-seated, long-endured needs to a delight he had never hoped to experience!
"Oh how I love you, Thelma!" he exclaimed to the silent woman beneath him, aware of her reactions only by the speed and intensity of her breathing. His mouth sought the channel between her breasts, worked down ward while his fingers worked up the big woman's arms, stroking the smooth muscles, resting in the crook of her elbows and loving to play there with light, soft touches.
And down he worked his body along hers on the oversized hammock. His hands and his mouth at long last found her and now it wasn't to gratify her that he did it but because it gave him pleasure to please her entirely on his own, not at her command!
Joyously he found his nose and tongue and fingers joining in the treasure hunt, tracing the clues of moisture and excited flesh to the very seat of the emotional responses.
Now Eric's tongue was busy darting into its hiding place, granting and receiving pleasure simultaneously as his fingers joined in the happy quest.
And then terror! Absolute panic seized the intrepid man who had captured and bound his mate. For two strong hands cupped his head. Thelma's hands! Two strong hands cupped over his ears proceeded to literally drag his body upward to where her mouth could join his in a passionate kiss. And then her hand reached down, caught him, and thrust him inside her!
Frightened, Eric reared back and saw that Thelma's powerful hands had freed themselves from the bondage that held them above his head-but she had used that freedom to grant him the opportunity for personal pleasure!
Hard and needing, Eric thrust into Thelma deeply, thrust from his position atop his wife-where a man belongs. And Thelma? Her hands went back above her head in the position in which Eric had tied them, and remained there. This was his doing. Let him take over from there.
Joyously Eric got the message. Happily he thrust deeply, understanding into his wife, thrust so hard and fully that Thelma's hips ground on the hammock and her body trembled, her lips parted in pleasurable submission and her juices flowed in heavenly invitation to the man assaulting her.
Eric knew that he had to please her this way, knew that he wanted to pleasure her. Fingers joined his penis in satisfying and gratifying the woman and even as they did so, his tongue found her mouth and their tongues intertwined.
Once again Thelma's hands were in action, this time holding: Eric's head while their lips screwed against each other's and the communication was total.
Now there was the feeling that equates to the sound of a locomotive in the far distance, rushing inward, getting louder, imparting a sense of urgency to all about it. Eric felt the event of a lifetime taking place between two people on a hammock.
Thelma wanted him, was taking him even as he was taking her in an assault of pleasure and authority. So she wasn't in bondage anymore. That is, not physical bondage. Something new had come into their relationship that was needed desperately by both. For now Thelma knew that it wasn't just Mildred's' intervention at the beginning that held Eric to her; she was his wife because he actually wanted her as his wife and was willing to risk any sort of punishment to prove this need.
His thrust was deep and authoritative. She parted her legs eagerly, receiving him fully, joyously.
Their lips were again bruising each other's as they ground mouth against mouth as authoritatively, hungrily as they ground groin against groin.
And then Thelma felt it happening. "Oooh, darling, I'm coming. Keep it up, clear." The voice was a soft voice, the voice of an imploring little girl.
"Of course, darling, love it," Eric said. It was neither the nouveau dominant swaggering nor the traditional submissive surrendering.
It was the voice of understanding.
And she came ... and he came ... and they came ... again and then again.
CHAPTER NINE
Las Vegas! Glassy-eyed women aimlessly pulling down the arm of the slot machine, mechanically dropping in their dimes and quarters or maybe just nickels and, if you get off the strip, even pennies! Watching the wheels spin round producing their fruit baskets of lemons, cherries, plums, stars and bars, dreaming the dream of that heady moment when they can scream
"Jackpot" and see the cascade of money, sperm-like, jetting out at them from the dispenser.
Men, dead cigar butts clenched between their teeth, looking like stepped-on and mangled cockroaches, waiting their turn at the dice table, waiting for a chance to throw and keep on throwing and hoping the odds will win, not the evens, the low numbers will have it, not the highs, that they'll not crap out, that the dice will be good to them. Men invoking punishment and pleading for pleasure!
Couples gathered around the roulette tables, the endless expanse of green baize with the treacherous zero and double zero at the top, the neglected numbers. How eagerly they watch the ball bounce and jounce in place as the wheel revolves beneath it, sending it on its erratic course, waiting for a ball to pick a number and hoping that the number it picks is one of theirs! Three rows of 12 numbers each, three rows of destiny. Pick an intersection, put your chips on it, and if any of the four numbers win, you get paid eight to one. Pick a horizontal row of three numbers. Guess right and you get twelve to one. Pick a number squarely and you're paid off 3 to one-all thanks to the sneaky Zero and double zero at the top.
Croupiers seem like wax figures from department store windows. You slick their hair down even more, immobilize their faces still further, dull the gleam in the mannikin's eyes, put an amethyst on its finger, dress it in the house costume of tuxedo or shirtsleeves and, voila, you've done made yourself a croupier.
Watch them as they shuffle and deal the blackjack same, mechanically. You wind them up and they deal you bum cards. Got two aces? Separate them and double your bet and he'll hit you with a five and a four. Have you a run of little ones going and you need anything up to a nine to get the five cards that make you a winner? Here it comes: a queen. Twenty-two points and you've lost, brother. "Hit me," the fellow on your right says. He's the one who gets the precious jack-ace combo that makes him buy a moment of feeling great. Not you.
Las Vegas. Broads shoving their amplified breasts past your shoulders, giving you the sight of a tightly-clad pratt jiggling past your hand, slugging you with their perfume and those eyes made gorgeous with make-up and lashes. And while you're thinking that maybe you still have some of the old charm left, she's thinking how fat is your wallet and can you cut the mustard and which of thirty stock stories about how she got into this racket will make you unpocket an extra ten spot.
Las Vegas with its lounge shows and great names and its utter, absolute, cynical lack of soul.
From her vantage point behind the palms, Mildred watched Charlie Greco at the black jack table, watched him sipping his drink, playing heavy-lidded, reaching down furtively to pat the rump of the girl on the stool next to his whom he was staking in the game. She was winning consistently, too, and putting the chips into a big leather bag that matched her incredibly short leather skirt. And Charlie's hand kept running up and down the crack in her backside, sharply defined by the leather and the way sitting on the stool tautened it.
Mildred watched and felt a little pang of jealousy, even though Charlie had been generous in his gambling allowance for her and she was more than two thousand ahead.
One of the whores came by. A big, pretty brunette with flashing eyes and a big smile. "Come here, dear," Mildred said, authoritatively.
"Sorry, doll," the big brunette said, "I've had my fill of girl-guys. They fall in love and pay lousy and take forever and a girl finds herself less attractive to the men-guys after competition lias spred the word around. It's not just you, understand; you seem a nice enough sort. I just thought you needed an explanation."
"Not me," Mildred said. "My husband."
The girl's eyes widened. "Caught you cheating?" she asked.
"No, it's our deal. He wants to play. I help him. He has money and takes good care of me as well as his outside friends. And I can have a party with anyone I want whenever I wish."
"So you have to find a girl here in Las Vegas? Is he that much of a creep?"
"Hardly!" Mildred said. "He has a beauty with him now. I just don't want him to get too involved with her. When foxes are being chased by a hound, one will run until he gets tired and then he crosses near where his mate is hiding and she'll run some more until she gets tired, when the first one takes over again. Pretty soon the hound is so worn from chasing that he never catches and eats his prey."
The big bruette sat back on the couch laughing. "So your poor slob never gets a chance to get rid of that load in his pants until you get him home? Is that it?"
"Not quite," Mildred said, grinning ruefully. "I just don't like the little thing who's working on him now. That's the girl there; the one with the white silk tank top and the shore leather skirt."
"Gretchen?" the big brunette said. "Hell, she has talent when it comes to taking a man. She owns two apartment houses already. I hate her for how much she can get out of a John I already thought I'd wrung dry. Financially I mean."
"So will you help me?" Mildred asked.
"Do I have something Gretchen lacks?" the brunette whore asked.
"You will," Mildred said "'He's queer for bright silk scarves."
"So you going to dress me up?"
"Let's go visit that shop across the street."
They had spotted it as they were driving in in the big car Charlie Greco had rented. The window was filled with bright colored silken temptations, geometries, mod things, psychedellic colors, gleaming and enticing as gems. Charlie had seen the window and nearly overshot his turn-in to the drive in his noticing it.
Yet he said nothing to Mildred about it and she didn't mention it to him. This would be a better way.
They didn't pick the smaller squares, those twentyfour inches or less. Not much you can do with those. But the ones twenty-seven inches or larger, those were the sizes you could knot or fasten with a pin or puff up as a frame behind your head, or make into sashes by using a pair, one around the waist, the other flowing from it and concealing the knot.
They didn't pick the sheer fabrics, the extremely light silks or the chiffons, silk organzas or others that weren't opaque. Mildred recalled the time she and Charlie saw a woman wearing one of those over rollers in her hair. Charlie had caught her arm and explained most explicitly: "If I ever once catch you in a get-up Kke that, I'm shoving my fist hard into your mouth and then kicking your ass the hell out. Even once," he warned. And Mildred, looking at the repugnant sight, replied:
"And I'd not blame you."
But they did choose the gleaming satins, soft and smooth to the touch, a joy to see, to stroke, to feel against one's face. And they selected the handsome, weighty silk twills with their rich, authoritative colors, their excellent handle, the feeling of luxury to them. The rayons, or acetates, weren't neglected, not if they gleamed enough and were heavy bodied. Nor were the long scarves of rich, soft, silken, bright-colored fabric. All told, they bought a dozen scarves.
The girl, fortunately, was wearing a basic black silk dress that was an excellent foil for the silk scarves. Her hair was long enough for Mildred to tie one of the very long scarves to it in a big, droopy bow and let it trail its mane of beautiful, strokable color behind the girl.
Another was tied around her neck in a big, soft knot, a huge scarf in bold reds, greens, white and black, that was a promise of joy in-touching to the sight and that more than fulfilled its promise in the actual touching.
Then, around the waist of her black dress, Mildred fastened a scarf like an extremely wide belt and used a matching one as the flounce over the knot to make it excitingly floating when the big brunette walked.
Her handbag was also ornamented with one of the colorful silken delights and the others they purchased were put in the girl's purse and inside her bra.
"Take him from her now," Mildred promised, "and I'll top whatever you take him for with this fifty." She tore the bill in half and gave half to the girl.
"I feel like a walking window display," the girl said. "Here's an extra key to my room, 622. Why don't you go there and wait in the closet to see what happens and maybe give me clues on what to do next?"
"First I want to see your pick-up technique," Mildred said. Then she watched.
Charlie was playing in his short-sleeved shirt now, his elbows on the table, his drink on his right where the girl, Gretchen, occasionally took a sip. The stool on his left was occupied by a fat, comfortable looking man. The big brunette stood behind the fat man watching. He lost three times in a row.
"This is a cold table," the girl whispered to him. "At that table over there," she said, nodding her head toward another one, "they're hitting the dealer almost every other round."
The fat man looked at her, grinned and said, "Okay, sweetie. If I win there I'll come looking for you and buy you a pretty and a goodie."
"Oh, goody," the girl said drily.
Charlie turned his head slightly at the sound of her voice, then turned fully to face the girl. His eyes studied the array of beautiful scarves she was adorned with. Then Gretchen nudged him. "Come on, hon. don't hold up the action here."
Charlie asked for a card, stood pat on sixteen, and then the brunette unfastened the scarf on her purse, laid it across Charlie's bare arm as softly as a kiss while Gretchen was deciding whether to call for another card, and melted into the crowd behind her.
Charlie caught up the big, pretty silken square and held it gently in his hands, pressed it against his face, inhaled the fragrance of the perfume in it and then, not even waiting to learn whether he won or lost on the hand in play, swept his stack of chips into his trouser pocket, picked up the ones in front of Gretchen, murmured, "So long, kid. Stay here and play. Don't follow me." Then he was off in pursuit of his vision.
Mildred grinned in admiration of the girl's technique and the satisfaction that Charlie had been lured away from the beautiful Gretchen. Whatever it was that turned Charlie on involving scarves had just stood Mildred in good stead.
She was about to break for the brunette's room when she saw the girl pausing in a dark corner of the lounge and Charlie addressing her. He held up the scarf. She undid his tie and put it in her purse, then folded the scarf lovingly and fastened it around Charlie's neck, securing it with his tie tack.
Then the two walked off together.
Gretchen collected her remaining chips and also those Charlie had left on the table since the dealer had drawn a twenty-three and then, anxiously started out in search of Charlie. Mildred saw the scene and took out a razor-sharp knife from her purse. Gretchen was walking fast. Mildred judged her course and deliberately bumped into the girl.
"Oh, excuse me," she said earnestly, as her knife slashed the bottom of the leather bag. "That was ever so clumsy. Are you alright?"
"Sure, I'm okay, stupid," Gretchen replied, her eyes blazing. "If you old worn-out bags have to drink, why don't you do it in your rooms?"
The knife was a tempting weapon for Mildred, but she had to conceal it in her right hand. So she used her left to slap Gretchen hard in the face.
Gretchen, furious, swung her heavy leather bag and sent an arc of chips flying against the wall from the cut-open bottom. Frantically she started scrambling after them, forgetting all about Mildred in her haste, and Mildred, delighted with herself, scurried to room 622.
It was a typical Las Vegas whore's room. Not one of the best nor the worst. There was a pretense of a regular wardrobe there, but they were all extreme man-catching costumes except for the simple sweater and skirt and loafers the girl had probably worn to work there.
Naive, Mildred wasn't.
She liked the way the closet was situated. The door opened outward and presented a view of the-bed directly and it also let her see the dresser mirror so she could tell what was going on on the opposite side, too.
Charlie was grinning broadly with the scarf around his neck and the brunette was walking so that her hand deliberately fluffed out and lent movement to the one hanging from her waist. She tossed her head so that the six foot scarf Mildred had tied in her hair was a silken flutter of visia! delight.
"Know what it was that turned me on about you?" he asked.
"You like brunettes," the girl suggested.
"Yes, and also-"
"You like big, tall women?"
"Not especially," Charlie said, "but I have this thing about scarves and you seem to wear them more masterfully, with more beautiful authority, than anyone I've ever known before."
"There is such a thing, then, as wearing scarves with authority?" the girl inquired. "I hadn't realized it. How can you learn something like that?"
Charlie Greco's face hardened. "Listen, don't go teasing me, girl. And don't treat me like I'm some sort of queer. I dig scarves. You might even call me a scarf fetishist. You wear them a certain way and they make you extra pretty. I'd like to own your scarves. You give me a hard-on when you wear them a certain way and gave me a stiffer one when you put this one around my neck, but I'm a man and a tough one and I don't lose control. Understand?"
His voice was heavy and menacing and yet the girl found him exciting. "Shut up," she said, "and come to bed. Quit making tough-guy sounds and start acting like a lover."
She began to undress, but she took off everything except her scarves. Then she started undressing Charlie and soon he was naked save only for the scarf around his neck.
Now the girl went to her purse and took out two of the big squares from it, unfolded them and spread them over Charlie's nipples as he lay back in the bed. His reaction was phenomenal. She turned her belt so that the scarf trailing from it stroked his towering organ. Now she hovered over him, letting her bright silken ornamentation dangle above him, stroke him and his nipples were hardening under the light touch of the rich silk.
"Do me a favor," Charlie said "I'll give you an extra twenty if you do."
"Sure," the brunette said. "What?"
"Wad up one of them lightly and put it between my palms. Then use another to cover my two hands completely like a single mitten and tie my hands together at the wrists. That way I'll feel I'm a prisoner in scarves, feel the silk in my palm, which always did things to me, and then you keep on playing with my breasts that way and trail that one in your hair over aly face."
She understood. She used the scarves that had been in her bra to do as she was told. Charlie was thrilled and excited, delighted with what was happening to him. His wife, looking through the crack in the closet door, saw him tied by the wrists, excited and active in the thrilling participation in the game he was playing more so than anything she recalled since they were first married!
Under pretext of going to her closet for more scarves, the girl went to Mildred who urged, "Blindfold him so I can get out. Then call me here tomorrow." She handed the girl her phone number, some folded bills and the other half of the fifty.
Charlie was blind olded by the girl and then Mildred left. She'd seen enough!
The phone rang the next morning and Charlie answered. "Wrong number," he said. Then hung up. He left an hour later and the girl phoned. "I sold him all those scarves for a hundred dollars," she told Mildred. "And he paid a generous fee for my services. But now he's gone back to look for Gretchen. What did you do to her? The syndicate has a detailed description of you and one of the boys may be paying you a visit soon."
"Could that be serious?" Mildred asked.
"If it were me, I'd be worried about someone using acid on my face. You may just get beat up and thrown out"
"I don't think Charlie would permit that," Mildred said. "He can play rough too and his connections are good."
"But Charlie doesn't know you had anything to do with the Gretchen caper or me, darling," the whore said. "Sit tight. I'll get you out of it."
Nervously, Mildred waited. In less than an hour there was a knock. She looked out the other door of their suite and saw that it was just a maid. Then she closed the door and called, "Yes?"
"Maid," a voice said.
She didn't recognize the big brunette when she opened the door. No make-up, a gray wig, a pillow around her belly under the maid's uniform, she looked a sight and she pushed her cart into the room and closed the door.
"Here's' a micro-mini skirt for you to wear. That will take attention from your face, especially with these lacy black stockings. Also use this long blonde wig and this dark olive make-up. You'll look like one of the Florida Cubans passing for something that's' probably really inferior if only the girls knew."
Mildred hastily got into the things the girl brought, left a note for Charlie and proceeded to pack. "He tells me he has a collection of maybe a hundred and fifty scarves," Mildred's ally told her. "Keeps them in a locked metal tool box under his work bench. The key is on the door of the tool shed marked 'Inner Office.' Apart from that, there's not much I can tell you except that you should watch out for a short, fat fellow with a big, broad, easy-going grin. He's Gretchen's John and she claims she lost over five hundred yesterday from a cut you made in the bottom of her purse. He intends to blacken your eyes and loosen a few of your teeth as a warning and then take the money Gretchen lost from you one way or another."
Then the maid and her cart were gone, leaving behind an entirely different-looking and feeling Mildred.
Mildred enjoyed the sight she presented in the mirror. The brunette had been well paid for whatever these things cost. Now it was just a matter of getting out before she was found out.
Charlie was gambling and Gretchen was next to him when Mildred went down after calling for the bellhop to take down their bags. Charlie didn't recognize his wife.
And then she felt a strange panicky quality as she saw a short, fat man, sweaty-looking, a handkerchief around his neck protecting the knot of a florid, wide tie. There was a grin on the man's face, but-his eyes weren't smiling.
Instead there was a deadly, coldly waiting quality in the man as he kept his eyes on Gretchen and her purse-the same purse, resewn.
Mildred took a stool two players away from Charlie to await a chance to tell him what was happening. Gretchen was winning again and, smart girl, she was wearing a bright brown and orange silk scarf around her neck with the same outfit she wore yesterday.
Mildred played for awhile and won. When she spoke, it was in a far lower and slower register than her customary one. But she couldn't get Charlie's eye, couldn't communicate with him. He was all hands and attention on Gretchen.
Gretchen, however, started looking at Millie and Millie seemed to feel her disguise fading away under the girl's hard, cold scrutiny.
Then Gretchen signalled the fat man and the fat man came over to her. She whispered something to him and Mildred began speaking in her natural voice. Charlie looked over at her easily, betraying no sign of recognition. He leaned over toward Gretchen to catch the conversation between her and the fat man and saw the fat man approaching Mildred. Something metallic gleamed about his knuckles when he took his fist from his pocket.
Instantly Charlie grabbed Gretchen's purse, opened it wide and strung the open purse over the fat man's head.
He drew the strings tight and knotted them, ignoring the fat man's hard driven punches into his belly.
Then, while the fat man struggled with the knots to tree his head from its encasement while he was still breathing, Charlie asked Mildred, "You okay?"
"Now I am," she said, "but we'd better get out fast. There are several bruisers coming your way from that many directions."
Gretchen tried to delay them by throwing her arms around Charlie Greco's neck. Charlie helped himself to her scarf and then literally hurled her at the two nearest goons coming his way.
Mildred saw a third pulling a blackjack, a real black braided leather sapper, the kind they fill with buckshot, from his trousers pocket and swing back behind Charlie's head. Her knife cut the braided leather immediately next to the fist and she caught the loose head of the weapon in her left hand and smashed it hard against the base of the skull of her husband's assailant. He buckled and dropped.
The bellhop saw Mildred coming and said, "Your things are in your car, Mrs. Greco. It's parked in front"
"Great, dear," Mildred said as she and Charlie ran tor it. "Will you have them bill Mr. Greco?"
And then they were driving to the airport with its slot machines for the last few dollars change and Charlie was holding Gretchen's scarf in his hand, and Mildred took it from him and tied it around his head and stroked his ears through it
"You were just great there, darling," she said.
"Sometime next year will you please tell me what this was all about?" Charlie Greco asked.
"I guess I was jealous of Gretchen," Mildred said, "sp I dealt her a mortal blow by slicing a slit in the bottom of her money tote bag." She continued stroking the silk scarf against his responsive face and he had a prominent rising.
"Dog-gone it, woman," Charlie said, teasingly, "some day I'm really going to get mad at you."
Mildred opened his fly and proceeded to tie the scarf around his testicles and penis, then hide it in his trousers.
"Thanks for fixing up that fat boy so he couldn't use those brass knuckles on me," Mildred said. "I'll bet he hurt you, didn't he?"
"A little," Charlie admitted.
"I'll make it up to you, sweetheart," she told Charlie Greco. "You'll be guest of honor at a party to which only girls will be invited-and I promise you'll love what we do to you."
Tony Brazzi met them at the plane. As soon as he and Charlie Greco shook hands, there was a definite feeling of empathy established. Two good, strong, capable, manly men. Mildred looked at his physique and said, "Charlie, okay I should have him? After all you had two of them in Las Vegas."
"You lost count early," Charlie said. Then, to Tony, "Think you could handle a little hellcat like this?"
"Be kind of fun finding out," Tony said. "But don't you switchabout couples require that whoever gets a guy's wife has to bring a girl for her husband?"
"Sound thinking there. Tony," Charlie grinned, slapping him on the back. "And I'll bet you lined up something cute for me."
"As a matter-of-fact, it was Eric and Gary who fixed me up with mine and she's still so new with me I'm jealous," Tony admitted.
"Sounds like we may all be taking part in one of the wildest and most offbeat weddings in history before long, hey?" Mildred inquired.
"I'm not the marrying kind," Tony said, blushing.
"That's an incidental detail," Charlie said.
"Providing she's the marrying sort," Mildred added.
And then they were home and Tony drove back to work.
Charlie was busy after his vacation and he paid slight heed to Mildred. In fact he forgot her promise to him about the party.
But he had carefully smuggled the scarves he'd purchased from the brunette in his shirt case. The one Mildred had wrapped around him, that he had taken from Gretchen, he'd had dry cleaned. Together they were brought, several days after the trip, down to the workroom.
It was a strange thing to see this powerful, manly creature, his tongue dry, his hands sweating, as, reverently, he lifted the big tool box, green and efficient-looking, from its place under the bench to the top.
The door to the room was locked and all the cracks were sealed. He unlocked the box.
Charlie stripped to the waist and then spread a pink taffeta sheet over the smooth surface of the workbench He lifted the pile of smooth, neatly folded scarves from the tool box in several stacks, each of which was tied with a wide satin ribbon of a different color. A stiff sheet of cardboard was beneath and atop each stack of the scarves so that the ribbons didn't press into their folded edges and wrinkle them.
There they were, divided by basic colors, the predominately reds and pinks and oranges in one stack; the blues and greens in another; the .grays, blacks and whites in a third; the browns and yellows in a fourth.
Each of the new acquisitions was brought out and held fully opened. Charlie looked at it in the light, pressed his face into it, smoothed it over his nipples, chest and belly, draped it around his neck and looked at himself in the mirror, tried it around his head, and then, reluctantly, he folded it, being careful to get the four corners exactly together Next folded it each way once more and, with the care of an expert watchmaker, added it to the stack of scarves in that color range.
The expression on his face was one close to religious as he returned the treasures to their chest, locked it and put it back under the table, put his undershirt and shirt on again and left the workroom.
Lying on the floor above, her eye peering through the tiny opening she had drilled in the floor and filled with a peep-hole of the sort used in doors to inspect visitors, Mildred felt she was continuing to discover an entirely new Charlie Greco-an interesting one, too.
One who should have a party given for him a very special sort of party, "Hi, Mildred, baby," the woman's voice on the phone chirped. "I'm coming over to see you this, morning, so get your lazy ass out of bed and have coffee ready for me."
"Who is this?" Mildred asked, puzzled.
"Carson's the name," the voice said. "LaVerne Car son. We had a party while you and Charlie Greco were tearing hell out of Las Vegas. Met me a guy named Tony Brazzi who's a great lay."
"My, you certainly sound earthy," Mildred said.
"Don't get fancy-pantsed with me, kid," LaVerne replied "We both love a good roll in the hay, so I'll be coming over to talk about him to you. Be there in twenty minutes and don't give me any hard time about being busy or expecting guests. See you, Kid."
Mildred was still grinning when there was an authoritative knock on the door. She was pleased that she was wearing the latest in hostess outfits, wide-bottomed black silk crepe pants and a full-sleeved white satin blouse with loads of chains around her neck and waist and a cute little bolero jacket.
In her mind she expected to see a bleached blonde in a too-tight outfit, chomping gum and swinging her beads and with beaded eyelashes and a cupid's bow mouth, maybe with a cigarette hanging from the corner.
What she saw, though, was in dramatic contrast. For LaVerne was physically as feminine a creature as Mildred had ever seen. The narrow waist and the full hips and breasts were attractively clad in a smart paisley printed blue and green silk suit with a big, soft bow at the neck and the beautiful, fluffy blonde was stopped by a pert-looking hat that matched the blue of her eyes, her purse and her gloves.
The expert, subtle make-up of the girl was just right for the image she was creating and even the tone of voice was light and girlish, in contrast to the things LaVerne said!
Mildred instinctively extended both her hands in a warm greeting to catch LaVerne's. "Do come in, darling," she said, and it came out warmer and less artificially than the words themselves seemed. "I'm genuinely pleased to meet you."
"Yeah?" LaVerne asked. "Why?"
"Because I have the feeling," Mildred replied, "that we two can become damned useful to each other. Okay?"
"Okay. Let's have that coffee and don't bother to put any Irish whiskey into mine this morning."
Mildred poured and the two sat on opposite ends of the couch. "Shoot," Mildred said. "You called me first, remember?" saucer on the coffee table. "Tony Brazzi," she said.
LaVerne took a slow, thoughtful sip, then set the "I sent him to pick you two up at the airport. Wanted you to see him. I want that man."
"I don't see you having any problems there, dear," Mildred said. "He's obviously turned on by you."
"Okay, so I get him horny. That part's easy. Any of s-you know-can get just about any man going with a sott touch, flattering gab, wearing things that get to them and the perfumes that poleaxe them. But that's not enough." She took another slow, thoughtful sip. "I want him on my terms."
Mildred's brow cocked. "Namely?"
"He's not as bright as I am. I can get us making more money, having more fun, doing more things, if it can be arranged for me to be the absolute boss of our marriage."
Mildred let out a slow, low whistle. "Sister, you're asking for a fat order there. That guy's no maso, no pushover for the aggressive woman, no TV who can be molded by getting him into a damned dress, no submissive type."
"If he were any of those things," LaVerne said, her Up curling, "I'd not be in the least interested in him. No challenge. Even with me in charge of the guy, I want a man I can respect."
"And Tony fills that bill?" Mildred asked.
"Perfectly," LaVerne replied.
Neither of t em was very large. The petite, short-haired Mildred, brunette and shapely. The buxom blonde LaVerne, artful in her femininity. But they recognized one thing they had in common: cores of steel!
"Let's give that some thought," Mildred said, tugging thoughtfully on the long earring she was wearing. "How did you make out with him?"
"He thumb-cuffed one of each of our hands together and then Eric did the same with our opposite toes so that we looked like we were dancing, couldn't get apart, and each had one hand free. He's the fastest one-handed pants and shorts dropper and skirt raiser I ever met in my life!"
"That sounds good so far," Mildred mused. "But isn't he the sort of wild animal who loses his fight when he's caged?"
"Not if he's in a situation in which he can still keep on fighting-but in which I always keep on winning," LaVerne said. "And that's what we're looking for, dear. Give it some thought, won't you? You're the most diabolical of the lot of them as far as I can tell."
Mildred was amused rather than resentful of this diagnosis. "What's your reading of the others?" she asked.
"Emily is a woman who is finding fulfillment late but enjoying the discovery. With enough development, she could become wild enough to be interesting, but a man would really have to get her sent up the wall for that."
"Howabout Thelma?" Mildred pressed.
"I'm afraid we took her mask off when she was with us all last time. Eric needed help in getting her made helpless, but after that, as far as I could tell-Tony kept me mighty busy, you know-he seemed to know how to make her feel like a woman instead of a big broad. She'll still be the dominant one between them, I'm sure. Probably keep the guy in drag much of the time, even. But I suspect that now it'll be as much for love and to keep him on ice as it was before out of an effort to keep the guy suppressed and punished."
"You see Eric as more of a man than he was then?"
"Let's put it as more of a complete, understanding, self-realizing person."
Mildred found herself feeling a new respect for this interesting woman. So she talked like Ethel Merman and she was hard as nails. She also had enormous human insight.
"That leaves us Gary," Mildred pressed.
"He was a dullard to start with, as I read him," LaVerne said, "but he's a good-looking hunk of beefcake and maybe if enough people work him over enough ways Emily will get herself a man there who's not that much of a lemon."
"Alright," Mildred said, taking over the conversation. "I'll give you my best reading of how to handle Tony later, as soon as any really interesting brainwaves hit me. What I need now, though, is some help with the best and toughest man of them all: my husband, Charlie Greco."
"What's up?" LaVerne asked.
"This guy's every bit as much a man as Tony. Older. Better educated. Used to be a college professor and then he got so fed up with the system that he's practically a gangster today, legal and all, but that type.
"Well, as far as I could tell, he had no special hang-ups worth fussing over. Oh I knew he was particularly attracted to women wearing bright, shiny silk starves, but I read that as about in a league with someone responding to a girl's perfume or a tight skirt or good legs.
"But then I noticed it was getting stronger. He'd notice real dogs wearing pretty scarves and ignore pips a full-blown-you'll pardon the expression, please who didn't. I caught onto the fact that he probably had fetish there.
"Didn't have a chance to really explore it until I was in Las Vegas this time and a real knockout of a girl started getting through to him. An experiment's okay. But this was getting my goat. So I hired a big beauty and did a thing with scarves with her that simply clobbered the competition that the prettier, more artful girl set up."
"You let them go the whole route?" LaVerne asked.
"All the way and I just hope she's not pregnant," Mildred continued. "She got him to confess where he had a whole big cache of scarves hidden away, played a little game with him, putting one silk scarf between his palms and then bandaging his two hands together with another so they were tied at the wrist. She worked on his nipples and his tool with scarves and, man, did he ever give out!
"Well, I happen to love this guy a lot. So I want him to know that I'm a mighty understanding girl about the scarf bit. Rather than keep it a secret from me and hide it-something I'm mighty surprised and, frankly a little disappointed, that Charlie would feel he should do, I want this right out in the open and him having fun from it."
"Bet he knows he's a lucky bastard having you for a wife already," LaVerne said sympathetically, "but hell know it a hell of a lot better after you come up with a whole new sexual aberration for him."
"What do you mean?" Mildred asked.
"Looks like we'll soon be enacting a scene called 'The Scarfing of Charlie Greco!'"
Mildred grinned. "I knew it! Soon as you called, and soon as I saw you, I knew I'd have the accomplice needed for this. Come on, darling, let's work out the details. Here, I'll show you our set-up here and what's in the tool box and everything."
"Tool box?" LaVerne asked. "Hell, I'll bet yours isn't much different from most."
"Bitch!" Mildred exclaimed.
"The gang will be over tonight, Charlie," Mildred told him when she phoned, "so get home early. You have to meet the new girl anyway, the one Tony Brazzi was so crazy about."
"Sounds like fun, dear," Charlie said. "I'll be there around six."
The car was at the station where he'd left it that morning when the train disgorged its batch of brief cases with men carrying them He sat comfortably behind the wheel and let the car, like a well-trained horse, carry him home by instinct.
It was good to get home, fun to be with Millie and the gang. He thought about Thelma and how she was the only one of the women he knew he hadn't shacked up with. Might be interesting riding a big broad like that! And then his mind swung over to the new girl Mildred had mentioned. Maybe one of the tall, thin model kind who have high cheekbones and always seem so damned sophisticated. That'd be good for the opposites attract theory.
Or perhaps she would be young and impish with one of those mini-mini-miniskirts. They looked cute, especially with the scarves they always seemed to tie at the bases of their ponytaiLs.
Maybe she'd be a fat girl. He understood that fat girls are tight down there and they usually had nice complexions. But mostly he'd not been too attracted to them. He was still thinking along these lines when he unlocked the front door and walked in.
What the hell? Maybe he'd misunderstood, but he thought there was to be a party here and the place seemed deserted. Come to think of it, there weren't any cars parked outside either. Must have misunderstood Mildred. He'd best look around for a note.
Ah, there it was, right on that silver tray in the living room where she always put the mail.
"Take off your jacket and tie," the note read, "and go into the kitchen."
Alright, he was game. Off came the jacket and tie and then he was in the kitchen. The note was taped to the refrigerator door: "Take off your shirt and undershirt and come to the den."
Leaving those garments on the kitchen chair, Charlie Greco continued the pursuit and he saw the third note pinned to the back of his favorite easy chair in the den. "Off with your shoes and socks, Charlie, and go down to the basement."
The basement! But that was where-Hastily, Charlie Greco bared his feet and started, apprehensively, down the basement stairs.
He couldn't resist looking in the workroom first but there was the tool box in its customary place, evidently untouched. Feeling somehow relieved he saw the note on the pillar there: "Unpants yourself, Charlie, and come on up to the bedroom."
Hell, why not be a sport? So he left his trousers hanging on the doorknob of the workroom and went to the bedroom. The door was locked. There was a note on it: "Slide your shorts under the door, Charlie, or you can't come in."
Grinning he shucked off this last remaining garment, slipped the waistband under the door, and it seemed to be slurped under it. Then there was a key turning in the lock and he entered the completely darkened room. The door closed behind him and he heard the key again.
Turning quickly he grabbed for whoever it was and felt tire unquestionable touch of a silk scarf with a woman's breasts behind it, a big woman's big breast. His bands groped higher, lower, and again he felt scarves. But now two hands seized his wrists.
"I have him," Thelma whispered. "Scarf his hands, LaVerne."
With the pressure of the silk scarves against him, Charlie didn't struggle. He felt his erection rising as someone put a wadded silk scarf between his two palms and then covered the backs of his hands with the smooth silken material and used the ends to bind his wrists tightly together.
Now he felt bodies pressing against him, may feminine bodies, surrounding him from all sides, silken clad bodies, silk scarf clad women, he was sure!
And as they squeezed, pressing thighs and breasts and hips and arms against him from all sides, the light gradually came up in the room.
It was as though the world had suddenly gone mad! It was as if signal flags of a thousand feminine navies were hanging from a hundred lines! Wherever he looked there were gleaming, bright beautiful silk scarves!
Charlie saw that the canopy over their bed was draped with them, that myriad scarves had been sewn together to make the spread, that the curtains were now assemblages of beautiful scarves. On the arm of all the chairs, they were like doilies and he looked around him to his astonishment and delight to see Thelma, who had caught and held him; a new blonde beauty, evidently LaVerne; Emily, looking the most irresistible he had ever seen her, and, astonishingly in silk scarves!
Emily was wearing what would have been an Indian sari had it been of sari cloth instead of the gorgeous satin scarves she'd sewn together for the occasion.
Thelma was wearing an evening gown of scarves most ingeniously put together so that the squares were all complete and she had a long stole made of them and others around her head and hanging down the back!
LaVerne had contrived a blouse of two matching scarves sewn with sleeve holes and one for the neck and a skirt made of four scarves, two around her waist and two set into the sides of these so that their extra points hung down.
Around her head she had tied a scarf Indian fashion with a big bow at the side and one went around her neck which matched another around her waist.
Mildred's was more a Hawaiian costume with a necklace scarf to which had been tied literally dozens and a waistband scarf to which were even more of the lovely things tied. Around her head, she wore a six-foot one with a big floppy bow in back, one Charlie recognized as that he had purchased from the big brunette in Las Vegas. In fact he saw that his entire collection of scarves was here among the others worn and displayed by these women.
Sudden fury seized him. They had found out his secret! They were teasing him!
Lowering his head he charged the first of the women who was before him, LaVerne. Quickly she stepped aside and caught his ankle in the loop of a scarf in her left hand, pulling up sharply. He fell to the floor, turning onto his back as he dropped.
Immediately Themla, in her vivid silken evening gown, piled atop the man with the bound wrists and proceeded to rub her scarf-covered breasts against his face. LaVerne reached through Thelma's silken gown to capture his tool in the fabric the large woman was wearing.
Emily and Mildred sat on his ankles and began stroking his bare legs with the lovely silken material.
"Give up, Charlie?" Thelma asked softly, "or do we just tickle and stroke you to death."
Tingling, thrilling to the things these women were doing to him, Charlie groaned, "Alright, girls. You win. Take over. I give up. Just so none of the men are in on this."
"We promise, they don't know a thing about it," Mildred assured him. "This is an all-girl party except for you."
"Okay, girls," Charlie said softly, sighing. "What's the first thing you want me to do?"
LaVerne's hand which had been holding Charlie's tumescent tool through Thelma's lovely scarf-gown was suddenly joined by the other hand holding his basket in a nest of silk scarf. "Come right out loud, Charlie," she said, "and shout, 'I'm a scarf fetishist.' Tell us aloud, 'I'm queer tor scarves.' And say it proudly."
He seemed to hesitate. She began to squeeze. Then in a big, bass voice Charlie shouted: "I'm a scarf fetishist. I'm queer for women's heavy silk scarves in bright colors. I love them! They give me hard-ons! I dig being felt through them and feeling them against my naked breasts and chest and back and arms and ass and legs and face and neck. When I'm feeling silk scarves it's like the most exciting women in the world-even Mildred are working me up and jerking me off!"
"Great!" Mildred exclaimed. "That's just wonderful, Charlie. Get rid of those old inhibitions. Come on, now tell us what you would most want us to do to you with these scarves, Charlie. Say it and, I swear, we'll do it!"
There was a feeling close to madness in the air at the totality of this revelation so long nurtured as a guilty secret. Charlie found himself perspiring and trembling and still thrilling at this thing that was going on-as though a guilty secret had at last been wrung from him by the most exquisite of torture and, in admitting it, he found out he was innocent!
"I-uh, I like being stroked by women's' silk scarves, all over my body but mainly my face and neck and breasts and the base of my spine and. of course, my sex organs." Nobody seemed shocked. Nobody seemed triumphant. Hey, this was great! Charlie continued: "I'd love to be able to wear women's silk scarves, around my head and neck and where they can stroke my breasts. But I've never done it for fear I'd be mistaken for some sort of sissy and, honestly, I don't feel I'm a sissy at all."
Then it happened. Then the girls caught him and lifted him onto the bed with its scarf-cover and scarfcanopy, they piled on top of him in their scarf clothes and they stroked him and teased him with the scented shining silks they held in their hands and wore and had stashed within reach of the bed.
All of Charlie's sensitive skin responded to the touch of the fabric and the bound wrists were soon joined by bound ankles and scarves tied around his neck and his forehead. But he wasn't blindfolded. They wanted him to see everything that was happening to him, to recognize the sight as well as the touch of the fabrics that were patrolling his sensitive body.
Then Thelma put him atop Emily, trussed as he was and she was stroking his nipples from below while others stroked his back and rump and legs from behind with the glorious fabrics to which he responded so readily. He couldn't hold out. Soon his hips were pumping faster than ever and the forward thrust of the man drove the fluid deeply into the woman beneath him.
"I'm going to dress you in my sari of satin scarves," Emily confided as she gently stroked his face with puffs of the silken fabric while his orgasm pulsed in fiery spurts into her body. "I'm going to make you wear it and I'll stroke you as you do, Charlie dear, for I love the sight of a man in satin scarves."
Aroused? It was as though he were a teenager just discovering sex! The maddening words, the exciting touch, the thrilling idea Emily implanted in him sent his hips thrusting back and forth once again as the woman's silken belly massaged his and her knowing hands manipulated the stirring fabric over his nipples and his face.
And then, as though for the first time, Charlie found himself thrusting with long, wild, deep, incredibly satisfying strokes into this woman he had just serviced, found himself with his emotions building up like thun der in the distance and then it all came crashing through: a gigantic stream of thrilling fluid passing viscously from his being into hers as her body writhed from the plea sure of it, bringing satin scarves into constant, fresh contact with his sensitive, responsive skin.
Charlie lay there then, drained, happy, exhausted, thrilled. And Emily, more utterly satisfied than she had ever been before in her life, found a towel to wrap about his shrunken, moist tool and rose from the bed on which he lay, panting and gasping.
"Thanks, LaVerne," she said. "That was easily the best idea you've ever had."
"Remember now, you made him a promise," the buxom blonde reminded her.
"Listen, I have to get out of this outfit fast! If he comes to again and gets his health back and does that to me once more, I'll not be able to touch it with a powder puff," Emily said, unwrapping her sari.
Thelma stood the tired Charlie Greco on his feet while the naked Emily and the scarf-clad LaVerne wound the Sari Indian fashion around his body. They lowered him back onto the bed then-and the look of contentment on his face was, in contrast to his rugged features, positively angelic!
They let him sleep for a half-hour, untying his hands and feet while he slept in the beautiful, multi-colored series of satin scarves sewn into a sari. Thelma sat beside him in her evening gown comprised of silken scarves, gently stroking him as he slept, stroking him through the material he was wearing, watching the soft smile of contentment on his face with amusement.
Then the half-hour was up. "Come on, Charlie," she said. "Time to continue your scarfing. This time you work me over, dear, but you never actually, physically touch my body. All you may do is reach me through the scarves."
She lay face down on her elbows while the sari-clad man buried his face between her scarf-covered buttocks and stroked her legs, while he squirmed, snake-like up her body and down it again, rubbing the garments he was wearing against those she wore and imparting a deep sensual thrill to both as he did so.
Thelma guided and controlled all of his actions and Charlie, ecstatic in his scarfing, was delighted to obey her commands and gesture-indicated instructions.
She rolled over onto her side and he once again proceeded to squirm up and down her body, across it back and forth, moving toward her feet in his crisscross crawling and then again up toward her head, feeling her body beneath him with its full hips and its ample rump, its superlative breasts and its broad back and his hardening organ trapped beneath the layers of silken scarves he wore thrilled to the experience as much as did his hands and his sensitive nipples, his face and his legs.
On Thelma's other side Charlie continued, only now fie was crawling up and down instead of in a crisscross pattern and the sense of constant, fresh, exciting physical contact with the garments, the fabrics, the colors he adored had him fully erect now.
Thelma flopped onto her back and, once again Charlie proceeded to bring his body into contact with hers through the glorious tactual satisfactions this contact orgy engendered.
She made him crawl up and down on his back now so that the small of his back, the base of his spine, the sensitive calves of his legs were brought into contact with the voluptuous curves of her body, artfully backed up by the skillful stroking and fondling, massaging and tickling that her hands imparted to the experience he was having.
Face down again, Thelma made him crawl the length of her body from her head to her feet and then required him to stroke her through the scarf-evening gown she wore with his hands and his nose.
He had to bury his face deeply in the cavern of her parted legs where she had laid several extra thicknesses of scarves and the full-skirted silks she wore permitted her to entrap him there, catching his ears and his cheeks between her full, exciting inner thighs while her hands stroked his back and rump and calves in the sari Emily had put on him.
His nose became a sex organ as, hungrily, he nuzzled the woman through the fabrics he so adored.
And then Thelma was a wildly thrashing sea of silken sex. All of her being was responding to this off-beat excitement, the bizarre thrill of vicariously enjoying the other man's special aberration. She had glorious, heavenly, celestial pulsations thrusting through her whole being, thrilling her more than anything she had imagined could be like this.
Her grip on the man was a crushing thing and her hands were stroking him with such knowing adroitness that he was practically jacked up off of her body by the erection he developed.
Thelma's legs released their grip on the man and, panting, she relaxed and fell asleep to dream of a special paradise in which her servants dressed only in scarves and her sensual pleasures were constant in their existence and their gratification.
Watching this scene had driven LaVerne and Mildred to the need for joining in the action and the two lay together on a couch, their hands and bodies busily pleasuring each other. All was quiet soon after that.
Everyone was asleep-smiling.
Thelma was the first to wake up. It was morning. She looked at the man in the sari and carefully undressed him. Then she took off her own evening gown. As she stood there naked, she noticed that his eyes were open. "Come on, Charlie," she whispered, "stand up."
Dutifully he stood by the side of the bed, naked.
"I want to put this big scarf on you, diaper-style, as soon as you've gone to the bathroom," Thelma said, holding up a huge, silken, printed square.
Groggily, Charlie Greco went to the bathroom, brushed his teeth, shaved, showered and returned to the patiently waiting Thelma. Using two of Mildred's smaller orna mental pins, Thelma diapered the man and then she used two more scarves to form a bandeau over his breasts. "Now, dear, want you to put on this evening gown I was wearing."
"Aw, now, look," Charlie started to protest. Thelma stroked his nipple with a scarf through the silken bandeau and Charlie picked up the gown and thrilled as it slithered over his arms, head, chest and body. Then Thelma dressed him again in the sari, making him into a column of silken scarves.
She took the spread off the bed now and, ordering Charlie to hold his arms high above his head and hold one corner of the spread made of scarves and stand on another corner, she wound the exciting shroud around him.
Then she tied his wrists together. Next his ankles. She stitched the open side so that the material molded against his body. She opened the basting that held the scarves together near his face so that his head emerged.
Carrying him in her strong arms, the big naked Amazon brought Charlie to a spiral staircase in the hall and tied his wrists high above his head to the highest rail he could reach.
"Come on, you two," Thelma said. "You have a job to do, you know. After all, you're in on this scarfing of Charlie, too. In fact, you were supposed to be the two who got it started!"
"Hell, you didn't leave us anything to draw out of the poor guy," LaVerne said. "That's like inviting a family to a banquet after the food's all gone."
"You don't know Charlie," Mildred said solemnly. "Does he, Thelma?"
"Make like a fireman and slide down him like a pole and you'll find out," Thelma told LaVerne.
"I think 'II do just that," the beautiful blonde said. She scampered up the stairs in her beautiful costume improvised of scarves as blouse and skirt and with others worn, truly, as scarves.
When she got to eye level of the trussed, helpless, scarf-shrouded sensualist, she deliberately spun him so that he could see her and she reached through the banister to touch his body through his mummifying swaths.
"Hey, this is great, Charlie," she said. "With you in the middle of this spiral staircase I can reach you anywhere I want just by moving up and down the stairs and touching you. Look!"
She scrambled over the railing and, leaning far out, shoved her scarf-coated rump into his face. Then she turned around and did likewise with her scarf-thrusting breasts. Her hands found his body through the material encasing it and moved with a wonderful mixture of strength and stroking, tickling and teasing to force an almost alarming awareness onto Charlie Greco's face.
Then she used her trained athletic skills to climb out onto his body, to straddle his head, sitting on his shoulders and thrust her front in its scarfed skirt, against his face. She was like a skilled gymnast now, hanging from his shoulders by her knees, wrapping her arms and legs around the man and using her ability to reach the spiral staircase to push herself around and around the man in the direction of the closing of the column Thelma had stitched around him, moving around his body, bringing the material into opulent, voluptuous, sensual contact with him, stirring him.
Then she worked herself down to his hips and a little farther down and she stopped in amazement. "Put things like this around telephone poles and men wouldn't have any trouble climbing them!" she exclaimed. "I was wrong, Mildred, and you can tell Thelma I said so!"
Delightedly she worked the material into itself against his skin rubbing silk against silk against skin so that Charlie's breath was short, his chest was heaving, his need was indescribable!
"Want more, Charlie?" LaVerne teased as she deliberately wriggled against him in her strange scaff costume, stroked and thrust and stirred him even as he had just done Thelma.
She had the dual support of both Thelma's and Emily's exciting and imaginative costumes with their incredible tactual satisfaction and then the added enticement of the winding spread of square scarves all pressing against Charlie's skin, firing his imagination, extending and fortifying and amplfying the innate responsiveness of the man to the scarves and the materials he loved.
LaVerne stroked and teased and tantalized and stirred the man to near the explosive point. The she selected one heavy, rayon scarf of thick, squishy satin and wrapped it around his jutting penis which she had extricated from the scarf encasements of Charlie by carefully opening the basting.
Wrapping her legs around him, she pressed his penis in this particularly smooth satin scarf between her feet while her hands manipulated his nipples through their havens of silk.
She wriggled against him, moving, jiggling, stroking, and always with those feet holding his hungry organ captive.
Then it happened! She felt the moisture in her feet almost at the same moment she felt the electrical vibrations that indicated what was happening as a result of her toying with this thrilled man.
She clamped her two feet together, sole to sole, with the thrusting, wriggling, excited tool in between them and the passion kept spurting repeatedly until Charlie sagged from his bound wrists. And then LaVerne slid down his person again, caught and wrung out his rod, and she untied the scarf holding his wrists up high.
He dropped to the ground then and LaVerne and Mildred began freeing him. As they completed the task of reducing Charlie to nakedness, Mildred saw his red, raw wrists and looked at them horrified. "Did you realize that he was under that much physical strain with your combined weights?" she asked LaVerne.
"No, and I'm sure that neither d'd he," she replied. "He was so damned excited that he wasn't aware of anything but the touch of those silk scarves."
Sleepily, groggily, sorely, Charlie opened his eyes and looked at his lovely persecutors. "Quite a girl you have here, Mildred," he murmured. "Sexiest soles of feet I ever came into!"
"Well, Millie," LaVerne said, "I don't often get compliments like that. But remember, we made a deal. Come on through with your part, kid. Mine worked."
As she spoke she was taking off her costume, removing scarf after scarf and tossing them on Charlie's nude body' Mildred walked the naked blonde to the bedroom where she'd left her regular clothes, said goodbye, and then returned to her husband.
She began by taking off her own strange hula-type costume trailing each scarf she removed against some part of the naked anatomy before her and then leaving it atop him. When she was completely naked, she started gathering the other scarves, taking apart those that had been basted together such as LaVerne's bouse and skirt. Each of these was piled atop the naked, responsive body of her husband until, by the time the canopy and the curtains and the lines with their silken burdens were stripped of their scarves and the garments were piled on top of the man, he seemed to be at the bottom of the most colorful pile of oversized silken leaves any Fall ever witnessed. And thus Charlie rested.
In the morning, Mildred was adamant. He would have to wear them as she instructed him to, then dry clean all the soiled or wrinkled ones in a coin-op, disguised only by dark glasses. And then he was required to iron the lot of them, slowly, carefully, patiently, not permitted to fold them, but required to stack them out in the open in the area in which Mildred and Charlie lived.
"Say it, Charlie," Mildred demanded.
"I'm a scarf fetishist," Charlie confided to her. "I'm crazy about women's bright-colored, heavy-weight silk scarves. I love to have any and every part of my body stroked with them-and, Mildred, I love you for being so understanding about it."
Knotting one of the largest and brightest of them prettily at one of her shoulders and securing it there with an orna mental pin, Mildred said, "I'm proud of you for admitting it, darling. It helps me know how to please you-and what more could a woman want than that"
"Girls who talk like that wind up wearing expensive furs and jewelry," Charlie said heavily. "Don't say I didn't warn you."
"Shut up, you bully," Mildred said, "and let me fit this bright red and purple one around your head Gypsy fashion as long as we're just the two of us alone in the place together."
"What can I do," Charlie asked, "when you're logical?"
CHAPTER TEN
Busy, creative mentalisties with a combined objective are capable of wreaking havoc. And Mildred had been doing a great deal of planning, visiting with LaVerne, Thelma and various specialists. They had maintained careful social contact with Tony Brazzi, giving him a sense of belonging, of being welcome and liked, having him to all their affairs and always keeping them completely informal. This applied to dinners served outdoors and out door concerts, a Sunday boat ride or a Saturday night drinking fest.
Always his attention seemed focused on LaVerne. He couldn't keep his eyes or hands off of her and she made certain that he stayed that way. It was against all the laws of nature for breasts to rise that high and point that invitingly, but hers did.
It was impossible for eyes to be that alluring, that excitingly made up with artful, thick-fringed lashes and smoky, smoldering shading around the eye-but hers attained this quality.
No woman that excitingly fragrant should be permitted on the streets in the interests of public safety, but Tony hadn't the slightest desire to be safe.
Yet, whenever the subject of marriage came up, Tony was as wary as the wiliest animal ever to elude a trap.
"Your job, LaVerne, is to become an expert on cinematography," Mildred told her, lecturing the seated blonde beauty like a schoolmarm. "I want you to know all there is about long shots and close-ups, lighting effects and the lenses used to effect these things. You have the job of being the whole cast of the world's first underground movie done for an audience of one with a cast of one-without film."
"I think you're crazier than a bedbug," LaVerne said flatly, "but I'll go along with it. I'll at least try to get that stuff down in my head."
"Darling, you're pure showbiz from your toenails up-and don't think you're not going to love it. Be sure, while you're at it, to come up with the sexiest costumes you think will send Tony up the wall."
"Gotcha," LaVerne said, winking and touching thumb to forefinger.
"Thelma, have you any really skilled women cabinetmakers who know how to make up special-I mean very special and confidential-furniture finished perfectly on the inside as well as the out?" Mildred askd.
"Well we have one Danish girl whose father taught her the business from childhood," Thelma said. "What's up?"
"Tony. We want him to propose to LaVerne so we can have them in our group."
"Great. He'd be fun to frolic with. I'll tell Brigid to do whatever you want her to do-in the way of manufacturing furniture, that is."
The design Mildred produced looked unlike anything ever before made in the furniture field. Basically it was a chair. But it had a smooth, open bottom like a toilet seat and a chemical trap beneath it so that whoever sat in it naked wouldn't have occasion to get up until he was released.
There were wooden enclosures for the legs of the person seated in this chair, special boxes with a space into which the foot, calf and thigh fitted comfortably but which, when the outer side was locked into place, held him imprisoned securely until he was released.
Only a padded bar was across the back of the chair, about shoulder height. The rest was open.
And the arms had finely molded pieces that fit under the armpit of the person seated there like a crutch handle and which also had locked channels into which the arms fitted and from which they couldn't be removed when the outer sides were fitted into place.
Only the hands from the wrists outward were not enclosed in this. "I guess we can really call this 'case goods,' can't we Brigid?" Mildred suggested.
They selected one of the men from the factory about Tony's build and measured him carefully. They seated him on the chair, explaining that it was for an invalid, to get just the right fit. When they were finished, Brigid produced a magnificent masterpiece of solid walnut that looked like nothing ever before made by furniture craftsmen.
"Now we have one more thing to do with this," Mildred told her. "I must have a head clamp so that he cannot turn his head to the right or left nor move it forward or backward, so that his attention is focused exactly where we want it to be and there's not a damned thing he can do about it once he's in it. Have you any ideas?"
The big woman woodcraftsman looked at Mildred thoughtfully. "Why do you do this to a man?" she asked.
"I want him to marry a certain woman. Tt is our way of trapping and punishing him until he does," Mildred said, looking squarely into the grey eyes of the woman.
"And the girl is pregnant?" Brigid asked.
"T don't know." Mildred shrugged. "But she does love him and she wants him badly. I'm always on the side of the woman in love."
"So am I," Brigid said. "So let's use a furniture clamp to fit the side pieces, L-shaped with a brace under his chin, smoothly against the sides of his head. Tt can be mounted to the backrest of our Special Chair of Subjugation. I will make it with smoothly polished dowels that will go into his ears just far enough to prevent his moving his head and yet will permit him to have some hearing."
Mildred beamed her appreciation for the imaginativeness of Brigid. "Great!" she exclaimed. "With this in our plans, I can't see how Tony can keep his bachelorhood!"
They set the chair up in LaVernes smartly sophisticated apartment with mirrors strategically placed-II around it. The party was at La Verne's. Everyone had a great time. Strip poker was the card game. Thelma and Gary were the big winners. Tony hung in there almost to the end, but then he lost his shorts.
"Okay, Tony," Gary said. "You're through."
"I'm feeling lucky," he said. "How about one more hand?"
"Evidently you don't understand house rules here," LaVerne said as she stood naked and alluring before the naked man. "We can always play one more hand after we've lost our last garment, but if we lose that time, you have to sit in the Seat of Subjugation. And you may invite as many other players into the game when you want a special post-garment hand dealt-whoever you wish."
"Hell," Tony said, "I'd like all of you in on this one so I can get all my clothes back at one time. What do you say?"
They all sat around the table, Thelma in her black slip, girdle and hose, Gary in his shorts and trousers, Emily, Eric, LaVerne and Tony all stark naked. Mildred and Charlie were in the kitchen mixing drinks.
Gary dealt the first two cards face up and Tony sat with an Ace-King of hearts before him. Nobody had a pair. No other high hearts showed. Tony said, "I'll bet as high as I can here, kids. I'm heading for a royal flush."
The next card was face down and Tony had a ten of hearts. The betting went to Thelma with everyone passing. She bet a total bondage, because she had a pair of nines. And with the next card Tony had a queen of hearts. He raised the bet to a bondage and a spanking and Gary dealt the final card face up.
When it came Thelma's turn, at Tony's left, he saw the deadly Jack of hearts going to her. "Can you beat a full house?" she asked.
Tony gathered his cards together and tossed them into the middle.
"Where's this chair?" he asked.
Then LaVerne whipped the cloth off the masterpiece Mildred and Brigid had created and Tony walked over to it, fascinated. "How does it work?" he asked.
"You sit in it naked," Mildred explained. "Go ahead. Your legs go on the outside of those compartments and your arms receive those padded rests in the arm pits. Then you fit your arms into the open L-shaped channels for them like this."
Tony was seated in the chair, his legs and arms in place and, with a precisely timed movement, Thelma and Mildred locked the outer cases for the left arm and leg compartments into place while LaVerne and Emily did the same things for the left.
"Hey, you really have a guy cold when you get him in this, don't you?" Tony asked, admiringly.
"Oh, that's not all yet," Mildred said. "There's this piece that goes into the backrest like so-and then we fit this against the side of your head with the wooden protuberance in your left ear. Now we turn this furniture clamp so that the corresponding one is in your right ear." She suited the words to the action.
"I feel like I'm in some sort of space craft," Tony said, his jaw practically immobilized by the brace under his chin. "Makes me feel especially naked this way."
"You're on your way to getting out of this world," LaVerne said, kissing him and stroking him in his nakedness. "Okay, gang, everybody out! Tony's mine now. All mine."
"Hey, wait a minute!" he murmured in his wooden prison. "What's going on here?"
All the others were getting dressed. Each of the women kissed the imprisoned man goodbye. The men squeezed his hands, still protruding from their wooden sleeves, in a warm handclasp.
Good luck, Tony, Charlie said. "I suspect that before long you're going to be one of us."
"What do you mean?" Tony asked.
"A married guy," Gary told him.
"With a wife who calls most of the shots," Eric added.
"Like hell I will!" Tony said, struggling against the wooden trap in which he was locked.
"Then you have more will-power than any human being I've ever encountered," Mildred said. "Come on, gang. Let's leave LaVerne to her conquest."
Tony strained against the powerful, movement-erasing prison in which he was locked. He used all of his considerable strength, but the securely glued, fitted and bolted walnut didn't begin to yield under his efforts. He was alone in the room. He tried to move his feet, but it was useless. His hands were so restricted that he could only clench and unclench his fists. He tried to turn his head, to bite, but he was totally immobilized by the diabolical piece of furniture.
And yet he was aware that he couldn't protect his naked body. He was never more aware of the total nakedness of his torso, his back, face and hands!
"You're mine now, Tony," LaVerne said, coming into the room "All mine to do with whatever I please, darling."
"Like hell I am," he spluttered.
"Here, let me demonstrate my point so you get it faster," LaVerne said. Then carefully, holding it directly before Tony's eyes, she inserted thumb tacks in a razor strop so that each protruded about a quarter of an inch. Tony watched, fascinated, as LaVerne disinfected the points with strong alcohol and then said, "Now I'll use this little elementary torture instrument as something for you to struggle against. I'll hit you with it on the rump. The points aren't deep enough to cause serious damage but they will inflict considerable pain. The only point of this is to show you that you can't do a damned thing about it and that, fond as I am of you, if you rebel you'll have to undergo painful discipline."
Looking at the lovely girl in her pretty, short, tight, silk dress, it seemed impossible to Tony that these statements could be coming from her mouth-and yet there was no questioning it. Nor was there any doubt about the reason behind her setting up the mirror screen in front of him in his helplessness so that he could indeed see her standing behind him, wielding the weapon of pain, certain of her target and, if she was feeling any pangs about hurting the man she claimed she loved and sought to marry, none showed!
The strop landed and with it came the burden of pain. Tony saw it coming. Braced himself against it. Managed not to jump or shriek when the many sharp points penetrated his skin, but the pain was there, the tears in his eyes, the perspiration on his forehead, the pounding of his heart-and LaVerne missed none of these symptoms.
Again she deliberately wound up and let fly with the cruel clout and again Tony managed to check voluntary reactions, but he had to jerk a little when it landed the third, fourth and fifth time in rapid succession. A man can keep his muscles tensed for only so long and then he has to yield!
Now she reversed the strop and proceeded to pound him on the back with it, to pummel him until there was only one huge sea of dull pain there behind him, hurting him to the point of agony!
"Do you want to propose to me now, Tony?" LaVerne suggested, halting the bombing for awhile.
"No, I don't," Tony spat at her, his eyes blazing.
"Do you regard me as your superior?" she asked.
"Absolutely not!" he flared at her.
"Well, then, will you admit and recognize that I have you in a completely helpless, dependent position, in which you can't stop me from doing anything I wish to, with or on you?" She was letting her fingers flicker lightly over the prominent prow of the imprisoned man while the other hand stroked his cheek softly.
"Not much of an argument I could put up against that," Tony agreed.
"Well, at least I'm batting around .300 on these points," LaVerne said. "I think that's enough to stop physically hurting you for awhile, Tony. Now, as they said in Gypsy, 'Let me entertain you'."
"Personally, I don't see how I could prevent you," Tony murmured.
The light began to dim. The screen with its three mirrors was removed. Tony, helpless, could only wait to see what would happen next. A softly padded, fur-covered table was at his right. LaVerne was lying on it now, gracefully feline, her every curve superbly accentuated by catch-lighting and a spotlight mounted behind Tony's' shoulder focused its beam eighteen inches before his eyes.
A television image or a motion picture scene amplifies and magnifies reality so that a woman's head may be eighteen feet high as the artist's way of making your awareness of the details of her facial beauty inescapable. LaVerne was accomplishing much the same thing with Tony by this version of a close-up, by being extremely close to him. The image she presented was in three dimensions, full, glowing, natural color, with her perfume in the air and she could reach out and touch him and give him tactual satisfaction!
Slowly the table moved on its course immediately before Tony's eyes. He saw there the delicate, high-heeled shoes, stiletto heeled even though the style is long gone, for of all recent shoe fashions, that was the shape that most excited man, and LaVerne knew it. Her foot was pointed downward, gracefully, the dark hose of the instep silken and touchable and inviting and already as the girl began to come into such intimate view, Tony was finding his heart pounding in ridiculous anticipation. "Hell," he told himself, "I've known this woman laid her, seen her several times already, and here I am. waiting to see the next few inches of her as anxiously as if it were a mystery and I had no idea how it was going to end."
What grace was in those beautiful ankles, slender and with the dark hose clinging superbly. Not a hair pierced the softly shining, gray nylon. LaVerne's legs were perfection.
Up the leg, ever so slowly, Tony's' gaze traveled as the moving table progressed past his line of vision in the inexorable spotlight and the still, enticing figure in the table was observing him from the darkness, pleased with the training she had given herself in the crash program on cinematography!
She didn't let a muscle twitch as Tony licked his dry lips and blinked quickly so as not to miss one fraction of a second of the alluring sight the girl presented.
Up the calf the light seemed to travel and Tony found himself cursing the dowel-tips in his ears that prevented him from turning his head and peering into the darkness beyond the spotlight for the next treasure-sight!
Each tiny muscle in the leg became a vision of beauty unto itself and part of an irresistible whole that Tony found particularly desirable and maddening because he couldn't reach out and touch it and thrill to that touch. For once he couldn't grab that which he coveted.
How he worshipped that calf and then the lovely one beneath it with the weight of the woman swelling it deliciously. And then it narrowed as the knee was about to come into view, becoming a delightful trap in which a man would love to be caught. Tony found himself thinking such thoughts and wondering where they could have come from.
Now the knee was there, smooth and inviting to the touch, inciting Tony to a wanting such as he was astonished to experience Even as he watched this knee and saw the hem of the silken skirt coming into his view, sharply restricted by the wooden surfaces pressing against his cheeks, the ones housing the dowels in his ears, even then La Verne's full calf moved in toward Tony and he felt its silken splendor, its shapely softness, across his nipples as the supine girl teased her helpless victim.
The thighs beneath the skirt were heaven itself, full and graceful, making a man want to touch as he had never wanted to touch anything before in his life! And they swelled to voluptuous femininity at their widest part and then Tony saw that sweet narrow waist of the woman and her flat belly. Then the lights suddenly went out and Tony groaned audibly
"What's the matter, darling?" LaVerne asked. "Disappointed?"
"Oooh, yes!" Tony admitted. "Please let me see the rest of you, darling. PLEASE!"
The light went on again then, with the focus hard and directly on the very crest of LaVerne's breasts. How marvelous was the way they pointed outward and upward in incredible thrust of beauty! Tony found himself inhaling sharply and gasping at the magnificence of this super-close-up he had of this special sight.
Now the table moved away. She was lying on her side, one elbow on a cushion beneath her, her cheek resting on her hand and the pressure of her hand on her face giving it a delightful oriental cast.
Her neck seemed longer, more graceful than he had recalled and there was a tiny pulse at the base of her throat which invited the kisses of a devoted man. Her jaw-line was firmer than he had anticipated, since he had never studied it before, and he felt a slight shudder running through him involuntarily as he contemplated this.
The mouth: absolutely the most kissable object in the world!
The nose: pert and pretty and saying much he wished he understood better. All he knew for certain was that he loved that nose.
The complexion: perfection.
Those EYES: It was as though they weren't eyes in any way save for their beauty and the ability they gave LaVerne to see. As to their effect on him, she was looking at him through laser beams with the incredible property of planting devotion in the person the beam struck!
The hair: soft, strokable gold.
And the table was passing him by now, taking LaVerne from his frozen vision. But then she kissed him, kissed him lightly on the eyes and the mouth, and darkness came.
Tony sat there in his wooden prison, his need for LaVerne the most physically evident thing imaginable and Tony could do nothing to conceal his virile reaction.
"I see you through ultra violet and infra red glasses, Tony," LaVerne was saying. "My you are the greedy one, aren't you?"
The sense of frustration! Of having inadequate weapons with which to fight a superior adversary! Tony found tears actually welling in his eyes.
"Where are you?" he asked. "And what are you doing now?"
She had put a pair of glasses on him. They made things look farther away and smaller, he realized when the spotlight went on again revealing LaVerne in a beautiful stripper's costume. The music was the David Rose record and LaVerne knew just what to do to it. Those bumps and grinds! That exciting way of teasing while each thing came off in turn and she stroked her body as though to ask "Wouldn't you give a lot to be able to do this, Tony? Wouldn't you be willing to do a little thing like obey my orders for the privilege of fondling these breasts?" And she pointed them at him most teasingly.
He strained, squinted through the heavy lenses she'd hung before his eyes, trying to see more, to catch the details, but all he could really make out was beauty a rich, gratifying, inviting beauty he wanted so, so, SO much to assault!
Then LaVerne took the glasses off of Tony and those breasts were there, inches before his face, held out temptingly for him to bite, to tongue, but just out of reach-and incredibly desirable!
"Oh you do want me, Tony, don't you?" LaVerne teased, pressing his towering tool between her full breasts and tracing the course of its large underside with the hardened nipple of her right breast. "We could have a tremendous amount of fun together if you weren't so damned stubborn, darling!"
He closed his eyes and groaned in delight and desire.
How could one woman make herself so tempting?
And then it was dark again and Tony sat there, his heart thumping, his fears and hungers soaring inside his chest.
The light again. New glasses. Everything seemed larger now. Much larger, including LaVerne on the swing, swinging back and forth, the arc of the swing missing his face by inches as she came closer to him.
And now the spotlight was brighter, harder. The swing seemed to be getting larger. Somehow it was swinging more slowly. And now it was coming at him, that beautiful vision of LaVerne, her legs spread far apart, her chalice in plain, exciting view. It was coming right toward his face. THAT WONDERFUL POSSESSION was moving steadily, inexorably, directly toward HIS, Tony's, face!
And as it drew close, the room became dark and the contact was never made! Tony sat thorp trembling with frustration and desire and, behind him, LaVerne removed his glasses. She reached his chest and silken fingers trailed across it, up and down the sides of his face in the corners between his skin and the wooden blocks holding his face in its fixed position.
Silken fingers stroked his nipples and trailed across his hard, yearning belly. Satin fingers of a provocative woman trailed their exciting touch across Tony's back, down to the base of his spine, along his shoulders. Velvet fingers of LaVerne caught his basket there and held it with its big candle sticking up and the other hand closed around the candle and squeezed gently.
"Poor Tony," LaVerne cooed, letting her tongue touch the underside of the tip and lick it lightly "Poor Tony. So stubborn about being the man and the boss that he misses all the fun' Wouldn't you love it, Tony, if I could let you out of all that woodenware and made myself completely available to you? It'd be easy, darling."
Lightly she touched it, letting her blonde hair trail on his belly, looking up at him with those exquisite eyes as though, holding Tony's organ, she was the happiest woman alive. Her grip was a two-handed one now that she released the basket and, if you counted her mouth, it was three. She found his eyes closing, his mouth frozen into an ecstatic smile. How he loved to have her lick him.
Even restricted in his movement as he was, Tony managed to impart a little extra thrust into LaVerne's mouth. He was in heaven-a real paradise-and she was the one who was bringing him there. Minutes ... a few strokes ... a bit of thrust more and he would have his orgasm!
And LaVerne stopped completely. She stood away from her lover, didn't touch him, deprived him of any contact from the outside. She threw the switch. It was dark.
"Please, LaVerne." Tony groaned. "Don't leave me right now. I have to have it. I need it. I'll do anything you say, dearest, but please finish this off."
"Will you marry me, Tony?"
There was a moment of silence. Then a loud, shivering, shuddering, "Ye-e-e-es," in a half sob. Then again, only this time it was Tony, the man, speaking: "Yes, damn it, you'll be my wife, see? You're the only wife I want and don't give me any arguments about it, hear?"
"Sure, I hear, Tony, darling," LaVerne said. "Want to sign this written proposal of marriage for me?" She put a pen in his trapped hand and held a piece of paper on a clip board beneath it. With cramped fingers, Tony wrote his name, unable to see what he was signing.
Then LaVerne's beautiful naked body was there before him. The clamp was removed from his head so that he could turn his head, look down and see, have his chin free to use as he wished and his ears were no longer locked in place by the wooden dowels.
The hands, the lips, the tongue the hair all blended into a symphony of seduction and Tony looked down to see the long shadows cast by beautiful eyelashes on a lovely complexion. The glorious thrill of his whole being concentrating itself in his groin, gathering intensely, drawing into a masterful consolidation of wonder. And then the vacuum grew stronger, the gontue quicker, the pressure of the lips greater, the grip and the movement of the hands and the loveliness and the perfume in the air all merged into the superorgasm of all Tony's experience!
How unbelievably superlative this was! To feel the hot, heavy love juices thrusting from his whole body into the beautiful mouth of this wife he'd chosen. Tony knew happiness and fulfillment beyond his most gratifying fantasies, surpassing his greatest of even youthful wet dreams.
And this was real! Something that could and would be repeated with the one woman in the whole world he wanted as a wife!
LaVerne didn't stop. She kept on draining him, kept on drawing from his reservoirs, kept those hands and lips and that tongue doing their thing to the helpless man and his needful lance. Tony kept on yielding his treasure to her, kept on flowing and thrilling to the flow as LaVerne worked on him, stroking him, milking him like the world's most provocative milkmaid-only this bull would yield artificial insemination material rather than milk!
And then Tony's eyes glazed and his smile froze and he felt a weakness such as he'd never before known. The strain and the drain, the long wanting, the total fulfillment all had their effect on him. Now LaVerne's touch was far worse torture than the pain-blows she'd given to him at the start. "Thanks, darling," Tony smiled wanly in a tone of dismissal. "That was just great. I loved it."
LaVerne swallowed deeply, satisfyingly, and looked up at him brightly, holding his rod with its wide band of lipstick on it. "Oh, I'm not through yet, Tony," she said brightly. "In fact, I'm just starting. We're going to have a lot of fun before I let you out of your wooden prison."
"Can't I even rest a little?" Tony asked, alarm entering his voice. "Aren't you going to let me out now that I've agreed to marry you, proposed to you my way, even signed some document as evidence?"
"Of course not, Tony," LaVerne said, indignantly. "We have three points to make. With the proposal, I'm batting .670, but I won't be content until I'm batting 1,000. And that means that you must accept my authority as head of our little family, Tony."
Now LaVerne backed onto the hard and well-prepared organ, parting her cheeks behind her so that she could imprison it deep inside her as she sat on it and wriggled and jiggled. She threw a switch sending vibrations through the toilet seat on which Tony was so permanently ensconced and soon his hard-headed rod was tickling the inside of LaVerne's behind, thrusting in as deeply as the length of the instrument and the capacity of the girl to absorb it permitted.
She contracted her rear cheeks, squeezing him in delicious tightness and then she reached back and let her fingers stroke his belly. Soon Tony was gasping in amazement. Damned if he didn't have to come again!
LaVerne was wonderful. She held onto him in this difficult position, made certain that he was drained completely, kept on squirming after the last of the action had taken place and still she kept Tony aroused and draining.
His face was drawn and the lines were hard from the pain of the strain of the drain. "Oooh, LaVerne," Tony groaned. "I didn't know I had a nickel left and you sure managed to get me to spend it anyhow! How on earth do you do it?"
"I just love you, Tony," she said. "And I never want to take a chance of losing you, so I want to be in command between us. You'll never regret it except for what maybe someone not really important to you after we're married might think of what happened to you."
"Sweetheart," Tony remonstrated. "It's not what they think. It's what I think that counts. And T think a man should be boss."
LaVerne unlocked the chambers holding Tony's legs imprisoned. These were removable, so off they went. Now only his arms were securely pinioned in their wooden prisons and yet he couldn't get free.
LaVerne left Tony for a few minutes then while she got into a new costume of beautiful black silk with bright red roses printed on it. How lush and attractive it was with its short skirt and its fullness and its low cleavage! LaVerne grinned. The music on the phonograph was soft and it had a certain beat. The perfume in the air was it incense?-seemed that of an oriental temple. LaVerne was out of the room just a few minutes and when she returned, she was wearing a silk jersey blouse and a leather skirt with a red satin lining. She freed Tony from the rest of his wooden prison and said, "Go rest, sweetheart. Lie down on the bed and get what rest you can."
Tony dragged himself over to the bed and fell heavily on it, face down. LaVerne proceeded to part his cheeks with her hands and then lick him high at the base of the spine while her hands stroked his calves lightly, knowingly, and the silk of her blouse and the leather of her skirt touched him and he could see the scene in the mirror.
It seemed to be taking a long time, but then Tony's rump began to wriggle and twitch. And LaVerne brought out a spiral birthday candle which she dipped in vase line and carefully screwed a good three inches deeplj into Tony's backside.
"What on earth is that for?" Tony asked.
"Well, if you happen not to be any good as a man," LaVerne told him, "maybe I can start using you like a woman." To demonstrate her point, she began moving the candle in and out slowly, teasingly.
"Don't, LaVerne, darling," Tony protested. "Look, I don't want to play rough with you."
"I'd love to play rough with you, Tony," LaVerne said.
Immediately she clambered atop him, sat straddling his head and she reached down and behind him and worked the candle at the same time. His tongue came up to please her. His tool began to harden.
And then LaVerne was atop Tony, taking him deeply into her, drawing him in as though he were spaghetti and she were slurping it with her mouth a vacuum. Only they don't make a pasta this size nor a mouth this beautiful.
He was inside her, deeply. She had him there, had him responding to her. She knew exactly what she was doing and he loved what she was doing to him. Now he was thrusting upward, struggling to take command even in his defeat, to gratify himself and to pleasure her. His hand joined his tool in serving the beautiful blonde in the leather, satin and silk jersey costume.
"You're mine, Tony," LaVerne said softly. "On my terms."
"I'm yours, LaVerne," Tony agreed, "on whatever terms you'll have mel"
CHAPTER TWELVE
"Dr. Albert Ellis had a great deal to say in his learned works about rational living. His accomplishments in helping people understand each other and themselves better through the Society for the Scientific Study of Sex are major and commendable. Because of the long and intense interest he has demonstrated in all phases of matters sexual," Mildred said, "I thought it would be interesting for him to come visit our little group and see what conclusions he might draw from it.
"Before you start, though, Dr. Ellis," she asked the slender, intense, bespectacled man, all glasses and Adam's apple and curly thinning hair, "have you anything good to say about switchabout couples?"
"Generally it's healthy," Ellis said, "for people to have a wide range of sexual experience. It helps them pleasure their partners better and, perhaps more important, to understand themselves and recognize that others are experiencing almost identical hang-ups to theirs and adjusting to them nicely."
"Thanks, Dr. Ellis," Mildred said, looking at him respectfully. "Now would you like to interview our people in couples or individually?"
Ellis looked at the big, interesting Thelma, the small, pretty Emily, the luscious blonde LaVerne and the sharp, smart Mildred. "Individually," he decreed.
As the interviews progressed, his puzzlement increased. This wasn't working out anything like he'd expected. This was getting to be something like the tendency to veer away from atheism and agnosticism toward religion.
When it was over, he assembled the group.
"You're amazing," he said, "and exceedingly fortunate. I'm delighted to inform you that every one of you prefers his own mate to anyone else's! Also it's interesting to note that without exceptions, this wasn't always the case. It's something that developed through the influence of his group!
"One was once a sexual dullard. Big, handsome, well-endowed, competent in other ways, he simply had nothing special to offer his bride except the satisfaction she might find in causing him to have orgasms.
"Thanks to the influence of the friends he's made here, and I venture to say, on the outside", he's a swinger of the first order and a pretty damned nice guy.
"One of you was a sexual mouse. She didn't do anything. She let things happen to her. Well, that's over now. She's exchanged dignified acquiescence for enthusiastic cooperation and her husband and friends are happier for it.
"Then there's one here who was a weakling, who was so eager to live his transvestite role that he almost forgot that TVs aren't always or necessarily homos. He learned that physical force isn't as important in feminine conquests as demonstration of love and understanding, but he sure knows that now!
"And then there was the opposite: the big, authoritative, competent, dominant woman afraid to risk any sort of failure by entrusting herself or any other responsibility to her husband-until he contrived to take it by force
"One of you fancied herself as being pretty darned sharp She got you all organized and did a fine job of getting trouble started But then came something far different: the realization that she loved her man and, despite his image of strength, he needed more understanding than he'd been getting. Immediately her womanly-motherly instincts took over and she made him a far happier man than when he felt compelled to chase.
"There's at least one fetishist among you and to hear a man say aloud exactly what he thinks he is, is a heartening thing in my profession I assure you! He's solved his problems by naming it and by enlisting friends who helped him with it.
"As to the newlyweds, they present something of a problem-Given their choice of any other couple they could switchabout with, they'd' rather have each other. Why is that, LaVerne?"
"He's mine. I love my possessions," LaVerne said.
"Tony?" Ellis asked.
"I'm hers. I love being her possession," he replied.
"Take command of your men, girls. Understand them and keep them happy," the doctor advised. "Serve their weaknesses and don't let them be ashamed of them, and you'll never lose your men. In fact, if you'd like an extra I'm free this evening."
