PAM CARTER WAS TIRED OF MOTHERING HER HUSBAND, and desperately craved the attentions of a dominant type of male, yet she didn't want to divorce Jerry or run around on him. Maggie and Bert Powers and Bob and Bev Redding seemed to offer the ideal solution when they proposed a swap club; and it was fun for a while. Then it got even more exciting especially for Pam-when Steve and Allison Rowan joined the group, bringing with them the most far-out ideas imaginable for sex games. At first, none of the others even suspected the extent of the Rowans' depravity, or the extremes to which Steve's evil imagination could go in his quest for illicit thrills. In his study entitled Wife-Swappers, L. T. Woodward, M. D., writes that while swapping couples may, "by extending their range of sexual experience, learn new techniques that enhance the physical aspects of their marriages..., " it has been found that . . swapping contributes to a general deterioration of moral fiber by attacking a basic human institution."
CHAPTER ONE
SOME WISE-ASS ONCE REMARKED THAT IF everybody were to hang their sex problems on a clothes line, side by side, and compare them, they might prefer to keep their own "dirty laundry." If the people in Glencove ever tried that, the line would have to be very flexible, indeed.
Take Pam and Jerry Carter, for instance. They are the newest members of this blissful suburban community. When they moved into their comfortable ranch home, they expected to deal with crabgrass, commuting, and other hazards that go to make up suburbia. But they could hardly foresee the depravity lurking beneath the surface of Glencove, nor suspect how quickly it could spread, once the veneer was scratched.
Let's look in on them on an average day.
Unaware of impending disaster, Pam is basting the roast she has prepared for dinner. With a nod of satisfaction, she returns it to the oven and turns down the temperature, then checks on her children, Jim and Sue, who are playing in the yard. They are only two years apart in age, but Jim, who is six, loves to lord it over Sue, who is a lowly four.
Not being equipped with eyes in the back of her head, (although the children often suspect differently), she neither sees nor hears Jerry sneaking up behind her, but he makes his presence felt by goosing her playfully ...
"Oh, Jerry, you idiot! I didn't hear you come in!"
"I know it," he grinned, putting his arm around her. "I just couldn't resist. You were such a tempting target, bending over like that. In fact, you look pretty good to me, period."
"Well, I hope I don't look too good, because I'm right in the midst of fixing supper. Besides, we're going to that dance tonight, remember?"
"Sure, but I can't wait that long."
"But, the kids, Jerry..."
"Oh, for God's sake! You'd think I was asking for the moon or something!" he exploded angrily. "Forget it then; it's not important, anyway."
Pam, not wanting to make an issue of it, gave in to him. "Oh, come on Jerry. After all, you have to eat the roast, and I guess the kids will be all right."
Immediately, his mood changed, and he was all smiles as he followed her into the bedroom. He sat on the bed to watch her disrobe. Even after eight years of marriage, he still got a charge out of watching his wife reveal her lovely body.
The housedress she wore had a long zipper up the front, and she stepped out of it quickly. The half-slip followed in short order, and she turned around for him to undo the hooks of her bra. He slid it off her shoulders and fondled her full, satiny breasts until she removed his hands so she could step out of her lacy panties. She knew they were living on borrowed time, but he was acting like they had all the time in the world.
Deftly, she turned down the covers and slid in. He was fully prepared for her, she saw, as his hand fumbled at his fly. Hoping to change the course of past performances, she tried to clasp him to her but, as usual, he pulled away.
"Pam, you know how I want it," he scolded.
Sighing, she took her place on top of him, impaled herself on his upright organ, and went to work. Just for once, she had dared to hope that this time might be different. This position made it impossible for her to enjoy herself, and she longed to feel that deep sense of satisfaction that comes only when the man makes love to the woman.
But she forced herself to assume the dominant role, putting as much strength and power behind her movements as possible. She worked herself up and down and around on his penis, while he lay there, nuzzling her nipples with his mouth.
The ritual seemed quite mechanical and meaningless to her as she gazed down at his handsome face. He was stuffing a titty in as far as he could, sucking greedily at it like a child. His long, curly lashes, which looked like they belonged on a girl, hooded his eyes from hereyes that looked so steely and unafraid.
Ever since they had been married, he had shown this tendency to prefer to be dominated. But at least, for a while, he had been willing to take turns. Then, after Jim had come along, he had gotten worse. He was like a child, really ... her child.
"Oh, yes, baby. That's the way I like it," he groaned, rising up to meet her and banging his pelvis into her crotch.
She sensed that his climax was near, and put the last of her ebbing strength into it.
"Mommy!" shouted a demanding voice from the kitchen.
Pam looked up sharply, then started to dismount.
Jerry tried to pull her back before the spell was broken. A few seconds more was all he needed.
But Pam slipped away, drew on a robe and went off to answer the call. It turned out to be the usual calamity: Jim had taken Sue's pail away from her. She settled their squabble and hurried back to the bedroom.
But the damage was done. Her abrupt withdrawal had negated all her efforts to satisfy her husband's craving. One look at Jerry's shriveled stalk told her exactly how he felt.
"Goddamn :t! Are those kids running our lives, or what? Every time we want a little privacy around here, they manage to gum up the works!"
Pam's eves flashed-a danger signal meaning that she was at the end of her rope. "Well, after all, Jerry, they don't do it on purpose, you know. If you didn't pick such odd times to get in the mood for sex, everything would be okay."
"Sure! That's right! I knew you'd figure out a way to put the blame on me. It's never the kids' fault. Oh, no!"
Pam didn't wait to hear any more. She left the room before they really got into it. She called the children in for dinner and sent Sue off to inform Jerry that it was ready.
They sat down to an overcooked meal, amid a silence so thick you could have cut it with a knife. Only the bickering of the children broke into the dead quiet, and for once their quarrels served a purpose.
Pam couldn't choke down much dinner, and was whisking plates from under their noses before they were quite finished with them. She attached the greasy dishes more vigorously than usual, while Jim and Sue took turns bathing. Jerry retired behind the newspaper, which he crackled briskly from time to time just to remind her of his presence.
Finally, the children were all tucked snugly away, and Pam took time out to shower, fix a drink, and dress, in that order. She was just applying the finishing touches of her make-up when the gang arrived, simultaneously with the baby-sitter.
The "gang" consisted of Bob and Bev Redding and Bert and Maggie Powers, their closest friends and neighbors. Jerry played the charming host, making drinks all around, while Pam mentally compared the girls measurements and other data so important to a woman's ego.
Bev looked striking tonight, she had to admit, with her long, golden tresses curving smoothly downward from a low side part. She was well-stacked, too. A perfect 36-24-36, if Pam was any judge.
And Maggie was definitely in the running, with her Latin-type beauty dark, flashing eyes, raven black hair-all that was needed to complete the picture was a rose between her teeth. Pam wondered idly if she was a spitfire in bed.
Well, she wasn't exactly a wallflower herself, she thought. And, after the hassle with Jerry, she was bound and determined to have a good time tonight, and the hell with the consequences.
"Come on, everybody; drink up. Let's have another one before we go to the dance," Jerry said. He started to get up, but she beat him to the punch.
"No you don't. I'll be the bartender this time. You made them too weak."
Bob must have sensed her devil-may-care attitude, for he followed closely on her heels. "I'll give her a hand," he excused himself to the room at large.
Pam handed him the ice bucket and tongs, smiling brightly as she uncapped the whiskey. "Not too much ice, now. We don't want to dilute it-"
She gasped as he pulled her close, almost dropping the bottle that was still clutched in her hand. Hei mouth had fallen open from surprise, and he took this opportunity to dart a questing tongue inside, searching for an answer.
When it came, he pulled her in closer and ran his hands along her body as though memorizing its lush contours. Pam was still buoyed up by her "anything goes" frame of mind, so she allowed herself to relax in the haven of his arms. For a split second, she ground her hips against his, causing an immediate rise in Bob's pants.
Then, before he decided to take her on the spot, she broke it off and returned to the business at hand. Bob's eyes widened when she tossed in three parts whiskey to one part mix. It was hard to say which was the most potent, Bob or the drink he was carrying, when they returned to the others.
Pam didn't notice the questioning glance that Bob received from Bev, but Jerry did. For a moment, it puzzled him, until ho remembered how much time had elapsed since they first went into the kitchen. Obviously, Bob and Bev were in cahoots. This might turn out to be an interesting evening after all, if he had read the signals right.
Pam insisted on everybody rising for a musketeer type of salute. "One for all, and all for one," she recited solemnly, before downing her drink in one gulp.
They all piled into Bert's car, which happened to be the last one in the driveway. The sense of camaraderie lingered, and Pam was filled with a spirit of good will as they sped along into the night. She wished that this wonderful closeness could last forever, and that they could just drive on and on.
The blinking neon sign announced that the dance was already in progress. Nobody cared very much at this point if they got there or not, but for convention's sake they went in, looking a trifle flushed and more than a little bit tipsy.
They managed to hold out through two numbers before giving in to their thirst. One by one, they slipped quietly out the door, until they were once again squashed into the compact car.
Bert reached into the glove compartment to bring forth a flask and some paper cups. "Sorry there's no ice, folks, but I guess we'll have to rough it. Bottoms up, everybody!"
"How appropriate," purred Maggie.
Jerry was in the back seat, sandwiched between Maggie and Bev. and he distinctly heard Bev murmur, "Peckers up too," against his ear.
"Amen," he responded, slipping his hand beneath the folds of her dress.
Maggie also put in a bid for his attention, by boldly searching for the opening in his trousers. Under cover of the darkness, she found her target and contented herself by stroking and petting his penis. Flanked by such lovely odds, Jerry was in seventh heaven.
Pam wasn't doing so badly in the front seat, either. The car's dimensions forced her to sit thigh-to-thigh with Bob and Bert, which gave them a first-class opportunity to explore her finer points. Still basking in that rosy, alcoholic warmth, Pam offered no resistance to their expert titillating techniques.
She was frankly enjoying the feel of probing fingers, and when Bob's hand crept up the inside of her thigh and came to rest against her crotch, she slid down in the seat to accommodate him better. She pressed up to meet the force of his hand, willing to get her kicks this way if that was the only course open to her. He pulled aside the crotch-piece of her panties, inserted two fingers, and attempted to relieve her that way. Pam closed her eyes, moaning with desire.
Vaguely, as if from a long way off, she heard Bev's voice. "Listen, let's move this party to my house. You can't even move around in here."
Sighing, Bob removed his fingers and pulled Pam's dress down, giving her a final pat for good measure. "It'll keep," he promised. Bert had never gotten past the boob-squeezing stage, hampered as he was by the steering column.
He turned his attention to maneuvering the car out of the lot, nosing the car toward the Reddings' homestead, which was situated directly across the street from Pam and Jerry's. He and Maggie lived only a few doors away from the others, which made things very cozy.
Jerry was in a lather to reach their destination, for his two co-pilots had stopped making with the kissing and petting. They weren't about to lose the fruits of their labor by setting off any premature explosion.
Once inside the house, however, the "hands off" policy was discontinued. Bob, keeping close tabs on Pam, led her over to the bar and invited her to mix her own. She skipped the mix entirely this trip, and poured generous shots into everyone's glasses.
To get the party rolling, Maggie started the stereo and claimed Jerry for a dance. Bert and Bev glided into each other's arms smoothly, stemming from long practice, while Pam and Bob took up where they had left off. Only this time, their movements weren't restricted by lack of space.
Bob relieved her of her glass before steering her in the direction of the bedroom. He liked his partners alive and kicking, and, judging from her behavior in the car, he had a hunch that Pam would be a wildcat in bed.
Ever since she and Jerry had moved into the neighborhood, he had harbored a secret desire to see her in the raw. Covertly, he had studied her as she was bending over, weeding the garden, or just soaking up the sun. She had a passion for wearing little-boy shorts, topped off by a man's shirt, knotted in the middle. The glimpses that had come his way only served to enhance Bob's already vivid imagination.
As soon as she set eyes on the comfortable-looking bed, Pam flopped onto it, her whole body extending to Bob a direct invitation to join her. But Bob's mode of operation didn't work that way. "Oh no, you don't," he said, pulling her to her feet. "I've been waiting a long time to see you bare-assed."
Pam tugged at his belt, impatient at this delay.
"Come on, Bob. You can do all the looking you want to later," she pleaded. But he was already undressing her, so she had no choice but to give in to his wishes. Pouting prettily, she helped him pull the dress up over her head and kicked it out of the way. The dress was lined with its own slip, so she had worn only a half-bra that covered the lower part of her breasts, and a flimsy pair of panties.
Bob gulped when he saw the creamy boobs that were all but spilling out, and immediately turned her around so his shaking fingers could get at the hooks. When he looked at her fully exposed tits in all their glory, he was awestruck. They were so perfectly shaped that they might have been fashioned of foam rubber. Only a few tiny veins, and the resiliency when he hefted each one, made them seem like real flesh.
Pam squirmed against him urgently, telling him with her body that she wanted him, and right now!
Bob had seen enough for the time being-enough to bring a drop of lubricant to the tip of his prick, anyway-so he hooked a finger under the elastic band on her panties and slid them down. As she stepped out of them, he stroked the silky texture of her skin. Her eagerness puzzled him, and he wondered about it briefly. She was acting as though she hadn't had a good lay for years, yet she had a perfectly good husband to supply her needs. Or did she?
Well, that was none of his business, he thought, as he looked at her voluptuous body all spread out and waiting for him. He unbuttoned his shirt, losing a few buttons in the process, and dropped his trousers, peeling his socks off along with the pant legs. When he skinned out of his briefs, Pam raised herself up to take a good look at the dimensions of his erection. Obviously satisfied with what was in store for her, she lay back with a smile on her lips.
Bob lowered himself and slid his throbbing cock into her slick, warm pussy, going slowly in order to savor the pleasure of entry. Pam shivered with sheer delight.
She had almost forgotten how wonderful it felt to have a man's stiff rod rubbing against her clitoris. She just couldn't get the same feeling when she was on top.
She kept her movements down to a minimum at first. After waiting so long for this golden moment, she didn't want it to slip away too fast.
Bob, however, was disappointed in her reaction, which was a far cry from her wild performance in the car. So he decided to liven things up a bit. He pulled out entirely, causing her to splutter, "What's wrong?"
"Oh, there's nothing wrong, sugar. I just decided that you need a little warming up, that's all."
"But ... "
"There, there. You just lie back and let old Bob turn you on," he soothed.
His warm-up began with his kneading her creamy breasts with his fingers, squeezing them gently and rotating them in the palms of his hands. Then he circled the aureoles with his fingertips, using a light, teasing motion, until the nipples stood erect. When he had turned them into twin peaks of arousal, he lowered his head to nip gingerly at each one.
Pam's body began to tingle with desire as he sampled the sweetness of her flesh. It had been too long since anyone had taken such pains to arouse her, and she responded accordingly. By the time his feather-light touch had tip-toed down between her legs, she felt as if she was ready to burst into flame.
He teased her mossy crevice with his fingers for a while, then gently drew her labia apart to reveal the quivering, expectant nub that housed her most sensitive nerve ends. This accomplished, he placed the head of his throbbing rod at the very bottom of the slit and lightly rubbed up and down against her.
This friction drove her wild with wanting, and she clutched his hard buttocks with all her strength. "That's enough, Bob! I can't take any more of that! Please, put it in."
Now she was the wildcat he remembered from the car, and he was ready and willing to fill her needs. He reared back, and his divining rod found her watering hole without any guidance.
Pam welcomed his steel-hard shaft with glad acceptance and wrapped her legs around his waist, wanting only to keep him there. She knew that she was acting like a bitch in heat, but she really didn't much care. She wanted all she could get, and nothing else mattered. Everything else-including Jerry and the children-were blotted out of her thoughts, as though they had never existed.
"Man, you sure put a lot into it," Bob whispered, pleased with her frenzied response.
"So do you" she panted.
He placed his palms underneath her buttocks, tilting her pelvis upward and allowing his tool to probe even deeper. Because he wasn't quite so starved for sex as she, he could pace himself, biding his time until she was ready to come. Soon, though, he sensed that her orgasm was near, so he upped the tempo of his strokes.
Pam rode with him, all the way. Placing both feet on the bed for leverage, she bounded up and down so violently that the springs almost gave way under them.
Then, with one final crashing thrust, the juices within them erupted and joined together and they clutched each other desperately, as the spasms of release shook their straining bodies.
While all this was going on, Jerry's thoughts were not exactly connected with home and fireside, either. Not with the lovely Maggie in front of him, doing an exotic strip tease.
At the moment, she was down to a see-through bra, so paper-thin it resembled the skin on an onion. Her panties were little more than an overgrown G-string.
She was at her best when performing for an audience, and this one was giving her a standing ovation. Bev, of course, wasn't quite so appreciative as the men, but even she had to admire the pagan beauty of the dance.
Maggie used no vulgar gestures or lewd contortions to fascinate her audience. With a style all her own, she simply swayed and rippled in time to the music. As she undulated her hips, she had a mysterious expression on her face, as though experiencing all kinds of delightful sensations, as though giving herself up to some unseen deity, offering her body to him for all eternity.
The provocative dance proved too much for Jerry, and he reached out to encircle her hips with his hands. In full view of Bert and Bev, he rid her of the flimsy undergarments. This snapped her out of the mystic trance she was in, and she smiled serenely at him, as though not at all surprised to find him there.
She offered no resistance when he guided her into the bedroom, leaving the others to find their own amusement.
Bert and Bev looked at one another when the door closed practically in their faces. Bert shrugged his shoulders and laughed. "Well, I don't mind him making off with my wife, but where in hell does that leave us? The selfish bastard just took the last bed in the house!"
Bev offered a solution, pointing toward the small sofa. "How tall are you?" she asked, casting a doubtful eye at him.
"Oh, I'm an easy six feet. And, unless I miss my guess, that couch is no more than five feet long."
"Well then, I guess we'll have to make love French style," Bev said impishly. "Do you mind?"
"Hell, no!" came the emphatic reply.
Maggie, going the topless waitress trade one better, inquired, "What'll it be, sir? The specialty of the house, or will you take pot luck?"
Jerry fell in with her little game, much relieved to be given a choice. "Oh, I think I'll have the blue plate special."
"Well, the customer is always right, but I'm afraid you'll have to be a little more explicit with your order."
"Let's see. I believe it's number five on the menu. Peacock breast with baked banana."
Just as a short order cook understands the jargon thrown to him by the waitress, Maggie knew what Jerry meant. She began by peeling off his jacket, as per his first request.
As she worked on his shirt and tie, humming a little tune, Jerry stood perfectly still, letting her do everything for him. In his mind, he was a little boy again, and his mother was undressing him for his bath. For once, a woman was giving him the kind of attention he so desperately needed, and he enjoyed the feel of her hands tending to him.
When she'd bared his chest, Maggie took him by the hand and led him over to the bed. One push and he toppled back to await delivery of his second request, baked banana.
Her hand crept along his thigh, reaching to feel his penis and find out if it was ready for her. Her first touch told her that he had an enormous hard-on. She wasted no time in stripping off the rest of his clothes.
Quickly, she straddled him and impaled herself on his sizzling banana, gobbling it up with one gulp of her hungry cunt-mouth. She slid up and down with ease, while, to appease him for having devoured his goodie, she offered him a strawberry-tipped dangling tit. He was more than satisfied with the exchange.
Meanwhile, Bev and Bert were having their troubles on the couch, which was about the size of two chairs pushed together. To make matters worse, it was Danish modern, and hard as a rock.
They were obliged to take turns, each one kneeling on the floor to go down on the other. It was highly unsatisfactory, but they were comforted by the thought that tomorrow night they would have their turns with the newcomers.
CHAPTER TWO
NEXT MORNING, PAM RECEIVED A SURPRISE visit from Maggie and Bev. The men had gone off to their various jobs, and, after allowing Pam a decent interval in which to wake up, the two girls dropped in for a cup of coffee.
Pam marveled at their recuperative powers, for they both looked fresh as daisies. She personally felt more like the last rose of summer. Yawning and stretching lazily, she said, 'You two are looking mighty bright-eyed and bushy-tailed this morning. You must tell me your secret remedy sometime."
Maggie stirred her coffee, thoughtfully before answering. "Oh, I guess we've just built up a tolerance for that sort of thing," she said casually.
"Oh? Do you have that sort of party often, then?"
Bev chimed in this time, both she and Maggie watching Pam like hawks to see how she'd react to some cold, hard facts. "Well, you see, we've been! swapping spouses for months now."
Pam said, "I gathered as much last night. But telli me something. How in the world did this thing get started?"
Bev returned the floor to Maggie for this round. "Well, let's see. To begin with, we had all been married for about nine years, and the rut was getting deeper every day. You know how stale things can get, after all that time."
Pam, knowing only too well, nodded, and Maggie went on. "So, anyway, we were good friends. You might say we were living in each other's pockets, so to speak. One weekend, we went on a little vacation trip up north. We shared a cabin in order to save on expenses. That night, the oil burner went on the blink. My god, it was cold! All we had going for us was some wood for the fireplace, but that didn't last long."
She paused long enough to light a cigarette. "Well, to make a long story short, we decided to all share one bed for warmth. We piled on all the blankets we could find, and huddled together, soaking up all the body heat we could get." Turning to Bev, she asked, "I can't remember who started what, can you?"
Bev shook her head, dimpling prettily as she recalled the events of that night. "No, I can't. But suddenly it seemed like the most natural thing in the world to do. We decided to change partners, just for that one night."
Maggie pointed out the obvious. "And none of us froze, either."
"I see," said Pam. "And, ever since, you borrow a husband from each other the way you would a cup of sugar?"
They nodded, wondering if she was being sarcastic about it.
"I think it's a great idea! But don't either of you ever get jealous?"
Bev answered that one, putting it as delicately as she could. "Were you jealous of Jerry last night, when you and Bob were together?"
Pam answered quickly, before thinking about who was doing the asking. "No, I was too busy." Her face flushed when she remembered that she was speaking to Bob's wife.
"Oh, that's okay," said Bev. "That's what makes the idea work! You're both having fun, so you can't blame each other without coming in for your share of the blame. That way, nobody gets hurt."
"Yes, you have a point there," Pam admitted.
"Listen!" Maggie broke in excitedly. "Why don't we form a club of our own? I mean a real club, with a definite set of rules."
Pam seconded the motion, and they put their heads together to draw up a format. To begin with, they decided to alternate their meetings from one house to another. Whoever was to be hostess for the evening would have to think up some new way of choosing partners. And they all agreed to make an effort to bring in new members.
When the girls took their leave, they had decided to hold their first meeting at Maggie's house that same evening. Pam hurried through her chores, and the day's minor irritations didn't faze her at all. She had tasted the nectar of sin, and found it more heady than any liquor.
When Jerry came home, she told him about their ideas, and he seemed as pleased as she. A light-hearted feeling presided over dinner; even the children felt it. They were polite to one another, and Pam began to feel as though there was new hope for their family life.
She dawdled over dressing, much like a young girl getting ready for a heavy date. Jerry viewed the results and complimented her on her appearance.
As they crossed the lawn between their house and Maggie's, they were chatting away like two bosom buddies. Both of them were looking forward to the party, and at last they had something in common.
Maggie greeted them effusively, bubbling over with the surprise she had for them. "I've already found two new recruits!" she exclaimed triumphantly. "Their names are Joan and Bill Wiley. Do you know them?"
Pam said, "I've met Joan. At a shower, I think."
"Well, anyway, they're not exactly hip to the rules yet, so I wanted to warn you not to give the show away."
"But, what if they don't go for it?" Jerry asked, sensibly enough.
"Oh, don't worry. When they see the rest of us getting in the groove, they'll go along, all right. Come on in and get acquainted with them."
They joined the others. Bob and Bev had arrived before them, and everyone was deep in conversation. Maggie announced, "Here are two more of our favorite people. Pam and Jerry, meet Joan and Bill."
Over drinks and under the guise of polite conversation, the club members sounded Bill and Joan out on their views, testing them to see how broad-minded they were. They tossed off some risqu' jokes, leading them on gradually. Joan and Bill never got to see what the bottom of their glasses looked like. Maggie saw to that.
By the time Maggie proposed playing a game, they were in the right frame of mind for it. The rules were similar to blind man's buff. The ladies all went into the bedroom to strip down to the raw, while the men were putting on blindfolds. To make things more interesting, the women rubbed oily, sweet-scented cr�me sachet all over their bodies.
When they emerged from the bedroom, they were as slippery as greased pigs, and just as difficult to hold onto. The men had already donned blindfolds, and the game began.
They groped around, searching with eager fingers for the elusive females, using the squeals and scuffling noises to tell them in which direction to head. Whoever each man happened to latch onto first was to be his partner for the night-even if she happened to be his own wife!
Jerry grabbed hold of Bev, catching her around the waist like a football tackle. Bev, abiding by the rules of the game, tried to get away, and she almost made it. Jerry's hands slid right down her curvaceous, swiveling hips, but he managed to catch her by one heel. He tore away the blindfold to see which prize he had won. When he saw who it was, he gave her a playful slap on the ass and told her, "Go wash off that gunk for god's sake.
She padded into the bathroom and turned on the shower. As she stood under the misty spray, she remembered what Maggie had whispered to her last night. "Jerry--likes to be treated like a naughty little boy. Yeah, I know. A great big guy like that! But, believe me, it's well worth the effort. When he gets hot enough, just take a good look at his pecker. You'll flip!"
Bev was eager to see for herself what Maggie had been raving about, so she got out of the shower and called to him. She left the shower on and hid behind the bathroom door, still dripping wet.
Jerry stuck his head in the bathroom, thinking she might have slipped in the shower. Not finding her, he was just about to close the door when he felt it pulled out of his grasp.
"Come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly," she quoted ominously. "And, speaking of flies..." Expertly, she unzipped his and proceeded to strip him down to his birthday suit, then pushed him into the shower.
It had all happened so fast that Jerry was stunned to find himself under the sting of the spray. But the warm water soothed him, and he relaxed as Bev made a mitt out of the washcloth and lathered him up. She rubbed him lightly, all over his body, turning the scrub down into more of a massage treatment.
"Now then, dear. Give me your little peter," she said, in a firm tone.
He held it out, mesmerized by the spell of the waterfall and her motherly commands. She worked the cloth gently over and around his swelling penis, occasionally dipping down between his legs to lather his tautening balls. As she did so, he pushed his hard belly out, becoming more excited by the minute. Bev's eyes opened wide as his tool, like Pinocchio's nose, grew and grew.
She waited until his excitement was at its peak before turning off the spigot; then she literally raped him, right on the bathroom floor. Fortunately for him, the floor was covered with thick nylon carpeting, or he would have been a mass of bruises from the pounding he was taking.
As she pumped up and down on him, he closed his eyes, reliving the dream of his mother that was buried deep in his subconscious. He was so absorbed in these erotic visions that he didn't see or hear Bert opening the door.
Bev did, though, and gave him a lewd wink as she continued working over Jerry. Bert watched the scene a while, licking his lips now and again. Then he withdrew to find his own partner, forgetting all about his original mission.
The game of catch was over by now, and nobody seemed concerned about the missing couple still humping away in the bathroom. Bert had tagged Pam, Bob ended up with Maggie, and Joan and Bill found each other. They wouldn't admit it to the others, but they had started the game with this end in mind. Even though they were in favor of a little variety, they still felt a little bashful about changing sex partners.
The others, sensing how they felt, allotted one of the bedrooms to them, leaving only one other one unoccupied. Bob gave voice to what they were all thinking. "Well, I don't know how the rest of you feel about it, but I'm voting that we share the other bedroom. I'm not about to make my pitch on the living room sofa. They all agreed to this, deciding to make the most of it.
Pam, squeezed in between the men, said, "Too bad this bed isn't king-size."
Maggie's voice, somewhat muffled by Bob's embrace, said, "Well, come around here a minute, and I'll show you something that is!"
Bob gave her a crack on the butt, saying, "Quit making with the wisecracks, Maggie, and do something to earn it!"
Anything else she might have said was silenced effectively.
Curiosity got the better of Bob when he didn't hear anything going on from the other side of the bed. "How you doing, old buddy?" he called.
"Okay, I guess," Bert panted. "If I ever get the damn thing in, that is. This girl is as tight as a virgin."
"Yeah, I noticed that last night," Bob replied. "She is?" Maggie's ears perked up at this unexpected bit of news.
Pam was getting sick and tired of being discussed as though she wasn't even in the room. "Say! Do you have to get so personal?" she snapped.
They all laughed at that one. "Will somebody please explain to me how you can screw a girl without getting personal about it?" Bert asked the others.
Pam was really angry now, and tried to push him away. "Okay, love. I'll shut up and tend to the business at hand," he said, soothing her with deft caresses. He treated her more kindly after that, building up her desire by degrees.
Of course, Maggie knew what her problem was, having sampled Jerry's brand of lovemaking the previous night. The poor kid probably didn't get any kick out of top-riding. Pam would probably enjoy it more standing on her head, Maggie thought, just before Bob raised her legs and rammed it to her. She straddled his waist and dug her heels into his back, forgetting all about Pam during the frenzy that followed.
Bert now had his head between Pam's legs, and she went wild with desire as he tongued her expertly. She had never experienced this sensation before, and it left her weak and helpless. Her fingers clutched the bedclothes as his tongue sent flames of passion shooting through her from all directions. It was a curious mixture of agony and pleasure, and she wasn't sure if she wanted it to stop or go on forever.
Suddenly, it was gone, to be replaced by another, more familiar sensation. Bert's cock slid into her easily now, and she made the adjustment, straining to meet him. Locked in a tight embrace, neither of them were aware of the other couple, now finished, who were watching the mating take place.
Speaking quietly, Bob poked Maggie in the ribs and asked, "Who are you betting on to finish first?"
"Oh, I'd say it's going to be a dead heat, wouldn't you?"
Bob stroked her soft curves absent-mindedly for awhile, his thoughts elsewhere for the moment. Then he pulled her to her feet. "Come on! Let's leave them to it and find ourselves a drink. I feel as dry as a bone."
"Humph! Look who was just bitching about wisecracks," Maggie snorted, getting even with him for his earlier complaint.
"Come on, will you?" he urged. She had both feet planted firmly on the floor, reluctant to leave. He had to give a firm yank before she yielded.
Bert and Pam were hovering on the brink of fulfillment, hammering away at one another in unison. Their bellies slapped together, sounding like hands clapping from the sidelines. Pam raised her buttocks off the bed, as though about to engage in a bicycling exercise, and held the position, allowing her to feel the full length of Bert's dip-stick. He took full advantage of the position, ramming it in hard and fast, his blood was pounding with desire.
After only a few minutes of that stepped-up pace, their bodies met in a final, shuddering impact that shook the bed with its force. They collapsed weakly in each other's arms and were forced to remain that way, gasping for breath.
When their senses came alive once again, they discovered a mutual thirst, so they followed in the wake of the others. They entered the room just in time to catch the gist of Bob's monologue.
"Of course, we all knew she had hot pants, but up until then, she'd done most of her screwing after office hours. But, on this particular day, she was acting as though somebody had slipped her a good dose of Spanish fly. She couldn't keep her hands to herself. And, man, was that broad stacked! Just looking at her was enough to make any guy horny, and when she started grabbing every pecker in sight, we decided something should be done about it. So, some joker stashed her in the men's head, and we all took turns banging her. I tell you, I never saw anything like it! There were at least ten of us, and she still wasn't satisfied. Of course, they carted her off to the booby hatch the next day, completely off her rocker. But I'll bet she went with a smile on her face!"
"Why, Bob Redding!" Bev said indignantly. "I call that dirty pool."
"Why? Don't tell me you're jealous, old girl."
"You're damn right I am! I thought this was supposed to be a fair share deal, and now you're one up on me.
"I had no idea that you were keeping such good track of the score," he chided her. "I guess you're stuck with seducing the milkman, then; or, better yet, old Mr. Perkins." He was referring to an old tramp who lived on the outskirts of town and made his living by redeeming empty soda bottles that had been thrown out along the road.
The gang whooped with laughter.
Bev said, "Well, don't think I wouldn't give the old geezer a tumble just to get even with you!"
"Okay, you two. Break it up and help me think up a new game," Maggie pleaded. "Anybody got any suggestions?"
Surprisingly enough, Joan came up with a doozy. "Why don't we put the blindfolds on and see if we can identify our husbands by touch?"
"Say, that's a swell idea," Bev said, beaming her approval. She took Pam aside and whispered in her ear, "I don't know about you, but I'm going to choose whoever has the biggest cock. And I hope to hell it doesn't turn out to be Bob!"
The men helped them tie the blindfolds, making sure that nobody could peek. Then they shuffled around a good deal, trying to throw the girls off the track. Finally they managed to form a fairly straight line, maintaining a strict silence all the while in order not to disclose their positions.
The girls drew straws for the honor of having first chance at this strange assembly line. Lady Luck must have been riding on Bev's shoulders that night, for she got the longest one. She hoped it was symbolic of things to come.
She started making her way down the line, testing and squeezing as she went, much in the manner of a woman shopper examining the fruit at a supermarket. Now and then, she lingered over a particular goody, as though about to make a decision. But she reached the end of the line, still deep in thought.
"For God's sake, Bev!" Maggie called impatiently. "Haven't you made up your mind yet?"
"Well, some of them were soft as marshmallows when I started out," she complained. "So, to be fair, I think I should get another chance."
The girls groaned over this delay. "Well, get on with it, then. And, remember, this is your last chance!" Maggie decreed.
Bev retraced her steps to begin her fingering exercise all over again. The array of erections was more to her liking this time, and she unerringly chose Bill, who was the dark horse entry in this competition. She was allowed to remove her blindfold, but not to disclose the name of her partner, which would have spoiled the element of surprise for the others. They retired to a quiet corner to watch Joan try her luck.
She started out timidly enough, rather embarrassed at the idea of feeling strange men's tools. But she soon got into the spirit of the game and managed to overcome her shyness. She tugged at Bert's handle to indicate her choice, causing a ripple of laughter from the male bystanders.
Pam went next, with only two choices left. Her indecision showed on her face as she veered back and forth between Bob and Jerry. Then, as though something familiar warned her off, she made a snap decision and chase Bob.
Jerry choked down a flash of anger when she removed her blindfold and he saw the relief in her eyes. It was gone in a moment, and instead she threw a guilty look in his direction. Deliberately, he turned his back on her and went over to claim Maggie. "Whew!" He mopped at his forehead with an exaggerated gesture. "That was a close call."
His words came through loud and clear, but Pam pretended not to hear. Knowing full well how a thing like that could boomerang-you hurl me, so I'll hurt you-she bit back an angry retort and let the matter drop.
Bill and Joan seemed happy enough with their respective partners, although neither could resist glancing at the other once in a while to see how the other was taking it.
But, as Bev hsd pointed out, who could object? It was like having your cake and eating it too. The whole group was firmly convinced that there would be no need for marriage counselors if every bored couple would follow their example.
Certainly, there was no sigh of discord in that room as the club members settled down to the business at hand-nor any privacy, either. They made wild, uninhibited love on the tufted carpeting, and all managed to get a splendid bird's-eye view of each other in action.
When the orgy was over and the time of departure had arrived, they all agreed that it had been quite a satisfying evening. Pam and Jerry walked home, the silence between them stiff and formal, as if they had just met on a blind date. "Tomorrow night is our turn to have them over, remember," she reminded him. "Off-hand, I can't think of anything to do that could top what we did at Maggie's party, can you?"
The grunt that Jerry gave was noncommittal, but Pam went on talking, determined to break down the wall between them. "Swapping's really becoming quite a status symbol, you know."
"Mm-hmm."
She gave up after that.
CHAPTER THREE
THE NEXT DAY DAWNED HOT AND muggy, and the children pestered Pam to fill up their small pool so they could go "swimming". Knowing that they would require strict supervision, she hurried through the housework and established a beachhead in the back yard. She sipped at her iced lemonade and envied the kids, who splashed each other until they looked like a couple of happy, wet puppies. She inched her chair over by the pool and dangled her feet in the cool water. It helped a little, anyway.
She was on her second lemonade when the girls drove up, and she called out for them to join her. They, too, were wearing the briefest shorts possible and skimpy halters tied at the midriff. They flopped down on whatever happened to be available and let their tongues hang out, as if they were dying of thirst.
"Okay, okay. I get the message," Pam conceded, forced to relinquish her choice position by the pool. "But be sure to keep an eye on those two tigers. I don't dare to leave them alone for a second." She entered the house, letting the screen door slam shut on the catcalls that followed her.
She returned a few minutes later with a tray full of iced drinks and plunked them down on a nearby table. "Here vou go, ladies. But from now on, you're on your own. If you want any more, you can damn well get it yourselves."
They left off with the fanning long enough to help themselves to the tall, cool drinks. Maggie tasted hers first, then spluttered in mock horror. "What are you trying to do to me? Wreck my health or something? This is lemonade! I thought you offered to get us a drink, for Christ's sake."
Pam laughed at the expression on her face. She looked like she had just swallowed poison. "Listen, I didn't offer to get you anything. Beggars can't be choosy, you know." With that, she found a shady place and sat cross-legged in the cool grass.
"Well, I'll be damned!" Maggie made a face at her glass, and set it down beside her.
"You probably will," said Bev, always quick to see the practical side of things.
"Boy, last night was a real blast, wasn't it?" Maggie reminisced.
"Mm-hmm, I'll say," agreed Bev. "That Joan turned out to be quite the little swinger, once she got the hang of things." She hadn't meant to be funny, but Maggie and Pam doubled up with laughter.
"By the way," Pam gasped, still convulsed with laughter, "where is Joan today?"
"Oh, didn't you know? She's one of those career girls," Maggie said. "I think she models clothes or something."
"Well, she sure has the figure for it," Pam said, with a tinge of envy. "I wonder how she stays so slim."
"Oh, those Twiggy types are appealing enough to some fellows, I guess," Bev offered. "But most of them like a real woman, with a little bit of meat on her."
"I don't know about that. Bert seemed to think she was meaty enough last night," Maggie said thoughtful-
"Ah, not to break into your train of thought or anything, but don't you think it would make things more interesting if we could add some new members?" Bev asked.
"Sure, but where to find them? That's the problem. We can't very well advertise in the newspaper," Pam pointed out.
They discussed ways and means for a while, getting no further ahead with the solution. Then Maggie put an end to further discussion by saying, "Well, I guess we'll just have to scout around until we come across a--likely couple. Now, who's in favor of going to the roadhouse to find something decent to drink?"
Bev voiced agreement right away, but Pam was a little reluctant to leave Jim and Sue. "Oh, come on," Maggie pleaded. "What are you doing that a sitter couldn't do as well? Besides, the bar's air-conditioned."
Her argument sounded reasonable enough, so Pam placed an SOS call to her sitter. While they were waiting, Maggie and Bev carted the glasses and tray into the house.
After the sitter arrived, they climbed into Bev's convertible, leaving the top down so they could catch I any stray breeze that came along.
"Jesus!" Maggie complained. "These leather seats I are hot."
"Since when did sitting on something hot bother I you, Maggie?" Bev asked.
Pam smiled at the way these two carried on. If she I hadn't known that they were bosom buddies, it would I have seemed they were the deadliest of enemies.
When they opened the door of the roadhouse, a blast of cold air welcomed them. They made a bee-line to the bar, where they set up camp. The place was all but deserted at this time of the afternoon, but Maggie spotted Steve Rowan, owner and sometime operator.
She waved gaily to him. "Well, we're in luck today, I see. The boss-man himself is here to serve us. We ought to get a rise out of him!"
Actually, he was just there to check over the books, but when he turned around to see the fetching trio perched at the bar, he sent the barmaid on her way. "What is this, ladies' day?" he grinned.
Pam felt a sudden chill come over her, and she shivered involuntarily. At first, she blamed it on the air-conditioning, but some sixth sense told her that this man was dangerous. He was far from handsome, but he possessed an attraction quite apart from any surface looks. He was evil personified, and she felt he should have been forced to wear a pair of horns to warn unsuspecting females. He fascinated and frightened her at the same time.
"What'll it be?" he asked, casually running an eye over the tempting bait of bare legs and semi-exposed boobs.
"Just pour anything over the rocks," Maggie ordered, "and dump in as much as the law allows."
He mixed the drinks expertly, plopping in plenty of ice and adding a small amount of mix. "Aren't you having one?" Bev asked him politely.
"Well, I don't usually drink when I'm tending bar, but I'll make an exception in your case." He selected one of the many bottles lining the shelves, and tried to make his question sound as offhand as possible. "Aren't you two going to introduce me to your friend?"
"Oh, that's right. I forgot that you two hadn't met," Maggie apologized. "Pam, this sexy-looking hunk of muscle is Steve Rowan. Steve, this gorgeous doll you've been ogling is Pam Carter. Mrs. Pam Carter, I might add."
Pam wondered why Maggie found it necessary to be so formal all of a sudden. Quite possibly, she had made a play for him herself and struck out. For a woman like Maggie, a thing like that could produce a long-lasting trauma.
A slow trickle of customers had come in by now, mostly truck drivers, who were destined to be late finishing their runs today. One of them fed the juke box, causing Bev to wriggle around on the bar stool, keeping time to the music with her round, plump fanny.
This signal prompted the truck driver to ask for a dance, and his success set up a chain reaction with his fellow drivers. Soon, all three of the girls were making like Ginger Rogers, each with a burly he-man of her own.
Pam's eyes kept wandering back to Steve, who was watching the whole scene with a slightly sardonic air. Her partner's hands were wandering, and she was busy just putting them back where they belonged.
Bev and Maggie were having a real ball, and neither of them suffered from false modesty. The dance platform was purposely kept dim, and they were taking full advantage of it. If Bev didn't put a halt to things soon, Pam thought, she would be able to chalk up another conquest and equal Bob's score.
By the time Pam managed to fight her way back to the bar, Steve was gone. She was surprised at the sinking feeling that came over her-she hadn't realized how much of an impact he'd made. For want of something better to do, she stirred the swizzle stick around in her stale drink. When she happened to glance at the clock, she was shocked to see that three hours had flown by.
She managed to pry Bev and Maggie away from their admirers only by threatening to call off the forthcoming party. A vivid picture of Jerry and the kids munching on dry peanut butter sandwiches gave her the courage to stand firm. They bade a fond farewell to the truck drivers, wearing an expression of martyrdom on their tragic faces.
They perked up a bit during the ride home, though, and Pam found herself bringing Steve's name into the conversation. It was as if she was compelled to speak of him. "What do you think about approaching Steve and his wife for membership in our club? He is married, isn't he?"
"And how!" Maggie exclaimed. "His wife is a real doll, but kind of on the snooty side. I think he'd jump at the chance, though, don't you, Bev?"
"Well, from what I've heard, the man's a regular jumping bean. And, he sure took a imagine to you, Pam. It gave me the shivers, the way he was eyeing you up and down-as if he owned you, body and soul."
Pam pooh-poohed the idea. "Honestly, Bev, you should be on the stage, the way you dramatize everything." But she had felt it, too.
By the time the car turned into Pam's driveway, they had a tentative plan worked out. They would casually invite Steve and his wife to one of their parties. Then, Bob could go to work on Steve's wife, Allison. They chose Bob because, as Bev put it, "If he can't thaw her out, she must be colder than Alaska."
Pam decided to have toasted bacon and tomato sandwiches for supper. They were about the quickest thing she had in the house, and she was pressed for time. Some of the excitement had gone out her anticipation of the impending soiree, for Steve wouldn't be there. She told herself that she was acting like a nymphomaniac, wondering about every new man she met, and the package he carried in his trousers. But she'd been a virgin when she married Jerry, so there had been no chance for comparison. Up until the present, of course. It was like a drug running through her veins; the more cock she got, the more she wanted. And she wanted Steve badly. If he was capable of getting her all worked up just by looking at her, she could imagine how exciting the real thing would be!
Her nerves were all on edge with wanting, but she managed to pop in more toast and slice the tomatoes without cutting herself. The effects of the drinks were wearing off by now, so she decided to skip supper and drink her calories. Sometimes life seemed to consist of one long compromise.
She and Jerry had reached the point in their relationship where they merely shared the same house, so she didn't feel obliged to keep him company while he ate. Silly as it seemed to bother dressing for a party of this sort, she couldn't very well greet her guests in the nude, so she chose a comfortable shift dress and a pair of thonged sandals. She thought it would save them all a lot of trouble if they'd change their club into a nudist colony.
Then she helped the children pack their toothbrushes, and waved good-bye. They were tickled pink to be spending the night with Grandma, who claimed they weren't a speck of trouble. She must feed them tranquilizers by the dozen, Pam thought sourly.
The house seemed unbearably still, and Pam chain smoked while she padded back and forth, trampling a path across the carpet. She couldn't put a name to the vague, discontented feeling she had, but it was very real. When she heard Bev's voice cautioning Bob to watch out for that first step, she felt as if the rescue squad had arrived in the nick of time. She peeked out a window and saw that Maggie and Bert were right behind them.
She threw the door open wide and tried to hug them all at once in her relief. God! She'd be out walking the streets next, if she didn't calm down. "Come on in and make yourselves at home. Jerry's gone to park the kids; he'll be back in a few minutes."
Maggie looked at the two cigarettes burning in the ashtray and said shyly, "Aren't you the little welcome wagon hostess, though. You act like somebody who's afraid to be alone with her thoughts. I wonder why?"
Before Pam could think up a suitable reply, Bev cut Maggie down. "Honestly, Maggie, you can be a real bitch at times. If it comes to that, I'll bet you have a skeleton or two hidden in your closet that you wouldn't want the world to see."
For a moment, Maggie was speechless, evidently deciding whether or not to probe further into Pam's affairs. But Bev's subtle bit of blackmail had found its target, so she let the matter drop.
Joan and Bill arrived then. Pam showed them where to stash their things, and they entered the living room in time to hear Bert bemoaning his fate. "So she just up and takes the afternoon off. If this keeps on, we'll have to hire a maid. Or, better yet, a cook. Cold cuts and soup! What kind of a meal is that?"
Maggie was anxious to change the subject, so she made a big fuss over Jerry, who chose that moment to return. "Here's our proud papa at last! We were beginning to think the worst had happened. What is that fate worse than death that everybody's always talking about, anyway?"
"I'm afraid that it's a little late in the day for you, luv," Jerry grinned.
"Christ, yes. Maggie lost her cherry before she was six years old," Bert said.
"Tattletale!"
Pam was on the way for refills when she heard Bob saying, "That Allison is something else again. I have a hunch that if you gave her an inch, she'd take a mile. I'd sure like to bang her once and find out."
Bev's voice drifted out to the kitchen. "Well, you might get your chance, lover boy. Put your money where your mouth is; that's my motto."
"Quit talking in riddles, Bev."
"It just so happens that we were talking about that very thing today, and we've decided that we're going to ask the Rowans to join up. What's more, we're going to sic you on the virgin queen. How do you like that?"
Pam held her breath, standing perfectly still in order to catch the reply. "If you're referring to the same thing I am, I like it fine. Furthermore, I'm willing to match the mad money you've got hidden away, just to prove my point," he boasted. "Done!"
And that was that. The die was cast without any prompting from Pam. For some reason, she didn't want the others to know how drawn she was to Steve. It shamed her, somehow. It was all right to go to bed with a man because she wanted to, but not because she felt she just had to. Maggie was the only one was suspected how she felt.
Satisfied with the way things were going, she drew a very unusual deck of cards out of a hidden recess in the cupboard. Jerry had put them there a long time ago, so the children wouldn't find them, and they had never been used. But tonight, they were to set the theme for fun and games.
She returned to the living room, where Jerry took charge of the cards, shuffling the pack and fanning them out in his hands. The backs of the cards were identical, but the faces displayed fifty-two different ways of making love. They were definitely pornographic, and had been smuggled in from God-knows-where, to be sold under the counter.
Using an ordinary pack of playing cards, from the desk in the living room, Pam turned over one card in front of each person in the room. Whoever got the first ace was to draw a card from Jerry's deck and choose a partner. The couple would then be expected to assume the position shown on their card, and to make love in the manner indicated by the picture. This time, there was to be no pretense or coyness. They would all perform in turn, and in the same room.
Pam drew the first ace herself, causing the others to shout charges of foul. Unperturbed by their complaints, she went over and beckoned to Bill, the only man in the group that she hadn't made love with before. Her card showed a woman kneeling on all fours, with a man mounting her from behind. Bill's face flushed a little when he saw what was expected of him, but he no longer looked to his wife for her reaction.
He followed Pam's trim figure to the couch and watched her undress, with parted lips and an expectant light in his eyes. She stood there boldly naked for his inspection, with legs spread wide apart and hands on her hips. When his pants began to puff up in front of him, she nodded briefly. "Your turn to get undressed," she instructed.
He stripped, never taking his eyes off her tantalizing stance for a second. Then she was kneeling on the sofa and sticking her hindquarters impudently up in the air. When she waggled her meaty ass back and forth, it had the effect of waving a red flag in front of a bull. He charged at her with all his might.
Shots of "Ole!" and "Bravo!" came from the onlookers as they watched the torrid spectacle. Bill's fingers clutched at the dangling tits desperately, as though seeking support for his bestial thrusts. The comments from the hecklers only inflamed him all the more, and his fury was such that Pam was subjected to a brutal pounding.
As they neared the end, Pam was paying him back with interest. She jerked and butted against him ruthlessly, rearing up and almost knocking him off balance. But he was able to get a better hold on her and despite the bucking-stay on through the photo finish.
Such uninhibited coupling had the audience squirming restlessly in their seats, trying to keep their erotically-aroused emotions under wraps until their turns came. Any hesitation they might have felt about making love in front of their better halves melted away in the heat of the moment.
Bert drew the next ace. His porno card showed a man seated on a couch and a girl sword-swallower working him over. Maggie must have had ESP, for her remarks about Bert's going for Joan's boyish charms were proven correct when he took her for his teammate.
Without fanfare, he plopped down on the couch, waiting impatiently for the delights to come. But Joan was becoming a real trouper, and she was determined to give her audience its money's worth. Taking her cue from starlets the world over, she started at the bottom and worked her way up.
First, she rid herself of her dress by splitting it open right down the front and peeling it away as easily as the skin of a grape. Of course, it had a concealed opening, but the effect was the same as if she'd ripped it apart. Because of her small tits, she had no need for a bra; her pert little boobies stood up by themselves, without any support. A sheer, mini-type bikini panty was all she had left, and she twirled around gracefully, posing and strutting as though she were on a model's runway.
Bob's comment brought a smile to her face. "Now that's what I call a fashion show!"
When the appreciative whistles had died down, Joan took them completely by surprise. Looking every inch the poised fashion model, she walked over behind the sofa and went down until her pointy little breasts seemed to be hugging Bert's face like a pair of ear-muffs.
He didn't know what to make of this sudden strategy, either. He tried to turn his head in her direction, but she held it firm. Working deftly, she unfastened the buttons of his shirt and pulled the T-shirt over his head. Then she opened the front of his trousers, so his penis was accessible to her, but still hidden from view.
Her hands crept around his waist, tracing a slow, insidious pattern of desire. Clever fingers kneaded and massaged his flesh, dipping down a little lower each time. She worked all around the area of his lap, while the pressure of her breasts pounded out a rhythmic beat in his ears. He rested his head against the cushioned pillow and let the slow stirring of desire swell up within him.
When his penis stood up as if by magic and tried to seek an opening, Jerry breathed, "Look at that stand-up job. And she never laid a finger on it."
Joan stopped then and moved around in front of Bert. Quickly, before the mood was lost, she knelt down and lowered her head. He closed his eyes and waited for the delightful ecstasy of her lips closing around his rod.
The room was still as the men drank in the sight of Joan's trim, dimpled butt. Her cheeks bobbed around enticingly as she worked over Bert's erection. Their minds were full of envy as they watched Bert twitching and moaning wildly. His fingers clenched into fists, and his eyes were opened but glassy, seeing nothing. They looked wilder as his tension grew, and flecks of foam appeared on his lips. His body jerked and twitched spasmodically, and Joan was hard put to keep him on the couch. Then a long shudder gripped his body, and she backed off and grasped his tool with both hands as he spouted copiously before collapsing like a deflated balloon.
Jerry didn't even wait for the next round of cards to be dealt. He broke the rules by leaping off his chair and making a grab for Joan, but no one seemed to mind. He stretched out full length on the floor and pulled the surprised girl on top of him, ripping her transparent panties off in the process.
All hell broke loose after that. Jerry's unscheduled performance turned the meeting into a free-for-all. Everybody was keyed up to the boiling point, and they reached out blindly for instruction cards and partners. It mattered little to them whether the indicated outlet for their raging passion was genital, anal or oral.
Pam and Jerry's peaceful ranch home was turning into a house of cards. The question was, when would it fall down?
CHAPTER FOUR
NEXT MORNING, PAM DID A LOT OF THINKING after the breakfast dishes were cleared away. Even though last night's events had temporarily sated her need for sex, she knew that the craving would return. She was an addict for sure now, and the contented lull would soon turn into a full-fledged, uncontrollable itch. She sympathized with the poor souls who were plagued with a real monkey on their backs.
There must be a way to lure Steve and Allison into their group, she thought. But, how? Today was Friday, and with the weekend coming up, an outdoor type of thing might be less of an obvious trap. If the weatherman cooperated, that is. Otherwise, it could turn into a catastrophe.
Then, it hit her. A camping trip! Of course! What could be more innocent-sounding than that? And offer the most opportunity for togetherness? Tenting on the old camp grounds, and all that.
Anxious to turn these hazy plans into some concrete course of action, she made several phone calls, speaking to each of the girls in turn. She deliberately postponed calling Maggie until the last, knowing that she would have something sarcastic to say. But she swallowed her pride and dialed the number.
Pam's ill-timed call caught Maggie taking a shower. When the jarring blast reached her ears, she was tempted to ignore it, but her inborn curiosity got the better of her. Hastily, she wrapped a bath towel around her and went to answer the urgent ring. She was half cursing and half praying that whoever it was wouldn't hang up before she got there.
"Hello! Make it fast and snappy, because I'm standing in a puddle."
"Oh, dear. Did I call at a bad time?" Pam inquired meekly.
"Yes, so it had better be something juicy."
Pam laughed, still speaking in honeyed tones. "Well, it's just that the other girls and I were talking about a camping trip. They all seemed to go for the idea, so I thought I'd get your viewpoint."
There was a hesitation at the other end of the wire, and Pam could almost see the wheels turning.
"That sounds all right."
"Fine. I'll tell the others that it's all set, then. Oh ... by the way. I thought you might want to call Steve and Allison Rowan, and invite them along."
Maggie pounced on the opening. "You didn't waste much time, did you? I hope he's worth all the trouble you're going to."
Pam thought it best to say nothing. An open clash between them would be disastrous at this point.
"Okay, you win," Maggie acquiesced. "I'll call them and tell them to bring along sleeping bags-even though they won't be needing them." With that, she hung up.
Well, that was Maggie. She was probably just as anxious to get her hooks into Steve as Pam was. Right now, Pam had things to do before Jerry got home.
She worked feverishly in an effort to leave the house clean and shining; even an overnight trip involved a good deal of planning. She timed the casserole dinner to coincide with Jerry's arrival, and was just taking it out of the oven when his car turned into the driveway.
The non-stick finish on her cookware made cleaning up a breeze, and she used the extra time to tub the children and put them to bed. They would all have to get up at the crack of dawn in the morning to allow time for the short trip to her mother's.
Now she had time for a well-earned cup of coffee and a favorite TV program. With her feet propped up comfortably, she relaxed and sipped at the steaming brew. She glanced at Jerry out of the corner of her eye, but he was engrossed in the newspaper. Even though he had readily agreed to the trip, they still had little to say to one another. It was easy to dismiss him from her mind; she had more to think about than this man-child husband of hers.
Presently, he folded his paper and went to bed. She allowed a full hour to pass before climbing in beside him. Otherwise, the situation would have been awkward, with both of them straining to keep to their own sides of the bed-as if a chance meeting of flesh might indicate a peace offering.
The alarm clock blasted them out of bed in the morning so early that they stumbled around in a daze, wondering where the fire was. But reality returned when the family was confronted with jelly doughnuts and milk for breakfast. The children set up a howl, and Pam was forced to explain that this was just to tide them over. They would have a proper breakfast later on.
Somehow, things fell into place, and they were ready on schedule. Steve's station wagon pulled up, loaded to the brim, and they stowed their gear on the luggage rack. Pam and Jerry squeezed in next to Bert and Maggie, and they were off.
During the three-hour ride, they sang and laughed like a bunch of school children. The miles passed swiftly, and they only made one stop, which served a dual purpose: stretching their legs and wolfing down a hearty breakfast.
They arrived at the campgrounds before noon. It was a beautiful spot, complete with babbling brook and tall fir trees. The men pitched tents, obviously having forgotten any Boy Scout training they might have had, while the women unpacked.
Bev and Joan managed to get a pot of coffee underway, after numerous false starts. The wood was still damp, and it was touch and go at first. But the coffee pot was soon giving off a tantalizing aroma, and the group assembled by the fire.
Bob tasted his coffee and smacked his lips in noisy appreciation. "You know, Bev ... at home you make lousy coffee, but out here, even yours tastes good. Why is that, I wonder?"
"Well, of all the nerve! Just for that, you can paint the bedroom when you get home. Now do you have any more smart-ass remarks, or did that cover everything?"
Bert came to Bob's defense. "Oh, I think he just meant that everything tastes better outdoors. Even a hot dog takes on a special flavor."
Pam drew the Rowans into the conversation. "I guess outdoor life has its compensations, wouldn't you say?"
"One of them being that you can get tanked to the gills if you feel like it, and sprawl out anywhere." Steve got to his feet and went in search of the private stock he had brought along.
Allison sat still, hugging her knees, and Pam couldn't decide if she was snobbish or shy. She certainly was quiet, whatever the reason.
"I'm on sort of a busman's holiday," Steve explained as he splashed large quantities of liquor into everyone's cups. The coffee all but extinguished the fire; outdoors or no, a drink was always welcome. Even Allison relaxed as they drank the afternoon away.
When the sun went down, the fire burned brighter, and the combined heat of liquor and flame cast a rosy glow over the assembled faces. Bill was spinning a favorite story of his-something about building a better mousetrap-but Pam was scarcely listening. She tapped Bob on the shoulder and told him to go to work on Allison. He whispered something to Steve's wife, and they went off to take in more of the scenery.
Pam sat down next to Steve and caught a speculative look in his eyes. He refilled her cup and spoke without a hint of expression in his voice. "Where is he taking her-off in the bushes somewhere to give her a good screwing?"
She hesitated for a moment, unable to tell if he was angry or not. "Why? Would it bother you if he did?"
"Hell, no. I just hope he's man enough for her, that's all. She can be a real bitch when she isn't satisfied."
"Oh, I don't think you have to worry about that. Bob's a real pro when it comes to giving a woman what she wants."
"That's quite a recommendation, coming from somebody like you. I gather you've tried him on for size?" he asked, his eyes boldly sweeping over her.
"Mm-hmm. And, it was a pretty close fit."
"You don't say! Well, shall we see how I measure up? That is, if your better half has no objections."
Pam glanced across at the others. "He couldn't care less," she said wryly. Privately, she thought that Jerry wouldn't object if she suddenly turned into one huge breast. Then, she could wet-nurse him for the rest of his life.
Steve hauled her to her feet. "Let's go into the tent. We can be alone there." He entered first, crouching over so that he could get through the small opening. He turned up the wick on the kerosene lamp before turning to face her. "That's better. Making love in the dark spoils things for me. I like to see that pussy, just waiting for me to eat it up, like so much catnip."
Now that the moment was here, Pam was overcome by tremors that she was helpless to control. Both anticipation and fear entered into it, and she shook helplessly from head to toe. She felt like a young innocent, about to be ravaged by a brutal hulk of a man.
Steve helped her out of her clothes, his words adding to the volcanic passion that shook her. "You want me too, don't you, doll? I could tell, that day in the bar." He spoke soothingly to her while his fingers slid the tight shorts over her knees and down her long, silky legs. "Don't fret so, honey. I've got enough cock to make you happy. Here ... hold it. That's what you want, isn't it?"
"Oh, yes!" she whispered shakily as her fingers explored the hard shaft inside his pants. She pulled the tab on the zipper and brought his huge penis out into the open. Gently, she circled it with her hand and pumped it up and down.
"Whoa, there! Not too much of that," he cautioned. He had left her panties till last, and now he rubbed a finger along the nylon crotch in a seesawing motion. Her breasts shook as a shiver coursed through her body, and her knees sagged weakly. "Steve, I'm going to pass out if you don't stop that," she panted. "I can't even stand up any more."
"Lie down, then. Here ... on the cot." His hands pulled at the waistband on her panties; they felt warm to the touch, and slightly moist from the dampness of her body. He moved the lamp over so that its yellow beam highlighted the thatch of reddish-brown hair at the apex of her dewy slit.
He seemed content to watch her twisting and moaning with desire, his massive dong just inches away from her grasp. "You need me, don't you, Pam? Don't you?"
She nodded dumbly, never taking her gaze off the penis he was dangling in front of her eyes like a carrot.
"Tell me how much you need me, baby," he commanded.
"Steve, I..." It was hard for her to admit it, but she swallowed and got the words out. "I need you so much, I think I'd die if I couldn't have you!"
He nodded as though she was only confirming something he'd known all along. "That's right," he said, holding his huge, pulsating cock out to her waiting lips.
She placed feverish lips around it and worked fast and furious for a few seconds. He pulled out suddenly and joined her on the narrow confines of the cot. She clasped him to her rigidly, in a death-like grip, arching her back high in the air to receive his first thrust. "Oh, god..." she moaned, as the bulbous head slipped past her gummy opening. Straddling his back with her legs, she pounded him with fists and heels in a frenzied fit of passion.
"More, more..." she begged. "Oh, Steve, sock it to me!"
As he pushed his way in deeper, he began to slap her bouncing buttocks with light, stinging blows. Tears streamed down her face as the slaps became harder, but the feel of his terrific tool swelling inside her cunt made it worthwhile. He filled and thrilled her so completely that she thereupon became a slave to this man, with his brutal ways and wicked lovemaking. The evil that she sensed was in him only made it more exciting, and she realized she would gladly do whatever he asked, so long as he was capable of thrilling her so.
As the slaps continued to rain upon her tender butt-cheeks, the pain gradually disappeared. She almost welcomed the blows now; the little sting added to the thrills and heightened her pleasure in a way that she couldn't fathom.
"That's it, Steve. Hit me some more. Harder! I can't feel-" Her voice drained away as their bodies met with a resounding smack in mid-air. With that final heave, the floodgates opened, and the breath left her body as he hammered her through the most intense orgasm she'd ever experienced.
She sighed and caved in weakly, but he followed her as she sank down to the cot and continued to wring the last bit of pleasure from their union. His slick penis slid in and out, diminishing slowly until it became flaccid and weak. Only then did he roll off.
When he was able, he propped himself up on an elbow and looked down at her. "You liked it," he said simply. "I had a hunch you would."
Pam opened her eyes and spoke more to herself than to him. "Yes, God help me, I did." Now that it was over, she hated him for his confident appraisal of her need. And she knew that all hope was lost. After this night, she could never be satisfied with Jerry again. It was like falling into a bottomless pit, and she was helpless to break the fall.
They returned to the comfort of the fire, where Pam sank down gratefully to be alone with her thoughts. Steve mixed up a fresh batch of drinks and idly poked at the fire, while he waited for the rest of the company to finish up the first round of their sex bouts. He amused himself by trying to guess to the second how long it would take each couple to complete the act of copulation.
Meanwhile, Bob was by no means finished with Allison. Her cool self-possession irritated him, and he was determined to break through to whatever lay beneath it.
When they had walked a short distance away from the camp, he chose a particularly scenic spot and suggested they sit down to enjoy the view. Using a windproof lighter, he accomplished the difficult feat of lighting two cigarettes.
She was wearing a full skirt, and the warm breeze caused it to flare up intriguingly now and then. His first kiss was so gentle and tender that she was hardly aware of his lips on hers. When she offered no resistance, he increased the pressure and managed to dart his tongue into the velvety softness of her mouth. She fenced with him awhile, until he gradually forced her into a reclining position.
She looked highly desirable, lying there with her skirt bunched up around her waist. Her eyes stared up at the twinkling stars, her whole attitude one of boredom. He could almost hear her saying to herself, Do with me what you will, but I won't feel a thing.
He opened the front of her blouse and lifted her nonchalant body so that he could slide it and the bra off at the same time. Carefully, he removed her pants and added them to the small heap of clothing.
He was still fully dressed when he sat down beside her. He looked his fill before tweaking the nipples that were pointing at the sky. Bending his head, he kissed each one until they stiffened with desire. This accomplished, he gently drew her legs apart and buried his face between them, kissing and tonguing her clit until he felt her moan with desire. Her hands reached down to pull him up, but ...
Very deliberately, he sat down in front of her, unzipped his fly, and began to play with himself!
Flabbergasted, she watched as he stroked his cock. He jerked himself off completely, using up the coveted hardness, wasting his erection, spraying his semen onto the ground while she was left aching with desire!
"Well, I'll be damned!" she said angrily.
He stood up, stuffing the now useless pecker back in his pants and handed her the wispy undergarments. "Maybe next time you won't be so blas' about sex," he scolded. With that, he turned on his heel and left her there, still spouting and steaming.
He grinned to himself as he walked back to camp. The look on her face had been worth the effort it had taken to pass up that lovely body. Thinking about how inviting she'd looked, sprawled out and waiting for him, made him want a woman badly. The jack-off episode had been short and unfulfilling. But their camp was in view, and with four willing females, he knew that his need would soon be fulfilled.
Steve was the first person he encountered, and his question was natural enough. "Where's Allison?"
"Oh, she'll be along in a few minutes. She wanted a little time to tidy up," he lied.
His answer apparently satisfied Steve, and they sat down to share a drink. "Boy, a little hike in the woods does wonders for your appetite," Bob commented.
"Yeah, I know. It plumb tuckers a fellow right out, doesn't it?" Steve observed, chuckling.
Allison walked past them, on her way to join the rest of the group. She ignored them completely, evidently putting her husband in the same class as Bob. The disgruntled look on her face was that of a bride who'd began her honeymoon a virgin and had ended it the same way.
"Oh-oh. I don't know what you did, but you sure rubbed her the wrong way," Steve said. "Better watch yourself going down dark alleys from now on."
Everybody was taking time out to roast hot dogs, so Steve and Bob whittled some twigs into forks and squatted by the fire to roast two at a time. Soon the dogs were spitting over the fire, and the men waited until they were golden brown before smearing them with mustard and adding the trimmings.
When Bob stood up to find a comfortable place to eat, Maggie was bending down, groping for the catsup. Unable to resist the temptation, he grabbed her around the waist and rubbed himself against her fanny. She turned her head to see who it was and grinned impishly at him.
"Listen, buster, you could try from now till doomsday, but you couldn't poke a hole in these." She was referring to the denim Levi's that hugged her hips so fetchingly.
"Tell me something, Maggie. I've read somewhere that hippies actually sit in a tub of water with their Levi's on so these things will shrink up on them. Is that how you manage to get that effect?" As he spoke, he rubbed a hand caressingly around her tapered waist, where her navel beckoned an invitation to linger.
"I don't have to," she boasted. "I've got the curves to fill them out. But you know, it's not a bad idea at that! Why don't you give it a try? I like to see a well-hung guy show it off."
She took a bite of her hot dog and spoke around it. "I get a bang out of watching those ballet dancers on TV. I'm always hoping that one of them will get a hard-on. Now, wouldn't that be something to see, in those knit leotards they wear? But they never do. They must be a bunch of fags, like everybody says."
"Well, maybe they're just interested in the beauty of the dance," Bob suggested. "Did you ever think of that?"
"Balls!" she said heatedly.
Having had her say on the subject, she walked away, treating Bob to an eyeful of swaying hips and bouncing boobies. He smiled to himself. She might have her faults, but she was all woman and knew how to appreciate a man. Not like that bitch, Allison, who acted like she was doing a guy a big favor if she laid back and spread her legs for him.
Still thinking fondly of Maggie, he joined the others, taking a place next to her. He wanted her handy when the fireworks started.
As if somebody had pushed a button to turn them on, the lovemaking began anew. Food was forgotten in the face of this new hunger. Only one hot dog remained, and it fell into the flames, where it turned into something resembling charcoal.
Bob staked his claim on Maggie, which didn't surprise her any. The top of her outfit was a cinch to get off, but the Levi's were another story. She made him work for it, refusing to help in any way. He tugged at the skin-tight denims, wriggling them down an inch at a time.
When they were barely covering her silken mound, he paused for breath. "Goddamn it, Maggie, I'm not kidding-Next time you wear those things, I'm bringing a pair of scissors, and I'm going to cut a hole right in the crotch!"
"Better make it a big one, darling," she said, grabbing a feel of him. Then she relented and accomplished what his fumbling fingers had tried to do. Naked, she pulled him to her, and he forgot all about his exasperation.
Due to no fault of their own, Jerry and Pam had ended up together. He looked to her for help, but she held the whip hand now. She was enjoying her brief moment of triumph as she made him take his place on top of her. The perplexed expression on his face was comical. "Fake it, darling," she mocked.
Allison had evidently deigned to bestow her favors on Bill. Perhaps because of her recent experience with Bob, who had left her high and wet, she was now ready to enjoy herself. Whatever the reason, Bill made no complaints.
Pam was relieved when it was over. Neither she nor Jerry had received the least bit of satisfaction from the other, and she was eager to have a new partner. This was to be a relay type of thing, where the men rotated from one woman to another. She put her arms up to welcome the next comer, and saw that it was Steve.
Just the sight of him set her whole body tingling, and when he was inside her, she was contented and at peace with the world. She closed her eyes and gave herself over to the sensations that made her head swim with lust.
CHAPTER FIVE
IT WAS A DULL SUNDAY. THE CAMPING trip was a thing of the past now, and Jerry and Pam took turns watching Jim and Sue, so they could each take a nap. They would be needing a rest, for Steve had invited them all to his place that evening. He had promised them a special treat, and no amount of pressure had succeeded in prying the secret out of him.
Pam was glad to be able to shut out any interference by a simple closing of the bedroom door. She dozed fitfully, her thoughts and dreams blending together into a jumbled version of Steve and the effect he was having upon her life. She was haunted by the fascination he held for her-and puzzled, too. Under ordinary circumstances, she wouldn't even have liked him; he wasn't charming, or especially handsome, either. Yet, she was drawn to him against her will. When Jerry's hitch was up, she got up to take over sentry duty. She forced herself to quit thinking about Steve. Admittedly, she was helpless to change anything, so she might as well go wherever her nature led her, and the hell with it.
The day dragged by somehow, and that night they arrived at Steve's bar in full force. By this time, they were all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed once again. Steve's apartment was separate from the bar, and they entered through an ordinary-looking door. As one unit, they stopped short, wondering if they had come to the right place.
"Wow! What a pad!" Bev exclaimed. "Why, you could hole up here for a year, and nobody could ever find you."
"That's the idea, dear girl." Steve leered wickedly at her. "I trap beautiful young virgins in here, and deflower them, as they say in the old country."
"Now I know I'm in the wrong place," Maggie muttered.
Everyone laughed at that, and the group began to feel at ease. Pam and Joan sat together on one of the many built-in couches that lined the walls.
"Well, let's get this show on the road," said Steve as he pressed a button on the wall. A section of paneling slid up to reveal a well-stocked liquor cabinet.
Pam and Joan both asked for martinis, and Pam was just sampling hers when Joan gave her a little dig with her elbow. "Well, I see Miss Universe is going to honor us with her company tonight."
Allison entered the room with a regal grace that came from long association with wealth and power. Pam whispered, "Maybe we're just jealous, do you suppose?"
"I don't know about you, but she'd make three of me. God! What I wouldn't give to have boobs like that!"
The tits under discussion pointed their way over to Steve, where Allison graciously accepted a drink; then she made her way to a seat, where she placed herself, looking composed and aloof.
After a suitable pause, during which the man paid silent tribute to Allison and her magnificent knockers, there followed much speculation regarding the big surprise.
"The natives are getting restless, I see," Steve whispered to Pam. "You're looking especially good to me tonight, Pam." She said nothing in reply, but the warm touch of his hand left an indelible mark on her shoulder.
Without further ado, Steve switched another button, and the TV set flickered into life. This brought forth a rumble of moans and groans. "You must be putting us on!"
"Yeah! We can watch TV at home," chimed in another voice.
But, when the star performers appeared, it became obvious that this was not just another TV program. This was the kind of stuff that would blow up many a picture tube, should anybody find a sponsor brave enough to support it.
On the screen, Allison was standing in front of a mirror, making preparations for bed. Her tall, statuesque body could be clearly seen through the sheer nightgown she was wearing. She seemed to be making a careful study of her body as she examined its lush contours, one by one.
Steve was sitting up in bed, wearing only the bottom half of his pajamas. He watched his wife as she fondly caressed her body. "Aren't I beautiful, darling?" she asked, squeezing her ample boobies together and pushing them up proudly for his appraisal.
"Look, Allison, how many times do you have to be told? You know you have a beautiful body. If you weren't so in love with it yourself, maybe you could spread it around a little bit."
She threw her head back and laughed. "Oh, it's too much for one man to handle; besides, Stevie dear, you just don't turn me on any more."
He shrugged, as though her comment was of no importance, but his eyes didn't miss the flash of inner thigh that was revealed when she crossed her legs. When her concentration was fixed on buffing her fingernails, he reached under his pillow and drew out a book.
The novel concerned a young man growing up in a predominantly female household, and as he read the erotic story aloud, a subtle change came over Allison. As the boy made one conquest after another, including the maid, his sister, and his aunt, Allison lost all interest in doing her nails. Gradually, her eyes took on a glazed look, and she slumped back in the chair.
Steve's voice droned on and on, eloquently describing the strange goings-on in that even stranger household. He resembled a spectator at a tennis match as he glanced back and forth from the book to his wife.
She closed her eyes to better appreciate the mental pictures that the story conjured up. Her legs spread apart, she lifted the hem of her nightie up around her waist, and her hand began its journey up the inside of her thighs. Steve's voice shook with excitement as he began to read faster, and he untied the rope that held the pajama bottoms on. The exploits of the young man in the story were having an obvious effect on him, too.
Allison squirmed around in the chair until her hand had captured the throbbing flesh between her legs. She lovingly rubbed and stroked her pussy, moaning faintly in the throes of desire.
Steve read a few more passages before tossing the book aside. "Come here, Allison," he said, his voice carrying the ring of authority.
Her eyes opened, and she rose to her feet as though in a dream. Her breasts were lust-swollen beneath the nightdress by this time, and the shirred material cupped them tautly, as though the garment had been designed for that purpose.
Steve stretched out on his back, his penis a quivering arrow of anticipation. When Allison reached the bed, she hiked the nightie up, bunching it firmly around her waist. Then she climbed over him, straddling his face with her lovely thighs and lying face downward along his body. The velvety softness of her tongue sent searing licks of flame along his hard-muscled belly.
He waited until her mouth had found its target before giving her the satisfaction she wanted. She hesitated a moment before plunging her lips over his big rod. and he pushed himself up to meet her. She obeyed the urgent thrust, he responded by jabbing his tongue into her burning crack. Then both came engrossed in their quest for pleasure.
When the skit was over, the men looked at Allison with new eyes, comparing her sluttish portrayal on the screen with the poised, unattainable image she usually presented.
Hails of acclaim came from every direction. "That was great."
"No commercials-nothing but good, clean sex."
"With sound effects, yet! How did you do it?"
Steve accepted their compliments graciously. "Well, it's simple enough. This is a video tape recorder that works on the same principle as a standard tape recorder. It does the same thing, only you aim the little TV camera where you want it, and start the tape rolling. When you're finished, you get an instant playback."
The men questioned him about some of the technical aspects, and he explained that their present TV sets could be converted, with some modifications.
"I thought we could put on some plays and ad-lib some of the dialogue. Then we can make up duplicate tapes for each member of the club."
"I always knew I was cut out to be a movie star," Bev enthused. "Let's all get outfits of our own, so we can swap tapes and build up a collection." .
The ladies browsed through the selection of play scripts that were piled on a table, trying to find the roles that best suited their needs. They were all anxious to see themselves on the silver screen, even if the film would never make the theaters.
CHAPTER SIX
SO, NUDIE PRODUCTIONS WAS LAUNCHED. The amateur players made up what they lacked in experience by interpreting the roles in their own uninhibited style.
Jerry and Bev were the first to make their debut in show biz. She had chosen a play that was tailor-made for Jerry's particular fetish. She was supposed to be his mother in the sketch, which called for a vivid imagination on the part, of the audience.
Jerry played a teen-ager, and the scene opened with him reclining on the couch, masturbating. Bev, portraying his mother, walked in and caught him in the act.
There action unfolded as follows:
Bev: "Jerry! What have you been doing to yourself? Don't you know that you'll get acne from doing that? Then everybody will know what you've been up to. Aren't you ashamed?"
Jerry: "Yes, mama." (He has the grace to look properly guilty, but it's hard to tell whether it was her threat or being caught that caused his embarrassment.)
Bev: "You know that mother will have to punish you, don't you?" Jerry: (Nods obediently.)
Bev: "All right, then. Turn over on your stomach." (Jerry does so, and she spanks his bare bottom soundly. The slaps can be heard plainly, but she lacks the strength to inflict any real pain.)
Bev: "Maybe this will teach you a lesson you won't soon forget." (She picks up his belt and lays it on firmly, with a great show of strength. The whipping now becomes serious, and feeds his need for punishment. He writhes under the stinging blows, becoming more excited by the minute. When some red welts appear on his buttocks and he is sobbing with repentance, Bev tosses the belt aside and holds him in her arms. With his head held against her breasts, she croons to him and offers him a nipple in lieu of a pacifier. He suckles contentedly, while she glances downward at his huge erection.)
Bev: (In a stage whisper) "Would you like to put that into me, darling?"
Jerry's answer is muffled by the succulent feast he is having, but it is obviously in the affirmative, for he pulls her onto his lap. She puts both hands behind his head for support and lowers herself onto him. With her back to the audience, she bobs happily up and down until the act reaches a mutually satisfactory conclusion.
Meanwhile the others had discovered that the clever divans converted into comfortable beds. As they waited for their cues, they occupied themselves by watching the players and idly fondling whoever happened to be sitting next to them. It helped to pass the time, but nobody went too far with it. They wanted to save it for the camera.
In the next skit, Pam played the part of a heartbroken girl, alone in her hotel room, whose lover had just deserted her.
As the scene opens, she has drunk herself into a stupor. Completely unaware that the door is ajar, she prances freely around the room, wearing only a bra with open-point cups, garter belt, and long mesh hose.
A stranger, alias Steve, is walking down the hall to his room when he catches a glimpse of her through the partly open door. His interest is caught by her revealing attire. Seeing nobody else about, he waits to see what she is up to.
Even her exposed nipples seem to quiver with righteous anger as she paces back and forth. With each step she takes, she comes down hard on the balls of her feet, causing her whole body to ripple from the impact.
"Goddamn men. anyway!" she mutters. "Nothing but a bunch of pimps, the whole lot of them. Take a girl's money and skip town. Bastards! "Who the hell needs them, anyway?"
Steve avidly watches as she opens a dresser drawer and removes an odd-looking phallic device, which she carries with her to the bed. He nudges the door with his knee to widen his vantage point, giving him an exciting glimpse of Pam's widespread legs.
Her face a mixture of pleasure and desire, she clutches her pussy and pokes a finger in and out, preparing the way for the dildo's entry. Steve's eyes open wide when she inserts the artificial penis in her snatch.
Unable to restrain himself any longer, Steve unfastens his pants and prepares to attack. Her no-man's-land attitude changes to one of glad welcome when she sees him approaching. Tossing the apparatus aside, she reaches out for him and quickly draws him down to her.
The rest of the scene had little to do with play-acting, and any dialogue that was spoken was unintelligible, but even a deaf mute could have understood the rest.
It was odd how each person seemed to have a particular favorite to play games with. At first, they had simply flitted around from one to another-but, with the exception of their gang orgies, they had now settled down to more or less permanent partners. It was a sort of marriage in reverse for them; a painless marriage without hardships.
Maggie and Bob teamed up for the next one-act play. He played a brawny, he-man model, and she a would-be artist who was attempting to capture his--likeness on paper.
He looks like the "after" picture in a Charles Atlas advertisement as he flexes his biceps and sucks in his stomach. The bikini-type briefs he is wearing are practically transparent, and there is a small hole, the size of a dime, located in a strategic place. It's almost imperceptible to the naked eye, but its importance becomes obvious later on.
Maggie places her thumb in the classic gesture of the artist, to fix the exact center of his body in her mind. In keeping with the character she is portraying, she makes some preliminary outlines with charcoal.
Bob is grinning rather foolishly as he holds his pose. He has no idea of the hole's purpose, but he waits for Maggie to take the initiative.
On the pretext of working in an overheated room, she pauses to shed a piece of clothing now and then. When she has stripped down to the buff, he can feel a familiar warmth creeping across his loins. His cock begins to rise. Then, a new feeling comes over him, and he glances down, bewildered.
The small opening has expanded right along with his erection. Stretching right along with him, until the head of his penis is forced out through the hole.
Maggie takes one look at the effect she's having on him, shucks the rest of her clothing, and gives up the pretense of making believe she's an artist. This is more like for real, and she's obviously eager to get on with the sex part of the act.
She's pure savage as she dances around him, nibbling at him in a cannibalistic manner. The combination of her beauty and the wild gnawing of her teeth causes his erection to surpass any he's ever had before.
Wrapping both legs around his waist, she holds onto the back of his head and leans back. The suction of her grip is as constricting as a python's, enabling her to skim the floor with the top of her head.
The full length of Bob's cock has extended completely out of the opening now, and he can enjoy the sight of her, spread out before him, while watching his rod slipping in and out of her. This twofold pleasure spurs him on to fulfillment as, suspended in mid-air, their bodies become one.
The torrid performance put on by these two forced the onlookers to take an intermission before they exploded. They walked around the room, conversing like any group of theater-goers, until the fire had died down a little. Then they were ready for the next curtain.
Allison was next on the bill. Coolly, she disrobes, revealing her beautifully formed body to the audience.
This in itself was a crowd pleaser, but the skit she ha selected was even more so.
When her clothing is carefully draped over a chair, she hands a length of rope to her co-star, Bill. As he ties her wrists to the bed, leaving her spread-eagled on the coverlet, a murmur of approval can be heard from the spectators. The women, especially, are anxious to see Allison taken down a peg-by torture, if necessary.
But this is to be a different kind of torture. When Bill returns to the scene, he is carrying a feather, which he brandishes before him like the white feather of peace. He is naked now, his strip-tease having been done in private.
Bending over Allison, he places the tip of the feather at her throat and begins a slow descent with it. The feathery touch gently circles the aureoles of her breasts, caressing and stimulating. No human touch could produce such a delicate, maddening sensation. He draws the feather around each mountainous orb, causing a tingling, expectant feeling to pervade her body.
Then, he traces a line down the center of her cleavage, as carefully as a surgeon's knife. When he reaches the V of her crotch, she is already trying to push herself up and force him to exert a little pressure. But he withholds the pleasure by holding the feather further away from her. She relaxes and lets him tease her mercilessly.
He traces each crease at the tops of her thighs, while she begins to quiver with the mingled feelings of torture and ecstasy. When he draws the feather along the tip of her mound, which has been exposed by the strapping of her legs, she moans and cries out.
"Oh, God! Please..."
Watching her writhing and twitching has produced the inevitable effect on Bill, and he's almost ready to give in. But not quite.
When he releases her from her bonds, she tries to grab him and pull him down to her, but without success. He eludes her searching fingers and forces her onto her knees. She makes a tempting sight, with her pendulous boobs hanging down and her mask of pretended indifference turned into a whimpering, pleading grimace.
Bill slowly insinuates the feather underneath her, rubbing it back and forth across the middle of her pussy. Her teeth are chattering with unleashed excitement, and her whole torso begins to shake from the velvet-gloved torture. When she can no longer endure the treatment, she mashes her rump against him, and the heat of her flesh stirs Bill into action. He rams it into her with all the force of a stallion, and she jerks and slams against him with such pent-up fury and desire that he fears the result will maim him for life.
Their lust was spent quickly in a final clash that made it difficult to tell where he left off and she began. Their bodies were joined so closely that she seemed to be only an extension of him.
Several accidents had occurred by then, due to the heat and tension that filled the room. The men's rods kept popping up like so many jacks-in-the box, and the women were reluctant to accommodate them. Even though they were at the boiling point too, not one of them cared to miss out on the next feature.
So the fellows resorted to drastic measures. Some of them unashamedly jerked themselves off, while the more fortunate were aided by the soft caress of the females' magic touch.
Joan and Bert followed an act that was hard to top. But they were determined to outdo the others, and make the previous performances look like so much hearts and flowers.
In this scene, Bert plays a rather seedy-looking preacher who is trying to convert a young sinner. Before she sees the light, many revelations of sinful deeds are confessed.
To add a touch of realism to the skit, Bert holds a prayer book and manages to achieve a solemn-looking expression. He eyes Joan sternly up and down as she enters the room.
"Well, young lady. Your mother tells me that you've been a bad girl. Is that right?"
She casts her eyes downward and nods.
"Have you let boys touch you where they shouldn't?"
"Yes."
"Now-don't lie to me, child-did you let any of those boys take your cherry?" She nods meekly in reply.
"How many of them have violated your precious body?"
His high-and-mighty attitude has aroused her anger, and her answers grow bolder. "Who's counting?"
Bert's pious expression is replaced by a shocked look of indignation. "You poor, lost lamb. Come over here and sit down." She slides easily into his lap, and he pats her head benevolently. "Now, tell me. Why do you fornicate with all those boys?"
Her reply is simple and to the point. "Why, because I like it, I guess."
An odd light comes into his eyes as he listens to her frank, unexpected answers. "Tell me about some of your experiences. You know, I am but an instrument of God, and I know that you will be forgiven if you make a full confession of your sins. No matter how sordid the details may be, I won't tell a soul. Hold nothing back, or your confession won't be complete."
As she tells about some of the boys she has had sex with, she wriggles around on his lap, causing him to feel acutely uncomfortable. As if by accident, his hand falls in her lap and is allowed to remain there. "Don't be afraid, child. Tell me everything," he encourages.
"Well, one day I was feeding the chickens when I saw our hired hand peeing behind the barn. He thought nobody could see him, and he sort of shook his pecker off and played with it a little bit."
"Just a moment. Was this man you speak of white or colored?"
"Oh, he was black," she says dreamily. "But, he had the biggest cock I ever saw. None of the boys I went out with had one that big! Anyway, I got to itching and wanting it, so I went over and told him to make love to me."
Bert is becoming agitated by her vivid descriptions, and his fingers begin to dig their way right through the material of her dress. "You naughty girl! You know that was wrong, don't you?"
"Yes, sir. But, I just couldn't help myself. When I get this urge, I just have to have that dirty old thing," she said, pointing to the bulge in his fly.
"Here," he says, opening the front of his trousers. "You mustn't think of me as a man. I'm just God's messenger, sent here to help you and listen to your miserable wrongdoings." He places her hand inside his pants. "Just hold onto my staff. It'll comfort you in your hour of need. Now; go on with your story. What happened then?"
"Well, he didn't want to screw me. He was afraid somebody would find out, I think. But I threatened him. I said I'd tell my father he raped me, and he'd be tarred and feathered. So he gave in. He was scared at first; but I got him worked up good and proper, and soon he was going gung-ho. That was the best screwing I ever had. In broad daylight, too!"
She is nestling snugly against Bert now, and making it obvious to all that she neglected to wear any panties. As he strokes her patch of mossy hair, he continues to encourage her verbally.
"There, there. You feel better now, don't you? Just close your eyes and let God's vessel enter into you. Remember, this has nothing to do with man and his carnal desires. There! Can't you feel the true spirit answering you from within?"
"Oh, yes," she gasps, spreading her legs wider in appreciation.
"Now, you just cooperate and let me guide you," he says, huffing and puffing and he jerks inside of her. Beads of perspiration break out on his brow as his exertions increase.
"It's coming, it's coming!" she shouts. "I'm going to be saved!"
He strains harder in his efforts to please her, leaving the chair behind as he pushes up with all his might. The strain on his legs is terriffic, but he is rewarded by her squeals of pleasure. Then his muscular control is shattered as she thrusts downward so hard that he's literally pushed back into the chair.
With his tool still imbedded in her, she slumps weakly against his chest. He carries her to the bed, where he inelegantly dumps her lax body and prepares to finish satisfying his own needs.
He had barely started in on his favorite form of push-ups when, in the true spirit of revival, Joan gamely joined in. This time, the farce was over. The name of the game was sex, and they wallowed in it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
NOW EVERYBODY HAD HAD A CHANCE TO get into the act, and they were anxious to view themselves on TV. They were all exhibitionists at heart, needing only an audience to play to .
While Steve was fiddling with the tapes, they took a breather at the bar. Reruns of the tapes were to be shown in the same order as they had been taken, and there was a lot of good-natured ribbing going on.
"Hell, Jerry, I'll bet you don't get past the first five minutes of film before you're hot to trot again," Bob kidded.
"Well, I'll still hold out longer than you before shooting my load," Jerry retorted.
Maggie's face lit up as an idea hit her. "Hey! Why don't we have a contest? Sort of like that kids' game we used to play, where the first one who speaks is out."
"I know the one you mean!" Bev exclaimed. "That should be interesting. We can all take our favorite sex positions, and whoever breaks down first and starts humping, loses."
"That sounds kinds of far-out to me," Joan protested.
Pam thought so too, and was about to voice her opinion when Steve joined the discussion.
"That should be a real blast. That's the sort of ticklish situation most men would give their eye teeth to be in. After all, watching ourselves on the screen like that should be enough to get it up, let alone having it in a girl at the same time."
Pam and Joan still balked at the idea, while Allison merely sat as though she had been turned to stone. Either she didn't care enough to venture an opinion, or else she was off in a world of her own somewhere.
"Tell you what I'm gonna do," Steve chanted, in the manner of a carney barker. "Instead of free dishes, I'm giving away, with each and every lay, a prize. Win or lose, you ladies will come out ahead. And there'll be a grand prize for our contest winner! Now, don't look a gift horse in the mouth, you two."
They both laughed at his innocuous behavior, and Pam retorted. "Yes, but isn't there another saying that warns people to beware of Greeks bearing gifts?"
But he had won his point, so they took their positions along with the rest, lying in a row. Jerry and Bev were first in line because their scene would be on first, and watchful eyes were upon them, waiting for their reaction.
Pam snickered to herself when she saw that Jerry was on top of Bev. They could wait all night before he'd show any reaction, she thought. But then a curious thing happened. As he watched the screen in which his Oedipus complex was allowed to run amuck, his pleasure was so intense that he achieved an erection at long last. Pam was amazed. It must have been at least five years since he'd been able to do anything at all in that position. Evidently, the lewd film had enabled him to disassociate his mind from his present circumstances and relive the exciting scenes on the TV.
When Pam's turn came, she watched the screen and experienced the same sense of excitement. The erotic pictures had the effect of an aphrodisiac. She tore her eyes away long enough to look at Steve's profile, and saw his nostrils flare and his mouth go slack with desire. This, too, enhanced her pleasure, and when she felt his penis swelling within her, an involuntary spasm made her move beneath him. This triggered his growing desire, and they began to move in the familiar rhythm of screwing.
It didn't take a crystal ball to predict the outcome of this contest. Each couple fell by the wayside in order of their appearance. Bert and Joan were the dubious victors, by virtue of being the last to perform. They received the grand prizes: a solid gold phallus that was tied with a blue ribbon for her, and a pussy-stretcher that was mounted like a trophy, for him. Everyone rushed over to examine them, and it was discovered that the pussy-stretcher opened in the middle when the sides were pressed, and the phallus could be made to extend five inches by pushing a button.
Jerry and Bev had been the first ones to cop out, but they received consolation prizes, along with the rest. These turned out to be cute little gimmicks called "kitten-mittens," which Steve must have purchased by the gross. They were made of a fur-like material, and boasted a luxurious satin lining.
Steve's ingenious ideas amazed them all; he was a true connoisseur of bizarre approaches to sex. When he produced a trunk full of costumes and tricky little novelties, they pawed through them like housewives at a bargain counter.
Many of the outfits were on the theatrical side, including ice-cream cone-shaped pasties, G-strings, and underpants with the entire crotch split up the front. Some of the men dressed in drag costumes, stuffing towels in their bosoms until they resembled top-heavy pigeons.
The camera started rolling, and the marathon began. There was no rhyme or reason to this production, and the participants were blithely unconcerned about being photographed. Steve put some acid-rock music on for background, and the fun began.
Joan was sporting a chastity bra that was constructed entirely of steel, and Bob advanced toward her with a can opener, ready to play knight to her shining armor. "Careful with that thing," she cautioned. "You're not opening a tin of sardines, you know."
"No sweat, my dear. Haven't I ever told you that I'm mechanical-minded?"
Bill minced around the room, tottering dangerously on the spike heels he was wearing. He looked like a comical caricature of a prostitute, with his satin skirt slit up the side and a blonde wig perched on top of his head. "How about a little nookie, mister?" he queried, in a bad imitation of a female's high-pitched voice. "Only five bucks. Oh, dear..." He fell, ass-over-teakettle, sprawling awkwardly in a very ludicrous position. Grinning foolishly, he retrieved his wadded towel from the floor and stuffed it back in his bosom. "Well, nobody's perfect," he muttered.
Bert had chosen a feminine costume too, and he made a surprisingly pretty girl. Even without a wig, his arched eyebrows and petulant lips, aided by a touch of lipstick, made him the belle of the ball. Maggie looked at his getup with amazement. Of course, she had often commented that his waistline measurement was no bigger around than her own, and he always had a clean-shaven look that was unmarred by any five o'clock shadow; still, she had never before noticed how girlish his features were.
He seemed to be having no difficulty in adjusting to the high-heeled shoes, either, and she was moved into making one of her acid comments. "Why, sweetie, what big eyes you have! When the boys get a load of those doe eyes and pouting lips, I won't stand a chance."
He refused to be lured into a battle of wits with her, and contented himself by saying, "Oh, don't be so damn catty, Maggie. It's all in fun, after all."
"Is it?" she asked, archly. Having had the last word, she left him to figure out what she had meant.
He watched her go and wondered what she had been hinting at. He never had been able to figure her out-she was like a Chinese puzzle, as far as he was concerned. One minute, she was as sweet and cuddly as a kitten; then she would lash out at him for no reason at all. He had to admit, though, that she was still a sexpot. She had dug deep down in the trunk and had come up with a slick outfit that was the sexiest thing he had ever seen. The boots were thigh length, made of a black, shiny vinyl, and the rest of the costume-what little there was of it-was cut from the same material. The fake patent-leather stuff clung to her every contour as though plastered on, and every curve was clearly outlined. The top part was cut severely, stopping short midway around each breast. She looked like a Valkyrie on her way to do battle, and the bullwhip she carried added a very convincing touch to the bizarre outfit. Bert wondered if the whip was strictly a prop.
Pam suddenly felt woozy and was forced to sit down. A strange, unreal feeling came over her, isolating her from the rest of the group as though they were a long way off. Could it be possible that Steve had somehow managed to get them to smoke marijuana? She had heard of pot parties, but had never expected to take part in one.
The notion seemed preposterous at first. Then she noticed that the cigarette box, so thoughtfully provided for the guests, was almost empty. It had been chockfull upon their arrival. Also, there was an unfamiliar, sweetish odor in the room.
In fact, the whole affair had taken on a nightmarish quality, and suddenly she no longer wished to take part in the three-ring circus that was going on. She had the strangest feeling that they were being scrutinized like bugs under a microscope, and the actual dissecting would take place at some future date. Maybe this vague feeling that something was wrong stemmed from the fact that Steve was nowhere to be seen.
She had just settled back to watch the macabre parade through half-closed lids, when she became aware of Steve's presence beside her. "Well, what do you think of our little freak-out, Pam? It's really quite exciting, don't you agree?"
"You devil," she answered in what she supposed to be an angry tone of voice, but which came out very mild. "What are you trying to do to us, anyway?"
"Now, what's that supposed to mean? I've simply tried to free all of you from your inhibitions, that's all. And it's working out very well. Just look at what a good time the others are having. What's your problem?"
Pam said crossly, "Oh, I don't know, exactly. But it seems to me that you've gone to a lot of trouble just to give a party."
He edged closer and slid his hand under her dress. "But that's the whole idea of our little club, isn't it? To enjoy ourselves in any way we see fit?"
Pam's head was blurry, and the words she wanted to say kept getting tangled up somehow, but she tried to clarify what seemed to her a very important point. "At least you didn't get me up there for your freakish little show."
His hand began to move, and his middle finger in her groove soon stifled any further protest from her. She went weak with desire, and his gloating words fell on deaf ears. "There's really no need for that, my little minx. I had you pegged the first time we met."
She paid no heed to his words, except to silence him by clamping her mouth onto his. She wanted nothing to spoil that golden moment when his finger would be replaced by the real thing. The influence of the drug added to her usual enjoyment, and she unexpectedly grasped his cock and rained kisses upon it. When she threatened to carry things too far, he checked her almost hysterical devotion.
"You are a greedy little girl, aren't you? Use a little restraint-the lollipop won't dissolve. It's an all-day sucker, you know."
Never before had she so blatantly hungered for a man's hard prick. In the far recesses of her mind, she detested the wanton, almost demented way she was acting, but she knew without a doubt that she would debase herself again and again to appease this terrible craving. She heard her voice pleading with him now, although she hardly recognized it as her own.
"Take me, damn it. Steve ... please hurry."
He decided to put an end to her suffering and give in to her demands. Slowly, he inched his enormous sex-engine in, undaunted by her greedy attempts to stuff it inside her. But once he had immersed himself completely, her frenzy communicated itself to him. Her hips rotated around and around, and he was caught up with desire. He gave himself over to the pleasant task of following her lead, and was just getting used to the motion when she suddenly changed tactics.
She spread her legs wide, in order to get the deepest penetration possible; then brought them close together again, so that they were in between his own. He was finding this position very enjoyable, and was about to speed up when she again switched tactics.
Starting from the same position, she crossed one leg over the other in a scissor-like fashion, which produced a very curious sensation in Steve. As he began to hump in the customary up-and-down movement, he found a resistance that was very much like that of a virgin's. The tight fit was delightful, and she seemed to be drawing the very juices of life out of him.
He looked at her with a new found appreciation before beginning to take full advantage of this unexpected source of pleasure. The hectic pace began, and neither of them saw anything but each other's face, distorted by desire, after that.
If they had been aware of anyone else, they would have seen Allison watching them with a bemused expression. She had never seen Steve go ape like that before. Even though they shared a certain preoccupation with sex, they had never lost their cool under any circumstances. She hoped this thing with Pam wasn't getting out of hand-that wouldn't fit in with their plans at all.
She busied herself by refilling the cigarette box and pouring herself a drink. Her duties as a hostess were nil at the moment; from the tangle of arms and legs, it was clear that her guests were more--likely to perish from overexertion than from thirst.
The only person who wasn't engaged in some sort of intercourse was Bert. He was still dressed in drag, looking rather like an unclaimed wallflower at her first prom. Allison took him a drink and sat beside him, noticing as she did so that his eyes were glued to Steve and Pam. "What's the matter, baby? Feeling left out?"
He blinked, then smiled when he saw that he had company. "Well, I was feeling like the low man on the totem pole," he admitted.
"Here, let's share a cigarette," she urged, lighting one and placing it between his lips. She waited until he had taken quite a few puffs, then put her arm across his narrow shoulders. "Come on. Let's go take a better look, shall we? I want to see what she's doing for Steve that makes him act so asinine."
Steve and Pam were unaware of their presence, and Bert and Allison watched the couple with growing excitement and envy. Allison passed her hand down the front of Bert's skirt to gauge his reaction to this first-band glimpse of passion. As Steve reared up, preparing to ram it to Pam again after having slipped out, she whispered to Bert, "Go ahead. Touch him. He won't mind."
Timidly, he stretched out his hand and placed it around Steve's rod. An excited look came over his face as he fingered it and assisted with the insertion into Pam's dribbling pussy. Allison nodded to herself, pleased that her little experiment had worked. Then, while Bert was still holding Steve's root, she flipped up the dress to expose his own distended cock.
Moving in close, she imprisoned it by clamping her legs firmly around it. She made no attempt to insert it. Instead, she moved back and forth, causing a friction much like the simple chemistry of rubbing two sticks together.
By the time Steve was ready to return to Pam exclusively, Allison's vise-like grip caused Bert to push himself in and out between her legs of his own volition. Allison waited until the jerking motion had become quite urgent before lowering herself to the floor and toppling him with her.
His erection was at its peak after all that had happened, and his frenzy matched Steve's wild hammering. Allison knew a few tricks of her own, and she used them without mercy. Her skill, plus Bert's intense lovemaking, made for a good match. They left no stone unturned in their quest for pleasure. The thumping of their bodies against the floor brought them to the attention of the others, and some of them left off to watch-the way couples do on a dance floor, when confronted by a superior team of dancers.
It was a rare treat to witness a man in a dress screwing a girl whose own dress was hiked up to her navel. Bev began to suspect that the theory of all women sharing a common penis envy might not be a bunch of malarkey. She had scoffed at the notion when the findings first came out, but now she wondered how it would feel to have a penis of her own. It might be interesting to trade places with Jerry and find out.
Maggie was standing next to Joan, who looked very desirable in a topless bathing suit. Bob had ruined the chastity bra with his can opener, which prompted him to complain that even a tin of sardines came equipped with a key. But the bathing costume suited her better, and showed off the small pointed breasts to perfection.
As she watched the other couples and their unbridled passion, Maggie fairly bristled with excitement. Her full breasts rose and fell under the scanty, slick, black covering, and she sucked her belly in flat. Casually, she let the tip of her cigarette brush against one of Joan's exposed nipples, causing the thin girl to cry out with pain.
Maggie sprang into action and flicked the burning ember away. "Oh, Joanie, I'm sorry!" She blew on it, and apologized further. "That was terribly careless of me.
Joan had clasped her hand over the little rosebud in a protective gesture. "It's all right now, Maggie. Just a little tender, is all."
"Oh, it must be sore. You'd better come with me, and we'll find something to put on it. A dab of butter will make it feel better."
Joan tried to make light of the pain, but Maggie insisted, so she allowed herself to be steered into the kitchen. There was a night light on, and Maggie didn't bother with the main switch. Going directly to the refrigerator, she dipped a finger into the butter dish and pushed Joan into a chair. Gently, she applied the soothing emollient to the offended area, her touch as soft as the butter she used. As she worked over the girl's baby-soft skin, her own luscious orbs popped in and out of their covering, playing peek-a-boo to Joan's interested gaze.
Maggie's touch lingered over the girl's breast much longer than necessary. "There, now. Doesn't that feel better?" she asked, continuing the gentle massage.
Joan's nod was barely perceptible. All of her attentions were focused on Maggie's admirable bazooms. A strange lassitude crept over her, and she was content just to sit and be fussed over.
Maggie bent her head to kiss the little bud tenderly.
As she did so, the vinyl material slid back to reveal one of her own breast completely. Joan's hand crept up to heft it, as carefully as a comparison shopper weighing a melon. The size and ripeness pleased her all the more because of her own lack of nature's abundance. She had never felt desire for a woman before, but Maggie's body excited her somehow. Under ordinary circumstances, she would have been shocked to feel a woman's lips touching her so intimately, but the depraved behavior of the others made such a caress seem normal.
Maggie slid the crisscross straps down her arms and leaned down further to rub her own full tits against Joan's petal-soft mounds. Then she pressed against her and their nipples met tip to tip.
The burned area hardly hurt at all now, and Joan welcomed the billows of flesh that threatened to engulf her. She let Maggie tear away the wool knit suit and felt herself being pulled to her feet. Maggie's breath was coming in short, ragged gasps, and she said, "Here, Joanie. Help me get these twat-pinchers off. I want to feel you against me."
Joan tugged at the tight vinyl, and together they managed to roll it down her hips. She was eager to view Maggie's voluptuous body, and her curiosity grew with every passing moment.
One final pull, and Maggie was free of the constricting tights. She rubbed the small ridge they had left around her middle. "God! Those things are worse than wearing a girdle."
Before Joan had time to recover from the impact of the lovely vision, Maggie pulled her close and kissed her on the lips. Their tongues met, sending white-hot licks of desire through them-a preview of things to come.
Maggie's hips started sending a message, and Joan was uncertain of her role. Nothing in her handbook had prepared her for such an un--likely event. The word Lesbian had simply been a dirty word to her; yet, here she was, in the arms of a beautiful, aggressive female, and enjoying every minute of it. She rubbed and twisted against Maggie, straining desperately for some sort of relief.
Abruptly, she was piloted back into the chair, where she sat and felt her nerve ends quivering with anticipation. She wondered how a woman could possibly compensate for that male piece of equipment that seemed so dear to her now. Maggie was on her knees, and when her fingers crept up Joan's legs and drew them apart to expose her tingling genitals, Joan begged her to stop. The whole thing seemed so pointless, and fulfillment so far away.
Then Maggie bowed her head, and the secret delights of Lesbian lovemaking became imprinted upon Joan's mind forever. It was as though the questing tongue was a red-hot branding iron, searing her more painfully than the cigarette had earlier. Pain and pleasure combined to make her moan and whimper in her chair. At first she held back, afraid of this new sensation, then she was pushing herself up to meet the tongue that darted around so cleverly.
"Ah, yes. Don't stop yet, Maggie. I'll do anything you want, after. Just don't stop!"
Maggie didn't falter from the steady, rhythmic pace, but Joan's reckless words registered somewhere in the back of her mind, to be examined later, when this was finished. From the way Joan was carrying on, Maggie knew the girl's couldn't be far off, and she put both hands under Joan's compact little buttocks and pressed firmly.
This was just the little push that Joan needed to send her over the edge, and she shuddered violently on her way to oblivion. "Enough!" she cried, but Maggie kept on with it, determined to give her the last dregs of pleasure. Another spasm came shortly after that, and Joan sank back weakly under the force of it.
Maggie left her cramped position and gave Joan a chance to pull herself together. When one dances to the devil's tune, there is always a price to be paid; a fact Joan would soon discover for herself; for it seems that the more one deviates from the norm, the deeper one must sink in order to get his (or her) kicks. Maggie had long been experimenting with the more common sexual variations, and they no longer satisfied her appetites. She was playing in a different league entirely.
Joan's trusting face made things a little difficult, but Maggie steeled herself against the baby-blue eyes. "How was it, kid? Feel good?"
Joan sighed contentedly. "Oh, yes. I never dreamed anything could feel that good."
Before taking too many bows, Maggie reminded her that it was her turn to treat. But as soon as the gratified girl was about to reverse the procedure, Maggie stopped her. "No, Joanie. That doesn't do anything for me any more."
"But I want to do something for you, too. Just tell me what you want."
"Well, there is one thing I've always wanted to try. But ... no, I guess you wouldn't want to do that."
"Look, I told you before that I'd do anything you asked, and I always keep my promises. Just name it."
Maggie's answer was to pick up the whip, and Joan's face blanched when she saw the evil-looking instrument. But she had already accepted Maggie's sapphic brand of lovemaking, and she felt beholden to her now. There was no other choice but to brace herself and prepare for the worst.
Maggie fondled the whip lovingly before laying it on Joan's tender young flesh. The naked girl cowered with fear, and with good reason, as Maggie flicked the whip around her breasts. Even though the force was not yet too pronounced, Joan gasped from the pain, and her hands went up instinctively to protect her tiny tits.
Fortunately for her, Maggie was not yet a full-fledged sadist; she was merely testing, trying to find new kicks that would satisfy her lust for sex in all its forms. She savored the feeling of power as she used the whip, slipping into this new, forbidden thrill as easily as she would slip into an old pair of shoes. A new plateau had been reached in her climb for new sensations, and she would never again be able to settle for straight sex. .
She toyed with Joan the way a cat does with a mouse, and she wore the same satisfied expression as she watched her prey writhing in agony on the floor. She straddled Joan's body, standing with her hands on her hips, and looked down at her victim. Joan hardly seemed aware of the reprieve, and strange mewling sounds came from deep in her throat.
"We're almost done, baby," Maggie said with false sincerity. "Just one more for the road."
The blow she delivered packed such a wallop that Joan almost passed out. Then she let the whip fall unheeded to the floor and helped Joan to her knees. "Now you can go down on me," she said, drawing the silky head toward her hungry nether mouth. "It shouldn't take long-I'm almost ready to go off now."
Joan began sucking her off, and found that this was the easy part. She didn't even think about what she was doing, and it was all over in a matter of minutes. When her penance had ended, she got to her feet somehow and covered herself completely, burning with shame. There was no need to parade the marks of her degradation in front of the others; Bill would see her welts soon enough. This thought did nothing to dispel the ache-inside or out.
She entered the living room to find Bill smack in the middle of the oddest hodgepodge she had ever seen. Bev was at the center of it, and Bill, Jerry, and Bob made it a foursome. It was impossible to tell what was going on at first glance, but as she watched it became clear that Bev was standing in some sort of raised platform that circled slowly around the room.
The men were playing king of the hill with her each time she went around, there was a mad scramble to see which of them would win the right to ride with her. The trick was to jump up on the platform, jam a rampant prick into her, and fight off all comers for the coveted ride.
Bev was having the time of her life while accommodating first one, then another, of the eager contestants. Joan watched her husband grabbing wildly for the luscious girl, and wished that the party was over. If she'd had the slightest inkling that these people would carry things so far, she would never have come. As it was, all she could do was try to ease her aching body, and wait.
It was almost dawn when the revelry broke up. By then, even the hardiest of the bunch was willing to call it quits ... at least, for the time being.
CHAPTER EIGHT
JOAN TRIED TO POSTPONE WAKING UP, but it was no go. The pleasant limbo of drifting in a twilight world was shattered when she saw the hands of the alarm clock. They pointed to 3:00-a time of afternoon when decent people were already planning their dinner menu. She groaned, wondering why she felt so sore.
Then memory came flooding back, and she wished that she never had to return to the land of the living. She glanced at Bill, who looked so innocent in his slumber, and decided that a good breakfast was a must. He could turn into a growling bear without coffee, juice, and solid food, in that order.
By the time he joined her, having followed his nose to the heavenly aromas of bacon and eggs frying, she looked like any respectable housewife. Hair tied back neatly with a ribbon, the ugly welts covered by a robe, nobody would have guessed that she had spent a portion of the previous night suffering under the hands of a sadistic female.
But when she bent down to pour the coffee, Bill noticed the tell-tale marks across her breasts. "Hey! What's this?" he demanded.
His look of outrage made her break down and sob out the truth. He let her tell it in her own way, but he couldn't keep his anger under wraps for long. "What a bitch! I always knew there was something weird about that gal, but I could never put a name to it before."
"Yes, but that isn't the point. This never would have happened if you had let me have a child, and be a normal wife and mother. That's all I've ever wanted."
"Not that again! You know how I stand on that subject. We just can't afford to have a kid yet, that's all there is to it. Now, be honest and admit that if you weren't working-and making a damn good income, I might add-we couldn't possibly manage to keep the house. Or anything else, for that matter."
"Oh, you're just using money as an excuse. If we had to get by on your paycheck, we could. There are lots of ways we could cut down. I want a child now, while we're young enough to enjoy it, not when we're old fogies with no patience left. I can't explain it, but I just have the feeling that if we don't do it now, we never will."
Bill still had his doubts, but he knew in his heart that she was right. "And how about you? You still look like a child yourself. Are you sure you're ready to go through all that? Raising a child is a big responsibility, you know."
"Other young couples have managed. We wouldn't be pioneers, you know. Besides, if we don't get out of that cursed club, there's no telling where it will end. What happened last night just goes to show how cruel some people can be, given half a chance."
"Yeah, I see what you mean. It's exciting and all that, but we've been getting in too deep. After all, I guess it wouldn't do to have junior read that his parents had been arrested for participating in a sex orgy, would it?"
"Oh, Bill, I'm so happy!" she exclaimed. Her enthusiasm made her ignore her aches and pains, and she threw her arms impulsively around his neck.
"Boy, I feel like I've just been given my draft notice! Slow down a minute, will you? I want to know if you've been taking your pills on schedule. After all, if we're going to have a baby, I want to be sure it's mine!"
"Silly! Of course I have." With his permission, she called her boss and tendered her resignation, effective that day. Bill was all primed to start their family right off, but she held back; there was still a problem to be solved.
"How can I face them, day after day?" By "them", she meant the club members. "I'll keep running into them all over town, and it'll be awkward as hell, trying to act like nothing ever happened."
Bill kissed her gently, as if she was already a mother-to-be. "You've got a point there. Besides, it might prove too much of a temptation, anyway. We'll put the house up for sale and clear out of this garbage dump."
They went off to christen their new lease on life, and Joan wisely refrained from mentioning his part in the club's activities. But she would not soon forget the avid look on his face as he'd fought for the privilege of riding on Bev's peculiar merry-go-round.
The gang congregated early that same day at Bert and Maggie's place. Nobody had been able to get in touch with Joan and Bill, and they waited in vain for them to make their appearance. Then somebody remembered the "For Sale" sign that was staked out in front of their house. A silence fell over the group as they added up two and two. The only possible answer was that they had chosen to drop out of the club.
Suddenly, they felt vulnerable somehow. Perhaps they felt that there was a certain safety in numbers. Whatever the reason, the party was slow in getting started.
Steve was the first to break the silence. "Well, I guess that party got too rough for them, so they picked up their pants and went home."
This unoriginal remark did the trick, and they began to plan the evening's entertainment. There was a wooded area behind the house that inspired a new twist to Steve's ever vigilant mind. "Why don't we have an old-fashioned fox hunt? Only we'll be the hounds hunting down the prey."
"Tally ho!" they voted unanimously.
"It sure beats shuffleboard," Jerry commented. "That is, providing our little foxes are willing. How about it, girls?"
There was a murmur of agreement, but Bev made one stipulation. "I think we should be allowed a ten-minute head start. After all, we're not built like men-" She bowed in recognition of the compliment, and continued. "Anyway, it stands to reason that we need more time just to get through the woods, let alone find a hiding place."
"That's right," Pam backed her up. "We don't want to make it too easy, or there won't be any challenge."
Steve, acting as spokesman for the rest, accepted the terms. "Okay. Ten minutes it is. We'll synchronize our watches and use the time to plan our strategy."
Laughing and giggling like teen-agers hot on the trail of their favorite idol, the women left the comfort of the house behind and spread out to brave the forest primeval.
Steve mapped out a general set of instructions to follow. "Let's not sit here and twiddle our thumbs. There're a few things to get straight before the hunt begins. Now, the first one of us to make contact will have to give a signal of some kind. That way, we'll know how many are left, and have a pretty fair idea of where not to search."
Jerry left the room and came back with some whistles he'd borrowed from the kids. "These should be just the thing," he said, demonstrating by blowing a shrill blast that could be heard from quite a distance. He passed them out, but came up with one short. "Sorry, Bob. I guess you'll just have to let out a whoop or something."
"Don't worry about me, pal. When I make connection, you'll know it, all right."
There was nothing to do now but wait, so they shot the bull to pass the time. Bert said, "It's too bad that Bill and Joan chickened out. She sure was a cute little broad. I wonder why they pulled out like that?"
Nobody had an answer for him, so Bob changed the subject. "This reminds me of the old days, before a mission. I've got that same tensed feeling."
"Oh, you were in the service too, huh?" Steve asked. "We'll have to get together and swap stories sometime. And souvenirs. Did you collect many of them?"
Bob pulled a sour face. "Only some I didn't want," he said.
Just then, Jerry noticed that it was time to go, and he stood up and tried to emulate a bugler's call to arms. This broke up the confab they were having, and reminded them of their targets. "Come on, comrades. It's every man for himself."
They filed out the door, marching in unison. Once outside, they split up to begin the fox hunt that had turned into a war game. It was just as well that there was no ammunition handy, for, judging by their present mood, the women might have been subjected to an attack of a different sort.
But there were no mishaps to speak of.
Pam was hoping that Steve would be the one to find her, but the rules of the game were based on chance, and any show of preference was taboo. She had camouflaged herself by choosing a clump of bushes to hide behind. She was only partially hidden, but it gave her the advantage of being able to see whoever was pursuing her.
A sudden snapping of a twig announced the arrival of a trespasser. He was still too far away to be identified, and, as he searched the area, circling closer to her hideout, she felt an uncanny fear creep over her. Common sense told her that the man hunting her down was a friend, but some baser instinct made her sit frozen, unable to move or cry out-like a trapped animal.
Bob's good-natured face appeared from out of no-here and peered in at her, Pan-like. "Thank heaven, it's only you!" she cried.
"That's a fine how-do-you-do," he said, in an injured tone.
"Oh, I didn't mean it that way. It's just that ... for a minute there ... I got this horrible feeling, and I was half expecting to see some inhuman creature drooling over me."
He produced a flask from his hip pocket, and held it to her lips. "Here. Take a good swig of this."
She swallowed deeply, choking and gagging on the straight whiskey.
"Feel better now?" he asked.
She nodded, wiping the tears away with the back of her hand.
"Now, if you can conjure up a pack of cigarettes, I'll be all set."
He lit one for her, studying her face as he did so. Up to now, he hadn't bothered to wonder much about her, accepting her role as Jerry's wife at face value; but all of a sudden, he wanted to know her better. He cleared his throat to warn her that he was about to broach a serious subject, and took the plunge. "Ahem. Unaccustomed as I am to playing the busybody, I hope you won't mind if I ask a personal question."
"Fire away, but I can't promise to answer it."
"Well, I can't help wondering why you two got involved in this oddball club. You and Jerry seem more settled than the rest of us. With the children and all, I mean," he finished lamely.
"Ouch! You really know how to hurt a person, don't you? I feel like I've aged ten years during the last few minutes."
Bob knew that her breezy answer was merely intended to give her time to think, so he said nothing. When she turned to face him, he put his arm around her in a brotherly fashion, and she snuggled comfortably against him.
"All right, Here goes nothing. You must have gathered that Jerry and I haven't been hitting it off, anyway. You see, when I married Jerry, I wanted somebody strong, somebody I could lean on. I soon discovered that I had the original mama's boy for a husband. I don't know the whole story myself, but it's quite obvious that his mother neglected him when he was a child, and now he sees in me the mother that he never had. I've even tried treating him like one of the kids, but it didn't work. He's actually jealous of his own children!"
She buried her face in this jacket, unable to go on, and he rocked her while she cried it out. He had suspected something of the sort, but he'd had no idea that Jerry was that bad. The poor kid! No wonder she'd been so eaeer that night in the car.
Pam borrowed his hanky and dabbed at her eyes. She felt an enormous sense of relief, as though some of the burden had been transferred to Bob's capable shoulders. In her gratitude, she remembered that she had left out the part about Steve and the strange fascination he held for her. Well, that could keep. She had bent Bob's ear long enough; now she wanted to repay him for his interest.
She removed the lightweight jacket she was wearing and Bob fashioned a pillow of sorts for her head. Her heart warmed to him and she felt a strong desire to please this friendly, understanding man. Without the burden of that crazy desire that Steve fired in her, she could concentrate on giving.
Knowing that half the pleasure of anything is anticipating, she asked Bob to lie back and close his eyes. She took her place beside him and, without touching him anywhere, began to whisper into his ear. Her sultry voice rose and fell, describing in no uncertain terms what she wanted him to do to her, and the suggestions she planted in his mind carried a message to every nerve center.
The urgent litany went on and on, designed to excite and titillate his senses. Then the husky voice came to a halt, and she let him match the actions to the words. They stood up to undress in full view of one another, and gazed upon each others' bodies with a kind of awe. Certainly, the body beautiful was nothing new to them, but the insight they had achieved gave their lovemaking a new meaning.
"Touch me, Bob. The way you did in the car that night."
As his index finger repeated the probing, teasing gesture, she returned the favor by grabbing hold of his extended rod and pumping it gently. "Now," she whispered. "Hurt me with it, please..."
Bob had been ready for some time now, and he fell upon her without regard for fragile bones or tender flesh. She had made it very plain that she was tired of being treated with tender loving care, so he penetrated her ruthlessly, without hesitation.
Her reaction was pure joy as he pounded her into the ground. She was submissive at first, waiting for him to spark all the crazy desires that she was capable of feeling.
Then it was as though some built-in timer went off, bringing her to life, and she found herself clawing at his back and heaving beneath him. Her efforts were equal to that of a wrestler, pinned to the mat by his opponent and struggling to rise. Only her struggle had nothing to do with extricating herself. This bout could only end in a tie.
The blood she'd drawn with her fingernails had caked up and dried on his back when the fierce battle came to an end. Bob's face wore some scratches too, and he was left with the guilty feeling that he had actually raped a woman.
Surely, no woman had ever struggled harder against an honest-to-goodness assailant. It made him wonder if she might have been half wishing for some brutal, inhuman monster to find her in the woods. People had some strange and terrible cravings sometimes.
But, he mentioned nothing about the peculiar match, nor the bad taste it had left him with. They were friends again, and God knows she had reason to act a wee bit peculiar. Putting his arm around her, they made their way back to the house, and he tucked such uncharitable thoughts away.
By this time, Steve, the great white hunter, had stumbled upon Allison. Sheer accident had led him to the spot, but instinct made him creep up silently to view his victim. His narcissistic wife was admiring her reflection in the shimmering water of a small pond. The sun's rays spilled over the water, turning the pond into an oversized mirror that was flawless.
As he watched her drinking in her own beauty, Steve hesitated. Admittedly, she had something to admire, all right, but he knew her inside and out. It would be a long time before she would be able to tear herself away from her self-absorption. By that time, a guy could lose his hard-on.
It was with some regret that Steve left her, but his motto was first things first. That kind of stuff was okay after he had shot his wad, but right now he wanted somebody who was ready, willing, and able. He decided to continue his search for greener pastures.
The space he vacated was soon filled by Bert, who was in no big rush. He feasted his eyes on Allison and took up a position some distance behind her. Because he wanted to observe her unawares, he sat quietly, letting his eves do the moving.
It was some time before Allison became aware of him. A ragged breath gave him away, but she pretended not to notice him-he would enjoy the show all the more. The peasant blouse she wore was low cut, and the loosely gathered bodice made it easy for her to reach inside and release her precious boobs, one at a time. She fondled them tenderly, watching as her twin in the water did the same. Then she stretched full-length at the edge of the water, supporting herself by her elbows, so that the pointed nipples could stab at the surface. Her action created tiny little ripples that did not distort her image.
When the nipples came to the surface, the cold water had turned them hard and stiff, and they were encircled by goose pimples. She stood up, and the sun streamed through her skirt, seeming to focus on the shadow at her loins, and Bert could see that she hadn't bothered to wear any panties.
Turning sideways, so as to give him the best possible view, she removed both blouse and skirt in one fluid motion. She paused for effect, stretching upward on tiptoe, still apparently unaware of any audience.
Then she squatted down, sitting on her heels, giving herself and her interested observer a first-hand look at what the sun had merely outlined. As if it were jealous, the sun chose this moment to hide behind a cloud and refused to come out.
Her plans were halted temporarily, but when the sun gave in and returned for another look-see, she was able to continue the ritual. Spreading her legs slightly, she placed her palm beneath her, with the middle finger extended.
Bert wished he was sitting closer, but he knew what she was doing, and his imagination filled in the rest. His penis knew, too, as it stirred once again, ready to begin the old, familiar pattern of thrust and withdraw. He supposed he should speak up, before she went too far, but he was enjoying himself too much for that. It wasn't often that a man had the chance to play Peeping Tom without fear of the consequences.
A few moments later, he was shocked into mobility by Allison's direct command. "Whoever you are, you'd better take me now, or forget the whole bit. Time's a wastin'. "
Bert jumped to his feet to rescue the damsel in distress, covering the distance between them in one leap. He hadn't felt this frisky since he was a snot-nosed kid, competing in school sports.
Allison hadn't been kidding when she threw him that dare, either. She hardly gave him time to unzip his pants before she was all over the place, practically devouring him in her eagerness. Bert's patience was amply rewarded by her sudden transformation into a wanton, abandoned creature.
Bert took full advantage of the situation, basking in her need for him and feeling every inch a man. He could hardly take credit for turning her on, for he hadn't even known which button to push. She'd done it all by herself. He glanced down at her face, to catch a curious mixture of joy and superiority lingering there. A few seconds later, he was beyond caring what had made her this way ... he was too busy catering to her strange lusts to wonder where she had acquired them.
The woods were full of quail tonight, and Steve was ready to bag his limit. The trail was getting warmer, and he gave some thought to who would be waiting at the end of it. With Allison out of the running, and one signal to go by, he knew that there were two left. He had no idea which of the three remaining choices-Pam, Maggie, or Bev-would be his target. The situation reminded him of the time he had played Russian roulette, when he was in the service. At the time, it had seemed sensible enough. After all, what difference did it make if you blew your own head off, or if somebody else did it for you? The only way you could possibly survive life and all its problems was to play it for kicks.
But this was better. A whole lot better, under these conditions. It was great fun to chase after tail, and not knowing who you'd end up with put added spice into it. Not that it made any difference, really. After all, a broad was a broad, and he made no distinction between them.
Take Pam, for instance. Anyone with one eye could tell that she was hot-for him, that is. That prissy husband of hers was still wet behind the ears. It galled him when Jerry put on airs. Acting like a real he-man, and all that crap. When it came right down to it, he was nothing but a mother-humper, begging for the titty.
Now, Bev was a nice piece of ass. And Bob seemed to be a nice enough guy. He hadn't quite got him pegged yet, though. There must be some little preference he had that would give him away. Nearly everyone had a secret desire buried deep in his subconscious. He just hadn't discovered Bob's yet.
Maggie-she was a real winner. No pretense with her. She was just a whore at heart, but that was okay with him. She could make a man get it up just by looking at him. The only trouble came when she was through with him-then she gave the impression that she'd like to castrate him. Maybe, though, she got that way on account of Bert. That bird was a latent homosexual if ever he'd seen one.
His meanderings came to an abrupt halt when he spotted Maggie, just sitting and smoking. She looked a little nervous, too. It must be the atmosphere, he decided, that made the women a little uneasy. All except Allison, of course. As long as there was a mirror around, or a reasonable facsimile, she was in her element. Sometimes he thought it pained her to look at him, with his hairy chest and legs. Yet, he knew that she was no Lesbian. In fact, there were times when he had her begging on her knees, just to have him put it into her. Which is why he stuck around. He lived for those golden moments when he had her in his power.
Maggie's foot was jerking restlessly, and she looked like she was getting fed up with the whole deal. She was wearing skin-tight capri pants that accentuated her cushiony ass and hugged her crotch. And Steve was about ready to end her ordeal when she stood uo and stamped out her cigarette. She glanced around, then unfastened the pants and pushed them down around her ankles.
Steve waited until she had squatted down and her mind was on other things before he crept up behind her. Casting his eyes around for a likely looking object, he found just the right thing-a broken twig, still leafy enough to produce the desire result.
Chuckling to himself, he inched it silently through the undergrowth and slid it between her wide-open legs.
Her shriek was blood-curdling enough to satisfy even his jaded sense of humor. The whistle was useless now-nobody could have missed that piercing signal-so he tossed it to the ground.
"Oh, my God! I thought that was a snake." Maggie exploded. "What a dirty trick!"
Steve's laughter was that of a gleeful practical joker, who has just pulled a gag on his favorite victim. But his laughter was short-lived, for Maggie turned the situation comedy into a blatant display of her sexual charms.
Sprawled on her bare butt on the even barer ground, with her capris rolled down to her ankles, she sent waves of desire through him. "Lord, Maggie, but you're all woman," he breathed.
She started to rise and free herself from her predicament, but he held her wrists. "Uh-uh. Don't move a muscle. I like to see you just like that ... open for customers."
His fingers were fumbling at his belt buckle now, and Maggie's eyes were riveted to his hands, waiting expectantly for him to show his tool. When he did, her legs moved apart instinctively, and her smile told him that she was impressed by what she saw.
"Come and get it," she challenged, rubbing her velvety slit insinuatingly.
"Damned tootin', I will," he boasted, advancing toward her. "I just hope your performance is as good as the advertising."
She fell back as he approached, raising her knees high in the air until he was hidden from her view. She waited tensely for his thrust, closing her eyes to heighten the suspense. The smell of pine trees and wild flowers mingled pleasantly with the male scent of Steve, telling her that the moment was close at hand.
She felt him prying her legs apart, until the material still bunched around her ankles was taut. His entry was sudden and complete, and she .runted from the abruptness of it. But she soon adjusted to the weight of his body and made the stranger inside of her snug and welcome.
Steve had no desire to ask for a refund...
While all this torrid lovemaking was taking place, Jerry and Bev had stumbled upon one another.
It was getting rather late in the day, and Bev had grown tired of waiting for her would-be hunter. Besides that, it was growing chilly in the shade, so she decided to start off in the general direction of the house. At least, the walk would keep her circulation going, and stave off the mosquitoes that were threatening to make an unwilling blood donor out of her.
She had heard the signals by now, and had guessed-that she was the last fox to be found. The official score stood at three down, and one to go. The woods held no mystery for her; she was angry, rather than frightened, as she picked her way along the path.
It was Jerry's misfortune that he happened to cross her path at that precise moment. Her sense of injury had grown out of all proportion, and she was not to be trifled with. His belated appearance only added fuel to her anger, and some perverse demon got ahold of her.
She decided to make him pay for her favors by exposing his weakness-and to let him know that the whole group was aware of it.
"Well, if it isn't Little Red Riding Hood," he said, by way of greeting.
"Listen, my grandmother could have died of old age by the time you showed up." she replied.
Her sarcastic tone drew a quizzical look from Jerry. "What's the matter, Bev? Did you get piles from sitting on the cold ground too long?"
She shrugged and said curtly, "Oh, let's just get on with it, so we can join the rest. We are the last ones, you know."
If Jerry was in any doubt regarding her mood, the emphatic statement made it only too plain. He couldn't understand her attitude at all; she was usually clam and unruffled. Some form of self-preservation made him shy away from the situation.
"Maybe we should just skip the whole thing, Bev. You don't seem to be in a very receptive mood.
"Oh, but that's where you're wrong. Why, I can hardly wait! See?" She demonstrated by tearing off her clothes and urging him to do the same. He was literally swept off his feet when she fell back suddenly, pulling him with her.
Jerry's heart sank. He knew himself incapable of performing in this position. Even with an unlimited amount of teasing and coaxing, he couldn't bring it off very often. And with no preliminary play at all, the situation was hopeless. He could feel his face flaming as he tried to insert his limp prick into Bev again and again. Each time spelled failure.
"What's the matter, Jerry? Can't get it up?"
"It's these frigging mosquitoes!" he blustered. "Every time I get started, one of them bites me on the ass, and the feeling goes away." He took refuge behind the swear words in a desperate attempt to hide his true condition.
Bev took pity on him. The perverse demon departed from her soul, and her natural disposition took over. She had to find a wav to make it up to him, a way in which he could save face.
The solution came to her when he again attempted to give up. "I'll bet I know what the trouble is," she said. "Here. Let's get up and take a break."
Jerry had no wish to hear her out; he was deathly afraid that his secret was out in the open. To cover his confusion, he fussed with his clothing, dusting it off with great care. He let Bev lead him by the hand, and offered no objections when she stopped short and opened his fly.
"That's all you reed, baby," she said, kindly. "Now, you go ahead and take a leak. You'll feel lots better."
Standing beneath her direct gaze, Jerry was embarrassed and unable to comply. But she encouraged him by whispering the same words again and running her fingers along the length of his flaccid penis, coaxing him into action. As he sprayed the weeds under her direction, her words of praise brought an amazing result.
"There, now. What did I tell you? Look for yourself!"
Jerry glanced down, vastly relieved at his arousal. Now, if he could hurry up and service her before she killed it ...
Bev wasn't taking any chances this time. She needed him even more than he needed her, and she was perfectly willing to acquiesce in the matter of position to keep him hard. He was on fire now, and her fingers burned at the touch of him.
Remembering how much he liked her breasts, she tore off her shirt and rubbed them against his chest. The gentle sway and bounce of their lushness inspired him even more, but he was reluctant to force her into taking the top position-and even more reluctant to face the possibility of failure if he didn't.
Bev solved dilemma by pushing him down and sprawling on top of him. For a while, she supported herself on her knees, keeping his cock imprisoned between her legs and relishing the feel of it. Then she guided it into her hole, and they began a vigorous program of exercise, beginning with pushups and ending with a vicious grinding of hip against hip.
When it was over, she collapsed against him, spent and totally exhausted. For some reason, a ridiculous phrase came into her mind, and she addressed it to his mother, wherever she was. Well, mom ... it was a tough fight, but I won.
Jerry wasn't thinking of her, though. He was completely relaxed and drained of any emotion. It was a pleasant sensation to lie there, still embedded in the lovely Bev's box. He hoped she would remain there until his penis lost its staying power.
For a moment, he shuddered, thinking of his close call. But his male vanity pushed the thought away, and he had soon convinced himself that his secret was still intact.
CHAPTER NINE
THE GRAPEVINE WAS WORKING OVER time the next morning. The latest scuttlebutt was that Joan and Bill had sold their home-practically overnight. They had left no forwarding address, and nobody had seen them go. An older couple had bought the place for a song, and were expected to take possession that very day.
There was much speculation among those who were not in the know. Why had that nice young couple left? And so suddenly? One would almost suspect that the creditors were after them.
The "in" crowd could have supplied the answers, but they preferred to follow the advice of three wise monkeys: see no evil, hear no evil, and-above all-speak no evil.
Pam had received the early news report via the telephone-from Maggie, of course, who had barely given the dust a chance to settle before pouncing on her favorite means of communication. Pam had had little to say on the subject, refusing to be drawn into speculation about their new neighbors or how they might turnout. She cut Maggie off with the excuse that she was very busy.
Since then, she had avoided the telephone like the plague and had closed her ears to its persistent ring. She was nursing a mild headache, brought on by a combination of the children's squabbling, her nonexistent relationship with Jerry, and her slavish attitude toward Steve.
At last the children had succumbed to her bribe of milk and cookies and were paying for it now by taking an afternoon nap. This left her free to seek a little peace and quiet in the back yard, away from the house and the problems that went with it.
Although she tried to think of nothing but the chirping of the birds and the faint droning of bees, her mind insisted on clicking away automatically. Vaguely, she was aware that people were moving into the house so recently vacated by Joan and Bill, but she was so pleasantly drowsy ... the effort required to look was too great.
She was almost asleep when a shadow blocked out the sun's warmth. Her drowsiness fled when her mind grasped the fact that strange, masculine eyes were peering at her. The man's examination made her feel like a bug under a microscope, and the costume that had seemed so appropriate for the back yard now seemed indecent. Even with her eyes shut, Pam could picture all too vividly the strapless bra that was struggling valiantly to conceal her boobs, and the pair of briefs that were about the size of a belly band.
Fortunately, she had brought a beach-type cover up with her, and she slipped into it post-haste. Only then did she summon up enough courage to turn and face him.
His appearance did nothing to put her at her ease.
He was extremely short and gnome-like, with a swarthy, foreign look about him. She figured he must be pushing sixty, judging by the lines in his face, and his right hand was missing an index finger. Pam had a hard time keeping her gaze off that horrid-looking stub.
When he spoke, his words sounded guttural, practically unintelligible, with an accent that was difficult to place. He spoke slowly, with spaces beeween the words, as though he had to think each one out first.
"I am Henry Yoles. That ... over there ... is my wife."
He stabbed a soiled-looking fingernail over his left shoulder, and Pam was treated to an equally grotesque vision-a tall, bony woman with a definite mustache fringing her upper lip.
They looked like the cartoon characters of Mutt and Jeff come to life, and the strange pair would have made Pam smile, except for the fact that she sensed danger here. Right now, Mrs. Yoles was looking daggers at her, and Pam could feel the hatred coming from that forbidding presence.
"How do you do?" she said, struggling for composure. "I'm Pam Carter. We ... ah ... my husband and I ... want to welcome you to the neighborhood." She had brought Jerry's name into the exchange deliberately, just to let him know that she was not alone.
He said nothing at all, just accepted her greeting with a curt nod, turned on his heel, and left her standing alone. She had been dismissed, evidentlyand he was acting as though she had intruded upon his privacy!
The little scene wrote finis to her pleasant interlude, so Pam gave up and went inside. The old man had disturbed both her privacy and her peace of mind, and had instilled in her a morbid sense of foreboding.
She had just hauled the sweeper out of the closet when Jim appeared, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Mommy, Sue says she doesn't feel good," he announced, bursting with importance.
She headed directly for Sue's room and found her sniffling quietly to herself. "What's the matter, honey?" Pam asked, feeling her forehead. "Jim says you don't feel very well."
"My head hurts, and I'm hot," she complained.
"Would you like a glass of orange juice? Or something to eat?"
Sue relaxed against the pillows, happy that her case was in proper hands. "Just a glass of juice, please."
Pam plumped up the pillows and made her comfortable before filling the order. As an afterthought, she added a favorite picture book and a tiny transistor radio to the tray.
Sue was delighted with the attention she was getting, and the radio with the little earphones pleased her even more. Pam lingered awhile, watching for signs that might indicate the need for a doctor.
But, beyond looking a little flushed, Sue didn't seem to be too bad off, so Pam drew the shades and decided to wait for further developments. If it was anything to be alarmed about, she would know by nightfall.
Meanwhile, there was some serious thinking to be done. Her marriage was in jeopardy, and she had to decide whether or not it was worth saving. On the credit side, Jerry was a good provider, father of her children-and, she had once loved him. He had some endearing qualities, and, if the kinks were ever ironed out, it was entirely possible that she could learn to love him again.
The debit side of the ledger carried only two strikes against him. His peculiar method of lovemaking was something she could learn to live with, surely. After all, there were other ways of finding satisfaction-if he could only overcome his jealousy of the children and learn to regard them as people in their own right, to be enjoyed, not just tolerated.
The handwriting was on the wall. If she could patch things up by giving in to his desires, maybe the rest would follow. At least, it was worth a try.
When Jerry came home, she told him the news of the day, describing Mr. Yoles and his wife in a vivid word picture that needed no illustration. When she came to the part about Sue, he took the news glumly, especially when he realized that they were grounded. He went in to see the patient, masking his anger with a show of concern.
When he returned from the sickroom, he was shaking his head at her anxiety. "Honestly, Pam. You're such a worry wart! Why, she's got that earphone plugged into her ear and is having the time of her life! I thought you said she was sick."
"I didn't say she was, Jerry. She did! She complained of a headache and feeling hot. I took her temperature, and she does have a slight fever."
"So she's got a little cold-what of it? Why, when I was a boy..."
"Don't tell me. I know. You walked three miles to school every day, in snow up to your knees, et cetera."
Jerry laughed, although he was irked at himself for having fallen into such an obvious trap. "Well, maybe I do tend to exaggerate, but I can't remember my parents getting hysterical over a common cold."
Pam let that one go and gave his ruffled feelings time to calm down. After all, it wasn't every day that he received such a blow-a whole evening in the company of his wife. Before he could retire into his shell, she picked up the TV listings.
"I don't suppose there's a damn thing on television, either." Jerry uttered this prediction in a voice dripping with gloom.
"No, they're all reruns. We must have seen some of them at least five times. Why don't we just play it by ear? You know, have a few drinks, dance maybe we've got a perfectly good hi-fi set just going to waste."
He was taken aback by her suggestion. To cover his confusion, he pounced on the one drawback of her plan. "How about Jim? Is he in bed too?"
Pam glanced at the clock and crossed her fingers behind her back. "No, but it's his bedtime." She would have to make it up to Jim tomorrow, she thought. The poor kid would be getting bed sores from spending so much time in bed.
"You go ahead and make the drinks. I'll tuck him in and check on Sue a minute."
"Yeah, you do that. And slip a sleeping pill in their cocoa, while you're at it. We don't want to be interrupted tonight."
Pam checked herself just in time, before the angry words came pouring out. He expected her to wave her magic wand and make Jim and Sue disappear at his convenience; then, when he was ready to play at being a father again, they could reappear.
She went into her Houdini act, bartering a new toy for an extra hour of bedtime-cheap at the price. Sue was more easily mollified, no doubt because of her inexperience.
Pam armed herself with the best possible ammunition, calculated to bring any husband to heel. The way to a man's heart was not through the stomach, as any wife could testify. A more direct pipeline was needed, in the form of a seductive appeal to his senses. Follow that up with a good meal, and you had an unbeatable combination.
Jerry was on his second drink when she sashayed into the room, looking like anything but a housewife. She wore a hostess gown of red satin, slashed to the waist. It was close-fitting, eclipsing the roundness of her breasts so that they looked like perfect half moons. He had never seen the garment before, but he hoped to lot more of it in the future.
A pair of gold sandals twinkled out from beneath the folds of the skirt. And that was it. There wasn't any more.
"Do you like it?" Pam asked, twirling around for his approval.
"Let me put it this way. I like it so much, I'm not even going to ask how much it set me back."
"Coming from a man, that's high praise indeed." Pam bent down to get his glass, trailing a whiff of exotic perfume and offering a panoramic view of her splendid tits.
He slid a hand inside to explore the lush contours, adding the sense of touch to further stimulate his glands. "Why don't you let that go?" he suggested, indicating the glass still in her hand. He pulled her onto his lap and dispensed with the empty vessel. "I'd rather taste these, anyway."
Pam let him look and taste his fill, leaving the light on, just the way he liked it. The front drapes had been drawn, but those at the side window remained open. She tried to put it out of her mind, but she happened to be facing in that direction, and it made her edgy.
"Jerry..."
He paid no attention, being rather busy at the moment.
"Listen, darling." Pam unconsciously pulled back to look at him, bringing Jerry's banquet along with her.
"What's the matter?" he grumbled.
She adjusted the gown so that her exposed breast was covered, and tried to rise. "I'd feel better if those drapes were closed, Jerry. Why, anyone who happened to be passing by could look in."
Sighing, he pulled her back and switched off the lamp. "There. Does that make you happy?"
She relaxed again in his arms.
"Now, where were we?" he mused, as if searching his memory. "Oh, yeah." He resumed where he had left off, happy as a dog with a bone.
From her position on his lap, Pam could feel the slow awakening taking place, and she wriggled around to encourage it. The skirt of her gown parted, revealing the darkish patch his hand was seeking. The full moon cooperated beautifully by making a silvery path to guide him. She looked mysterious and untamed, wreathed in the luminous glow, and his desire grew by leaps and bounds.
Knowing that she flourished under a little petting, he unselfishly fondled her, working her up gradually. The signs of her passion were familiar to him-the sudden intake of breath, an involuntary quiver-so he was able to time it just right. He could feel her pussy opening up for him the way a budding flower opens its petals to the sun.
He pushed back the folds of her robe and prepared to reap the rewards of his patience. "Now, darling. I can't wait ... "
A shrill scream shattered the spell as effectively as a sudden deluge of ice water.
Pam sped down the hall, running faster than a fugitive from justice. The scream had come from Sue's room, and she burst through the door and into the room, afraid of what she might find.
Sue was cowering in fear, and crying her eyes out. She was so incoherent that Pam had to shake the words out of her. "I had a nightmare," she sobbed. "A man was chasing me, and I couldn't run."
Pam sagged with relief and waited for her heartbeat to return to normal. Then she set about the business of calming her daughter down.
When she returned to the living room, she wasn't too surprised to find that Jerry had flown the coop. His glass was still on the table-empty now. Soft, romantic music throbbed out a mournful message, echoing the sadness that was in her heart. Feeling utterly defeated, she went through the mechanics of switching off the hi-fi and locking the door.
I guess I should have locked it first and swallowed the key, she thought bitterly. She decided to drown her sorrows, only to find that he'd made off with the booze, too. Of all the nerve!
Then she remembered a bottle of champagne left over from a New Year's Eve party. She didn't much care for it, but what the hell. Maybe if she drank the whole thing, she'd be able to get some sleep.
She curled up on the couch, causing her gown to split asunder, and toasted the party of one. She was beginning to feel giddy already. Jerry always said that she got tipsy just from smelling the cork.
Hmphf! She sniffed contemptuously. You'd better watch your step, buddy, or I'm going to tell Ann Landers on you. Let's see. How should I word it? Dear Ann: Every time my husband tries to make love to me, right at the crucial moment, one of the children comes between us. No, that doesn't sound right. Scratch that part out.
She was belting them down like a two-fisted drinker now, completely ignoring the advice of wine connoisseurs the world over. She felt sparkling and tingly, like the bubbles she could no longer see. The trouble was, Jerry had started a bonfire, and there was nobody to put it out. She propped her legs up on the coffee table and regarded tbeir lovely lines through hazy eyes. If only Steve was here! He wouldn't leave her high and dry, no matter what.
He knows what to do with these, too, she thought, hefting her swollen boobs. The nipples were still erect from Jerry's lips, and she fondled them, pretending that her delicate hands were Steve's rough hairy ones. By closing her eyes, she could almost imagine that he was here, ready to fill her need. Strange bits and pieces came unbidden to her mind. Every sexual experience she had ever known, from the time she first learned the difference between boys and girls, swirled in a brilliant kaleidoscope behind her closed lids.
Her legs turned to butter and melted apart, exposing the hungry and throbbing cunt-mouth that was destined to be unfulfilled tonight. She watched her fingers creeping down to feed the hunger. The light from the moon made her hand look strangely disembodied, and she was able to watch, with true detachment, the manipulations that would bring her some release.
Other eyes were watching, too. Goggle eyes that would have looked at home in the frog family, but in actuality belonged to Mr. Yoles. He had seen the whole thing, from start to finish. It had crossed his mind to sneak in when Jerry left the house unguarded, but something told him to bide his time.
His position was uncomfortable and precarious, perched atop an old tin can, but his height made it necessary. He remained long after Pam had passed out, storing certain pertinent information away in his memory. His departure was silent, and he hugged the nuggets of information to his chest greedily.
While his wife lay dead to the world, Jerry was taking in the night air in an out-of-the-way spot. It was a favorite place for neckers, but there were no other cars around at the moment. He sat on the hood of the car, swilling from the whiskey bottle with monotonous regularity and smoking an endless chain of cigarettes.
One sweeping headlight signaled a late arrival, and a jalopy clanged its way to a halt just a few feet away. Jerry was about to leave them a clear field when a girl's shrill voice made him hesitate.
"Now, cut it out, Frank. No, please!"
Her voice sounded so urgent that Jerry waited to see that the boy didn't get carried away. A clump of bushes separated them, placing Jerry in the unwilling role of eavesdropper.
"No, Frank. Don't do that ... oh, Frank!"
Jerry relaxed. The girl's protest had been made merely to fan the flame. She had succeeded admirably, judging by the hot session that followed.
God, how he envied them. There was nothing like those first few times, with a girl still fresh and virginal. He supposed when Sue started dating, he'd feel differently about it. But that was a long way off, he hoped.
"Oh, no!" the girl wailed. "Already?"
Jerry grinned to himself. It wasn't all peaches and cream, even at their age. Poor Frank. The jalopy limped its way out of the lane, with the girl sitting as far away as she could. If only she'd realized what a high compliment he'd paid her, she wouldn't be in such a huff, Jerry thought.
By the time the whiskey bottle became a dead soldier and had found its resting place among the debris that littered the site. Jerry had come up with an inspiration. He needed to let off steam with somebody, and now he had just the person in mind.
Out on the highway, he weaved in and out, driving in first one lane, then the other. Glencove closed up tighter than a drum at this time of night, so he met up with no oncoming traffic. Only an occasional rabbit crossed his path and darted away to safety.
He managed to reach the Reddings' home without adding to the traffic casualties. Making no attempt to hide his approach, he switched off the ignition and lurched his way around to the bedroom window. He wasn't at all sure which bedroom they used, but his drunkard's uncanny logic led him to the right one.
Groping around in the darkness, he located some loose pebbles to throw at the window.
"Bever-lee," he called, drawing the last syllable out an extra measure.
The room came to life as Bob turned on a light and opened the window. "Who in the hell is out there?"
Bev appeared beside him, and Jerry stepped into view with the air of a man who has just sprung a surprise birthday party on his best friends.
"Oh, it's you, Jerry. What do you want at this time of night, for Christ's sake?"
"I want Bev," he stated, calmly.
"Are you crazy? You'd better go home and sleep it off."
"Listen, are we running a wife-swapping club, or aren't we? Well, then, I want to swap wives. Right now. Here's the key to my house. Help yourself. That is, if you can outmaneuver those two kids. I can't."
Bob and Bev held a small conference. "I don't know, Bev. He's getting louder by the minute. I'm afraid there's no other way to get rid of him. Maybe you'd better go out there and see what you can do."
"All right, Jerry. I'm coming out," she whispered.
Bob watched her go, and went into the living room to wait it out. He was well aware that Jerry had taken unfair advantage of him. He might have known that Bob wouldn't dream of imposing on Pam at this late hour. Not when he was sober, anyhow.
Jerry had found an outlet for his passion, at last. It had been building up all night, what with Pam's help, and the teen-agers in the car.
Without preamble, he separated a willing Bev from her nightie and held her tightly against him. Sleep was the farthest thing from her mind now, as Jerry's urgent demand burned into her.
"Oh, my," she giggled. "You are in a bad way, aren't you?"
She received an answer to her question as they fell to the ground and rolled around on the newly mown grass. The dew made their bodies glisten as their screwing picked up momentum.
Un-like the boy in the car, Jerry was able to prolong the union, and Bev enjoyed every minute of it. When it was over, she balanced one ruined nightgown against her evened-up score with Bob.
She was smugly satisfied.
CHAPTER TEN
EACH OF THE MALE MEMBERS OF THE club received an invitation in his morning mail, which read as follows: "You and your better half are invited to a little soiree at our lodge. We plan on going up this evening and spending the night. To avoid confusion as to directions, etc., we'll all drive up in our car and return tomorrow. Please come if you possibly can, because we know you'll enjoy the evening's festivities." They were signed by Allison and Steve.
"I wonder what Steve's cooking up this time?" Jerry mused. It was the first time he'd spoken directly to Pam all morning, partly due to his hangover, and partly because he was still angry.
"We'll never know," Pam replied.
His reaction put her on the defensive.
"Well, we can't just go off and leave Sue! Not when she's running a temperature," Pam stormed.
"Look who's decided to play the doting mother, all of a sudden! I didn't notice you worrying any on our last outing. Oh, pardon me. I forgot. You had big strong Steve to comfort you then."
His sarcasm hit its mark, and Pam hated him at that moment. The thought of spending an entire weekend with him became intolerable, and the impending party seemed a perfect means of escape. If they didn't go, they'd just spend the time tearing one another to pieces.
Sue's condition seemed no worse than beforemaybe even a little bit better. But Pam didn't like the thoughts of taking her away from home. If her mother could spend the night here, though, the situation would be entirely different. It wouldn't be like taking her out of her own bed, or leaving her with an inexperienced sitter.
One telephone call confirmed the arrangements. Pam threw a few things into an overnight case and spent the remainder of the day playing with the kids and having a drink now and then. She left Jerry to his own resources and tried to pretend he wasn't even there.
She was in a gay mood by the time the gang pulled up. Her efforts to put her domestic troubles out of her mind had been successful, and she commandeered a seat between Bob and Maggie. Since the incident in the woods, she'd counted on Bob as a friend, and a warm regard had sprung up between them. As they got under way, she noticed that Mr. Yoles' house was dark. Somehow, it was a relief to know that he and his odd spouse weren't at large tonight.
Steve put the car in gear, and they were off.
"Where is this lodge of yours, anyway?" Bert asked.
"Oh, it's about five hundred miles as the crow flies," Steve replied. "So amuse yourselves, kiddies. It's a long drive."
The miles passed quickly, with nobody paying much attention to the scenery. They were much too busy taking an occasional nip, along with a friendly squeeze or two. As the interior of the car grew darker, the squeezes became friendlier.
When they turned off the main highway, everyone was of the opinion that the lodge was not far off. But the road they were traveling diminished in size; each new turn or bend seemed to whittle it down until it became merely two tracks in the woods.
"Hey, Steve!" Bob called. "What do we do if we happen to meet another car in here?"
"That's a good question," he said, laughing at some private joke. "But the only thing you're liable to meet in here is a bear. Our lodge is the only place around here."
"I'm all for privacy, but isn't this carrying things a little too far?" Maggie asked as the maze continued.
The jolting action of the car came to a halt in front of a lodge that looked welcoming and plush. The lights were on, which indicated the presence of a caretaker.
Said caretaker, in the person of a handsome Negro boy, greeted them formally and took their things. "Everything had been arranged, sir," he said, addressing Steve with a courteous bow.
"My goodness, I hadn't realized that we were hobnobbing with the wealthy!" Bev exclaimed.
The place was fabulous, with high beamed ceilings, a massive stone fireplace, and shaggy-looped carpeting. The decor was on the rustic side, and the woodsy setting was a perfect complement to the lodge.
The servant, whose name was Atlas, had laid the fire and prepared the bar. He now busied himself with the luggage, leaving Steve to serve his guests.
"Well, name your poison, folks. If you can pronounce it, I can make it."
They all placed their orders and clustered round the fireplace to warm up. Bev removed her shoes. "When does the entertainment begin, Steve?" she asked, wriggling her toes.
He ran an eye over her curves, and chuckled. "But you are the entertainment, my dear. You-and all the rest-are going to get more than you bargained for tonight."
His laughter held sinister overtones. They all felt it. Bev shivered as though the fire had gone out.
"Come on, Steve, Let us in on the joke," Bob said, searching his face for the grin that would signify levity. But he was looking into eyes that were cold and mirthless.
Steve stood with his back to the fire and looked at each person in turn. "You see, my wife and I have grown tired of your childish games. Tonight you'll play according to our rules, and do just as you're told. Now, I'm sure you all noticed how isolated this place is, and I might remind you that the highway is twenty miles away. That is, if you don't get lost and circle right back where you started from."
He waited long enough to let his words sink in. "It goes without saying that my car keys are safely hidden away. So, if anybody wants to take his chances with the bears, be my guest. The door is open."
He looked around the room with the gimlet eye of a school-teacher searching for cheaters. "No volunteers? I thought not." He called to Allison, who had been waiting in the wings. "My lovely wife will act as my assistant. Let's get on with it, shall we?"
His captive audience stirred, hardly able to credit their hearing. Play was one thing-orders were quite another. And, having sampled Steve's jaded idea of play, not one of them imagined that they were going to entirely enjoy the forthcoming events.
"We'll start with you, Pam," Steve decided, tapping her shoulder.
She swallowed, suddenly afraid of this man whom she'd adored. But she was probably the least surprised of them all, for she'd always known that he was depraved and rotten underneath his genital exterior. Her walk was steady enough, but she was quaking inside. Steve, waiting for her with a rope in his hand, had all the allure of a hangman. She knew that whatever he had in store for her would be just as unpleasant.
"Don't look so worried, Pam. Your fondest wish is about to come true," Steve said in tones that were meant to be soothing. Then, in an abrupt change of pace, he grasped one of her wrists and tore at her clothing. The fragile silk blouse came apart easily, and the rest followed soon after. When every stitch of clothing had been forcibly removed, he looked at her in a clinical, disinterested fashion. His expression made it impossible for her to associate his present disregard with his former avid lovemaking. Now, he seemed to despise her.
He held her down while Allison tied her wrists together in a knot that a sailor would have envied. Soon, Pam lay trussed up and helpless. But she remained calm, for there was as yet no evidence that she would be harmed.
A door opened somewhere, and Mr. Yoles entered the room. It was as though he were seeing her for the first time, only nothing stood in the way of his enjoyment now. His dwarfish figure advanced slowly toward his victim, and his stub of a finger twitched spasmodically betraying his nervous tension.
Slobbering as he went, he reached his objective. Such a tender morsel she was, spread out before him. His mouth went slack, and more saliva escaped from his lips.
When she saw him entering the room, Pam thought she was having a nightmare. Surely, this awful thing couldn't be happening to her! It was inconceivable that she could be raped in full view of seven people-including her own husband! Her utter helplessness made her cry out as she watched her Nemesis coming toward her.
But nobdy dared interfere as Mr. Yoles loosened his belt buckle and dropped his old-fashioned britches.
Pam tensed up, every muscle rebelling against his intentions. She tried to clamp her legs together and refuse him entry, but he pried them apart, using the stub as a wedge. She shuddered as he lowered himself and probed her pussy with his stiff pecker. She tried to buck him off; it was no use. Then she felt a sharp pain as he penetrated fully. The dry entry had found her unprepared, and her flesh crawledd at the feel of him.
She turned her head in an attempt to evade the spittle that coursed down his lips, and hoped it would be over soon. But he humped away with agonizing slowness, his very age requiring prolonged action.
Pam closed her eyes and resigned herself to a long wait. She could only hope that the old fool wasn't impotent. Otherwise, he could go on like this all night.
As the steady, rhythmical strokes continued, a curious thing began to happen. Pam was horrified to find herself responding to him. His very appearance repelled her; yet, she was beginning to enjoy the rape. Could such a thing be possible?
With her eyes closed tightly, she began to move in spite of herself. Slowly at first, then gradually quickening the pace, she responded automatically. The old man was delighted to have her become such a lively partner, soon spurted copious amount of semen into her writhing body. To her great shame, the satisfaction was mutual.
When it was over, Mr. Yoles released her, and she went back to her seat, feeling grossly humiliated. She despised herself, for the incident had made her face something she had always kept hidden, even from herself.
The group of onlookers had watched the degrading scene, unable to criticize Pam for her behavior. Steve's plan was clear now, and not one of them was safe from his diabolical mind. Each had only one hope left-that Steve might have overlooked his or her particular hang-up.
Jerry was next on the agenda, and nobody had to wonder what his hang-up might be. Unfortunately for him, he was still under the delusion that his secret was safe-but not for long.
Steve and Allison, well aware of his need to be dominated, had cooked up a special treat for him. Allison had retired from the sidelines shortly after Pam's smashing climax. She appeared before them now in a black mesh costume, wearing net stockings and spike-heeled shoes. Her statuesque beauty was marred by the sneer on her lips and the long, snake-like whip in her hand.
Her domineering attitude presented a new side to the group, who thought her incapable of showing any emotion whatsoever. "Strip!" she commanded, cracking the whip for emphasis.
Jerry obeyed, shivering visibly as his fingers fumbled at his clothing. At this moment, even he wasn't sure if it was fear or the thrill of anticipation that made him shake in his boots.
Allison waited impatiently for him to finish the job. The whip dangled from her delicate hand, a grim omen of what was to come. Jerry was hesitant about removing his shorts, obviously under the impression that they would afford him protection of some sort. She gestured angrily and allowed him just enough time to kick them aside.
Then she planted both feet firmly on the floor and raised the whip. like an avenging angel, she flogged him time and again, cursing him with each stroke of the whip. "Weakling!" she snarled. "You're not even a man! I should cut that thing off-you don't know what to do with it, anyway."
Jerry tried to cover his penis with his hands, but the cruel lash connected. He screamed in agony and rolled onto his belly. He groveled on the floor, whimpering as Allison crisscrossed his buttocks with red lines.
As the abuse continued, his whole body became numb. It was as if he'd been shot full of novocaine which insulated him against the pain. He felt a warm tingle between his legs, and he looked down, astonished.
He expected to see a puddle of urine, but surprisingly enough, his penis was fully grown. Looking up at his tormentor, he saw that there was no crotch in the sexy-looking garment. Suddenly, all of his desires, past and present, were focused on the pussy that belonged to his tormentor.
"Yes," she said, aware of the thoughts that were going through his mind. "You can have your reward now."
He struggled to his knees and forced his bruised body to crawl over to her. Putting his arms around her legs, he pulled her down to him and gave way to the tortured craving he carried with him always. His mother had punished him severely for being a bad boy; now she was letting him partake of her forgiveness, letting him screw her.
When he stood up again, his tool was flaccid and dripping. Although still in a dare, his fantasies had been made clear to him, perhaps for the first time. He admitted to himself what his mind had rejected for so long. He had been obsessed by the idea of making love to his own mother!
Steve and Allison were enjoying the revelations being forced out here tonight. Best of all was the fact that everything was going on film, to be seen again and again. Nothing gave them greater pleasure than to ferret out the secret vices that people harbored. And it was so much more exciting when the victims weren't aware of the camera!
Steve walked over to Bert and tapped his shoulder. "Your turn, pal," he explained.
Bert tried to pay it for laughs. Seeing no special equipment, he quipped, "What's the matter? Haven't you got my number yet?"
Steve lisped out an answer designed to wipe the smile off his face. "Oh, you were ee-thy to figure out, thweetie."
Bert's false bravado failed him as he comprehended what Steve was hinting at. As in the previous scenes, the bare floor was used for a stage. No doubt Steve and Allison had decided that it would add to their guests' degradation. "There. Lie down."
Bert complied with the request, having no real choice. Steve's hand reached over to fondle his cock, and he blustered an outraged protest. "What in the hell are you doing?" he asked, trying to sit up. "I'm no queer!"
"Oh, yes, you are, buddy. You're not fooling anybody. Here-this is what you want." He unzipped his pants and placed Bert's hand around his penis.
Bert's mouth trembled like that of a small child who's trying hard not to cry. He remained motionless for the space of a few moments, but he didn't remove his hand. To spur him on, Steve drew in his breath and pushed up against his palm. Bert's eyes glazed over, and he was unable to refuse the invitation. His hand began to squeeze and fondle Steve's cock, and he slowly moved it up and down. He hesitated, on the brink of a desire that he'd tried to forget.
"Go ahead." Steve's whisper was soft, insinuating-like that of Satan himself. "Suck it. You've been wanting to all along, haven't you?"
Bert nodded, hypnotized by the temptation. Then he lowered his head and gave in to the desire he had suppressed for so long. He worked hard and furious, egged on by Steve's words of encouragement. "Eat it up, baby. That's it ... I'm almost there!"
His industrious efforts paid off as Steve signaled a halt. But he hung on tenaciously, sucking and swallowing as a shudder went through Steve's body and the big man shot off in his mouth.
Bert came then, his untouched spigot spurting with an intensity that frightened him. Never had he known such an earth-shaking climax-no woman could have produced such a result.
He went back to the group, lacking the courage to glance at Maggie. But he knew that her taunts would follow him to the grave, and that he'd never be able to touch her again. From now on, he would be condemned to that strange twilight world where men such as he were looked upon with disdain.
So far, everyone had been granted his or her secret wish-with a vengeance. Nothing, it seemed, had escaped the perceptions of Steve and Allison. Not even Maggie's sadistic tendencies. They knew that she could dish it out. The question was, could she take it as well?
For the purpose of finding out, they decided to incorporate the services of Atlas. He had a grudge against all women, especially white women. Working together, they stripped Maggie and bound her to a chair. A prearranged signal brought Atlas into the room, wearing only a loincloth, his nostrils flaring at the scent of the hated female.
Maggie looked pleased at the sight of him. This handsome, muscular black man seemed made to order for screwing. But it didn't take her long to discover that screwing was the last thing he had in mind.
His big hand slapped her face sharply; first one side, then the other. She gasped, and tears stung her eyes. He kept it up, working methodically, his face empty of any emotion. When he stopped, her face was covered with red marks, and her ears were ringing from the force of the blows.
Casually, he lit a cigarette, as though he was taking a five-minute break. He puffed at it long enough to give it life, then deliberately reached down to burn each tip of her tender breasts.
She screamed, shrinking back from the pain. The ember was left to burn itself out on one of her nipples, and it was a long time cooling. She was terrified now, for his cool, calculating methods presented a threat that was very real. With the precision of a practiced sadist who knows just when to let up, he turned her midriff into a punching bag, using quick rabbit punches that caused excruciating pain but inflicted no permanent damage.
Maggie fought back as best she could, but her efforts were in vain. She was like a caged wildcat, snarling at its captors but powerless to retaliate. "You bastard!" she shouted. "If I ever get a chance at you, I'll cut your balls off!"
Atlas wasn't having any more threats. His next blow knocked the wind out of her, silencing her effectively. His face was impassive as he looked down, waiting for her to recover.
The sound of a match scraping across a sandpapery surface broke into the silence of the room. Maggie sat up straighter in the chair, hypnotized by the flame that was drawing nearer. His hand dipped low toward her mossy V, and she pressed back into the chair, as though she could escape him that way.
The smell of singed hair filled the air, and Maggie's screaming reverberated through the rafters. This final deed took all the fight out of her, and it was plain to see that she'd had all she could stand. She slumped down in the chair, only half conscious. Steve loosened her bonds, and she was led to a secluded corner by Bert.
Atlas exited without so much as a backward glance at his victim. He had served his master well, for Maggie had been reduced to a sobbing, frightened wretch.
Bob and Bev exchanged glances. Their best friends had deteriorated in front of their eyes, and it had been painful to watch. Pride and self-respect had been stripped away, leaving them no illusions to cling to. Now, it was their turn to pay the piper.
"Ladies first," Steve said, with an evil grin on his face.
Bob squeezed Bev's hand, trying to impart enough courage to see her through this ordeal. Her walk was disjointed and jerky; like a puppet's on a string. She was mystified as to what was in store for her, for she felt she had no particular quirk that could boomerang on her-unless her simple penchant for screwing fit into that category.
The strange pair who had arranged this cozy gathering, with all its surprises, had thought long and hard about Bev arid Bob. They were such a normal couple-almost square, really-that it presented quite a challenge. But the Rowans were equal to it.
The script for Bev was much the same as Pam's, up until the opening of an unseen door. The place seemed to be full of hidden threats, and Bev's ears were attuned to the soft, slithering entrance of somebody ... or, some thing. In this madhouse, anything could happen. She waited in an agony of suspense.
It was Atlas. Naked from head to toe, he padded in, his black body glistening with sweat. For the first time, the spectators saw his tremendous penis, which rose a stately twelve inches from his thighs with all the majesty of a jungle king's scepter. His eyes were coal black, and burned with an intensity of purpose that was not to be thwarted. He did not relish this particular task, but evidently he was a jack of all trades around here.
Steve talked to the audience as though they were viewing a travelogue and he wished to point out certain pertinent facts. "Have you ever seen anything like that? Now, mind, he has no use for white women; hates them, really. Believe me, it took a lot of work to get him in this condition. Eh, Allison?"
He tweaked her nipple and declared proudly, "I tell you, there's no end to her talents!"
But her talents received no acclaim-least of all, from Bev. Nor did Atlas' magnanimous proportions. She was usually the first one to appreciate a man-any man. This was a stallion, though-no woman was prepared for that!
Atlas walked on the balls of his feet, moving quickly now, anxious to have done with it. Without fanfare, he fell upon the hapless Bev and prepared to vent his hatred on her.
She was half-crazed with fear and begging for mercy as he rammed it in, hurting her unmercifully with the only weapon that was left him. All of his frustrations were behind his intial thrust. The inequality of races, his hatred of white women (which dated back to a rape charge against him), and Allison's unorthodox methods of arousing him.
Bev screamed in anguish as he pushed his enormous tool in, deeper and deeper. She tried not to tense up against him, knowing that it would go harder for her if she did, but it was no use. His ruthless plunge was too much for her, and she fainted.
Atlas took his revenge, not even remotely concerned that the object of his hatred was no longer conscious. Bob rushed up and tried to pry him away, but Atlas merely swatted him lazily, as he would a pesky fly.
To Atlas, Bev represented all the trashy white folk who thought themselves better than he. His servile position in the household was but a pose, and happenings such as these gave him a first-class opportunity to work out his hostility.
Snorting with rage, he hammered away at her inert form, his powerful muscles rippling along his splendid body. The whites of his eyes showed all around, and the sweat seemed to course down his back in streams. Bob felt tears come to his eyes as the punishment continued, and he was thankful that Bev was beyond feeling any pain.
When the explosion finally came, it was complete. The mask of indifference settled over the Negro's face once more, and he got to his feet with an agile, fluid motion. He spat at Bev contemptuously and looked at Steve for permission to leave.
Steve clapped him on the shoulder, making a point of looking at his shrinking tool. "By God, you're a better man than I, even when you're all through!" he said in an awed tone. Giving him a friendly push, he added, "Sure. Go ahead. And send in Desiree while you're at it."
Bob, hearing this, knew that Desiree was slated for him. He was curious to meet this woman, but he couldn't help wondering how she fit in. Maybe she had two heads or something. He helped Bev to her feet, wishing that he'd studied judo more thoroughly.
He was hopping mad, and frustrated besides. Just when he'd have liked to have a go at Steve and Atlas both, he was stuck with a female opponent. No matter how whorish a woman might be, he always had a certain amount of respect for the female species. He had no taste for sadism, and had always been positive that no power on earth could persuade him to hit a woman.
Then Desiree came on the scene. She wore a man's flannel suit, and sported a short, straight haircut that branded her a Lesbian of the worst type. A butch!
She looked him up and down with fire in her eyes and a sneer on her face. Bob came to the conclusion that she was no woman. A mutual loathing hung in the air between them, and they faced one another like antagonists of old standing.
Desiree removed her coat, and the battle was on. Bob advanced warily, trying to find a flaw in her defense. He tested her with a few tentative jabs, but she stood her ground admirably, refusing to fall for such an obvious feint.
She got in the first blow, hitting him below the belt. Any remaining qualms Bob might have had disappeared as he folded up, cursing and holding himself. When he straightened up, he was full of hate, and determined to teach this bitch a lesson. Desiree, indeed! What perverse stroke of hate had given her such a preposterous name?
He circled her carefully, trying to map out a strategic plan of action. She was like a bear, the way she stood rooted to one spot. But presumably she came equipped with the usual female anatomy. If so, she would have a few vulnerable places of her own.
Having established this much, he deliberately stepped inside the circle of her arms and allowed her to crush him in her vise-like grip. Her legs were planted far apart for leverage, so he brought his knee up and hit her hard in the crotch. Not quite as effective as a knee in a man's groin, perhaps, but it still hurt plenty.
While he had her off guard, he punched her hard in the stomach and finished the job by pummeling her pendulous breasts. He remembered enough of his judo training to hook his foot behind hers and throw her to the floor. He sat astride her then, like a child who is pretending to ride the horsy.
Although he had no use for her type, he decided to ram it to her anyway. It would teach her that man was supreme, and no mannish-looking board could take his place.
When she saw what he was about, she got her second wind. Using tooth and nail, she managed to dethrone him, but he was back for more before she could rise. He knelt on her belly to hold his prize, and worked the trousers down her rebellious body.
There was genuine fear in her eyes now. She would gladly have endured another beating before letting his male creature have access to her hated female opening.
It must have cost her dearly to suffer through the whole thing in silence, but she did just that. Once the dastardly shaft was forced into her, she took it without a whimper. For her, it was the ultimate in torture, but she refused to give way to foolish feminine tears.
Bob carried on to the finish alone. He found no pleasure in it, especially since he'd quit hating her. Victory tasted sour indeed, and he felt only pity for this unfortunate woman. He was glad when it was over.
Desiree collected her things and dressed without haste. Their union had proven nothing, except that she knew how to accept defeat. In her heart, she still felt that she was as good as any man.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE WORST OF THE EVENING WAS OVER, and Steve was satisfied with the way things had gone. Each individual had reacted just as he'd predicted, and his judgment of human behavior was once again proven infallible. He and Allison would have some more laughs later, watching their good friends and neighbors cavorting on film.
Before the official close of the party, however, they intended to have a premier showing. Steve started the machine rolling, and looked forward to watching each participant as his or her film segment was shown. Their reactions should be interesting, he thought wryly.
Pam held her head high and tried to pretend that it was someone else up there. She watched the whole thing, telling herself over and over that the horrible, depraved woman who was viewing was not her counterpart. That was the only way she could bear to sit through it without screaming.
Jerry's face turned crimson as he watched himself cringing before Allison. He fidgeted in his chair, wiping at his forehead with his handkerchief. As the film progressed, he wished he was anywhere but here.
Bert refused to look at the film at all. He just bowed his head and listened to the damning dialogue, unable to shut out the sound.
The reactions of the rest of the group were just as mixed. Maggie alone seemed untouched by it all. Certainly, she hadn't enjoyed the tender ministrations of Atlas, but shame was a feeling entirely foreign to her nature. Nothing could degrade her, for there was no form of sex too outlandish for her tastes.
They were a weary, dejected bunch as they made ready for bed. Atlas showed them to their respective rooms, where their night clothes were already laid out for them. His face was inscrutable, showing neither concern or disregard. He performed his duties silently, moving about like a well-trained ghost.
But in his wake he left husbands and wives who had become strangers to one another. Forced to share the same accommodations, they hardly knew how to act or how to communicate.
Bob and Bev were the only ones who shared a common bond of sympathy. Their mutual pain and humiliation had drawn them closer together and heightened the love that already existed between them. Now that they were alone, they felt free to express themselves.
Bob helped Bev out of her things which were soiled and bloody, and pulled a fresh nightgown over her head. "How do you feel, Bev? Still sore?"
She nodded, wincing as she stood up to pull the gown down. "Oh, Bob. Why did we ever get into this crazy club, anyway?"
"I don't know, hon. Maybe for kicks, or maybe we were getting a little bit tired of one another. It was a damn fool thing to do, whatever the reason," he mused, rubbing his sore shoulder.
"Well, I, for one, don't ever want anything to do with these people again," Bev cried. "They're horrible-especially Steve and Allison. They should be put away somewhere, so they can't hurt anybody else."
Bob turned down the covers and slid in, waiting for her to join him. When she did, he turned off the light and patted her shoulder. "That's why they've got us by the short hairs. How could we complain to the authorities without explaining our part in the club? Why, people would shun us on the street if we ever admitted we were involved in such a shoddy deal."
Bev voiced her agreement, but added feelingly, "Well, all the same, I hope those two get theirs someday."
These sentiments were being expressed all over the house, while the two who were responsible were eavesdropping. Each time Atlas saw to the comfort of the guests, he planted a small tape-recorder mike somewhere in their room. No sooner had he departed than the bottled-up curses and hatred came pouring forth.
At the moment, Steve and Allison were listening to the conversation taking place between Bert and Maggie, whose room had just been bugged.
"Damn nigger!" Bert spluttered. "Better lock the door tonight. I've got a hunch he'd love to get his hands on another white woman."
"He already did, lover. Remember?" Maggie taunted. "Or were you too pooped out from going down on Steve to notice?"
Her barb struck home, and his face reddened, but he could think of no suitable reply. He had been expecting something of the sort, but not quite so soon.
"Imagine!" Maggie went on, taking pleasure in his discomfort. "All these years I've been living with a fairy!" He flinched at the word, but she had only begun her attack. She tore open her blouse and offered him a plump breast. "Oh, I know it's not as tempting as Steve's cock, but take it anyway. It'll give you some consolation, I'm sure."
Bert grabbed his robe and fled to the adjoining bathroom. He turned the shower on full force, but nothing could drown out the sound of Maggie's derisive laughter. It echoed and re-echoed throughout the shower stall.
Pam and Jerry undressed in complete silence, which caused Steve to wonder if Atlas had muffed the placement of the mike in their room.
Finally Jerry's voice came through, sounding rather bemused. "Would you tell me something, Pam?"
"What is it?"
"Well, I've got no right to ask this, I know ... but did you really enjoy making love to that old man? I mean ... well, it looked like you did."
Pam hesitated, wondering how wise it would be to answer with complete honesty. Her decision was based on a nothing-to-lose attitude. "Yes," she said. "I hate to admit it, but I did. Toward the end, I mean. I just couldn't help myself."
Jerry was pleased at her matter-of-fact attitude, for it made it easier for him to bare his soul. "Yeah, I know what you mean. You know, the last year or so, I've felt something lacking in myself. I haven't exactly given my all to our lovemaking, I guess. Unconsciously, I must have been wanting that punishment and repentance routine all along."
His voice was filled with wonder, and Pam found it hard to believe that he'd apparently never even suspected the truth before. She vowed to herself that, even if they went their separate ways in the end, she'd never let him know that she'd recognized his need all the time. Her next phrase was carefully worded, so as not to destroy the closeness of the moment.
"You know, Steve and Allison deserve to be horsewhipped for what they did tonight. But maybe something good will come of it all." She felt his head turn toward her in the darkness.
"At least," she went on, "It just goes to prove that everybody has an Achilles' heel."
Jerry mulled that one over. He might never realize it, but her words had given him the courage and reassurance he needed to overcome the things he had learned about himself that night. "I believe you're right," he replied. "I never thought of it that way before."
Steve and Allison, upon hearing this, were beginning to feel like good Samaritans. This was far from their original intention, to be sure, but Maggie's predicament made up for the difference. She would never be able to adjust to Bert's homosexuality, that was plain enough. But, for economical reasons, she'd probably prefer to keep her status quo. As for Bert, he'd surely play it smart by doing his best to keep her under his roof. No woman bent on getting a divorce had ever been known to take the blame-not when she could show the world that it was her husband who was really at fault.
Naturally, her kind of revved-up sex drive would be needing an outlet, and what could be more natural than for her to turn to them for release? She was ripe for future episodes, and Steve added her name to his vast list of customers.
For the present, they had eked out every bit of pleasure from the night's festivities, so they decided to snatch a few hours' sleep. Atlas could be depended upon to wake them in plenty of time to start home.
For all their worldliness and their adeptness at amateur psychology, Steve and Allison were completely unaware of Atlas' nighttime activities. When he deemed it safe and the whole household lay in a drunken stupor, he crept out of his lair to play lord and master.
He had the key to the liquor cabinet and it was his custom to help himself whenever the opportunity presented itself. He was careful to take only a small amount from each bottle, and it was never missed, for who could tell how much liquor had been consumed during an evening such as this?
On the surface, Atlas was the typical stereotyped servant-obedient, faithful, and born to this station in life. But, during the twilight hours, he displayed quite another side to his personality. It was his pleasure to run through the video tapes; in fact, he knew where Steve had stashed a whole library of them. By now, he knew them all by heart, and he delighted in watching the snooty white folk wallowing in the dirt. Always, acting as if they were better than he, when all the time they were worse than animals.
Right now, he was running through all the sequences taken that night. At any given moment, he could stop the machine and drink in any particular scene that was of interest to him. He felt a certain kind of power, as though he could bring them to life or annihilate them with a flick of his hand.
He was, temporarily, king of the white man's world. Sipping at the most expensive bourbon, he sat majestically on the sofa watching a re-enactment of the scene between himself and Maggie.
Allison, tossing and turning restlessly beside her snoring husband, caught the faint whir of the machine. Curious to see who was manipulating it, she tiptoed down the stairs and into the living room.
Here she found Atlas holding court in his private dream world. Even in the dimness of the room, she could see the hatred radiating from his eyes. His hands were clenched, and his fine nostrils flared in impotent rage. Allison's flesh prickled with excitement, for she could easily imagine him tearing his enemy apart, limb from limb.
It was then that she gave birth to an evil thought. Sheer hatred had planted it years ago, and it had been nurtured by circumstance ever since. Now it blossomed forth into a plan of revenge.
She had been a decent enough person when she and Steve had first been married. Somewhat awed by him, there was nothing she wouldn't have done for this wonderful husband of hers. Even their honeymoon had been designed for his pleasure alone. She would never have chosen to spent it in a shoddy motel room where every little whisper could be heard through the paper-thin walls.
That was just the start. Each time they made love together, it seemed, he came up with a new suggestion that would make it a little more exciting. She complied willingly enough, trying to please him, even though some of his variations were not to her liking.
Gradually, she came to realize that they had gone way past the bounds of decency. Surely other husbands and wifes didn't go to such extremes to find enjoyment? He overlooked nothing in his quest for kicks, and his pornographic library was filled to the brim with books ranging from the oriental books of pleasure to the memoirs of some of the most renowned shores in history. Every time he would come up with a new gimmick, they had to "try it on for size."
Her marriage was turning into a nightmare, and she didn't know what to do about it. She was still so much in love with him that it hurt, and worried sick that he would tire of her and turn to someone else for thrills.
When finally he had approached her with the mention of a menage a trois, she was appalled. But he kept on about it, wearing her down, and the force of his personality was such that she eventually gave in.
Her determination to remain a spectator was forgotten when the other girl went to work on Steve. His "oh's" and "ah's" of ecstasy made her blind with jealousy and compelled her to get into the action. She was forced to compete with the other girl for her own husband's favors.
After that, their life turned into a free-for-all, and they were seldom alone together in their bedroom. Two, three, four-the more the merrier, as far as Steve was concerned. Every nationality was represented sooner or later, and her one claim to fame was that she had her own United Nations at her beck and call.
At last, the normal way of having sex seemed dull and boring to her, too. She became a degenerate in the worst sense of the word, and teamed up with Steve in his pursuit of new sensations.
But she never forgot that he was responsible for turning the sweet young girl she had been into an abnormal thrill-seeker. The indifference she showed to the world was but a shell, covering the outraged cries of that young girl.
She lived for the day when she could get even with him, and now she had discovered the perfect means at her disposal. When Atlas turned his head a fraction of an inch, he saw what appeared to be an apparition: Allison, standing before him in a diaphanous nightgown, was clearly outlined by the ghostly ray of light that came streaming from the machine. To his blurry vision, she seemed to have just stepped down from the screen.
"You hate them, don't you?" she invited, speaking in a soft, sibilant whisper.
The fact that she was a real flesh-and-blood person finally penetrated his foggy mind, and Atlas spilled his drink in his haste to dispose of the evidence.
Allison smiled at him, wanting to put him at ease. "No, that's all right, Atlas. You're not doing anything wrong. Here. I'll fix you another, shall--? "
She searched until she found a pony glass, and filled it to the brim. Hoping that the shock of being discovered hadn't stunned him into sobriety, she slid next to him and urged him to drink. Her plans called for him to be completely besotted. Nothing else would do.
Her campaign began the moment she was seated, and she went about it with a single-minded intent that had all the earmarks of a personal vendetta. "Just look at them!" she sneered. "A dirty bunch of hypocrites, each and every one." Her hand traced the bulging muscles of his arm as she searched for and found the right key to his anger. "Why, you're a better person than any of them. Just because you're black, they think they can treat you like dirt!"
She paused for him to refuel, giving him a chance to ponder the bigotry and prejudice of centuries. The sounds and images that were reeling in front of him combined with Allison's insistent voice to confuse him, and he could feel the hatred oozing out of every pore. The only thing lacking was an object for his hatred, and Allison intended to supply that.
"Look at me, Atlas. What do you see?"
He peered at her, trying to come up with a statement that wouldn't seem too brash. "Why, I see Mr. Steve's fine, good-looking wife. Is that what you mean, ma'am?"
"No, Atlas. I mean, what color am I?"
Puzzled by such an obvious question, he replied, "Why, you're white of course."
She shook her head and played her trump card. "Wrong again, Atlas. I'm an octoroon. Oh, I know I don't show it, but there's Negro blood running in my veins."
It was, of course, a lie so blatant that a child could have seen through it. But Atlas swallowed her story, due to his natural gullibility and the vast amount of bourbon that was sloshing around in his innards.
"You don't say! Why, I never knew that!" he exclaimed in wonder.
"Neither does Mr. Steve," she confided. "So, you see, I know just what it's like to be treated like a dog. And Mr. Steve's the worst of the lot. Why, if he knew that I had a drop of Afro-American blood, I think he'd kill me!" She delivered this last statement with the proper dramatic emphasis, and Atlas was spellbound.
Having gained his sympathy, Allison prepared another potent concoction to replace the one he'd drained. Then she continued to weave her spell.
"No sir, I don't think he'd hesitate one little bit! My life is in danger every minute I stay with him, Atlas.
And he is an evil man. He makes me do some things that I couldn't even repeat to anyone. Shameful things, so vile that..." She buried her face in her hands, as though she couldn't bear to go on.
When she summoned up some tears, Atlas was moved to pat her shoulder awkwardly. He was at a loss as to how he could console her, but he managed to say, "There, there, Miss Allison. Don't you fret, now. I won't let Mr. Steve hurt you none."
Right on cue, Allison raised her tear-stained face. "Do you mean that, Atlas? Would you really help me?"
"Of course, Miss Allison. You just tell me what to do, and I'll do it!"
She leaned forward eagerly and described in exact detail just how he could serve her. He nodded several times, and they crept up the stairs together. Once they had reached the door to Steve's room, Atlas took out the knife he always carried. Then he entered the darkened room-alone.
The slumber of the household guests was rudely interrupted by the piercing sounds of a soul in agony. Screams of unmistakable anguish tore into the stillness of the night, to be followed by a hoarse, pitiful sobbing.
Doors opened all along the hallway, and people stumbled about in various states of undress. Noses were counted, and it was discovered that everyone was accounted for, with the exception of Steve and Allison. Atlas was forgotten entirely.
"Where did it come from?" Bob asked.
"Down this way," came Allison's vague answer.
They followed Bob's lead and came across Allison, who was still standing in the doorway, afraid to go in.
"What's happened?" they chorused.
"In there." Allison pointed to the bed from which the horrible sounds were coming. When the light was turned on, their eyes were drawn to the shaking hulk that was Steve, crying like a baby. His agony was so great that he didn't even look up at their entrance. The sheets were blood-soaked, and it was painfully clear that this bull of a man had been castrated.
There was no real help anyone could give, but the women cleaned him up and bandaged him as best they could. Bev was too squeamish to be of any help, so she left the room hurriedly.
When questioned, Allison mumbled one word. "Atlas." He had hightailed it out of there once the deed had been accomplished, thereby saving Allison some awkward explanations. She was content to leave it that way.
Steve's sobs gradually subsided, leaving him inert and lifeless. His brawny chest heaved with dry, racking shudders, and Pam was filled with pity for him. He had been her lover, tormentor, and enemy all wrapped into one, but he hadn't deserved such a horrible fate as this.
They discussed the advisability of taking him to a doctor, but Allison voiced an objection. "I don't think Steve would want that-would you, dear?"
He gave her a look, seeming to notice her for the first time. What he saw in her eyes filled him with horror, and he realized that this was her doing. For a moment, he weighed his pride against the possibility of proving her part in this heinous crime. No, he could never admit to the world that his own wife would do such a thing, even if he could prove it.
"No," he whispered, in a voice so weak that only those closest to him could hear it.
"You people can go back to bed," Allison decreed. "I'll sit up with my husband."
She took up her post, like an angel of mercy. Dutifully, she sat by his bedside for the rest of the night, talking and keeping him company.
Her bedside manner left something to be desired, though, for as her patient listened to her words, he seemed to suffer a relapse. By the time dawn arrived, he was reduced to a quivering mass of jelly.
CHAPTER TWELVE
ALLISON WAS TO ACT AS OFFICIAL CHAUFFEUR next morning, which would leave Steve quite alone. He watched her arranging his supplies: a pitcher of ice water, cigarettes, matches, and magazines. Her thoughtfulness left him cold in view of what had transpired the night before, but he made no comment.
The earful of people noted a change in her, too. She nosed the wagon along the intricate pathways, chatting amiably as she drove. Her charges looked at one another in exasperation as her sunny disposition began to grate on their nerves. One would almost have thought that she was escorting a group of tired, happy children home from a picnic.
But the ugly secrets that had been laid bare the previous night were still uppermost in their minds, making it impossible for them to join in any light chitchat.
"Good God," Bev whispered to Pam, "doesn't she understand what's happened to her husband? She acts as though she hasn't a care in the world."
Bev voiced the opinion shared by them all, and Pam had to admit she didn't understand it, either. She had always figured. Allison to be a cool customer, but her light-hearted treatment of the whole gruesome affair was downright unbelievable. Even after the dirty trick that Steve had pulled, not one of them would have wished castration on him. She supposed nobody would ever know what had prompted Atlas' grisly crime. Somewhere along the line, Steve must have done him a terrible injustice, for him to have wrought such a terrible revenge.
As they got closer to home, their thoughts turned to different channels-the office, lawn chores, and, in Pam and Jerry's case, the children. Although nothing had been resolved, Pam knew that, whatever happened nothing could persuade her to seek the excitement of an illicit affair. Nothing but disaster could come out of it. If she and Jerry couldn't work out their problems, it would be far better to part in a civilized fashion.
When they rolled into Glencove, the air seemed to be fresher somehow. They looked at their surroundings in a new light and found them very inviting, indeed.
Jerry and Pam let themselves into the house, feeling as though they had been away for a very long time. Jimmy came on the run, before they even had time to put their suitcases down. Pam hugged him and looked over his shoulder for Sue.
Her mother's face told her that something was wrong, even before she spoke. "Where's Sue?" Pam asked, the fear already creeping over her.
"Oh, dear," the older woman moaned, wringing her hands. "I tried to call you, but they didn't have anything listed for that place."
"Mother, where is she?" Pam demanded, in the first throes of hysteria.
"She ... she's gone to the hospital, dear. Now, try and keep calm. She got worse, so I called Dr. Townly, and he sent an ambulance for her. Why are you back so early?" she queried, trying to take the sting out of her words. "No, never mind. You're back. That's what counts."
Jerry was already bringing the car around, and Pam was about to ask her mother to stay with Jim, when she waved her on. "Call me as soon as you hear anything," she called as Pam raced out the door.
The ride to the hospital was only fifteen miles, but it seemed to take longer than their journey home from the lodge. Jerry was forced to stop for a red light, and Pam, in a fever of impatience, pressed her foot down on a nonexistent gas pedal.
"Oh, please, Jerry, hurry!" she cried.
"If I go any faster the police will stop us, and there'll be a delay," he admonished. "It's only another mile or two."
At last they turned into the hospital parking lot, and Jerry took a quick glance around and groaned. "Damn it! There's not a space left that isn't reserved!" Grimly, he guided the car into a slot reserved for a doctor, hoping that the good doctor was off on vacation.
They entered through the door marked "Emergency," gave their names at the desk, and were sent to the waiting room. Jerry paced back and forth, cocking his head at every little sound of activity. People swished by on crepe soles, trays laden with food went rolling by, and the loudspeaker summoned this doctor and that. There was no sign of Dr. Townly.
Pam sat in a daze, now that she was actually here and the need for haste was over. There was nothing to do now but wait, and she was better in that department than Jerry.
At last, the elevator doors opened, and Dr. Townly stepped out. His face looked grave, but Pam told herself that it didn't mean anything. Every doctor wore that same expression-it was sort of a trademark.
Jerry rushed to meet him while Pam struggled to her feet. She had been sitting in the same position for so long that her foot had gone to sleep, and she stumbled and fell, grabbing hold of the doctor's stethoscope for support.
"Well, I've had people try to pin me down before, but they've never been quite so determined about it," he quipped, rubbing his neck ruefully. His touch of levity over, he got down to business. "I'm afraid there isn't much I can tell you right now. Sue has a kidney infection. She's running a very high fever, and we're trying to bring it down. As soon as the fever breaks, we can offer more hope."
"And ... if it doesn't?" Pam asked, wanting to know the truth.
"We'll worry about that when the time comes," he said, evasively. He didn't meet her eyes. Having sidestepped the issue as best he could, he left them and was soon swallowed up in the beehive of hospital routine.
Pam sank down on the leather couch, feeling hopeless and hating herself. Such a crisis was bad enough under normal circumstances, when no one was to blame, but to go off and leave your child when she was sick-that was unforgivable.
Jerry saw the desolate look in her eyes, and knew what she was thinking. He knew because he blamed himself, too. He smiled at her, trying to communicate a confidence he didn't feel, and put his arm around her. Wearily, she let her head drop onto his shoulder, noticing how broad it really way.
"Listen, Pam. If anything happens to Sue, I won't have you blaming yourself." She made motions like she was going to interrupt, but he shushed her. "No, really. You were a good mother to those kids until I gummed up the works. None of this would have happened if it hadn't been for me. I've been a piss-poor husband and father, and if Sue ... well, if the worst happens, it's my fault. Nobody else's."
There was no answer called for, but Pam snuggled in closer, taking some comfort in his reassurance. They both knew that the first crisis had passed. He had matured into a full-grown man, ready to accept responsibility and capable of giving solace and strength. The long hours of waiting had begun.
Bert and Maggie were involved in a crisis of sorts, too. It was a battle of wills that would set the pace during the years to come. Maggie was determined to set the record straight, and declare herself boss.
In the midst of preparing breakfast, she said, "You know, what we need around here is a maid. I'm sick and tired of ruining my hands in greasy dishwater."
"Are you kidding? We can't afford a maid on my salary!"
"Oh, I don't mean a regular maid," she said airily. "Just a girl to come in and work by the hour. After all, there are better things to do than cook and clean all day."
"Such as?"
"Oh, who knows? Maybe I'll improve my education or something."
This brought a snort of disbelief from Bert, and a mumbled "I'll bet."
Maggie caught the wry comment, but preferred to let it pass. "Well, what do you say? I can put an ad in tomorrow's paper."
"It seems to me that you have little enough to do around here. After all, you don't have kids tracking in dirt all over the place, or a baby to look after."
"Bert, you don't seem to understand. I'm not asking you, I'm telling you."
Her subtle bit of blackmail did not go unnoticed. Either he would give in, or she would blab it all over town that he was a queer. Fully aware that if he gave in to her on this point, it would set a precedent for all future arrangements, he gave in anyway. "Oh, all right, Maggie," he said wearily, "you can phone the ad in."
Not fully content with her victory, Maggie rubbed more salt into the wound. "Well, at least I won't have to worry about any hanky-panky going on behind my back, will I, lover?" She was the only person he'd ever known that could take a term of endearment and turn it into something that sounded obscene. "Why, what's the matter, Bert?" she asked, innocently. "You look a bit green around the gills. Aren't you going to eat your breakfast?"
Suddenly, the sight of her in her frilly apron was more than he could take, and he fled the table, feeling sick at his stomach.
Bob and Bev were happy just to be home. Their own living room had never looked more inviting, and they simply stood there, drinking in the sight.
Bob slid his hand up her skirt and stroked her nylon-clad rump. "Remind me to buy a pillow that has 'Home, sweet home' embroidered on it. That's our motto from now on, you know. No more parties, no more swapping. Do you think you can put up with your dull old husband?"
Bev wagged her fanny to show her approval. "I never said you were dull, Bob. It's just that..." Her voice trailed off, unable to put it into words.
"Yeah, I know. It seemed like a good idea at the time." His hand began to explore in earnest as he sought an opening beneath the elastic of her pants. The band stretched obligingly, and he poked a finger under, searching until he found the right point of contact. He fondled her cunningly, enjoying the weakness that spread through her body, turning her knees to water, and making her so much putty in his hands. His touch was attuned to her most erogenous zone, and she reacted this way every time.
"Bob," she whispered as she fumbled at his waist. He knew what she wanted; knew also that, at this moment, she wasn't coordinated enough to manage it herself. He obliged by freeing his penis, and she latched onto it with an eager grasp.
Again, that unspoken communication passed between them, and he slid her panties down and helped her step out of them. With her skirt hiked up around her waist, she pulled him to her and placed the tip of his cock against her swollen clitoris, which was quivering with anticipation. Together, they managed to accomplish a gentle rubbing action that drove her wild with desire. The excitement was so intense that she could hardly bear it. Moaning with desire, she gyrated against him until the friction all but set her off.
Bob, sensing this, backed away before it was too late. He would have steered her into the bedroom, but she wouldn't have it. Nothing must interfere with the pangs of hunger he had stirred to life.
Dropping to her knees, she encircled his legs with her arms and proceeded to repay the pleasure he had given her. When her lips closed around the head of his cock, her body stiffened with shock, as though an electric current was running through him. But her lips proved as deft as his hand, and soon his rod was swollen with desire.
In her frenzy, Bev would have gotten carried away, but he drew on every ounce of will power he possessed, and stopped her. "No more, darling. I'm almost ready to come now, believe me!"
From her position on the floor, it was plain to see that he spoke the truth. Looking at him in the broad daylight of their living room, Bev wanted him more than she'd ever wanted anything in her whole life.
Without giving him time to lower his trousers, she pulled him down to her. "Ah," she sighed, drawing it out as he lowered himself and pressed his penis into her.
Bob was truly at his best, able to provide for her physically, in a way that money never could. Her oral lovemaking and the way she looked-so eager for him that she didn't even want to remove her skirt-filled him with the joy that made living worthwhile. For a moment, he felt sorry for Steve. The poor guy might as well be dead. Then he lost himself in Bev, and their mutual enjoyment.
Bev, a creature of unbridled passions, was trying to stave off the blinding orgasm that was threatening to end it all. It was so much better when they came together, and she always thought Bob got a special kick out of it.
She held back,, trying to keep it in reserve, but it wasn't easy. Then Bob began his relentless drive, and she was free to respond wholeheartedly. Their bodies pounded together, the white heat surging through them until they achieved release-sweet, wonderful release. They lay intertwined, spent and exhausted. Their pleasure ebbed away slowly as their genitals continued to throb, causing an occasional twitch from one or the other.
Bob got to his feet, relieving her of the burden of his weight. He looked down at the front of his pants and laughed. "I haven't had to contend with that since I was a kid. I'm glad I don't have to go home and explain to mama about those stains."
She smiled, stretching like a lazy, contented kitten. "Just make sure you don't have to explain any like them to me, Bob, and we'll get along fine. You're quite enough for any woman."
"Including you?" he asked, bending down to kiss the lips that had thrilled him so.
"Mm-hmm." She pushed the hair off his forehead, tenderly. "How about you? Am I woman enough for you?"
"What do you think?" he asked, grinning. Then he handed her her panties.
Allison was humming to herself as she drove along the highway. It was a beautiful day, and everything was right with the world. Revenge was sweet, and she felt reborn.
There were all kinds of things she could think up to torment Steve. Parties at which she would be the main participant; films of him in bygone days, when he was such a lady-killer; the stories that used to tantalize him so; her own flesh, which would be displayed at every opportunity. There were endless variations that she could dream up.
When she spotted the boy walking backward with his thumb up, seeking a ride, it seemed providential. His long sideburns, beefy arms emerging from a soiled T-shirt, and tight Levi's, branded him at once. He would do nicely.
"Hi, there. Want a ride?"
His cool gray eyes looked her over. She was half turned toward him, with her arm draped across the seat, and the invitation was plain. If she had greeted him with "Hi, there. Want to screw?" it would have amounted to the same thing in his book.
"Sure thing." He swung into the seat with all the confidence of a young man who is sure of his prowess.
Allison stepped on the gas and submitted to his inspection willingly. She could tell that he liked what he saw, and she decided to give him a little more to look it. Her hand pushed in the lighter on the dashboard, and she "accidentally" caught the hem of her dress as she brought it back.
He leaned over to light her cigarette for her, giving him an excuse to edge closer. The creamy white thigh did things to his young imagination, and he hoped he'd see more of her.
Allison sucked in her breath and exhaled with a gush of air. He tore his eyes away from her thigh long enough to witness the phenomenon.
"Going far?" she inquired, casually undoing the first two buttons on her dress.
"Well, that depends," he ventured, aching to put his hand inside and feel the texture of those exciting tits. Wow, were they for real?
"Hot, isn't it?" Allison fanned herself, using the bottom of her dress to do the job. Then she bunched the material tightly between her legs, so that the V or her crotch was clearly visible. She risked a glance at him to see if he'd noticed. He had.
"I'll tell you what! If you're not going any place special, why don't you come along with me, and I'll fix you a bite to eat?"
She bent forward at the waist a trifle; just to give him a preview of the unrestrained beauties inside. The warm breeze made the dress stick to her skin, and the nipples stabbed at the soft fabric enticingly.
The boy's face reddened with embarrassment as his normal reaction made itself evident, but his eyes were riveted there, waiting for her tits to win the battle. There was nothing he could do about it.
"Sure," he managed to say. "They would be nice." His choice of words showed his frame of mind plainly, and the blunder made him stammer. "I mean ... ah ... that would be nice!"
Amused, Allison unfastened the rest of the buttons. The boy drew in his breath, hardly daring to believe his good luck, and slipped a hand inside. He watched her face for any signs of protest, but she merely leaned into his cupped palm.
Sweating profusely, he moved next to her and kneaded her breasts continuously. "Oh, Jesus," he breathed, squirming in agitation. He could hardly contain himself. Stealing a look up and down the deserted highway, he pulled one out of her dress. He bent his head and buried his face in the lush softness. For a while, he was content to tongue her nipple and pull gently on it with his teeth.
But after a time he grew bolder. Panting and trembling, he pulled up her dress and gazed upon her feminine loveliness. His hand crept down, and she felt a warm, moist palm clamping over her crotch.
This was too much to contend with, if she wanted to concentrate on her driving, so she removed his eager fingers. "You wouldn't want us to go off the road, would you? Think of all we'd miss."
He seemed so crestfallen that she reached over and fondled his swollen penis. She did it absent-mindedly, but at first it had a soothing effect on him. As the miles passed, however, so did the soothing effect.
"How ... far ... is ... it?" he whispered brokenly. "We're almost there," she promised, giving his rod a final pat.
He restrained himself from touching her again, afraid that he'd never last if he did. He stretched, lifting his buttocks off the seat, and trying to make the adjustment that would ease the strain on his Levi's.
He was hardly aware of all the twists and turns of the road, so intent was he on envisioning the delights that awaited him. He followed her into the lodge, trying to act as though he was used to having a beautiful sexpot pick him up. He hoped she wasn't loony, or something. Naw. She just had hot pants, that was all. Maybe she was one of those nymphos he was always hearing about.
Allison preceded him, walking with an exaggerated sway that was calculated to hold his interest. She wondered if she should risk taking him upstairs, so that Steve could see what went on. But, after all, he was just an inexperienced boy, and she didn't want to frighten him off. Anyway, Steve's door was wide open, so he'd be sure to bear everything. Especially if she filled in the lulls with the proper vocal sounds.
She turned around, almost bumping into the boy, who was right behind her. "Would you like to undress me?" she invited.
"Oh, man, would I!" He believed in starting at the top and working his way down to the bottom. His fingers flew over the remaining buttons on her dress, and he peeled it down over her waist and hips.
The undressing process didn't take long, because the dress was all she had bothered to wear. He stood there agape, taking in each curve and swell of her flesh. Allison drew her hands along her curves, emphasizing each contour. "Well? Do you like what you see?" He swallowed visibly. "God, you're really groovy!" She smiled, pleased at his boyish admiration. Then, in a let's-get-down-to-business tone of voice, she said, "Now it's my turn. I want to see what you've been so bashful about showing."
Because she was the type of person who peeked at the ending of a book first, Allison began with his Levi's. He wore no belt. He didn't have to. They were skin-tight, two sizes too small.
"Do you always wear them this tight?" she asked, pulling and tugging at the stiff denim material. To make matters worse, he seemed to have a permanent erection.
"Why, you devil, you." He wasn't wearing any shorts, either. "Aren't you afraid you'll get it caught In the zipper?"
He grinned and stepped free of the pants. "Right now, I would be," he admitted.
Allison looked at him, standing so proud and handsome, and caught her breath. He was almost a match for her!
Mindful of Steve, who would be listening upstairs, she said, "My, you are well-hung, aren't you? You must have to fight the girls off with a stick!" She stroked his rod lovingly, then bent down and rested her cheek against it.
He shook at her touch, and she could tell that he wasn't used to such an intimate caress. Her long hair brushed the insides of his thighs teasingly, and his hands clenched in an agony of desire.
"Hasn't any girl ever made love to you this way before?"
He shook his head dumbly and waited for her to enlighten him.
"Here. Lie down. There, now. I can reach you, and you can reach me. Simple?" With that, she straddled his face and let her hair fall across his lap while her lips drove him wild with ecstasy. He'd always wondered what a blow job felt like, but he'd never been able to get up the nerve to ask a girl to do it.
Cautiously, he lifted his face and buried it in the soft, furry warmth that was astride his head. Her lips were sending searing licks of flame through him; yet he held back, afraid to show his emotion.
But the ecstasy her lips were inflicting made him forget his inhibitions, and he began to rise up to meet her. His own mouth worked furiously as he jabbed his tongue up and down with sudden urgency.
Just when he felt that he would burst wide open, Allison left him high and dry. His eyes flew open, and he looked at her in astonishment.
She smiled at his agonized expression, and patted the place his mouth had just vacated. "If you want me, come and get me!" she challenged.
He wasted no time in racing after her, wondering what kind of a game she was playing. His lust was so great that he took the stairs three at a time, catching up with her just outside Steve's open door. Angry with her for running away right at the Crucial moment, he slammed her to the floor and inserted his burning rod.
Allison laughed merrily, crazily. "That's right, lover. Push! Push with all your might! Oh, it feels good to have a real man for a change!"
He had no idea what she was raving about, but her exhortations spurred him on, and his youthful enthusiasm did the rest. He shot off, shuddered, and collapsed, as though he had just had the wind knocked out of him.
Long after he was done, Allison continued to babble and carry on quite as though his prick hadn't shriveled up inside of her. He cooperated as long as he could, but finally, even she could see that it was hopeless.
"Allison, let the boy alone. Can't you see he's done for?"
The voice, so unexpected, startled the boy, and he scrambled to his feet. He looked so panic-stricken that Allison rocked with laughter. "Don't worry. That's just my ball-less husband," she said.
Stunned, he looked from her to the opened door. "Lady, I don't know what kind of a deal you've got going here, but I don't want any part of it."
His departure was as speedy as his earlier ascent up the stairs. He never looked back.
Allison sauntered into Steve's bedroom and stood next to him, still reeking of sex. "Did you get a good look at him, dear?" she inquired in a polite, conversational tone. She might have been discussing the weather. "He was a fine figure of a boy, wasn't he? Everything you'll never be again. If you ever were, that is. And he's just one example. Why, I'll bet there are plenty of better specimens around, just waiting for me to discover them.
Steve went on smoking nonchalantly, as though he had no interest in the matter, one way or the other. Not to be done out of her revenge, she bent down to his get attention.
His arms clamped around her with the swiftness of an adder's strike. They held her there, across his stomach, as effectively as steel bands. She was power-fless to move a muscle. His eyes bored into hers as he deliberately threw his cigarette butt into a comer. "You may have succeeded in taking my balls away from me, but I'm still man enough to keep you here." his voice was cold and empty.
Allison watched helplessly as the curtains caught fire. They went up in flames like so much paper, and, in her panic, she realized that he must have poured lighter fluid over them before her return to the lodge!
"I hate to deprive you of your pleasure, my dear. I know how much you were looking forward to tormenting me with your playmates."
The fire was spreading rapidly, and already the room was beginning to fill with smoke. He continued to talk, although Allison was barely listening now. "But you should have known that I'd never take a back seat to anybody. It pains me to say this, but you always were a little on the dumb side, you know."
Allison struggled, making a last desperate attempt to escape his vise-like arms. But she might as well have been caught in the steel jaws of an animal trap. Her eyes rolled around wildly as she began lo choke from the fumes.
"So you see," Steve went on calmly," rather than submit to the hell you had planned for me, I decided to bow out now. It's a shame that I have to take you with me, but it will make such a fitting and proper epitaph, don't you think?"
The fire had caught the bedspread now, and was creeping toward them. Allison screamed, drowning out his last tribute to her beauty.
It was: "Beauty and the beast."
A different drama was being played out back at the hospital. Sue was struggling valiantly for her life and as Dr. Townly had put it, medical science could do nothing more for her. They would just have to wait it out.
Jerry's face was drawn and white with genuine concern for his daughter. For the first time in his life, he realized how much be loved her-and his son. He brought forth a crumpled pack of cigarettes and offered Pam one, glad to have something tangible to do. As he puffed half-heartedly on it, he noticed how haggard she looked. He felt the stubble on his own face, thinking that the strain, especially after their sleepless night, was taking its toll. He felt older, somehow.
Dr. Townly startled them out of their concentration. His approach was so quiet that he had to clear his throat in order to get their attention. "Ahem. Are you folks still here? You should be home, sleeping as comfortably as your daughter."
Pam stared at him, trying to make sense out of his words. Her dulled senses and lateness of the hour made comprehension difficult. "Do you mean that Sue's all right? She's going to live."
"Certainly, she's going to live," he replied, as though the question had never come up.
"When can we see her?" Jerry confronted him with the question that was uppermost in their minds.
Dr. Townly began to look stern, so Pam interjected her own plea. "Oh, please, doctor. Can't we see her now?"
He hesitated, but their joyous expressions made him overlook the rules. "I suppose you'll never rest until you do," he sighed. He punched the button that would summon the elevator, and gave them her room number. "She's asleep, so don't stay long."
They crept into the shadowed room, hand in hand. "Oh, Jerry, she looks so small and helpless."
Jerry's heart turned over, too. She looked positively angelic, with the sweep of dark eyelashes in sharp contrast with the whiteness of her face. Pam crossed over to the bed and laid her hand on Sue's brow. It felt cool enough now, but the perspiration caused by the fever had left it clammy.
Sue's eyes opened for a split second, and Pam swore later to Jerry that she had smiled at them both.
When they were again headed home, and Pam was snuggled up against him, she elaborated further. "Well, she did smile, Jerry! Almost like she was trying to tell us that everything is going to be all right now."
Jerry was of the opinion that this was sheer imagine on Pam's party, but he agreed with the conclusions she had drawn. He tightened his hold on her. "Go to sleep now, darling. I'll wake you when we get home. Whether you were seeing things or not doesn't make any difference. Everything will be okay now. With two fine kids like Sue and Jim, how can we miss?"
He waited in vain for the forthcoming reply. Pam had fallen fast sleep, with her head on his capable shoulder.
