Donna Street, not quite fully awake, held her breath in sheer ecstasy as her husband's penis, warm and rigid, gently eased its smooth head between the soft lips of her pussy.
She was wet and slick inside as she always was in the mornings. Brad's first thrust would go in easily, all the way, if he held the hairy outer lips open. If he didn't, the glorious thickness of his cock would drag the outer lips partway in and he would have to withdraw and slam it in again and perhaps once more. This would hurt, but it would be a loving, thrilling pain, giving her a deeply satisfying feeling of being filled completely. Either way would be marvelous.
She kept her eyes closed and tried to hold her breathing slow and steady, forcing her eager and responsive young body to lie still, feigning sleep. She knew how much Brad loved the thought that he had surprised her, had awakened her with the deep drive of his penis.
She lay on her left side, both knees drawn up, her short nightgown well above her waist. It was her favorite position for sleep, largely because it exposed and offered her softly rounded buttocks and the hot little treasure between them to the eyes, the seeking hands and the hard prick of her husband.
She knew that she was beautiful, accepting it as a fact without ego or false modesty, glad that her husband found so much joy in her small and perfect body-and equally glad that their close friends, back in Citrus City, had also loved it.
She felt that she was the luckiest girl in the world.
And why not? Brad, so strong and handsome, so bursting with ambition, had found the chance he wanted, a chance he never would've found in a small town.
"A chance for both of us, hon," he had whispered when they were celebrating the great news in bed. "I couldn't ask for a better wife-a wife to love me, to encourage me, to go up the ladder with me!"
The job was tailor-made for him. Public relations manager for the real estate division of Bonturat Enterprises, the biggest corporation in Santa Vaca. Brad, at twenty-five, had practically been raised in a newspaper office; he had had more experience than most men twice his age. And he knew real estate, too!
Chafing at the lack of opportunity in Citrus City, he had taken a course in real estate as a possible way out of the small-town newspaper rut. and incredibly, he had just passed the State Realty Board exams and gotten his license when this big opportunity came along.
She remembered the glow on his blunt, strong, handsome face when he had rushed in, waving the letter of acceptance.
"It's more than luck, Donna," he had said seriously as he kissed the tears of happiness from her cheeks. "It's like somebody up there likes me. Likes us, I mean," he had amended.
Now, four weeks later, in their new king-size bed, in the master bedroom of their new home in Island Villas, Bonturat's latest development in north Santa Vaca County, Donna quivered as Brad's fingers, gently for all their young strength, softly pulled her crisp-haired cuntlips open.
The doll! He wanted to slide it in easy. She clenched her teeth, painfully restraining herself from pumping down and back, so much did she want to feel the heat and the stretch that his lovely tool gave her. These four weeks in a tough and demanding job, the close and sometimes stern supervision he got from Bill Derwin, Bonturat's president, had made Brad somewhat less confident than he had been at the start. She wanted him to have the small triumph of surprising her. Much as she yearned for the best of his cock against her trembling womb, she could hold still, giving him this unimportant ego-builder.
The itch in her clitoris-it had begun when she felt the first touch of his flesh on her inner lips-flowed like wet fire through every part of her. He pushed in and the fire spread. In spite of her resolve, her joyously rebellious cunt muscles made their pleasure known by a wet, fluttering caress on the tender red head of this one-eyed intruder.
And Brad, his cock happily aware that this warm, embracing sheath of wet muscle was fully awake, slammed his loins hard against his wife's firm white rump, burying his hard length all the way to its thick base.
Donna counted this as her greatest blessing.
They had others, of course. The lovely house, bigger, better, costlier than either of them had dreamed they might ever own. Balcony bedrooms overlooked its two-story living room.
It was so suggestive of great success to come, with its three-car garage, its huge combination room for dining, for entertaining.
"This is your party room, kids," Mr. Derwin had said when he handed Donna the keys. His bold eyes, flecked with yellow, like-so Donna imagined-an eagle's eyes might be, had playfully traveled up and down Donnas' nubile little body. "You have all the material here for some great parties, Brad," he had joked and Donna felt her face flush.
His generosity had made the home possible; he had given them the down payment as a bonus and had said, forcing Brad to take the commission on the sale. "Why not? You sold the house. To yourself, of course, but you sold it. And you'll need some cash for furniture."
Donna had hugged him then and there and had drawn back, suddenly frightened at the wild feel of heat she had experienced from that brief contact.
Thereafter and this contact had been four weeks ago, she was not only careful to avoid touching-or being touched by-Bill Derwin, but she did everything she could to avoid looking at him. She realized this was foolish. As a hot-blooded girl, as a willing if circumspect swinger in little Citrus City, she had enjoyed her body's responses to a number of friends. Strangers, too, in some happy cases. But this feeling was one she couldn't help-Bill Derwin frightened her!
In an emotional luxury of wifely pride and confidence, Donna made no effort to hold her orgasm. This was one of Brad's deepest joys-that he could make his wife come and come and come, controlling his own orgasm until Donna, weak with love and fulfillment, hugged him and whispered, "It's your turn now, darling... how do you want it?"
She came now with a spasmodic leap of her entire body, pumping her ass back against Brad's loins in an ecstatic urge to feel his prick bumping against the very end of her vaginal channel, the soft shock to her womb's tight-closed mouth giving her a pleasure so deep that it knotted her guts.
She felt her juices flow in hot surges, felt the sensitive skin between her thighs draw and shudder. In her burst of pleasure, she burrowed her fingers into the softly divided top of her slit, stirring new sensation in her frantically throbbing clitoris.
Tenderly, slowly, Brad withdrew, laughing softly as Donna made one involuntary push backward in a vain attempt to hold his hard cock in her drooling cunt.
With a strong hand on her ankle, he drew her right leg up, and squirming down in the bed, he let the leg drop so that he lay in the spread of her thighs, his flushed and happy face poised just above the tuft of dark, finely crinkled hair that crested above her streaming slit.
With a squeal of joy, Donna levered her opened twat up to meet his lapping tongue, using her hands to press his face down to her eager pussy. "Eat me! Eat me, love!" she groaned.
Purposefully, expertly, reveling in the womanly perfume that steamed up from his wife's thoroughly heated crotch, Brad used his thumbs to spread the heavy, puffy outer lips as wide as they would go.
The wet petals of pink flesh that made the sweet rosette of her inner labia were still engorged with blood. The pink valley ran down to the ringed portal to her vagina, just a bit more open than in repose, thanks to the smashing orgasm of a few moments before. Her momentarily sated inner heat had created a tiny overflow of her clear come-juices and this flow had spread to make a small circle of slickness on either side of and had trickled now between, her ass cheeks.
At the top of the slit, still pulsing feebly, but softened by her coming, her clitoris begged for a kiss.
Brad sank his face into his nest of heat and love and his long tongue, delving first into the opening of her cunt, licked strongly up along the quivering lips, lightly touched her suddenly aroused clit, just before he closed his mouth on this wildly sensitive bud, sucking it into a crazy fire of lust, sucking up also the sweetly fragrant juice his tongue had gathered. Donnas' clitoris, tender from the first fuck, sprang to rigid life under this loving assault, sending waves of sensation throughout her heaving belly.
It was a part of their luck that they both enjoyed sex so much, that their desire and understanding had broadened this life of theirs through the delights of swapping, now in the past.
"We'll have to be enough for each other when we get to the big town," Brad had said to her as they drove down to Santa Vaca, his right hand lying between her thighs, his middle finger gently pushing between the fat lips of her pussy. "No swapping until we're absolutely certain that it's safe!"
Donna had pushed his hand deeper, shivering as his finger raked along delicate membranes. "I know, darling," she said. "And it's completely all right with me! You've always been enough for me. The swinging was fun; it was thrilling and hot, but I never did need other people to stir me up or cool me down and I don't think you did, either!"
Brad laughed in relief. "Maybe we'll stay pure forever," he teased. "In big companies, management keeps an eye on everything you do. That is, if you're an executive-even a junior executive!"
He laughed again to make it evident that he was only kidding, that he didn't take himself or his new job all that seriously. But Donna knew better.
Under that lightness, there was a fierce ambition to succeed, a burning desire to make a big mark in the world. A real up-and-coming young man, her Brad. And Donna loved him for it.
Swapping had been crazy fun, bringing an aphrodisiac intensity to the second year of their marriage, just when a lot of young couples were normally slowing down.
"Put a bean in a jar every time you fuck in the first year," her older sister had teased her, "and then, take one out every time you do it after that. It'll probably take five years to empty the jar!" But it hadn't been that way with them. Somehow, once they had started swapping, getting into it more or less by chance as two of their best friends eased them into the swinging scene, they seemed to want each other with an added desire. And the more they broadened the horizons of their sex lives, the more they extended their capacities for sex, for love, for understanding.
When they first discussed the move to Santa Vaca, they had talked about meeting new people, possibly wiser and wilder than their swapping friends in Citrus City. What fun they would have! Maybe then, Brad had kidded her, Donna might give him her third and last virginity-her tight little rosebud of an anus. She slapped at him, laughing in spite of herself.
"If anyone ever gets it, it'll have to be someone with a smaller prick than yours," she had shuddered, giving his big cock a loving stroke. "You'd tear me wide-open!"
It had been a recurring subject with Brad, ever since someone-one of the boys-had proposed it at one of their earlier swapping parties, with all the girls indignantly vetoing it. Quite naturally, too, Donna had felt, although she hadn't argued it out with Brad. True, it was a thrilling experience to have him push his finger up into her ass when they were fucking. It hurt just a little, but it was exciting. But take that gigantic thing up into her soft and tender bowels? Never! No way! Forget it!
At least, Donna thought with a secret giggle, when they got old and gray and Brad needed something really new to help him get it up, she'd still have that one particular cherry to give him.
So, they agreed that there wouldn't be any swapping. Maybe for a while, maybe for a long time. If Brad wanted it that way, that was fine with Donna. She wasn't about to want anything that might ever mess up Brad's career. "And if you ever feel you simply have to have some new pussy," she had joked, "I can always buy a blonde wig!"
And all that had happened since then made her all the more determined to follow Brad's program-to do all those things that would hasten his progress, to refrain from anything that might keep him from reaching the heights.
Donna was so tiny, so perfect, that she was almost like a miniature woman, Brad often said. Barely five feet tall, she lacked any of the figure defects which often make small women sexy without being beautiful. Her breasts, for example, were not large, but they were in perfect proportion to the rest of her lovely body. She exactly filled a thirty-two B-cup bra and each of those delightfully resilient mounds was proudly up-tilted, with unusually large nipples surrounded by circular patch of brown, puckered, highly sensitive flesh.
In spite of the old saying: Big woman, big pussy; little woman, all pussy. Donnas' cunt was tiny, needing all her hot slickness to ease Brad's-or anyone else's-entry into its hot confines.
His tongue, so wise in the ways of love, stabbed into this tiny spasming orifice, its caresses sending pin wheeling spirals of lust tingling through her belly.
"Ohhhh! Oooooh! Brad, baby! I'm-" her voice trailed off into animal sounds as she came again, forcing a new flow of her come-juice from her, to course down into the crack of her ass, along her thighs and over Brad's cheeks and chin.
With a chuckle of satisfaction, Brad pushed himself up, one big hand covering Donnas' entire cuntal area as he leaned above her, his smile teasing, his eyes full of love. Carefully, avoiding a direct touch of her oversensitive clitoris, he massaged her fat, cushiony mons, enjoying the dry springiness of her pubic hair, untouched by the welling of her come-fluids, which had pumped down in her two previous orgasms.
Donna reached up and pulled his head down to her face, rolling her head slightly as her lips closed over his, her hot tongue, just recovering its hardness, challenging his. She loved the richness of the taste and smell that came from her cunt. Now, remembering the drying slickness of his prick, she rose on one elbow and nuzzled down, finding that his penis, as hard as when he had fucked her, maintained its rigidity by his joy in eating her pussy.
With a happy little gurgle of pleasure, she mouthed the big roll of meat, running her tongue along its underside, picking up the drop or two of pre coital fluid oozing from the slit of his glands. His big come, still charging his balls, was somewhere down inside him. She would soon have it.
She put her small hand on his chest, coaxing him down on his back, anxious now that he should have his share of pleasure with the least possible exertion. After all, he must soon go to his office and while a morning fuck was the wine of life to both of them, there was no sense in wasting his energy. Furthermore, Brad loved to pop his nuts in her mouth, jamming the spurting head deep into her throat while her tongue-play and suction milked him with such excruciating delight.
She leaned a part of her weight across his belly, braced on one elbow, her breasts teasingly in contact with his firm, smooth skin.
Absorbed with the strong, hard column sheathed in the softest skin on his body, her mouth drooling for the feel and taste of this moving monster, she could picture the sweet expectancy on his face as he lay relaxed, waiting for this treat. Once more, she was partly on her side, her lovely ass alongside his rib cage, so that, by merely directing his eyes a bit to the right, he could see her pussy protruding out between her buttocks. Now, though, he would not need to open its hairy lips to insert his fingers.
Super-hot from what had just happened, the lovely little cunt was open and inviting, its pink lips gleaming, her flow of love syrup tracing a wet path down the soft roundness of her left ass cheek.
For just one brief moment they were quite still, until Brad, his will power exhausted, put a strong hand on the back of her dark head and pushed. Simultaneously came his whisper, "Suck me, baby! Suck me hard!"
Her mouth had been open as she licked her lips in anticipation and they closed lovingly as Brad's push sent her mouth right down onto the slick head, so distended with blood-heat that it filled her mouth completely.
With a moan of lust, she thrust hard, forcing the big cock deep into her throat, past her soft palate, past her tonsils, so that his pubic hairs, matted with her orgasm, tickled her nose. She swallowed convulsively, her strong throat muscles giving a hard massage to the sensitive glands.
It wasn't a learned trick with Donna, but some true gift which she had put into play unconsciously the first time they'd tried it.
They were both nobodies in high school. Brad, because he was needed after school to work in his father's newspaper office, had never earned a letter in athletics nor been a star in any other extracurricular activities; Donna, because she was still a freshman, a skinny kid with no boobs, pipe-stem legs and nothing to recommend her except her big dark eyes, startlingly large in her thin face. But she had, somehow, recognized the drive and the courage in the big senior and showed, by tagging after him and offering her help in his chores, that she adored him.
It had begun almost as a joke. Riding with him as he tossed out bundles of papers for the carriers, she had made some solemn observation about sex. Something like, "I don't care what they say-I think that if a boy and girl are mature enough to know what they want, they have a right to do what they want."
Brad, with a few minutes of time on his hands, had driven onto a dirt road between orange groves and had said, not unkindly, "What have you got to offer in the way of maturity?"
To his everlasting surprise, she had kissed him then, ramming her girlish tongue deep into his mouth, and perhaps through blind luck, grabbing his zipper with her tiny hands and exposing a prick suddenly grown hard.
Brad, whose experience in sex matters was hardly more than her own, was shocked out of his skin as she threw herself down on it, looked up at him only enough to grin impishly and lick her lips and taken the entire length of it into her throat. He had heard of such things, but never had experienced "getting his dickie licked," as the more astute boys in school described it.
His first emotion was one of remorse and revulsion, but the rich feeling of a girl's wet mouth on his boyishly throbbing cock had dispelled such thoughts immediately and for the first time in his seventeen years, he shot his load into the throat of a skinny, undeveloped fourteen-year-old girl.
Oh, that wasn't all of it, by any means. That very night, still in the little pickup truck, he had fucked her, gently of course, as he learned that she was a virgin. Then, after he had torn her maidenhead, he had rammed into her savagely in a flood of his semen and her virgin blood and come-juice. And their love grew as they tried new ways to please and surprise each other.
But never did he forget the native talent she had in her throat and lips and tongue and which she had displayed on that very first occasion-on that still, hot summer day with dust motes dancing in the slanting sun rays coming between the orange trees, the heavy scent of the orange blossoms mixing with the hot perfume of lust coming up from their hot juvenile loins.
In their new bed, gratefully feeling Brad's fingers slip into her writhing twat, Donna sucked him now with loving care, knowing from long experience just how near he was to coming.
Her happiness was complete. Almost.
In fact, they both had much to be thankful for, quite aside from their love, which was being so stormily expressed in the big bed. And most of it was directly connected to the new job and to the man Brad looked on as their benefactor, Bill Derwin.
First, of course, there was the fat salary. Used to the starvation wages customary in small-town newspapers, its size awed them both. And Derwin, unusually open for a rich boss, had told Brad that this was only a start.
"You've got what I want, Brad," he had said. "Ninety per cent of your public relations work is with newspapers; that's how it is in real estate. And you write well; you know newspapermen and can talk their language. You also know the real estate business. I'm not overpaying you. And Donna fits right in with a lot of plans I have for all of us. You're both right for membership in the Bonturat family!"
Every time he thought of those words, Brad shivered with the lust of a fine hunting dog on the trail of game. There were three major divisions in Bonturat: real estate, industrial and financial. Each had its public relations manager. And above all three of these managers, in a huge, luxurious office, there was Max McGillah, the director of public relations. It was his job that Brad dreamed about-when he had spare time in which to dream, which wasn't often.
Thirty-five thou a year! And nothing much to do, as long as he had self-sufficient, hard-working guys like Brad in real estate, the knowledgeable Tom Sorden in industry and Larry Menas, the pale, quiet genius with figures who handled PR for Derwin's complex financial division.
Brad thought of himself in that office. Director! What a title! And all that went with it: three-hour martini lunches with publishers and television station owners; not having to check in every hour when you were out, like some damned clock-punching shipping clerk, and most exciting of all, an executive secretary, one that you screened for yourself, seeing that she passed your every requirement for the job-including fucking! Or at least that was the joking whisper around the office. Brad believed it.
It was Maida Vail, the gorgeous tawny-blonde kid who did Brad's typing, took his infrequent dictation and answered the telephone in his office, who had started Brad to wising up. She was only nineteen and as lush as an earth goddess-big, firm boobs that never knew the confinement of a bra; a shapely, generous ass that jiggled temptingly under her short, tight sheath dresses; gorgeous legs; a wide, smiling, sensuous mouth; merry green eyes that seemed to look right through your slacks to your cock. But she was not, she told Brad firmly, his to feel, to fool with.
"I'm your personal secretary," she had said, "not an executive secretary!"
"What's the difference?" he had blurted and Maida had laughed, patting him on the cheek.
"Well," she whispered, "they tell me that one difference is the money. A personal secretary makes five-fifty a month; an executive secretary gets eight hundred and up. And the other difference... " she rolled her eyes mysteriously "... an executive secretary belongs to the executive!"
Brad had laughed. She had to be kidding. Still, there was that voluptuous, slinky brunette that worked for McGillah. He had heard her kidding with Maida at the water cooler a day or so later.
"You look pooped," Maida had said. "Working late in the office again?"
And the brunette-her name was Alice something-had winked and said; "Yes and the older Max gets, the harder it gets. The work, I mean, not Maxie!"
Maida had a funny way of pronouncing the firm name, too. Part of the time, that is. "Bon-twat" she called it, instead of "Bonturat".
When he had asked her about her and Alice and their joking, she had replied, "When you become a part of Bon-Twat and the Bon-twat family, every part of you becomes a part of Bon-twat!"
He was frankly puzzled. "Why do you call it Bon-twat?" he had asked. "Sounds like you're kidding the firm."
She had come close to him then, putting a hand on his arm, looking at him closely. "Don't mind me, Brad," she had said. "It's just a little joke of my own. You're so sweet and serious, but maybe you'll get to be a big man here. And maybe, if you have any late work, I could stay late and practice being an executive secretary!"
There was a lot to look forward to, in Bonturat. Like one of those Bonturat family parties. He was becoming more and more anxious to be invited to one.
But Donna, so enthusiastic about it when he first mentioned such a party, now didn't seem to like the idea at all.
"Not unless it's a big office party," she had said, surprising him completely. "Not if it's just you and me and Bill Derwin and another girl or two."
What in the hell had gotten into Donna?
One thing that had gotten into Donna, just a few moments ago, was Brad's cock, so filled with desire and sensation that his come-trigger, deep in his body, was about to trip.
It was alternately between her tongue, cheeks and lips and plunged deep into her swallowing throat as she gave him her fullest love treatment. Its nerves, close to their ultimate in sensation all the time he had fucked her from behind and sucked her sweet pussy, were taut with expectancy.
The two fingers he had forced into her streaming cunt-and they were stretching it painfully but pleasurably, he knew-were being savagely clamped as her strong young vaginal muscles gripped them. His entire forearm was bathed in the beautiful come-juice which now seemed to pump out with her heartbeats, almost like his own jets of jism which were slowly, surely gathering in his strained seminal reservoirs.
The head of his cock struck once more against her palate, against the back wall of her throat, in a burst of lust which blinded him to everything except the frantic sensations in his prick and his seed, pouring up in spasmodic jets from his balls, filled her mouth with its rich slickness, sucked into her belly by her love, by its fulfillment, by her awareness of her needs as well as his. And her tight and grasping little pussy, relieved and sated, slowly relaxed around his fingers, giving them a final, sweet, fluttering kiss.
It was time for Donna to make Brad's breakfast. He might have a hard day.
The shiny new Buick, the plush Electra model, furnished by Bonturat, naturally, stood in the driveway as Brad hurriedly wolfed down a small sirloin, two eggs and a couple of rolls.
"I've got to keep my big man in shape," Donna had said, smiling up from his hug, giving a last loving feel to his prick, which was still large enough to make a respectable bulge in his soft gray slacks.
She held her light robe together as she waved to him, proud of his good looks, his assurance. She knew how proud he was of that Buick, even if it was a company car. Their five-year-old Chevy wagon, shining with her own loving care, was in the big triple garage.
When he got McGillah's job-or rather, when McGillah quit or was promoted (she didn't like to think of Brad "getting" the older man's job)-that Buick would be gone and a Cadillac would stand in its place.
The weight of her hands across her breasts, still sensitized from her wild morning of sex, awakened a minor wavelet of heat in her loins. She closed the big front door, no longer holding the robe closed, smiling down at her firm and lovely breasts.
This was happiness, she told herself. More than even her ambitious young husband had ever dreamed. He would be a big executive, a real executive someday. She didn't really want the bigger salary-they had more than they needed. She didn't want a bigger house-this one was plenty. She did, however, want the Cadillac, because that was what Brad wanted. And she would get it for him-even if she had to fuck Bill Derwin, which she felt she would have to do. The thought, plainly stated in her own mind for the first time, terrified her. It was the only flaw in her overpowering sense of well-being.
She shuddered, but the sense of itching heat in her cunt built higher.
CHAPTER TWO
Of all the luxuries of his big, bright private office, the one Brad appreciated most was his secretary. Strictly business, she was. Except when the door was closed.
Then, for all her calm efficiency, she was strictly human. She was proud of her strong, beautiful, softly padded body. And it hadn't made her angry when Brad, at their very first meeting, had eyes her tits openly, licked his lips in mock lasciviousness and said, "That's what I call a movable feast!"
She wasn't dumb enough to permit any real playing around and Brad wasn't dumb enough to try to force it. The job meant too much. But he was always aware of her presence and it gave him food for thought.
Warm, pleasant thought-of Maida, warm and naked on a bed, her big, lovely thighs spread wide, her blonde cunt hair-he assumed she was a natural blonde-tufting above her warm pink slit, where natural heat distilled moisture to keep those inner lips slick and tasty.
He could visualize the tiny droplets of girlish perspiration gathered in the smooth valley between her firm breasts and almost invisible hairs, short and soft and fine, on her cushiony belly and on the underside of her boobs.
Their nipples and the big circles of puckered flesh surrounding them would be a tawny pink, quick to respond at the touch of his hand, of his lips, of his tongue.
His roving mind checked Maida's body a dozen times a day, but, except for an occasional good-natured pinch or pat, he let it go at that. And there were three very good reasons.
First, there was his job-an opportunity far beyond anything he had ever dreamed. He would not jeopardize it for any woman, no matter how beautiful. Bonturat was staffed, as far as female employees ware concerned, with nothing but good-looking girls. All of them put together wouldn't have been enough to distract Brad Street from his driving ambition to be the best public relations man who ever handled the real estate division of this big company.
The second reason was negative-a deep and abiding fear of being a fool. His ego, delicately balanced between confidence and insecurity, made him doubly sensitive to being laughed at, or even to being put in a position to be laughed at.
And the third reason was his wife. With a girl like Donna, as sexually desirable as any woman in the Bonturat organization, eager for his prick at any time, he never knew the terrible, driving need for sex that sometimes drove a man to desperation, to the folly that brought ridicule and to the even worse folly of being downgraded in the eyes of Bill Derwin. Therefore, his desire for Maida was easily controlled. It was just a pleasant way to divert his active mind. and if he occasionally got so far as to think of how that tight, slick hole between her cuntlips would feel to the sensitive head of his prick, a thought that always brought a warm expansion of his cock, it seemed there was always some distraction, some part of his job, to bring him back to earth.
On this particular occasion, it was his telephone. And Brad listened with alert interest as he realized that Maida was talking to Alison Carr, Bill Derwin's secretary.
"Oh, hi, Alison," she said. "Sure, he's here. Want to talk to him? Okay, I'll tell him; he'll be right up!"
She turned to Brad, her eyes shining. "The big boss wants to see you," she announced. Her pleasure was obvious. A strong feeling of the loyalty and warmth that comes from a common interest had given her a sound understanding of Brad and his needs. She knew how much he admired Derwin, how dedicated he was to success, how he usually came back from these meetings fired up with new ideas, new enthusiasm.
She stood close to him, straightening his tie. "You look great, Brad," she said and laughed as he gave her a pat on her firm and rounded hip.
"Don't go grabbing Alison like you do me," she warned. "That's Mister Derwin's very special private stuff."
Brad laughed happily, his spirits rising as they always did at the prospect of being close to Bill, who represented all that he most admired and most wanted to be.
"Maybe I'll wind up with her at one of Bill's family parties," he said. "If I ever get invited to one."
"Don't worry; you'll get invited," Maida assured him. "He doesn't have them often, but it's usually when he gets a new executive to break in-and wants to know him better!"
She watched as his broad young back disappeared through the door. Or wants to know his wife better, she giggled to herself.
Alison Carr was worth grabbing all right. Brad had decided that the first time he met her. She was beautiful, but what she had was more than mere beauty. In her early thirties, she had the poise and certainty that very few women of any age every possess. Tall, blonde, with the perfect figure of a Las Vegas showgirl, she was known as the smartest businesswoman in Santa Vaca.
"I don't know whether Bill fucks her or not," Tom Sorden had answered one of Brad's good-humored questions during one of their lunch engagements. "Maybe he does... Maybe he doesn't. But one thing for sure-she doesn't have to fuck to hold her job. She knows big business and finance and politics like nobody else in the firm except Bill. She could be a top executive with any firm in Santa Vaca."
So Brad had dropped the subject. But he never failed to respond to the strong aura of controlled sexuality that always seemed to surround this alive, alert, beautiful woman. She might be out of his reach, but not out of his thoughts.
Wouldn't it be something to have her for a personal private secretary? To be able to say, with smiling assurance, "Come over here, Miss Carr. Something had come up that I want you to take down for me!" And to have her walk over to your desk, smiling and complacent, closing and locking the door on her way, her eyes bright with interest and lust.
Alison greeted him warmly, as she always did. "Sit down, Brad," she said. "Mister Derwin's finishing a couple of belts of dictation. Can I get you something? Coffee, maybe? Not that you ever need anything to keep you awake-you look like a man on his toes!"
Brad laughed comfortably. The evident warmth and friendship coming from this smooth, smart woman was something he always appreciated. From the first day with the company, she had made him feel at home here. His eyes took in the gorgeous swell of her breasts, their tops revealed by her plunging neckline, her smoothly tanned legs casually thrust out from her chair.
"Thanks, Alison," he replied. "I just had coffee downstairs. And you're right- I don't need anything to soup me up. I guess it's working here at Bonturat. The people, the atmosphere. And the challenge, of course." He paused. He didn't want to sound like an over eager apple-polisher. Still, she was close to Derwin and it never hurt to do a little public relations work for yourself.
So, deliberately looking boyishly serious, he said in his most sincere voice, "It makes me feel as though all I want is to do the very best I can with my job!"
"Are you sure that's all you think about?" Alison asked teasingly. "The other day in the map library, when Maida was up on the ladder and you were pretending to hold it steady, you looked like you had more on your mind than business!"
For all of Alison's position and her closeness to Bill, Brad recognized this as friendly kidding and the personal intimacy of it made him feel more free and easy than ever. He laughed. If she wanted to clown around along these lines, it was all right with him.
"Well, I felt I ought to check and see if she was a real blonde," he said, grinning. "A secretary ought not to have any secrets from her boss."
Alison gave him an amused and measuring look and for just a moment, Brad wondered if he had gone too far. He remained smiling and quiet. After all, she had started it.
"Seems to me there's a better way of finding out," she said, her smile now mischievous. "Maybe a way that would be more fun for Maida!"
Brad tensed just a bit. This was getting down to the nitty-gritty. It was, obviously, a challenge to him to talk more freely about sex. But why? Did Bill want to know if he, Brad, had been fooling around with Maida? Not that anyone had told him to watch his step. But, in spite of Maida's crack about the duties of an executive secretary, Brad had an idea that an office romance might mark him as a man not sufficiently dedicated to his work. And this would be a good way for Bill to find out-having Alison get him to talking too much. Thank God that he had nothing to hide!
"Thank God," he said, smiling, "I have nothing to hide. Not that I wouldn't like to," he went on. "Maida's a terrific girl and she is a real blonde, even if I didn't find out in a fun way!"
He had the odd feeling that Alison had somehow read his mind, that she was aware, exactly aware, of the reasons for his momentary hesitation and her answer staggered him.
"You'll be more certain of your executive privileges as you go along, Brad," she said. "And maybe you'll get a chance to double-check on Maida's blondeness this weekend. Bill's giving a party and you and Donna are guests of honor."
She had lounged deeper into her chair, smiling as the happy surprise spread over Brad's face and now he got another shock. With her eyes fixed on his, Alison spread her knees far apart, so that her crotch, in this strong light and shaded only by the light fabric of her dress, was plainly visible. There was no question about it. She was, incredibly, showing him her twat and she laughed gently as his face reddened.
"So now you know about me, too, Brad," she said. "Just you and me and my hairdresser and a few select friends. And I'll be at the party, too!"
Confused as he was, Brad felt a surge of pure pleasure. And with it, a return of confidence. She wasn't trying to trap him into anything. And there was going to be one of those famous "family parties" he'd heard about in office gossip. But still he wanted more assurance.
"You're on the level about the party?" he asked, trying to keep his voice at an easy, natural pitch. "Or are you just trying to lead a poor country boy on?"
"Hah!" Alison replied. "You're no country boy. Not with that mind of yours and that drive! No, Brad, Bill has always liked you and liked the way you work. And now, you're really going to be one of the family!"
"Alison," he replied and this time there was no deliberate, faked sincerity in his manner, "you couldn't have said anything that would make me feel better. Of course we'll come to the party, but I'm really curious now. What goes on at these bashes?"
She eyed him with calm amusement. "What does the office grapevine say?" she countered.
Brad was fussed again, but he kept his face smooth. "I don't believe all I hear, you know. It doesn't sound possible!"
"What is there about them that doesn't seem possible?" she pressed him. "Tell me, I'll give you a straight answer."
"Why, all this business about sex indoors, outdoors, upstairs, downstairs." Brad gave his best man-of-the-world laugh. He was really trapped and he knew it. He had hinted at knowledge; he had been challenged and now he had to lay it on the line. If he didn't speak up, he'd look like a small-town jerk. He thought he saw a way out.
"Not that I believe it," he said. "I couldn't imagine Bill at a swap party!"
To his chagrin, Alison laughed with delight. At first he was angry with himself for seeming stupid, then with Alison for leading him into it. But he waited, saying nothing. And then she surprised him by getting up, crossing over to him and leaning her firm, warm hip against his shoulder and taking his hand. He grinned up at her ruefully.
"I seem to have said something stupid," he said.
"Not at all, Brad," the tall woman replied. "It's part of your charm that you're simple, non-devious and honest." She turned so that her crotch was inches away from his face and he was conscious of the warm perfume of her sex. "You're quite right about Bill. He'd no more take part in an ordinary swap party than he would open his fly and expose himself on a street corner at high noon."
She moved away, back to her chair and Brad was conscious that even this brief contact had started a stirring in the big roll of meat lying against his thigh.
"Men like Bill-if there are any like him-don't have to swap." Her voice was careful. "Bill could have almost anyone he wanted and not just on the basis of money, either. He's quite a man!" She smiled reminiscently.
"You don't have to tell me that!" Brad agreed.
Alison thought for a moment. "Bill has these parties only when there's a reason. You and your wife happen to be the reason."
Brad knew it was stupid, but he had to ask the question. "My wife? What's Donna got to do with it?"
"A great deal, Brad," Alison answered quietly. "When Bill hires a man for a key job-and yours is a key job, because it can lead to something much more important-he's making a long-term investment. And he doesn't make investments blindly. He researches. Don't be angry," she said hastily as Brad jumped. "And don't be surprised. I know this is your first experience with a really big organization."
"I'm not angry and I'm not surprised," Brad declared. "It's just that... that... " and he flushed slightly "... I don't see why he picked me if he... well... " and his voice trailed off.
"You mean about you and Donna having a little sexual fun outside the family?" Alison asked lightly. "That's one of the reasons he hired you. Bill thinks that a man without sex drive can't compete in today's world. That's one of the reasons for these parties. He feels that handling sex is like handling liquor. You can either do it or you can't. And Brad, you know something?" She laughed quietly. "I think maybe, because I like you so much personally, that I've been talking too much... that I'm telling things that maybe Bill ought to tell you!"
He got up and went straight to her, pulling her to her feet and looking straight into her eyes. "I'll never forget this, Alison," he said and once more he was completely, honestly sincere. He gave her a quick hug and kissed her on the cheek. "I'm only sorry it's not a swap party," he said. "That might be my one and only chance at someone as lovely as you."
She looked at him searchingly. "You're really sweet, Brad," she whispered. "And remember this-I only said that this wasn't a swap party in the usual meaning of the word. There's plenty of sex and nobody ever goes away feeling cheated. But wait a bit. You asked how your wife figured into it and we got off, the subject, right?"
At Brad's nod, she went on. "Bill believes that a man has to be right for the company and that his wife is an important factor in his success. At a party like this, he finds out a lot about everyone. And now," she said, looking troubled, "I'm sure I've talked too much." She gave him a real kiss this time, her arms around his neck and pressing his face to hers, opening her mouth and pushing a long, hot tongue between his lips, her body joined with his as closely as possible.
She pushed him away, her face slightly flushed and sat down.
"One more thing I'll tell you, Brad Street," she said, her voice low. "If Donna is so fortunate as to be chosen by Bill, I'll guarantee that she won't feel cheated. And I'll also guarantee, personally, that you won't feel cheated, either." Her smile was never warmer. "Maida's not the only girl in the firm who has the hots for you!"
Brad Street never went into a conference with Bill Derwin without a sense of excitement and anticipation. And he never left such a meeting without a sense of fulfillment, of having been recharged mentally and physically. There was a sense of calmness and power surrounding Derwin which affected everyone and Brad, more perceptive than most men his age, felt this power almost as a physical force.
Even his incipient hard-on, brought to life by the intensely provocative embrace with Alison-her firm tits pressing on his chest, her faintly moving crotch excitingly rubbing against his-receded as he sat opposite his boss.
"It's nothing really important that made me cut into your workday, Brad," Bill said, smiling. "More social than anything else, since it's only to tell you about a party we're having this weekend and to say I hope you and Donna can come."
Striving to keep the eagerness out of his voice, Brad simply said, "That's the most important thing I've heard today!"
Bill looked at him searchingly. "People being what they are-just human beings with the human urge to communicate-I imagine you've heard something about these parties."
Without hesitation, Brad said, "Yes, of course."
"Straightforward and terse. Both good qualities," Derwin said, laughing. "And I expect that Alison confirmed it."
For a split second, Brad's newfound sense of oneness with Alison and her rueful admission that she had talked too much, urged him to deny it. But Bill's mention of straightforwardness had its effect. However, his quick mind found a way to avoid either a lie or a direct admission of Alison's error.
"To some extent," he said simply. "Not in detail."
"Alison is a very reliable person," Bill remarked drily. "We'll let the party speak for itself, as far as the details are concerned. In any case, there's a good deal of freedom at my parties, so everyone works out details as we go along."
There wasn't a great deal more to the meeting. The time, the place- Derwin's home built on the bluffs overlooking the ocean-and other trivia. And a little something about Donna.
"Sure thing, Bill," Brad had answered that particular question. "She'll be looking forward to it as much as I will!"
"Good," Derwin replied. "I intend to see to it personally that she has a good time."
In the light of what Alison had said, there was no misunderstanding his meaning. And Brad meant it from the bottom of his heart when he answered, "She'll love it and I think you will, too."
Brad walked slowly back to his office. He had a lot to think about: a casual mention by Alison, just before he had gone into Bill's office, that Derwin had been married, many years ago and has a daughter. How old was she? Brad wondered. And where was she now? He shrugged his shoulders. The questions were, he felt, of no importance.
Another thing that seemed odd: there had been the sound of a telephone ringing and Alison's voice answering, coming from the intercom speaker on Bill's desk. Bill, unperturbed, had flicked a switch and cut it off. Had the intercom been open during his talk with Alison? and if so, had Alison known of it? Had her disingenuous statement that she had talked too much been pure fakery, a performance put on for his benefit? Or had Bill, with his prerogative of monitoring such a conversation, been keeping tabs on Alison as well as himself?
Brad's mind, not so non-devious as Alison had suggested, inclined to believe that both the boss and his secretary had been in on it. The idea tickled him. Pretty smart, he decided.
And there were two other little items, both pleasing.
Bill not only knew all about their swapping past, he also knew that they had rigorously avoided such practices since their move to Santa Vaca and the new job. "That's very smart, Brad," Bill had said. "We expect our people to avoid chances of scandal, or even gossip." Bill had been very genial about it. "Our parties help make up for whatever you and Donna miss," he had said. "This way, we keep it in the family."
And the other item was plain, man-to-man fun-talk.
"I think you'll like the girls I've invited," Bill had said, putting a slight emphasis on the second-person pronoun. "Of course, we don't coerce anyone. The girls have a sense of free choice. But they all understand why they're there. So have all the fun you can!"
Pretty good, Brad thought. It was very plain that he could expect to fuck any girl he found at the party.
He shivered with anticipation. Maida and Alison, he knew about. The others would be a pleasant surprise.
CHAPTER THREE
Maida's body, once it was completely nude, was unbelievably magnificent. Her breasts, for all their size, were firm and springy to his hands, their nipples immediately responsive to even the slightest attention. A narrow strip of clear, translucent white, delicately filigree with the pale blue of veins, contrasted with the healthy apricot-tan above and below them and showed that a bikini bra must have revealed more than it covered.
Brad could feel these smooth mounds touching his belly as they swung with the playful movements of Maida's blonde head. Their smoothness had been sweet to his sucking lips and the slightly salty taste of her sweat added a fiercely tender surge to his desire. And that was even before she was completely undressed, before he had gotten his fingers into the generously lubricated, incredibly smooth lips of her cunt and certainly before she had moved her lovely body so that her hot-leaking pussy was directly over his face, his craving mouth.
There was a profusion of silky hairs almost tickling his nose and lips and chin-a dry, springy mat on her pubis, defining the vee where her lovely thighs joined her sculptured torso. Down the thick cuntlips, which now were peeling open from natural desire, the hairs also grew thickly, but they were slightly darker, somewhat matted together, undoubtedly from an accumulation of that indescribable nectar which oozes naturally from a warm, healthy vagina. Brad imagined the pleasure it would be to gather these darker, stiffer hairs between his teeth and in gentle torture, to rake off the microscopic film of dried cunt-juice.
The gorgeous spread of her ass, always emphasized from this angle when a girl is on hands and knees, was smooth and taut, warm and resilient. He placed the palms of his hands on their round fullness, his thumbs on the inside of her thighs. Her tightly puckered asshole, pink as a rosebud, was surrounded by a little clump of shorter blonde hairs, which entranced him. It was, to him, violently sexy that a young girl should have so much hair up the cleft of her ass.
Without the stretch of his thumbs, the hole at the bottom of her slit showed dark and faintly pulsating and clear drops of good-time goo oozed slowly out, their viscosity causing them to drift down the inside of her thighs.
In a moment, he would use his hands to force this pink slash of flesh-folds, this sweetly flowing cavern of love down to his mouth, to suck long and hard, his lips glued around the vaginal portal, so that she would feel the puckering vacuum all the way to the end of her sheath and so that he could flood his mouth with the rich slickness that filled it.
The wonderful girl-scent from her slobbering and palpitating crotch was almost overpowering, a smorgasbord perfume that smacked of ripely delicate cheese, a whiff of dried cod, woman-sweat and the maddening, acrid, earthy tang of piss faintly present. A perfect pussy for eating.
He moved his hands to the warm, delicately grained hollows under her arms, wishing that women had never learned to shave themselves there. When he had first begun to fuck Donna, the hair was just beginning to sprout on her pussy and under her arms: the outward proof of her womanhood. It was as exciting as his first exploration of her young body.
Now there was another reminder of Donna-what Maida was doing in such superlative skill to his cock. She was going wild on it, her head swinging back and forth as she mouthed it, the cock lashing its head against the roof of her mouth, her cheeks. And when she went all the way down, taking the entire shaft deep into her throat, her throat muscles had the same spasmodic clutch that gave such pleasure to the taut, spongy glands.
He was so hard, so ready to come.
The rattlesnake whir of his telephone jerked him painfully from his fantasy and he smiled sheepishly at Maida, who looked at him curiously as she hung up the instrument.
"You looked like you were having... " she giggled "... a very pleasant dream." She was sitting firmly on the buttocks he had just been stroking in his fantasy, pressing her body's weight down on the cuntlips which would be, he knew, demurely folded over the wet, warm inner labia of his waking dream. "And I'm not going to offer a penny for your thoughts, either," she finished. "Since you came back from upstairs, you've been looking at me like I didn't have a stitch on!"
Brad had to laugh, but shakily. His hard-on remained, long and hot against his thigh. If he stood up, he felt, it might snap off.
From nowhere, he remembered the thought he had had when he had first thought about Alison and her delightful body.
"Come over here, Miss Vail," he said. "Something has come up that I want you to take down for me."
Her smile was twisted conically. "Shall I bring my book?" she asked, "or will this be in Braille?"
They both began to laugh and Brad, made bold by the certainties in Bill's discussion of the weekend party, said, "Lock the door, baby and we'll take it down and get it up again and take it down again-three or four ways!"
"No way, Mister Street," she declared. "Not in the office. Maybe you'd better go home and ball your wife!"
Brad was not discouraged. "Why not?" he inquired. "You're coming to the party at Bill's, aren't you? And I'll have prior rights there, for sure. How about a little rehearsal?"
"I'll probably be there, Brad," Maida admitted. "And I'll have some prior rights, too." She grinned. "But it'll be my choice, you know. Didn't Bill say so?"
Brad shrugged. His hard-on had dwindled, but the excited nerves in his cock, still held tightly by the pressure of his slacks, continued to deliver messages of pleasure.
"You'd better choose right, or be ready to wrestle," he said in mock threat.
"And if I choose you, friend, you'd better save this load that's on your mind," she challenged. "You'll need all you've got if I play party games with you!"
Brad laughed and let out a shuddering sigh. Bill hadn't been kidding. He'd have a crack at Maida Saturday night. But he had to have the last word.
"Big talk," he said. "You're probably one of those cool-assed chicks who eat an apple and read a book while you're letting a guy get his nuts off, solo!"
Maida flushed and a look of little-girl determination gathered on her face. She got up and calmly walked across the carpet to stand beside him. Brad sat still, wondering, hoping.
"Just so you'll know," she said in a low voice, "feel me!"
As his hand crept up between her thighs, as smooth as his waking dream had envisioned them, his hand waited, tense, an inch below her pussy. He looked at her and her smile was inviting. She moved one foot to spread herself wider, more open to his hand. He could swear that he felt warmth and humidity on the skin of his fingers. He was conscious of one or two fine hairs that straggled down her thigh from the hot nest above.
Slowly but surely, holding his breath, he pushed his probing fingers up and found them gloriously warmed and soaked by the softly drooling lips that parted under his touch. She was like a thermal pudding, her cunt gently closing on his two fingers while a perfect flow of heated juice rolled down his hand.
He held her tightly and his right hand went down to his zipper, opening it swiftly, fumbling for the rigid cock that strained against his slacks.
But Maida wrenched free, laughing and twirled away to stand in safety by the door.
"I told you, not in the office," she said, but her smile was tender.
Brad rose from behind the desk, his bare cock thrusting forward like a rifle at the ready. His face was tense. "You goddamned little cock-teaser!" he growled.
Maid still smiled, but she turned the knob and opened the door just a crack. "Hold it, Brad," she ordered. "My dad used to say that rape was very difficult, because a girl can run faster with her skirts up than a man can with his pants down. And I'm not a teaser. Remember, you challenged me!"
Brad managed a grin and stowed his cock away. "Okay, okay," he grumbled. "But how can you stand it, as hot as you are?"
"I manage," Maida offered. "It's a little easier for a chick than for a guy. And I'm sorry you got so worked up. But you were that way before... before... " and she dropped her eyes.
"Before you hung that hot twat of yours over my fingers," Brad said. "How did you grow up that way? And how in hell did you keep from getting married?"
They were quiet now and the workday was closing. Maida told him how she "grew up that way," simply and touchingly, without guile, without holding back.
How she entered beauty contests and won, since she was fourteen. And how she was pushed by an ambitious mother and finally, her own competitive spirit.
"So I got chased plenty," she said reminiscently. "But I got taken advantage of, too many times. I got a little bit disenchanted with your sex, Brad. They know how badly a girl wants to win those damned contests. You know what I mean? It's a crazy thing, what a girl will do to win."
"But didn't you ever fall in love?" Brad demanded.
Maida snorted. "I was too busy trying to be Miss Carnation and Miss Sonrisa Beach and Miss Everything. And fucking some lousy, horny old bastard who said he'd fix it." She laughed, but without mirth. "Try to keep from getting your pretty, long, ruffled white dress ruined while some fat-assed Chamber of Commerce secretary fucks you standing up behind a Poinsettia Parade float! And rings in a friend who's standing by full of bourbon and garlic-Ugh!"
"Did you win that one?" Brad asked.
Maida had to laugh. "No, damn you!" she cried. "He fucked me in more ways than one. That's when I quit the stupid business and came to work at good old Bon-twat, where you fuck if you want to. Mostly," she added. "It depends."
"You mean it's not really a matter of free choice?" Brad had to know.
"I said it depends," Maida answered shortly. "The pay's damned good here and the fringe benefits can be big and when you get right down to it, Bon-twat's not the only place where a girl's pussy is her survival kit!"
Brad burned up the freeway getting home to Island Villas. Maida had let him kiss her before he left and not only opened her legs and let him feel her up again, but also took his cock out, jerked it a few times, then sent him away. So, he came home with a hard-on.
He muttered a curse when he heard voices in the kitchen. There was a strange new car at the curb, too. Probably the Avon lady, damn it! And he wanted to ball. He had his chance, too, but it backfired.
"Brad!" three voices shouted at once and a pair of tits bigger and softer than Donnas' pressed against him.
And, "Brad!" Donna repeated. "It's Kelly and Grant!"
Kelly and Grant Graham-two of their oldest friends, the couple who had initiated them into swinging, the luscious girl whom Brad had most enjoyed! And Grant, handsome, virile, laughing, the first man other than Brad who had ever pushed his hard cock into Donnas' yearning, squirming body! The two of them, plus Donna, with smiles of anticipation and lust. Grant, already showing a partial hard-on pushing at the soft fabric of his slacks and Kelly, hanging on Brad's neck, thrusting her warm crotch against his, gently humping against him, while her tits, like soft projectiles, bore into his chest.
It was the toughest executive decision that Brad had ever made. And he made it with brutal directness.
"Nice of you to stop by," he said, with a chilly smile and a sour note of rejection in his voice. He pulled away from Kelly's arms, none too gently and turned to Donna, his smile gone. "Let's fix our old friends a drink," he said, "and go sit in the living room."
"Brad!" Donna cried out again, but this time without love and excitement in her voice, only reproach. "What's the matter with you?" She was close to tears.
Grant and Kelly looked on, wondering. It was Kelly, the woman scorned, who reacted first, sensing that Brad's coldness was real. "Hold it, Graham," she said with a chill that matched Brad's, as Grant opened his mouth. She turned to Donna and pushed the smaller girl's outstretched hand aside. "I think we've made a mistake in the address. We thought that some old friends lived here!" She pulled a protesting husband after her, eying Brad with contempt. "What was that movie? 'Will Success Spoil Rock Hunter?' I don't know about Mister Hunter, but it sure made a chickenshit out of Brad Street! Come on, honey," she said to Grant and it was obvious that she was close to furious tears. "I don't want to puke on their expensive carpet!"
Brad stood alone, more alone, he felt, than ever in his life, as Donna ran after the retreating pair. He heard her say, "Please, please, Kelly! It's not the way you think! He's not that way, really-come on back in!"
But Brad could see Grant, stony-faced and angry, slam the new car into gear and burn rubber getting away. He poured himself a big belt of straight bourbon and was sipping it when Donna stormed in.
He set the drink down and tried to take her in her arms, knowing how their physical contacts always seemed to smooth down her ruffled feathers, but she gave him a hard push that caught him off-balance and sent him staggering awkwardly back into a chair.
"Brad, what's the matter with you!" she cried. "They came to see us-to show us their new car, to have some laughs! To have a lovely party! And you've ruined it all! Oh, damn you," and she began to sob, her face in her hands.
Brad let her cry, then began his explanation, slowly, patiently, telling her how Bill had known all about their swapping and that it hadn't mattered at all and how it had made him think all the more of them.
"Oh, how big of him!" Donna said in angry irony. "The fucking snoop! And of course, he complimented us on our recent purity! I knew it!" she shouted, as Brad's surprised look gave him away. "What does he do-bug our bedroom? Or do you file a daily report?"
She began to cry again.
Brad waited a moment and went on.
"I don't remember exactly how he said it, Donna," Brad answered her. "Maybe he just assumed it. There's no microphone anywhere-Bill's not that kind of guy. You're right. He did say that it was smart of us to cut it out. Come to think of it, that's all he said-or almost all."
He told her then of the coming party and how, as Bill had put it, such relationships made indiscriminate swinging unnecessary. It made Donna even angrier. But it was cold anger.
"How perfectly lovely and pure!" she exclaimed. "It's all right for you to swap me to your boss for a lousy raise, but not just for fun with old friends!"
He remained patient, logical. "People like Bill don't have to swap," he said, quoting Alison. "And whatever benefit that comes of it-if any-comes to you as well as to me. And you say I'm changed. What about you? You were always willing to fuck anybody in our circle in Citrus City. What's so different about doing it here, with Bill, or someone else?"
Donna got closer to him, putting her hand on his head.
"Brad, can't you see?" and her voice was tired. "It's because they were in our circle. Our own kind of people. And it was always just for fun and nothing else. Oh, Brad," she said with a catch in her voice, "this way, it's just like doing it for money. Making me into a whore!"
Brad shook off the element of truth in Donnas' accusation, but it shaped his answer. "That's a damned lie, Donna," he said, "and you know it. But even if there were some truth in it, I don't see where fun is a nobler motivation than an honest desire to get ahead. It's not as if you, or either of us, had never done any swapping around. Either way, for fun or for doing ourselves some good, we lose nothing."
Donna stroked his head and he didn't look up to see that her smile was sad. "You're all wrong, Brad," she answered quietly. "Can't you see it? We'll be like trained animals- Bill's animals. When he says, 'roll over and fuck,' I roll over and fuck. And when he says, 'Brad, you play some tricks with Alison, or Maida, or Whatshername,' you do as he says. We both do the little tricks he wants us to. And he rewards us with some little goodies like raises or promotions." She shook her head. "We aren't human beings any longer, when we go that route. We're sellouts!"
Sensing her tiredness, Brad gathered a little confidence. He'd made too many sales to people who had indignantly refused his first approach to be discouraged easily.
He put his arm around her hips, giving her firm little ass a playful squeeze. "I don't blame any man for wanting some of this," he said, smiling, "Bill included. You're the best there is!" His slight guilt as he remembered pulling Maida to him in a similar gesture only a couple of hours before, was offset by the memory of that deliciously wet pussy.
"Let's say there's just a mite of logic in what you say, baby," he replied soothingly, going back to her statement. "Suppose we do what Bill wants, but not-and I do mean not-to get a promotion. Only to go along with a guy who's been damned good to us, both of us. And suppose, not as a result of your fucking Bill, or anyone else, but because I'm pretty good at my job, that I do get a promotion."
As the seeming truth of this grabbed him, Brad's voice grew more persuasive. "Is it so hard to believe that my own talents and work might have more to do with it than you, with your talents, giving Bill a time to remember? Look at it this way, Donna: just about everything that every human does is for the same reason-self-interest."
He felt so strongly that he had made an unanswerable point that some of his tension was eased and he laughed. "And anyhow, Donna-baby," he said teasingly, "how do you know that this won't be fun, too!"
Lying far over on her own side of the big bed, totally unwilling to have Brad touch her, Donna let her mind dwell on that final question from Brad. Although she shut her eyes tightly and tried to shut her mind with equal firmness, she saw Bill Derwin, the way he had looked at her on that day a few weeks before when they knew this was to be their home.
She saw his hazel eyes with their yellow flecks and the way they had stroked over her breasts, her belly, her thighs. She saw his taut, compact, athletic body and knew that it would be as muscular, as youthful as Brad's or any of their friends'.
Remembering the electric shock of animal heat that had swept through her when she had so impulsively hugged Derwin on that occasion, she shuddered and not with revulsion.
She tried to remember if Brad had ever had such an effect on her. No, she decided, not even when they'd first fucked. Brad was strong, sweet, fiercely tender. He had thrilled her more than she had dreamed was possible. Just the thought of him made a glow of warmth in her belly, brought a mild squirming to the muscles inside her cunt. And stubbornly, still angry at his treatment of their friends, she resisted the impulse to turn herself to him, to hold his warm, fat cock in her hands, to push between his thighs and kiss the soft, hairy sac which held his balls.
"How do you know that this won't be fun, too?" Brad had asked, "this", of course, meaning her opening herself to Bill.
That was her hangup, her deep fear, the motive behind her automatic rejection of the idea, from the start.
Fun, indeed! Donna loved sex even before she ever felt Brad's prick in her mouth; before it had stretched her girlish, tender cunt, ravaging her maidenhead in a triumphant burst of pain and joy. She loved it more now than she had then.
Knowing that and recalling the wildness of heat that had flowed between her and Bill, she feared that the actuality of his body on hers, his cock turning and ramming and pounding inside her, might throw her completely and forever out of control. She had said that this business would make them Bill's trained animals. Actually, she was proud of the animal lust in her nature. What she feared-if fear was the right word-was that the animal might take her over entirely.
Resolutely, as she felt a flow of girl-juice pushing at the lips of her pussy and the beginning of an itch in her clitoris, Donna pushed the images of Bill Derwin out of her mind, pushed back the fear that contact with him might be entirely too much "fun", to use her husband's weak word for what she might feel and sought sleep.
On his side of the bed, having long since lost the hard-on he had brought home with him, Brad sleepily thought of the delights of freely exploring the warm, soft, perfumed bodies of Maida, Alison and other girls from the office. He felt in his heart that common sense and self-interest would bring Donna to see the light-and to cooperate.
There was only one thing that made him feel slightly less of a man than he would've liked.
At one point, during dinner, when he had continued to raise the subject of the party and Donna had continued to evade the issue, he had said, "Bill told me that no one does anything at the parties except by free choice. So go to the party and if you don't like what's happening, you can always cop out. Remember that-it's a matter of free choice!"
Donna had always had confidence in anything Brad told her. Until now.
By her look, she knew he was lying. Worse, it was plain that she knew that he knew he was lying.
Well, he thought, this is a case of the end justifying the means. Donna will understand that, once it's over.
CHAPTER FOUR
From old habit, Donnas' occasional turnings in bed had moved her back nearer the center of the bed. And naturally, from habit, she lay on her left side, her right leg raised and bent at the knee, so that her shortie nightgown, now above her waist, left her softly rounded ass completely bare.
And, as it always did, the sight of these smooth globes, divided by a dark, warm cleft, the main feature of which was two fat and pouting cuntlips which protruded in richly haired softness, drew Brad's roving hands.
They were both half-asleep, but Brad's lust was wholly awake as he gently placed the palm of his hand, fingers spread, across this humid valley and pressed his middle finger between the twin cushions which were closed demurely over Donnas' warm, wet inner labia.
He let the finger rest there quietly, gathering a film of the slickness which gathered in those pink folds. The strong and lovely girl-smell just reached his nostrils, causing his cock to expand gently, so that its red head slowly pushed out from the softly folded foreskin.
He drew his hand away and brought the finger up to his lips, holding it there while he breathed in his wife's fragrance. He ran his tongue out and licked the finger before greedily plunging it into his mouth. The taste was exquisite and he came awake with his hard-on almost at full rigidity and fullness.
There was nothing cut and dried about their lovemaking. And their search for variety had never sprung free a need to find new ways to incite a flagging interest. Without thinking too much about it, each of them had been moved by a loving desire to give greater pleasure. And naturally, each attempt to give a new pleasure had had its reward-a richer pleasure for the giver.
Brad's sleepy mind, freed completely of any strain or frustration, especially since he had won-or certainly thought he had won-the argument of the night before, concentrated on a manner of pleasuring Donna and himself. He thought of the smoothness of her ass cheeks and how they would feel against his cheeks. He thought of the considerable amount of lovely cunt-fluids which had accumulated behind those softly closed outer lips.
If he lay on his right side and laid his right cheek on Donnas' inner thigh, glued his mouth to her pink and hot little hole, with the rest of his face nestled against the upper globe of her ass, it would be a pleasant if not spectacular diversion.
He heard Donna stir and closed his eyes, pretending to be still asleep. When she sat up and swung her feet to the floor, he smiled inwardly. Fine. She would go to the bathroom and empty her bladder and return. She would be asleep again in a few minutes. Her cunt would be all the sweeter for the few stray drops of piss left over after she had sleepily wiped.
He lay there, half-dozing, until a strange and unusual fact pushed its way into his mind. Donna had not come back.
He had heard the wet hissing of a hard stream of urine, heard the toilet flush. And after that, nothing. But now he did hear something incredible-pans rattling, a chair being moved. Donna was in the kitchen, preparing breakfast. It was obvious that she was not coming back to bed!
At first, he was furious. But then he remembered, somewhat shamefacedly, that he had been perhaps overly vehement in pounding home his logic the night before. And he realized that, in her current condition (her period was five or six days off and she was always unpredictable during those days) she still nurtured some obscurely female grudge. He smiled. Okay, she wanted to punish him a little. He would go along with it. She was always hotter than usual at a time like this. A couple of kisses, a gentle rub and squeeze of her tits and she would be laughing again. Laughing and ready and dragging him back to bed by his cock, her soft, warm hand massaging it as they marched along.
She was sitting with the paper and a cup of coffee and he was nettled to see that she was dressed, not in her gown, but in a pair of hip-hugger jeans and a knit cotton shirt, the latter showing the premenstrual fullness of her sweet breasts.
Brad walked around by her, put his hand down to knead and mold one of her breasts. Instead of responding, instead of raising a merry face for his kiss, she remained stock-still, patiently balancing her coffee cup.
Fashioning a grin of conciliation, Brad bent to kiss her. Her mouth, which normally would've opened eagerly, taking his tongue in to duel with hers, remained closed and cold.
Such a thing had never happened between them before.
In a cold rage, his silence matching hers, Brad ate the minimal breakfast which Donna grudgingly prepared. He dressed for the office in stony silence, leaving a good forty-five minutes earlier than usual. And Donna watched with tears in her eyes as he whipped the Buick out of the drive.
The fact that she was being unreasonable didn't escape her. Donna was no fool. She felt unaccountably lost and forlorn and angry with herself. Almost as angry as she was at Brad.
"I need a fuck worse than he does," she muttered to herself. She squirmed. Biting off her nose to spite her face was a painful thing. But she was suffused with what she thought of as righteous anger.
After all, his callous desire to swap her off without her consent, just to get a highly problematical promotion, wasn't too much in keeping with her marriage vows and his. At this, she had to grin wryly. Brad had been right, of course, about one thing: it wasn't really very rational to balk at a swap, not when she had eagerly accepted others.
Rational be damned! The stupid jerk knew she wasn't ever rational when her period was so close. He knew it and this time he hadn't responded. Didn't a girl have a right to be irrational at this time of the month?
"His fucking ego," she muttered. "Masculine ego!" she spat, as though it were an obscenity. Just because she turned him down! If only he had made one more attempt, one more squeeze at her boob, she would've melted. But again, honesty caught her.
"I'm kidding myself," she whispered miserably. "I wouldn't have melted."
Still, she thought crossly, he could've been a little more understanding. Maybe even sympathetic. No, that would've been insulting. Masculinity patronizing.
Donna sighed and went back to the kitchen. As she sat with her third cup of coffee, not enjoying it, she lost her anger and her feeling of self-pity.
An ache began in her guts, a dry, gnawing feeling in her pussy. Damn! She needed him so much!
She thought of his cock, so smooth and hard. The skin on the column was so soft. Like nothing else in the world! Fitting loosely around that muscled stalk, it slid up and down so freely, so pleasantly under her moving hand. And the head of it-like a huge plum and actually shiny when it was stretched to its fullest by passion. If she had it here, she would mouth it like a plum, enjoying its warmth and smoothness.
"I'm a fool, a miserable, stupid, bitchy fool!" she said aloud. She stood up and felt a warm trickle of lost love-juice run, tickling, into her hairs. Brad had always been reasonable, always fair to her and everyone. And so wonderful in bed!
She stood in front of her big mirror, critically examining her tear-streaked face. How ordinary it seemed in comparison with the shining youth of Maida, the smooth maturity of Alison.
She pointed a finger at her image. "It would serve you right, you idiotic little bitch, if Brad fucked one of them at the office today!" she said. Her self-pity came back in a painful wave and she sat on her make-up bench, crying softly.
In the brief passages between herself and Brad on the day before, Maida had made a discovery which was slightly dismaying. She had always liked him and had respect for his know-how and his ambition. But she had carried home the memory of his hands on her pussy, the sight of his cock, so impulsively displayed, so attractively colored, so instantly HARD.
Add all this to the fact that he hadn't become angry at her seeming coyness, but had been both good-humored and philosophical and it totaled up to a warm, intimate interest. That might be dangerous, Maida admitted to herself, but she was in a mood to court danger. In her most secret wells, as in Donnas', the moon was working its changes, but she was of a less moody temperament. Like Donna, her natural itch for sex grew greater as her period approached, but her mind became sharper, her humor more kindly.
She made no attempt to guess at a motive for Brad's glowering face, his grumpy response to her bright greeting. Since she, too, got up on the wrong side of the bed at times, she knew it could happen to others, even to a man. But when he refused to go for coffee, remained painfully morose in spite of her occasional friendly remarks and didn't comment on the joyful wiggle of her ass as she sharpened her pencils, she sensed that something was wrong enough to demand direct action.
It was quiet on their floor that morning. Most of the "planting" of stories had been done early in the week, even for the Sunday issues. Tom Sorden and Larry Menas were having lunch with clients or media men, their secretaries out, probably engaged in research. It was almost deserted throughout the public relations department.
She had finished typing three letters dictated the day before and now, presenting them for Brad's signature, she stood in exactly the same spot as she had when she had surprised him by saying, "Feel me!"
She noticed the way his dark hair grew heavily along the back of his neck and some stray feeling of maternalism moved her to touch him there. When he didn't look up, she bumped her warm belly against his arm and whispered again, "Feel me!"
One thing she didn't worry about-she knew that his hand would find the same wealth of slickness and warmth dribbling from between the blonde-furred lips between her legs. Whatever barricades she set up mentally against men in general, there was a complicated mechanism of nerves and mucous membranes and muscles and organs that worked together to keep constant heat in the sweet parts that made her a woman.
It gave her a deep hurt that Brad, with more pain than pleasure on his face, reluctantly put a hand up in the warmth between her thighs, touched her perfunctorily and withdrew his fingers almost absently. That was too much, she decided.
Brad found his head clasped by two strong, warm, bare arms, his face turned up to meet a lovely face locked in a smile of hundred-watt intensity and his mouth was enveloped by a warm pair of lips.
His spirits rose as Maida's tongue curled into his mouth to touch his own and bring it to life and he automatically raised his hands to squeeze her boobs as she shamelessly, happily, sucked at his lips and tongue.
He was smiling as she broke the embrace, cocking his head on one side in pleased amazement as she walked firmly to the door and snapped the latch.
They smiled in understanding silence as she picked up her phone and dialed one numeral.
"Hi, Rita," she said to the operator. "Mister Street has gone to lunch with a client and won't be back for a couple of hours, at least. I'm going to lunch, too and then I have to take some maps down to the courthouse to have them registered. I probably won't be back until two-thirty. So look. Tell anybody who calls that we're away and take messages. Okay? Thanks, Rita. You're a pal."
Brad still sat at his desk, but he had lost his look of ill-tempered concentration. Instead, he was both calm and alert, eying Maida with warm speculation.
She got up and faced him, reaching her hands across her body to take the fabric of her clinging shift in that careless and totally feminine gesture which ends with the dress leaving its wearer in one graceful and inviting movement.
"Last one naked is a dirty dish rag," she said and her lovely mouth was beautiful in a tremulous smile.
Brad acknowledged that he was, indeed, a dirty dish rag. "But I had more clothes to shuck off," he defended himself.
He knelt above her, smiling and bent to kiss that wide, warmly smiling mouth. Her hand came up to press at the back of his head and he read in that gesture her willingness and heat. His hand moved slowly down her smooth belly, following its gentle swell to the mass of fine, firmly crinkled hair above her slit.
He pulled up from the kiss to enjoy the sight of her-so packed with life, so much a woman, but still a girl. She closed her eyes, possibly not to distract him, boldly proud that she was a picture that any man would love.
A perfume that was composed of many factors surrounded him-whatever scent she used, dry and outdoorsy, exactly right for her blonde youth; the sensual redolence of clean sweat from armpit and belly; the ripe fragrance of a warm and healthy cunt, slowly opening at the certainty of pleasure; the sweetness of her hot breath.
He moved a knee to rub against the near breast, so full and generous that it lolled down in spite of its firmness. The coral-pink nipple had already begun to harden and pucker. He gently squeezed the other, enjoying its girlish springiness and his left hand, moving down between her thighs, found the opening lips and slipped again into that flowing stream of love-juice. His cock, starting to rise with their first kiss, was now rigid to the bursting point, the deep-red head swollen and slick.
Remembering his daydream of a rich crop of hair descending to surround her asshole, he pushed his hand farther, and to his amazement, found a deep, fine pelt of hair all the way up the crack of her ass, an inch beyond the anus.
Maida moaned gently, made a face and shook her head.
"What's the matter, baby?" he whispered. "Don't you like that?" He probed one finger against the puckered sphincter.
"Ugh, I'm so hairy, down there," she murmured and Brad laughed deeply.
"You silly child," he said, putting his face down to hers, kissing her lightly on the mouth. "I love that. I think that hair-fine, feminine hair, like yours-is crazy with sex!"
She pulled his head down again, this time aiming his lips at her breast and he sucked in as much as his mouth would hold of the smooth, spongy flesh. She moaned and pressed him down harder, wanting the wild pleasure of his pain. He nibbled and sucked with all his force, understanding her desire and under the hand lying against her open cuntlips, he felt a sharp muscular contraction. There were no lines of communication missing between her zones of womanhood and sensuousness.
As her warmth seemed to flow up and surround him, Brad felt a quickening in his entire body. With his head against her chest while his lips kissed and sucked at her nipples, her warm breath brushed against his ear and neck. One of her hands took a gentle grip on his cock, which throbbed a response and she bucked gently to move his head away, so that she could turn and put her lips against its hard stem.
Remembering the vivid reality of his fantasizing the day before and how some amazing form of ESP had brought the actuality of her hairiness into his dream-mind, Brad thought now of the imagined skill with which she had sucked his cock in the daydream. Presenting his cockhead to her mouth, he lay on his side and playfully tugged at her hip, inviting her to roll over to him.
It seemed hardly surprising that she turned, threw one thigh up across his face and rose to crouch above him, her pussy opening above his mouth.
From his seventeenth year, Brad had known the taste and flavor of pussy. From Donnas' on through numerous others in their swinging escapades, he had searched these slick, warm crevices with eager tongue and lips, their savor fully appreciated by his sense of smell as well as his taste buds.
He knew that the experience was as varied as the girls, that brunettes had a stronger flavor-and frequently a greater flow-than their lighter-haired sisters. Some were hairier than others, a fillip to his own tastes. On some, the outer lips were so fat and spongy that, after he had burrowed his mouth to the depths where the little hole flowed its sweetness, they enclosed his cheeks like a huge, wet mouth, warm and clinging. He had loved them all, even on the occasions when the strong aroma and the accumulations of semisolids, so like strong, soft cheese, had almost gagged him at first.
But he had never buried his face in a sweeter, juicer cunt than Maida's.
And, feeling her shudder with delight as he licked fully up to her clitoris on his first long kiss, he knew he had never lapped at one which was more responsive. Passion had made her fat cuntlips spread naturally. He had to open his mouth wide to suck in a mouthful of hair and these curly fibers, located at the mouth of her vagina, were crisp and tasty with the dried excretions from within.
And as she went down toward his crotch, with his cock sucked into her mouth with overpowering warmth, he felt the soft shock on his glands as his rigid pole went all the way in, striking the back of her throat and her swallowing muscles gripped the tender head in a pleasure that shook his senses.
His hands roved freely, squeezing the soft, firm boobs that swung above his belly, smoothing their way back along her flanks and down over the silken warmth of the big buttocks, spread wide above his face, tightened by her position. He pulled her haunches down so that he could lick solidly across her pink asshole, enjoying its strong savor and causing her to moan softly. The vibrations of this choked sound set up a new throb in his distended prick and he dug his thumbs into her ass cheeks in an ecstasy that raised his hips off the carpet, jamming him deeper into Maida's throat.
Her hands were around his thighs and one of her hands squeezed his balls, milking down on the hairy sac which held them, setting up a small pain which added zest to the raging waves of heat that shook him. The other hand traced frantically up and down his inner thigh, down into the crack of his ass, raking back through the thick dark hair on his powerful muscles, gripping spasmodically as the pending orgasm wriggled in her belly.
Whether it was the first convulsive jerk of Brad's cock, jetting a hot load of sperm into her mouth, or his deep suck that drew the walls of her vagina together in aching fury, made no difference to Maida. All she knew or cared about was that the gathering orgasm that trembled deep inside her seemed to burst like a rocket, flooding her with a pleasure that took her out of the world, into a dimension where all her body glowed and flowered in transcendent delight. Her knees spread and moved apart so that her flowing cunt came down on Brad's mouth and she felt her juices come in a rushing flood.
Her mouth relaxed, but maintained a loving grip on his dwindling prick as she slowly heaved her generously molded ass up and away from her young boss' face and she groaningly collapsed on her side, one hand still softly rolling his balls around in their soft pouch. A few drops of his semen had escaped from her busy mouth, leaving a shiny trail down toward her chin. Her breasts, still tingling with love-shock, showed the depth of her orgasm by their hard, out-thrust nipples.
Brad swallowed slowly, letting the hot mouthful of her come-fluids, so fragrantly reminiscent of their source, trickle across his taste buds. His face was thickly smeared with the warmth and wetness from her pussy. He pushed his face again into the hairy softness of her cleft, inhaling the strong, rich perfume of a sated and still warm cunt.
Now that the dull ache of anger had fled in this glorious and unexpected burst of sex, he grinned at the memory of their silent ferocity in coming together. "This is the best lunch I've had in months," he joked, raising his head and turning to survey the happy face of his partner. "No calories, either!"
She held his prick upright, keeping it from lolling over.
"That starch that held this lovely thing up so straight certainly tasted rich to me," she answered. "Too bad I was such a pig!" She seemed disappointed.
Brad turned so that they lay face-to-face and he kissed her deeply, tasting the saline flavor of his semen on her lips.
"You turned a horrible day into a wonderful experience," he said as their locked tongues slipped apart. He kissed her tenderly. "How can someone so young be so wise?"
To his astonishment, her face clouded.
"This wasn't wise, Brad," she whispered. "It may be the dumbest thing I've ever done!"
"You're crazy, Maida," he said. "It was what I needed and somehow, you knew it! I've never known anyone to be so generous, so sweet." He hugged her closely, flattening her warm breasts against him. "I've wanted you so much. But I held off because... well, I couldn't be so obnoxious as to force myself on you, just because I'm... well, you know what I mean."
She kissed him again. "You're like some chivalrous kid, Brad," she said. "You could've had me any time, but because you're my boss, you felt that it would be taking advantage. Right?" She pushed him away so that she could look at him.
The motion pushed their bellies together and he felt the soft warmth of her body against his. Incredibly, there was a stirring in his loins. He placed a hand on her soft, rounded rump, jamming her crotch tighter against him. His arm slipped under hers, so that the tug of skin pulled her breast taut.
"Hey, watch it," she whispered. "You'll get me hot again! I told you you'd better save up for me!"
Brad took her hand and put it on his prick. Already it was fattening, lengthening. The pressure of her hand, warm and soft, brought a throb from it. She laughed in excitement.
"Brad, you really are a man!" she gasped. "But, on the level, hadn't we better save it? I don't want to wear you out!"
He laughed comfortably, proudly. "Baby," he whispered, "with this hard-on, I can fuck for an hour!"
"Brad," Maida said, while they were enjoying the coffee and sandwiches she had brought up from the company cafeteria, "I think you've ruined me!" She pushed a hand against the bottom of her belly. "I actually ache inside. I feel like you've stretched me out of shape!"
Remembering the clutching tightness of her pussy, the way it's wet-muscled sheath had gripped his cock, Brad closed his eyes in an exaggeration of lustful memory. "You were so wonderful, you made me better than I am," he said and more than half-meant it. "Don't get me thinking about that sweet little cunt of yours-we'll be on the floor again!" He took a bite of his ham-and-cheese. "All I wish is that we hadn't waited so long."
Once more, she looked troubled. "I shouldn't have done it, Brad," she said in a low voice.
"Why not, baby?" Brad asked in honest surprise. "I would've had you Saturday, at the party."
"I don't know why I feel the way I do," the girl murmured. And then she flashed, "That's a lie. I do know. And I guess I'll have to tell you!"
She stood up, smoothing her dress down over her belly and hips, the taut fabric showing the warmth of her breasts, the hard protrusion of her nipples. "You can take this any way you want to," she said in a strained voice. "But the reason I kept you off wasn't because I didn't want you-it was because I wanted you too much!" She dropped her head and turned away, but not before Brad saw the gleam of tears on her cheeks.
"Maida," he said, "don't worry about it, baby! It's all right!"
She turned back to him, seeming to be under better control. "Maybe it's not so all right, Brad," she said. "If there was anything I didn't want, it was to fall in love with you. No!" she cried, as he opened his mouth. "Don't feel sorry for me! It's not for any noble reason! It's not because you're married, or my boss, or anything so simple and human!"
Her face worked and her voice sounded scornful. "It's because I'm bitten with the same bug that gets into so many of us here in this damned rat race! I'm so full of ambition, so determined to hang on to what I've got, to pull myself higher, to make more money-I'm just not human anymore!"
She sat down and put her face in her hands, rocking back and forth like a child in deep misery, too deep to cry. Brad got up and went over to put a hand on her shoulder. His voice was low and kind.
"Maida, look at me," he ordered and she showed him a tear-stained face. He bent and kissed her.
"Is it so bad to want to take care of yourself?" he asked softly. "If it is, move over and let me join the club. I'm ambitious; Donna says that it's ruining me. That's what our quarrel was about. To tell you the truth," and he smiled rather shamefacedly, "I wouldn't let you fall in love with me. I'm in the rat race, too. Does that help? That we're two of a kind?"
She clung to him, her face pressed against his crotch. She looked up, smiling without strain. "You rat," she whispered in obvious love. "You've made me feel better already. I suppose you're the only man in Bon-twat who would understand me and not kick me out. You know that I wouldn't care a snap if I broke up your marriage! Even if Derwin wouldn't stand for it. You know that I just wouldn't want Bill to think that I took a fuck all that seriously!"
She laughed wryly and rubbed at her tears with the back of her hand. The move was so childish that Brad was touched. He gave her his handkerchief and kissed her lightly.
"At least," he teased her, "I didn't have to wait until I became a major executive to have executive privileges with you!"
She made as if to slap him, really laughing. "You could have me if you were an office boy!" she exclaimed. "And without fear that I'd be a lovesick drag. And I'm glad we are so much alike. I could never really fall in love with anyone as cold-blooded as I am!"
Her tone had been joking, but Brad wondered as he drove home. It had been more than a good day. It had opened up-or almost opened up-some channels he hadn't remembered in a long time. He loved Donna. That was absolutely true. She was his wife, his possession, in a way. But he tapped a lovely vein of emotion that he had forgotten, years ago. He had found a friend, a woman who fucked like no one he had ever known in his life, who was as beautiful as anyone he had ever seen, who saw through him just as he saw through her and without dismay. A friend! Maybe it was better than love.
He drove faster, alarmed by the thought. Watch it, Brad, he told himself. You don't want to fall in love. So don't get too hooked on the idea of friendship!
In a way, Brad thought, a quarrel can be a pretty good thing, especially if you're young and virile and have a wife as sexually attractive as Donna.
She had met him at the door, warm and soft and sweet-smelling from her shower. There was thick sirloin for dinner and he had laughingly wiped his greasy hands between her legs. As she had on their honeymoon, she chided him and as he had done on that long-ago time, he had said, "Don't worry. I'll lick every hair clean!"
The two rounds he had had with Maida had only taken the edge off his sexual appetite. Donnas' cunt tasted even better to him-at least he thought so now-than Maida's.
She was on top now, her light weight riding easy on his cock, her tight, hot little pussy skinning the head almost painfully each time she slid down it. She had come as he ate her and again as soon as she worked the big head into her tight little vaginal opening. And a couple of times more.
He held his hands on her small boobs, not comparing their childish size with Maida's, any more than he compared the fullness of her tongue with the other girl's.
Her come-juice had pumped out until his entire mat of pubic hair was soaked and a warm trickle of it ran down into the crack of his ass. A delicious feeling!
She pulled her face away from his to look at him lovingly. The bedside lamps were on, because they enjoyed the sight of each other, of each other's genitals. With his head on a big pillow and the room lighted so well, Brad could see a reflection of Donnas' beautiful little ass in the big vanity mirror. . In the darkened valley in the center, he could even see the puckery little spot of pink and brown, her asshole and the highlight gleam of her come-juice on her dark hairs, on his cock as she slowly raised herself.
Donna was content with the fuck-joy she saw in his face. She was ready for another come. She could tell that he was ready, too. She squeezed her cunt muscles on his cock in a calmly delirious fever and he pulled her head down to him.
"I'm a lucky guy, baby!" he whispered. "I've got the prettiest wife in the world. And she just happens to be the best fuck in the world!"
Oddly enough, he believed it.
CHAPTER FIVE
Donna alternated between a sort of eager gaiety and a sense of dread all that Saturday afternoon. At Brad's insistence-and she was glad he insisted-she took a couple of stiff drinks while she was putting the finishing touches to her face and hair.
Their making up had been so sweet, so complete, that she was beginning to think she was a silly little fool. There was that lurking fear she had of Bill Derwin-the fear that, if she put it into words, she might be in for a sex experience so intense that it would shock her out of her own world. But what of that? she thought. I think that Brad and I are so far out, but maybe we're just a couple of suburban little souls who only think we know life. Maybe it wouldn't hurt me to loosen up a little. Still, she shivered when she thought of that compact dynamo of heat and energy, those strangely intense eyes, that air of restrained strength and vitality.
With the thought that she was, after all, a small-town chick not entirely at home in a larger world, she had another moment of depression.
Maida, four years younger than she, seemed a thousand years older, a hundred times smarter. And that Alison Carr! She was so sharp, so chic, so assured. Everyone at the party, she felt, would be talking a language of their own which would leave her shut out and lonely, stupidly silent, an inferior.
Perhaps it was the effect of the drinks, but at least, when they arrived at Bill's home on the bluffs in Sonrisa Beach, Donna felt better. And it was Alison-beautiful, kind, friendly Alison-who greeted them at the door.
And Donna, who had settled for a slightly dressed up look, in a simple dark dress, was brought down by the sight of Alison in a pareu, with flowers in her blonde hair and only a couple of orchid leis to cover her gorgeous breasts.
"Don't worry about it a second, Donna," the tall woman said. "It's my fault. Bill decided to make this a luau and I guess I forgot to tell Brad. But we've got plenty of costumes around; I'll fix you both up."
Getting "fixed up" was fun, Donna decided. And Alison, whose poise and smoothness had always fascinated Donna, even while she was feeling just a bit intimidated, was simply a different person now.
With a warm arm around Donnas' shoulders, the big blonde directed Brad. "One of the fellows out on the terrace will show you where to change and find you a little something to wear. That's all anyone has on-a little something. Very little, in fact!"
Since she had gone by her previous swap-party experience, Donna had worn nothing under her dress and Alison exclaimed in delight as she slipped the dress down over the smaller girl's hips.
"You're beautiful, Donna!" Alison said. "And so clever not to clutter yourself up with a lot of clothes. No need to, with boobs like these!" She laughed happily, giving one of Donnas' perfect little breasts a loving squeeze, and without affectation, lowered her, head to take the rising nipple in her mouth for a long, sucking kiss.
It was all so natural and easy, so friendly, that Donna lost whatever self-consciousness she had felt and held Alison's face to her, enjoying the tingling sensation in her breasts, the immediate warmth that ran through her body.
"Here's your pareu," Alison said, picking up a brief little oblong strip of wildly dyed material and holding it up to Donnas' tiny waist. "See? It wraps around and ties here," she directed. "No, the wrap-over part goes at the front, so that when you sit down, it opens. More comfortable for you, more fun for the men. See how mine is?" Laughingly, she pulled the front of her own pareu open, briefly exposing a flash of blonde cunt hair.
And, as she stood behind Donna at the mirror, reaching around the tiny brunette to help tie the garment, she pushed her warm hand down and across Donnas' belly, pressing firmly on the crinkly nest of dark hair. Her breathing was a little faster and her lovely face smiled at Donnas' reflection. Her hand moved, its pressure giving Donna a new wave of warmth and she inserted one soft finger between the fat lips of the younger girl's pussy.
In a sudden burst of friendship, Donna leaned back against Alison's breast, turning her face to the tall blonde. And she felt a wild tug of some new feeling as her lips met those of the big girl behind her.
In the wild fun of swapping and with the competitive curiosity natural to women, Donna and her friends had always been especially interested in one another's cunts, and although they had all vowed that this was a new trip for them, they had fingered one another thoroughly. On several occasions, spurred on by the fellows, two or more of the girls had put on Lesbian exhibitions.
Like the other girls, Donna had protested but gone ahead, but, unlike the rest, she had never denied that she enjoyed it. The delicate smell, the incredibly smooth and blood-filled texture of another girl's inner lips, the sweetly saline flow of girlish come-juice-all of these had left her in a tumult of passion, so that she fucked with wilder abandon after one of these little shows. But of course, in a small town where everybody knew everybody and swappers had to be especially cautious, none of the girls had ever followed through, thus missing the chance to enjoy their private pleasures while their men were at work.
Now, with Alison's warm mouth on hers, with the big girl's tongue plunging deeply into her mouth, Donna responded by turning her body so that she could cling to Alison with desperate heat, her arms pulling the blonde's face closer to her own, loving the contact of soft breast on soft breast, of her belly pressed against Alison's crotch.
When they separated, Donnas' eyes were bright with lust and anticipation. "I think I'm going to like this party," she assured Alison and briefly hugged the big girl again, pressing her face between the firm, pink-nippled breasts.
The terrace, where the party was underway, was unbelievable to Donna, when she came out into the warm California night with an arm around Alison. The house, built on three levels, was big and spacious, but the terrace was enormous, as big as a dance floor, Donna said to Bill, who got up off a huge carved chair to greet her.
He was wearing a pareu much like her own, with a necklace made of long, sharp claws and a chaplet of flowers on his curly dark blonde hair. "Welcome to the islands, Princess," he said, leaning to kiss her gently on the lips. There was no body contact and Donna felt a perverse disappointment.
Two houseboys in South Pacific trappings were putting final touches to an elaborate buffet on a long table illuminated by tiki torches and Donna spotted Brad, in a dark corner of the terrace, talking to Maida and a well-built brunette. On the dark skyline to the south, a sprinkling of lights in Santa Vaca, twenty miles away, winked faintly and from the beach below, the muffled shouts of surfers rose above the whispering of the gentle breakers.
"Since you're a visiting princess, I want you to share my throne," Bill said in Donnas' ear. "We'll eat and drink and play together, south sea island style, while the rest of the subjects seek their own simple pleasures."
Donna giggled, seeing that one couple, a pair she hadn't met, seemed to be finding a simple pleasure in exploring each other's bodies. There seemed to be a profusion of couches and long padded chairs on the big terrace and Maida, feeling a release from the tensions she had built up, allowed herself a laughing speculation that the entire party could, if they wished, have a round-robin fuck right there on the terrace and never use the same bed twice.
She jumped as Bill's voice, just behind her, said, "Come on, Princess-time to eat!"
Donna was never sure how the next half-hour began and continued, but she was more than certain how it ended.
Alison had reappeared, accompanied by a stocky, genial, graying man whom she introduced as Max McGillah and Donnas' heart jumped oddly-this was the man whose job might someday belong to Brad.
"And this is Verna Sales. She's one of our favorite people," Alison said, holding the hand of a brilliantly beautiful young redhead, who flashed a warm smile at Donna. Sitting on the padded settee which Bill had called his "throne", Donna ate and drank and smiled and laughed, feeling looser every moment.
When Bill's arm went around her bare back and he leaned down to kiss her, she made certain that this would not be the chaste peck with which he had greeted her. The warmth of the night and the people, the sense of ease which had built up in her as she drank some pleasant rum concoction from Bill's coconut shell and above all, the feeling that she had been stupid to fear this easy-going man, caused her to meet him with open-mouthed eagerness. His mouth closed over hers and his tongue was sweet in her mouth. A tremor, not of fear but of heat, ran through her and she turned so that her breasts bored into his hair-matted chest. The movement spread her thighs and the pareu and Bill's hand moved down, strong and insistent, into the stored-up warmth between her legs.
In a little daze of happiness, Donna felt her legs part wider, without her volition and she pressed against her host as his strong fingers pushed warmly between the lips of her pussy. She truly felt at home, one of the party.
They drew apart in a moment. Bill, clowning just as Brad or one of their old friends would have, put his cunt-wet fingers to his nose and sniffed appreciatively, smiling at Donna with half-closed eyes. In the dark under the table, she boldly reached for his cock and the size of it gave her a thrilling shock. It was bigger than Brad's, which meant it was the biggest she'd ever encountered.
It warmed her to feel it, to realize the softness of the covering skin over the hardness of the column. And when with a shock of pleasure, she found that her fingers and thumb could not reach around it, she looked at Bill with startled admiration. "Oh, Bill, it's enormous!" she gasped, and still gripping the big shaft, she pushed herself against him again for his kiss. She had never felt hotter in such a short time.
It was like a slap in the face when he smilingly turned his face, but she held on to his big tool, running the outer skin up and down, touching the swollen head with her thumb.
Bill seemed to be reaching for something under the table and she started as a small television screen popped up in the middle of the table, just in front of them. "Watch!" Bill said sharply and the screen came to life, in full color, showing what Donna took to be a bedroom somewhere in the house.
With her hand still on his cock, Donna gasped as she saw a flash of Max McGillah on his back, on a bed, with the voluptuous brunette going down on him. The screen was small, but the detail was sharp and clear. The girl was on her knees, the dark cleft of her ass toward the hidden camera and Donna, tense with the wave of wet heat that pounded in her loins, saw Max's hand under her, two broad fingers pushing in and out of the thick-lipped, black-fringed cunt. The girl's head disappeared and came up and Donna thought she could see just a glimpse of the stocky man's prick, wet and shining. His hairy legs were spread apart and his balls, drawn tightly up to the base of his cock, indicated that he was near to coming.
She heard Bill laugh and say, "This should interest you," and the scene changed with a click. It was Brad, plain as day and he was kneeling between Maida and the redhead, all three of them naked. Donna sucked in her breath. It was a beautifully lascivious tableau. Each of the girls had one leg raised, the calves on Brad's shoulders and the two pussies, one dark blonde, the other flaming red, were stretched and opened. Brad's hands were busy, his fingers buried in the two pink-lined slits and the bright overhead light brought out slick highlights on the exposed inner folds.
Bill made some adjustment and sound came on, clear and loud. "When are you going to stop fooling and start fucking, Brad?" an amused voice asked. It had to be the redhead, since Donna would've recognized Maida's. She giggled, partly in shock, but more because of the welling of heat in her pussy.
She turned to Bill. "You're in love with gadgets, aren't you?" she asked. "I never saw anything like this in my life." And then, with a little malice in her voice, she said, "It'll never take the place of doing it yourself."
She felt a sweep of relief when Bill laughed with real amusement. She might've been talking out of turn, she realized, but he took her in his arms again and this time he almost smothered her with a shuddering, sucking kiss, his hand again going straight to the hairy warmth of her sex, where streaming juice had made the lower part of the lips a sodden handful of hair and flesh.
He pulled her near leg over his lap, stretching her to her widest and he must've tried to get three fingers into her, for the stretch was a sharp pain.
Nevertheless, it had its wild pleasure and she closed her eyes, trying to buck against his hand, trying to work her eager cunt all the way onto his fingers. "Ooooh!" she moaned, as Bill's twisting arm and hand shot a pang of near-coming through her body and she ached as he removed the hand. She opened her eyes and he was looking at her with expectant relish.
"About the gadgets," he said easily, as though his hand in her cunt had been remote from both of them. "I took over an experimental electronics lab just about the time I was building this house. It's wired everywhere. I can see anything that's happening, any time, in any room!"
It was so far from what she'd expected him to say and yet so in keeping with the wild, pleasant, surprising evening, that Donna, unabashed, laughed aloud. His direct roughness, the hot scenes she'd just seen on the tube and her own needs made her bold. She pushed at the flap of his pareu, trying to get her mouth to the head of his cock, but Bill pushed her away gently, stood up and said quietly, "It's time for us to join in the fun!"
When he picked her up and tossed her onto the big couch in the center of the terrace, Donna was so hot for his cock-for any cock, to be honest-that she raised both legs in the air, one hand holding each leg just behind the knee and grinned expectantly between her thighs as Bill, having shed his own pareu, knee-walked toward her. The hot perfume of her own pussy rose to her nostrils in a strong and fragrant cloud and for a moment she thought fleetingly of Alison and wondered where the big, friendly, loving girl could be. But only for a moment.
With a wildness and fury such as she had never known, Bill buried his fingers in her wet labia, prying them apart as though he would turn her inside out and jammed the big cock into her with a force that tore a quick scream from her lips.
In spite of the lubrication from her inner heat, her squeaky-tight pussy could not take in the huge bar of hot muscle. A deep, hard pain worse than she remembered from her first fuck almost sent her out of her mind and she bit her lower lip to smother the moaning cry that his entry forced out of her.
Then he withdrew, leaving a deep ache, but plunged in again, harder than before. The agony seemed to tear Donna apart, but there was a fierce heat that accompanied the brutal entry and her aroused clitoris, the membrane over it pulled tight by the drive of his plunging prick, sent an exquisite pang of fierce delight all through her. In a primal need for release, Donna lunged up just as Bill pulled briefly out and slammed back in and it was like the rupturing of a second maidenhead-the pain was sickening, but more than half of the great tool went in and he stopped for a moment, kneeling there with her tight little ass raised from the bed, impaled on his cock.
She opened her eyes, unable to see clearly because of the waves of pain and desire that racked her and something animalistic in her nature responded to the ferocity she saw on his face. No tenderness, no concern for her. Just a mask of savage lust, with a strange light burning in his yellow-flecked eyes.
He moved his arms so that she could drop her legs, but some instinct made her clamp them around his back, holding him tightly where he was. His hands moved to her breasts and she screamed again, this time in pure pain, as he dug thumbs and fingers into the resilient flesh as though he would rip her tits apart. Her eyes were closed again, but her hands did not try to pull his brutally gripping fingers away. There was a fire roaring in her now, unlike any she had ever known and she locked her ankles behind him, exerting all the young strength of her back and legs to drive his cock deeper into her.
There was a grim look of satisfaction on Bill's face, as though he'd reached a goal he desired and he met the mute demands of her movements by starting a hard push-and-pull sequence with his hips that drove him deeper and deeper into the stretched and straining cunt.
The feeling of being torn apart was vanishing as her natural lubricant rose and welled inside her, where the monster probed deeper. In clear bubbles, some of this flow was being pumped out, slicking the broad stem of Bill's prick and his quick movements, entering a fraction of an inch further each thrust, gave her a concentration of pure, dizzying fuck-feeling beyond any previous experience.
Each time he rammed into her, she felt the thick, hairy cushions pulled deeply in, following his thick column and with each thrust, a new area inside her writhed in pleasure. Now, when she opened her eyes, she saw that Derwin's eyes were shut and the fierceness of concentration showed that his wildness and her heat and tightness, clamping the long cock in muscular reaction, were bringing him to the point of coming.
In a haze of pain and lust that made everything seem to move slowly, Donna felt the hard cock, cushioned by the soft, spongy head, throbbing against the mouth of her womb. There was an almost unbearable pressure somewhere deeper down and she knew that her vagina had been stretched far more than ever before. She raised her head to look down across her belly and its nest of dark hair and saw that only the thick base of Bill's cock showed.
In a typically feminine sense of triumph, she realized that she had taken this great cock into her, that it was all in and that if Bill meant to plunge still farther, there was still enough elasticity in her sheath to accommodate his thrust.
In his concentration, so plainly working to hold back his orgasm, he had left off tearing at her breasts and the ache in them stayed with her, sending shuddering tentacles of agony down to her cunt, where they were, strangely, transformed into fuel for the fire that raged around her clitoris, in the dark depths of her cunt and through her bowels.
In a remaining shred of sanity, Donna remembered that her period, so soon due, might well be set off by this pummeling inside her, but she mentally shrugged off any feeling of concern. She was not only beyond caring, she was above it. Each heartbeat seemed to raise the tension in her clitoris and its surrounding parts and this moment of stillness that had dragged on so long could not be long maintained.
There was a flutter of her young cunt muscles, a movement she did not direct and could not restrain and with it, the look of concentration on Bill's face became a look of black, wild fury as he gripped her small ass cheeks and raised her body to meet his hammering thrusts.
Donna never saw the change in his face. At his first and smallest movement, the beating heat which had mounted in her belly became a torrent of feeling that swept through her, inside, outside, in her mind and body, so that all she saw against her tightly closed eyelids was a red burst of flame that seemed to match the heat pouring out of and into her wildly thrashing body.
The increase in the size of Derwin's cock as it spurted its hot jets of sperm was slight, but she was already so filled with it that each throb made a wildly pleasurable agony of lust in her clutching sheath of muscle and membrane. The hammering of her orgasm seemed to crowd and stretch every vein in her and the last, final burst of sensation tore her out of her world and into a brief unconsciousness.
When she came to, Bill was lying with his full weight on her agonized breasts, his hands above her head, groping in her thick dark hair. His face was near hers and there was a bitter smile on it, as though he condemned them both for their fury of sex. His cock, still much too big for her tender measurements, was slowly receding in dying throbs and her very tightness was pushing it out. As she opened her eyes and moaned faintly, Bill also came awake and he lifted his head to look down into her eyes, so close to her that he seemed out of focus.
"Goddamn you, Princess," he whispered, "I knew you were the hottest thing this side of hell, but you're too tight! I think you tore all the skin off my cock!" He eased away and fell on his back and Donna felt her breasts.
She had expected them to be swollen from his brutality, but they were the same as always-pert, firm, smoothly conical. The dreadful pain was gone, with only a dull and somehow warming, ache to remind her of Derwin's mania. She felt she might never be the same again, but she had another thought: sex was wilder, crazier, more beautifully rewarding than she had ever believed it could be.
To the laughter and shouts of encouragement of Maida, Brad was fucking Verna, the redhead, when Alison came in. She had shed the two leis of orchids and her big breasts shook with mirth as she watched the two on the bed, straining in a weird position.
In the pause that followed her entrance, Alison said, "Don't stop, Brad-but this might interest all of you."
She touched a switch which simultaneously dimmed the room lamps and activated a big television screen on the wall. There was an audible gasp from everyone in the room as the brightly colored close-up showed Donnas' opened legs, her dark-haired cunt pulled open like a purple flower as Bill's big prick pulled out, and at the edge of the screen, her face, contorted in the shock of pleasure.
A thrill of love and satisfaction flashed through Brad. Good girl! She-possibly with Bill's masterful help-had completely overcome whatever repugnance or fear had plagued her and threatened their successful enjoyment of the party.
Maida, suddenly thoughtful, looked first at Alison's expression, which was blandly noncommittal, then at Brad's face. He looked happy, alive, alert, and with his hands around Verna's thighs, he continued to hump gently, driving his cock into her in measured probing.
Alison said pleasantly, "Show's over, folks!" and touched the switch again. As she moved out of the room, Brad, fired by the sight of his wife's twat so fiercely cloven by his boss' enormous prick, began to drive into the redhead in great, hammering lunges, his closed eyes and clenched teeth expressing the intensity of his orgasm.
Donna kissed tenderly up and down the length of Derwin's cock, which was still swollen from his tremendous explosion of a few minutes before. Lying near him, on her side, she could taste and smell the residues of their passion-on his cock, in the wetly matted mass of ginger-brown hair that ran almost from his navel, down beyond his balls to disappear in his crotch.
She felt triumphantly content, filled with joy that she had not only done all that Brad could've asked, but that she had found it immeasurably exciting. And Bill, instead of her seeing him as a demanding tyrant, she viewed him as only a human being. Wild, brutal beyond her previous experience, but, in the final analysis, a man who fucked and loved it, who ploughed into her tenderly strong vagina with fantastic strength and passion and shot his enormous load of jism into her in a heart-stopping climax.
She smiled at his peaceful face as she lifted the big, smooth head of his cock to her lips.
"I don't see any blood," she said, laughing. "I don't think you actually lost any skin!" At Bill's agreeable grunt, she took the softened glands into her mouth and sucked gently. "Don't get hard too quick, Bill," she said. "I'll need all my courage to try to swallow this chunk of meat!"
Bill touched the back of her head. "Turn your little face more toward me," he ordered.
And the entire scene changed to nightmare for Donna.
In the broad leaves of a big tropical plant, some light from behind her reflected in a snouted lens and behind it, the compact structure of a camera.
As often as she had unselfconsciously fucked in the same room with other couples, some of whom had taken time to watch her and her partner, there was something about the cold impersonality of a camera, making her action with Bill a circus for others, that sent her into a mindless chaos of disgust and hatred.
In her rage, she struck blindly at Bill's face, at his belly, even at his cock, symbolic of her humiliation. "Damn you!" she shouted and lapsed into stammering, half-formed words of spite and contempt.
A split second later she was on the floor, blindly trying to rise while she recovered from a series of powerful blows on the sides of her head. She screamed with pain as Bill dragged her up by her hair, rocking her head and her mind with measured slaps across her cheeks, her nose, her eyes. A trickle of blood joined the thick trail of spittle that drooled from her slack mouth and she felt an animal fear as her host flung her onto the bed.
Like a child trying to escape punishment, she locked her arms in front of her bent head, sobbing in pain. Her rage had dissolved in fear and shame and tears and she rocked her upper body in a manifold misery, trying to gather her wits.
Bill's voice was coolly angry, like a trainer teaching manners to a dog. "You dishonest little bitch," he sneered. "What do you use for brains? Shit? You stand for a fuck with me, just as you have for so many others. You'd fuck in Macy's window if you had the right words said to you! You're like any other stupid, fucking little housewife-playing you're free and liberated, but stuck with a dozen fences you can't escape because you're basically a prude! And a liar, which is worse!"
Donna, sunk in pain and misery, gratefully heard the sound of bare feet running and Alison's cry, "Oh, Bill! Stop! What have you done? Oh, Donna, you poor baby!"
Donna felt warm arms go around her shoulders, a hand touching her cheek softly, a silken breast pressed against her arm. She did not see the slight wink that Alison flashed and Bill's tight-lipped, answering nod.
"What have I done?" Bill answered contemptuously. "I've slapped a silly little girl for pretending to be a grown woman and flunking the job! I ought to kick her ass right out of here. And I would, if it weren't for Brad!"
A stab of remorse, worse than her fear or Bill's cruelty, brought a new storm of sobbing from Donna. In the pinch, she had failed him completely! But Alison comforted her.
"I don't care what she did! Women shouldn't have to get slapped around, Mister Derwin!" Alison said coldly. "Yes, I know... you're the boss, and-I just don't care! You can fire me if you want to, but I say this isn't right!"
Above Donnas' hidden face, Bill smiled and nodded toward the wide doors that led into the house. "Okay!" he growled. "Take her inside! So I lost my temper-what's so big about that? And don't talk so big about getting fired. It could happen!"
CHAPTER SIX
In an enormous bedroom, somewhere in the house, Donna sipped the highball which Alison had brought her. She had taken a small green tablet as Alison had urged: "It's a sedative, but it's a mood-lifter, too," the big girl had said and Donna was beginning to feel a little better.
Her head still ached from the force of Bill's blows, but she was conscious of other parts of her body-her breasts, aching but somehow pleased; her pussy, throbbing with a deep pain that triumphantly recalled the marvelous stretching of that unbelievable cock.
Somewhere, somehow, she had lost the pareu, the necklaces of orchids and was completely nude. But after all, so was her friend Alison, who had dropped her own native girdle: "So you won't feel self-conscious," the kindly girl said.
Feeling the air drift across her exposed pussy as she sat with her knees drawn up, Donna remembered another pang-when Bill had so savagely plunged his fingers into the lips of her cunt. There was a bruised area somewhere in there, around there, on the inside of her thighs, just above her asshole.
She shivered. "God, that man is so strong!" she murmured. "I think he would've killed me if you hadn't come along."
Alison shrugged and grinned. "Not a chance," she said. "He was punishing you as if you were a naughty child. But you aren't a child, so you got a grown-up punishment. Not that you acted too grown-up," Alison said candidly.
The tall blonde softened this criticism by hugging the younger girl, her hand reaching far enough to cup one of Donnas' breasts and the warmth and tenderness of the gesture, especially after Bill's sadistic pressures, made Donna snuggle closer to Alison.
"I guess I had a chance-for Brad and me, too-and blew it," the tiny girl said sadly.
Alison laughed and stood up, stretching so that her big breasts rose tautly, their pink nipples puffing out and her blonde cunt hair, quite dry, stood out like a pompon.
"Don't take it so tragically," she advised. "You acted like a fool, but men don't stay angry with a young, sweet, beautiful little fool. Not even perfectionists like Bill Derwin. It won't even affect Brad's promotion."
Donna put out a hand to touch Alison on a rounded hip. Her eyes were pleading. "Don't make me feel any worse about Bill," she begged. "A promotion? You really mean it?"
Alison walked over to a chest of drawers and picked up a folded letterhead. She tossed it to Donna.
Donna glanced at the signature first-Max McGillah! She read: "Dear Bill: "You're right-I am getting tired. So, with all my thanks to you for all we've done together, I'm retiring. Because of your generosity and your guidance-to say nothing of Bonturat's great pension plan-I can live the way I've always lived. Not every old PR man can say the same. You've got some great young talent to fill my spot and I'll be around to help and advice, if needed. Thanks again!"
Max McGillah Not too surprisingly, Donna began to weep again. "Oh, Alison, do you really think that Brad-oh, my God! I feel so terrible!"
Alison lay down on the bed and pushed Donna onto her back, kissing the little brunette's tear-streaked face. Her hand caressed Donnas' belly, going in smooth, slow circles and came up to rest tentatively on one round, firm breast.
"Hush, baby," she whispered. "No reason to cry."
Donna pulled Alison to her, feeling a slow tide of heat return as the blonde's big breasts mashed softly against her. "To think that I could've ruined this!" she cried. "I'll never dare tell Brad how close I came to blowing it!" She found Alison's lips and gave the blonde a deep-tonguing kiss.
The older woman, pulling away from the kiss at last, said, "Whew!" laughingly. "You're breaking down my professional cool, baby! A little more of that and I may give up to my latent Lez tendencies. Not that they're all that latent," she said, laughing. "I've always liked to eat a little pussy!"
She placed a hand over Donnas' snatch and this time she plunged a long finger right between the softly swollen lips, into the warmth and slickness and the gently writhing muscles.
"Wow!" she breathed. "You're certainly juicy!"
Donna boldly looked into the blue-green eyes. "Some of it may be Bill's," she whispered. "Maybe that will turn you off."
"Hey!" Alison said in pretended defense. "Maybe I was just kidding! I said 'latent tendencies,' remember?"
Donna happily bumped up and down, closing her cunt walls on Alison's finger, her eyes closed in pleased anticipation.
"I'll suck yours if you'll suck mine," she whispered.
She remembered, with heat glowing in her loins, the few times when she'd made actual contact, with mouth on another girl's pussy. Frightening, in a way, it brought her to instant heat, made her wish she were a man, so that she could eat cunt any time, without fear of the shameful accusation: "Lesbian!" She had called the fascination and fear "disgust" when she talked to Brad about it or kidded with the other girl. But now she knew-she wanted it!
With humble courage, she pushed her way between Alison's legs, looking for permission in the smooth and beautiful face. Alison's smile teased her and she dropped her face to the muff of crisply curled blonde hair. For the first time, she would really look, really see the treasure so much like her own, so simply and delightfully formed, so pink and honey-dripping, so hot and musty-smelling, so incredibly smooth and soft.
With gentle hands, she held the thick lips apart, from the top of the slit to the bottom, from the big clitoris, now moving faintly as it grew under its protective membrane, to the tiny dark hole where a man's prick-or a girl's tongue-would find life and heat and constriction. A rich, hot blast of woman-smell made her senses reel and she ducked her head, straining to suck at the closed hole where she knew the hot flow started.
In her cramped position, her neck bent back, she didn't get as much as she wanted, but she speared into the leaking hole with her pointed tongue and licked back up to drop her mouth full on Alison's clit, sucking firmly, running her tongue over the hard little bud.
Alison's body moved, her cunt coming up to meet Donnas' mouth and suddenly the smaller girl felt herself seized and tugged to a different position.
"You're doing it the hard way," Alison said, laughing. "And besides, didn't you say you wanted a two-way deal?"
Donna licked the sweetness of Alison's cunt-juice from her lips and hung her head. "I'm so messy down there," she said shyly. "Don't you want me to... clean up a little?"
"Hell, no!" Alison burst out. "That's the way I like it!" She heaved up on one hip and shoved Donna into a similar position. She drew the under leg up, so that her inner thigh lay warm and inviting, with a few long blonde hairs straggling down from her opened cuntlips. "Put your sweet little face right there," she invited. "Move your head down a little. There, can you get at it, all of it?" She raised the other leg and laid it gently on Donnas' shoulder. "Reach around my thigh, if you want to open it up any more!"
Donna had made the same adjustments, feeling Alison's face warm against the sensitive skin along her inner thigh. The big girl slid a hand between them, picking up a fold of flesh on Donnas' belly and squeezing it, moving up to caress her straining breast. Donna had never felt more ecstatic.
With a little squeal of pure delight, she felt the long tongue go into her streaming and sensitive little hole and she clamped her lips over Alison's clit and sucked her hardest.
The two bodies squirmed in untold happiness and Donnas' little hand, slicking itself in her girl friend's sweetly flowing hole, reached slyly down to push at the ringed depression of Alison's anus. The blonde bucked against Donnas' mouth and the diminutive girl licked steadily, from one end of the hot slit to the other, her senses reveling in the richness of heat and humanity open to her mouth and tongue.
With a groan of ecstasy, she felt Alison's mouth move to her asshole and she fought off the desire to draw her sphincter tight. As she relaxed, she felt the big girl's tongue go in, just a wee bit and she squirmed to invite and aid a deeper penetration. It was better than Brad's finger, hotter, more exciting, than anything she had ever felt. She felt her tender anal walls draw together and knew that Alison was sucking at her ass and the loving sensation frightened her by its intensity. She thought briefly of the shit that might be there to mar the pleasure and suddenly laughed deep within. The thought that a trace of shit might be part of the delight made her wiggle uncontrollably and she strove to get her own mouth clamped over Alison's anus. Too bad-she was too short to reach it!
To make up for it, she drove her lubricated finger into the puckered circle of muscle, deeper, all the way and was rewarded by Alison's suddenly speeded-up movements of her cunt.
Sweeping from hole to clitoris, moving her head from side to side to smear her cheeks against the blood-swollen labia, Donna felt her insides grip in a tremendous flowering of heat and she sucked furiously on Alison's clitoris as her own well of love began to expand and contract in a spasm of coming.
It was as glorious as anything she could conceive- The softness and sweetness and gentleness of two women, sucking and loving in their own way, added up to an experience beyond and above mere fucking. "So I'm a Lez," Donna gloated.
They lay open to each other for a long time. Donna insisted on kissing Alison over and over. "Is that my shit?" she asked excitedly. "Did you get any out? Oh, God, Alison, how much I've got to learn!" She hugged the blonde happily, pushing her small, hard breasts against her friend's face, clenching her hands as Alison's sucking of her nipples brought powerful surges of feeling flaming through her belly.
She licked her own come-juice from Alison's cheeks and dived again into the blonde's open pussy, kissing it all over the pink expanse of labial convolutions, sucking again at the tight little hole. She became so aroused that she began to orgasm again as Alison spread her cunt with two fingers and lay panting, her eyes opened and unseeing, as the hot tide swept over her.
Alison, her hand resting lightly on Donnas' belly as the ripples of feeling subsided, gave her an affectionate pat. "Save some of that heat for later, baby," she advised. "This may be a long evening."
Donna sat up quickly. "Alison, do you mean that I may... that Bill would... want me again?" she asked intensely. "I'm so hot... and I'm so grateful, I'd fuck him on Main Street at high noon on Dollar Day!" Her laugh was tremulous.
"Take it easy, Donna," the blonde answered. "I don't think that Bill would change that quickly; he was pretty burned up."
Donnas' face fell. "I'd do anything to get back in his good graces," she muttered. "Anything!"
Alison stood up, looking around absently, stroking her tilted breasts. "Let's look at some films," she said abruptly.
"Films?" Donna repeated stupidly. "What kind of films? Sure," she said, as Alison frowned, "anything you say!"
They sat together on the bed, after Alison had rolled a cabinet over near them and opened a slide in its front. "It's all in here, baby," she said, patting the cabinet. "Projector, films, everything. Self-contained. Well use the wall for a screen. Douse that light by the bed."
Donnas' eyes grew round as the films, all in color, so beautifully clear and sharp that they suggested gifted professionalism, began to create pictures on the wall.
In the past, some of their friends had brought so-called stag films to their parties. They were stark, crudely done in technique as well as subject. These were masterpieces, bold, imaginative, shockingly explicit.
The first one was of Bill, rolling naked on a big bed with two girls so young that their breasts were mere buds, their pubic hair showing faintly. There were amazing close-ups: little twats held open with childish hands, Bill's enormous prick looking impossibly threatening, held against the juvenile lips; and finally, there was the shattering scene of Bill forcing his big cock into one of the almost hairless cunts, with the child's agonized screams coming loud and frightening and virgin blood pumping out of the quivering hole, with Derwin's cock only halfway in as his explosions of semen brought writhing hysteria to the girl.
Donnas' fists were clenched. Alison grinned at her. "Like it?" she asked. "Here are the same kids, a month later."
The girls were obviously more mature, more confident. And strangely, at least to Donna, they seemed happy.
They prattled to Bill and each other as they climbed over him, stroking and sucking his prick, laughing as it choked them, fingering each other with raucous, earthy pleasure. The film cut to scenes of the happy little chicks riding Bill's prick, taking it all in, proud of their womanhood. Scene after scene of orgasm, the tense and beautiful little faces plainly showed their pleasure.
Donna let out a long, gasping breath and laughed shakily. "I'm glad you showed me that follow-up," she said. " I was ready to scream!"
There was more. Much more. Alison, on hands and knees, looking back in lust at a mammoth police dog as his hairy rump swept back and forth in machine-gun precision. It was only for a few seconds, but unmistakably Alison. Donnas' hand gripped the big girl's and she shivered.
There was a lovely woman in an evening dress, fondling the stubby, stiff prick of a chimpanzee, which grinned and chattered obscenely as the woman feverishly masturbated him, at last dropping her beautifully coiffed head to take the black little organ into her mouth. The chimp's wails of pleasure and the working of the woman's throat muscles showed that the little primate's load of sperm was shooting into the lady's throat.
There was even a girl tied to a bed, her ass at its edge, her legs held wide apart by two other women, while a long-snouted, long-haired beast leaped around the room, sniffed at the opened and obviously dripping cunt and then, incredibly, stuffed the snout deep into the captive's vagina. There was a high, shrill scream and the film ended with a glaring oblong stream of bright light on the wall. Alison said, "Lights on," in a calmly amused voice and turned off the projector.
Donna clung to the big girl, trembling. "Jesus Christ!" she whispered. "I can understand the dog; really I can, Alison!" She looked at her friend, aching to assure her that she, Donna, held no criticism in her heart. "Even the monkey-I've always thought monkeys were sort of sexy, the way they sit and jerk off in the zoo, with everybody looking on and all the straights trying to look like it's not happening!" Her laugh was small. "But, my God! An anteater! That awful snout going in-that poor girl screaming! Did he kill her?"
Alison snorted. "That's what you'd call an experimental film," she said. "Just a shocker, strictly for laughs. A couple of wise-guy film makers were down here from Hollywood, trying to get financing for some X-rated picture they were planning. And Bill borrowed this anteater from a woman he knew. The beast was trained to do that. And the girl liked it. That scream was dubbed in!"
Donna, sitting tailor-fashion, shifted from one ass cheek to the other. "Somebody's going to have to change these sheets," she said wryly. "I've leaked all over them!"
She reached for Alison's crotch, but the other girl moved away. Donna pouted. "Come on, Alison," she said. "You know I'm dying to get my nuts off. And Bill won't have me." Her voice was pleading.
Alison stood up and put a finger to her cheek as though in deep thought. "You say you'll do anything to get back in Bill's good graces?" she asked. "You really mean it?"
"Oh, yes! Yes!" Donna cried. "Except that-ugh! Anteater!"
Alison took Donna by the hand and led her to a low couch against the wall. She pulled it away on silent rollers and showed some peculiar-looking leather cuffs in sunken places on the wall. She pulled one out. It was attached to a broad strap, apparently on a spring, for the cuff snapped back when she let it go. She looked at Donna speculatively. The younger girl grinned doubtfully.
"Bill has this thing about bondage," Alison said. "Nothing really serious-no flagellation or torture. Honest! He just gets mild kicks out of fooling around with girls who are tied up. Want to try it? You can refuse, you know."
For an answer, Donna lay down on the couch, a little bit fearful, but also a little bit excited. "I'm game!" she said.
It wasn't so bad for the first few minutes. When the fire in her pussy abated slightly, Donna found the position restful. The couch was comfortable, the bonds not drawn too tightly. Her legs were spread and she could feel the air conditioning at work, cooling the fluids on her opened cuntlips. She had a small regret that she was beginning to cool off sexually.
All at once, the bedside lamp went out and Donna, like a child locked in a dark room, felt a momentary panic, but that evaporated immediately as a big TV screen lit up on the far wall.
At first it seemed to be a replay of a part of the film she had seen-Alison and the police dog. Probably some parts of the film which had been edited out from the other. But then, with a start, Donna was aware that this was "live", that Alison, who had left her only a few minutes before, was putting on a show, strictly for her.
Licking her lips, shivering with a return of the nymphomaniac heat which had swept her before, Donna struggled to turn so that she could see better. Two of the bonds gave way enough so that she could move her upper body just enough to face the screen.
Gorgeous Alison, Donna thought. What does she see in dogs?
As though in answer to the question, Alison turned so that the huge dog, following her as she moved on hands and knees, was also in profile. Donna had often seen dog's penises as the dogs rolled on the floor at home, showing the slick red cocks. They had seemed small in comparison to a man's. But not this dog! As he made his attempts to mount, Donna, with a sense of disbelief, saw that the pointed cock, red and dripping with his lust, was enormous.
A wave of the voyeur's fuck-mania surged through Donna as she saw this dangerous-looking spear of canine flesh jab blindly between Alison's beautiful legs and she rolled against her bonds in feverish excitement as Alison calmly reached behind her, the dog's fucking motions continuing in the blonde girl's hand and guided the incredible cock into her open pussy. The contact made the dog's actions more frantic and Donna, hypnotized by the animal lust in herself as well as in the scene, started against her bonds again as a smaller dog, seeming to come from nowhere, ran under Alison and began furiously licking at her belly, her hanging tits, until all the action seemed to be synchronized to the powerful lunges of the police dog, his loins banging against the blonde girl's spread haunches with such force that she rocked forward with each thrust.
Biting her lips in a sort of frenzy, Donna felt the itch between her legs burst in a sharp shock and helplessly, happily, alone in the room lighted only by the picture, she began to come.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Brad had never known such wild fun, such a concentration of out-of-the-world pussy, such elation. The warm, lush, youthful body of Maida, the sensuality of Verna, her good humor and willingness to try anything he suggested had really inspired him to some of the finest fucking he could remember.
Alison had given them all a flash of Donna and Bill, locked in such a ferocious embrace on the terrace and it had given him a satisfaction the others couldn't possibly have understood.
Maida had, somehow, noticed what Alison had done to activate the closed-circuit television, which seemed to link all the rooms electronically and had experimented with the intricate switch, tuning in nothing but bare rooms in most cases. Once, they had even seen themselves on the screen and all had rolled in a fit of helpless laughter as Maida, turning to the now-easily located camera, had fingered her blonde twat open and said, "Smile, baby! You're on Candid Camera!"
Brad, who knew something about electronics, was fascinated by the extraordinary quality of the pictures as well as the sound, and although he didn't say so, he was awed as he thought of the cost of the setup.
He had experienced some rather sharp ups and downs in these couples of hours. He had said hello to Max McGillah and for the first time, he had felt a stirring of humanity toward the older man-he had looked so gray and tired. Sixty years old, maybe more, Brad figured. Maybe not too old for the job, but sure as hell too old for this kind of party.
And too old for the warm, laughing, thirtyish Alice Carroll, the good-looking brunette who was his secretary and who was the subject of Maida's first confidential advice on how things went between major executives and their office wives.
"How long have you been with Max?" Brad had asked her, as they had engaged in small talk when he and Donna had first arrived and Alice had looked at him with a bright and knowing smile, obviously knowing that the real question in his mind had been along different lines.
"Long enough to know all his abilities," she had said, laughing. "And he still has them-most of them." She had laid a hand on Brad's shoulder then and the movement had shaken the orchid lei off one of her fine, sloping breasts, so that the dark circle of the areola and the darker nub of the puckered nipple had pointed right at him. He had felt confident enough to reach out and cup both her breasts, enjoying their warm weight, their sensuous feel. It had been a pleasant moment. One of his sharpest drops in spirit had been when Maida had tuned in a picture of the big room where Alison had taken Donna and their conversation had told him of Donnas' horrendous fiasco with Bill. A flaming anger and a sharp despair had almost choked him.
And then there had been that soaring moment when he had heard-almost unable to believe his ears-the staggering news of his promotion. It had actually numbed his body and mind, so that he could remember only faintly the congratulations that Maida and Verna had showered on him.
He could've wept with gratitude to Bill and thought humbly of how wonderful it must be to have such money and power. Especially the power. And the knowledge that he now enjoyed a new stature made both Maida and Verna seem slightly less to him-sweet girls, wonderful to fuck, but now he had a choice of other worlds.
The soft tangle of bodies on the screen as Alison and Donna went down on each other was both amusing and warming. He had always secretly believed that most women concealed more than just a touch of Lesbianism; he not only condoned it, but he wondered why they weren't more open. Outside of his love for business, he felt that a woman's body-and in particular, a warm pussy-was the most delightful gift on earth. Loving cunt as he did and knowing how a hot woman loved her own, he saw how another woman's slit might stir Donna as it did him.
The sight had stirred both Maida and Verna and they rolled on the bed behind him as they watched the two girls on the screen, kidding the act as though they were only clowning, but obviously interested in each other.
He heard Maida refer to Alison as "the bobcat" and had laughingly asked the reason for the nickname.
"Because she's really, really, really a wild pussy!" Maida had said, giggling.
"She's Bill's girl, isn't she?" he had asked and Maida had turned silent and sober for the moment.
"Well, that's right, isn't it?" he had persisted and Maida, after a little thought, had given him the answer.
"She's a hell of a lot more than that," she had begun. "When I first came to work for him, I had all sorts of girlish ideas-especially after I heard about the parties. But do you know something, Brad? Bill's never fucked me! Cross my heart," she said, stroking her left breast up and across. "And you know why? I asked Alison and she told me." She looked thoughtful. "He wants everybody that works for good old Bon-twat to have a real, honest-to-God interest in sex!" She nodded, as though confirming this news to herself.
And Brad, remembering part of what Alison had told him, smiled. "I know," he said.
But Maida, shaking her head so that her breasts bounced invitingly, said, "It goes deeper than that. He's got a thing about it. He wants the wives to be the same way. And it's all business with him. Can you imagine? He says that a sexed-up wife keep a man happy. A better employee!"
"So, what's that go to do with Alison?" Brad inquired.
He thought that Maida shivered as she pointed to the screen, where they could barely discern Alison and Donna, their faces dimly lighted by the reflection of the films, which were not in the TV picture.
"Alison told me that I didn't need any steaming up. He already knew some things about me. He said that anyone who would fuck as many guys as I had, didn't need his help. But if I had needed it, Alison would've supplied it! That's a part of her job-to check out any chicks that may need help and working along with Bill to turn them on."
Brad shook his head doubtfully. "But she's still his girl," he said. "That's obvious."
"Brad," Maida said slowly, "I told you that she's more than that. She's not exactly his-what do you call it? Procuress? But she works with him on all this sex stuff. Like right now-with Donna!"
"But, shit, Maida," Brad protested, "Donnas' hot enough for me! She does anything-" and he paused. He knew damned well that there were limits to what Donna would do for him-for anyone. He wasn't sure that he wanted it any different. But still, this experience right now, with Alison, maybe this was a good thing. He trusted Bill. Bill knew best.
Suddenly an urge came to him to find Bill and thank him-not for the promotion; it hadn't been officially announced-but only learned by hearsay. But just to thank him for the party, for his friendship. Everything. He got up and left.
"Wow!" Verna murmured in a shaky voice. "Where in hell did those dogs come from?" She held Maida tightly, feeling the blonde's tit against her own, a thrilling contact.
On the screen, Donna raised her head and saw the two dogs, let into the room by someone-Alison, of course. She strained at the leather cuffs in blind panic, feeling her cunt, so recently bathed in juice from her voyeur's come, try to close itself in some primordial fear. Her body ached with the tension of her strong back muscles, striving to break the bonds, to free herself, to hide her cunt from the sniffing dogs, their lolling pink tongues, their obscenely red cocks, straining out from their shaggy bellies.
Maida, her mouth gone suddenly dry, was glad that Brad had gone, but her own lust rose as the big dog began to lap at Donnas' open cuntlips as the small brunette, her face a closed mask of fear, started to scream.
Brad had taken a wrong turn, he supposed. He knew the house was built on several levels and the drinks and the fucking with Maida and Verna had muddled him slightly. He must be on the floor above the main level, where the terrace was.
He tensed his muscles happily, feeling like a million dollars. A million dollars! It wasn't impossible, even for a guy like himself. He knew that Bill always let major executives in on real estate steals when his buyers located small parcels of raw land near where one of his vast subdivisions would rise. Stocks, too, in companies he was planning to take over. The grapevine said that Max McGillah, one of the older men on the payroll, was truly rich. All of it on account of Bill's interest and help.
He stopped in the long hall and drew in a deep breath. He proudly noted that his cock, instead of being limp after two wildly athletic screws with Maida and the redhead, was fat and full of life. Not hard, of course, but it had come up almost to complete erection as he watched Donna and Alison so sweetly sucking each other off.
He heard music coming from a door at the end of the hall and walked to it, confidently opening the door.
The room was small and seemed almost bare to Brad, after the opulence he had seen in other rooms. But on the bed there was a girl, in a simple, unadorned robe and Brad had eyes for nothing else.
She seemed completely undismayed, smiling at him faintly, curiously and didn't move, although the robe was open and she had nothing on under it. She had been doing her toenails, with one foot up on the bed, the knee almost supporting her chin and her pussy, bearing so little hair that her slit was plainly visible, was in plain view.
The robe hung open so that Brad could see one breast and it was that of a very young girl, a vital little cone of pink flesh with a dark nipple standing pertly out.
The girl's smile was warmer now and she said, "Hello! What happened to you-did you get lost?"
Her voice was young and pleasant, seeming to be ready to change into a laugh and Brad, who had been so proud of his cock a minute before, felt it jerk in anticipation. He picked up on the girl's remark.
"No, baby," he said, his voice happy. "I won the grand prize-a secret map showing me the way to your palace. Who in hell are you and what are you doing here?"
The girl stood up and Brad saw that she was quite tall for such a young girl and that, although her breasts were small and her pussy nearly bald, at least she had the swelling, generous hips and rounded belly of a woman. She seemed unconcerned at either his presence or his nudity and Brad felt a wild sense of adventure swell in him.
Bill had said he could have-just about, anyhow-any girl at the party. If that meant this one, what a way to end the evening! This chick was young! Maybe fourteen, maybe fifteen. Certainly not much older. She would be so tight! His cock leaped again and the girl, her eyes drawn by its involuntary movement, dropped her eyes and flushed, but didn't turn away.
Brad walked over to her and took her hand. He felt unaccountably light hearted, suddenly assured that he could and would fuck this girl. Close-up, he drew in her perfume-a light scent and with it there was the heady incense of just plain girl, the smell of warm, clean flesh, a faint touch of the musky pussy smell that he loved so much, the fragrance of clean hair.
"I asked you," he said softly, "who are you and what are you doing here?"
The girl looked at him with shy amusement. "My name is Ellen," she answered. "And I live here."
Brad's heart hammered. Jesus, one of the maids, probably! That Bill! He would have them-young ones, cute and sweet and pretty, with that curious sensuality that surrounds the young! Without hesitation, Brad pulled her to him, her belly warming his and kissed her.
He was surprised that she kept her teeth closed, but he worked them and her gums over with his tongue until at last, with seeming reluctance, she opened her mouth and her tongue came softly out to meet his.
He held one hand low behind her, kneading softly at her firm-fleshed ass and used the other to work the robe off her shoulders. The girl moved her arm from where it had tightened around his neck and shook off the short sleeve. With her tongue moving fiercely in Brad's mouth, she was breathing rapidly and her belly began a slow movement against Brad's prick, lying straight and hard between their warming flesh.
He had known that he would fuck her from the moment she had looked at his cock and not turned away in panic, but, as he told himself, he hadn't realized it would come so easy. She was plainly as hot as a mink and any trace of guilt or doubt left him.
He moved his hand from her ass, letting the robe drop free and worked his fingers between the cheeks of her ass. God, it was a wild feeling, to find a cunt with no hair, but spilling come-juice out in a slick flow! The girl groaned as he probed deeper and he could swear that he felt the juvenile muscles close on his finger.
Holding her in an unchanging grip, he moved her back until her knees struck the edge of the mattress, and still holding her and tongue-kissing her, but changing his hands so that he could support her weight, he placed her on the bed.
He knelt between her outstretched thighs, then raised his head and smiled down at her. Her eyes were closed, but she was smiling and he bent to kiss her lightly.
"You know what I'm going to do," he said, not as a question and his heart leaped as she opened her hazel eyes and gave him a tremulous smile. Goddamn it, if he didn't know Bill so well and how he operated, he would think she was a virgin.
"Did a man ever eat your pussy?" he whispered and again he was transported, as the child closed her mouth tightly, shaking her head violently. Brad believed her and he laughed. Here was one virginity that Bill hadn't gotten to yet, he gloated.
He put a couple of pillows under her ass, raising her young slit higher. There was just a light circle of yellow-brown hair on her pubis, none of the hairs more than half an inch long. The slit was quite bare and touchingly little-girlish. It was smooth to his lips and tongue and the padded lips, soon to grow much fatter and hairier, had a faint taste of sweat. The lips quivered, however and opened slightly, so that his tongue moved among the wet convolutions of membrane and when he touched her tight little button of a clitoris, she hunched her ass up strongly and her hands pulled at his hair.
Hot! Just a kid, Brad thought, but hot as a grown woman. Remembering Donnas' pussy when she was about the same age, he grinned at the acridity of the taste between the lips. Young kids were always gamier-they hadn't developed the hot flow of juice from their vaginas and maybe they weren't so careful in wiping their little twats after a piss.
Under him, his cock had forgotten the wear and tear of two powerful orgasms and was pressing its hard length up to his belly. No use in waiting, he thought. This tight little cunt-he'd have to push hard to get it all in her!
He moved one of the pillows. Her ass, round and firm, was almost enough to raise the open slit to just the right height. The tender head of his cock, brushing against the soft skin of her thighs, near her pussy, nodded up and down and Brad crouched on hands and knees, looking at the welcoming smile on the childish face. "Do you know how to put it in, or do you want me to?" he asked, smiling. He felt the head rub in something slick and wet and knew that the entry would at least be greased up plenty.
"No, you do it," the girl whispered and closed her eyes again, a look of frightened expectancy on her face.
There really was plenty of juice, Brad realized. The head went in easy enough, but when the hard column hit the tight hole, it stopped. He pushed impatiently and the girl moved, letting out a little yelp of pain. Still, the cock went in, even if her cunt was so small and he pulled out an inch of it to pick up more of her juices before he pushed back again.
This time, the girl didn't utter a sound, but her face was almost grim in its concentration. A little pain, Brad reflected, only made a fuck better. He pushed again and something stopped him. And suddenly, he had a shaking thought.
"Hey," he said firmly and the girl opened her eyes to smile at him. "You haven't got a maidenhead in there, have you?" He was more or less kidding. If she worked for Bill Derwin, how could she have a maidenhead?
The girl's smile was open and sweet. "I don't think so," she said. "I've had my finger in it since I was ten. And I think I broke something with a douche nozzle a month ago. It bled a lot." She suddenly seemed to contract under him and pushed up hard. "Can't you just go ahead and fuck me?" she asked impatiently. "I'm so hot! Please!"
Brad's own needs gave his loins their force. His mind was slightly off-center, wondering about a number of things, but his cock and balls needed no answers except their own urgency.
But before he lowered his body, Brad stayed on his knees for one last moment... to open the tender little lips with his fingers... to touch a wet finger to the straining little clit. It was hard and ready, miraculous in so young a girl. Brad cautiously lay down, gathering his muscles for the lunge that would tear through whatever remnants of virginity the girl had.
His straining prick was painfully skinned back as he shot his weight forward behind it. There was a shocking bump and the girl whimpered, biting her lips.
With sweet brutality, Brad forced her lips open and shot his tongue into her mouth, feeling her rise slightly at this prod to her passion. "That's the stuff, baby," he whispered. "I'm going to shove it in again. You push up hard when I do. I'm about to come and I think you are, too. I want to come inside you-all the way inside. Okay? Here we go!"
He had pulled out as far as he dared and even that retreat had been achingly tight. Now, quivering with lust, he slammed in as hard as he could, exultingly noting that the girl had done as he had ordered, pushing herself boldly up to him.
His cock seemed to move forward, with something extraordinarily tight around the knob of it and then that, whatever it was, also gave way and his cock shot all the way in.
The girl gave a loud, shrill cry of pain and he drew back to see that her face was white and taut, but as his cock throbbed, deep inside her, she smiled and opened her eyes.
"God, you're big!" she whispered. "Aren't you? Really big?" She moved involuntarily and there was a little flutter of muscle around his tool, swollen with ready desire. Thinking of the size of the cock on Bill, Brad smiled.
"I guess I am pretty big," he said. "Some are bigger; some are smaller."
"Can you kiss my breasts?" she asked, trying to push the small mounds up. "They sort of ache. Can you reach them?"
Brad arched his back and somehow got one hard nipple into his mouth, sucking it as hard as he could. The girl wiggled under him, her cunt fluttering again.
Careful not to move his cock in or out, since he was on a hair-trigger verge of coming, Brad pushed up on his hands; then, placing them on her hips to pull her along with him, he raised to his knees. "Put your legs behind my back," he said, "and hold yourself there."
Watching her smiling face, he began to play with her baby breasts, so much softer than he had thought they would be, but with wide pink circles targeting the nipples. "Feel good?" he asked and the girl wiggled again. "Oh, wow!" she said. "Just wonderful. It's making me want to come. Can we fuck now?"
Brad lowered himself to her breast again, moving his cock slightly. "It almost chokes me," the girl whispered. "It's pushing against my stomach, like." She giggled. "It feels like it anyhow," she added. She moved sharply, as though some pain had struck her and her breath hissed in Brad's ear.
He pulled back and her body slammed up against him, so that his cock jarred against her hard cervix and the tight grip around his already swollen prick seemed to press at once on all the nerves that trigger an orgasm.
For the girl's sake, wanting to be certain that she came, he tried to make his thrusts slow and precise, but her body was slamming against his with such strength that he had no choice but to meet her, in a rhythm that seemed to take them both on a ride into a chaos of wild feeling, where he could feel his seed pour out in spurts so fierce that they burned his tubes. She was so tight that none of his slick seed came bubbling out around the stem of his cock and her muscle spasms, milking him to the last drop, came back each time his prick gave a reflex throb.
Because of his greater weight, Brad rolled onto his back, pulling the girl with him and she sat gaily up on his shrinking prick, a look of complete happiness on her elfin face. She bent quickly down to kiss and put her cheek against his.
"You know," she whispered, "this is the-craziest thing that ever happened to any girl. My very first fuck-and I don't even know your name!"
Brad laughed explosively. "I'm Brad Street," he said. "And all I know of you is that you're called Ellen." His cock, still full of lovely feeling, was growing smaller and only her weight was keeping it in. "Roll off, Ellen and let me look at that sweet little pussy!"
Pouting, she let him push her off and laughed as she saw his tool, less than half the size if was when she first saw it.
"Do they always shrink up like that?" she asked. And Brad laughed at her naivet'. She rubbed his cock, holding up a hand sticky with semen, blood-streaked from her torn hymen. "Ugh!" she said. "Pretty messy, isn't it?"
"Pretty wonderful!" he corrected her, taking her hand and kissing it. He turned to her as she lay on her side, fingering one of her small breasts. The sight of her young belly, with its barely visible ring of hair on her fat little pubis, was touching and he felt a pang of remorse, strange for him, at the welling of blood from her puffed-out lips. He turned his eyes back to hers.
"I've got to get back to the party, I guess, Ellen," he said apologetically. "But I don't want this to be good-bye. May I call you sometime?"
She patted his cheek. "Certainly, Brad," she agreed. "Any time you want."
"Who do I ask for?" he asked. "All I know is Ellen."
The girl laughed. "Oh, I thought you knew," she replied. "I'm Ellen Derwin-I'm Bill Derwin's daughter!"
At Brad's change of expression, as pained as if she had twisted his balls, Ellen sat up, with deep concern in her face.
"What's wrong, Brad?" she inquired anxiously. "Are you sick?"
Heavily, Brad swung his feet to the floor, his head hanging, shoulders sagging. "I'm sick," he said woodenly. "Sick, sick, sick!"
Ellen moved against him, her arm around him, feeling for a cock so shrunken by shock that it was no larger than a finger.
"But why?" She whispered the question.
"I've just blown the best job I ever had," he said, misery in his voice. "If your dad finds out-" and he choked up.
Ellen got up on her knees, pulling his head to her warm, taut belly. "No, Brad!" she cried. "No way!"
"You mean... you won't tell him?" Brad asked wonderingly, hope lighting his face.
"Pooh!" the child said, laughing. "You don't know my father! He knows something like this had to happen to me, sooner or later. He's told me so. He couldn't know it would be with someone so... sweet and grown-up and well, what do I say? As manly as you are!"
"That's what scares me, Ellen," Brad confessed. "I'm too grown-up to mess with a young girl! I must be crazy! No, he'll bust me for sure. And I deserve it!"
Smiling, Ellen shook her head. "You're wrong, Brad," she declared firmly. "My dad admires guts more than anything else in the world. Initiative! And isn't that what we both showed-initiative?"
CHAPTER EIGHT
One of the leather straps had given way and Donna, now almost frantic with an unknown revulsion, could move her left arm and shoulder, but her legs remained spread, her cunt helpless under the steady lapping of the big dog. Suddenly, as her heat began to return, she found not only the courage to accept her bondage, but a resurgence of the pleasure she had wallowed in with Alison.
There was only one difficulty-the dog didn't know what he was doing, did not have the understanding, the empathy of the tall, skillful girl.
Alison's tongue and lips knew so well the tenderest, most sensitive spots. The dog simply lapped, not knowing her clit from her asshole, now licking the outside of her cuntlips, now along the thigh, where tasty come-juice had spread, only occasionally getting into the inner labia, into the hole. Once, he turned his head and nibbled with his short front teeth in the hair, as though searching for a flea and it was a weird feeling, bringing a hysterical laugh from the bound girl.
She moved and strained, trying to follow the busy tongue, achingly desirous of moving her clitoris into its path. Damn the stupid beast! Why hadn't Alison trained him to stick to the hot places so a girl could come? This was torture-rising to within a hair's breadth of orgasm, only to have the dumb animal's snout and tongue go searching down to her hole. That was pleasant enough, certainly, but she strained and reached and searched for the final touch that would relieve and release her into the wild joy of coming.
In a lucid moment, she realized that she was probably appearing somewhere in the house on a TV screen, putting on a dog show for the others. The others? Would Brad be one of them? In her fierce desire to reach a climax, she didn't care. Let them look; let them laugh. Only, dear God, please let me come, she prayed.
Somehow, like a miracle, one of her leg bonds gave way entirely and she closed her legs, pulling the freed one up and across and tumbled on her knees to the floor. The desire to escape had been pure reflex. Something feminine and beyond control had made it, for a moment, paramount to her desire for a body-filling orgasm. In a rush of heat, she realized that her ass was now open to the big dog, to do with as he liked.
Her heart leaped. Maybe now she would come.
Thanks to Bill Derwin's inordinate interest in people and to his mergers which scooped in an advanced television firm while his beach home was being built, the only rooms in which TV screens did not reach throughout the big home were the kitchen and the pantry.
But there was one big room which was, actually, the nerve center of all this complex observation system. Its screen was the biggest and brightest of all and it was furnished almost entirely with cushions, some of them as large as mattresses, others shaped like wedges, some like tremendous pillows, all sizes and shapes, so that those fortunate enough to be allowed in this, Derwin's private showroom, were also fortunate enough to find the exact position, the exact degree of comfort, which made them happiest.
The big screen was reflected in huge mirrors, so that, if their-or Bill's-whim placed their backs to the screen, they could still see the action. By angled refraction, the screen was also reflected on the ceiling.
This was fortunate for Maida and Verna, who lay happily on their backs alongside Derwin, who reclined comfortably with his back propped against a huge padded wedge of soft leather, his legs spread wide so that Alison, careful not to do her job too enthusiastically, was gently mouthing his big cock.
"Just keep it barely hard, darling," he had ordered, stroking her hair with a hand recently drawn from the streaming pussy of the redhead. "You know what I want. Only enough to keep my senses sharp. This interests me."
"This" was the engaging sight of Donna and the dogs, full life-size and in gorgeous color. The big police dog was busy trying to mount her and the position of the camera-Alison had placed Donna exactly right to accomplish this-showed both the vermilion slickness of the animal's pointed cock and the dark red line of quivering labia between the girl's dark-haired cuntlips. As the dog stabbed blindly with his prick, leaving slimy trails of his fluids along Donnas' thighs and buttocks, her ass moved and bobbed, but whether in an attempt to aid or spoil the dog's aim was anyone's guess.
Bill's strong fingers splayed idly in the opened twats of Maida and Verna, spreading their flowing juices up and down their warming slits, noting the increase in their heat as the dog and woman came closer to fulfillment. One of them, the redhead, bucked and giggled as Bill's thumb touched her clit and he gave her a punishing pinch on a haired lip, which brought a muffled scream.
Alison looked up, holding the thick stem of Bill's cock in one hand and hissed, "Quiet, stupid!" before going down again to mouth the swollen glands.
Alice Carroll, playing with Derwin's bare feet, occasionally bending her head to lick between his toes, breathed sharply as the point of the dog's prick seemed to enter Donnas' cunt and was hastily withdrawn, showing that the blindly stabbing organ had missed again.
"What do you think, Alison?" the brunette asked in a hushed tone. "If that kid could get her hands free, would she help the dog get it in?"
Maida, emboldened by this first real sexual contact with her boss, said, "All that Alison can say is what she'd do and we already know she'd help the dog!"
There was a plopping sound as an angry Alison pulled her head away from Bill's prick and the sound of a hearty slap as Bill cuffed his secretary's face. "You keep sucking!" he said sharply. "And don't go pulling away like that. I told you I wanted it easy, didn't I?"
He took his two hands, reeking and slick from the pussies alongside him and wiped them in Alison's blonde hair. He leaned over and inhaled the richness of scent, smiling at the completeness of this easygoing scene of lust-his lust, with no need to feel concerned about anyone else.
His good humor returned, he stroked Alison's slowly moving cheeks and asked, "Did you get the boys from the beach?"
"Four of them, just at random-the first four I ran into," Alison answered, keeping a warm hand slowly moving on Bill's cock. "They're all young and hot and ready. I told the houseboys to keep them on the terrace until we're ready and to give them just one drink each, no more."
"Who gets the beach boys?" Maida questioned. "I'm getting hot and I don't like to race my motor like this, without getting it into gear."
Bill laughed and pushed his finger deep inside her, causing a muted squeal. "They're all for Donna," he said. "Maybe you kids might stand in line for seconds." His voice was pleased, almost excited.
"Alison," he said, "I want them ready to start on Donna as soon as the dog gets through. Understand?"
"Sure thing, chief," Alison responded. "But, my God, she'll be a wreck by then." She shivered. "That damned dog really gives you a working over. She'll go right up the wall if anyone touches her for five minutes after he's through."
"Fine," Bill said calmly. "That's exactly what I want. She's a hot woman, but she's got too many hangups for her own good. I want her to be so conditioned before the night's over that she'll start to drool at both ends if she so much as sees a man's shorts hanging on the line."
"Or a girl's panties, chief?" Alison teased and he gave her a good-natured slap.
"I can remember when women wouldn't even discuss Lesbianism-even women who practiced it," Bill said reminiscently. "It's a nasty word still, but thank God, a lot of women are getting over their own culture-induced fear of it. What a goddamned stupid world! In some ways, we'd be better off if we had never learned to think!"
"Bill... " Maida's voice was low, as though she sought permission to inject an idea. "I sort of dig other women and their lovable, stinking old pussies. Especially when I'm as hot as I am right now. A girl can actually eat me better than a guy. Is that because I'm brainwashed and still think a little love with a girl is wrong?"
Bill, his eyes on the screen, where the big dog had at last gotten his long red cock buried in Donnas' quivering cunt, didn't answer for a moment.
"Possibly, Maida," he answered. "At least in part. But mainly, I expect, because you're truly heterosexual, with not too many hangups about it. We're all part man, part woman. What we think of as normal-masculine probably adds up to eighty per cent man, twenty per cent woman. And vice versa."
Maida pulled his hand up from her pussy and smelled it, then sucked at two of his fingers. "I think I'm getting my percentages changed," she said, laughing. "Looking at Alison, with that lovely ass parted and that lovely pussy practically in my face, makes me feel very manly!"
Alison, careful not to increase either her tongue action or her pressure on Bill's cock, moved her ass nearer to the younger girl's hand. She waggled it lewdly and the thickly furred lips parted, showing the shadowed entry of her vagina. Maida, hunching against Bill's finger, stroked the broad, firm ass cheeks lovingly and slowly rammed two of her fingers into the wet, stretchy opening.
"I never thought you had any hangups at all, Maida," Bill said wonderingly. "Over men or women. Maybe I'd better fix you up with the dogs-or a dozen surfers, although I actually don't believe you need it. Not like Donna, bless her!"
There was real tenderness in his voice and Maida looked at the mirrored ceiling, where Donna, defying gravity, was pictured in the last throes of what was obviously an almighty big orgasm, with the little dog somehow lying near her face and the big dog relaxed and panting on her back.
"She ought to be about cured," Maida ventured, giggling.
"Not yet," Bill said, his voice earnest. "But she will be. I owe it to Brad. And I owe it to her. She's got so much potential! I'll see that she's really free!"
He reached down and patted Alison on the head. "Take five, darling," he said. "I want to watch this and you'll have to get the dog pretty soon. Too bad Max had to leave."
Alice laughed, sitting on her heels and feeling between Verna's legs, where Bill's play had left the redhead sopping.
"Sweet old thing; he was tired," she said. "I hope he's going to be all right."
"All right?" Bill asked in surprise. "Of course he's going to be all right. It's none of your business, of course, but Max has more money than he'll ever be able to spend. No sweat for Max!"
Alice comically fingered her pussy and made a gesture with her hand, her finger bending like a fallen cock. "They say that a man loses his shot when he's away from this stuff for a while," she said.
Bill gave her a grin. "Sounds like you're worrying about yourself as much as Max, baby," he said. "Didn't I tell you? Retired executives still have executive privileges. You may still find old Maxie in your bed."
"I hope the rest gets him built up," the brunette said, giggling. "I could use a man right now. Boy, could I!"
Alison had left the room silently, no doubt to go for the dog and Maida and Verna, built to fever heat by what they had seen, feeling freer than ever after Bill's diatribe against hangups, were leaning against each other.
It was Maida who made the suggestion. "Where's Brad?" she asked. "There's a man who can fuck all night. See if you can get Brad, Alice, honey. He'll squirt that stuff all over where you're on fire. I guarantee he'll put it out!"
Bill laughed silently and let out a deep sigh.
"Brad's busy," he answered quietly.
"Doing what, for Christ's sake?" Verna asked curiously. "Everyone's here except Alison; all the girls, I mean. You don't mean that Brad's after one of the houseboys!"
Bill's voice was lighter now.
"Not Brad," he said. Surprisingly, he laughed aloud. "Brad's fucking my daughter," he said, as though casually mentioning the weather.
The shocked silence was as loud as a scream. Maida and Verna moved apart, eying each other self-consciously and dropping their eyes. Alice, still sitting on her heels, realized that her jaw had dropped and closed her mouth.
"What do you think I am," Bill said harshly, "some kind of goddamned hypocrite? Do you think I preach and practice, freedom of life for you people and something different for my daughter? That's not very complimentary!"
The three women remained silent, but Maida, sensing a deep current of emotion in her boss and unable to control a tendency toward mothering anyone who seemed to need it, put a hand on Bill's naked shoulder. He let it lie there for a moment before shrugging it off.
"Maida," he said and he seemed totally relaxed, "how old were you when you got fucked for the first time?"
The blonde girl laughed. "Five, I think," she replied.
"No, I don't mean little-kid stuff," Bill answered. "I mean a real fuck, when you had hair on your pussy and the guy was grown-up enough to have a real prick, shooting jism into you, giving it the works. You know."
"Well now, about that... " Maida was being careful. "... I can't really say. Some football guy got my cherry, but looking back, it wasn't a real fuck. I was more scared than hot; you know what I mean?"
Bill nodded and so did the other two women.
"I guess the first time I got any real fun out of it was when I was just under fifteen. Everything else I had ever done, it was to spite Mom. She pushed me around so much, always saying I would grow up to be a tramp. Even when I was a little kid. The football guy was to spite her. Mom didn't want me to be a song-leader. Said I'd get it from some football player!" She snickered, like a naughty little girl telling secrets. "Well, I got it! And it was a mess-just a lot of hurting and bleeding. At first, I thought he'd killed me! The dumb ox! A lot he knew!"
"How about the first time you had fun?" Alice prodded.
"Oh, that was different," Maida said, her voice growing warmer. "This was just for me. This guy in the Junior Chamber of Commerce-they were looking for Miss Carnation candidates-was so neat! An older fellow, twenty-five, I think. Tall and lean and good-looking. He always wore bow ties," she said irrelevantly. "An insurance man named Hansen. I knew more of what it was all about. I was sick of getting banged by those dumb schoolboys and I had gone to old Doc Gold, in Sonrisa Beach and he put me on the Pill. He said he had to examine me, to see if I was mature enough!"
The blonde girl whooped in solid laughter and the others waited, smiling. "And did he?" Alice asked. "Examine you?"
"Inside and out," Maida said earnestly. "Looked real serious and said he had to run an acid test-he'd have to taste me! No shit, he licked me for about a minute. I think he shot off in his white smock!" She hugged herself, thinking about those far-off days. Bill cleared his throat.
"Excuse me, Bill," the girl said apologetically. "I got carried away. But the old Doc was pretty funny. But this Hansen-Gristle, they called him, a nickname-he was so sweet. I know he had eyes for me, ever since I came in, in a bikini, to fill out an entry form for Miss Carnation. But he was really careful not to lay a hand on me. So I decided I'd have to do something about it."
She paused for a minute. "What I did, I went to his office one night, just as he was closing up. That's a holiday thing, the Miss Carnation parade, so this was in November and dark. I said I had to talk to him and pretended to be crying. He let me in and pulled down the Venetian blinds and turned off the light in his outer office and we went into his private office in back." Her voice was quickened and she was breathing a little faster, remembering.
"He sat down and tried to smile at me in a real fatherly way, but he had his eyes right on my belly button. I was in a bikini, you know, a real skimpy one. I liked it, because the bra barely covered my nipples and when I hitched the panties up real good, some of my fuzz stuck out!" She laughed and gestured at the blond thatch on her pussy. "All I had was fuzz!"
"He asked me what was the trouble and I did what I had planned to do. I got as close to him as I could and said, 'Some of the other girls are saying that I wear falsies, Mister Hensen.' In that little bra, I couldn't have had a falsie any bigger than a dime. But I just pulled it down and let my boobs swing out!"
She looked down at her breasts fondly and Bill reached out and squeezed one of them, smiling patiently.
"Come on, kid, get to the fucking part," Verna said. Her eyes, were bright and her hand, out of sight of the others, was under Maida's smooth ass, tickling away in a pool of juice.
Maida laughed again. "I was all set to pull my panties down, with some cock-and-bull story that the other girls were saying I didn't have any hair on my snatch, but I didn't have to. I guess I had misjudged old Gris Hansen. He just stood up, tall and straight and began unbuckling his belt. While he undressed, I just stood there like a little fool, scared but willing and when I saw his cock come out of his shorts, it was so big and hard that I nearly fainted. Every time I had done it before, it was just a quickie, usually in the dark and while I had felt many, I had never had a chance to really see one, to see how it was made and all. You know."
She stopped as though confused and Bill said gently, "Go on, baby. You're doing great. But tell me something first. You were nearly fifteen. Your tits were okay. Were they as big as they are now?"
"Oh, my God, no!" Maida laughed. "Nowhere near. About thirty-two B. About as big as Donnas' are now maybe." She looked around at the other girls, who nodded, smiling.
"About your pussy-did you have much hair?" Bill asked and the other girls laughed in kindly excuse for a man's ignorance.
"Hardly any, really," Maida confessed. "Just a little sort of horseshoe curved over my slit. I was pretty bare. But it's funny; even then I had a few hairs down below, way below, you know? Down toward my ass." She flushed. "I'm as hairy as a blonde sheepdog now! Ugh!"
"I'll have to check it someday," Bill promised. "It sounds interesting-and lovely!"
"Thanks, Bill," Maida murmured. "Where was I? Oh, just before getting fucked!" she laughed again, softly.
"I felt like the grown-uppest woman in the world," she went on. "But after Mister Hansen laid me down on the floor and I raised my ass up off the carpet so that he could pull my panties off, I thought it was all over. His face went white when he saw my twat-that was the least grown-up part of me, I guess-and I had to grab his dong to keep him from getting up. Jesus, it was hard! And I pulled on it until he got over me with his hands on each side of me and I took hold of his face and whispered, 'It's all right, Mister Hansen. This is what I came in here for, really!' Then he began to laugh, but with tears coming out of his eyes and he reached down, ever so gently and put it into me."
She closed her eyes, a dreamy smile on her face and Verna said, "Go on! Go on! What happened?"
"Why," said Maida in surprise, "we fucked-what else?"
"Oh, damn it, you know what I mean," Verna snapped. "How was it? Was it better than with the football guy? Or the others?"
"For Christ's sake, Verna," Maida said, "you've been fucked. You know what it's like. But I'll say this, it sure cured me of fucking boys! Wow! Men know what to do-taking their time, getting you ready when you're not ready, all that. Christ! He was the first guy to really eat me! I must've made it ten times. And I learned how good my own pussy tasted, too, from sucking him. Maybe that was when I first got to thinking it might be nice to do it with another girl."
Verna wiggled her finger deep in the squirming warmth of Maida's cunt. "Tell us about your first time going that route, baby," she teased, but Bill shook his head.
"Some other time," he said. "And that was the first time you didn't do it to spite your mother?" he asked.
Maida heaved a deep sigh. "That's right. And the first time I did it because I wanted to; then it was good!"
Bill shook his head, a strange smile on his face.
"I'm going to tell you kids something," he said. "I could tell you were all shocked when I said that Brad had fucked my daughter. No, don't deny it; it's not bad. None of us shake off all our old shackles, I suppose. Even when we're free. But look. Ellen's mother's long gone- I guess I was too much for her. I don't mean about sex; she went along with anything that way. But my ideas scared her. The idea of being rich scared her. Too much responsibility, she said."
He was silent for a moment. "She didn't want Ellen, not really and I did. I wanted one girl to grow up in this chickenshit world without being afraid of her dad, or of life, or of men, or love, or anything." His voice was fierce.
"She's younger than you were, Maida, when you first did it on your own account, because you wanted to. She never had to do it to spite me. She knew I wanted her to be a human being. To hound a girl about her pussy, to throw her natural desires in her face as something shameful-that's probably the worst possible crime against another human being, short of murder. I would rather see her raped in an alley than have her deny her humanity! Do you see what I mean?"
"I do, Bill," Maida answered him. "I think we all do. I wish I'd had a father like you. Maybe I'd have turned out different."
"Oh, shit, Maida, don't be so goddamned anachronistic," Bill said harshly. "You're far greater the way you are right now than a thousand like your mother. You're a woman and one that's able to get everything possible out of being a woman. Don't make me sick by mentioning some stupid ideal that you couldn't live with and had the guts to reject! I'm just beginning to understand why I've always liked you!"
He was silent again, breathing slowly. "Here's my point," he said, "and I'm glad you told your story exactly as you did. As soon as you exercise your right to sex, as soon as you declared yourself free to do it on your own, without hate for your old lady, your instincts were right. It wasn't just luck. You could've gone for any one of a hundred men around town, right? But you went for a good one-this Hansen. I know the guy, incidentally. He's okay. I didn't realize just how okay until tonight. I need somebody to head up an insurance department for me. I think I know who!"
He smiled in the semi dark. "I didn't finish my point. I guess that I am a little emotional. I said Ellen was younger than you. Not much; she's, oh, I don't know, fourteen and a half, somewhere around there. With just a little horseshoe of blonde hair over her slit. And because I never leaned on her, because I wanted her to be a human being, she got it the way I would wish, under the best circumstances. Brad's all right, a real, up-and-coming young guy. He's going to be a big man with Bonturat. Hold it now," he said, laughing, as three woman leaned forward. "No romance. They'll never marry. But Ellen had to lose it sooner or later. I'm glad it was right now. And with Brad."
He turned to Maida. "Didn't you guarantee that Brad would give Verna a fuck to remember?" he asked.
When she smiled and nodded and shrugged her shoulders, all at the same time, he laughed and said, "Well, that's what I wanted for Ellen! And I'll gamble she got it!"
CHAPTER NINE
Just before the enormous police dog at last got the point of his big cock into the clutching entry of her cunt, Donna could not have told, if her life had depended on it, whether she was trying to avoid it or clutch it. Some old revulsion made it seem horrible beyond any conjecture, even while a wild fever made her pussy demand anything that was hot and hard. And long! Oh, Jesus! she screamed in her mind, as the giant rod of slick meat jammed painfully into her.
She screamed it aloud then, her mind so concentrated on the feelings in her ass and belly that she could only make noises, without awareness of their sense.
Bill's cock had been big, too big perhaps and its construction, of thick, loose skin, quite dry, over a hard and ridged bar of muscle, had stretched and rasped and gone in slowly, so that her inner parts had somehow had time to adjust to it. When it had at last struck the back of her sheath, pushing her cervix out of the way with angry force, she was so worn by the effort that relaxation had opened the end of it and all that she felt was stretch and fullness.
But the dog's prick, with no loose skin, nothing but red and naked membrane, as slick as her own pussy, stabbed into her with brute force. If it was as thick as Bill's-and it certainly was-it's incredibly smooth surface, lubricated by his juices as well as her own, stretched her without the sensation of ripped muscles.
The heat seemed greater, too and without her willing it, her cunt muscles clamped down over the slick rod, making the big animal whimper and growl with pleasure. If the human cunt seemed slightly less warm than that of some hot bitch up an alley, what did the dog care? It was a cunt, smelling and tasting somewhat less rank than a bitch's would, but his few minutes in Alison, leaving him much less than satisfied, made him wild for anything hot enough and tight enough to give him the release he had to have.
For Donna, the unbelievability of this experience, so shocking and fearsome and unnatural, had abated. The reality of the cock in her, however debasing it might've seemed ten minutes before, was all she had to live with.
She had seen the big prick's pointed end and it had frightened her-it was like a spear. It might damage her, deep inside, if the cock was as long as it seemed. Now she knew the fear was groundless. She could feel the pointed end! It seemed to be going into and out of her cervix, right into her womb. But that idea, much as it inflamed her, couldn't be true. Or could it? Heat, she had heard, could cause the mouth of the womb to relax its tight-lipped closure. The thought that the dog's fierce thrusts and spear-pointed tool might be opening her in a way that no human penis could was simply a flash of wildness in a dream already too wild to believe.
In her strained position, her back twisted, her rump squarely set to the police dog's belly, her head and shoulders on their sides, she had a new and weird problem. The small dog, nervously leaping all over her as the big animal crowded him away from the primary target, had climbed across her back, scratching her shoulders, had clutched her head in his forepaws, obscenely trying to fuck her head and now was whining nervously in her ear.
But oddly, all sense of panic had left her, possibly because her belly, all her inner parts were gathering for an orgasm. The unbearable frustration when, under the dog's tongue, she had been lifted to fever heat and kept there, without being able to achieve release, was gone now in the knowledge that nothing could now keep her from coming. With the enormous red cock slipping in and out of her tight sheath, stretching her powerfully with each lunge, she waggled her ass in time to his thrust, feeling the bursting warmth come closer as the dog hammered toward his own climax.
There was a new sensation now, one she had never known. Fucking dog-fashion, or in any position in which she was entered from the rear, Donna, like most other women, needed to have her clitoris reached and tickled to attain a true orgasm. But the dog's prick, not sheathed in soft, loose skin like a man's, has a sleeve of thick, heavy hide, covered with hair, hair that is shorter and stiffer than other hairs on his body. So violent was his action in the girl's responsive cunt that this hairy sleeve was being dragged partway in, abrading the tender inner labia, even scraping across the lower third of her clitoris. At the surface of her vaginal portal, the membranes were so inflamed that they seemed bloody.
Donna, nearing the blind and momentary unconsciousness of orgasm, her senses sharpened to every factor in the crazy scene, was overwhelmed with the rank scent of the small dog.
The long hair on his belly was wet with sweat and the exudations from his heated penis, which was out a good four inches from its sheath of haired flesh. He was gripping his hard forelegs about her head and his cock, weirdly slick and smooth, was now striking her cheek in a rapid tattoo.
In a sudden burst of abandoned sensuality, feeling a deep kinship with this small animal in his sex madness, the girl turned her face to him, taking his slippery cock into her mouth, breathing in his sweaty stink, feeling the long, coarse hair rasping her nose, lips and chin.
A voice in her mind said wonderingly, I never tasted a dog's come-I never tasted a dog's come!
Beyond moving, now that the police dog had gone into a frenzy of short strokes, Donna sucked as fiercely on the little dog's cock as she ever had on Brad's, feeling a mild sorrow that it wasn't long enough to reach her throat, where the convulsively swallowing muscles would have, she knew, given him his deepest joy.
She felt her inner muscles and nerves mix and fuse in that burst of delighted sensation that cannot be described and at the same time was almost choked with a stream of dog sperm that seemed stronger and richer in taste and odor than a man's. As she tightened and relaxed her cunt muscles uncontrollably on the big dog's prick, she folded her lips over her teeth and clamped down on the smaller dog, milking the last shots of his semen into her throat. As a last triumph in this frenzy of lust, she felt the police dog's load, hotter than her own inner temperature, spray over her womb in a flood of warmth and close-held volume.
In her return to reality, with the little dog's stench still in her nostrils, she mentally thanked Alison for her bondage-the helplessness with which she rationalized her bestiality. Shackled and unable to lift a hand to protect herself, she could not possibly feel guilt for what had happened. Nor could anyone else judge her unkindly. It was a strange kind of rape, a violation which her bondage forced on her and absolved her of, all at once.
She gagged momentarily, thinking of the monstrousness of sucking a dog's prick-a dog's-incredible! And her guts twisted painfully along with her mind, recalling that she not only had been fucked like a dog and by a dog, but that she had responded like a bitch in heat, swept into an orgasm as great and as mind-bending as any she had ever known. But she remained strong, untouched, even strangely satisfied, because she had been helpless, strapped down, unable to resist.
The small dog's sweat and dirt and semen were smeared on her cheeks and chin. Some hairs, shed in the wild friction, adhered to her face and she worked one out from her teeth, using her tongue to spit it partway out. Now that it was done, the awfulness didn't seem so awful-the wild tang of urine and dog scent in the hot load of come was a lasting and not unpleasant echo in her taste buds.
The raking of claws along her ribs brought her to a new awareness-the big dog was still on her, his belly locked against her rump, his big cock still long and hard inside of her. This was incredible. A man's organ would've begun to dwindle almost as soon as he'd finished coming. Inside the tight and sensitive walls of her vagina, Donna could feel the undiminished length and hardness of the dog's prick and she groaned in an agonized sort of pleasure. It seemed even bigger, especially where she could feel it most-in the extremely tight, extremely sensitized opening to her cunt. And then she remembered with terrible clarity the strange faculty, the weird difference of a canine penis.
She had seen the result a score of times-a male dog after a successful fuck, "hung up" with the female, the two of them standing patiently, uncaring, waiting for the dog's swollen penis to relax and free them. She had even asked about it and learned that two glands, near the base of the animal's cock, swell into a double knot of hardness with his orgasm, a trick of nature to keep the dogs joined so that conception is most likely to occur.
It was an anti-climactic shock, after the wildness of the act itself. Donna was small, her vaginal muscles tight, the dog's muscles abnormally developed. And so here she was, pinned down by a police dog, locked to him exactly as a bitch would've been, unable to unseat him, to free herself. She put her sperm-smeared face down on her hand, trying to recapture the spirit of abandon that had made this animalistic fuck so sweet.
Trying to remain completely still, anxious not to incite the huge dog to any sudden movement, she had a flash of insight that gave her a grim and honest amusement.
The rationalizing of her act, the absolution by virtue of her bondage, was, she realized, a total lie.
Could she have kept the police dog from fucking her? It was possible, she admitted. But she couldn't have kept him from licking her-she was, at that time, trussed up and unable to move, with her pussy wide-open. But, once she had loosed herself enough to get on her knees, she might-just might-have kept him from making his final penetration. But I was so scared, so tired, she said to herself. He held me so hard-I might've been hurt.
Hurt! an honest part of her mind jeered at her. A few scratches! If you had fought long enough, he might've gone away! But this, at least, she knew was not true. If, by continued struggle, she had been able to put off the dreadful moment of penetration even for a long time, the dog would've persisted, eventually taking her as he wished.
But she could not say the same about the most abjectly degrading act of all-performing fellatio on the other dog. In this act, she was not a victim but a participant-even a willing participant. She need not ever have turned her head or opened her mouth. Even if the dog had gotten his prick in her ear, even if maintained friction had caused him to come in her hair, she could've avoided this final depravity.
But oddly enough, this very knowledge of herself raised her from complete despair. It had been revealed to her that her sexual nature, at this time, had overcome everything she thought she was, not only her training, but the revulsion which, so almost everyone believes, should prevent man from copulating with beasts. She accepted the fact that her blind pussy had not known the difference between a dog's prick and a man's, that she, in her heat, had joyously pushed her ass against the dog's ramming. And that, beyond a doubt, she had been raised to such a point of sensuality that it seemed wonderful to take a dog's red prick in her mouth, sucking it with a lusty joy, using her lips and tongue to draw its semen into her welcoming mouth. If this represented what Donna Street really was, if she could be raised to such an intensity of fuck-lust, it was a fact about herself to know and accept.
With this acceptance, she began to move slightly, hoping to help the big dog get free. Tightening her belly muscles and her buttocks, she tried to hunch forward.
The movement set up a sharp sense of life in her pussy. The inner labia, always hypersensitive after orgasm, now seemed to quiver with an unbearable itch. She didn't know how these delicate membranes had been rasped by the brush-like hairs on the dog's penis cover. All she knew was that her cunt was so sensitive that another orgasm hovered on the lip of each movement.
She thought that her vagina could detect the swollen lumps of glandular tissue that held the dog captive. The pressure was both pleasant and painful. Painful to the dog, too, for he shifted his paws and growled, hopping forward on his hind legs to stay close to her.
Determined to free herself, she moved her ass sharply forward, arid this time, the dog's forward lunge, made only to spare himself a mild torture, plunged him deep into her, so that was the same wildness of the fucking. Simultaneously, she felt a new movement near her belly, undoubtedly the small dog and a cold nose moved in her groin.
Forcing herself to remain still, she experienced a sudden stab of feeling in her clitoris, agonizingly clear and sharp, undoubtedly from the newcomer's tongue. Poised as she was on the threshold of coming, this touch and her startled reaction to it flung her forward and back and the inflamed parts, all subjected at once to friction and pressure, came together in a clutch of orgasm which shook Donna all over.
In this delirious moment, some hidden catch in the mechanism of the couch gave way, the straps loosened and the girl fell forward. She fell on the smaller dog, pulling free from the big one in a wrench that pained them both and lay with her eyes closed, still shaken from the burst of feeling in her cunt, in her belly, down to her asshole.
During this moment of blackness, a door opened and some call that she could not hear commanded the dogs to leave. It was only a few seconds later that Donna struggled to her feet, rubbing at her wrists, finding that it was easy, now that the pressures were off, to rid herself of the shackles.
As her inner fires died down and the air conditioning touched the film of sweat induced by her struggles, Donna moved slowly toward the chest of drawers. Her pussy itched and burned, not too unpleasantly and she put a tentative hand down to her slit, fearing she might find blood. After all, the dog had been so big, his lunges so frightful. It might even be her own menstrual blood-she had had enough pounding and prodding to bring on her period. But her hand showed nothing except slickness. Some Donnas', some the dog's.
The sight and smell of the police dog's semen gave her a momentary wrench of childish fear and remorse-some old part of her nature shrieking inside her that this was so devastatingly immoral that death would not be sufficient punishment.
But a saving burst of maturity, the remembrance that she had accepted herself for what she was, plus a touch of raw humor, rescued her from that pit.
She found a long-sleeved blouse that must've belonged to Alison, light and sheer and almost exactly the length of her shortie nightgowns. She slipped it on and started to button it, her fingers clumsy with weariness and decided the hell with it. She smiled fondly at herself in the mirror, glad that the wave of revulsion had been so easily dispelled. Barring some disarrangement of her hair, she would look exactly the same to anyone who knew her, as if none of this had happened. Under the blouse, on her back and sides, there would be a few red welts, the marks of the dogs' claws, but they would soon disappear.
She raised her arms, watching the way her small, full breasts tightened and allowed her ego the womanish triumph of compassion for Maida and Alison. When they hit forty, the size of their tits would've created a sag, a change. When she grew old, her boobs would be just as they were now-what Brad called one good bite and a couple of licks left over.
In the mirror, she saw the couch against the wall and the straps and cuffs which had held her bound. How was it that they had so advantageously freed her feet so that she could, by accident, move to the floor, opening her ass to the dog? She shook her head, making a wry face. Ten to one it was more of Bill's electronic tricks, the tension of the straps changed by remote control.
Well, what of it? The fact that she starred in a circus, with a couple of dogs as her co-stars, was no longer important. To feel embarrassment about such a thing, on such a night, was in the same category as feeling remorse-ridiculous. She had come here knowing there would be fucking. And she suddenly felt a genuine pride that she hadn't been knocked off her stride, emotionally or any other way, by the dog incident. If it had left her sunk in shame and a sense of degradation, she told herself, that would've have been bad.
As it was, especially since she now realized that she had been set up for the dog fuck, with Alison only following Bill's instructions, she could be proud that she had taken it all, all they had to give. She had even liked it. And she had learned something about herself, something deep and hidden. But true. She had learned that she, who thought herself so advanced, so modern in her sexual attitudes, had been something of a square. But with that humbling knowledge, she had the personal victory of finding that she was a genuine animal in her sexual proclivities.
She could not possibly have enjoyed any part of the wild scene with the dogs if it had not been in her nature to do so. In fighting it, she had been doomed to lose-not because of her helplessness to avoid it, but because it was in her nature to do so.
Small she might be, but she was rugged and strong, she knew. With this warming of her pride, she felt a return of that itching sensation between her cuntlips, a throb from her clitoris, an answering throb inside her.
Alison, who had missed the final climax between Donna and the dogs and who had visited the terrace to summon the wide-eyed surfers back to the big room, lined the four boys up for introductions and inspection.
"From left to right," she said, laughing, "these are Twilley, James, Cagney and Pebble."
The boys nodded, their eyes bright as they looked over the swelling curves of Alice, the red-haired Verna, the youthfully voluptuous Maida.
Twilley, big, blond, with a dumbly angry look in his big-featured face, took a step forward, but James, a young black with an Afro hair style, put out an arm. "Hold it, Twill," he said coolly, "don't jump the gun. Boss man hasn't given us any go-ahead."
Twilley slapped the restraining arm down and Cagney, a dark, broad-shouldered boy with a handle-bar mustache, beard and long hair, grunted something unintelligible.
Pebble, an open-faced boy with a shock of brown hair, smiled noncommittally. "The lady invited us up and made us and open-and-shut proposition, sir," he said to Bill, with sardonic good manners. "What do you want from us?"
Bill smiled. "What did the lady say?" he asked.
Twilley, who had moved to stand close to Alison, leered and stated, "She asked us if we wanted some lovely pussy, so we said yes and she brought us up here. And here we are and here are four of them, so what the hell are we waiting on?"
Bill laughed agreeably. "You're waiting until I tell you what you're to do," he said. "And don't get grabby. Girls," he addressed his guests, "do you think we should have a little short-arm inspection?"
"Sure, whatever that is," laughed Maida.
Twilley, grinning, thumbed his surfer down over his hairy legs, with the others following suit.
"Wow!" said Alice. "I never saw so much meat outside of a bologna factory!"
The sight of such an abundance of bare female flesh-and such beauty-had started each of the surfers on a hard-on. Twilley and the young black were either closer to erection or simply had more to start with, but Cagney and Pebble, both well hung, had nothing to engender insecurity. In a lewd gesture, Twilley lifted his big cock and pointed it at the girls, making a "ksshh, ksshh" sound, like a small boy imitating a ray-gun.
Bill lifted a hand. "Hold it," he ordered. "Don't get out of line! These girls aren't for you-not now, at least."
At Twilley's growl, Bill pressed a button and the big TV screen, dark when the boys came in, lighted up. On the screen and in the mirrors they saw Donna, one knee on the big bed, her blouse-nightgown hanging open to show her lovely little breasts, the position of her leg popping her cuntlips open so that a gash of crimson lips appeared. A hush of indrawn breath held the four boys.
"There's your stuff, fellows," Bill said quietly. "What do you think of her?"
"Shit!" exclaimed Twilley. "That one little chick for these four pricks? We'll kill her!"
"I'll gamble that you don't," Bill said comfortably. "But if you do fuck her down, there's more where that came from!" He gestured around the room and the young black, grinning, ran a thick red tongue over his lips.
"That sounds good enough for me, Twill," he said laughing. "And little Whitey there," he hooked a thumb at the screen, "looks good enough!"
Donna kneed her way right to the center of the king-size bed, conscious of the rubbing of her cuntlips together. They were almost painfully sensitive and their friction kept her clit throbbing.
Unconsciously, she fell into the position she usually slept in-on her left side, with her right knee drawn up, so that the valley between her buttocks showed in perfect detail. Her pussy, more prominent than ever due to its swollen state from Bill, Alison and the dog, made a dark-haired cushion that protruded invitingly.
The cooling air on her exposed parts made her conscious of each of them. And she remembered, with a deep thrill of pleasure, the amazing sensation as Alison had sucked at her asshole, driving her tongue into it. Marvelous! Too hot-making to believe!
She thought of Brad and smiled lovingly. Brad, dear, she said to herself, you can have it-my third virginity that you've always wanted!
Picturing that huge prick sliding into her tender bowels, Donna shuddered with fear and delight.
"It'll be wonderful, Brad," she whispered. And with that, her mind leaped to another, equally fascinating thought. She would have Brad tie her up!
Trussed with some soft, strong rope, like the nylon ties from their heavy living room drapes, exposed to any pleasantly painful discipline which Brad might wish, being deprived of any option except to do as her husband wished, that would be a new, wild sort of fulfillment!
She hoped that Brad would be inventive. And conscience-less.
CHAPTER TEN
Somewhere beneath the surface of her conscious mind, Maida Vail had a conflict. Better adjusted than most women twice or three times her age, certainly free from most hangups that bedeviled her sex, she still possessed some vestiges of the resentment toward men that was rooted in her middle-class background.
In spite of an objective conviction that Donna would suffer no harm from a gang-bang, in spite of a genuine admiration for her big boss, the fact that Donna was being made a victim in a charade engineered by a man stabbed deep into Maida's essential femininity.
The conflict didn't reach the surface, not now, at least. The dark wish to see the lovely girl in an orgiastic rape set a slow fire going in her loins, as it did with the other three women who now watched the screen, tensely alert to see the shock of fear in Donnas' face and body when the shadowed door opened to spill the lustful quartet into the room.
She was just as happy not to be sitting near Brad. He had come in just as the four surfers were being guided out by Alison, in a mood, Maida sensed, not at all usual for him. Quiet, she observed. Thoughtful. As though something had brought him down.
Bill had said, "Hello, Brad," but there had been nothing special in Bill's voice, nothing to indicate that he had, in some way known only to himself, known that his young guest of honor had taken his daughter's cherry.
Brad had smiled with less than his customary warmth and had asked a question, a perfectly natural question, which had seemed to Maida to be loaded with dynamite.
"Who are those guys?" he'd asked casually, nodding as the four surfers disappeared following Alison's nude back. Maida had sensed that the question would be asked, and knowing that the answer would soon be shown to them all, in lascivious detail and brilliant color, she tensed for Bill's reply.
When it came, it was with the man's magnificent unconcern and disregard for old-fashioned values, giving Brad the news with the same impersonal candor that the screen would provide in a minute.
"Oh," Bill had said, smiling, "those are four fellows that I had Alison round up for the big feature of our little family show. Those guys are going to fuck your wife!"
Working so closely with Brad for more than five weeks, Maida knew something of his self-control, of his restless drive to succeed and the ability he had to roll with the punches. But even so, she was surprised at his recovery from the effect of what would've been a stunning blow to most men.
There was a very short pause before Brad reacted and then he faced Bill calmly, smiling. "Well," he said softly, "this ought to be interesting. Are we going to watch it?"
There was a rustle of movement as the girls moved this way and that, making room for Brad and Bill grasped his new director of public relations warmly by the hand and pulled him down to a comfortable position between himself and Alison.
Almost as soon as she stretched out on the mattress, Donna fell into a tired sleep. She heard a soft stirring of feet on the carpet as the door opened, but was still in a daze when a hard hand closed on her ankle, pulling her over and onto her back.
In quick reflex and a fear made more intense by the shock of surprise, she struggled as four bodies moved against her on the bed and she screamed once, her eyes open and her mouth twisted in outrage as someone ripped the blouse over her head and off.
Her young breasts jumped with the movement and a black boy hardly into adolescence, so Donna thought, clutched her around the ribs and clamped a hot, wide-lipped mouth on one of them, sucking it all in with a force that brought back the pain left from Bill's brutal manhandling.
The nightmare quality of the assault was all the more searing because of the laughing faces, the boyish exuberance of her attackers.
She heard a boyish voice cry, "Hey, man, save one for me!" and a boy of eighteen or so, with merry eyes and a big mop of brown hair, clasped her other boob in a viselike grip, squeezing the nipple out to a point and sucking on it as if he planned to drain her blood from it. At the same time, she felt her tenderized pussy mauled by a hand still chilled from an hour's wait on the terrace and she leaped and screamed again as the cold fingers went right into her, almost crazing her with the sharply painful stimulus of tender lips already aching from too much use.
In her panicked mind, she knew the same blind fear of a mass sexual attack that might make a virgin sick with terror-the absence of a maidenhead does not dull the horrifying shock of utter helplessness.
Oddly, it was the actuality of a man's prick-a boy's, really-that tamed her from the bucking struggle that could've brought real injury. Somehow, with Pebble and Cagney pinning her arms and shoulders and big Twilley capturing her flailing legs, the wild young black boy, guiding his big prick between cuntlips held apart by his thumbs, slammed a hard double-handful of stretching, hot meat into her aching, straining pussy.
Even though it was still slicked by the overload of sperm from the dog, as well as her own hot flow, the dragging and friction against the screaming tissues threw Donna, at least for the first few seconds, into a shuddering burst of plunges and heaves. Together with James' own happy lunges, it made the equivalent of a sudden, hard fuck and Donna, against every ounce of will in her mind and body, felt herself launched into a sky-riding swirl of orgasm, closing her eyes and clenching her teeth in the violence of an unexpected come.
"For God's sake, man!" said Pebble, taut-voiced. "You've made her faint!"
The bearded youth called Cagney snickered as he caught the meaning of the ripples which ran through their captive. "Fainted, my ass!" he exclaimed. "She's got her nuts off! Right, Twilley?"
The big-featured blond boy almost snarled his assent.
"You know it! Jeez, this chick must be really hot! James didn't do much more than touch her and she started to come like a rabbit! Hold her tight, Jimbo. I've got an idea."
Cagney angrily caught at James' shoulder. "I've got an idea, too," he snapped. "I want some of that cunt before you guys wear her out!" His big cock was right over Donnas' mouth, which was beginning to relax. In the viewing room, Bill sat with his arms locked around his bare knees, his face in an enigmatic smile.
Twilley sat up on his knees. "Take it easy, Cagney," he said with a grin. "There's plenty here for all of us. How is she, James? Must be sort of tight, the results you got."
The young black flashed a white-toothed grin. "Like a glove," he said. "A real, slick, red-hot glove!" He moved his lean hips, rolling them so that his buried cock churned in Donnas' guts, raising her to a quick heat as his hairy mound ground on hers and on her hidden clit. "It's a wonder I didn't come as quick as she did!"
"Okay, sport," Twilley said, slapping a hand on James' back. "Hold on to her and roll her over- I want her asshole!"
Cagney began to laugh. "Goddamn!" he cried. "A hot liver sandwich!" He pointed to the exaggerated size of his friend's tool. "You'd better put a lot of spit on that prong of yours, Twill," he advised. "You'll break out the partition!"
Donna, who had been strangely calmed by her fierce orgasm, choked on a new horror. "Oh, don't!" she screamed. "For God's sake, don't! Let me up! I'll do anything you want-honest! But please, please! Don't do that!"
The squeamishness and fear she had felt before, when Brad had only kidded about it-a fear which she felt she had lost as she had contemplated Alison's mild tongue-lashing of that sensitive small hole-made her sick with dread. She went loose in a near-faint as James, gripping her so hard that her tits were smashed against him, rolled onto his back, leaving her ass open, helplessly spread apart as he locked his legs with hers. She could only moan faintly, unable to scream, feeling her muscles go slack and useless as one does in a nightmare. She felt hot breath in that shrinking cleft that separated the white globes of her ass and leaped in a sharp reaction as hairy cheeks rubbed between her thighs and a big tongue licked at her cunt, where James' hard prick was now throbbing, right up to her anus.
She heard a satisfied grunt. "She's as clean as a cat," she heard Twilley's harsh voice utter. "And she's got a load of come-juice all up and down her ass. Somebody left us a wet deck."
She turned her face to avoid the Negro boy's seeking mouth, but he squeezed one of her boobs with a gut-tearing grip, muttering, "Kiss me, Whitey!" and to avoid this immediate agony, she crushed her mouth against his, submitting to the entry of his broad, thick tongue into her mouth.
Again she was calmed. His mouth was syrupy sweet, his breath like a baby's. His cock throbbed in her and she was washed by a new flow of heat all through her belly.
Even the feel of Twilley's stubbled cheeks on the tender flesh of her inner thighs was welcomed. She said to herself, What am I fighting for? It's only a fuck!
She humped gently up and down, trying to get James' cock to swing in and out a little, to get some hard friction where she suddenly, sharply desired it. She felt the flesh around her pussy crawl with interest and the inflamed inner lips, now feeling just as sensitive but far less painful, tried to wrap themselves around the hard base of the Negro's prick.
At her asshole, the licking had become purposeful and the rub of Twilley's tongue seemed so beautiful that she tried consciously to relax her sphincter, hoping that he could get his big tongue in, at least as far as, Alison's had gone. Instead of fear, she began to feel a warm glow of friendship for these roughneck kids. Only please, she said within herself, let them do something! Oh, God! I'm so hot!
She jerked again with brief apprehension as she became aware that the man called Twilley was on his knees behind her. She turned for a look in the mirror and saw his reflection plainly. His cock, looking enormous, stood almost straight up against his belly and he had dropped a large wad of spittle onto its red head.
In spite of her desire, she shrank from this great pole as Twilley pushed it down between her ass cheeks and felt a giant shudder go through her as the head pushed against her asshole with perfect accuracy. In desperation, hoping for some palliative for her fear, she gratefully closed her mouth over James' big lips and thrust her tongue as deep as it would go into his warm and fragrant mouth.
There was suddenly a weird shock of force in what had to be her rectum. It wasn't pain-more like an intense discomfort, like being constipated.
In her strange sense of being suspended between the two men, hung on two prongs of hard meat, almost weightless in spite of the pressures in her, she began to laugh, and since her drooling mouth was locked with James', she contrived to spray saliva all over him.
In this moment of relaxation, feeling the intense pleasure of the prick in her pussy, balance against the now-bearable thrust in her rectum, she felt Twilley's belly meet her buttocks and her bowels seemed absolutely full of his cock. It was an epitomized moment, the transcendent emotion of complete sensuality. If either of her penetrators so much as moved, she knew that she would pour out her come like an explosion, blowing them all apart in an ear-bursting roar.
It was at this point that Pebble, kneeling beside the trio with hard alertness, pushed his cock into her armpit, trying to close her upper arm on the mass of his tool. James, below him, cried, "Get your balls out of my face, man!"
Donna, inspired with her own all-pervading lust, simply turned her head to the side, her mouth open, drooling from her prolonged kissing with the young Negro and took the deep thrust of the throbbing tool between her closing lips.
She felt Twilley's prick withdraw from her rectum and it was truly a gut-twisting delight, a base and earthy pleasure beyond definition. Automatically, she raised her ass to reach for it, her body making its own demands without help from her conscious mind and her cunt screamed its joy to her inner self.
Below her, James' sensations, overextended with the crazy improvisation, sent the fiery, itching message to the spot which triggers orgasm and his balls responded. The spurting of his hot seed throughout her vagina, the bursting expansion of his cock as the jets gathered, fired and receded, added the final madness inside Donna and outside, too, where her clitoris, seeming engorged beyond its capacity, joined in an orgasm which sent her small body to jumping frantically.
She could feel her anal sphincter, always engaged in the passions of her cunt, now with something solid to grip. The sense of completion, of reaching the outer limits of feeling, made her bowels churn and writhe and Twilley, eyes closed and face contorted, rammed into his hot and gripping trap of muscle in fierce concentration. With the clutching of Donnas' colon, its softly sucking motions coaxing him to his climax, he also felt the rub of James' hard cock against his through the thin walls of muscle and membrane.
As the young Negro's throbbing reached its highest intensity and began to die away, Twilley's concentrated senses exploded and his massive jerks, beating a tattoo all through Donnas' belly, sustained her orgasm through a mirage of heat, so that she either came again and again, or simple held to the orgasm that she had started with James' outpouring and throbs.
And Pebble, one fist agonizingly gripping Donnas' dark hair, his other hand braced over her back, could no longer resist the sucking pleasure of the girl's tongue and throat. His semen spewed out in slick, warm torrents, filling her mouth so that she had to swallow or be choked-long, complete swallowing motions that wrapped his prick in pleasure from its hairy base to its shriekingly happy glands.
Alison, shaken more than she would've believed by the complete carnality of the writhing tableau on the big screen, turned her head for a moment, too hot to continue watching a scene in which she would've willingly changed places with the younger woman.
Her eyes were on Brad's face, not too distinct in the theater-gloom of their viewing place. The only light was from the bright screen, but it was enough. His face was locked in a wide grin, his full lips peeled back from white teeth. She saw the hand nearest her gripped in a fist. In the flickers of light as the trio fell into a relaxed jumble of legs and arms and asses, of cock and cunt and glistening come-juice, she saw the bright shine of tears running down Brad's cheeks, while his face remained fixed in that dreadful smile.
Therefore, she did not see the entrance of a new figure, a tall girl in a short, soft robe, open from neck to hem, the cunt showing, seemingly unhaired, as she showed on the screen.
But she did hear the breath sucked in by Bill, who had remained calm and detached through the attack on Donna. In her function as producer and coordinator for many such scenes in the past, she had never known her boss to show any emotion except quiet satisfaction. But now she recognized the newcomer to the setting and her own heart leaped in a sudden apprehension. That door, on the far side of the room in which Donna lay among the spent forms-except for Cagney, who stood by the bed with his erection begging for attention-should've been locked. It was an oversight. And Bill's daughter, the sweet and lissome Ellen, had come through the door.
Ellen took in the fantastic sight before any of the performers, even the unrelated Cagney, knew she was with them.
The shock was, first of all, to her mind. The way in which James and Donna and Twilley lay, with the black boy's wilting cock still lodged between the hairy lips of Donnas' cunt and the big blond man's cock just an inch or so from the crack of the dark girl's ass, told a story that was not hard to grasp.
Her own juvenile pussy, aching and happy and warm from its first fuck, also seemed to register the meaning of the bodies and their positions.
She took in the sweet-faced boy who lay at Donnas' head, his half-hard prick gleaming with Donnas' saliva and traces of his own sperm. And she saw the tense and hairy body of the youth called Cagney, the throbbing hard-on, the unsatisfied lust in his face as he made a step toward her.
The fever that had had its beginning as she first saw Brad, a warmth that embraced her body completely, but concentrated between the smooth lips of her pussy, swept her now like a grass fire in a high wind.
Moving like a sleepwalker, Ellen moved her arms and shoulders and let the light robe fall to the floor. The delicate touch of the soft fabric on her nipples made her shiver and she rolled quietly onto the bed, her hand and mouth reaching for the softening prick that had been so lately sucked warmly and snugly into Donnas' throat. At the same time, she smiled brightly at Cagney, turning her hips on the side, her ass open to him and waited, holding Pebble's tool in her young mouth, while the grunting Cagney, his face taut, pried her childish cuntlips apart, his hard cock beginning to push into her, inch by inch.
There was a rustle of movement in the viewing room and all heads turned to Brad, who had stood up. He looked at the screen, where Donna, having rolled over to face the new action, smiled in welcome and encouragement at the stranger who had come in so quietly.
Donnas' face was soft and relaxed and Alison realized, with a mixture of surprise and admiration, that she had never seen Brad's wife look so completely free from strain. It was as if years had been wiped away from a face still quite young; Donna looked as much a child as Ellen, except for her dark bush of pubic hair, now wet and matted from the pouring semen of her two erstwhile lovers.
Brad broke the silence. "I'm going to get a drink. Can I bring something for any of you folks?" His voice was steady, normal, as though he'd been watching a movie and was going for popcorn.
Verna, rising to hands and knees, called softly, "Wait, Brad. I'll go with you!" In the subdued light, Maida could see all details in the cleft between the woman's buttocks, the red hairs around the engorged cuntlips now dark with the flow from the hot vagina, the wet shine of the fluids spread on Verna's ass cheeks and thighs.
With a cooing of laughter, she stroked into the warm valley, her fingers sliding in the overflow, touching the smoothness of the labia, feeling the heat and humidity that seemed to surround the pulsing area.
"Fuck him standing up, baby," she whispered. "The tiles on the bar floor will be mighty cold!"
There was enough sound from the screen to cover ordinary conversation-all the boys had little comments to make, admiring comments on tightness and slickness and youth-and the girls were laughing, with Donna helping Ellen into a comfortable position. Nevertheless, Alison kept her voice to a whisper as she moved closer to Bill.
"Well, chief," she murmured, "you were dead right about that kid from the sticks. She's hot-a tremendous capacity for sex. It almost makes me envious, or makes me wish I were that age again." Her throat ached with the effort to keep her voice normal. The sight of Donna engaged with the three surfers, especially Twilley, with his big cock buried in that sweet and tiny asshole, had lit a fire in her which hadn't been dampened by a finger-induced orgasm. She shivered.
Bill nodded, his face smooth and interested as he saw his daughter's young body happily thrusting against Cagney and heard her moaning squeals of delight.
"It was too obvious, Alison," he said quietly. "Easy to see."
The big girl leaned nearer. "It's great for her. I know that, you know it and she'll realize it as soon as she's had time to think. But I can't help worrying just a little about Brad. Isn't that stupid of me? But it seems to me that this has to be rough on him. Very rough."
Bill laughed. "You surprise me, Alison. You, of all women, to turn maternal." The tall girl looked distressed and he patted her on her smooth back. "Don't worry, dear. It's just as well for me to remember that you're a woman. And human." He paused, eying the screen. "And you're completely right-this has been rough on Brad. I wanted it to be."
The girl waited, silent, her eyes on him and he went on.
"I wanted to find out for sure what kind of a man Brad is. I wanted him to find out, too. Now we both know. And I don't think that he'll ever be sorry!" Bill's voice was positive.
Alison digested this. "And what kind of man is he?" she asked. "I mean, what do you know now that you didn't know before? What has all of this proved?"
"That he's a realist," Bill said quickly and firmly. "He's made the very last step in a process of decision. He has always wanted to succeed. Most men want to succeed, up to a certain point-going without pie for lunch so they can save for an investment, giving up playtime for study, showing a certain callousness to other people. But not all people." He paused.
He noted that Alice was staring at them and turned back to Alison, not lowering his voice. "In some area of their relationships, those average men have a weakness. Or maybe it isn't a weakness; maybe it's normal. It's a very rare man who really wants to succeed, more than he wants anything else in this world. Brad's that kind of man."
"So Brad doesn't have any weaknesses?" Alison ventured.
Bill smiled. "Of course he has. Every man has. I have. But if they stand between him and success, he overcomes them. Above all fairy-tale unreason, above meaningless words that make some men indecisive-words like 'principles' and 'loyalty' and 'ideals', you know what I mean. You'd be surprised how many men let such words whip them into a gliding sort of submission."
He sighed. "Well, I sound preachy, but you asked me what kind of man Brad is. And I know your interest in me and the firm. And in Brad. So I want you to know."
"So he's a realist," Alison murmured. "As compared to what? An idealist?"
Bill nodded. "Exactly," he answered. It's the idealists who use their forces, waste them, really, bucking reality. They wind up unhappy-and as failures. Brad won't be that way. He's my kind of man."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
There was a sudden flurry of laughter and squeals from the big screen and Alison and Bill, who had been intent on their question-and-answer analysis of Brad, looked up.
Ellen was on her knees, her thighs spread wide so that they could span the thick body of Twilley, who lay on his back. They could see his hard cock, hair growing up it thickly a matter of two inches from its broad base. His balls were drawn up tight, so that the extremely hairy notch of his ass cheeks and thighs was plainly visible. Three or four inches of his tool were buried in the almost hairless pussy above him and Ellen was wriggling, apparently trying to get all of his bulky meat into her narrow sheath.
Donna was on her knees near where the two bodies were joined and she was leaning over, across both sets of legs, to where Pebble also crouched. She had his prick in her hand and had apparently just released a load of saliva onto its head, which she was smearing around. As they watched, she turned away and they saw her face in profile as she ran her drooling tongue in the hairless valley between the tender globes of Ellen's ass. She looked up, face expectant.
"Get in there, Pebble," she said huskily. "It's all slicked and primed!" She reached around Ellen, apparently stroking her belly. "You'll love this, baby," she cooed. "This will send you right up the wall!"
She reached behind her to where Cagney, his tool stiff and ready, was sitting on his heels and gave his prick a pat.
"When I start sucking Pebble's balls," she said, the girlish voice coming loud and clear over the speakers, "I want you to slam it into me. Real hard. You dig?"
"I dig," Cagney said, smiling, his teeth white between his hairy lips. "Which hole?"
"Take your choice, baby!" Donna laughed. "It's a matter of free choice around here, I understand!" She looked directly into the camera, the location of which she had easily discovered, as she helped Pebble locate the rosebud anus of the young girl impaled on Twilley's prick. "Free choice, chief," she said, as though she were facing Bill in person. "That's right, isn't it?"
Bill rose and turned to Alison. He was composed. "As soon as this trick is over," he said in his normal voice, "pay these kids and see that they haul their asses out of here and back to the beach! Give them twenty apiece-no, make it fifty. Give them something to talk about to their pals, who won't believe a word of it."
He turned to the others. "Let's go out and have a drink, or some coffee. A bite to eat, if you feel like it. And Alison," he said, "make sure that these kids realize that this was a one-time shot. Tell them that if they ever come up my stairs again, they'll get a couple of broken legs. Okay?"
The tall girl stood near as Maida and Alice left. "Do you want Ellen out on the terrace, too, chief?" she asked. "She seems to have joined the party."
Bill grunted. "Up to her," he replied. "I think everything is fixed up with Donna and Brad-that's the main point."
"The reason for the party, really," Alison responded. "To get Donna and Brad shaped up."
"I was pretty sure of Brad, Alison," Bill said. "Donna was the one who needed help. Brad means a lot to her-he's her life, really. I want her to be a good wife for him."
Alison took in a deep breath. "I never really knew just how big a man you are, Bill," she said earnestly. "Or how much you deserve everything you've made for yourself. You're a great man!"
Bill swung a playful punch at her, striking her just under her naked breast. "Shut up!" he growled. "Maybe I am, in some ways. But you know I hate sentimentality!"
The evening had cooled rather abruptly, as it usually does along the coast of Southern California. Someone had activated a mechanism to raise a solid wall of clear plastic around the terrace, so that the ocean breeze was turned aside. Still, Donna was glad that she'd been able to locate her pareu. The air conditioning in the house had been just right, but it was much cooler out under the skies.
She stood in the big doorway, unnoticed for the moment.
Brad was sitting cross-legged on a wide divan with the redhead-what was her name? The initial introductions seemed so long ago-in another life almost.
She had met Alice, of course. And Maida and Alison. God, had she met Alison! She giggled, looking at the sleek blonde beauty of the tall, unruffled girl, who was serving something, ice cream, it looked like, into coconut shells.
Strange to think of that composed and lovely woman, on her hands and knees, with those perfect thighs and that beautiful pussy spread to take on a dog! Donna clenched her teeth to stop a shudder before it began. That dog, she thought. How savage, how uncaring about her or her feelings! No bullshit, no hypocrisy, no kisses, no sweet talk. But what a wild, crazy, out-of-the-world fuck!
She almost retched as she thought inevitably of the little dog, then squared her shoulders. Not only would she live with it, she'd be glad to live with the new understanding of her nature. What had Bill said? "By God, Princess, I knew you were a hot woman!" And so she was, hot right now, just thinking of the rank smell and taste of the small dog's prick, his jism. She could feel the hairy lips of her pussy drawing back, exposing those inner lips that were still crazy-tender.
She realized that she had made it this far like a sleepwalker, but now she was coming awake. Alison had helped her clean up and pulled the coverlet off the big bed. It was foul with come-juice and streaks of shit. Jesus! How that kid- Ellen, she called herself-had screeched when Pebble's prick had first jammed into her ass. It was a wonderful thing to see. She had seen, although not in any close-up detail, how Twilley's prick had jammed into her own ass. What a laugh! She had always that it would kill her-tear some tender muscles, leave her bleeding. What a crock of shit!
It was nothing. No, that wasn't true. It was really something, devastatingly pleasurable, once it got into you. It was the idea that was terrible.
Donna pulled her bare feet closer together. She had been walking with her legs spread wide, pampering a soreness more fancied than real. It wasn't soreness at all, she suddenly knew, just a tremendous awareness of her pussy, of how its lips felt when they rubbed together, of the deep feeling of stretch in it. And in her asshole. Actually, it felt lovely.
As she oriented herself mentally and physically, she realized that Bill was speaking. and of all things, he was talking calmly about the ice cream.
"It's made with coconut milk," he was explaining, in an ordinary conversational voice. "Wonderful stuff for a luau. A place in Tampa-or Ybor City, really, the Cuban community in Tampa. The Columbia Restaurant. I had them ship me ten gallons awhile back."
She looked at Bill, leaning against the wide stone balustrade, relaxed and quiet, the perfect host. But not quite like the conventional picture. He hadn't bothered to clothe his loins, apparently being unaffected by the cooler atmosphere of the terrace. He was completely nude, completely unself-conscious.
His hands were lightly braced against the low stone wall as he rested his buttocks against it and his legs were comfortably spread. From where she stood, Donna could only imagine the light, ginger-brown hairs on his legs, but she knew they were there, almost the same shade as his tanned skin.
Between his legs, neither hard nor soft, there hung that great bolt of meat. It seemed large and heavy, even in its quiescent state. And she knew how big, how frighteningly big, it was when it got hard.
Once more her mind reversed itself. Big, of course, but not frightening. She drew a deep breath and found herself drawing another, then another. Her heart speeded up its beat and the intensity of feeling between her legs became almost too much for her. She could actually feel a movement deep inside, a sucking quiver of muscle, a seepage of warm fluid out of her cuntlips. Her eyes moved up from his cock to his face and he was smiling directly at her. He'd been aware of her presence all along, she knew with certainty.
The movement of the others went out of her peripheral vision as she dropped her eyes to his cock again. Unless she was dreaming, it had grown larger.
No longer like a somnambulist, no longer walking with her legs wide apart, she started toward him, reaching down to pick up a cushion as she passed a wide bench.
When she got within a couple of feet of him, she carefully placed the cushion just at his feet, bent her knees, and balancing herself with the fingers of both hands, knelt on the cushion. She didn't look around at the others-indeed, it was as if they had ceased to exist. She looked up at Bill, as though asking permission and he smiled and nodded.
Without haste, she picked up the great organ, rolling the foreskin back from the purplish-red head. She fancied she could feel his heartbeats in the big vein which stood up on the upper surface, faintly blue under the soft white skin.
Crossing her palms, she lifted the tip of the big head to her lips. There was a clear drop of fluid in the slit that was so much like a little eye and she sent her pink tongue out to lick up this droplet. It was slick and very faintly saline and she closed her eyes the better to enjoy it and to enjoy the tremor of anticipation which flooded her body.
She rolled the skin back as far as it would go, squeezing the hardening column so that the head seemed full and slick and shiny. Her tongue went underneath, licking on each side of the taut cord that ran to the slit. There was a soft, rich residue of something-congealed semen probably, or that soft curd-like substance which gathers as the result of heat or friction or the natural rubbing away of delicate skin. She carefully licked these tiny and delightful morsels away from their hiding place, pressing them against her gums with her tongue.
As the rod became harder, Donnas' heart beat faster; her breathing grew shallow, panting, directed around and against the head, which by now was dark red.
Her tongue came out and rolled slowly around her lips, wetting them thoroughly and she inched forward to take the head in her mouth, pushing its softness against the roof of her mouth with her tongue, now hard with her desire. With slowly increased suction, she drew more and more of the throbbing hardness into her mouth, her saliva flowing so freely that a trickle of it ran out each corner of her mouth and she pursed her cheeks to hold it back.
As the big cock grew harder, choking her with its size, Donna purposely breathed deeper, being forced to take in breath through her nose and timing her inhalations to her forcing of Bill's organ into her throat.
All other action had halted as soon as Donna had begun her purposeful walk toward her husband's boss and only Brad had even so much as stirred since. Alison, an odd look on her face, continued to eat her ice cream, holding the shell up near her mouth, spooning the frozen confection into her mouth in small bites. There seemed to be a rhythm to her eating, as though it were connected by some wireless timing system to Donnas' measured back-and-forth movements on Bill's prick.
Even this movement stopped as Brad, slowly at first, then in a slightly picked-up tempo, walked across the long terrace toward his wife and his boss.
Donna was deaf and blind to all movement except her slow plunges down on the cock she was devouring and to the pounding of her heartbeats, which seemed most evident in her crotch. In her loins there was a tremendous heat and this fire touched every part of her. Her bare rump was settled on her heels and not even the chill which arose from the flagstones around her could diminish the waves of warmth that moved in her opened twat, almost raw from the friction it had received.
As Bill watched Brad draw closer, he motioned to Alison, his hand making a gesture toward his buttocks, so that she understood it was a chair he wanted. Her eyes lighted up and she brushed past Brad, bringing a low, cushioned seat, which Bill pushed behind him, with Donna blindly kneeing her way back far enough so that he could sit down. Her mouth followed his cock, and as the upper part of her body lowered, so that she rested her forearms on the chair, her ass came up so that she was, in effect, on her knees. The pareu had been caught somehow at her waist and her buttocks, bare and unadorned save for the dark-haired lips that protruded from between them, was directly in Brad's line of view.
He, too, had brought a cushion, and as Donna had a few moments before, he looked at Bill before he placed the small pad between Donnas' spread knees. Bill smiled and nodded.
The first that Donna knew of another presence was the soft tip of Brad's prick working into her pussy. It was a pleasant shock, but she did not cease her regular movement with her lips and tongue and head, rising and falling as she went down on the swollen tool, now starting an angry throb that seemed to come as the big head crowded her throat. It took all her concentration to maintain this steady movement as the hot head of her husband's prick pushed into her, stretching muscles weary and sore from too much fucking. Besides, it wasn't what she wanted. But she let Brad continue to push in and pull out, until she knew his cock was completely lubricated.
Then, by a quick waggle of her hips on his out stroke, she pushed his prick out and quickly, almost impatiently, pointed a scant inch higher in the crack of her ass.
Without a change of expression, Brad aimed his broad glands at the puckered brown sphincter, now slightly turned out to show a rim of pink membrane and moved his loins just enough to sink a couple of inches into the tight little hole, amazed that his entry should be so easy. It was actually looser than her vaginal opening. But, as he entered farther into her rectum, its ridged walls closed on him and the anal sphincter, fluttering with a sensation beyond Donnas' control, gave him an odd sense of having mounted some animal with an interior slicker and hotter than any human creature.
Fascinated by the feeling and by the consummation of an idea long held, he kept his eyes down, watching his cock move strongly in and out of his wife's asshole. There was a change in the coloring of the white column of his penis, a brownish-yellow film that shone in the light of the tiki torches. He watched the film become darker and the grip of Donnas' ass, seeming to grow tighter, increased the feeling of unbearable life and fullness all along his reproductive system.
He closed his eyes tightly, trying to fight down the rising tide of lust, desperately anxious not to do anything that would deflect Donnas' attention from her fellatio on Derwin. But suddenly he heard Bill's breath rise in sharp crescendo, heard Bill emit one deep, groaning sigh of satisfaction and he pumped furiously in and out, gripping Donnas' sagging haunches to hold her against him as his flood of sperm ebbed and flowed in her quivering bowels.
Without looking at either Bill or Donna or any of the rest, Brad got unsteadily to his feet, holding his prick carefully, with the other hand under it to catch the drip and made for the nearest bathroom.
After everyone else had said their good-byes and left, Donna and Brad stayed on. Both of them had dressed and Bill had slipped on a lightweight cashmere robe. One of the housemen had brought in a pot of fresh coffee and the trio sat comfortably on the terrace.
"I wanted you two to stay because, after all, you were the guests of honor," Bill said pleasantly. "And, while I am sure you heard about your promotion unofficially, Brad, I wanted to confirm it before you left. I hope you will make me happy that I chose you for the job. And I think you will. Does either of you have any questions?"
Brad felt he knew the answers to what he considered the really important questions: when he took over Max's office, how soon did the big salary begin, when did the Buick turn into a Cadillac? Knowing Bill fairly well, he assumed that the answer to all of these would be the same-immediately. So he decided that a touch of modesty might be wise and also might give him an important clue to what Bill expected of him.
"I don't know exactly how to put this, Bill," he said. "I don't want to appear to have less... well, less confidence than I should. I honestly believe I can handle the job... with some guidance. But... why me? I'm younger than either Larry or Tom and I have less time with the company. There are some facets of public relations I know very well-at least in my own opinion. Possibly biased." He laughed somewhat nervously.
"But I don't kid myself-I'm pretty young for a job this size. It might help if you told me why you picked me."
Bill grinned. "It's quite simple, really, Brad," he replied. "You have more of the drive to succeed than Larry or Tom or any of the hundred or so older men in the PR field in Santa Vaca who'd give their left arms to get this job. That means that you'll do everything that you know how to do in order to succeed and what you don't know, you'll try to learn. It means that, if you make errors, you'll survive and keep trying. That's worth more to me than experience, administrative knowledge, or a couple of college degrees. And don't worry-I'll give you guidance. Most of it, of course, will be telling you where you've gone wrong."
"I have a weird sort of idea-and forgive me if this is out of line-that this party, some of the things that happened, may have been some sort of final test," Brad observed. "Am I right on that, or wrong?"
Bill considered his reply. After a moment, he said, "Brad, every man in a position like mine wants to know that his key people can keep their heads under any kind of pressure-business, personal, social, financial. This was a little exaggerated, perhaps, both for you and Donna." He turned to smile at Donna, who sat quietly watching them both. "Both of you did all right."
"Was it some sort of test for me, too, Bill?" Donna asked. "Does a wife and her willingness to, uh, go through... well... different sorts of things... does that have a bearing on her husband's success? With Bonturat, I mean," she added.
Bill laid his hand on hers. "Donna, where you're concerned, this was a personal thing with me, where my interest was in you as a person, rather than as the wife of one of my executives." He looked away as though placing his thoughts in correct order and turned back to her. "I liked you from the start," he said, smiling, "but I thought you were, just possibly, not making the most of your God-given attributes. This is part of my belief that sex, enjoyed to the fullest, is what makes a life not only worth living, but a sort of victory over mediocrity. Donna, I had no doubts that you would be a good 'company wife,' because of your obvious qualities. But I felt that you deserved to reach for something more, to be a real woman. For your own sake."
Donna smiled. "I appreciate your interest, Bill," she said in a cheerful voice. "I'll let you know how it works out."
Derwin went with them to the door, an arm around each.
"I hate to see you driving a crummy old car like that Buick," Bill said. "Must be over a month old! Let's go trade it in tomorrow for a Cadillac!"
He slipped his hand under Donnas' arm and gave her breast an affectionate squeeze. "You're a great pair," he said seriously. "Donna, take good care of my new director of public relations. He's got a tough job-he's going to need a lot of loving care!"
Donna squeezed her arm down on his hand, pressing it more firmly onto her tit. "If I need any guidance, Bill," she laughed, "I'll come to you!"
CHAPTER TWELVE
Remembering how he had always thought that Max McGillah had it easy, Brad smiled sourly as he sat in the big office. The past few weeks hadn't been a picnic. The hell of it was, he admitted to himself, a good deal of his trouble had been self-induced. Like his getting a little too overbearing with Mauricio Rubio, the bright young Mexican-American who had been moved into Brad's old job.
Like Tom Sorden and Larry Menas, he brought his ideas in to the director's office for a general discussion. Just as Brad had, not too long ago, when Max McGillah was the director. And for some reason, Brad had been much more critical of Rubio's ideas than of the others. Bill had commented on it.
"Let him make a few mistakes, Brad," Derwin had counseled him. "He's enthusiastic. Don't spoil his enthusiasm by picking his ideas apart. You're only going to be as good as the men under you. Encourage the kid!"
It had smarted for a while, but in his heart he knew that Bill had been right. And there was the matter of his appointing his new secretary. Maida had really brought him down when she declined the job. And he thought that he had been doing her a favor. Shit, it was pretty big of him, in a way, when he had a wide choice. Maybe it wasn't anything personal. Maybe Maida had lied about her ambitions and how she was afraid of new responsibilities. After their terrific fuck that day on the carpet and after the party at Bill's, it couldn't be that she didn't like him.
She certainly had seemed sincere enough when she had declined the job. At least he had thought so at the time. One can't always tell when people are really sincere.
"Thanks, Brad, but no thanks," she had said when he had given her what he thought would be good news. "I've found out something strange about myself-I think I'm reverting back to some of my middle-class ideas. I don't know if I like the feeling that I'm a piece of company property. You'd be better off with a different girl." And she had stuck to it, in spite of his urging, which, to be honest, had been only perfunctory, more out of courtesy and friendship than anything else.
She had made up for it by suggesting a girl she knew in the auditor's secretarial pool. Jeanne Flick, a cool-looking, self-possessed blonde. A younger edition of Alison, really, who hadn't batted an eyelash when he had looked her straight in the eye and asked her if she knew all that was expected of an executive secretary.
That was really one wonderful thing that had happened on the new job-the way she had answered the question. She had simply gotten up, gone to latch the door and had come back to stand before him, smiling warmly, casually reaching behind her to run the zipper of her dress down. "Now?" she had asked and the way she asked the question caused him to roar with laughter-the first good laugh he'd enjoyed for several days.
Her body was beautiful. And she was wonderful on the big couch, or on the carpet. Even on the desk. She made sex a matter of laughter and fun and no guilt or regrets. Of course, she was a damned efficient secretary, too.
And, strange for him, he prized her more as a secretary than as a piece of ass. After all, when he kept up his homework properly, he didn't come into the office with a hard-on. Donna had always been ready, but she was a whole lot more aggressive these days. She never seemed to get enough.
So, while it was nice to know that Jeanne and her startling beauty were always there for him to enjoy, he didn't feel that he had to fuck her if he didn't feel like it. Anyhow, things sometimes happened to take his mind off sex.
Like today. Brad had come in feeling great. Feeling that he was getting on top of his job, feeling that he was developing a sound relationship with young Rubio, feeling Jeanne's ass when she brought" him a cup of coffee. Not just a jovial pinch, either, but a good, long, wiping feel that started with his hand between her knees and wound up with him getting his fingers slippery-wet in the soft warmth between her cuntlips.
He had even begun to get the first stirrings of a hard-on, since Donnas' period was due and she was grumpy, as usual. Thinking of Jeanne, who was never out of sorts, he had deliberately been unsympathetic with Donna. That always turned her off. So Jeanne looked awfully good to him this morning.
And then the goddamned phone rang and it was Bill, on the warpath. He had tossed off a verbal report on a plan submitted by Tom Sorden the day before and Bill, after studying Tom's plan, had come to the conclusion that Brad had never even read it. That simply wasn't true. Brad had read it, maybe not as completely as he should and his error was evident.
At least that was Bill's idea. Brad couldn't believe he had been so careless. But Bill had really stung him.
"You're the director, Brad," Bill had said flatly. "How can you direct things if you don't even know what's going on?"
After you've swallowed a dose like that and swallowed your own angry explanation as a good company man should, you don't feel like eating a little pussy on top of it. Not even a pussy so pink and blonde and juicy and hot as Jeanne's. And your lunch doesn't sit too well, either.
The thing had been straightened out. Bill came down a little after two p.m., all smiles, dragging an apologetic Tom Sorden after him.
"I'm sorry I gigged you so hard, Brad," Bill said genially. "This bum just told me something I wish I'd known before I called you. Last night, after you had this report, Tom saw where it could be improved and he stayed after work to change it. So you were right and I was wrong. I'm sorry I blew up-truly sorry!"
It eased the hurt to his ego, but it still rankled.
Even after Bill had stopped at the door and come back to smile and say, "I've been working you too hard. Why don't you shut up shop and go home early? Take Donna out dancing; have some laughs. It's Friday anyhow. We never get too much done on Friday afternoons." He patted Brad on the shoulder. "You're my man, Brad, you know that! You're doing a great job. So get out of here and forget it until Monday!"
Now that he was on his way home, Brad began to feel a lot better. Bill's apology was genuine and so was Tom's. And surprising Donna would be a good thing to do, especially after he had been so mean to her that morning. He rubbed at his crotch, smiling ruefully. Probably just as well that he hadn't banged Jeanne. A good, slow, easy fuck, with all the lights on so he could enjoy Donnas' various cute little goodies... that would be a good way to make up.
Thinking of Donna, he frowned. She had been sort of odd lately. He always smelled whiskey on her breath when he came home and that was something new. And the house didn't seem as meticulously neat as it had before. Maybe she ought to have a full-time maid-they could afford it.
Well, hell, she was spending a lot of time at the beach. Her tan was great. "My little brown gal with white stripes," he had called her. And he certainly couldn't kick about their sex lives. No more reservations, no more inhibitions. He drove the Cadillac a little faster. A great car! The couple next door had come over the first evening he drove it home, ohhing and ahhing and visibly impressed. They were nice people.
There was a battered Volkswagen van in his driveway and it tugged at his temper. He hoped it wasn't someone from Citrus City. Maybe it was some handyman, come to repair something.
The front door was open and he heard the sound of male voices as he stepped inside. And Donnas' voice, sounding a bit drunk. Damn it! This was a little too much!
All the sound was coming from the bedroom and his feet made no sound on the thick shag carpet as he moved down the hall. A slow anger welled up in him.
"Watch it, baby-you're bending my prick!" a man's voice cried and Brad stopped at the door to check whatever he could before he made his furious entry.
The first thing he saw was his wife's pussy-pink, wet, glistening, wide-open. She was reflected in the tall mirror of her vanity and every light in the room was on, so that he saw every detail.
Donna was sitting upright on some stranger who was spread-eagled on the eight-dollar satin spread. It was obvious that his cock was buried in Donnas' asshole and she was leaning back, braced on her hands, her firm little breasts taut, the odd position stretching and opening her cunt.
"One of you guys get it in here!" she shouted, humping forward. "You-what's your name? Frank? Come on, Frank, sock it to me!"
Three or four others, with long hair and dirty feet, lounged on the bed, grinning. One was partly sitting, partly lying on Donnas' silk-upholstered chaise. One, a tall boy with a glass of Brad's booze in his hand, was laughingly jerking at his prick. He was the first one to see Brad.
"Hey, who the hell is that?" he asked, undisturbed. "Donna-baby, we've got company!"
Donna, focusing drunken eyes on his image in the mirror, cried gaily, "Hi, dear! Make yourself a drink! Meet the fellows-Frank here and Nick, under me and some other friends from the beach." She waved vaguely. "Say hello to my husband, you guys!" But she put her hands over her face and began to sob.
After some of the shock had ebbed and he could see what he was doing, Brad stopped and got out to look at his right rear fender. He remembered smashing down a young shade tree as he had ripped out of the drive. The car was okay. He would buy the neighbors a new, bigger tree.
He rolled up the on-ramp to the southbound lane of the freeway, his anger cooling. He drove slowly, trying to think his way out of this situation. It wouldn't do to throw Donna out, at least not now. Bill wouldn't like it if a stink were raised and he realized helplessly that Donna, the way she was now, would really enjoy making a stink. He shuddered.
God Almighty! Those filthy hippie bastards! No wonder the house never looked clean. He had raised Donnas' house allowance to seven hundred bucks-probably half of it was going for whiskey! Those stupid shits! Dirtying up my home, drinking up my booze. And fucking my wife, on top of everything else! And if this has been going on regularly, the neighbors are all talking about it.
He thought desperately of a way he might cover up the mess. Talk to Donna; get her to keep it to certain hours. Tell the neighbors she's giving classes in yoga or something. No chance, he thought bitterly.
Buy a little house at the beach then? Let her get it out of her system down there? He swore aloud. He would be damned if he would pay for a house for his wife to use as a fucking spot.
Feeling more lonely than ever in his life, he drove slowly, automatically, winding up in the company garage, under the Bonturat Building. He sat in the Cadillac for a long time.
The luxury of his office calmed him. It wasn't Bill's fault that his interest in Donnas' well-being had backfired. All that Bill had wanted was for Donna to realize her full sexual potential. She didn't have to go hog-wild.
As he sat there on the deserted floor-everyone had gone home by now-the quiet eased his squirming mind. Whatever happened, he wasn't going to let Donnas' aberrations mess up his life, his success. He'd never shove his cock into her again-that was for sure! Horsing around this way, she'd come home with a dose of clap, maybe worse. He'd put it to her straight-keep those pricks out of his home. Take them to a motel-she could afford it. Or go to their lousy pads.
He had a sudden vision of Donna-clean, cuddly, warm, tiny Donna-drunkenly fucking and sucking a gang of unwashed, long-haired punks. And he had a picture as she was in that orange grove, so many years ago-a skinny little kid with big eyes, boobs no bigger than an apricot, hardly any hair on her childish little pussy.
Damn it, if he had only stayed at the office! He could've had Jeanne, so warm and sweet, spread out on his desk as he sat in his big chair and ate her pussy. "The executive low-calorie special," she had called it the first time they had tried it that way. But Jeanne was off somewhere for the weekend. But he needed someone.
He thought of another juvenile pussy and dialed Bill's home, asking for Ellen. Oh, didn't he know? an impersonal male voice asked. Miss Ellen went back to school the day before.
Somehow, out of all the shocks of this day, out of all his frustrations and blows to his emotions, he had retained some trace of his manhood. At least that was the way he thought of it. Out of his feel of Jeanne and his aborted decision to fuck her, out of his recovered aplomb after Bill's apology, out of the sight of Donnas' lewdly wet, lewdly open cunt-even out of his futile call to Ellen-Brad's cock kept the faith. Miraculously, it was swelling and fattening, warm against his thigh. It gave him a new feeling of freedom.
His telephone ran stridently, raising him out of some crazy dream of going down to Tijuana and getting a group of whores to spend the weekend with him.
He was puzzled for a moment that someone could call him, since the switchboard was closed long ago. And then, with satisfaction, he recalled that his office was one of six that were always left plugged in on one of the company's trunk lines, so that, if he had to work late, he could still call outside without the operator's help. The phone whirred again and he picked it up, deciding that it was probably a wrong number. Donna was the only one, outside the company, who would know how to get him.
But it wasn't a wrong number after all!
"Hello, Brad, my dear," a smooth, warm voice said. "It's Alison. Aren't you surprised?"
Brad's heart jumped. She was perhaps the only person, anywhere, that he could talk to. He didn't need to make his voice warm and confident. Alison made him feel that way. "More than surprised," he said. "Knocked off my feet would be more like it. This may be my lucky day sifter all."
"Yeah, I know-part of it was a little rocky, wasn't it?" the smooth voice asked. "Bill made a hell of a boner on that Sorden report. I never saw him so shook up about a mistake. His mistake, I mean. He felt lousy about that. He really likes you, Brad."
"I know he does, Alison," Brad's happiest voice said. "He was great. But listen, this is after hours and I want to say something that I'd never say any other time. Okay?"
Alison laughed. "Fire away, Bradley," she said. "What did you want to say... in strictest confidence, of course."
"Sure, doll, in strictest confidence," Brad said. "I wanted to say, 'Fuck Bill!' How does that grab you?"
The blonde girl's laugh came loud and clear along the wire. "Brad, I never knew you cared!" she cried and they both went into a burst of choking laughter.
"So, okay, I feel better now," Brad said. "What I meant was that I didn't want to take up any time talking about Bill. What I want to know is, where are you and what are you doing and how did you know where to reach me?"
"I'm upstairs, in my office," Alison said calmly. "I'm sitting here with nothing to do and nobody to do it with. And when I drove into the garage a few minutes ago, Frank-you know Frank, the night man in the garage?- Frank said he saw you come in and he never saw a man that looked more in need of a sympathetic friend. And Brad, listen... I've got sympathy just oozing out of me. In fact, if I don't get out of these wet panties, I could catch cold!"
The couch in Bill's office was infinitely better than the one in his, Brad decided. For example, it became a big bed at the touch of a button. It was fitted with clean, crisp sheets and huge pillows. But best of all, it was fitted with Alison. For once in his life, Brad was truly grateful to a woman and because his emotion was completely honest, he had no subtleties of flattery to use.
His cock was hard, filled with good feeling, as he slowly lifted his loins above Alison's hospitable pussy. He could've come at any time after the first few minutes he had it in... or rather, after Alison, kind and clever, had whispered, "No, darling, let me put it in!"
There was real artistry in her gentle movements. She had held it with such a gentle grip. "It's nice and big, Brad," she said with a smile.
"Not as big as Bill's," he had said, half-hoping that she would lie. But she had laughed tenderly, giving it a shake.
"That's true, Brad," she had said, holding the big red glands just at the warm entry. "But did you know this? Size has very little to do with a woman's pleasure from sex."
She let him into her slowly and easily and laughed again as he pulled out and gave a mighty shove. "Don't hurry, Brad," she whispered. "You don't have anything to prove-not with me!"
He kissed her fiercely, his lips working, his head turning, his tongue seeking hers. She pushed him away.
"Don't be an actor," she admonished him. "If you want to kiss, forget the bad movies you've seen. Fucking is better when it's plain and simple. And honest. Just put your mouth on mine, if you feel really affectionate. You don't have to be a tiger. A little tenderness makes fucking even nicer."
He slowed his movements, fucking gently, surprised that this was such a different pleasure from what he had expected.
"I guess I haven't really grown up, Alison," he said. "Maybe I don't know as much as I thought I did."
The softness of her breasts, the warm smoothness of her skin, the warmth and gentle life around his cock lifted his spirits. Just as her simple welcome had, when he first walked in. The couch was down, ready for them, but Alison had mixed him a drink first and talked quietly as she slowly undressed them both. When they were both nude and she sat on the edge of the couch, holding his hand and looking up at him with a questioning smile, the warm and intimate perfume that rose from her loins brought him down on his knees between her spread thighs and as she lay back, raising her legs to place her feet on his shoulders, it brought her cunt up to his face.
It's blonde-haired lips were not so fat as Maida's, but longer, like soft flaps which folded to cover and protect the tender rosette of pink convolutions inside. Only when they reached the dark little concavity which was the entrance to her vagina did they disappear and he could see the source of what she called "sympathy" oozing out.
The inner lips were warm and moist, for the thick juice which had been gathering there had been held in by the hairy folds, slowly turning to the consistency of a thick syrup. The taste, as he licked them, was pure delight to his senses.
Afterward, when he had risen above her with a rampant hard-on, she had rolled to the center of the couch and held him in her arms, forcing him to wait, to content himself with kissing her breasts and giving his hands the soft experience of stroking her smooth belly, her flanks, the live heat in the depression between her thighs. And she had made him talk.
"Don't worry about Donna," she told him. "And don't worry about Bill's attitude. He'll be sorry to hear that she reacted so badly, but he's a realist. And he values you too much to let her actions damage you."
She let her legs come apart so that Brad's hand could reach down, parting the lips which his tongue had so recently cleaned. They were already wet again and he parted them carefully, the big, soft flaps seeming to close around his fingers. She closed her eyes and smiled as his finger went into her, touching the softly grained lumps of glandular tissue just inside, turning to caress the muscular slickness of the firm interior. Engrossed in the minor delight of searching her out, he put another finger in, surprised that two fingers went in so easily. His hard-on was now tremendous, pushing against her hip. He had never worked so slowly on Donna-nor on any other woman-and was mentally intrigued by his self-control.
As a part of this exercise in languorous love play, he kissed her nearest nipple. A thought of what she'd just said stuck in his mind and he asked, "But what's the answer-between me and Donna, I mean? Do I just tell Bill? Ask for advice?"
She squeezed her thighs on his hand, rolling her hips so that her steaming cunt rotated against his fingers.
"I'll take care of it, Brad," she whispered. "There's no problem. Bill has an attorney in Tijuana-his name is Jorge Leyes and he's the best there is. A Mexican divorce is so simple, so easy-no more trouble than getting a fishing license. You won't even have to talk to Donna if you don't want to."
She opened her legs even wider and whispered in his ear, "Let me suck it for just a minute or two."
He rolled on his back, but she said laughingly, tugging at his prick, "No, move around and turn on your side. There, that's it!" Her face was at his crotch, her breasts softly bunched at his belly. "Now, raise this leg and put it over my shoulder."
He did as she ordered and felt his ass cheeks open, felt her soft hand go around his balls as well as the thick root of his cock. With her cunt at his face, he closed his eyes and enjoyed the richness of the deeply feminine odor that rose to him. She had put his hard prick under her cheek and he felt his balls being sucked slowly, warmly, into her mouth.
She rolled the big tender testicles, encased in their hairy bag, against her tongue and cheeks and his cock throbbed as she pulled at them. It was lying against her neck and he imagined that he felt her own heartbeat where the swollen glands pressed against the big artery in her throat.
She moved her head again, letting his balls out from her lips and now he felt the expert mouth close over the jerking head of his cock, sliding down so that the entire column went out of sight. He trembled at the soft shock as the head, striking the closure of her throat, compressed and bent slightly.
As men have always done to fight off premature ejaculation, he determinedly forced his mind to another subject.
His job. Where did he go from here? Was he as high as he could go in Bonturat? Without a college education, without specialized technical knowledge or experience in administration, could he attain a vice-presidency?
Alison's lips and tongue were still, for she had sensed how near he was to coming. His face, pressed into the crisp and fragrant mop of cunt hair, felt a tremor of movement in her thighs and belly.
Outside of the vice-presidents, Alison had the best job in the firm. He knew that she was, in many respects, more valuable to Bill than anyone in the organization. Her salary, it was common knowledge, totaled more than fifty thousand a year and her closeness to Bill gave her more inside knowledge for investments than anyone.
It was at this point that she had rolled away from him, lying on her back and spreading her legs in woman's age-old welcome, smiling up at him with parted lips, her face tender.
Now, as she rolled gently under him, showing him how to kiss without the faked fury he had always wasted, licking his teeth, his gums, the inside of his lips, holding his face in gentle hands, he thought only of this heightened pleasure he was learning.
She pushed his face away to smile at him, wrinkling her nose delightfully. "If you're not as big as Bill," she said softly, "you can also see that I'm maybe not as tight as Donna. Or Maida or Verna."
He shook his head in quick denial of the thought he'd been holding. She wasn't so tight, but there was a new pleasure in feeling his sensitive cock gently churning in the hot interior, rubbing against her cervix, lightly caressed by the living warmth of her rather roomy pussy. It was wonderful. He could fuck for an hour, holding back his orgasm, letting the explosive itch grow gradually, slowly, stopping when it came too near, letting his cock rest happily in the softly moving kiss of muscle and membrane.
"Tightness isn't the most important thing in a fuck, Alison," he said, smiling and remembering her kindness, her woman's knowledge, as she had assured him that a man's size had little to do with a woman's pleasure.
She pulled his face down for a long kiss, then held him in her arms, whispering in his ear, "Sex is never so wonderful as when there is love, Brad, or even the imitation of love."
The awareness of how much of his passion had always been play-acting made him grateful for her sweet humility. As far back as he could remember, he couldn't be sure that he had ever said, honestly and simply, "I love you!" To have love for a woman-no, not really. He loved his mother, his father. Love without sex. And perhaps he had felt love for Donna, back in their first beautiful weeks and months of discovery.
In spite of his resolve to fuck all night, the thought of what Alison had said and his mental response, caused him to drive his loins against her, to probe more deeply with his prick, to try to raise her to a greater height of-what?
Heat? Passion? Coming, popping her nuts, shooting her wad, crumbling her cookies, blowing her load, dumping her ashes-all the other non-tender synonyms for the sweetness a woman experienced at climax?
"Love!" He said the word aloud, distorted by the girl's fat, hard tongue in his mouth. "Love!" he said it again, clearly and his body was straining now, driving his cock into her in fierce rhythm. And suddenly Alison's cunt, so comfortably slack with its syrupy heat, changed to a hard-gripping set of muscles which writhed around him like a warm, strong fist.
Her eyes were closed, her lips clamped shut in fierce concentration-he saw it in a flash, almost subliminal, as the thundering heat in his cock came to a bursting point in the grip of her pussy, which milked him in an exact cadence with his thrusts.
As his hot seed began to pour into her, each spurt an agonized shock of pleasure, she held her hips arched high off the sheet, her strong back muscles holding him in the air as his jets filled her, the strong force of her inner muscles sucking him dry.
They were both near exhaustion as she fell back against the sheets, but their mouths found each other. Her tongue was fat and soft, now that the concentrated fever had burst in her, but on his wilting prick, still full of happy feeling, still giving a reflex throb from time to time, he felt the muscled sheath move gently, like a loving tongue.
They lay in affectionate relaxation several times that night. Brad truly learned what it meant not to hurry, not to prove anything, but only to love.
They snacked on wonderful tidbits from the refrigerator in Bill's well-stocked bar. They drank good wine. Alison smeared clam-and-cheese dip on the head of Brad's cock and licked it off slowly. She lay spread open while Brad put the neck of a bottle of yellow Chartreuse deep into her cunt and squatted over his mouth to let it drain out. He pulled her down to him to suck out the last drops and explained that it was the first time he'd ever gotten drunk on pussy.
"What do you know, the sun's coming up!" Brad exclaimed as they awoke from a nap to find the light from outside dimming the lamp by the couch.
Alison laughed sleepily, her face more beautiful than Brad had ever seen it. "I always sleep in on Saturdays," she said. "Oh, Brad, it was so wonderful!"
She buried her face in his crotch, kissing his soft and wrinkled cock tenderly. "I'm sure it's clean," she whispered. "If it's not, it's not my fault!"
He sat with her face against him, reaching under to play with those marvelous breasts. He moved one hand down into the cleft of her ass and Alison moved sharply as his finger touched the opening of her cunt. "Take it easy, lover," she said softly. "I'm as tender as a bride!"
Laughing quietly, Brad began to dress. Alison watched him as he tucked his shirt into his slacks.
"Where to now?" she asked, smiling.
For a moment, his face held a look she'd never seen before, tight and grim.
"I've got to go have a talk with Donna," he said firmly. "If she'll move out without a fight, okay-I'll take care of her. But you'll talk to Bill, won't you? And that attorney, Jorge Leyes?"
Her voice was low. "Maybe the shock of your being away all night will help her shape up, Brad," Alison said.
"Too late for that," Brad said briskly. He was smiling. "I'm going to spend more time on my job-I've got a lot to learn. I won't be at home very much and I'll be damned if I will leave her in that house, her and her hippie boyfriends." He bent down to kiss her. "You've taught me a lot about... well, other things tonight. When I get to spending more of my time down here, maybe you'll teach me some other things I ought to know... about the business."
"I'll teach you all I know," she said warmly, her breasts rising as she reached her arms up to him. "And not just about business. I'll teach you how sweet it can be to have both sex and love. Or its imitation!" Her laugh was light.
"You already have," Brad said, kissing her. "If you're going to be at your home, I'll call you tonight."
She watched him go out the door, young, determined.
"Good-bye, lover," she whispered.
The desk light in his office was still on and Brad turned it off. He was sleepy, but he enjoyed the thought of going home and having it out with Donna. No sweat, he thought. He'd always been able to dominate her. Pack her up, give her a check for five hundred, take her credit cards away from her, except maybe one oil company card and start her out for Citrus City in the old Chevrolet.
He sat in the half-light, thinking with fierce ambition of the future. He could see ahead to the day when Alison, having been moved out of her job without knowing exactly what hit her, would clean out her desk and he would move into her job. With all he had going for him, with her deeply in love with with-that would be only a matter of time, he was certain-he would know everything she knew by that time.
It was tough, of course. But business was business. He thought of how she would look on that day, her beautiful face sad and puzzled. A tear rolled down his cheeks and another. But after all, she could get a job anywhere. Tom Sorden had told him so. He wiped the tears away carefully and put the handkerchief back in his pocket. He turned his face up, in the general direction of the office where Alison lay in her exquisite nudity, his semen still sticky between her thighs, her pussy, in all probability, still throbbing a little.
"Tough shit, Alison-baby," he murmured and laughed.
