Where once the apparent end product of marriage was monogamy, modern mores have brought a distinctive change to traditional conceptions. It is almost taken for granted anymore that into each marriage some form of tacitly agreed upon infidelity will occur.
The key clubs of past years, where the husband pitches his house key in a hat with others and then tries for the luck of the draw, has never disappeared. It has just been sublimated. Socially, sexual experimentation has not become less popular-it has just become much quieter.
It may be assumed that there is something in the human animal which requires a change of pace-variety, if you will. Over the centuries of recorded history, no drive is so consistent as that of men and women for sexual experiences with people not their mates.
Novels such as this one treat sex as it is being treated today in America by real people: with a cynical eye toward the traditional moralities and a crass acceptance of the pleasures of sex. It is a fevered reflection of what is going on in the great American society. But underneath it all, the author provides the warning that in sex, as in all human activities, there is always the user of other people, as well as the used.
-THE PUBLISHER
CHAPTER ONE
Rhonda Tracht's skin was her best feature. She knew it and loved it. It felt so good, so sensuously wonderful when her husband Martin stroked her that she appreciated it even more. His hand would slide lovingly from her neck or her shoulders downward, caressing the smooth, pale contours of her back. His fingertips made the slimness of her waist feel more feminine. Any touch, like the slow, teasing brushing he was doing right now, made her buttocks come alive.
Rhonda had dark brown hair, cut to show her forehead, the nape of her neck, and the little dab of ivory earlobe around the miniature-rose earings she always wore. Her eyes were large, dark and lively under high-arched brows. Rhonda's nose turned up very slightly at the tip. It added freshness to her exquisite cheekbones and tempered the wide, sensuous curve of her lips. That lovely, creamy skin was just a little redder over her cheekbones, as if she used powder. She had no need for rouges.
Right now, Rhonda lay on her back, twisting her fingers in the floral-print sheets of the Tracht's big bed. Her lips were parted. She restrained herself as best she could. Martin was driving her crazy.
His fingertips played across the outer sides of her buttocks, tracing feathery-feeling lines along the sensitive skin. He teased her with his lips and tongue, plucking at her off-black pubic hair, licking the tender crease at the top of her thigh. Every time he got close to the center of her alert pussy, Martin pulled back. His fingertips kept moving.
"Oh, Martin, husband, darling," Rhonda moaned, her whole body shaking with hunger. "Please, honey, please do it! I love the way you kiss me down there!" Her voice was growing tighter.
"And I love kissing it," Martin answered, tightening his fingers on her hips. He blew a sharp-focused stream of air along the hot, blushing center of Rhonda's pussy.
Rhonda thought she'd die if he didn't stop teasing and really go to work on her. All her muscles were knotted up. He'd been arousing her slowly for what seemed like hours, nibbling at her breasts, tonguing her nipples, then lying full length next to her naked, eager body. Rhonda lifted her hips, trying to entice Martin into touching her pussy with his fantastic tongue.
"Easy, baby," Martin said. "We have all afternoon." He put his tongue out and parted the hairs over the center of her delicate slit.
Rhonda untangled her fingers from the sheets. She put her hands on Martin's gray hair, stroking it gently. She tried to slow down the intense reaction growing in her pussy. It was all she could do to keep from grinding his face into her cuntal zone. Another thin stream of air flowed across the moist surface and Rhonda curled her fingers and toes.
"Gawd, Martin, don't stop," she begged. "I'm all yours, honey, all yours forever."
He tensed. Rhonda wondered briefly why her words had made her husband stiffen, but she forgot the question in the next instant. His tongue touched the puffy folds of her inner labia.
The slow drag of his taste buds along the frilly little petals was the lewdest feeling Rhonda had ever known. She sighed, letting out a long, deep breath. Rhonda had to take her hands away from his head. Her fingers were tightening uncontrollably.
She wanted it to last a long time. Martin was a wonderful husband to her. The sheer sensuality of his loving sent shivers down her spine when she merely thought about it. Now that he was actually starting on her most sensitive flesh, Rhonda felt her heart pounding. A blush spread down from her throat to the tops of her breasts.
Martin said, "You taste so good, Rhonda . . . so rich and sweet." He kissed her cuntal crevice with his lips.
Streamers of sensation, like the fog from dry-ice mists, curled along Rhonda's nerves. When his lips touched her labia like that, the stretchy little muscle at the mouth of her vagina opened and closed. Her body began to take over, as if it begged for him.
Martin slid his hands around on her hips, moving from her supple buttocks to the front of her thighs. Rhonda pressed her knees open further. Sometimes it felt like she could open herself wide enough to feel the whole world moving in her pussy.
Martin spread her pussylips with his thumbs and blew at the round, pearly-pink tip of her clitoris. Rhonda arched her back. The chill of evaporating pussyjuice made lewd shivers run down her thighs. She hummed wordlessly, starting a slow, erotic circling motion with her pelvis.
Rhonda felt the thin, aromatic secretions flow from her pussy like a tiny river. As she became more aroused, the fluids thickened. The musky feminine scent changed, growing heavier and sexier. She cooed under her breath, knowing that Martin had stopped to look at her. She slid her hands up, fingers fanned wide, smoothing over her belly. She squeezed her pink, berrylike nipples.
Martin touched his tongue tip to the front edge of her vagina. He pulled the ring of tissue forward and up, stretching it delightfully. With a flick that sent a tingle all through Rhonda, he slid his tongue up the slick center of her exposed cuntal valley.
If felt tremendous. Rhonda had little fireworks starting in her pussy. The tiny bumps on his tongue seemed huge against the sensual nerves of the crevice. They were like hundreds of loving little fingers seeking out the best, hottest parts of her skin.
"Yes, Martin, oh, yes!" she squealed. "Go all the way up!"
Martin refused, for the moment. He teased the top edge of her inner petals, sliding his tongue past her clitty and back down toward her pussy mouth. Rhonda rippled her muscles, hoping to catch that slippery, agile little organ with her clit, but Martin was too quick for her. He nipped gently at one outer cunt lip with his teeth.
Rhonda quivered. It always amazed her. Martin could play her nerves like a conductor with an orchestra. He brought out new sensations and combinations that built on each other until she felt herself teetering back from the scary edge of a mind-blanking come. When they had time and privacy, sometimes his hands and mouth and penis would make her shudder all over four or five times before she collapsed from the huge beauty of her orgasm.
His nibbling on her labia was like that. He added to the ache in her clitty and the raging emptiness in her vagina. Every part of her body responded joyously to her husband's skillful lovemaking. Rhonda closed her eyes and listened to the vibrating joy of her muscles and organs as the feelings rose up.
The soft, gentle bites on her cuntlips distracted her. Rhonda let herself go limp to enjoy the warm broad sensation. She had just unwound enough to feel the rubbery pull of her labia against his teeth when Martin surprised her.
A quick, flashing touch of his tongue on her clitty made her spine snap straight. In a slower reflex, Rhonda curled her pelvis up toward his tongue, but it was already gone.
The wedge-shaped organ danced around the rim of her vagina, then slipped in. The sudden shock of the penetration made the little sphincter snap shut, squeezing a fresh burst of juice out.
Martin's thumbs dug into the hinges of her thighs, opening her pussy mouth again. Rhonda liked that. It added more pleasure-the pressure made his tongue feel thicker and stronger.
He wiggled the tip around, his lips meeting the soft wetness above her hole and the tight ring of her ass. Rhonda felt the probing tip of his tongue searching for the most attentive nerves in her cuntal sleeve. She dug her fingernails into the sides of her round, apple-hard breasts.
Martin worked the little organ in and out slowly. He knew just where the right touch would send her higher, and he carefully avoided it. Vague prayers and curses filtered through Rhonda's head as she waited for him to get her vagina moving. She worked her hips around in a sensual circle, opening and closing her cunt-mouth on his tongue.
Rhonda felt the tongue flexing. She held still for a brief instant. Martin doubled it back, pressing the winking ring of her cunt muscle outward.
It felt even nicer than the steady, sure motions of his cockhead. Rhonda gasped with sheer cunty delight at the odd touch. She gnawed on her lower lip, making the full red swell of her mouth stand out even more against the pale ivory of her face.
"Ohhh, Martin," she whispered, "please give me more! I want it all!"
Martin shifted his mouth slightly, his upper lip capturing the whole hairy nest of her upper cunt-mound. The stiff electric spike of her clitty was somewhere in the mass of wet flesh, grinding back and forth under the pressure of his suction. Rhonda raised her buttocks clear off the sheet, offering her cunt-mound more eagerly to his lips and tongue.
Martin put his hands under her ass. He lifted her up until Rhonda rested on her shoulders. Her legs went around his neck, the long, shapely calves resting on his back. He began to eat her pussy with complete dedication.
It always happens! I lose track of what he's doing down there, Rhonda thought. At first, when it's so slow and nice, I can feel all the movements, but then he seems to have all of me in his mouth at once! My clitty just shoots out sparks when he licks it!
Martin had peeled back Rhonda's clit-hood with his lip while his tongue kept diving in and out of her vagina. She could hear the squishing, slobbering sounds of her husband's fast-moving mouth as he licked and sucked at her love-mound.
Rhonda felt a knot of lewd happiness in her belly. It centered right behind her clitty, growing upward into her chest. She arched higher, feeling the luxurious happiness of his hands as they kneaded at her asscheeks.
Rhonda felt the mixed pussyjuice and saliva running into her ass cleft. She was getting wet all over, as if her whole body was turning into one mass of needful flesh. She levered herself against his head.
It was delicious. Martin's tongue slipped out of her pussy-hole and speared at her clit. Rhonda felt the quick thrust clear up to the base of her brain. Her head was swimming from the inverted position, but that didn't stop the fantastic warmth in her pussy. She ground her pubic arch against Martin's open mouth, squirming in delight.
Now it felt as if he'd sucked the whole top half of her cunt-mound into his mouth. Rhonda thought she would explode as his lips worked around the wad of wet, sensuous flesh. Every couple of heartbeats his tongue went into the center of the mass, seeking out her clitty. The long, lascivious touches when he found the pearly button sent lightning bolts of heat up to her nipples and out to her fingertips.
Rhonda's face turned red. She found herself holding her breath in. If she let loose now, the big, multicolored burst of her come wouldn't be as strong as she wanted it. Rhonda could lose herself in the steamy motions of Martin's lips and teeth and tongue if she wanted, and she wanted.
That knot of happiness inside her pussy was growing, It spun around inside her when Martin took one hand off her ass and grabbed her breast. His thumb flicked back and forth on her rubbery nipple, and a mass of feeling sprang up in her chest.
Of the three hottest centers of her body, Martin had them all. The touch on her titty sent shattering flashes of heat down to her belly. The tonguing on her clit amplified them and sent them back. Even her cunt mouth was going now. Martin's chin pressed against it, drawing fresh floods of juice out.
Martin swiveled his head from side to side, stretching her cuntlips wonderfully. Rhonda felt like the soft, wet flaps of tissue had grown to dozens of times their normal size. The constant suction and licking made all the nerves respond. Her pussy mouth kissed at his chin.
Until Martin began to move his head. He had so much of her puffy cunt flesh in his mouth that he could suck and move away, dragging the slippery skin out until Rhonda felt her pussy filling the whole room. Then, with a tongue-flicking slide of more powerful suction, he gobbled the meaty wad of flesh back into his mouth until his teeth met her pubic bone.
Martin's head moved back and forth. Rhonda's sphincters winked open and shut, her cunthole closing in on his blunt, smooth-shaven chin. She tossed around, her belly rippling to the urgent need inside, her head rolling on the pillows.
His hand left her titty. Rhonda curled up, grabbing at his head. She felt the whirling, brilliant knot of feelings in her belly turn solid as rock. Wound up like a watch spring, she wanted all of his cunnilingual skill to lash sensation into her cunt until she exploded. Rhonda knew she would come any second.
Martin growled, the buzzing vibrations of his voice setting the nerves in her cunt on end. Every single receptive spot in her crotch was ready for the blast of her orgasm. Rhonda sobbed at him, begging for him to bring her off.
"Ohhh, come on, come on." she whimpered. "Marty, you beautiful fucker, do me! I'm-I'm almost there, baby! Just a little more on my hole, baby! Oh, please, PLEASE! Ahhh-ahhh -ahhh, shit, Mar-TIN!! " Her fingers tightened in his hair.
Rhonda sensed him slowing down. She wanted it now . . . not later, not harder. No matter what, she wanted to feel her pussy going off before he stopped eating her. Rhonda clenched her cuntal ring tight, forcing the big ball of lust in her belly to contract before the explosion.
Martin gnawed at her cunt flesh like a cannibal. His teeth found the hottest spots and inflamed them even more. His tongue and her inner cuntlips slid around and around on her clitty. Rhonda felt the quick slipping of her muscles and knew her come was about to start. She slacked off and took a deep, fast breath.
Suddenly Martin rammed a finger into her ass. Rhonda's back straightened, almost knocking him over. She felt like a rocket had shot up her ass. The first big shuddering wave of her orgasm loomed over her. She was about to drown in the ecstasy of it.
Two fingers went into her cunt! Rhonda screamed, a high, piercing note of shock and delight. Her cuntal sleeve tightened like a vise. She felt the three fingers moving against each other like three supercharged little cocks. She ground her whole crotch against Martin's hands and face.
It was astounding. Rhonda felt the come she'd expected, but it kept building up. She tossed her torso from side to side, hanging from Martin's shoulders by her knees. Her tits rolled frantically as she swiveled and bucked against Martin. Even her nipples seemed to be exploding with the massive jolts of her orgasm. Rhonda banged her head against the pillow, her mouth opening and closing with the flashing, icy flames that rocked her body.
Rhonda felt her crotch open wide between the incredible blasts of her passionate come. She forced her pelvis against Martin even harder, trying to suck his whole head and torso into her cunt. His licking and kissing and touching and biting at her cunt had made the whole steaming area feel as wide and welcoming as a swampy cavern.
The thunderous feelings in her loins went on and on. Rhonda wept as they began to taper off. She thought she would feel every whorl and ridge of his fingerprints as the fingers moved in her ass and pussy. With a sucking pop that seemed to pull her inside out, Martin pulled his hand away from her holes.
The tight-clenched muscles of her rectum and vagina barely let him loose. Rhonda fell back onto the bed, watching him with wide eyes as he moved up to lie beside her. She kept shaking her head in amazement. "M-m-martin," she stammered, too limp to move. "I loved that! I never came so hard in my life!"
Martin smiled and put his arms around her. The oozing head of his prick touched her thigh. He put one knee between hers and held the limp woman as she faded off to sleep.
Rhonda woke up with a start. Martin lay next to her on his back, staring at the ceiling. She glanced at the clock on the nightstand.
Ifs only four-thirty! I feel like I've been sleeping for days! She put her arms over her head and stretched sensuously. The warmth in her pussy was like a little fire banked for the night. All Martin had to do to make the passionate flames leap out again was to touch her. Rhonda relaxed again, then looked at Martin.
"How do you feel, you marvelous old sucker?" she asked, grinning at him. Rhonda put her hand on his thigh.
Martin sighed. "Oh, I'm all right. Feel better?".
Rhonda rolled onto her side, letting one of her breasts touch his arm. "Couldn't. A woman couldn't possibly feel better than the way you make me feel." She touched the base of his cock. "What can I do to wake up our sleeping friend?"
Martin looked nervously at her. He was fifty years old, and his beautiful wife was barely twenty-six. The last thing he wanted, now that he had a respected place in the community, was to have Rhonda mad at him for any reason.
"What is it, Martin? What's wrong?" Rhonda asked, sitting up. Her lovely breasts barely fell when she rose, their lush weight held up by the superb tone of her muscles. She moved her thigh off the damp spot where her juices had dribbled on the sheet.
"I love you, Rhonda," Martin said, his eyes sadder than a basset hound's. "I wish I knew what made me agree today."
"What the hell are you talking about, honey?" Rhonda moved away from him, swaying back an inch or two. "Please stop it. You're scaring me." She searched his face. "Explain it."
Martin began, "Well, I went to my Rotary luncheon today, and some of the guys were talking about the school board." He looked down into his lap. His cock and balls were shriveling up as he talked.
"Yes? So? We don't even have any kids. Why should you care about the school board?" Rhonda thought for a moment about her own six-year-old, who lived with her first husband. "I mean, it would be different if we decided to try getting Gary back, but you never mention it."
"Oh, Rhonda! I like the kid, you know that! It's just, well, your folks always seemed so set against me because I never settled down. Now we have a chance to grow roots here, and I think we have to be involved. That's why I agreed to help with the recall campaign."
Rhonda touched his arm, but he pulled away like a beaten horse. Concerned, she said, "I understand that, Marty. After all, you did encourage me to work on the library committee. Why are you so upset about this? God knows we can afford to make a contribution." Rhonda brightened a little. "I can get out of the house, circulate petitions and things. That would be nice . . . make some new friends."
Martin looked like he wanted to sink through the mattress. "We are going to make contributions. We're having a kind of raffle every meeting."
A horrible thought struck Rhonda. "You didn't donate my grand piano? Please, honey, tell me you didn't!"
"No, honey, not the piano. I know how you love that." Martin swallowed audibly. "You're one of the prizes. Everybody put his wife's name on a slip of paper, and the drawing's tomorrow." Martin reached for her hand.
CHAPTER TWO
Martin Tracht wasn't the only husband in Verguenzo Hills having trouble explaining to his wife. All the Rotarians in the exclusive suburb, save one, were trying to convince their spouses and themselves that the swap raffle was as good an idea as they'd thought at lunch. Greg Fredericks was the only one who didn't have to explain. His wife, Bonnie, had suggested the raffle.
It had seemed to Bonnie that Greg was a perfect catch. He was just starting his dental practice, and she was very oral and very, very intent on financial success. Unfortunately, the more patients' cavities he saw, the less interest he had in Bonnie's cavities, and they were badly in need of filling.
Bonnie had been a model wife for the first few years, overseeing the cleaning woman, involved in the PTA, taking a sincere interest in her childrens' school work and social lives. That lasted for nine years . . . nine years of increasing horniness and boredom.
Of course, Bonnie's escalating interest in sex wasn't all because of Greg's inattention. She'd made it harder and harder for him as the years went by. Every time a new appliance or committee was invented or organized, she had to use it or join it. That meant more work for Dr. Fredericks . . . work on committees, work in the community, or just plain gouging at his increasing load of patients. He stole six hours a week from his office to speculate in real estate, just to get Bonnie off his back.
Just before the Rotary Club meeting that day, Greg had been discussing his problem with the minister of the Verguenzo Hills Episcopal Church, Reverend Randy Cotton. The youthful pastor had listened patiently as he watched
Greg take one drink after another.
The gray-haired, balding dentist slumped over the corner of the table. "I don't know, Rev. I spend eight or ten hours lookin' at people's gums, then I come home and Bonnie wants to suck me off. Hell, the other night she went after it on the way home from the school-board meeting! All I could think about was the teachers' union and that crap they want from us." He sighed. "I suppose it's not the kind of thing you should talk to a minister about, but it really affects me."
The pastor was tall and slim athletic-looking. Any of his parishioners would have sworn he was in his early thirties, instead of forty-five. He smiled secretively as he told Greg, "Oh, anything that affects the members of the church is within the bounds of pastoral counseling. I've had similar problems with my wife, Beverly. She's always trying to interest me in some . . . novelty before I go to console the bereaved. Frankly, Greg, she doesn't trust widows."
The dentist swallowed the final gulp of his vodka and crunched the ice cubes loudly. "She's suspicious? Of you?" He shook his head. "No offense, Rev . . . I mean, with the collar and all, a person doesn't expect. . . "
Reverend Randy smiled wider. "Yes, the collar. I hear the Catholics have even more trouble that way. There's nothing like the forbidden fruit to excite some people." He stood up. "The meeting's about to start. You are going to report on the school contract proposal, aren't you?"
"You bet your eyeteeth I am," Greg said. "Did you get a look at that contract? That's the sickest document I've ever seen!" He pulled a photocopy out of his pocket. "It's Sodom and Gomorrah all over again! Just look here . . . It says right here in black and white that the school board has to hire Communists and bi-sexuals and faggots! The union wants our kids exposed to that kind of trash, and I don't think anybody in Verguenzo Hills will put up with that."
The pastor reached for the contract proposal. "May I?" He took it and glanced through the provisions. "I don't see where it says anything at all about Communists. This clause about not rejecting applicants on the basis of their political or sexual orientation is pretty standard for civil service positions."
"Hah! You don't expect the union to come right out and name the kind of people they want in there, do you? Come on, Rev, you know the commies don't work that way . . . they're sneaky." He pointed to another phrase in the photocopy.
"Now, this one is just nauseating! It says here that an unmarried teacher who gets pregnant gets maternity leave, and we can't get her fired! What do you think of that? Her boyfriend gets time off to look after them! My God, Rev, don't you see what kind of people they want to have teaching our kids? I'll do everything in my power to stop this kind of thing disgusting breakdown of morals. I'm sick and tired of this progressive education, this--this Communistic crap! Roy Shores is already looking up the laws on recall elections, and we're going to get those left-wing bastards out of there before they can ruin all the children in town!"
Reverend Cotton handed the paper back. "Since you're so worked up about it, maybe you should try for a recall. If you can get Bonnie involved in it, she'll be making fewer demands on you." Randy saw another Rotarian enter. He waved, then added, "I'm sure the members will want to vote on it. I'll see you later." He turned away, wondering why Greg Fredericks, the best backslider in the whole congregation, had suddenly become so involved in the affairs of the community. Even Bonnie Fredericks' interest had waned in the last year.
The dentist watched his black-clad back recede. Greg felt brushed off, but that was nothing new. Even his friends in Rotary seemed distant. They talked with their mouths closed when he was around. All right for you, tax-dodger, Greg thought. You'll be singing out of a different hymnal pretty fuckin' soon.
Socialistic prick!
Greg was at home now, not trying to explain anything to his wife. In fact, he was working busily in the dark-paneled den, papers strewn all over his desk. He had mortgaged all the land around his Verguenzo Hills Medical-Dental Center and the center itself to extend the option on some very desirable land. Now he had to find out just how long he could step along his financial tightrope before the whole thing fell apart. He pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbing at his strained eyes, and leaned back. The recurring daydream came back to him.
I can get away from all those goddamn teeth! Just finish up this one big deal, and I'll be set for life. Oh, shit, just thinking about never going back to look into a mouth again . . .
Even Bonnie would be happier. The way things have been going, I could get a nice yacht . . . maybe work in the stock market. . . . I could make a real bundle if I didn't have to put up with all those damn patients! The dentist shoved his papers aside. He heard something rustle behind him.
"Bonnie! What the hell are you doing in here? Can't you see I'm busy?"
Bonnie Fredericks opened the door a little wider. She slipped through, pressing the lock button. Her long, red-blonde hair was loose, hanging halfway down her back. Her voluptuous body was covered in a sheer, almost invisible negligee of smoky gray, and she swayed sensuously on five-inch heels. "Oh, honey, you can't be too busy for me to thank you for getting the raffle going." She spread her arms wide and wafted toward him, the pink spires of her nipples poking out the negligee like tiny tent poles.
"Jesus! I have a lot of things to take care of tonight, Bonnie. Besides, what about the kids? Don't you think they'd be shocked to see their mother parading around here like some . . . some . . . " Greg gestured with his hand, milling for the word, "CONCUBINE?"
Bonnie's full, sexy lips compressed in a pout. The lower lip gleamed sensually. "They're asleep. I spiked their milk with brandy. I just wanted to show you how much I appreciate everything you did today. . . . It's been so long since you made love to me." Her heavy, round breasts swayed as she leaned over her seated husband. She rubbed the palm of her hand softly in his crotch.
"What's wrong with you, Bonnie? Don't you get enough fucking from the tennis pro and the riding instructor? Why don't you take up golf?" The dentist's eyes went wide. He worked his mouth a few times, shrinking back from his irate wife. "I . . . I didn't mean that, honey," he stammered.
Bonnie's face moved from rage to the edge of tears. She held herself under control, finally saying, "I know you didn't, dear." She put her arms around Greg's head, pillowing his face in her breasts. She bent her knees and rubbed her pussy against his thigh. "Come on, Greggy-bear, let's . . . "
The dentist surrendered. He pushed his financial calculations to the back of his big desk and tried to stand up. "Yeah, let's go to our room."
Bonnie shoved him back down. "No, honey, right here, right in your office. It would make me feel so much closer to you . . . I'm shut out of your life." She unwrapped her arms from his head. With a sensuous, almost begging smile, she put his hand on her breast. The nipple sprang up immediately.
Her fingers went to his zipper. With a breathy giggle, the curvy little redhead tugged it down. Her soft hand slipped in to drag the half-hard organ out. Bonnie squeezed the limber cock, pressing her luscious titty against Greg's palm.
"Touch it harder, baby," Bonnie whispered. "Remember how you used to make love to my breasts?"
Greg spread the front of the filmy peignoir, his stubby fingertips brushing across the soft surface of Bonnie's lush bosom. He licked his lips in anticipation.
"Yes, Greg," Bonnie purred. "Oh, it's been so long!" She straightened, gently guiding him by his cock. With a sensuous, almost boneless flow of motion, she lay back on his desk. One plump, full-thighed leg dangled off the edge. Bonnie raised her other knee. Her long hair fanned out over the papers.
It was nice to see her husband coming alive again. Bonnie didn't screw all the young instructors in Verguenzo Hills for love, just from boredom. Looking at the athletic young men gave her a kind of aimless itch in her pussy, an itch she'd rather aim at her husband.
But here he was now. Just for a moment, Bonnie regretted suggesting the swap club to him, but she thought immediately of the long, lonely months she'd spent reading about total womanhood while Greg drilled teeth and shuffled papers. I'm going to make it so good for him that he'll always come back, she thought.
He did look years younger. Bonnie stroked his cock gently, feeling it rise and stiffen as he stared at her near-nude body. The gossamer gray of the negligee concealed any tiny flaw that her plump, well-rounded flesh might have. Bonnie made a sensual oval with her glistening lips. She flexed her full, firm asscheeks, making her pelvis ripple at him. The cock in her hand stiffened further.
"I really do love your body, honey," Greg said. His eyes roamed from her big, pillowy breasts, down across the shadow of her navel, and cherished the red-gold nest of her pussy-hairs. Her hips were wide and promising.
Bonnie felt the tingle in her pussy get stronger as Greg stared at her. She tightened the tendons along the inside of her thighs and a little flood of musky lubricant dampened the mouth of her pussy. The slow-moving hands on her titties made the warm mounds seem even heavier. Bonnie's breasts ached to feel Greg's touch grow harder. She loved feeling his arousal as he started growing rougher, more dominating.
One of the best parts of the titty-play was right now, when Greg kneaded both of the sensuous globes together. The separate feelings merged into a single lovely mass of lewd energy that telegraphed warmth and readiness into her loins.
"Yes, Greggy, oh, my god, yes! I love it like that!" Bonnie whispered. The glow inside her warmed her skin until a thin film of sweat glistened all over Bonnie. It made her deep cleavage slippery, and the tight valley between her titties slithered as Greg rolled the two delicious globs together.
Greg started kissing around the pink aureoles, nuzzling the tips of her nipples with his nose. He licked at the extreme end of one rubbery spike and pinched the other. Bonnie slid her foot back and forth on the desk top. Her hand tightened on his prick.
Bonnie watched her husband as he caressed and kissed her breasts. The shiny top of his head moved back and forth as his tongue flicked across each nipple in turn. She put her free hand on his head and stroked the smooth skin.
"I'm glad you're like this," Bonnie said, carefully avoiding the word "bald". "Your head feels so sexy! I could almost come right now!"
Greg lifted his face from her titties and looked at her. "Your jugs feel so goddamn nice!" he growled. He spread them apart, rolling her nipples under his thumbs. The sweat-slick valley of her cleavage opened wide and he burrowed his face between the slippery mounds of titty.
Bonnie let go of his cock. She put both hands on the back of Greg's head, pressing his mouth and nose against her breastbone.
Bonnie's heart and lungs seemed to swell up inside her. Her whole torso was full of a marvelous warm, loving feeling. "When Greg put his hands on the outside of each big breast and rolled them against the sides of his face, Bonnie thought she would explode. Every cell in the heavy, lewd masses of her tits lit up with joy.
Bonnie held him in, relishing the feeling of his lips and tongue on the seldom-touched tenderness of her cleavage. Her hips began to roll sensuously, moving in counterpoint to Greg's hands and his burrowing, nuzzling face. The thumbs flicking across her nipples sent ceaseless flashes of pleasure all through her body, but especially to her pussy. Bonnie felt her clitty stiffen until it felt as big as a finger.
Greg pulled his head back, but his strong hands kept pressing her titties together. With a rolling motion of his thumbs, he forced her nipples together.
The feeling in her titties were rising higher and hotter. The sheer, ecstatic lasciviousness of her aureoles touching each other made Bonnie moan. Her whole body stiffened with a jolt of lewdness when Greg captured both nipples in his mouth.
It was tremendous! Bonnie loved it when he sucked either of the stiff, rubbery buttons, but when he gnawed and nibbled and kissed both at the same time, fireworks started going off behind her eyelids. The tips of her long nipples touched each other, sliding wet and erotic between Greg's teeth. The pleasure of his tongue writhing against the crinkled coronas, flicking the top, the bottom, the sides of each lusty little tower sent radical shivers up and down her spine. Bonnie felt her whole body melting into a lewd mass of hunger for his cock.
With a quick, slicing motion that made Bonnie's whole body thrill, Greg slipped his tongue between the tight-pressed tips of her titties. Bonnie moaned, clutching at his shoulders. "Yes, Greg! God! What are you doing to me? It feels so fucking incredible!"
The fast, flickering sensation of the tongue whipping both nipples back and forth went on. Bonnie tried to pull Greg up onto the desk with her, but he wouldn't stop the marvelous suction on her tits.
After long, vibrant minutes of the sucking, Bonnie's tits were sore, but the pain accelerated the heat all through her body. She gasped, barely able to breathe in her aroused state, "Give it to me, Greggy, give me your cock! I want it so bad!"
The lusty dentist grabbed his wife's leg and turned her around on the desk. Now both her feet were on the floor, and she arched backward over the edge of the desk, her mauled, throbbing tits rising from her chest like mountains of delicious, snow-white ice cream. He dropped his pants and knelt on his swivel chair, his cock rampant. It jutted toward her face like a saber.
Bonnie raised her head, watching the approach of the red-tipped wand. Greg's cock was long and thick-not huge, like the weapons some of her random lovers wielded, but a nice, average-sized prick with a hefty flare to the glans. Bonnie reached for Greg's hips as he half-crawled onto the desk.
With a shock, Bonnie realized that Greg didn't want her to suck his prick. Her mouth was already wet and waiting. She could almost taste the salty, meaty skin, almost feel the textures of the head and shaft against her tongue. The juicy center of her loins ached with disappointment.
Greg bellied against her, his hands grasping the outside of her tits. He laid his cock in the soft, slippery groove between the lovely mounds and pressed the titty flesh against the sides of his shaft.
Bonnie thought she would fall apart. The novelty of having her luscious breasts fucked had never occurred to her. With an inner shock, she realized that the sensitive skin of her breasts felt the hot organ nearly as well as her mouth or her cunt could.
Greg leaned over her, forcing Bonnie back down on the desk. She put her hands over his, rolling the voluptuous masses of her bosom around his prick. A fire started in her mind, a blazing, white-hot flame that traveled to her pussy and mouth as quickly as to her breasts.
Greg slipped his hands out from under hers. He stroked his cock back and forth in the deep, soft valley, rubbing the sides of her face between his palms.
Bonnie couldn't believe it. The scratchy hairs of his cock bush rubbed on her nipples like dozens of little feathers. She rolled her hips, flexing her cheeks on the very edge of the desk. Somehow, having her pussy and ass hanging over the very edge started a heavier flow of cunt juice. It felt just risky enough to excite her pussy even more.
The steady rhythm of Greg's cock thrusts between her breasts tugged at some lewd center inside her. Bonnie looked down, straining her neck. The wide red knob of his cock kept emerging, then disappearing again at the top of her cleavage. She wished she'd greased the deep, hot valley so he would keep the wonderful ridge of his glans moving right against the inner slopes of her tits.
Greg pushed further up against her. His shin touched her suspended pussy. He held her head tight between his hands. Vague moans of pleasure sounded above Bonnie as he slowly speeded the long strokes of his cock.
Bonnie rolled her hips, sliding further over the edge of the desk. The hot, hungry wound of her pussy touched his hairy shin again. She closed her thighs around it.
Now it seemed like her whole body was involved in the sweaty, steamy motions of their sex. Bonnie refused to let his leg escape from her pussy mouth. She rolled and ground against it, feeling the rigid spike of her clitty rousing even further. The copious flow of pussyjuice wet him, smearing down her thighs, dribbling onto her rectum. The familiar feeling in her pussy rose higher, joining the strange excitement of his prick moving in her bosom.
Bonnie flattened her hands against her tits.
The pressure forced her nipples against his belly. The entire voluptuous mound of each breast vibrated around the pistoning cock, shuddering with the heavy, throbbing excitement of the act.
Bonnie couldn't watch the thrusting cockhead and move her cunt against his shin at the same time. She twisted around, rolling sensuously. The lusty motions of her hips pushed them both toward the edge. Now both her plump, creamy asscheeks were completely off the desk. She moved her cunt against him harder.
Bonnie looked down at the head of his prick again. It had swollen visibly. Now it was an angry purple, with watery white fluid oozing from the slit in the head. She tried to bend her head far enough to kiss the tip, but even with her tongue poking out, she couldn't collect the single drop of pre-come fluid from the tip of Greg's dick.
Bonnie moaned in frustration. Her pussylips had spread wide on his shin, coating the leg with juice. It felt like a huge, hairy cock grazing up and down on her pussy. Bonnie heard Greg grunting, and she wailed, "Yes! God, yes!! " in reply.
Greg's thrusting cock moved slower, but each stroke was harder. Bonnie felt his balls touch the underswell of her tits. She slipped her hands off the outside of the big globes, holding her tits on his prick with her elbows and upper arms.
That felt even better. Bonnie had more tit pressed against his cock, even engulfing his balls when he rammed the head of the prick toward her throat. She dug her fingers into his asscheeks, pulling him down deeper onto her titties.
The long, pounding strokes were wonderful. Bonnie clutched at his ass, her legs crossing around his calf. Greg had started to grind his lower leg against the wide, meaty stripe of her hungry cunt. Bonnie swiveled her hips lewdly, the winking circle of her cunt mouth kissing at his skin.
It was starting to happen. Somewhere deep in her brain, the fantastic feeling of her release was swelling up. Bonnie opened her mouth wide, leaning back. She closed her eyes, unable to even think about anything but the cock between her tits and the leg grinding heat into her cunt.
"Oaughh, honey," she growled. "Come, baby, come with me!! Greg, I'm starting! I swear to Christ, I'm starting!"
Greg slipped his hands from her face to her shoulders. He whimpered, all his muscles tightening, "Hold on, just hold on a second, Bonnie! It's getting ready! Please, baby!"
Bonnie inhaled, breath filling her chest until she thought she would burst. The salty sweat dripping from Greg's torso half-blinded her, stinging her eyes. She clenched her asscheeks, trying to keep the explosion from starting in her loins. A whirling ball of sensation spun around in her belly, moving faster and faster. She had no idea of how long she could keep herself from going off. She strained to wrench words out, begging her husband to come.
A scalding blast of semen hit her throat. Bonnie felt her cunt clench down on nothing. Her thighs clamped around his leg like a vise. She looked down toward the still-thrusting prick between her titties.
Another, bigger blast of come spurted out on the upstroke. She barely heard Greg's voice rising and falling in a wail of relief. She tried to lick the splash of come from around her mouth.
Bonnie's pulse pounded in her ears. She felt the huge, crashing waves of her orgasm pouring outward from her tits and cunt. The walls of her cuntsleeve opened wide, sucking in air, then slammed shut with a crash that rocked her whole body.
It seemed like gallons of come every time another blast ripped from the end of Greg's cock and spattered against her face. Bonnie held her mouth wide open, as much from the amazing power of her come as from hunger for her husband's spunk.
Every bucking thrust of Greg's prick made his shin spasm against her pubic arch. The grinding, jolting motions inflamed her clitty even more, sending heavier, hotter lances of orgiastic feeling through her body. Bonnie lost herself in the sensation, semen splashing and drooling all over her face, musky juice oozing from her cunt, and shivery, steamy, mind-shattering waves of pure lust rolling along every nerve in her body. With her hands still locked on Greg's rolling asscheeks, she slowly slipped off the desk. Greg slid down with her, clutching at the top of the desk, his cock escaping from between her tits. They both shuddered with a complete excess of sensuality when his come-smeared cockhead slithered across Bonnie's throat and along the side of her face.
Bonnie looked up. She saw Greg's heavy, hairy balls hanging above her head. She tried to say something as she lay down in the knee-well, but it was too much effort.
He knows . . . I love it . . . anyway, she thought, letting her muscles go slack between the fading pulses of her orgasm.
CHAPTER THREE
Rhonda Tracht didn't feel very good about herself two days later. Her mother had called, suggesting that Rhonda and Martin fly up to join them for dinner in San Francisco that evening. Rhonda had to beg off with a quick excuse. "Mother, it would take hours to drive down to L.A. International. It's nice of you to invite us, but I just don't think we have that kind of time."
Her mother's voice took on the half-commanding, half-whining tone that she used when she wanted something. "Rhonda, your father can send his plane down. I know there's an airport less than half an hour from your house. Please do come, dear. Some of my college friends will be there, and they'd all love to see you . . . and Martin. Why, Margie Jenkins was asking me the other day what he does, and you know, I just couldn't answer! It would be so nice for us to see you."
"Honestly, Mother! You can be impossible! Martin and I are both working on the school-board recall, and there are meetings all the time," Rhonda said. And am I glad you don't know what kind of meetings! I never even met that Shores man in my life . . . I hope he's not as greasy as some of those town-council types.
"Well, I could accept that if you had tried to keep custody of Gary," her mother snipped. "Rhonda, when are you going to learn that you can't have your cake and eat it too and throw the crumbs to the birds? Love affairs are all very fine, but breaking up a marriage is not the kind of thing I expect of you. I still wish you would let Gary's father see you. He calls here all the time."
Rhonda took the phone away from her ear. She stared at it, her lips pursing in annoyance.
She broke in on the continuing chatter. "Remember what you always, told me, Mother . . . 'Love many, trust few, and always paddle your own canoe.' I have to be going. There are some things I have to pick up at the store."
"You mean that man still hasn't gotten you any help? I don't see how you manage, even in that little bungalow."
"Mother! We don't have help because I DON'T NEED ANY! I DON'T WANT ANY!" Rhonda checked her rage. "Besides, it's not a bungalow. It's a ranch house on three acres in Verguenzo Hills. It's worth twice what we paid for it already. Now I have to go, Mother. I'll call you later, okay?"
"Real estate speculators are just a step beyond gamblers, Rhonda. I wish your Martin didn't have to bother with that sort of thing. I feel like we have a farmer in the family! I never thought the day would dawn when we bent the twig and couldn't reap what we sowed from the tree that grew up," she sighed.
"I'll call you tomorrow, Mother. Good-bye."
The rest of the day wasn't any easier. At the supermarket, she felt as if there were a huge, flashing neon sign over her head spelling out "ADULTRESS!" Rhonda looked cautiously around from under the wide, floppy brim of her stylish sun hat. A few of the other ladies gathered in clumps here and there, twittering with excitement. Rhonda blushed when she heard Bonnie Fredericks say, "I just love to get involved in community affairs!"
Other women peered nervously around themselves. That made Rhonda feel a little better, but not much. Whether the women were excited or fearful, they measured one another with thin-veiled hostility. Which one of them is going to be with Martin? How do I know she won't have some special technique, like Red-book or Cosmo is always hinting at? Martin might like that kind of thing . . . you can't learn everything about a man in just a year and a half.
Why couldn't they at least tell us who they're going to see today? I don't even know how many of the men bought tickets! Rhonda blushed, realizing that she'd been staring at Beverly Cotton, the minister's wife. In a flustered rush, Rhonda ran a finger down her shopping list and headed for the checkout.
No! Not Beverly! Reverend Cotton wouldn't be involved in something so . . . cheap and tawdry!
I'll bet those idiot Rotarians could raise a lot more if she were in it, though. She's a lovely woman . . . even if she is six feet tall.
I wouldn't like to be in her position . . . having to be nice to everybody, smiling all the time. I wonder if she ever fights with the
Reverend? That's really hard to imagine-she seems so sweet. I don't trust her an inch, Rhonda decided. She bent to load the items from her cart onto the revolving stand.
It was even worse when Rhonda looked up. The supermarket manager was smiling secretively at her, with a lewd expression. He looked as if he could see right through every scrap of clothing she wore. Reflexively, Rhonda tightened the muscles of her belly and buttocks.
Stop, Rhonda, she told herself. You're getting flustered for no reason. He . . . he's not even nearly in your circle, or in Martin's, for that matter. She shoved the groceries toward the cashier.
The manager was still standing near the exit when Rhonda wheeled her purchase toward the door. He smiled at her and nodded. Rhonda gave him a shaky smile in reply.
Her expression snapped to cold blankness when she saw the blue-and-gold cogwheel on his lapel. All the way through the parking lot, the skin between her shoulder blades was covered with goose bumps.
My god! I'm acting like a thief! I wish Martin hadn't agreed to go along with that stupid club! What's happened to me? I haven't even done anything yet, but my pussy's getting itchy to start. This thing is tearing me apart!
The time and the directions to her winner's chosen meeting place were on a folded piece of paper in the hallway. The small white sheet seemed to grow as Rhonda put away the groceries. Her eyes kept glancing back to the card, then snapping away. While stuffing the contents of the last bag into the cupboards, Rhonda had to stop. She put her hand on her chest.
Her high, proud breasts were heaving up and down with the tense gusts of her breathing. Her knees felt watery. She looked again at the hall table. The paper was gone!
Rhonda rushed into the hall. A vagrant gust of wind had blown the paper onto the floor. She put it back on the table, still not looking at it. Rhonda weighted it down with an ashtray and returned to the kitchen.
I could run away . . . maybe get Gary and change my name. Martin would never find me.
But that's not what I want! Dammit, I thought he loved me. Now he's selling me for that bloody stupid Rotary. Why the hell don't those clowns send the kids to private schools! Half of 'em are poison snobs already. God, I hate them! I never thought I'd start thinking like Mother, but these nouveaux riches in Verguenzo Hills are so . . . yes, gauche!
Rhonda slammed cans into the cupboards. Her expression was grim. I'll bet it was that Bonnie Fredericks. I've seen the way she looks at Martin . . . and at any other man in town! Dirty eyes and a dirty mind, that's her. No wonder her kids are such little hellions . . . she upends all her time out chasing penises instead of disciplining the little bastards.
A frightening thought struck Rhonda. What if I have to sleep with her husband? He reminds me of a slug, with his pudgy little fingers crawling all over his instruments. Even if I have to see Mother and Dad, I'm going to San Francisco for my next cleaning! Asking if I wanted to be hypnotized while he worked . . . and then saying it's usually twenty-five dollars extra!! I wouldn't let him hypnotize a toad--he'd try to mate with it!
Rhonda set down the can of consomm' she'd been ready to throw at the memory of the dentist. Brushing the wrinkles from her pastel blouse, she glanced up at the clock.
"All right," she muttered. "I don't have to wait around to be used. He better be ready." Rhonda patted at her short coif and checked her makeup in the hall mirror. She grabbed her purse and the card and went out the front door like a clipper under full sail, tall, proud and determined.
By the time she'd followed the directions to the appointed spot, the determination had evaporated. Rhonda walked into the attorney's front office with her purse clutched in both hands, half-hiding the rapid beat of her breathing. Her stomach fluttered and her head felt light as cotton candy.
"I'm here to see Roy Shores," she announced to the middle-aged receptionist. "He's expecting me."
The iron-haired maiden lady looked Rhonda up and down. She pressed a button on the desk and spoke into the air. "A lady to see you, Mr. Shores."
Rhonda felt as if she'd already failed the receptionist's inspection. She wanted to be angry, but the moist fear in her pussy and the goose bumps on her arms wouldn't let her. The novelty of the whole experience had Rhonda so thoroughly intimidated that she actually thanked the woman when she indicated Rhonda could go in.
Rhonda moved toward a rosewood-faced door just as a man came out. He was about fifty-five, average height and weight.
"Mister Shores?" Rhonda asked. He didn't look like a clubman.
"No, I'm Will Pricer," the man answered. "I'm Mr. Shores' investigative associate." He held the door open. "Please go in. It was nice seeing you." He flicked on a short smile, only the corners of his mouth moving.
Roy Shores stood up behind his desk. Rhonda stopped just inside the inner office, the door sighing shut behind her. The attorney just kept standing, higher and higher. He was at least six-five, with longish wavy dark hair and black-rimmed spectacles. He extended a long-fingered knobby hand. "Rhonda Tracht? Pleasure to meet you."
Rhonda touched his hand briefly. It was dry and cool, making her ashamed of her own moist grip. "R-roy," she stammered. The large, book-lined room and the tall man made her feel like she was shrinking down to child-size. "I . . . ummh, I'm not interrupting any of your practice, am I?"
Roy Shores smiled, his whole deep-lined face moving. "No, not at all. I've been rearranging my schedule all day, looking forward to meeting you. I should have known Martin's wife would be as lovely as he is involved in the community."
Rhonda blushed. "Thank you." She looked around, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. The tall attorney came around the desk and offered her an armchair.
"Yes, Marty's quite a benefit to Verguenzo Hills. You know, we couldn't have gotten the glass-recycling program off the ground without him. He has a real flair for organization." Roy moved around the room, straightening a large, expensively framed picture of a basketball team. He let his eyes roam over Rhonda's body, his glance lingering around the cradle-like curve of her pelvis.
Rhonda set her purse down beside the chair. "Yes, I know. Sometimes I wish he weren't so dedicated to helping others." She leaned back in the chair, looking up at Roy.
The attorney's smile faded. He stared at Rhonda, his dark eyes hard and level.
Rhonda felt a tiny warmth begin to flow in her loins. She crossed her legs, trying to keep the first bit of her arousal a secret from the tall stranger. Her skirt slid up, showing half the long, silky length of her thigh. She'd deliberately worn stockings and a garter belt, not wanting to go through the awkward, unesthetic procedure of putting pantyhose on after.
"Shall we get started, then?" Roy asked, his voice cold. He shrugged out of his suit coat and loosened his tie.
Rhonda felt the anger she should have let loose on the receptionist grow. Her lips tightened into a line and she undid the top buttons of her blouse. "If you wish."
The air was tense and cold in the room, as if it were a duel rather than a lewd tryst they were talking about. Rhonda kept her eyes locked on the attorney as she took her blouse off. He jerked his head toward a small door.
Rhonda walked over, her blouse over her arm. She opened the closet and hung her blouse carefully, then unzipped the side of her skirt and hung it next to the blouse. Her movements were measured, careful and restrained. She heard Roy's pants jingle as he stepped out of them, then the sound of feet approaching on the thick Oriental rug. She stepped aside to let him hang his trousers.
Rhonda's nostrils flared. He had a virile scent about him. It was neither sweat nor perfume, but a dusty, pollen-like odor that reminded her of semen. A little trickle of her own juices stained the crotch of her panties. Rhonda waited while he finished stripping, standing two feet away in her bra, panties and stockings. She left her moderate heels on . . . anything that would help her feel more equal to him, even in height, made her less fearful.
Roy stepped back from the closet. Nothing but heavy, controlled breathing could be heard in the room. Rhonda unsnapped the hooks of her light, lacy bra and slipped the straps down. Her breasts moved up and down slightly as she folded her bra and put in on the shelf. She felt extremely naked already, with her nipples erecting. The pink-and-coral tips almost hurt as she bent over and slid her panties down. She put the filmy little scrap of nylon on the shelf next to her bra and turned around.
Rhonda was resolved not to look at Roy's cock until she absolutely had to. She stood, her chin jutting forward, daring him to look at her body. Her eyes stayed on his face.
The black lace of the garter belt arched like a river bridge across the slight, sensuous swell of her lower belly. The vertical straps attached to her dark stockings made a frame for her luscious off-black pussy-hairs. The crinkly nest unfolded slowly, relieved of the tight caress of her panties. A telltale drop of juice sparkled like a little diamond just at the base of the muff, lighting the gap at the top of her thighs.
Rhonda watched him looking at her. This time she knew she would pass inspection. His eyes lingered on the uptilted points of her inch-long nipples, then swept past her slim waist to the thick jungle of her cuntal triangle. Rhonda sensed his prick rising more than she saw it. She still didn't want him to have the satisfaction of her viewing the organ.
"Turn around," Roy said, his voice gruff.
Rhonda spread her high-heeled feet apart and put her hands on her hips. "Why?" she glared.
"Turn around!" he said, more forcefully. "I want to see your ass."
Rhonda turned around. The ripe, firm swell of her cheeks flexed delightfully as she took little steps to face the wall. The shoes made the trim muscles of her calves and thighs stand out excitingly. Her dark hose shimmered, accenting the long, curvy legs, making them even more attractive.
Rhonda forced herself to relax. The wide, shallow cleft between her asscheeks felt completely vulnerable. She absolutely refused to look over her shoulder at him. With a supreme effort, Rhonda kept her cheeks open and the tight ring of her ass unpuckered. Casually, as if she addressed an old friend, she said, "Where's your wife right now?"
The attorney moved around behind her. Rhonda heard a cabinet open and shut as he answered, "I'm not married. I had to pay double."
"Humphh! I hope you think it's worth it," she sneered to the wall. Another rush of pussy-juice bubbled from her vagina.
"It'll be worth it," Roy said, a strange tone in his voice. His big hand touched her waist, then slid around to cup her breasts.
Rhonda fought to keep from moving back against him. The hand cupped all of her breast easily, forming the firm flesh into a cone of tingling sensation. She took a deep breath, pressing her titty tighter into his palm. The hand slid down her belly, and the other one went to her waist.
Roy's hands were soft, almost silky on her skin. Rhonda purred under her breath as he caressed her. She wished she'd taken off the garter belt. It stopped his fingers from stimulating a whole strip of sensitive skin.
Rhonda didn't allow herself to move. She'd come to the office because it had been important to Martin, not because she wanted to. If Roy Shores wanted to make the adulterous act worth his double fee, then it was up to him. Rhonda certainly wasn't going to help him with lascivious movements or lusty advice.
He didn't need any advice. Rhonda realized her body was tensing as his fingers barely tickled the fringes of her pubic delta. She slowed her reaction down, letting her muscles go limp.
Roy tugged her backwards. With an obscene thrill, Rhonda felt him nibbling at the rich, creamy swell of her buttocks. She pressed her bottom back against him, ever so slightly. He put one big hand on each of her thighs and gnawed at her ass.
The sensitive flesh of her buttocks quivered as his expert nuzzling made the nerves stand up. He had found a direct route to some weird pleasure center in her brain. Rhonda bent forward slightly, presenting her ass. The cleft between her cheeks widened.
With a quick, slippery motion, both of his index fingers pressed her pussylips against her clitty. He worked his hands on her thighs, just above the tops of her stockings. The motion made sensuous tingles travel from her clitoris to the mouth of her vagina. Rhonda couldn't help moving her hips in a lewd figure-eight.
Roy took his face away from her ass. "That's nice," he said. "You're going to be worth it." He stood up to steer her over to the big desk.
Rhonda still refused to look back at him. She walked with her thighs brushing together, the nylons whispering. Her tight-legged swaying on the high heels made her pussylips flex erotically around her little clit-spike.
Rhonda bent over the edge of the desk, leaning on her elbows. Despite the growing warmth in her pussy, she had decided that she wouldn't come. Rhonda wanted to save all the pleasure for her husband, even if she had to give her cunt to another man.
Roy's hands were surprisingly strong. He gripped her right tit with one and lifted her by the crotch with the other. Rhonda gasped, all her weight see-sawing on the wet, greasy center of her pussy for a second. She automatically opened her legs.
The puffy, slippery lips of her pussy showed deliciously from behind. The rich bulge of tender flesh invited a cock as much as her firm ivory asscheeks invited gnawing. Rhonda moved her ass in a lubricious grinding motion as soon as Roy set her down.
Rhonda knew that the whole zone around her vagina was sopping with the rich, oily secretions from her cunt. She tensed the little ring of muscle at the entrance of her cuntsleeve, urging another few drops out. The warm fluid weighted some of her cunt-hairs down. They uncurled, swinging down to drip juice on her upper thigh.
Roy's hand cupped her breast, while his long fingers reached across the silky valley of her cleavage and captured her other nipple. He pinched it slightly, just enough to make it swell up larger, and rolled it between two fingertips.
Rhonda's jaw dropped as she soaked up the extreme pleasure of the fondling. Each of her tits felt like a warm, heavy bag of buttery pudding, molded and squeezed in Roy's big hand.
Roy put his hand back down in her crotch again, mashing the soft heat of her pussy-mound against the arch of her pubic bone. Rhonda felt excitement rise through her body like a drifting balloon. She separated her mind from the symptoms of her arousal. I'm not going to enjoy it.
Rhonda's pussy clenched on air in spite of her will power. She felt the consistency of her cuntal cream change, growing heavier to prepare her hole for his cock. She still hadn't seen the attorney's prick.
Something thick and greasy poked against her pussylips. A residue of some sort smeared over her cuntlips. Rhonda recognized the high flare of his cockhead as it rubbed back and forth in her slit, the ridge peeling the hood back from her clitty.
It felt better and better. Rhonda still concentrated on staying inert, keeping herself from any pleasure in the act, but the tingling thrills shooting from her clitty and the steamy warmth rising in her vagina wouldn't let her.
Sensations and hunger gathered in her crotch. Rhonda scooted herself back toward his cockhead, bending her knees suddenly. She wanted to get that hot knob in her vagina before his clitty-tickling made her too horny. If she were wound up too far, she might start coming around his prick.
She missed. A little squeak of frustration escaped from her throat. Rhonda began moving her hips back and forth in counterpoint to his cock strokes. She was beginning to enjoy the feeling. Her pussy oozed juice constantly now. Her labia felt like huge, hot pads of swampy hunger. The whole zone around her vagina ached.
Roy's right hand left her tits. Rhonda put her head down on the desk, her arms out. Her fingers splayed out like starfish, creeping on the smooth wood. Her breasts swayed, the tips of her aroused nipples almost touching the desk. She felt the wood warming under her.
Rhonda moved sensuously, waiting for her chance to capture his prickhead. She curled her spine, drawing the long, wet slit of her pussy across his glans, then she arched to force it past her clitty. The hot spike of aroused flesh throbbed, sending flashes of acute heat up into her brain every time the ridge of his cockhead grazed over the tip. With a sudden, shaky thrust, Rhonda pushed her hips backward from the curled position and the end of his prick tugged at the front of her cunt mouth. She squirmed, trying to shift around until the whole head was centered in her cunthole.
Roy pulled away. "No, sweetheart," he whispered. "Try this." With a hand bracing the shaft, one of his thumbs on her ass-cheek, he guided the greased head of his cock to the gray-pink rim of her rectum.
Rhonda pulled away, pressing the top of her cunt-mound against the edge of the desk. "No! Not there," she said, putting her hands back to protect the tiny opening.
Roy grabbed both wrists in one powerful mitt and held them at the small of her back. He pressed her forward on the desk.
Rhonda's ass came toward him, rising in the air as she tried to struggle away. The grip on her wrists threatened to pull her arms out of their sockets. She twisted her shoulders from side to side, her tits mashing down on the desk.
"No, please!" she cried. "This isn't part of the deal! Marty said nobody would hurt me!"
Roy jerked her wrists higher, then slackened his grip. Her wrists were still locked in his big hand. "It won't hurt, dammit! Take it easy. I'm going to have your asshole whether you fight or not, Mrs. Tracht, so don't fight."
Rhonda lay on her face, panting. The broad head, of his cock was still up against her rectum, and the circle of his hand around her wrists was like iron. She raised one shoe from the floor, but that only put more weight on her uncomfortable belly. She set her foot back down. "A-all right. Just be careful," she said, her tone fearful and depressed.
"Relax," Roy said. "Push out a little bit."
It took all her concentration to obey. The head of his prick was so hard and hot and so incredibly big against the tight band of her asshole that Rhonda could barely force herself to relax even a single muscle.
Roy pulled back, relieving the pressure against her ass. Rhonda let out a huge breath and bore down a little. All of her attention focused in the little lens of her rectum. She felt the tissues spreading, almost as if they were kissing at the greasy head of the attorney's cock.
She lay as still as she could on the desk-top. Rhonda felt fear in her guts, as if she might lose control and piss all over any second. She spread her arms out to the sides, gripping the overhanging wooden lip of the desk.
Roy's cock began to circle, as if it were searching for the right angle to penetrate her ass. Rhonda bit her lip and her fingers tightened on the edge of the desk.
Roy had found the angle. He pressed harder, moving his prick in tiny strokes. Rhonda felt the probing motion of the prick against her ass change to a stiff, alert waiting.
With a slow, steady increase of pressure, Roy started pushing his cock against the tight ring of her asshole. The rubbery muscle moved in, still not opening for him.
It was beginning to hurt. Rhonda's fear amplified the pain. She thought the cockhead was shoving her entire ass inside out. She bore down, trying desperately to open up for the weapon.
She pushed down hard, harder. The pain changed until it was all from her own forcing against the cock. The dragging sensation of being tugged inside out stopped, but the pain of pushing her bowels down against him rose.
Rhonda slacked off just as Roy increased the pressure. With a distinct, lewd sliding, the head of his cock began to spread the sides of her rectum. Rhonda gasped.
It was like nothing she'd ever felt. It hurt, with the skin at the top of her hole about ready to split from the stretching, but at the same time it reinforced the lusty heat in her pussy.
Rhonda had almost forgotten how ready her body had been before the cock pushed against her asshole. Now she felt the mouth of her pussy opening and shutting, the warm juice drooling like a river over her entire crotch. She moved her ass experimentally from one side to the other.
That wedged Roy's cockhead even deeper into her ass. Rhonda moaned, the tearing pain of her asshole melting into the hot lewdness of her cunt. She was beginning to like the obscene lasciviousness of the feeling. Just half of the knob was in her ass, and she thought, II it were a little one, it might feel very nice.
Roy backed off, then pressed forward again. A little more of the wide cockhead slipped in, almost tearing Rhonda's ass open. She grunted, "Oww!"
"Quiet," Roy hissed. "You haven't felt anything yet." He shoved hard, then groaned.
Rhonda knew what had happened without looking. The sudden spasm of her asshole had locked his cock out, and the heavy thrust had bent the shaft. She tried to apologize by swiveling her ass in a slow circle.
Roy slipped one hand between her belly and the desk. He wiggled his fingers down until two of them pressed on each side of her clitty. He moved the tips back and forth, coaxing more juice from her vagina.
Rhonda liked that. The electric flashes of heat in her clitty sent sparks up her spine. She rolled her pelvis lasciviously, grinding more goodness from the writhing fingers. She offered her ass more eagerly to his cock.
"That's right," Roy said. "That's better." He braced his prick with his fist and drove forward.
Rhonda gasped, tears squirting from the corners of her eyes. He'd timed the fuck stroke to match the flash of her clitty, and the whole head popped in when her muscles relaxed. She felt the ridge around the cockhead flaring in her ass, and the narrowed neck of his prick was caught right in the solidest grip of her rectum.
Roy stroked mildly back and forth, his fingers still playing on her clitty. Rhonda felt a new, strange hunger flaring up inside her, a hunger that came from the depths of her ass instead of the mouth of her pussy. She liked being buggered!
There was much more life, much more sensation in her asshole than Rhonda had ever imagined. She felt the taper and flare of the glans inside her chute. The overstretched muscle of her rectum sensed every internal ridge of his prick. She lay there motionless for a moment, just enjoying the slow, short strokes of the cock in her asshole.
Roy began to stroke deeper. Rhonda felt his cockhead moving further up into her ass. The drag of his un-greased shaft, compared to the slickness of his cockhead, telegraphed strange, vulgar messages of perverse need to her clit and her cunthole. Rhonda tightened her ass-ring around his prick.
That felt fantastic! Rhonda arched her back, pulling away from his prickhead as he moved back, and a lusty fullness that reached clear to her throat welled up from her ass.
It was painful, but painfully lewd. The reverse pressure of his cock ridge pushing her rectum outward made the whole surface of her ass come alive. Rhonda almost wanted to experience the feeling of his prickhead pulling completely out. The hunger in her bowels kept her impaled on the prickshaft.
Roy stroked forward again. Rhonda liked that well enough, but it wasn't as exciting as feeling him pulling out. She waited for him to stop, feeling the narrow taper of the neck of the cock move up to her rectum again.
He didn't stop. Roy kept going, the thicker part of the shaft spreading her asshole further. Rhonda's eyes went wide in amazement. This was the feeling that her ass guts had been hungering for!
It felt as if Roy's prick went halfway into her ass. The full, stuffed feeling back there seemed to reach up to her belly. Rhonda grunted when the thick shaft ran out of lubricant. He stopped.
With so much more prick in her ass, Rhonda didn't dare move when Roy backed off. She felt what seemed like a foot of meat slide down and away from her ass. The butt-muscle clamped around the shaft clung to it like a mouth. It pulled clear up inside her, far past where the head had penetrated.
Rhonda sighed. She felt the head back there again, tugging her asshole outward. With a slow, deliberate strength, Roy moved toward her again, his hand still working in her pussy.
The combination of feelings made Rhonda forget that she wasn't going to enjoy any of this meeting. She rolled her ass in a lewd circle, inviting him to keep touching her clit. She liked the mounting sensations that flashed along her spine. Every touch on her clitty made her asshole seem even more sensuous.
The cock went on and on. Rhonda felt the edge of Roy's fist pull away. The hard part's over, she thought. His cock's already most of the way in.
The fullness in her ass kept increasing. Rhonda felt her rectum close down as the thickest part of the shaft slipped past. It felt like his cockhead was going to reach clear to her throat!
Rhonda scarcely noticed when his hand left her pussy. She lifted herself up, leaning on her hands on the desk top. The long, thick mass of his cock was moving up against her spine. She straightened up, needing to feel that incredible, obscene penetration reach into her belly.
Rhonda felt the tube of her ass guts stretching. She didn't like the pain, the deep, tearing sensation that ran from her rectum to the middle of her back. There was too much prick to fit into her ass! She grunted, pulling forward to escape the incredible depth of his prick stroke.
Roy pulled back. This time, her chute was so full of cock that the emptiness behind his withdrawal felt like a vacuum cleaner was sucking out her guts.
Rhonda wept. The feeling of the cock sliding out of her ass was like every heartbreak in the world. The solid emptiness inside her ass was terrible, a lack that had to be filled. Even the sliding against her rectum was almost too much for her. She clenched her asshole around him and moved back.
Rhonda moved her ass back and forth on his prick while Roy held still. The tall man's knees were bent, between her legs. Rhonda put her thighs closer together, gripping his legs with hers. She rode on his cock, levering against his knees. The sides of the desk were now her only support.
The vulgar sensation in her ass built up. With every rolling fuck-motion of her ass, the lips of her pussy dragged across the sides of her clitty. Rhonda sobbed, working her ass back and forth.
Roy began to move against her. Now, as he plunged his cock deeper, Rhonda ignored the pain of the solid penetration. All she wanted was to feel that meaty bar of cock stuck clear to her breasts. She swiveled her hips, gritting her teeth at the sheer ecstatic feeling of her rectum sliding around on the cockshaft.
The prick in her ass was getting even harder. Rhonda wanted to feel him going off. She recognized at last the sensuous connection between her asshole and her pussy, and she knew that his blasts of spunk would shove her over the edge of her come. For a brief second, she wondered what it would be like to come with a cock in her ass.
The long, thick cock rammed into her. Rhonda gripped the edge of the desk like a drowning woman. She thrust her ass back at him. The heat of her ass and the heat of her pussy were like twin balls of flame in her crotch. The gushing flow of juice in her cunt made her crotch squish audibly every time she ground back against the pistoning mass of prick. She heard the lewd sucking when she rose away from Roy's cock.
Rhonda bobbed back and forth frantically. The feelings were cresting inside her. She moved so hard, so fast, that the firm mounds of her tits bounced on her chest. She closed her eyes and moaned, "Come on, you, come on! I want it, I want it now, Roy! I want your cock to go off! God damn you, you better come! You better make me come good, you fucker! Roy, R-R-Roy! Fuck, Roy, FUCK ME! FUCK MEEEE!! ! "
Rhonda gasped, struggling for air. Her cunt-walls spasmed in and out, juice gushing in huge spurts from her hole. She wrung at his cock with her rectum, milking at it as hard as she could. Every second, every jamming thrust that didn't send semen blasting into her hole was an agonizing lifetime of pain and pleasure.
Rhonda didn't care about the split, bleeding skin at the top and bottom of her asshole, or about the tearing, rending sensation in her ass tube. All she wanted was to feel his cock lurch and spasm inside her. That would finally do it, finally connect her ready, tense cunt to her stretched, burning asshole. With grunts and curses of need, she bounced up and down on the impaling length of prick meat until her legs, her tits, her neck all ached.
The bucking thrusts of the cock in her rectum slowed. Rhonda put all her will power into slowly rising off the prickmeat, feeling the deliciously obscene sucking in her guts. She rose clear to the top of his meat, her asshole quivering, until she felt him start to drive the big thing in again. With a whistling, ripping crash, Rhonda shoved her ass back down his prick and felt the first jet of come blast into her ass.
It was like a bucketful of hot lava against the abused tissues of her ass. Rhonda screamed, shocked by the sheer power of Roy's blast. She thought her belly would swell up like a balloon and burst as the second shot hit.
Every spew of his seed jolted Rhonda from her toes to her brain. She flung herself against him, her asscheeks hitting his belly with a slap. Something covered her mouth as she screamed, the earthshaking pulses of her come flooding through her crotch at last.
The jets of spunk and the contractions in her ass and cunt seemed to go on forever. Rhonda kept jerking up and down on his cock like a crazy woman, biting at the hand over her mouth, her tits bouncing. She kicked her feet up, the sheer power of her come-pulses knocking them both onto the floor. The impact drove the cock full length into her ass, and Rhonda fell apart.
CHAPTER FOUR
Dinner that evening was quite strained at the Tracht house. Martin praised the food, and Rhonda replied, but that was all. After, Rhonda sat across the living room writing inanities to her mother while Martin read stock reports.
Rhonda's mind kept wandering. Her rectum still felt strained, as if she couldn't quite control it. She was angry with Martin for having involved her in the buggery, but she was angrier with herself. She held her pen just above the stationery.
I wonder if Martin would do that to me? Rhonda looked down at the paper, her ears reddening. Not tonight, of course . . . Tm too sore. How would I ask him?
I never did see what Roy was built like. Probably just as well. Martin's plenty for me . . . but. . . .
Oh, knock it off, Rhonda. You're a married woman, with a good husband and a good life. Just be satisfied with what you've got.
Rhonda looked over at her husband. Martin was watching her, but he went back to his reports when she caught his eye.
I wonder if he learned anything new today. Rhonda's carefully prepared dinner had settled in an indigestible lump in her belly. She shielded her eyes from the little lamp. A vague pain above her left brow was working its way back toward her ear.
She looked up when Martin cleared his throat. "Yes, hon?" Rhonda said.
"Uh, nothing, Rhonda." He looked worried and uncomfortable.
"Oh." Rhonda stared at the letter for a few more seconds, then turned it face down and capped her pen. "Well, I think I'll go to bed." She stood up, carefully replacing the antique chair under the escritoire. Slowly, with deliberate motions, she moved toward the master bedroom.
"I'll be in in a little while," Martin said. He turned a page and studied it, gnawing on his index finger.
Rhonda knew that Martin was too worried about what both of them had done that day to be able to communicate with her. That made it worse. She felt that she could have told Martin she was dying of terminal jet lag after being gang-raped by the whole Mediterranean Fleet, and he'd say "Uh-huh," and hide in his reports. Depressed and irritable, she went into the bedroom and prepared for bed.
She touched her rectum gently. There apparently had been no real damage, despite the loose, stretched-out feeling that still persisted. There was a little sting at the very top edge. Rhonda decided to let it go. She slipped into a long pale-green negligee and turned off the light. Rhonda wasn't sleepy, but there was no point in waiting up for Martin. She lay curled up on her left side and worried about their marriage.
With her eyes closed in the lonely bed, Rhonda found it very easy to wonder what Martin had done and with whom that afternoon. Images of her husband cavorting in impossibly athletic positions with every other woman in Verguenzo Hills filled her mind. She rolled onto her stomach, all but feeling the ramrodding of Roy's prick in her ass again.
Couples all through Verguenzo Hills sat silent in their spacious homes that night, or ranted and railed at each other. None of them mentioned the real reasons for the arguments . . . that each spouse had wanted to keep an eye on the other during the "charity work". The fights and sulks were much more conventional . . . whose fault it was that Billy dunked his fresh-frozen asparagus spears in his sister's milk . . . why the joint checkbook was out of balance . . . whether one partner spent too much or made too little or broke an anniversary promise. The only oddity tonight was that the disagreements were unanimous instead of scattered here and there among the carefully engineered community.
There were, of course, a few spontaneous outbreaks of peace among the clubmen and their wives; in fact in two houses, the fight never got started. Reverend Randy Cotton and his lovely, lissome six-foot-tall wife, Beverly, weren't sulking, but they almost never did. Greg and Bonnie Fredericks weren't fighting, either, though they often did.
Greg was used to Bonnie lusting after every swinging dick in Verguenzo Hills. It had been going on long enough that he'd learned to ignore any gardener indiscreet enough to act nervous in his presence. Not that he didn't find plenty to squabble about when the spirit moved him-the children, the dents in the station wagon, the cleaning woman nipping his hundred-year-old cognac. No, it wasn't from charity that Greg and Bonnie didn't fight that night. Greg wasn't home.
The dentist was just leaving Charity's. Charity was the new chairside assistant he'd hired, and she made it clear that he was more than welcome to come by. She was twenty-two, with a model's exotic face and long blonde hair, lean as a whip, and smarter than any man she'd ever worked for. This first night, she was also smart enough not to throw herself all over the pudgy little dentist. She rubbed his neck and waited for him to talk, staying as sweet when he left without screwing her as she'd been when he knocked on the door.
"Thanks for the drink, love," Greg had said. "Gawd, if you knew what it means to be able to sit down for an hour without some fucking little brat hanging all over you! Really, Charity, I can't tell you how much I appreciate a chance to unwind!"
Charity smiled and nodded. She held the door for him, her left hand gently touching the side of his cheek as Greg got into his Porsche for the drive to Roy Shores' apartment. "Take care, Doctor," she whispered, closing the door.
"I'll see you tomorrow." I hope this one isn't all talk, Charity thought. I'd love to get a piece of that school ground deal.
Rhonda woke up with all the repressed tension of the night before gone. She sat up, her hair tousled. When she saw her negligee lying in a crumpled heap on the floor, she remembered what had started out as a dream-the hurried, desperate insertion, the rapid, almost harsh movements, and the shuddering jack-hammer beats of her come. Rhonda stretched luxuriously, her lovely breasts flattening as she raised her arms over her head. She grabbed a robe and walked out to the kitchen.
Martin was sipping coffee and looking out the window. He turned with a start. "Oh! Good morning, honey," he said. "How are you?"
Rhonda walked over to him, her fingers tracing the three distinct fingernail marks on his cheek. "Oohh! I'm sorry, Marty. It doesn't still hurt, does it?"
"Don't worry, Rhonda," Martin said, running the flat of his hand over the delectable curve of her ass-cheek. "I shaved around them." Martin kissed his wife, then got up to pour her coffee.
"Won't your broker say something? I'd be kind of embarrassed, honey." Rhonda took the cup and rummaged in the refrigerator.
"Broker?" Martin asked. Quickly, "I'd get a new broker. Besides, I doubt I'm the only investor in Verguenzo Hills with an occasional fresh scratch on his face . . . or elsewhere."
Rhonda froze. She turned slowly around to look at him, then snapped back to her breakfast. "Want anything?" she asked, her lips tight.
"Umm, I have to be going," Martin said. "New York's been open for hours." He kissed the back of her neck and hurried toward the front door. "Ahh, there might be another invitation in the mail today. You can ignore it if you want." He juggled his attache case briefly and stepped out the door.
Rhonda broke the egg yolks with a savage jab of her spatula. "If you'd stay home for once, you sonofabitch," she muttered. She turned off the stove and went back to bed.
This whole thing is getting crazy! Why am I putting myself out for some bunch of compulsive baby-makers? I don't give any more of a damn what happens to the little cretins than their parents do!
How can I get Marty to see that his Rotary scheme just isn't that important? What's wrong with me? I used to be able to get ideas across to him. Now I feel like some dumb . . . cunt!
Well, shit fuck piss! Maybe Mother and Dad were right. I shouldn't have married someone with no family, no past that anyone can locate.
No, I shouldn't start thinking like that. I have to trust my own judgment. Maybe keeping house is rotting my brain . . . all that Lysol and Aerowax and junk. The labels say not to breathe the vapors. That must be what cleaning women are for.
Racist! I never thought like that in my whole life! Am I losing my grip completely? Rhonda grabbed the telephone book from the drawer in the nightstand. I need help! I need a goddamn psychiatrist before I go bananas!
Psychiatrists . . . see Physicians and Surgeons, M.D. "What the hell is with this telephone company?" Rhonda muttered, paging through the book. "Why don't they just list shrinks?"
She ran her finger down the right-hand edge of the columns, looking first for the Verguenzo Hills prefix, then back to the specialties. There were plenty of urologists, proctologists, and pediatricians in the area. Rhonda watched her finger trembling, as if it were some mechanical device barely under her control. "Babies, assholes and pricks . . . is that all they think lives here?" She laughed breathlessly. Stop it right now, Rhonda! she told herself.
Here he is . . . Wayne Sivartz, M.D. . . . Psychiatry. Rhonda dialed the phone, all but dropping the handset. The address was not far from the business/professional section of VH.
Rhonda took big, heaving breaths while the phone rang.
"Verguenzo Psychiatric Institute," a female voice answered.
Rhonda found herself babbling out her name and begging for an appointment. The girl on the other end asked her to hold on while she checked on the doctor's schedule. Rhonda picked nervously at her toes, her robe falling open, while she waited.
"Mrs. Tracht? The doctor does have an hour open today. Could you be here at eleven-thirty? Doctor likes to see new patients as soon as possible."
"Y-yes, I can be there. Do you need any more information ? " Rhonda asked.
"Thank you, but the doctor likes to take care of that himself. We'll see you at eleven-thirty." The receptionist hung up without waiting for a second confirmation.
The curative power of the profession was remarkable. Rhonda felt calmer already as the panic of her strange thoughts receded. She decided to prepare herself completely for the session. The two hours she had before leaving the house would be just enough.
After a long, luxurious bath and careful attention to her makeup, Rhonda looked at herself in the mirror. Before she pulled her bikini panties up over her stockings and garter belt, she surveyed the shapely image of her body.
Rhonda felt good about looking at herself. She'd not started to age at all . . . her features looked mature, but she could have been any age from fifteen to forty. She smoothed her hands from the outer sides of her breasts, down past her slender waist, and over the trim, sensual curve of her hips. She half-turned to examine herself in profile.
Yes, I made the right decision. There's nothing wrong with me that I can see . . . my hair and face don't look like a lunatic's. My figure's all right. It must be in my head. I hope Dr. Swartz can find out what's wrong without too much time. I know it takes years to be cured sometimes . . . I don't mind that. I'd just like to know if I'm turning into some kind of closet psychotic. Rhonda stepped into her panties, then picked her bra off the hanger. She checked her watch and began to hurry.
By the time she was fashionably garbed in an expensive beige suit, Rhonda had barely enough time to dash out to the station wagon and hurry to Dr. Swartz' office. She scooped the mail off the tiles in the entryway.
That invitation . . . damn! Well, it can't be as important as my sanity! Rhonda dumped the stack of envelopes on the hall table and rushed to the car.
The office was a surprise to Rhonda. She'd never thought of anything except a desk, a chair, and a couch in connection with a psychiatrist . . . there was a waiting room, with a section for the receptionist, and a long hall going back from the door. Rhonda looked around, then announced herself. The clock behind the receptionist said she was three minutes early.
A medium-sized man with curly brown hair and a big mustache appeared behind the receptionist. He wore a dark-green suit, and some of the red filling from his jelly doughnut clung to the corner of his cookie-duster. He leaned over the receptionist's shoulder and peered at the appointment book, biting into the doughnut again. He washed it down with coffee from a Styrofoam cup and dabbed at his mustache. "Mrs. Tracht? I'm Doctor Swartz. I'm glad to see you're on time. That's always a good sign."
A strange impulse to run seized Rhonda. She stood up, looking toward the door. Wayne Swartz reached for her hand to shake her hand. "Funny, you don't look Viennese," Rhonda blurted.
The headshrinker looked at her, tilting his head curiously. "And you don't look crazy." He gestured toward his office, and Rhonda preceded him down the long, dimly lit hall.
"I hadn't expected to see you so soon," the doctor confided. "I always try to keep an hour or two open during the day, but to have you call at nine sharp . . . "
Rhonda felt her grip slipping. She hadn't recalled saying anything about psychotherapy to anyone, not even Martin. "I-uh, I just thought we should get started as soon as possible," she stammered, trying to remember exactly what she had said to the girl on the phone.
The doctor opened the door to the inner sanctum. "That's a very, very favorable sign," he said. "Just take a seat and we'll discuss what you expect from this relationship, and I'll tell you what I expect. This sort of thing is always better when both parties begin on a contractual basis." He poised himself on the corner of the desk, one hip casually hung across the cluttered wood.
Rhonda looked around the room. Skylights brightened the air, shining down on plants and row upon row of heavy-bound books. The furniture was very expensive, scattered aimlessly around. The style was what Rhonda thought of as Modern Hideous. Apparently someone came in daily to dust and brush cookie crumbs out of the corners and left everything else wherever Dr. Swartz had strewn it.
Rhonda liked the idea of defining the goals of her therapy before starting. She was looking around, trying to think of just where to start, when she saw the reason for the open appointment hour. On the wall above the doctor's desk was a service plaque from the Verguenzo Hills Rotary Club!
Rhonda stared up at the plaque. She didn't move for ten seconds. When she could finally tear her eyes away from the wall to look at Dr. Swartz again, he was already removing his necktie.
Rhonda scooted back in the big armchair. "I-I-" She dragged one foot up onto the seat, her skirt riding up past the dark band of her stocking top.
"What is it, Rhonda?" the doctor asked. "Are you having trouble dealing with this situation?" He removed his shoes, placing one on top of the other, heel-to-toe. They looked like they were in an invisible shoebox at the side of his desk.
No! I refuse to believe this is happening to me, Rhonda thought. Is this psychiatric idiot actually going to take advantage of me ? I came here as a goddamn patient, not as a raffle prize! She tried a new tack. "What do you think about the school board, Doctor Swartz?"
The shrink went on taking his clothes off. He teetered on one foot, disentangling his slacks from his ankle. "I'm apolitical. I don't care one way or the other."
"Then why aren't you supporting them? Why is everyone in the Rotary in on this fund-raising for the recall?" Rhonda stayed up on the back of the chair, her feet gathered under her. Maybe she would be able to talk her way out of screwing the psychiatrist.
"I get more action this way. For the price of the tickets, it's a helluva lot cheaper than going into town for a massage," he confided. "Not that some psychiatric professionals don't go to bed with their patients . . . this is safer. I don't want to get my license yanked." He stood naked beside his desk. "Well, come on, Rhonda. Take off your clothes!"
"But what about your wife? Don't you care how she feels ? " Rhonda was beginning to wonder about the doctor's mental condition. She started to take off her stylish little jacket. No! That's what he expects you to do! You should leave!
"We're married," he explained. "It's not like we were lovers! If Suzanne has her way, I might have to wait for the Tricentennial before we make love again." He opened the bottom drawer of the desk and pulled out something bright pink. "She's not very empathic." He tossed the pink wad to Rhonda. "Put these on, please."
Rhonda caught the pink mess reflexively. It unfolded in her hand. She dropped the cutout pink latex suit in disgust. "No! God, just touching it gives me the creeps! What kind of nut are you, Doctor Swartz?"
The psychiatrist's cock was rising in little jerks. He picked the rubber suit up and handed it to her again. "Put it on! Goddammit, I only bought one ticket this week, and I want to get my money's worth!" He put his hands on his hips and stared at Rhonda, his youthful forehead furrowed in annoyance.
"To hell with you! I don't have to," Rhonda said, but she held on to the warm, stretchy garment. She looked at it more closely.
It had cutouts for her nipples and a circle for her neck in the top half. The bottom half was like opaque pantyhose with the crotch missing. It looked as if it would go almost up to her ribs if she snugged it firmly into place. Her nipples tingled when Rhonda imagined having only the tips of her breasts exposed.
"The whole club made a deal," Wayne Swartz said. "I don't know who's with my wife, but I put her name in the hat anyway. Don't tell me you're going to go back on your husband's word, Rhonda."
"Martin said I didn't have to do this today if I didn't want to," Rhonda replied. She rubbed the gummy latex between her thumb and forefinger as she spoke. It warmed at her touch, just as her pussy began to warm to the texture of the rubber suit.
Wayne Swartz moved toward his desk again. "I'm a doctor. I could tranquilize you so you couldn't resist." His eyes brightened at the thought. He put his hand on another drawer. His prick was fully erect now.
"You wouldn't!" Rhonda looked at him. The psychiatrist slid the drawer open and pulled out a vial of clear liquid.
"How much do you weigh?" Wayne asked, uncapping a syringe. He stuck the point into the bottle and began to draw the solution into the barrel of the hypodermic. "I'd guess about sixty kilos."
"No! One-nineteen," Rhonda protested. She put the suit across the arm of the chair and began to take off her jacket. "Put that away. I hate needles!"
The psychiatrist set the bottle down on its side, the needle still piercing the plastic top. He squeezed the shaft of his cock as he watched Rhonda strip. His dickhead turned a deep, beetlike red.
Rhonda took off her suit in a frantic rush. The pale cashmere top slipped off, barely ruffling her short hair, showing the tasty mounds of her breasts above the half-cup bra. She stood in front of the chair to skin her skirt down.
The psychiatrist stood watching her, his hand constantly moving on his prick. Rhonda caught glimpses of the engorged head, dripping thick, pearl-white lube from the widening slit in the glans. She wondered where this man would put his prick, and her pussy leaked juice over the crotch of her panties. She looked hopefully at Wayne Swartz.
"Take everything off," he told her. The mental-health professional went back behind his desk and leaned back in his big leather chair.
Rhonda felt her ears burning. It seemed much worse than disrobing along with Roy Shores had . . . this time she had to face the man, who surveyed her body like the prize morsel it was.
Reluctantly, Rhonda started by unhooking her stockings and rolling them down. The smooth whisper of the nylon seemed to travel right up her legs to her pussy. The musky fluid from her vagina wicked along her panties, leaving a damp stripe that followed the sensuous crease between her pussylips perfectly.
Rhonda could feel his eyes on the curve of her ass-cheek when she put her foot on the seat of the chair. The tops of her breasts were warming, the creamy skin turning pinker. The top rim of her aureoles showed over the cups. The coral circles crinkled as the buttons on the ends stiffened. She laid her hose across the arm of the chair.
Rhonda slipped out of her bra next. The tips of her nipples were nearly an inch long. The circles around each one tightened and relaxed, pushing the points forward and back.
The eyes on her body became less troublesome. Rhonda started moving slower, trying to tempt the doctor. She was extremely conscious of the sweet, heavy weight of her bosom as she bent over to slide her panties off. A little tail-like puff of her cunt-hair showed behind as she bent over, barely masking the blushing red around her vagina. Rhonda stepped out of the panties slowly, giving Wayne short, tempting flashes of her nipples and the sides of her breasts. She kept her back turned as she undid the garter belt.
Rhonda turned slowly toward him, a lewd smile flickering around the corners of her lips. Wayne was breathing heavily. She couldn't see his prick from where she stood, but his right arm was flexing as if he stroked it faster and faster.
She looked at the rubber outfit. It seemed smaller every time she saw it. Rhonda wondered if it would fit her. She picked up the bottom half.
"No-the top first," Wayne Swartz said, swallowing as if his mouth were dry. He put both hands on his desk. He gripped the edge to keep from jacking his prick while Rhonda put on the costume.
She gathered up the latex top. The inside was dusted with a talc-like powder. Rhonda rubbed her thumbs across it. Standing with her feet spread, she gathered the garment and ducked into it.
Her head popped through the opening easily. The powder smelled like ground-up rubber. Rhonda managed to force her arms through the sleeves, then she tried to pull the torso down.
It was difficult. The stretchy latex resisted her. It wouldn't slide on her skin, in spite of the French chalk dusted all over it. Rhonda pulled the bottom edge out with both hands to get it past her breasts. It took dozen of quick tugs and adjustments to get it settled, but even then the holes weren't centered over her nipples. They were inches higher.
Rhonda pinched the rubber at the sides of her tits and pulled the holes into place. The recoil of the fabric pressed on the underside of her nipples, forcing the tips up and through like two fat grapes. She tugged the hem down to her hips.
The little nipple holes were reinforced with heavier rubber. The pressure all over her breasts forced Rhonda's tits toward the holes, but only the points of her nipples could fit through. The sensitive little spikes throbbed and swelled bigger than Rhonda had ever seen them.
"Now the pants," Wayne said, his knuckles turning white on the desk. Rhonda looked at them, then sat on the edge of her chair. She rolled the legs together like pantyhose, noticing that there were feet, like in a child's pajamas, at the end of the legs. Rhonda rolled them onto her feet, then up her legs.
It was beginning to excite her. The tight-stretched rubber glistened, reflecting the brightness from the skylights. Rhonda noticed how the panty slimmed and emphasized her shapely legs. Every muscle in her body stood out like a statue's. Even the soft, firm shapes of her abdomen and arms looked sculpted under the glossy pink rubber.
Rhonda pulled the panty up her thighs, struggling to get the narrow waistband over her hips. The slit in the crotch allowed only the central bulge of her plump cunt-mound to show, with a tiny extension behind for the base of her ass cleft. Rhonda brought the waist up over the bottom of the shirt section and let it cling to her middle.
She stood for a second in front of the psychiatrist, the heat in her pussy beginning to spread through the rest of her body. Rhonda eased some of her cuntal fringe out through the slit. The rubber had trapped a few dark curls. They tugged painfully at her labia.
The lips of her cunt were puffing up like her nipples had. Rhonda was beginning to sweat, but only her head, hands, nipples and pussy could let the fluid off into the air. The oven-like feeling in the rubber suit made her even hotter. Rhonda felt her wavy hair gluing itself to her forehead.
Wayne stood up and moved toward her. Rhonda said, "Well? Is that all?"
The psychiatrist shook his head. His prick bobbed up and down as he tensed his abdominal muscles. He took Rhonda by the shoulder and turned her to face a mirror among the plants.
He ran his hand down her back, squeezing the round firmness of her buttocks even tighter.
The sight hit Rhonda like a fist. She felt the swampy warmth in her pussy fan into blazing heat. She looked slippery as a seal in the glossy rubber suit, and fanatically sexy. Every curve and hollow of her figure was accented by the tight compression of the rubber, with shadows and highlights making her look like a sleek wet-dream come to life. She ran her hands over her hips and belly.
The rubber wasn't quite as slippery on the outside as it was on the inside. Rhonda's skin felt sensuously damp all over, except for the throbbing heat of her nipples and her cunt. When the rubber stuck slightly to her fingers, then skidded off, the rippling vibrations on her skin quivered clear to the center of her body. The steamy heat inside the suit made her almost too hot to enjoy the lewd bubbling of juices in her pussy.
Wayne turned her around again. He put his arms around her and pulled the rubber-clad Rhonda close to him. His mouth attached to hers as if they were welded together, his tongue invading wetly.
The rubber increased the impact of every touch. Rhonda felt the barrier between her belly and his prick, but the heat and shape of the cockhead came through the second skin like magic. It made her want to really touch the pulsing shaft, absorb it into her slick, sensuous flesh in any way she could.
The psychiatrist grabbed her shoulders and thrust her away. He looked at the sumptuous feast of slick, sweaty femininity before his eyes. Rhonda watched saliva gather in the corner of his mouth. His expression got glassy.
"Get over there," Wayne said, pointing to a straight-backed chair. He pushed her roughly across the office.
Rhonda stumbled, catching herself just before she fell across the chair. The rubber suit tugged at her skin. She felt the steamy puddles of sweat inside it forming under her arms, along her legs, and beneath her feet. Something about the hot, wet suit and the psychiatrist's rough manner made her feel as if she wanted him to abuse her. Rhonda grabbed the back of the chair and bent over, presenting her ass and the base of her pussy to him.
Dr. Swartz struck her upraised buttocks with the flat of his hand. Both mounds quivered, the harsh smack traveling along the rubber to her breasts and thighs. Rhonda gasped.
The sensation was threatening to overwhelm her already. Every cell of her skin seemed to be a fresh, unused erotic organ. The all-enfolding latex suit pressed new areas every time she moved. The sensuous variations in pressure and the complete, prison-like tightness of the rubber combined to arouse Rhonda faster than she'd thought possible. Just for an instant, she wished that her pussy was shut up in the strict grip, too.
Rhonda realized that she had to have her cunt-mound free of the rubber. The juicy gushes of fluid from her cuntal zone would have drowned her whole crotch with simmering sensation if the sticky mess couldn't evaporate. The overflow from her pussy mouth was coating the insides of her thighs with heavy-scented dew. Trails of cunt juice trickled clear to her knees, chilling Rhonda's skin even through the rubber.
The psychiatrist ran his hand over the puffy bulge of her cunt. Rhonda moaned at the touch. When he squeezed her cuntlips together, it made the rubber feel even tighter. Rhonda had sweat soaking her hair flat to her scalp now. She felt as if she were in an oven, an oven lit by the heat of her loins.
Wayne Swartz pulled a long, thin stick from the clutter of his office. Rhonda didn't see the wooden slat until after he hit her across the ass with it.
The sting flashed across her asscheeks like lightning. Rhonda could have sworn he'd hit her with a paddle the size of a tennis racket, but when she turned, it was only a tiny dowel.
"Oww! What are you doing?" Rhonda said, putting her hands over her ass.
Wayne didn't answer, except to slash the little cane across her knuckles. Rhonda jerked her hands away. "Goddammit, Doctor!" she began.
The psychiatrist lashed a stinging stripe across the backs of her knees, then quickly beat on the tight-sheathed roundness of her thighs. Rhonda squealed, the rubber making the impacts seem to strike from every side. Each stroke set up more tension in the steaming-hot garment, abrading her nerves and forcing sweat from Rhonda's pores.
"Shut up! Think about every time you hurt someone! Don't you deserve this, cunt?" the doctor snapped. He pulled his arm back past his shoulder and delivered a whistling blow right down the center of her ass-cleft.
"Unngghhhh!" Rhonda grunted. She knew the receptionist was too far away to hear her if she screamed. The last swat hadn't hurt as much as the others, but the location threatened the tender gash of her pussy. She grunted more from fear than pain.
The rubber suit was stretched so tight across her ass that it barely touched the sensitive trough between her cheeks. It had been the noise and the knowledge that he could slash the stick across her cunt-mound that had made Rhonda exclaim . . . and the ripple that the rubber set up in her asscheeks.
Each time the doctor flailed at Rhonda, the rubber relayed the sting across her skin. The feeling radiated outward in a circle, hurting in the center, then less and less as the impact spread. By the time the skin a few inches away felt it, it was much more erotic than painful.
"Turn around," Wayne Swartz ordered. Rhonda slowly straightened to face him.
His cock looked like it would start shooting any second. The thick, blunt member trembled, jerking spastically as he wound up for another blow with the stick. Rhonda flinched, covering her exposed cunt-mound with both hands.
The stick flashed across the tops of her tits. Rhonda's mouth opened in a grimace of shocked lewdness. The reinforced edges of the nipple-holes cut into her rock-hard nipples. The tortured buds sent white-hot lances of lusty need down to her cunt.
"Yes! You fucking rotten rich cunts love it, don't you?" Wayne said, slashing the limber little stick across Rhonda's belly. The cane sounded like a whip cracking on the smooth, flat rubber.
Rhonda barely felt it. There was enough protection in the rubber suit that she could take his beating for hours. The only reaction her body had, besides flinching at the loud whip-cracks of sound, was more steamy arousal.
She was swimming in her own sweat inside the suit. The chalky powder was totally soaked now, and the entire inner surface of her thighs was coated with a greasy smear of cunt juice.
Rhonda smelled her own pussy-scent filling the room. It added to the musty, half-bitter aroma of the doctor's cock and balls.
Rhonda noticed that he was sweating, too. Rivulets of shining liquid coated his sides. Wayne's lips were wet with bubbles of spit as he whacked the stick across her belly, the tops of her tits, the smooth pillars of her thighs. He carefully avoided striking her nipples and the fluffy, moist curls over her naked cunt.
Wayne beat at her until Rhonda thought his arm would fall off. His curly hair was getting wet. His chest rose and fell like a marathon runner's. She turned from side to side in a sensuous swaying motion, exposing more of her rubber-clad body to the stick. Rhonda found herself actually enjoying the whipping.
Wayne muttered under his breath as he flailed away at her. Rhonda couldn't catch the words, but the frantic motions of his mouth and the frenzied look on his face made her lewd excitement increase.
Within the hot, slippery wetness of the rubber suit, Rhonda felt like her moist cuntal flesh had somehow spread all over her body. She stopped looking at his hand and the stick. Rhonda concentrated on the bobbing shaft of his red-tipped prick and the swaying mass of his balls.
With a shock, Rhonda realized that her pelvis was moving back and forth as if his prick were already lodged deep in her vagina. She invited more blows with the stick, thrusting her hips forward each time he swung at her. She leaned back, bracing her hands on the seat of the chair. Rhonda shoved her cunt at him.
The psychiatrist's eyes went wide. He threw the stick onto the floor. With a lewd, low growl, he grabbed Rhonda, arching her back further.
Like a nail driving into a pine plank, his prick found her pussy mouth. Rhonda gasped at the harsh power of the penetration. Without so much as a touch on her labia, the head of his cock rammed right into the wet, greasy tube of her cunt sleeve. His belly slapped against hers and he wrestled her to the floor.
Rhonda's arms went around him immediately. Her palms skidded on the sweat on his back. She flared her nostrils to take in the sharp odor of his armpits and crotch. With a single motion, Rhonda slipped her hand from his shoulders to his asscheeks and pulled him all the way into her cunt.
The man's cock battered into her, reaching up to her womb and beyond. Rhonda felt the flaming knot of excitement in her belly expand like a balloon. It filled her whole being instantly.
There was absolutely no use in fighting him, even if Rhonda had wanted to. Wayne pounded his prick into her like a dog in rut, the sledgehammer blows of his pubic bone against her clit beating more heat into her crotch.
Rhonda couldn't believe how quickly her cunt was reacting to the furious thrusts of his cock. Every man she'd known had started gently, getting her cunt thoroughly aroused before plunging his prick into her hole. Now Wayne's cock stabbed into her like a spear, jamming an inferno of lust into the soft tissues. The blazing heat of her cunt rebounded from the rubber that cased her so tightly and echoed on itself until Rhonda thought her body would literally melt under him. She opened her mouth to beg for something, god knew what.
The psychiatrist jammed his lips against hers. His teeth assaulted her mouth like wild animals, gnawing and biting. His tongue raped into her mouth, stabbing in and out with the same furious rhythm as his cock. Rhonda felt herself pierced and brutalized at both ends of her spine, and she loved it!
The thrusting, bucking, arching duel went on and on. Rhonda vaguely realized that her ass was rising clear off the floor when she hunched up at his descending piston of prick-she knew because of the incredible power of the fuck-stroke that drove her ass back to the carpet.
Rhonda's nipples were raw from the feverish scraping of his chest against them. The sweat from both bodies mingled there, burning into the tender surfaces. Rhonda thought her breasts would explode, bursting through the nipple-holes in a gusher of boiling female flesh.
The fantastic swamp in her cunt was fighting back now, gripping the doctor's prick like a vise. Rhonda clamped down, not sure if she wanted to slow his ramming strokes or not. With every deep, hard jab of his prick, the balloon of feeling in her guts expanded further. It was so big Rhonda could have floated across the country on it.
She swam in the rubber suit. Rhonda heard her cunt squishing, the river of pussy juice squirting out like a gushing oil well. The rubber was like the walls of an oven clinging to her, fueled by the fantastic heat of her skin. Rhonda's head was swimming with the heat that filled her body. She couldn't focus her eyes.
Wayne humped harder on top of her. When their bellies slapped together, it sounded like continuous thunderclaps. He pulled out until his cockhead started to slip out of the mouth of her cunthole, then flung himself back down. They were both so slippery that he could barely stay on top of Rhonda.
She wrapped her hands around his shoulders, clinging for dear life. If his cock fell out of her cunt now, Rhonda would have died from frustration. She felt the cataclysm about to burst over her, about to tear her whole body to shreds. Rhonda wailed, losing her words in the sheer agony of delaying her orgasm.
Wayne pulled back and held for an instant.
Rhonda bore down to open her fevered cunt for him. She forced her knees wider, arching her back. The muscles of her belly readied themselves for his final thrusts.
With a flashing curl quicker than the end of a whip, Rhonda flung her cunt up at his prick. The thick mass of man meat flew down, splitting her open like a bolt of lightning. Rhonda felt the shuddering spasm of his dickhead like an earthquake in her hole.
With a splashing, sliding, swampy gush of come blasting against her womb, Rhonda let go completely. Her fingers tightened on his shoulders. Her feet locked on the back of Wayne's knees. The incredible power of her first come-burst smashed her mind to splinters.
It went on, higher, tighter, wilder. Rhonda felt it all, felt millions of sperms rushing through her cunt, felt the blood cells rushing in her pounding cunt, felt the whole room collapse on them. She laughed and screamed and let her body take over.
The curling, whipping motions of her spine did a wonderful job. The automatic motions of her come milked more and more juice from the doctor's cock, wringing the thick fluid out until his balls were totally drained. Rhonda felt the pulsations of his cock slow, falter and stop, but her cunt flesh still moved around him. The heavy, limp weight of the psychiatrist's sweating hips tossed and rolled above her as Rhonda let her hips move on and on and on. Somewhere far away from the bottomless, quivering pit of her cunt, Wayne laid his head on her tight-cased tits and let Rhonda's come carry them both away.
With the fading roll of her pelvis still holding the center of Rhonda's attention, she opened her eyes. Just above Wayne's head, she saw a flash of blue-white light. It wasn't important. All that mattered was the feeling in her loins and the virile weight of the man on her tits, belly and thighs.
CHAPTER FIVE
Martin Tracht's first reaction was to knock the holy hell out of the minister's wife. He looked at the six feet of lissome, shapely woman and felt his wrath growing. His prick hung down, as useless to satisfy Beverly's starving flesh as a length of soggy rope.
Naked or clothed, Beverly Cotton could have been the most lasciviously desirable woman in Verguenzo Hills. She always wore a slip or an undershirt to camouflage her long-pointed nipples; she couldn't stand the confinement of a bra. Her hips were wide, built to hold a man during the hardest, longest bouts of sexual fervor, and her long legs were perfect to lock around her lovers' hips. Her pussy hair grew in a narrow vertical stripe that showed the lush crease at the outsides of her labia. It was fine and curly, following the sensuous curve of her pussy mound like an aromatic shadow.
But Martin couldn't get it up. Maybe being naked with her in the parsonage had something to do with it, but he doubted that. In his fifty years, he'd made love in stranger, more profane places with more than his share of other women. The trouble started when Beverly's sensuous, snakelike movements reminded him of his own wife. Martin had touched Mrs. Cotton's firm, high-set breasts and the beginning stiffness of his erection had fled. He had images of Rhonda opening her pussylips in front of a block-long line of his Rotary friends.
Beverly turned around on the bed, her breast brushing across Martin's thigh. Her large, sympathetic brown eyes looked up at him. She took his flaccid penis in her hand and sucked the head into her mouth.
Martin thought of Rhonda again. Beverly's technique was different, with more slow suction and less tongue work, but having a pretty brunette's face in his lap made him worry again what Rhonda was doing. He lifted Beverly's head from his lap and said, "Please don't. It won't do any good."
Beverly sat up. She spread her knees and crossed her ankles. "What is it, Martin? Can I help?" She put her hand on his thigh.
He hadn't felt so helpless since he "retired". "I don't think so, Bev. I guess my old sins are catching up with me." He let his face and torso sag. Martin suddenly looked his age.
Beverly Cotton pulled him against her bosom. She stroked the side of his face. "It happens to everybody sometimes, darlin'. Whatever you did before has nothing to do with it."
Martin put his arm around her silky-smooth back. "No, it's not that. I keep worrying about Rhonda. She seems to be under a lot of strain with this swap arrangement. I don't know what to do about her . . . I'm not worried about myself." He pulled back to look at her. "Believe it or not, just having her next to me makes my cock jump up like a flagpole." He put his head back down on Beverly's breasts. "There's no reason you should believe it."
Beverly looked down at the limp curl of his cock. She would have loved to see it stiffen. "I do believe you, but what are these sins that are coming home to roost?"
Martin tensed. "I quit my old line of work when I met Rhonda." He waited for another question, warily rigid against Beverly.
"I'm sorry I asked," Beverly whispered, her fingertips floating delicately across Martin's skin. She felt the cautious tension flow out of him and went on. "Some times I'd rather not remember the things I've done. Randy left the priesthood because of me, when I was a student in the school where he taught. I had a false pregnancy and. . . . " She made a sour face. "I wanted to be a nun before that, a nursing sister. We didn't find out we are both sterile until after we were married."
"Ahh, Bev," Martin said, moving upright to put his arms around her. The brittle good humor over the sadness in her voice affected him. He felt infinitely closer to her after hearing the fragment of her story. "I had no idea . . . " He kissed her perfumed shoulder.
"Nobody but you and Rovin' Randy and our bishop knows," Beverly told him. She pulled back a few inches. "Now tell me more about why you're worried about Rhonda. Is she starting to spend more time by herself? Is she acting strangely?"
Martin didn't want to let go of the curious closeness he felt for the minister's wife. The warm feeling had spread down to his groin. He pushed her back onto the floor of the storage room and covered her pussy mound with his hand. "Later," he said.
Beverly reached down to his rising prick. She slipped her cool, soft hand across the head, feeling the virile tremble of rushing blood in the organ. "Yes, much later," she purred. Beverly pulled Martin on top of her.
Rhonda put the vacuum cleaner back in the closet. The whole house was spotless, as it should be for a visit from Reverend Cotton. The spacious home looked like an advertisement from House Beautiful, with even the wooden sun decks swept clean.
Rhonda was ready for the visit, too. Since her session with Dr. Swartz, she'd felt lewder and lewder. In the last two days, she'd attacked Martin's prick with increasing vigor morning and night. The only trace of shyness left in her was about asking him to slip his cock into her rectum.
Now Rhonda was dressed to receive the minister. She'd showered and powdered her soft skin. Her makeup was immaculate, as was her demure little dress. Beneath the summery fabric, Rhonda had combed the hairs of her muff into airy clouds of pussy-scented curls. Her legs were bare as was every inch of her ivory skin under the dress. Without panties, Rhonda was conscious of every brushing motion of her thighs against her pussy hairs and the increasing dampness at the base of her slit.
When the doorbell rang, Rhonda straightened her dress and checked herself in the hall mirror. She took a deep breath and opened the door. Reverend Randy Cotton stood there, smiling. He held a slim briefcase in his hand.
"Hello, Reverend! How are you? Won't you please come in?" Rhonda said, holding the door wide. She stood just inside, waiting with a hospitable smile.
"Thank you, Rhonda," the pastor said. He walked in, allowing the sleek, svelte woman to brush her breasts against his upper arm. He stood behind her as she closed the door and clicked the lock. His practiced eye immediately detected the absence of panty lines under her dress. His proper prick began to stir.
"This is a lovely home," Randy told her. He looked around at the opulent furnishings, holding his black briefcase in both hands.
"That's very nice of you, Reverend," Rhonda said. She gave a light-hearted little twirl that made her dress fly up around the tops of her thighs. "We like it here. Would you like to see the rest of the place?"
"Call me Randy. After all, we aren't in church now . . . even clergymen like a little intimacy when they're relaxing," he said.
Rhonda led him toward the long hallway that went to the master bedroom. She moved her ass provocatively, feeling Randy's eyes on her. Rhonda wished her heels were a little higher--she'd noticed Beverly Cotton's legs before, and they were even lovelier than her own.
The minister stopped beside one of the side chairs in the hall. He ran his hand over the dark wood at the top, examining the back and cushion carefully. "Please tell me this isn't real," he said. "I've seen one like this in the de Young Museum, and I've coveted it since."
Rhonda's face fell. This wasn't what she'd had in mind for her tour of the house. "Yes . . . it's the same one. My father lent it to them to complete the set." She stood watching him for five long seconds.
Reverend Cotton patted the wood in farewell. "I'm sorry. The only Provincial I ever see is the parish elders." He put his arm around Rhonda's shoulder. "Shall we?"
"Of course . . . Randy." Rhonda steered him toward the master suite. "You could leave your briefcase in the hall," she suggested.
"Thanks, but I'd rather carry it," he told her, squeezing her arm slightly. Rhonda slithered out from under his arm and opened the door to the bedroom.
She'd spent several agonizing minutes trying to decide if it would be too blatant to turn back the spread on the canopied bed. Reluctantly, Rhonda had left the pillows covered. Even so, her pussy tingled as the pastor looked at the sumptuous fullness of the huge bed. Rhonda sat carefully on the edge of the billowing spread and looked meaningfully at him.
Randy Cotton looked around the big bedroom. Rhonda could almost see cash-register totals going off in his head as he surveyed the furnishings. She leaned back on her elbows, thrusting her breasts forward. "Well?"
"Did your parents give you all of this beautiful furniture?" Randy asked. He stepped to the side of the big windows and pulled the drapes open. Bright sunlight filtered through the greenery outside, as if the garden were an extension of the room.
"Not all of it. Marty bought some for me." Rhonda kicked one foot back and forth. "I used to love collecting, but my interests have changed lately."
Randy Cotton turned toward her. He stared at her, the obvious lump in his trousers lengthening by the instant. Slowly and distinctly, as if his tongue were getting as thick as his cock, he said, "Would you . . . like to show me . . . the garden?" He snapped the latch of the sliding door without looking away from her.
Rhonda stood up Her pussy suddenly felt as if it could encompass the whole room, like a moist, simmering cave descending over the house. She licked her lips and walked through the door.
Randy Cotton followed her out into the garden. He took her wrist in one powerful hand and steered her toward an old, thick-limbed tree. With just the hint of a tug, he spun her into his arms and kissed her.
Rhonda's loins melted into a puddle of thick, steamy need. She felt her cuntal thatch dripping with juice. Even in the flower-scented breeze, the aroma of her pussy floated into her nostrils. Rhonda devoured the pastor's mouth, sucking at his thrusting tongue as if it were a cock spearing into her mouth. Her knees got weak. She tried to pull him down to the grass.
Randy wouldn't let her sink down. He dropped his briefcase. With slow, sensuous motions, he inched her dress up as his fingers caressed her buttocks.
Rhonda broke away to stare at him in shocked lust. Her skirt was up around her waist, her asscheeks naked to the breeze. She rubbed the greasy stripe of her cuntal crease against the lump in his fly.
Rhonda's breasts ached. They felt heavy, full of warmth and hunger. She hoped that he would strip her dress off completely. She slid her hand between their bodies, fondling his hard-on through the black trousers. "Yes, Randy, goddammit, yes!" she hissed.
Randy let go of her ass. He backed away, then fell to his knees. He lifted the front of her skirt and rubbed his face against the damp heat of her pussy mound.
Rhonda put her hands on the back of his head. She closed her eyes and let her head loll back, luxuriating in the sensuous preliminaries of the act. The nuzzling and soft lapping of her labia sent chilly tremors up her spine. Her nipples stood up, poking through the thin cloth of her dress like two blunt pencils.
Randy fumbled in his briefcase, still burrowing against the sweet mound of her cunt. Rhonda heard the sounds and sensed the motions of his hands, but the virile face against her pussy was all that mattered. She kneaded his head harder, pressing her center against him.
The minister stood up, letting her skirt fall down again. He had long, buckle-ended straps dangling from one hand. "Tie me to the tree," he said, his voice throaty. "Take me prisoner!" He dropped the straps and backed against the trunk.
Rhonda stood stunned for an instant, then the image sent a wave of heat from her mind to her cunt. She grabbed the straps and attached one to each of his wrists. They were long enough to pass around the trunk and over two branches. She tied the ends behind him, out of reach. Now, if she could keep him from shooting off, she had all the cock she needed for as long as she needed it. He was her prisoner.
Randy's eyes gleamed. His arms were up and back, leaving him helpless in front of Rhonda. He lifted his chin away from the starched collar and waited for her to begin.
Rhonda looked at the package of virile manhood she'd trussed to the tree. That unmistakable bulge of thick cock still stood stiff in his crotch. Her fingers trembling with haste, she undid his belt, then his zipper. She reached into his fly.
The rigid length of prick felt blazing hot. Rhonda wrapped her hand around the organ, pulling it out to stare at it. It was a cock like any other she'd seen, but it belonged to a bound pastor. She ran her thumbs up the shaft to the head and smeared the sticky drop of white fluid across the head.
Randy pushed his hips toward her. Rhonda tugged his pants down to his ankles. She stood back to look at the lewd sight of the captured minister. Especially here in the open, sunlight slanting under the tree to shine on his prick, the picture made her pussy boil.
Rhonda took off her dress slowly, swaying her hips to the lusty music in her head. She liked the way the pastor stared as she unbuttoned her bodice. Rhonda kept the cloth closed over her breasts until the last button was undone.
Licking her lips suggestively, Rhonda opened the front of her dress. She kept her eyes on Randy's face. The obvious evidence of his arousal, the gleam in his eyes and the tongue that flicked across his lips, made her feel even hotter. There was nothing Rhonda loved more than seeing a male's reaction to her. It made her feel more sensuous, more abandoned. She let her breasts escape from the dress.
The minister's eyes traveled across the smooth, ivory-white mounds. He followed the opening as it moved slowly down, exposing her navel and the top of her dark pussy fringe. His prick jerked further upright, the head swelling to the size of a plum.
Rhonda let the dress fall open all the way. She stepped out of it, letting the summery cloth fold onto itself like a parachute on the grass. Dressed in only her high heels and the high heat of her lusty blush, Rhonda moved toward him.
Slow and sensuous, waiting for the heat in her pussy to build further, Rhonda reached to touch his cock. She knew the minister was watching every move she made. She moved as erotically as she could.
Rhonda sank to her knees, brushing the tips of her hard nipples across the end of his cock. The rubbery points sent a quick twinge of heat down into her belly each time she twisted her shoulders to flick them across his red glans.
She didn't bother to watch his face. Rhonda could hear the panting gusts of his breath and feel the accelerating pulse in his cock. Even the odor of his balls increased as she aroused him. She concentrated on his prick, twining her little finger through the bush at the base of the hard wand while she held the shaft.
The skin under the coarse, wiry hairs was slippery with sweat. Rhonda put one hand around her breast to guide the tip of her nipple up and down the pulsing blue line of his come tube.
The feeling radiating from her pussy threatened to overwhelm her. Rhonda's pussylips were unfolding, the frilly inner strips puffing up. She spread her knees slightly, letting the breeze cool the overheated center of her cuntal crease.
She had to move her whole torso to rub her nipple on his cock. Rhonda rose and fell, her body moving like a tongue slithering up and down an ice-cream bar. The hard, hot tip of her nipple skidded on his cockshaft, catching and releasing. Each juddering little bounce sent shivers through her entire breast, shivers that turned to wet heat in her crotch.
Rhonda guided his cock downward. She rubbed her nipple around the spongy ridge of his glans, under the rim and back up across the slit. The smell of his cocklube rose to her nostrils. Rhonda pushed her breast against the top of his cockhead until the whole end was swallowed up in her titty. Releasing the shaft, she pressed her tit around his prickhead until her nipple ached from the lewd stimulation. With a low, tortured groan, Randy tried to pull away.
Rhonda grabbed the root of his prick again and forced him to stab it against her breast again. She was beginning to sweat, and his glans slipped off to the side. Her nipples flashed a lusty shock, like a fat blue spark of static electricity, up and down her spine. Her hips jerked.
Rhonda decided that this wouldn't do. She looked up at Randy, pulling her sumptuous tits away from his groin. She made a sensuous, inviting oval with her lips, rolling the flat of her tongue out as if she beckoned for his cock.
Randy nodded, his ready prick even harder at the thought of having Rhonda's lovely face distorting around his cock. The minister tensed his belly and buttocks, readying his balls to spew cream into her mouth.
Rhonda didn't start sucking his cock immediately. She touched the side, the edge of the head, the long lump that ran beneath his scrotum, her fingers dancing light as spider's legs. She kept herself under tight control as his cockhead swelled up. Her touches barely hit his skin, sometimes just compressing the charged air around his cock. With a sudden, swift motion, Rhonda cupped his sac in one hand.
The minister's hips jerked as if he were thrusting his prick deep into a steaming cunt. Rhonda rolled the meaty balls in her palm for an instant. Another drop of thick stuff appeared in his come slit, and Rhonda let go of his manhood.
"Don't stop, Rhonda! Oh, fuck, what are you doing?" Randy said, his voice cracking. His thighs knotted with tension as he tried to keep his come moving up from his balls.
Rhonda loved seeing him strain. She put her hands over the puffy warmth of her pussy. "I don't want you to come now, Randy," she said. "I'm going to keep you here all day." She licked her lips and gazed lewdly at him, a smoldering hunger deep in her brown eyes.
Randy sagged back against the tree trunk, taking his weight on his outstretched arms. "That's not part of the deal," he told her. "Dammit, Rhonda, I have other things to do today. The Sunday school committee is meeting in the parish hall, Bev has asked me to help her plan the pancake supper . . . " His voice faded off. The minister's prick wilted slightly.
Rhonda didn't like that. She wanted that nice holy cock as stiff as possible for as long as possible. She stood up on tiptoe and pressed herself full-length against the minister. "Now, Reverend, be nice. One of your flock is in need of your . . . services. Why can't we stay here in the garden and . . . converse?"
The warm bar of sacred prick stiffened slightly against her belly. Rhonda rubbed against it, slipping her hand under his black shirtfront. She toyed with the vertical line of hair on his belly, then found one little nipple. With the edge of her fingernail, she teased it into erection, enjoying the way the tiny bead puckered under her touch. "See? It's not so bad, is it?"
Randy moved slightly in his bonds. He rolled his chest around, trying to get away from Rhonda's nipple-scratching nail. "Stop it," he whispered. "It tickles."
Rhonda dragged her sharp fingernail down the middle of his chest. She felt the skin tear a little. Randy's muscles tightened further, and his cock resumed its proud, upright stance against her smooth belly. She slithered to the side, caressing the front of his thigh with the damp, curly hairs at the top of her pussy-mound.
She was undeniably excited. Rhonda wondered if the stop-and-go fondling she'd done on his prick and balls would make him shoot off faster or slower. She opened her mouth carnivorously and sucked at his tongue.
It felt wonderful, as wet and slippery as the steaming swamp between her thighs. Rhonda moved her head, rolling her mouth on his until their tongues slithered like seals playing in a stormy ocean. The reverend's thigh pressed harder against her pussy, and Rhonda moved her hips in a lascivious, juice-spreading rotation.
The goo from the end of his cock smeared all over Rhonda's lower belly, rubbing sticky warmth into her skin. She felt her pussylips opening like a hothouse orchid on his thigh. Rhonda realized that she wanted that prick in her pussy now.
With a slow, strained motion, she pulled her hips back, sliding her cuntal crease along the upraised top of his thigh. The motion peeled the little hood of pink flesh back from her clitty, and Rhonda gasped at the silky, shuddering cascade of feelings at the tip of the little button.
Randy was several inches taller than Rhonda. She had to go on tiptoe to get the head of his prick against her pussy. She rubbed the glans up and down in the slick valley between her cuntlips, greasing the head with her own musky, lusty juice. Her whole love mound seemed like one big, hungry mouth. The sphincter at the mouth of her vagina worked open, they closed on air as she slithered on the minister's prick-knob.
With his back to the tree, Randy's feet were higher than Rhonda's. She bit her lip, trying to bend his cock down far enough to fit it against her cunt mouth. A bubbling gusher of pussyjuice flooded down her thighs, chilling her skin as a breeze dried the thick, sweet nectar.
Rhonda stood on his feet, reaching around behind her buttocks to steer the head of his cock toward her dripping vagina. It would barely move against her hole, catching against the furthest-back edge of her cunt muscle. She grunted, dragging herself up his body with one hand.
Rhonda felt his cock go upright again, just beside her hole. She grabbed one branch of the tree, straining to pull herself higher. With a sideways motion of her hips, she centered his cockhead beneath her cunt mouth. Slow and careful, she let herself move down.
Her cunt was so wet that his cockhead skidded back, the high ridge at the top grazing her asshole. The wet touch made all her sphincters clamp tight. Rhonda let go of his prick and put both hands on the branch.
"Yes, that's it," Randy said, rolling his hips to line his prick up with her cunt. He thrust forward, then pulled back. Even though he was tied to the tree, he could move enough to excite Rhonda.
Rhonda almost let go of the tree when she felt his prick stab at her clitty. The pressure against the little love-trigger started small, then bloomed in her belly like a mushroom cloud. Rhonda felt it moving like a wave that swelled up in her, filling her whole body, then leaving her flesh emptier than before. She rolled her pelvis forward, gasping when his glans touched the spike again. She wanted that prick in her cunt and she wanted it now. Even the time it would take to untie his arms would be too long. She pulled herself up, positioning her pussy mouth precisely, and let herself move slowly, sensuously, straight down onto the broad head of his prick.
With a sigh of relief, Rhonda felt the helmet-shaped end of Randy's prick spread her inner labia. The ring of muscle at the mouth of her pussy opened hungrily. She let her arms go straight as he thrust up at her, and the whole length of his prick slipped into her cunt.
With the position finally right, Rhonda sagged against him. The base of his cock put constant pressure on her clit, and her feet were inches off the ground. She stayed still, relishing the full penetration for a moment before she moved her pelvis.
The virile fullness in her cunt was a relief after the struggle to get him in there. She looked at him, her eyes glazed with the sensual heat rising from her loins.
Randy smiled back at her. Rhonda liked the lewd, happy look above the clerical collar nearly as much as she liked the cock imbedded in her pussy. She let go of the branch and put her hands on his shoulders.
"Gawd, but that feels good," she whispered. "I love having a good hard prick inside me." Rhonda spread her knees, running the arches of her feet up and down his calves.
The incredible lasciviousness of her pussy mouth spread through the rest of her body.
Every inch of her skin seemed to wake up to the feeling" of his shirt, his hairy legs, the summery breeze on her naked skin. Rhonda held herself tight against him.
The minister's legs were weakening under the lusty load of Rhonda's body. He couldn't reach around to support the woman with his arms; the only lift he could give was with his cock. Rhonda felt him begin a forward motion with his hips.
"Yes, like that, Randy," she purred. With a sideways motion as slippery and smooth as oiled glass, she began to milk at his prick with her cuntal sleeve.
Every move ground his pubic bone against her clitty. Rhonda sighed, feeling the slow rise of her lust. It was one of the nicest feelings she'd ever known, and it was hers to control. Even Randy's hardest thrusts were eased by her weight and the straps holding his arms to the tree.
Rhonda lifted her feet, putting them up around the trunk behind him. She squeezed his hips between her thighs, levering her ass from side to side. His prick stirred opposite to her sensuous motions, moving the hungry flesh inside her around like a giant tongue probing a bowl of pudding.
Rhonda leaned back, holding onto his shoulders. Her tits were free of his shirt now, and she looked down between their bodies to where their loins were welded together.
The sight amplified the combined clit-cunt sensations that shivered up and down her spine. The thick, coarse hairs of his cock bush were merged with the thinner, wetter hairs of her pussy. Every time Rhonda rocked her hips from one side to the other, she saw the soft, firm pad of her love mound move to fill any gap between them. At the edges of her vision, her nipples stood out like dark-pink pebbles, hard and sensitive. Tightening her asscheeks, Rhonda rolled her pelvis forward.
If she strained hard in the motion, Rhonda could feel his cock sliding a little way out of her pussy tube. The bar of virility sucked at the partial emptiness inside her belly, making her want to roll back down onto it. She loosened her muscles, then repeated the curling, sliding motion of her hips.
When Rhonda forced her cunt-mound to climb up his belly, the tight male muscles pressed into her crease, separating the flesh. She stared down, fascinated by the bright red stripe of her inner labia. Rhonda felt his cock nudge against her womb.
The sensation was duller than the sharp, pinprick feelings that expanded as they shot from her clit, but somehow just as exciting. Even the full, round sensation of his prick slowly moving in her cunt sleeve increased when his glans touched the secret nerves up inside her.
Rhonda had to close her eyes.
She still wanted to watch the wet, gluey junction of their bodies, but the feelings racing through her belly held her attention completely. Rhonda thought her mind would split in two if she tried to see what happened as the complex flavors of her arousal mingled and heated in her cunt.
With a low moan, Rhonda let her spine uncurl. His prickhead barely touched her cervix on the way down, but even the light brush of the ridge against her womb sent a thudding rush of passion up to her brain.
She tried to restrain herself, but the multiple chords of sensuality pouring lewdly through her nerves drove Rhonda to move her hips faster. Rhonda rolled from side to side, as if she were a huge sifter, settling all the way down onto his prick.
Rhonda loved it, even with her eyes closed. She knew it was Randy Cotton, her minister, and that he was tied to a tree in her garden. She knew it was his cock wedged all the way into her belly, that it was his balls moving up and down as he thrust into her. She let her head fall back, her nipples just grazing against the slick black cloth of his shirt.
The grinding, rolling, slippery wetness of her cunt was growing noisier. Rhonda could hear the lusty squishing of her cuntlips around his prick and smell the sharp, mingled odors of their sweat under the tree. The sunlight warmed her asscheeks, as if they weren't already inflamed by the heat in her loins. She swiveled her hips like a belly dancer, milking at his cock.
It was the lewdest set of feelings Rhonda could remember. The cock in her belly drove in with her weight and the thrusting power of his accelerating strokes. Every single jab of his meat battered against her cervix and scraped cockhairs across her clit. Rhonda felt the icy chill travel from the nape of her neck to the base of her spine, meeting the heat at her pussy mouth. She dug her fingers into his shoulders.
The center of her belly was spinning. It felt like a star, burning blue-white and throwing out sparks, sparks that hit her nerves and flashed every part of her body. Rhonda grunted, urging him on. "Come on, Randy, oh, oh, oh God! Fuck me, baby, fuck me HARDER!" she wailed, her cunt whipping along the length of his prick like a glove full of butter.
"Keep on, Rhonda," Randy muttered. He was dangling from the straps, his knees weakening. He shoved his prick toward her, then yanked it back, moving fast as a jackhammer.
The rapid, bruising impacts against her pubic arch were starting to hurt, but the pain didn't matter. Rhonda wanted him to go off, wanted to feel the rugged thrusts grow harder and faster. She clenched her cunt ring around the base of his prick, all but locking him into her pussy mouth.
Rhonda grunted prayers between clenched teeth. She begged with the minister, "Come, you sonofabitch! Ram that fucking cock into me! Ram harder, fuck harder, Randy! Please, mother-fucker, please shove it in, make it go!"
Even her tits hurt, waiting for the knot of lust in her belly to explode. Rhonda was throwing her cunt along his cock so fast that her tits bounced up and down. The coral joints of her nipples were a lewd, circling blur of hot flesh.
With a groan like his nuts were being torn off, Randy broke the feverish rhythm of the fuck. He stiffened all over, the cords in his neck standing out like ropes. He jerked forward, a battering stroke that bounced Rhonda away from his cock for an instant.
As she fell back down onto the base of his prick, Rhonda felt the first massive blast of spunk jet against her womb. It was like a bomb went off in her cunt, releasing all the feelings that had built up. With a scream, she felt her pussy start to contract.
When she came, Rhonda felt the whole world slow down. Her pussy moved, tightening relentlessly around Randy's cock. It took at least a month for the walls of her cunt to ripple to total tightness around his meat, then another half-year before they slacked again. In the eons before the next massive pulse started, Rhonda felt the wave of contraction move outward from her pussy to every cell of her body.
By the time his cock had slammed to full depth in her cunt again, Rhonda had taken a census of her body. Her heart pounded, the beat matching the rolling ripples of her cunt-walls. Her nipples ached, throbbing in time to her heart and her clit. Even the muscles in her arms and legs tensed, taking forever to loosen again.
Rhonda forced her cunt down onto the base of his prick. She wanted the fire hose blasts of his spunk to stay up inside her, to splatter against the end of her cunt-tube, to coat the walls of her vagina with thick syrup until her whole belly swelled full of semen. With a sigh that exhausted all the air in her lungs, Rhonda said, "I'm . . . comm . . . ing!"
Over and over, Rhonda felt the magnificent gushes of his semen and the ongoing spasms of her come. She felt liquid dribbling from her hole, squishing around his cock and dripping off her cuntlips. Her legs slowly unwrapped from his hips, her feet skidding on the rough bark of the tree. Rhonda let herself go limp, moving only when the rippling waves in her cunt forced her muscles to obey. After years and years, her feet touched the grass. She fell against Randy's shirt front and stood there with him until her overloaded nerves would obey her mind instead of her pussy.
CHAPTER SIX
Charity was mixing mock silver to put in a patient's tooth when she overheard Greg Fredericks making a telephone call. She stopped scraping around in the little pestle, her ears alert, her pretty, sharp-nosed face intent.
"Roy? Listen, I got the option all ready. It'll hold six months from tomorrow." He paused.
"Oh, bullshit! We won't need a second recall. Three'll get you twenty they'll buy even if we don't get a majority."
Charity quickly bent her head down, watching the pestle as she stirred carefully. She had heard the scrape of shoe leather on the tiles in the office corridor. He's probably just shifting his weight. She stopped stirring.
The dentist's voice sank to a whisper, then he laughed, with the tight snicker of one con man talking to another. "Sonofabitch, Roy! If Pricer has the snapshots, we've got the whole goddamn town by the balls." He snickered again. "Or the snatch, if you prefer." His voice went down again, muffled by his turn toward the wall. Charity held her gear in one hand and crept to the door, straining her ears.
"You think so? I admit nobody knows much about him. . . . Nah! Even if the clown was with them once, why the fuck would the CIA care if you'n me make a few bucks? Our asses are covered better than baby buns . . . we report the capital gain and even IRS can't screw around with us."
Charity looked in her pestle. The silver epoxy had hardened like rock while she eavesdropped. She started mixing another batch.
Rhonda lay on the chaise lounge, wondering if it would be worth the time to swim this afternoon. She glanced over at the tree where she'd had Reverend Cotton so deliciously tied and smiled. Her pussy tingled a little bit even now. She thought of her husband and the tingle stopped.
Martin had told her the night before that the recall committee had enough money to operate now. The swap raffles would stop.
Rhonda had her doubts about his statement. Martin had been reserved all evening, forcing himself to respond to her attempts at conversation. When she'd started caressing his prick under the covers, he winced, as though he'd had a real workout that day. Surprisingly, Rhonda felt a little jealous. II he's taking advantage of that fund-raiser, why would he stop ? From what the other ivives told me before this thing started, they don't trust any of their men out of arm's reach.
Well, there's a simple enough solution. If his prick isn't ready for me when he comes home at night, I'll know. It wasn't bad last night, once I persuaded him.
Goddammit. I shouldn't have to persuade him! Even if he is almost thirty years older than I am, I should get the respect my body needs, at least!
I'm thinking a lot more about sex than I used to. I wonder if that's bad for me? How would I find out ? A psychiatrist? "Hah!" Rhonda snorted.
"Not even my minister! I wonder if he tells his wife?"
"Rhonda? Are you there, Rhonda?" Beverly Cotton's clear voice carried over the high hedge around the garden.
"Bev? Is that you? Hold on just a second," Rhonda called. Maybe I'll find out if he tells her. Damn! I was just getting really comfortable.
Rhonda threw a short terry cloth robe over her bathing suit and went to the gate. She thumbed the lock open. "Hi! What brings you by today, Bev?"
The tall beauty stepped into the yard. She wore a sober dress and flat shoes. "Oh, I just thought I'd see how you're doing." She pulled a sheaf of papers from her big purse. "Have you signed the recall petition?"
"Oh, I signed one over at the Mall yesterday. Would you like a drink ? Soft drink, hard drink, pool water?" Rhonda gestured toward the swimming pool.
Beverly said, "No, thank you." She looked around the enclosed garden, stopping by the edge of the pool. "My, you've done a lot with the place since Randy and I were here last. It looks very nice." She sat at the little table, letting her purse fall to the ground.
"And I feel like I did everything but dig the hole for the pool," Rhonda said, flopping down on her lounge again. "My hands were so sore last summer!" Embarrassed, she added, "It wasn't anything like the work you did on the parish hall, of course."
Beverly leaned back in her chair and looked at Rhonda, her pretty eyes very level. "Knock it off, Rhonda. You know fucking well all I did was ride herd on a bunch of old ladies and their thumb-fingered husbands." She undid the top button of her blouse, fanning the fabric across her neck. "Maybe I will have a drink . . . vodka Collins, if you've got it."
"Sure, Bev," Rhonda said, jolted by the woman's frankness. She went to the pool house and mixed it, tightening the belt of her little robe before she brought Bev's drink and her own to the table. "There you are."
"Thanks." Beverly Cotton took a long sip from her glass. "That's nice! I hate this door-to-door nonsense. I thought I was done with it when I bailed out of Girl Scouts." She looked at Rhonda. "That robe looks too hot to wear today. Don't leave it on to please me."
Rhonda tugged at the belt nervously. "It is warm." She shrugged out of the robe, shyly draping it over the back of her chair. The tiny triangles of her bikini top barely covered her nipples, and the black triangle over her pussy was tight enough to show the fine lines of her tight cuntal hair. Rhonda sat with her thighs crossed, afraid that some of her pussy fringe might have escaped at the sides of the little scrap of cloth.
"How is Reverend Cotton?" Rhonda asked, looking past Beverly's shoulder. She realized her eyes were focusing on the tree she'd tied him to. Her ears turned red.
"Randy's fine." Beverly Cotton took another sip of her Collins. She turned to see where Rhonda was looking. "I'd be more concerned about Martin if I were you."
"Oh, Martin's doing just fine," Rhonda said, her voice a little too cheery. She waved toward the pool. "Are you sure you wouldn't like to swim? I know we have a suit around here that would fit you."
"Your husband is very concerned about you." Beverly looked earnestly at Rhonda.
"It's impairing his functions." It was Beverly's turn to blush. Her cheeks reddened slightly.
"What do you mean? Marty's . . . well, he's Martin. -There doesn't seem to be anything wrong with him." Rhonda was very uncomfortable. She started to uncross her legs, but thought better of it.
Beverly finished half her drink with one big swallow. "It's this Rotary thing. It's starting to . . . diminish his potency." She looked away.
"Wha . . . How would . . . ? " Rhonda stopped. "Oh." She looked down into her lap, idly noticing the bark-scrape on the inside of her left knee. She smoothed her fingers along her thigh. "I know."
"I think you should refuse to be in the raffles any more," Beverly said. "That might be the trouble. He wasn't too clear afterward."
"You mean it's still going on? He . . . Martin said it was over. I thought they had enough money now." Rhonda put both feet on the cement, unmindful of the exposure. The rich swell of her pussy mouth glistened under the shiny black cloth. "I won't be involved in it any more."
But that's not the same thing! If I gave it up, refused to go meet the men or let them come by, then it would be my decision. It's not fair for Martin to make up my mind for me! Rhonda thought.
Beverly watched Rhonda, her face troubled. "I don't know how much money they have," she said, "but don't blame Martin for lying to you. He's upset about the thought of you sleeping with other men."
"How the fuck do you think I feel about him screwing other women?" Rhonda snapped. She lowered her eyes. "Sorry. I-I didn't mean you."
Beverly put her hand on Rhonda's knee. "I know, honey. I don't blame you. It used to make me feel absolutely crazy jealous when Randy had to visit another woman . . . you can imagine how I felt when he told me he'd slept with some of them!" She smiled at Rhonda. "I know he won't leave me for any of them, though, and that's what matters. I'm sure Martin wouldn't leave you. He really is a lovely man, Rhonda. Don't be angry with him."
Rhonda closed her eyes. She wanted a moment to think. Slowly, trying to sort it out in her mind, she said, "How do I know he hasn't bought another ticket? For all I know, he could have organized the whole thing . . . he's good at working things out." She opened her eyes to see if Beverly had a suggestion. When the other woman merely shrugged, Rhonda went on.
"I wonder how long he's been sneaking around behind my back? I hardly ever call him in town during the day . . . he needs to concentrate on the market. He could have a string of women from here to . . . to Zanzibar!" She glared at Beverly.
The minister's wife shook her head. "No, Rhonda. He told me I was the first woman he's been with since you two were married. I believed him."
"Humphh! Why should you believe him? I still don't know what he did the first forty-seven years of his life!" Rhonda sagged. "Shit-sticks. I guess there's no way to be sure anyway."
Beverly giggled. "Sorry, Rhon. I was just wondering how you'd keep him from screwing somebody else. Sew him into his pants? Sniff when he comes home? What if he showers, or has to pee?" She waved her empty glass, the ice cubes tinkling. "Do you suppose I could have another?"
"Sure, Bev." Rhonda stood up distractedly, then stopped. "I'm going to swim in a little while. Why don't you stay? The suits are right here." Rhonda gestured toward the pool house.
Beverly waved her hand loosely in the air. "Oh, maybe. I might just stay and watch. My feet feel like I've been dancing with a moose." She kicked her flat shoes off, then undid another button.
Rhonda turned toward the little bar. "Well, I don't have a damn thing to do today, except lay around. I feel like I should be eating bonbons and reading True Confessions."
"Does that work?" Beverly asked, pointing to a four-foot whirlpool beside the main pool.
"Oh, yes! I'll bet it would feel good for your feet," Rhonda said. "Martin likes to sit in it after a long day in the city." She detoured from making the drinks and toed a rubber-covered switch in the decking. The surface of the little pool bubbled and churned as the pump wound up to operating speed.
Tall, lovely Beverly walked around and sat at the edge of the little whirlpool. She pulled her skirt up to the tops of her thighs and kicked her feet in the foaming water. "Ahhh! Oh, Rhonda, this is the ticket!" She held her feet in the middle of the main jet and leaned back on her elbows.
Rhonda brought the tall glasses over. She smiled at the look of relieved ecstasy on Beverly's face. She sat next to Beverly, dangling her own feet in the swirling froth, and waited for the taller woman to open her eyes.
"I wonder if the building fund could put one of these in the parsonage," Beverly mused. She looked at Rhonda, her eyes round with mock astonishment. "They could get another fifteen hundred miles out of me every year!"
Rhonda giggled. "It's that or have your feet retreaded." She handed the glass to Beverly. "Isn't there a lot of unnecessary nonsense for you to put up with ? " Rhonda slipped down into the pool, letting the bubbling streams of water caress her legs, her buttocks and her lower back.
Beverly was squirming, rolling from one buttock to the other. "Oohh, this cement is hot. It finally got through my dress!" She stood up in the whirlpool.
Rhonda was embarrassed again. She was falling down as a hostess. "I'm sorry. Let me get you something to sit on." She clambered out of the pool and started for the cabana.
"Don't bother," Beverly called. Rhonda stopped and turned to look at Beverly.
The minister's wife was unbuttoning her dress, her hands moving right down the front of the sober cloth. She shrugged it from her shoulders and lifted it over her head.
"Let me get you a suit," Rhonda said, but she didn't move. Even after riding the minister's cock for half the day before, seeing his wife peeling down to a long, satiny slip was a shocking experience for Rhonda.
Beverly pulled the slip up until it gathered just under her full breasts, then crossed her arms over her head and pulled it off. She wore only a brief, transparent pair of panties, barely big enough to contain the easily visible bulge of her labia and the dark, curly hairs on the lush mound.
Beverly slipped the panties down-they scarcely made any difference, being transparent all over. She drew one wet foot, then the other through the leg holes, and let the scrap settle on the cement deck. With a sigh of contentment, she settled down into the whirlpool, crossing her long legs and leaning Sack until her breasts bobbed just at the surface of the bubbling pool. She picked up her drink and took a long sip.
Rhonda realized she was staring at the minister's wife. She started toward the pool house, then stopped and started again.
"Come back here, Rhonda," Beverly said. "This feels so damn good!" Her floating breasts had sprinkles of water across the tops, and reflections shimmered across her throat and under her chin.
Rhonda moved uncertainly back. Sometimes she and Martin swam nude, but only at night. They'd never been naked in the whirlpool. With a sudden flash of decision, Rhonda stepped out of her bikini bottom and sat in the pool across from Beverly. She untied the strings that held the tiny top of her swimsuit and tossed the little black triangles onto the decking. She kept her legs together and slid down, her hip just brushing Beverly's knee, until the rushing water rose to her throat. "Ummm-hmmm," she purred, feeling the bubbling froth caressing her skin. "It is nice this way."
Beverly smiled at her. "Isn't it, though?" Holding the sides of the pool with her hands, she uncrossed her legs and spread her feet wide, putting one against each side jet at the surface of the water. Her hair dangled, barely getting wet behind her nape. "Oh, feet! Oh, dear feet, enjoy it while you can!"
Rhonda found herself glancing down at the dark patch of Beverly's pubic hair. Not since she'd showered with the other teenagers at her private high school had she seen a pussy with such trim, close-bunched hairs. The whirling water obstructed Beverly's crotch. Rhonda could see only a patch of dark at the junction of her water-wavering thighs.
Guiltily, Rhonda looked up. Beverly was watching her. Rhonda felt her ears turning fiery red. She shifted her weight, her ass rising from the bottom of the pool as she moved. Her ankles grazed against the underside of Beverly's thigh.
A flutter started in her belly. Rhonda kept looking away from the other woman's face, but from where she sat, there was nothing else to look at but Beverly's body. Rhonda was becoming nervous, and the cool, amused look on Beverly's face didn't help.
Finally, the minister's wife spoke. In a low tone, barely audible above the whooshing roar of the whirlpool, she said, "Is the gate locked? It wouldn't do for some people to see me like this."
Rhonda nodded. She tried to say "yes, it's locked," but her throat wouldn't function. She reached for her drink and took a gulp.
Beverly smiled. "Good. I always loved being outdoors. Days like this, with the sun so bright and warm on my skin. . . . I always feel a little lewder than usual when it's warm." She stretched her arms over her head. Her lush, cone-shaped breasts rose from the water, flattening to make her nipples stand out even further. She stood and walked toward the diving board at the far end of the main pool. "Join me for a couple of laps?" she called.
Rhonda got out of the whirlpool. The invigorating bubbles had waked up her skin. She felt smooth and taut and firm all over, with fresh, youthful blood racing just under the surface of her skin. She watched Beverly's hip-swinging walk, and the naughty little flutter in Rhonda's loins grew.
Beverly's ass was lush, round and full, with a very slight crease at the bottom of each cheek. The way her thighs tapered into the wide, comfortable curve of her pelvis was emphasized by her careful walk. Each of her feet paused on an arrow-straight line, accenting the female sway and rolling firmness of her buttocks.
Rhonda followed Beverly, glorying in the warm sunshine on her skin. Both women glittered as if they'd been sprinkled with jewels. Water dripped from the underswell of Rhonda's tits and from the ends of Beverly's erect nipples.
Beverly stepped onto the springboard. She trotted to the end, then jumped once in the air. Her bosom floated, jouncing once sharply as she hit the diving board and kicked off again. Her sensational legs powered her high in the air as she did a perfect jackknife into the pool. Rhonda caught a glimpse of her ass and legs as she split the water, a picture that burned into her mind while she ran to take her own dive.
It feels better naked, Rhonda decided as she ran to the end of the board. Especially with the sunshine all over me! My whole body feels so alive! I wonder if Beverly's breasts and pussy feel as nice as mine do right now ? She bounced twice on the board.
Beverly came up in the middle of the pool, treading water and grinning at Rhonda. "Hooo! This beats the hell out of the YWCA!"
Rhonda jumped again. The acceleration when the springboard kicked her up made her belly feel excitingly full. Her breasts were like bags full of buttery-soft nerves. Every cell in her titties encouraged her nipples to spring up, hard and alert. Loving the flash of sun on her buttocks and the wet glare of the water in her eyes, Rhonda dove into the pool.
She opened her eyes underwater. Beverly's long legs were bicycling, her hands skimming just under the surface. Rhonda kicked and drove herself right at the taller woman's middle.
With a fluid shock, her face and shoulder intersected with Beverly's waist. Rhonda felt a flare go off in her loins as she bounced away from Beverly. The water rippling over her breasts and along her pussylips was like a million soft hands stroking her whole body into lewd eroticism.
Rhonda came up for air. She was gasping, shaking her head to clear the water from her eyes, when she felt Beverly knock against her. The minister's lusty wife half-curled around Rhonda, then took off with a splashing kick toward the shallow end of the pool.
There had been the unmistakable brush of a nipple against the underside of Rhonda's breast. It felt like the touch had left a brand across the bottom of her lush mound. Rhonda felt the contact burning into her tit even as she started after Beverly on the surface.
Beverly's sleek, slippery form wriggled like a water snake, staying underwater until Rhonda was overhead. Rhonda watched the other woman stop and reverse directions, and she dove.
That was just what Beverly had been waiting for. She swiveled around, coming up as Rhonda went down. Her face flashed across Rhonda's belly.
Rhonda almost choked on the water. Had that been a tongue lashing across her cunt-mound? It felt like it. . . something small and slippery had definitely touched her thigh. She somersaulted off the bottom of the pool and swam between Beverly's spread legs, reaching for her pussy as she shot through.
Beverly closed her legs on Rhonda's as the smaller woman started to come up. With a shriek, she reached behind her and grabbed Rhonda's breast. She fell into the waist-deep water, splashing and screaming with laughter.
Rhonda grabbed for Beverly as they floundered at the bottom of the pool. They were both weightless, suspended just off the smooth floor. Rhonda and Beverly wrapped around each other like mating octopi, arms and legs twining. Their mouths searched and met.
Rhonda didn't know what had come over her. She'd never felt the lewd softness of another woman's mouth on hers, or the firm mounds of female breasts against her own. She clamped her thighs tight around Beverly's leg and held on until she thought her lungs would burst.
Both women floated to the surface, round patches of feminine skin gleaming as they broke water. Rhonda put a foot down first, releasing her thigh-grip on Beverly. She stood up, taking in great, sobbing gusts of air. She passed one hand over her hair and stared in frightened shock at the minister's wife.
Beverly stood up, her skin wet and slippery-looking. Trails of water ran over her face, her round shoulders, her breasts. She moved toward Rhonda, putting her arms out.
Rhonda worked her mouth. She stuttered, "I-I-" She looked around, her eyes wild.
"It's okay, Rhon," Beverly said. "I don't see what you're worried about . . . we are friends, aren't we?" She let her hands sink down to her sides again.
Rhonda looked up and down the tall, sensuous body in front of her. The water rippled just at the top edge of Beverly's cuntal nest. The long, curly strands floated out, separated enough to show the pouting swell of her labia and the slight puffiness of the inner petals. Rhonda tore her eyes away. She felt her own clitty erecting when she thought about the sweet, private softness of Beverly's delectable body. With a low moan, she moved into the other woman's arms.
The water made their skins squeak where they rubbed together. Rhonda's nipples bored into the underside of Beverly's breasts, her pubic arch just touching the outer curve of Bev's labia. She put her arms around the taller woman, her hand sliding beneath the water to caress her asscheeks.
Beverly glued herself against Rhonda. Their bellies and thighs and the rich, warm skin of their breasts seemed to merge into a single mass of warmth. Rhonda loved the softness, the incredible lewd sensuality of feeling another female body against her own. It was almost like touching herself, but touching herself all over with every part of her body. She felt as if her flesh was turning into one lovely puddle of sensuous feelings. She turned her face upward, and Beverly's mouth descended to meet hers again.
The feeling was as soft and fragrant as two orchids clinging and melting together. Rhonda couldn't tell if the tongue in her mouth was softer or wetter than her own. All that mattered was that it was as sensuously female as hers, and it was merging with the thrilled nerves of her mouth.
Rhonda moved her pelvis slowly, lewdly against Beverly. She felt the soft curls of Beverly's pussy rubbing at the base of her belly. A fluid wave of luxurious pussyjuice oozed from her open vagina and merged with the water in the pool. As Rhonda's skin came more fully alive, she felt even the rippling reflections of the sunshine on the water flickering across her back.
Rhonda pulled her lips away from Beverly's soft, gluey-warm mouth. She looked up into the other woman's face, her eyes melting like a puddle of milk chocolate. Rhonda's jaw was slack with the fervent warmth that rose in her like a volcano about to burst forth. She nibbled at Beverly's shoulder, then brushed her lips across the top of the tall woman's luscious bosom.
"Yes," Beverly breathed, stroking the back of Rhonda's head. "Oh, Rhon, that's so beautiful!"
Rhonda stepped back, her hand pressing into Beverly's firm cheeks. "We'd better get out of the pool," she said, her voice high and tight. Her heart pounded like a trip hammer as she led Beverly to the steps.
Rhonda was conscious of every rolling muscle in her body as she stepped out of the water. Her asscheeks felt like glowing masses of hunger with a life of their own. They rose and fell with her swaying walk.
The hot cement burned the soles of her bare feet. Rhonda turned around to watch Beverly emerge from the pool.
Beverly's skin was a little darker than Rhonda's, tending toward olive rather than ivory. Somehow, the contrast between the taller woman's skin and Rhonda's made their touching, in the water or out, more luxuriously erotic. Rhonda licked her lips, her eyes riveted to the narrow vee of cuntal curls over Beverly's pussy.
The plump, soft outer lips of Beverly's pussy moved slightly as she stepped up to the decking. Rhonda could see the inner lips pooching out at the top, where the stiff erection of her clitoris gently pushed a moist triangle of darker pink forward. The tiny fragment looked like a miniature tongue, wet and inviting.
With a sensual moan, Rhonda rubbed herself against Beverly. Her hands traveled up and down Beverly's body, sliding luxuriously from her breasts to her luscious ass and back again.
Beverly shifted in Rhonda's arms, tugging the smaller woman toward the sun-baked cement deck. Rhonda pressed her breasts tighter against Beverly's ribs. Bev's delectable breasts weighted Rhonda's tits down, making her nipples even harder.
Rhonda let herself sink to the cement. The soft, insistent motions of Beverly's hands, squeezing' and caressing her supple curves made Rhonda tremble with lascivious desires.
"Ohh," Rhonda gasped. The hot deck burned her thigh, then her buttocks as she sat down, still holding Beverly. The scalding warmth of the surface communicated itself to her pussy. Her wide eyes stayed on Beverly's, seeking reassurance before consummating the lewd necessity that flooded her loins.
"Lie down here, Rhon," Beverly whispered. She slipped her thigh between Rhonda's and they lay on their sides, facing each other.
Rhonda couldn't get enough of the delicate, feminine feeling of Beverly's skin. She slid her hands from the softly rounded shoulders to the opulent swell of her breasts. The brown-pink towers of Bev's exceptional nipples were as big as a man's thumb when Rhonda caressed them.
The cement baked them from below and the brilliant, eye-watering sunlight heated them from above. The infernos raging in the two women's bodies were amplified by the heat of the summer day. Rhonda raised one knee, opening her legs. Beverly's thigh rubbed against the swampy mouth of her pussy.
The slow motion of the smooth leg against her simmering cunt flesh filled Rhonda's whole torso with lascivious waves of sensuous heat and erotic chills. She slid her hand away from the proud tower of nipple and down Beverly's belly. Hardly daring to actually touch another woman in that scary, intense spot, Rhonda slid her fingertips across the curls of pussy-hair. Tears came to her eyes. The skin and the soft, lusty padding beneath were so sensuously delightful that Rhonda's heart was about to break. She thought she couldn't possibly deserve touching anything so warm and soft and deliciously erogenous as Beverly's pussy.
Beverly's hand kept stroking Rhonda's ass-cheek. Rhonda felt the imprint of each fingertip as the touches moved on her bottom. The caresses were light as feathers, then as demanding as her own ravenous pussy mouth. Even the once-abused ring of her asshole quivered, hoping that Beverly's fingers would brush nearby.
Rhonda moved her hips, moaning low in her throat. She ducked her head, mesmerized by the thought of kissing the long, thick spike of Bev's nipple. Rhonda touched her lips to the side, then the top of the taller woman's breast.
The pure carnal delight of kissing the womanly skin sent soft, lewd feelings all through Rhonda. It felt as if her pussy, kissing Beverly's thigh, and her mouth, on Beverly's wondrous breast, were connected by a living mass of nerves. Rhonda's hips moved in a hypnotic motion, as if just by pressing harder against Beverly's thigh she could make the other woman feel the same sensuous heat that was flaring up in her cunt flesh.
Beverly curled her free arm under Rhonda's neck. She held the smaller woman's face against her bosom, pressing herself tighter against Rhonda.
Rhonda loved it. She gladly would have smothered in the firm delights of kissing Beverly's tits. She opened her mouth in a lewd oval that captured the whole umber circle of Bev's nipple. With a throaty purr, she rolled her tongue around the firm, rubbery tip of the titty.
Rhonda reveled in the sensation. There was a faint hint of female musk in the fleshy taste of the tip. She sucked, feeling the spire throb and grow between her lips. With a playful growl, she let her teeth close lightly on the base of the tiny tower.
Beverly gasped. Her fingers dug into Rhonda's ass like claws, urging her to press against the satiny length of the minister's wife. Her thigh pressed against the warm, juicy slot of Rhonda's pussy, mashing the tender cuntlips into a pad of melting flesh.
The pressure on her clit and all around her hole almost made Rhonda's jaw spasm. She took her mouth off Beverly's breast, afraid that the excitement might make her bite the tasty bud off. She slid her hand around Beverly's pussy, finally daring to cover the warm mound with her fingers.
Rhonda couldn't allow herself to actually insert a fingertip yet. . . that would have been too much, despite the rising fever in her brain. She held the sweet, fatty pad at the top of Beverly's pussy in her palm. With a slight increase in pressure, she moved the mons back and forth.
Beverly's whole body trembled. Rhonda could feel the shocking intensity of the lewd reaction rippling through every one of the woman's muscles. Feeling the power of lewd control over Beverly rising deep inside her, Rhonda pressed her fingertips against the puffy sweetness of Beverly's labia.
The moist, squishy flesh was simmering, coated with slick juices of Beverly's aroused lust. Rhonda moved her palm in a lubricious circle, and a gush of fresh pussyjuice wet her fingers.
The sun and the light breeze had dried the pool water from their skins, leaving both women satiny-smooth. Rhonda smelled the mingled female scents of their pussies and felt the rich, heavy sweat of profane arousal oozing all over her body. She slipped a finger between Beverly's pussylips.
The slick, smooth skin of the hidden valley was like a toothless mouth, gripping and sucking at her finger. The inner labia clung wetly to Rhonda's skin, spreading wider, then closing again as she explored the crevice from Beverly's vagina to the hidden spike of her clit.
Rhonda peeled the triangular hood back from the end of the hot come-trigger.
The lusty little button was stiff as a pencil. In the soft folds of Beverly's cunt flesh, the stiffness and heat from the magic spot made it feel the size of Rhonda's finger. The smaller woman slid her nail lightly around the erected clitty, and Beverly tensed all over.
"Ohhh, Rhon! Oh, baby, take it easy," she whimpered. "I'm going to come if you don't stop that!"
Rhonda wasn't about to stop. The raging progression of feelings that fanned through her flesh when Beverly's thighs mashed her pussy-lips against her pubic bone had the smaller woman all but ready to explode. She slipped her thumb into the soft, swampy valley at the top of Beverly's cuntlips and rolled the slippery little clitty around in the soft, sensuous triangle of her inner labia.
The obvious acceleration of Beverly's lusty hunger infected Rhonda. She clasped Bev's thigh between her own and rode it. Her hips rolled faster and faster. She tried to make her motions catch up with the blossoming flashes of feeling that filled her loins. Desperate, Rhonda covered Bev's clit with her palm and shoved two fingers into the other woman's cunthole.
Beverly screamed, but Rhonda knew it wasn't from pain. Her own breath was burning her throat as she gasped and struggled to force her cunt past the edge of her come. Rhonda's pussyjuice soaked Beverly's thigh completely. It was like grinding her pussy back and forth on a sealskin, slippery and warm and utterly thrilling.
Rhonda moved her finger to and fro in Bev's cunt. She rubbed the heel of her hand upward. The fleshy covering over Bev's clit slid back. The rounded end of the stiff come-button tickled Rhonda's hand.
Wiggling her fingers like berserk snakes inside Beverly's vagina soaked Rhonda's hand with rich, fragrant juice. The salty sweat that covered both bodies greased the contact between their tits. Rhonda felt her pussy tube opening and closing, moving with the same rhythm as the drooling sleeve of woman flesh around her fingers. She put her free hand around Beverly's neck. Their torsos pressed tight, tits mashing together, nipples sliding like tongues on soft skin.
With a gasping, writhing, slippery gush, the cunt-tube around Rhonda's fingers went into the rocking spasms of release. Rhonda felt the meaty tremors flash up her arm from Bev's cunt. They traveled with all the heat and speed of lightning bolts down Rhonda's spine to her thigh-mashed cunt flesh, and exploded.
Both women's breaths wrenched from their throats in wails of agonized frenzy. They thrust their hips toward one another, the racking beat of their orgasms moving them across the sunbaked deck. Rhonda saw the trees and the hedge moving, the bathhouse melting, and Beverly's face pressing against hers. She opened her lips and let her tongue merge with Bev's as her pussy had merged with the long, silky length of Bev's thigh.
Rhonda felt the ring of cunt flesh around her fingers moving, tightening harder and harder as the shared orgasms crested. She didn't know if she could ever get her hand out of Beverly's pussy mouth, and she didn't care. She rode the thigh in her crotch until her muscles felt drained. As their breathing slowed, the molten duel of their tongues and bodies tapered off. Rhonda thought she saw Beverly close her eyes. She went limp on the decking.
A silly thought occurred just as Rhonda's thighs released Beverly's leg. Marty's going to be mad . . . I left the whirlpool running. Rhonda rolled onto her back in the sunshine, her hand resting comfortably in Beverly's pussy. She smiled and let herself drift.
CHAPTER SEVEN
AH through the rest of that week, Rhonda jumped whenever Martin or anyone else mentioned church affairs. By the time Martin came home on the evening his wife and Beverly Cotton had their lusty romp in and around the swimming pool, Rhonda was already disgusted with herself.
I shouldn't have done it, not any of it, she told herself. Her stomach felt sour. A tiny voice at the back of her head reminded, It did feel wonderful, Rhonda.
But it's perverted . . . I degraded myself by starting to-to do THAT with her! Beverly's a minister's wife, for Chrissake! She's led a sheltered life, and now we're both corrupted. I made at least as many advances as she did!
The little voice came back. Rhonda wished she could stifle it . . . there was something immoral, if not positively sinful, about the arguments the little voice presented. Show me where God destroyed any city because the women made love. Beverly should know about that! Besides, what about your Mother's friends, Kitty and Leslie? You don't seem too shocked about them . . . you always liked Leslie.
But there's a big difference! Neither Kitty nor Leslie ever touched me like that. Sure, they used to hug me when we'd see them, but everybody Mother knows hugs people! That . . . affair today was just dirty!
Bullshit, Rhonda. You didn't think it was dirty until you started worrying about Martin coming home. Isn't it a lot less messy than having that horrible lawyer shove his cock into your ass? What about the way semen keeps dribbling out of you for hours? Do you really like to see it on your panties at night?
But that's natural, Rhonda thought. The little voice was starting to make her feel trapped. There was no way to get away from the twisted logic, unless she drank herself into a stupor. Even then, the smart ass voice would probably come back when she woke up. Having an argument with herself and a hangover at the same time would be dismal.
Don't try that crap, Rhonda. We know you don't want to be natural. Living in a cave, pregnant from your first period until you die? No air conditioning, no supermarket ? If you're going to be stupid, I won't talk to you any more.
"Good," Rhonda said aloud.
Martin thumbed the remote control, killing the sound on the TV. "Pardon?"
Rhonda said, "Oh! I was just reading this article about the school recall. They think they have enough signatures to put it to the vote."
"Ummm." Martin pushed buttons, making the television whirr through half-a-dozen stations. He tossed the control in his hand, summoning up nerve. "Honey, I've been checking up on that. Maybe it wasn't a good idea for me to pressure you into helping."
Rhonda stiffened. She set her newspaper carefully in her lap before the shiver at the top edge could turn to audible flapping. Her voice was cold. Rhonda hated herself for the tone. "Yes? Why do you say that?"
Martin looked even more miserable than he had when he'd first told Rhonda about the swap raffle. "We-uh, you haven't been doing as well since this started. I mean, you don't seem very happy now . . . you're tense at night . . . I feel like I can hardly talk to you."
"Oh, I'm quite happy," Rhonda said bitterly. "I'm bloody ecstatic! Now I have something to fill my days, like some jock attorney's cock in my asshole! If that's not enough, I can let some perverted screwball headshrinker try to cook me alive in a rubber suit!"
"Now, honey, please-" Martin began.
"Don't you 'honey' me, you sonofabitch," Rhonda shouted. "You even lied about the raffles being over! How many more tickets did you buy? How many other women around here are you going to fuck before you stop lying to me?" She glared at her husband, her eyebrows pulled down into a knotted line. Rhonda's chin jutted forward. She was not lovely when she was angry.
Martin moved his mouth like a fish out of water. Rhonda cut him off. "You can bullshit Beverly Cotton, but I won't stand for it! You've been staying late in town every night since this thing started! What the hell do you think you're doing? Working your way through the building secretary by secretary?" She stomped across to his chair. "Leave that television alone! My mother bought that, and she can still write a check for your tired old ass!"
Martin slumped. Rhonda immediately put her hand over her mouth. "Oh, Marty, I'm sorry! I didn't mean it!" She touched his shoulder.
Martin reached up to pat her hand. "I am pretty old sometimes." He sighed. "You should have shouted at me before this. It was selfish for me to ask you to help with that raffle. I wanted to stay out of sight as much as possible, so when all the other guys went along, I did too."
Rhonda knelt beside his chair. "You don't have to do everything those Rotary clowns do. They don't matter even a little bit, Marty." She stroked his gray hair.
"I suppose you're right. Maybe I don't have to be so cautious," Martin said. "It seemed like a good habit to develop.
Rhonda leaned her head against his arm. When Martin got that wary, faraway look in his eyes, there was no point in asking any more questions.
Monday morning, Rhonda was resolved to clean the house until it sparkled. She didn't want to so much as look at the pool, much less lounge in the sun. Every time the warm rays bathed her skin, the lewd feelings she wanted to save for her husband surfaced. Well, damn it, it's not funny, she thought. Next thing I know, I'll start going out to pick up men in bars, like Bonnie Fredericks. I have to control myself!
Wouldn't that be a sight, a married woman my age masturbating in her back yard! I should put all that energy into housework!
Rhonda heard the postman drop the mail through the front-door slot. She went into the entryway to pick up the letters. Everything seemed normal, except for a single thick envelope, hand-addressed to her. Rhonda took it into the living room to open.
Rhonda Tracht almost fell through the floor, expensive Oriental rug and all. A fistful of color photos slipped from between the folds of a single sheet of heavy paper, color photos of her, stripped to stockings and garter belt, with Roy Shores' prick halfway into her ass! Rhonda dropped the pictures, then fumbled on the rug to pick them up. With her fingers shaking, she unfolded the letter.
Dear Mrs. Tracht, it read. This is the first roll of film we've taken of you. If you would like your father and mother to see this and the series featuring Mrs. Cotton and yourself, we will be happy to forward them. If you prefer to leave your behavior a secret between you and your partners, come to TelePhoto Systems at three p.m. Monday or Tuesday. Bring cash$500 per negative. The note was unsigned.
Rhonda counted the pictures. Every one was slightly different, but every one of the twenty showed an unmistakable lusty glaze in her eyes. There was no doubt at all that the tall man's cock was in her ass, either . . . the angle showed the stretching of her abused rectum as plainly as Rhonda had felt it. Just looking at the photographs made Rhonda's anus ache.
She checked the time. How would she explain to Martin? Why should I? I don't know about the ones with Bev, but this batch is certainly Martin's fault!
Rhonda looked up the address of TelePhoto Systems in the phone book. Damn! I told her we would be safe. I have to buy those back . . . Randy could be defrocked or unfrocked, or whatever they do to ministers. Depewed? I can get the money, but if Mother checks the account. . . . How could I tell her what I needed ten thousand dollars for?
Rhonda looked at the buggery pictures again. I'll show them to Marty. He'll buy them back if he ever wants to get on good terms with Mother and Dad.
Rhonda dialed the number listed for Tele-Photo Systems. When the answering service picked up the phone, she couldn't think of a message. Rhonda tried to flounder about names, hoping the operator would tell her who owned the company, but it didn't work. She hung up knowing just as little as before she called. Rhonda put her chin in her hand and gazed past the pile of pictures, wondering what to do.
After considering her options, Rhonda decided to get down to the bank and draw out the cash. Shivering at the thought of Martin's birthday present going up in smoke, she drove to the shopping center.
The teller at the bank was more than a little surprised when he saw the withdrawal slip. He conferred with the manager, who shot looks at Rhonda from a desk across the room. She set her jaw and waited until the apologetic clerk brought her money to the window. Looking over her shoulder as suspiciously as an embezzler, Rhonda went out to her station wagon.
Her heart nearly stopped when she saw Martin drive by. Rhonda tried to remember if she'd hidden the pictures or left them in the living room. She shrugged-Martin was going to see them soon enough.
At twenty minutes to three, Rhonda headed the car toward TelePhoto Systems. Her stomach was churning as she drove. She tried to calm herself-she'd been checking the mirrors more than the road.
The address was in a tacky little "industrial park"-rows of shoddy-looking new plywood buildings, with pastel doors the only difference between one row and the next. The parking lots were full of lumps and big potholes from settling asphalt. Rhonda weaved her station wagon from side to side, looking for the suite number she'd copied from the telephone book.
A magnetized plastic sign was nailed to one of the lurid orange doors in the fourth row. "TelePhoto Systems . . . Security and Surveillance." Rhonda parked the wagon and tried the front door.
It was locked. She went back to the car. It was only five of three. Rhonda wished there were a restroom handy . . . her bladder threatened to betray her.
A man walked up to the side of the station wagon. He tapped on the glass and Rhonda jumped. She rolled the window down a few inches. "Yes?" Her heart stopped for an instant, then thudded heavily. She recognized the man.
"You bring the money?" he asked.
Rhonda pulled away. She was trying to think of where she'd seen him. "N-not today," she stammered. With a start, she remembered. It was Roy Shores' investigator, Will Pricer!
Pricers' eyes narrowed. "Why'dja come? You tryin' to set me up?" He put his hand on the door handle. "I got plenty more pictures sweetie." he said menacingly.
"I want to see the pictures of Mrs. Cotton," Rhonda said. Her voice quavered. "I-I have to make sure you have them, that they're . . . "
"It's all inside," Will Pricer said, jerking his head toward the office. He opened the car door and Rhonda stepped out.
She followed him across the lumpy asphalt.
The man dragged a single key from his trousers and opened the door. It stuck at the bottom. He kicked it, grunting as he shoved.
Rhonda looked around. The dingy little box she found herself in was barely big enough for the two of them. A narrow hall led back toward splotches of white paint. "Wh-where are the pictures?" she asked. The musty smell of the cubicle and the deserted feeling in the air frightened her.
Pricer stumbled back into the hall. He found a light switch. "Come on, lady. I got 'em right back here."
The light in the hall made the little office seem even smaller. One room they passed had a telephone, dusty from disuse, sitting in the middle of a postage-stamp of wall-to-wall carpet. The next room was dark, but the third had a bright overhead light already burning. Rhonda looked at the ancient wooden filing cabinet. That must be where he keeps his blackmail evidence, Rhonda thought. She followed him in.
Pricer rummaged in the top drawer of the cabinet. He pointed toward a straight-backed chair with his chin, and Rhonda sat. She held her purse in her lap with both hands. Rhonda was glad she had hidden the money in the car.
A loud whoosh, like a distant fighter plane snapping on the afterburner, made her jump. "What's that?"
"Toilet." Pricer pulled a brown envelope out of the drawer. "Now, I ain't got the negatives here, but I did make up some prints today. I didn't know if you wanted your momma to know about you and that dykey Cotton bitch or not. Wanna see 'em?" He held out the envelope. "They're real snappy. I could make a bundle sellin' 'em."
Rhonda grabbed for the envelope. "Yes, I want to see them!" She opened the clasp and shuffled the pictures out.
The photos hit her harder than the first set had. Will Pricer had put them in order, beginning with an excellent, flattering rear shot of Rhonda in her skimpy bathing suit. The photos went from there through Beverly's removing her clothes, both women diving into the pool, the splashing, playful wrestling and their kisses. Rhonda quickly checked the last one.
She and Beverly lay naked on the cement, their legs still intertwined. Rhonda's fingers were blatantly stuffed into Beverly Cotton's crotch, and sated smiles of sensual exhaustion covered both faces. She stacked the photos back together. "All right."
Rhonda wanted to concentrate on what the paunchy man was saying, but her mind kept going back to the episode with the minister's wife. Seeing the pictures had brought back the soft, firm warmth of Bev's skin and the lewd excitement they'd shared. Rhonda shifted in the chair.
"How soon can you gimme the money?" Pricer asked. He stuffed the pictures back into the container.
"I don't know," Rhonda lied. "I don't have that much." She licked her wide, sensuous lips. Her pussy quivered as she asked, "C-could we work out some kind of deal ? I . . . "
Pricer's baggy green trousers showed a prick bulge rising. He pulled the photos out of the envelope again and looked at them. "Ya wanna blow me while I think about it?"
Rhonda's fluttering pussy leaked juice all over the crotch of her panties. She moved off the chair, kneeling in front of the investigator. She fumbled with his zipper.
The blunt end of his cock poked straight up toward her face when she tugged the organ out. Rhonda put her hand around the shaft. Her nipples poked into her bra cups like two jabbing fingers. She ovaled her glossy-wet lips and slid them onto the end of his cockhead.
The fleshy feeling of his glans excited her. Rhonda slid her lips back and forth on the wide knob before she took the whole head into her mouth. Her free hand unsnapped his trousers, then went around his waist and down across his ass.
Rhonda moaned as her lips enclosed the prickhead. She ran her tongue around the spongy end and sucked lightly, relishing the way Pricer's knob swelled larger in her mouth.
Will Pricer said, "Lift up your skirt." His voice was breathy.
Rhonda reached back and flipped her skirt up over her buttocks. The man's belly touched the top of her head as he leaned forward. With an obscene thrill, Rhonda felt his fingers intrude under the waistband of her panties. The man began stroking her ass.
"Come on, sweetie," he said. "Suck me real good. You gotta please me . . . Daddy might cut you outta his will." His fingers dug in at the soft line where her buttocks met her thighs.
The half-painful pressure moved Rhonda forward. She took more of his prick in her mouth, rolling her tongue around the knob. Saliva filled her mouth, lubricating her lips and tongue. Rhonda bent her neck to the side, taking his cock deeper yet.
She had to swallow the saliva that was building steadily around his thick, salty cock. Rhonda worked her tongue along the sides of his shaft, then felt it sinking further into her throat as she gulped. One of his fingers slipped around her rectum.
Rhonda bobbed her head back and forth, sliding back until only the head of his prick was in her mouth. She rotated her head again, pressing the flat side of his cockhead against her palate.
"Tha's better," he said. He began to stroke his prick slowly in and out of her mouth. He stripped her panties down to mid-thigh and rubbed his fingers along the soft, liquid warmth of the base of her pussy.
Rhonda felt her excitement rising. She slid a hand around his balls, fondling the heavy, hairy sac like a bag of precious diamonds. She moved her other hand up and down on his cockshaft, slow strokes that tightened the cock skin under her lips.
The pleasantly full sensation in her mouth made Rhonda hungry for more. She slithered her tongue around the, swollen shaft, then sucked mightily until she had half the long meat in her mouth. She made a swallowing motion with her tongue, and felt a tremor move along the shaft.
Saliva leaked from the corner of her mouth as she pulled her head back. Rhonda ran her silky tongue along around and around the spit-slick cockhead, diving briefly into the slit at the end.
The heavier, mustier taste of his cock lube seemed to spread through her mouth like a cloud. The flavor soaked into the tissues of her palate, her gums, even her lips. Rhonda knew that the prick would stay in her mouth until it shot, and that wouldn't be long.
With a moan that nearly drowned around the cock in her mouth, Rhonda felt two of his fingers wiggle into her pussy. She arched her back, bearing down to open her hole further.
The assaulting fingers moved in and out with the same rhythm as the prickhead stroking in her mouth. She rolled her ass in a lewd circle, sucking harder at his knob. The hot spike of her clitty was completely erect, sending flashes of heat up her spine every time the fingers stretched her greasy cuntlips. The slithery little inner petals dragged electric tension across the sides of her clitty. Rhonda's knees were shaky.
All the rushing blood in her body seemed to concentrate its heat in her cuntlips and her mouth. Rhonda sucked faster on his prick. Her hips rolled like a carnival ride, working the tight, hot flesh of her cunt sleeve against his twisting fingers.
Will's cock rammed harder into her mouth, battering the back of her throat. Rhonda wanted to feel it beating against her womb, feel the broad flare of the glans stroking her cunt-walls. She gargled around his prick, her slack lower lip letting spittle flood down over her chin. She squeezed his balls.
Rhonda hadn't imagined that she could let a man like this, a sneaking, evil blackmailer, use her mouth to fuck. Her mind was offended, somewhere far from the pleasure centers that sucked harder as he fucked harder.
His balls swung faster with every stroke. Rhonda had to release them. She felt the hot, greasy sac slipping from her fingers. She let go of the meaty ovals. They bounced against her chin, the same way as other balls had bounced against her asshole or her cunt. She clamped down on the fingers that rampaged in her hole.
Rhonda put both hands on his asscheeks. She forced his cock to ram against the constricted ring at the top of her throat. Every battering, piston-like thrust of his plunging cock sent flares of lusty heat down into her pussy. Rhonda felt his meat thicken as he pulled back. Only the top half of the cockhead was in her mouth. She sucked vigorously at the tip, lashing her tongue into his come slit.
With a grunt as if his balls were being bludgeoned, Will Pricer drove his prick in. The swift motion and the gobbling downstroke of Rhonda's mouth watched the rude jab of two more fingers into her cunthole.
Her cunt mouth spasmed just as a thick, bitter load of come blasted into her throat. Rhonda gagged, pushing his prickhead toward her lips. Her cuntal tube clamped on all four of his fingers like a vise and she struggled to swallow the heavy, puckery-tasting cream.
The man's prick seemed to be full of gallons of semen. Again and again the stringy masses of fluid spattered into her mouth. Rhonda felt it spraying from the corner of her lips, dribbling down her chin. She sucked him deep again, wrapping her lips tight around the neck of his cockshaft.
Rhonda couldn't control the lusty motions of her body. The hand in her cunt drove the walls and even her fluttering asshole into quivering spasms. Flashes of demented sensation took over, moving her body like a storm-tossed chip of wood. Her tongue and throat contracted rhythmically, even when the wads of spunk had ceased shooting from his slow-thrusting prick-head. Rhonda held the wide knob in her lips until the tapering waves of her orgasm let her slide limp to the floor at his feet.
The sucking pop as his fingers left her vagina sent one last racing jolt of sensation through Rhonda's drained body. She rolled slowly onto her back. Her panties held her knees up, half-open. The crimson gash of her cunt flesh was shiny with juice, and a long trail of Will's semen ran from the corner of her mouth to the shoulder of her dress. She stared up at him, her jaw slack, licking at the stringy white come on her face. With an effort, she asked, "What about the pictures?"
Before he could answer, Rhonda closed her eyes. When she opened them again, Will Pricer had disappeared.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The first thing Rhonda did was pull her panties up and go to the old filing cabinet. She tugged at the handle of the top drawer. It was locked tighter than a bank vault.
Rhonda immediately thought of the ten thousand dollars she'd stashed under the spare tire in her station wagon. She hurried out to the front office. Her car was still there, windows up and lock buttons down.
"Mr. Pricer? Will Pricer!" she called. Rhonda looked out the front door, but there was nobody at all in the space between the tacky little plywood buildings.
Rhonda didn't know what to think. Pricer obviously had the keys to the filing cabinet, and she needed to get that film away from him. She went back down the hall, stopping for an instant to stare at the locked cabinet. "Damn him," she hissed under her breath. The flimsy chair was obviously too light to smash into the cabinet with. Rhonda stalked resolutely across the carpet. Maybe she could wrestle the cabinet out to her wagon and hack it open at home.
Rhonda bent over to tug at the lowest handle. She wrapped her fingers around the greening brass and yanked. It moved about an inch. She set her heels in the rug and started a steady, even pull.
Rhonda moved the cabinet about a foot before it hung up on a bump under the carpet. She stood to walk around. It felt top heavy. Maybe she could shove it onto its side and manhandle it out the front door.
One of the buttons on the telephone lit up. Rhonda stopped pushing just as the edge of the cabinet rocked free of the floor. Stealthily, Rhonda punched the lit button and lifted the receiver.
The unhelpful voice from the answering service answered just as Rhonda got the handset up to her ear. With her heart already pounding from the exertions against the filing cabinet, Rhonda heard a familiar voice ask for Will Pricer. It was Martin!
"He's not available just now, sir. Whom should I say is calling? the operator asked.
Rhonda felt a foreboding heaviness in her bowels as Martin said, "This is Roy Shores. I need to get in touch with Will immediately."
"Oh, Mr. Shores! I'm sorry, Counselor, I didn't recognize your voice at first. Mr. Pricer said he'd be at the lab. Do you have the number?"
Rhonda put the phone down. She had to get those pictures of her lusty interlude with Beverly out of the cabinet before Martin came. She put her back against the filing cabinet and her feet against the wall. With a muscle-straining shove, she toppled the heavy wooden box to the floor. The massive weight of the contents cracked the frame when it hit.
Rhonda picked herself up from the floor. She tried the handle again, but the crack down the side of the frame hadn't split the wood enough to free the lock. She was just straightening to pull the cabinet toward the hallway when she heard a door open.
Rhonda froze. There was no place to hide in the tiny room. She was still crouching next to the fallen cabinet when Roy Shores stepped in, followed by Greg Fredericks.
Rhonda stood up very slowly. Roy Shores looked like the very wrath of God as he stared at her. The balding dentist behind him was no cheerier.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" Roy snarled. His big hands rose as if to strangle Rhonda.
Rhonda backed away, sidling around the cabinet. "Uh, huh, M-mister P-pricer asked . . . told me to . . . " She looked at the dentist's glowering face. "I . . . he took pictures of . . . "
Greg Fredericks grabbed the tall attorney's arm. "Roy, what's she talking about? Those pictures were our insurance! I told you not to trust that rummy!"
"Shut up, Greg." Roy Shores looked worried for a moment, then his face cleared. "Tell me about the pictures," he asked pleasantly. "Exactly what kind of thing are you talking about?"
Greg Fredericks started to say something else, but Roy gestured to quiet him again. "What pictures, Mrs. Tracht?"
Rhonda didn't know what to answer. Maybe the two men didn't know their helper was shaking her down for two sets. Which set did they know about? "He-he had some . . . Oh, please don't ask me! I just feel rotten about it! If my parents ever . . . "
Roy Shores glared at his little partner. "Please, don't be upset, Rhonda. Will does work for me, you know. I could get the pictures from him when he comes back. He knows that I won't tolerate anything illegal-I am an attorney, and I respect the law above all," Roy told her.
Greg Fredericks tugged at Roy's arm. The taller man bent down, shooting glances at Rhonda while he listened to Greg's murmurs. Roy asked, barely audibly, "What about Charity?"
Greg muttered some more. Roy nodded and went to the telephone. "Why don't you take Mrs. Tracht into the back room?" he suggested before he began to dial.
Rhonda moved quietly to Greg's side, then followed him down the hall to a larger room. She didn't resist when the little dentist put his hands under her skirt. If it would get the pictures away from Will Pricer, she would fuck even pudgy, hateful Dr. Fredericks.
He slipped her panties down, his thick fingers lingering on the long, silky-smooth taper of her nyloned thighs. Rhonda was stiff as a board, even when he gently insinuated his fingers into her still-wet pussylips.
"Take off your dress," the little man urged.
Rhonda fumbled with the buttons. She was getting more practice at daytime disrobing than she cared for. Now, if it were Bev here with me, she thought wistfully.
The little half-cup bra showed in the shadowy dimness of the unlit room, accenting the creamy white of her breast-tops. Rhonda stepped out of her dress and folded it carefully.
Greg Fredericks had already stepped out of his pants. His leathery-looking prick stood up at a forty-five degree angle, a little drop of cock lube glistening in the slit. He jacked slowly at his cock, adding, "The bra, too."
Rhonda reached back to unhook the bandeau. Her breasts lifted and separated as she undid the back, then her cleavage came together again when she leaned over to slip it off her titties. She dropped the bra on the dusty floor.
Greg walked over to her. She could just see the shining top of his head between the sparse hairs he'd combed so carefully over the dome. The top of his head was just at the level of Rhonda's upturned nose. She winced when he grabbed her snatch, as crudely as he'd take a fistful of liver from a butcher.
"That's good," he said, kneading the tender flesh of her labia between his fingers. His middle finger slipped into the narrow slit between her cuntlips and tickled toward her cunt-hole.
Rhonda didn't care for the way he was touching her at all. Even when he bent his head to suck at her tits, his teeth scraped across the sensitive ends of her nipples. She stood with her arms at her side, putting up with the coarse handling.
Greg gnawed on one nipple, then the other. In spite of her numb revulsion, Rhonda found the constant pawing and sucking bringing the three hot spots of her nipples and clit to erection. She spread her knees slightly.
"You're a cold bitch aren't you?" Greg complained, lifting his mouth from her tits. "You're never gonna hang onto a man if this is the best you heat up."
Rhonda reached for his prick. She squeezed the shaft hard, digging her nails into the smooth, hot/soft skin. "What does Bonnie say about this? Is this the famous prick that drove her crazy for every other cock in town?"
Greg backhanded her, knocking Rhonda's face to the side. "Shut up, you cunt! What goes on between me and that worn-out twat is none of your business!" His finger wrenched at Rhonda's pussylips, tearing some of the hairs at the edges of her slit out.
Rhonda hissed. She let go of his prick. The pain in her crotch was as bad as the pain she'd felt when Roy Shores had fucked her ass.
"That's better," Greg said. He stared up at her, then methodically slapped her tits with his open hand.
The meaty thwacking hurt Rhonda's ears nearly as much as his hand hurt her breasts. She leaned away from him, unable to move her feet. The rugged grip of his fingers on her cunt flesh kept her legs and hips in one place.
With alarm, Rhonda realized the blows on her tits were arousing her. Her breasts heated up as the blood rushed to the surface. When her nipples were fully erect, the vibrating recoil of her flesh from the repeated slapping sent shivering signals to her cunt. Fresh, musky fluid oozed onto her labia. The fingers in her crotch began to feel better, even though the pressure and the constant gouging made her want to pull away.
"Touch my cock," Greg said, "and touch it right!" He stopped slapping at her breasts.
Rhonda reached down to his crotch again. She ran her palm slowly over the head of his dick, then circled the shaft with her fingers. She stroked up and down, matching the rhythm of his pulls at her cunt flesh.
"That's right, that's fuckin' exactly right," Greg gloated. He put his hand on her ass, smoothing his palm over the smooth curves. He sank down to the dusty floor. "Now ride me," he ordered. "I love seeing a tightass rich cunt ride my cock."
"Will I get the pictures?" Rhonda asked, kneeling above him. Her breasts swayed enticingly as she spoke.
"If you're good to my prick," Greg said. He reached up and twisted one of her nipples.
Rhonda straddled his loins. She reached for his cock with one hand, pointing it up toward her pussy mouth. Slowly and carefully, she parted her cuntlips with the other hand and settled down onto him.
"That's fine, just like that," Greg encouraged. His hands roved over her tits and slithered across her ass like small sweaty animals.
Rhonda felt the head of his cock spreading her pussylips wider, then parting the soft folds of her cuntwalls. After sucking Will Pricer's cock and having her cunt reamed by his fingers, she liked the sensation of having a prick where it belonged. Her pussy really needed the true, hot thickness and rigidity of a cock, even though she could come in dozens of other ways.
Rhonda looked up. She saw Roy Shores coming into the dark room. She settled further onto Greg's cock. After all, Roy had already buggered her in his office. Why should it matter if he watched her riding on Greg's prick? She looked down at the supine man beneath her and moved her hips in a sensuous circle.
Rhonda began to enjoy his prick more, even though lazy Greg wasn't moving it at all. When she circled, it corkscrewed further into her belly, levering around against her tight cuntal grip.
Rhonda's tits felt heavy, full of warmth and lust. She swayed her whole torso in an erotic motion, moving as bonelessly as a smooth, shimmering fur sliding off a model's back.
"Yes," Greg groaned. He put his hands on her tits again, matching his kneading, caressing motions to the sensuous sway of the lush mounds. He lifted her tits from the underside, and Rhonda leaned forward. His lips opened as if they would take her nipples in. Any bit of stimulation that would increase the growing lewdness in her body was welcome.
When his lips did slide erotically over her left breast, then her right, Rhonda thought the heat in her belly would double in seconds. She almost forgot about getting the pictures back as she slid her pubic bone around on his belly. The rod in her cunt stirred around deliciously, stimulating every nerve and muscle inside the smooth, wet tube.
Rhonda felt his prick stiffen inside her. She was surprised that the pudgy dentist would be ready to come so soon. She tried to slow the insistent motions of her hips, but the accelerating lewdness in her pussy made the walls of her cunt sleeve tighten. She put her hands on Greg's shoulders, then lay down on top of him.
Rhonda straightened her legs. She lay full length on the man, rolling her shoulders to press her nipples tighter against him. She felt hands on her ass, seeming to urge her on. With a sudden shock, slippery and vulgar, a finger went into her rectum.
Rhonda moaned, "Oh, yesss," and the finger stroked back and forth. She felt her whole body turning into a greasy, warm mass of slippery flesh, as if her cunt had spread to cover all of her skin. She rolled and rubbed against Greg's chest, his belly, even squeezing her thighs between his.
A heavy weight settled on her back. As long as it pressed her closer to the man writhing under her, Rhonda didn't care. She gasped, shoving her pussy mouth down onto the base of his prick as the finger withdrew from her asshole.
"AAAAOOWWWW!! NNNOOO!! " Rhonda screamed. A thick, greasy mass of cockhead was pressing against her asshole! With a sickening pop, it thrust past the tight ring of her rectum and slid into her guts.
Now she was impaled on two cocks at the same time. Rhonda cursed and struggled, but Roy's strong hands held her down. One big hand pressed against her ass, the strong fingers spreading her cheeks further. The other hand held her shoulders down like a bug pinned to a display case. She couldn't move, except to roll her hips back and forth against the twin rods that jammed into her.
The lusty fullness in her cunt and the obscene stretching in her asshole combined. Rhonda felt the thin wall between the two pistoning cocks sliding back and forth, rubbed on both sides at once. Her control let go, and burning piss flooded her cunt.
The salty urine splashed audibly onto Greg's legs. It scalded the irritated tissues of her cuntlips like liquid fire. The incredible writhing motion of the pricks in her ass and cunt was all but forgotten as Rhonda felt shame flood all over her.
Greg cursed, biting at her shoulder. The pain in her ass and the tearing agony of the teeth locked onto the side of her neck sent Rhonda into berserk spasms. She couldn't tell if she were coming or dying. The cock in her ass bloated to monstrous proportions. She knew it would explode in her shitter any second.
The biting, cursing, violent man under her bucked up at her cunt like a bull. The savage thrusts and the tension in his whole body told her that he was coming. Rhonda couldn't feel the jetting sperm, with the mass of cock in her ass and the teeth locked on her shoulder completely overloading her brain. All she knew was that after the first horrendous blast of stabbing prick into her cunt, the cock in her asshole rammed clear to her guts. As all her muscles spasmed in agony and release at the same time, Rhonda felt Roy's prick explode.
The cocks jerked madly, separately, in her flesh. Rhonda's torn asshole and tortured cunt couldn't keep up with the high speed thrusts of the two spewing pricks. She trembled, her arms and legs flailing to match the fury in her crotch.
Rhonda heard a voice weeping and screaming. Huge gusts of air tore at her throat. She bruised her feet against the dirty floor.
The cock in her cunt had stopped spearing into her at last. Greg lay immobile as her cunt flesh milked at his prick. Rhonda felt the head of his cock shrinking between her cuntwalls while Roy's prick still shot off.
The violent stabs of his meat into her asshole had all but split her in two. She couldn't stop the motion of her hips. Rhonda faintly realized she was coming, that she'd been coming since his prick had first fucked into her ass. The greasy mass of cock in her rectum and the soggy, melting penis in her vagina both stilled, moving only as her tapering motions and the tight fit of her holes forced them back and forth. With a single gasp of fatigue and cunty satiation, Rhonda went as limp as the men sandwiching her.
Greg moved under her. "For Chrissake, Roy," he mumbled, "you're crushin' me."
The cock in her ass began a slow slid outward. Rhonda opened her mouth wide, feeling the incredible suction her bowels exerted on his cock. "Oh, please," she whimpered. Any stimulation of her ass or her cunt threatened to make her start coming again, and Rhonda knew she couldn't stand that. She gritted her teeth and lay as limp as she could on top of the dentist.
The motion of the cock in her ass stopped, then jerked out with a pop that threatened to disembowel her completely. Rhonda said, "Owww, you sonofa-" Her eyes went wide with shock. Martin stood in the doorway.
CHAPTER NINE
Martin reached for the switch on the wall. With a snap, the dim room was flooded with light. He didn't say a word.
Rhonda wanted to disappear through the floor. She'd never seen the expression on Martin's face before. His eyes were slitted, glittering like wet black rocks. He looked like a sculpture of pure anger.
Roy Shores blustered, "What are you doing here? I can have your ass in a twenty-year sling for breaking and entering!"
Greg Fredericks craned his neck. He shivered under Rhonda when he looked up into Martin's flaring nostrils. He pushed his hands against her shoulders, trying to squirm out from under her. His cock went limp as a bootlace and squirted out of her cunt. Rhonda stood up. Covered front and back with the men's sweat and come, she stepped toward her husband. "Marty, I . . . "
Martin quieted her with a chopping gesture of his hand. He was totally different from the mild, forgiving husband whom she had lived so happily with for the last eighteen months.
"Well, what have you got to say for yourself?" Roy Shores said. Greg Fredericks crabbed sideways across the floor and tugged on his pants.
Martin spoke slowly, pronouncing every word with great care. "I should kill both of you right now." He reached into his coat slowly.
Roy Shores, his cock flapping obscenely, backed toward the wall. "The police will be here any minute. There's a silent alarm," he warned. "You don't have a chance to get away with it."
"What do we care? Shit, Roy, we'll be dead!" Greg yammered. He reached toward Martin with both hands, pleading as the front of his slacks fell open. "Please, Martin . . . this is the first . . . Look, I don't care what you do with my wife! You were in on the raffle! You know we just did it for the kids, for the school! I never . . . "
Martin's expressionless face changed. He looked at the dentist with a mixture of pity and disgust. The pity faded. He pulled his hand out of his inside pocket. He dropped a folder full of pictures on the floor. "I don't kill people any more."
Rhonda glanced down at the pictures. It was definitely Greg Fredericks and his assistant Charity in every one of the dozens of frames. They were fucking in his Porsche, in the dental office, in an open field, in every position imaginable.
Greg scuttled across the floor. "Where did you get these? They-they're faked! I'll sue you!"
Roy reached for his trousers. "Maybe your wife should get dressed. The police will be here any time."
"They aren't coming;" Martin said flatly. "There's a junkie holed up in a pawnshop twenty miles from here. All the cops are at the shootout." He looked down the hall and gestured.
Two nondescript men, casually dressed, appeared behind him. The larger of the pair said, "Yes, Len-Mister Tracht?"
Martin asked, "Did you deliver the prints to Mrs. Fredericks?" The men nodded. "Good. Put the tall one with Pricer. Make it look like two separate accidents."
"Yessir, Mr. Tracht," the speaker said. They both advanced into the room and took Roy Shores by the arms. His rugged, lined face paled as he tried to pull away from the strong grip.
"Hey! What are you doing? This is assault! Let go of me, or you'll find out the consequences!" The tall man kicked as they lifted him half a foot from the floor.
Rhonda watched the men carry Roy out. "Marty, what are you going to do with him? What's going on?"
Martin's face relaxed slightly. "Oh, I won't do anything to him. I'm retired from all that." He scooped up her dress from the floor. "Put some clothes on, honey. We'll talk about it when we get home."
Rhonda stepped into the dress, moving slowly. Her muscles were beginning to cramp up. "I want to talk about it now! How do you know the cops won't come?" She buttoned the front of the dress.
Martin put his arms around his wife. "I just know, that's all. Come on. We have to plan dinner for your parents tomorrow night."
Rhonda moved down the hall with him. "But there's a school board meeting tomorrow.
You're supposed to report on the recall motions after."
"Rhonda, I don't think we have to worry about the school board until we get custody of Gary. Even Greg Fredericks won't be worrying about it any more. With Shores gone, he's the sole owner of the option on the school-ground property. I don't think Bonnie's lawyers are going to let him hang onto it."
Rhonda's head was buzzing. "You mean that whole recall campaign was just for him and Roy to make money ? I had to sleep with everybody in town to help make them rich?" She stopped and went back. "Where's the file cabinet that was in here?"
Martin laughed. "Don't worry about that, Rhonda. John and Walter disposed of the contents. The only ones I saved were the batch Pricer took of Greg. Pricer and Charity figured that they wanted a bigger piece of the four million than Greg was going to give them."
Rhonda walked out of the shabby little office with her husband. "Then why all the rest of the pictures? And where did those two men come from? I never saw them before in my life!" She looked around. "Where's my car? Martin, somebody stole my car."
"It's back at the house. I don't think you're in any condition to drive." Martin opened the door of his coupe. "Let's go home. I'll make you a nice little drink and some dinner while you soak in the whirlpool."
"You can't cook, Marty! You don't know how!" Rhonda flounced her skirt as she sat in the car.
"How do you know, honey?" Martin said as he climbed in. He waved through the windshield to a man in a caterer's truck and started the motor. "Maybe I'll call out for a pizza."
Rhonda frowned. As the shiny-paneled truck preceded them out of the parking lot, she thought, Mother was right, but I don't care. If Marty really wants my son to live with us, anything she says doesn't matter.
Martin flicked the headlights on and off as the truck pulled onto the freeway ramp. "Well, all the favors owed me are paid. If I ever thought I'd have to call on-"
Rhonda interrupted him. "Martin, I don't want to hear about it. You're retired, remember?" She leaned against his arm contentedly. The whirlpool would feel good.
