With bold cunning, and the instincts of a wolf, Paul Latham, respectable psychologist with a passion for the perverse, snares the prettiest and most vulnerable women patients into his web of lust, transforming them from problem-plagued individuals to wantons willing to bare their bodies as well as their souls.
It is with the understanding of his wife, gorgeous herself, that Paul practices his own brand of therapy. Herself a hedonist, the green-eyed redhead sees nothing wrong with her hump-happy husband combining pleasure with business. All she asks is that he have anough left over at the end of the day to give her the treatment she so adores.
And believe anyone, especially those who walk out of his office, Paul Latham had plenty for everyone!
CHAPTER ONE
Savoring the sexuality of the moment, the promise of pleasure sublime propelling deliciously lewd thoughts through his mind, Dr. Paul Latham shucked his baby-blue boxer shorts and tossed them in the direction of a straight chair, upon which already rested, in a crumpled heap, a blue undershirt, a white, V-necked pullover, a soft yellow summer sports coat and a pair of expertly-tailored, cerulean trousers.
Bare-assed naked now, he straightened up and turned toward the queen-sized bed he shared with his outrageously desirable wife, Valerie, clamping his hands on his hips as he fixed his hazel eyes on her near-nude form. He smiled, the knowledge that the gorgeous creature now sitting on the edge of the bed would soon be blowing him, her satiny lips sliding wetly over his aroused genitals, sending another quiver of lusty anticipation up his spine.
"And just why is the good doctor smiling?" asked Valerie, a beautiful grin washing over her smooth, unblemished face. "What's going on in that devious mind of yours now?"
"Can't a man take a minute to admire his stunning spouse, Mrs. Latham?"
"Of course he can, darling. But that lecherous little smile of yours suggested more than simple appreciation."
"Really?"
"Really. Your head is just full of deliciously filthy thoughts tonight, isn't it?"
Paul chuckled softly. "You have only yourself to blame, my sexy darling. You inspire a man's imagination."
"Is that a compliment, luv?"
"What else?"
Valerie winked at her handsome forty-year-old husband, her need for that beautiful hunk of flesh now dangling between his legs increasing with each passing second. She squirmed her pantied ass on the bed and brought her left hand to the juncture of her warm, creamy-smooth thighs, her fingers dripping down into her crotch to feel the dampness there.
Directing a tantalizing smile at her husband, Valerie commenced a delightful lewd massage of her sheathed snatch, her busy fingers teasing talons as they pawed her pussy. She leaned back a little and braced herself with her right arm, at the same time spreading her legs for her masturbating hand.
She played with herself unashamedly, her shapely hips in slow, provocative motion as she rubbed up her itching cunt. Up and down her hand moved, fingers digging deep and pressing the white cotton briefs into the moistening slit of her womanhood. The naughtiness of what she was doing gave her almost as much pleasure as the realization that she was lubricating nicely.
"You know something, Mrs. Latham," Paul said, his voice huskier than usual. "You are one very wicked, wicked woman."
"Married to one very wicked, wicked man," Valerie countered with a saucy smile.
"Are you going to play with yourself all night?"
"I'm getting myself ready for you, darling. My pretty little pussy is getting all nice and gooey for your beautiful cock."
Paul grinned. "That'll be the day when my wife has to prepare herself manually."
"And what's that suppose to mean, lover?"
"It means you're the kind of woman who's ready to fuck at the drop of a hat. One peek at a good-looking guy and you're creaming in your panties."
"Can I help it if I'm always horny?"
"I wouldn't want you any other way, beautiful. Now what do you say we get down to business."
"Business?" Valerie said coyly, feigning innocence.
"The business of sucking my pecker."
"Oh, so that's what you have in mind."
"Among other things. Do you think you're ready now to give me one of your expert blow-jobs?"
"I'm always ready to blow you, honey. Mmmm, I can taste him already."
Smiling, Paul Latham advanced to the bed as his voluptuous wife stopped fingering her itching twat and pulled herself up so that she was once again sitting erect on the edge of the bed, feet planted firmly on the floor. Valerie was indeed a helluva good-looking woman, he thought, again acknowledging the fact that without her to come home to he would be a less than happy man-even with all the messing around he did at the office.
His wife was a true beauty, as desirable now, at age thirty-four, as she had been when he first fucked her ten years ago, six months before they decided they might as well make everything nice and legal. And she was just as eager to get laid these days as she had been on her wedding night.
With her silky, Titian tresses sensuously caressing her neck and shoulders, and eyes like glowing emeralds, Valerie was a sight for the most jaded voyeur, a visual feast for all but the blind and hopelessly impotent. And when attired in something especially provocative, in an outfit that really accentuated her luscious, 38-26-36 figure, then it was that men stopped and stared and, almost worshipfully, as if mesmerized, marvelled at the wonder of her prick-thickening pulchritude.
"For a man intending to fuck the night away, you don't have a very hard pecker," Valerie noted, smiling up at her husband as he positioned himself in front of her. "I had hoped Mr. Cock would jerk to attention as you watched me play with myself."
Paul grinned. "Guess I've just got great self-control, sweetheart."
"Either that or you screwed yourself silly today with one of your hot-to-trot patients."
"All my female patients are not hot-to-trot, you know."
Valerie chuckled. "They may not be when they begin analysis, lover, but they are after several sessions. You make damn sure of that."
"It all comes under the heading of treatment, Mrs. Latham."
"Sure it does."
"I'm a professional, remember? And a professional strives for perfection in his work."
"And you're dedicated, too," Valerie added, playing along with her husband.
"Absolutely," Paul grinned. "I'm a hard-working psychologist dedicated to curing the confused and distraught."
"You're a crazy practitioner of passion, that's what you are," Valerie teased, as she brought her hands up from her lap to commence a gentle caress of her spouse's hairy thighs. Lowering her gaze from his face to the still flaccid prick less than a foot from her lips, she added, "You're a nasty old doctor who believes the mental health of his female patients depends on his dicking them dizzy."
"What a cruel bastard I am," Paul intoned softly, looking down at his succulent wife as he began smoothing down her flowing titian tresses. "I suppose you've lost all respect for me.
Valerie looked up quickly, the most mischievous of smiles lighting her beautiful face and her green eyes twinkling. "I love you with a passion, Doctor Latham. You're so devious it's delicious!"
Paul chuckled. "If that's so, then why aren't those lovely lips of yours wrapped around my cock yet? I said before it was time to get down to business."
"Time to go down, you mean," Valerie corrected.
"Just start sucking, Mrs. Hot-Pants."
"Yes, sir. Your wish is my command."
With that, realizing the time had come to end the silliness and turn serious, Valerie gave her full attention to the task at hand. It was a task she loved well, this stiffening of her husband's prick with her talented tongue and vacuuming lips. She loved the sense of power that would wind its way through her as she munched gluttonously on Paul's pecker, treasured the warm, slimy taste of his organ in her mouth and thrilled to the feel of it as it slowly but surely hardened inside her saliva-laden oral cavity.
Holding her husband's hips, Valerie leaned forward and proceeded to nuzzle her face against his dangling dick, slowly moving her head in such a way that the limp organ brushed across her eyes, nose, mouth and chin. She took a deep breath, inhaling the strangely-intoxicating aroma emanating from her mate's crotch.
"You do love your cock, don't you, beautiful?" Paul said, a broad grin washing over his face as he continued to lovingly stroke his wife's silken hair.
"Mmmm, it's delicious," Valerie purred.
"Suck it, baby. Get it nice and hard for me like a good little girl."
Valerie drew back just a little, her right hand trailing down from Paul's left hip to tenderly envelop his flaccid manhood. Lifting the penis carefully, as if it was a rare and fragile object d'art to be handled gently, with love, she puckered her full, ripe lips and planted a soft, moist kiss on its plum-shaped head. With her teasing tongue she tickled the tiny vertical slit in the center of the head, the slit from which would spew all that rich, creamy semen she loved sc; well.
Then, after running her tongue all around the thick crown, coating it with sticky saliva, she parted her lips and without further delay plopped Paul's pecker into her mouth. She began sucking immediately, pulling on the warm, tasty tool with her pursed lips and drawing more and more of it into her oral cavity.
"Yes, baby, yes," Paul said thickly. "That's my girl. Gobble it all up like candy."
"Mmmmm," Valerie hummed around the delicious pecker filling her mouth.
The titian-tressed beauty worked on the fleshy root with all the skill and dedication expected of a high-priced call girl, her head bobbing and weaving sensuously as she sluttishly stuffed her hungry mouth with the thickening organ. She couldn't wait until the fat, snake-like pecker was tumuscent and pulsating madly, its swollen length bloating her cheeks and stretching her jaw.
Paul, his hands resting now atop his wife's constantly moving head, stood as quietly as possible, and savored the wonderful sensations flowing through him. Val, he thought, was just a fantastic fellatrice, the consummate cocksucker. He had yet to meet a woman who brought such expertise, such wicked abandon to the exciting sport of fellatio. And this included the many women he had met through his thriving practice.
Valerie's magnificent tits strained against the white bra confining them, the blood-congested, pebble-hard points of her nipples trying to poke through the material as she slobbered over her mate's thickening, lengthening meat. The crotch of her panties was damp with desire, the sticky sex juices seeping from her aroused vagina to make of her crotch a sodden mess.
But it wouldn't be long now, she told herself. Paul's prick was almost fully erect, its bulbous head bumping against the back of her throat as she sucked hungrily and wallowed in the wicked wonder of this obsequious homage to his manliness. Another minute or so, maybe less,-and she would be able to feel in the wet, snug confines of her hungry mouth the pulsating power of her husband's totally tumuscent cock.
"Oh, baby, that's good," Paul husked, struggling to stiffle the urge to snap his hips forward and ram his saliva-coated manhood down his spouse's beautiful cocksucking throat. "Keep it up, honey. Do me good. Ohh, yeah, like that."
"Gaaargh," Valerie said, again trying to speak with her mouth full, her head now in rhythmic bobbing motion as she hungrily vacuumed her husband's prick toward her throat.
"Don't stop, baby. More, get it all. Oh, sweetheart. Oh, you cocksucking bitch...."
The wet slurping sounds made by his stunning wife as she sucked on his blood-fattened prick added to Paul's pleasure. He looked down at her and through eyes glazed by passion watched as she worked her beautiful magic.
To come in her mouth, or not to come in her mouth, that was the question, he thought. How thrilling it was to send his cream gushing into Val's hungry mouth and then watch as she gamely attempted to gulp it all down, the viscid product of his passion bubbling over her lips and dribbling down her chin as she swallowed rapidly, like one with a fierce thirst.
Then again, how thrilling it was to cream his well-sucked pecker deep into Valerie's wet, clinging cunt, hear her joyous moan of pleasure when he made that first bold thrust into her mushy, pulsing pussy. To lose himself in Val's gorgeous body, to cradle his head on the warm, spongy cushions of her eye-popping breasts while hammering his hank to the very depths of her slushy box, was sheer, unadulterated bliss.
As Paul considered his options, weighing the pleasure of coming in his wife's mouth against spilling his gooey seed in her velvet-like, hotly-gripping vagina, thinking, too, that it had been some time since last he ass-fucked her, Valerie continued her licentious laving of his bloated bone.
She had it all now, a fully erect seven-inch prick to suck to her heart's content, and she was making the most of it. Up and down her head bobbed, her tightly pursed lips hotly hugging the slippery spear of flesh. She sucked with abandon, with unmitigated delight, her left hand still glued to Paul's right hip, three fingers of her right hand curled around his turgid member at its hairy base.
Would Paul elect to splash her throat with his creamy semen, she wondered. Would she once again have the pleasure of drinking down his delicious load? Or would he decide to make her cunt happy by stuffing it chockful of beautiful prick? Maybe he was of a mind to give her the kinky thrill of a sound fanny-fuck.
Not that it made much difference. Whichever opening Paul chose was alright with her. In fact, were he so inclined he could spend his come in one of her ears. Now that might be a really way-out kick! It was one of the few things they hadn't tried in ten years of sexual experimentation.
"Oh, baby, that's the greatest," Paul rasped. "Suck it, sweetheart. Suck it raw, dammit."
Valerie groaned and then, without warning, pulled Paul's wet cock from her mouth. "Oh, I love you, I love you," she breathed hotly, worshipfully, pure adoration in her voice and expression as she fondled her husband's sparkling prick.
"I'm going to fuck the blazes out of you tonight," Paul promised.
"Yes, I want you to. I need it, darling. But first ... "
Leaving the thought unfinished, Valerie once again brought her sensuous lips to her spouse's blood-fattened pecker, this time to bathe it with a series of soft, moist kisses. Her lips trailed up and down the shiny shaft, from bulbous crown to hairy base and back again.
She took her left hand from Paul's right hip and brought it down between his legs, cupping his balls in loving embrace as she nibbled on his tasty stalk of flesh. As she squeezed the hairy testicles, bounced them playfully in the palm of her hand, her experienced tongue snaked from between her lips and she began a lascivious licking of her husband's powerful hard-on.
She licked up and down and all around the delicious dick, her teasing, swirling tongue a cunning serpent as it coiled around the organ's pulsating fullness. Like a child determined to devour her ice cream cone in record time, Valerie worked quickly and without pause, spending but a moment at one place before moving on to sample the taste of another.
With the fingers of her right hand still curled around Paul's manhood, steering it this way and that, she proceeded to swab the plum-shaped head with her tongue, bathing that knob of flesh with still more saliva before taking it briefly between her lips for a few scintillating seconds.
Then again she was on the move, lifting the steel-hard prick now and diving face first into her husband's crotch, her head slipping under the prick as again her tongue flicked out, this time to punch, probe, and finally soothe, with broad, sweeping strokes, Paul's wrinkled scrotal punch.
Paul emitted a moan of pleasure, his head lolling on his neck as Valerie, propelled by lust, mashed her face even harder against his crotch and fed her reaching tongue to his anus. Then it was back to her husband's scrotum, upon which she munched like a ravenous mouse, inhaling the pungent aroma of his aroused genitals as the wispy curls sprouting from the dangling sac tickled her nostrils.
Paul, his knees turning to jelly, his mind clouded by lust, endured the erotic oral caress of his genitals until the pleasure became just too much to bear. He had made his decision. He didn't want to come in his wife's mouth, at least not this time. Perhaps later, after he had hosed down Val's vaginal walls with a gushing spray of his thick cream, he would suggest that she suck him hard again, this time ingurgitating his passion product. If he knew his wife, she'd be all for the idea.
Valerie had started sucking her husband's cock again when she felt his fingers which had been entwined in her flaming tresses, suddenly tighten on her scalp. The next thing she knew she was being yanked away from his loins, his well-washed manhood plopping from her gripping lips with a lewd popping sound.
"Enough, baby," Paul husked. "I can't take any more of that."
Valerie tossed back her lustrous red mane and cast eyes brimming with desire up at her husband. "Where do you want me, Paul?" she asked excitedly. "How?"
"On the bed-on your back," her husband shot back. "Get those damn things off."
Wasting not a moment, Valerie pushed herself up off the bed and with trembling fingers reached around in back for the clasp of her brassiere. Seconds later, her heart beating fast, she was tossing the constricting garment aside and then quickly inserting her thumbs into the elasticized waistband of her cotton briefs.
When she was bare-assed naked, her creamy-smooth, oh-so-fuckable body in hot, anticipatory quiver, the titian-haired bombshell jumped back onto the bed, flipping over onto her back and twisting and turning into a comfortable position before spreading wide her sleek, well-formed legs.
"Come to me, Paul," she said hoarsely. "I need a fucking so bad. I'm burning up down there."
"I'll fuck you, sweetheart," Paul promised, a faintly feral smile on his face, his right hand wrapped around the pole of saliva-laden flesh protruding majestically from his aroused loins. "You're going to yell your beautiful head off."
"Do it, darling. Fuck me silly."
For a fleeting moment, as her husband clambered up onto the bed and maneuvered into position between her legs, Valerie savored the strong physical appeal of him. This man of hers, she thought, was a really terrific-looking stud, attractive in a rugged, all-man sort of way.
It was no wonder his female patients, or most of them, anyway, were willing to bare their bodies as well as their troubled souls for him. No doubt the younger ones thought of him as a kind of father figure-and wasn't it true that every little girl dreams of laying her dear daddy? The more mature women were probably turned on by what they believed to be Paul's genuine interest in their distrubed psyches.
All this aside, what female could resist her husband's charm and dashing good looks? He had but to give a girl that beautiful sexy smile of his-the one that suggested oodles of experience and a desire to add to his list of conquests-and she was wetting her panties in eager anticipation.
Six-foot-one, one hundred and seventy-five pounds, with warm, hazel eyes, and casually-combed long hair the color of cinnamon-that was the man she had married. And that was the man who, today, at age forty-one, could still send her into paroxyms of pleasure with his pussy-pleasing, seven-inch sword.
And how she wanted that sword now!
"You're going to get it good, baby," Paul husked, braced now on hands and knees over his supine spouse, his bloated prick, in pulsating readiness, poised to penetrate her swampy snatch.
Valerie squirmed under him. "Don't talk, Paul, do it. Fuck me hard and long. Don't tease me."
"Who's teasing, baby?"
"You are, dammit."
"Am I?" A lewd smile creased Paul's dark-complexioned face as he nudged his wife's waiting womanhood with the bulbous head of his turgid organ. Although eager to plunge his cock into the hot, mushy cove that was Valerie's vagina, he enjoyed delaying the inevitable for just a moment or two while his wife, locked in passion's strong embrace, squirmed her luscious five-feet-six-inches under him and begged for her banging.
"Oh, you bastard," Valerie moaned. "I could kill you."
"You want it now, huh, sweetheart?"
"Yes, dammit. Yes!"
"Will you ask me nicely for it?"
Valerie glared up at her teasing mate. "You're a big turd, you know that?"
"A what?"
"You heard me."
"That wasn't very nice, darling. You shouldn't-"
"Paul! Will you shut the hell up and stick it in me?"
"Right this minute?"
"Now!"
"Ask me nicely and-"
"No, I'm not going to play that stupid game tonight. I want your prick, Paul. Now shove it up my belly, damn you."
"Right up to your beautiful throat, Mrs. Latham."
Valerie muttered an epithet and hungrily reached down for her spouse's meaty member, her hot hands clutching its pulsating fullness. A deep-throated moan of lust rumbled up from her throat as she pushed up her shapely hips and, with trembling fingers, attempted to funnel Paul's cock into her sizzling cunt.
"Please, oh, please," she whined. "Fill me. Stuff me with prick."
Paul allowed his passion-drenched wife to wedge about an inch of his manhood into her viscous vagina, the feel of that syrupy cove gripping his tool, sucking it in, killing whatever intention he may have had to continue toying with Valerie's lust. He had not choice now but to push himself all the way inside her slushy sex chute.
"Alright, baby," he breathed hotly. "Here it comes. You asked for it."
"Give it to me, Paul. All of it."
Paul proceeded to do just that, a groan of intense pleasure sailing from his lips as he fed his wife the cock she craved, one smooth, even stroke sending his eager manhood tunneling up into her quivering belly. He held himself in check for several scintillating seconds, still braced on hands and knees with his bloated prick snugly ensconced in his mate's molten womanhood, savoring the familiar yet utterly delightful feel of Valerie's clutching cunt.
"Oh, Paul, I love it. Now I'm complete-stuffed with your beautiful cock."
"Hang on, baby. This is going to be fast and furious."
"Yes, do it. Fast and deep. Bang me to heaven, Paul."
Paul dropped down onto his gorgeous wife, his hard, hairy chest mashing against the spongy fullness of her succulent breasts as he began stroking his rod in and out of her happy twat. Valerie uttered a moan of delight and wrapped her arms around Paul's hard back. She drew up her legs and then splayed her knees.
"How is it, Val? Good, huh?"
"Wonderful. Beautiful."
"Tell me, baby. Talk to me."
"It's good," Valerie gasped. "I love it, Paul. I love your marvelous cock."
"You want more?"
"Much more. Harder. Deeper."
Spurred on by his own lust and his wife's urgent pleas for the plowing of her life, Paul slammed his blood-thickened cock into her steaming vagina again and again, his tight, sperm-packed scrotal sac spanking the puckered port of her anus with each jolting thrust of his tool into her copper-colored cunt.
In and out he pistoned his prick, hard and fast, his fingers digging into the pillow under Valerie's head. Breathless grunts of pleasure popped from his lips as he delivered the meat to his hungry mate.
"Go, Paul, go," Valerie pleaded huskily. "Fuck it raw, you beautiful stud."
"Up your tits, baby," Paul rasped.
"Give me, give me. Deeper, baby. Hurt me."
Paul's taut buttocks bobbed and weaved crazily, like a buoy adrift in a storm-tossed sea, as he plunged his rock-hard pecker to the delightful depths of Valerie's slushy sex canal. He felt his wife's sharp fingernails digging into his back and knew that before long she would start clawing him, raking those nails across his flesh and possibly drawing blood as she threw herself into the soul-searing fires of a roaring orgasm.
"More," Valerie grunted. "Faster-harder."
"You hot-assed bitch," Paul growled.
"Fuck this bitch. Screw her crazy."
Soon it was that Valerie fell to babbling like an idiot, gutter words and the foulest phrases imaginable tumbling from her lips in an unending flow of steaming vulgarisms. Her face, flushed and contorted by lust, bore absolutely no resemblance to the one she presented to the world outside.
This savage litany of lust, this vile verbal onslaught, was of sufficient depravity to trigger Paul's orgasm. Belts of exquisite joy shocked his nervous system as he reared back and delivered to his lust-demented mate a final flurry of bone-jarring thrusts, the last of which had his scalding semen streaking through his trembling tool and gushing into Valerie's quaking vagina.
CHAPTER TWO
"Miss Mendell, you may send in my next patient now," Paul said into the intercom on his large mahagony desk.
A girlish giggle was the response from the voice on the other end.
"Miss Mandell, I said you may-"
"Oh, Paul, you don't have to be so formal. There's no one out here waiting to see you."
"No?"
"Nope. Here I sit, all by myself, slowly going bananas over this stupid old electric typewriter. I don't know why you took away the beat-up portable I was using."
"How many bills have you typed up, Mary?" asked Paul, a small smile on his face.
"None."
"What?"
"I can't help it, Paul. This clumsy old thing refuses to cooperate and I keep making mistakes. I'm sorry."
Paul sighed. "I told you, Mary, that I wanted all those bills typed up and mailed out by noon today. Now here it is almost twelve o'clock and you tell me you haven't even addressed one bill yet. Is that what you call efficiency?"
"I said I was sorry, didn't I?" Mary said, turning just a wee bit huffy. "If it'll make you happy, Paul, I'll work my lunch hour and get these fucking bills completed."
"It would make me happy, Mary. And listen, watch your language out there, will you?"
"I told you I'm all alone, boss."
"I know, but if you get in the habit of talking dirty when you're alone, you might just slip up one day and say something in front of a couple of patients. And that wouldn't go far toward creating a proper impression, now, would it?"
"No, I suppose not," Mary answered meekly. "I promise to be more careful."
"Good. You can save all those naughty words for when we're alone."
"When we're fucking, you mean."
"Mary."
"Ooop, I did it again. Sorry, boss. Maybe I feel like talking dirty because I'm so horny for you. I have an itch betwen my legs that you just wouldn't believe."
Paul couldn't force back the grin that spread over his face. "Mary, my sweet, you always have an itch between your legs. Sometimes I think you were born playing with yourself."
"Now who's talking naughty, Doctor Latham?"
"Alright, let's forget it, baby. Now tell me why you're alone in the reception room. How come Mrs. Jennifer Wagner hasn't yet planted her beautiful behind in one of those cushy chairs out there? Her appointment was for eleven-thirty, wasn't it?"
"Right. But Mrs. Wagner and her beautiful behind will not be gracing your office today."
"How come?"
"She phoned to cancel her appointment-said something about a small emergency that had arisen suddenly."
"A small emergency?"
"That's what the lady said."
"Did she go into details?"
"Nope. But she didn't seem too upset. She apologized for canceling the appointment and asked if she could be rescheduled for some time tomorrow."
"So?"
"So I told the lady with the fair fanny that she could have the hour between two and three tomorrow. Does that sit all right with you, boss?"
"Sure. Now tell me-"
"You didn't get it, did you?"
" Get what?"
"I described Mrs. Wagner as having a fair fanny and then asked if her new time slot sat well with you. Sit and fanny, get it?"
Paul shook his head and grinned. "Mary, you're an absolute riot. You should have been a comedienne instead of a psychologist's secretary."
"As a matter-of-fact, I've often thought of going on the stage. Not as a comedienne, but as a stripper."
Paul chuckled softly. "I agree, baby. You're much better at taking off your clothes than you are at telling jokes."
"Mmmm, and you should know, Doctor," Mary purred.
"Have I told you lately that you're an insatiable little minx, Miss Mandell?"
"Not lately, lover."
"Well you are, you know. Now if you can take your mind off sex for just a minute, I'd appreciate a rundown of my afternoon appointments."
"Okay. Hold it a sec while I dig out the appointment calendar. It should be right, mmmm, that's funny. I could have sworn I flipped it back into the center desk drawer after changing Mrs.-"
"Mary, you haven't lost the damn thing, have you?"
"Of course not. Just have a little patience, will you?"
Paul muttered a curse under his breath and then began an impatient tapping of the desk with the fingers of his right hand. A picture of his saucy secretary rummaging through her cluttered desk for the missing appointment calendar popped into his mind. He could see her there in the outer office, her sweet little ass in excited squirm on the desk as she pulled open the drawers and foraged about in their contents.
Why did he keep her on, he wondered. Mary was inefficient, rather lazy, quick to complain and even quicker to take a day off when the mood struck. To put it simply, his secretary was as dumb as she was desirable-which was very.
But here, of course, lay the answer to the question posed, Paul admitted to himself. The only reason he didn't send Miss Mary Mandell scurrying to her place on the unemployment line was because of her desirability. In plain language, he resisted the sometimes strong urge to fire her because to do so would mean the loss of a scrumptious piece of ass.
And if nothing else, Mary was that. A scrumptious piece of ass with an appetite for sex any man would find positively delightful. She could be snotty, at times downright nasty, but when she swiveled into his office, her prick-stiffening curves obscenely defined by the tight, breast-hugging sweaters and blouses she always wore, her taut, rounded rump snugly encased in a colorful mini so short it lifted eyebrows on the street, then it was that he forgot about her sloppy secretarial work and concentrated on her cunt.
At the moment, however, all he wanted from his secretary were the names of those patients he'd be counseling in the afternoon.
"Mary, what the hell are you doing out there? How could you misplace something as important as-"
"Oh, wait a minute," Mary interrupted. "I just had an idea."
Paul's eyes rolled in their sockets. Again he found himself waiting for the sound of Mary's voice to come over the intercom.
"Okay, I found it," his secretary announced triumphantly.
"Good. Where was it?"
"In the wastebasket."
"In the-"
"It must have fallen off the desk and into the basket when I wasn't looking."
"Alright, Mary," Paul sighed. "Just tell me who I'll be seeing today."
"Well, let's see now. MMmmm...."
"It's Wednesday, Mary."
"I know what day it is, Doctor," came the curt reply.
Good for you, Paul thought.
"Okay, here we go," Mary said authoritatively, as if preparing to read from a highly-technical, complex manual of some sort. "You can expect a visit from Brian Reese at two o'clock and one from Ruth Lane at three-fifteen. Your last appointment of the day is with that teenage brat, Christine Clements. She's due to saunter in here at four-thirty."
"That's it? Just three appointments?"
"That's all, Doc. Sounds like an interesting afternoon, huh? I mean, you'll be talking to a guy with an Oedipus complex, a middle-aged dame who's terrified of growing old, and a filthy rich, snot-nosed kid who has been arrested six times for shoplifting. Now that's what I call a cast of characters."
"I wish you wouldn't make fun of my patients, Mary. I never should have let you talk me into showing you my files. The information in them is supposed to be strictly confidential."
"You know you can trust me, Paul, sweetheart. Tell me, have you laid the Lane dame yet? Something tells me she's aching for that nice juicy pecker of yours."
"You think so, do you?"
"She's a natural, isn't she? A forty-four-year-old spinster who's afraid of getting old isn't about to turn down a chance to put a little excitement into her otherwise drab existence. Who knows, Miss Lane might even be a virgin. Wouldn't that be a real fuckinger, I mean, wouldn't that be something?"
"If I find out, I'll let you know, alright? Now why don't you get back to work on-"
"I've never met a dame that old who was still intact down there. Imagine going through life without getting humped at least once? Hell, I lost my cherry when I was fourteen, Paul."
"You're to be congratulated."
"Don't be sarcastic. It so happens that I was seduced when under the influence of alcohol. The guy was a senior at Cloverdale High and-"
"Some other time, Mary, okay?" Paul interrupted, suddenly very tired of listening to his secretary's voice. On top of her other faults, which at times severely tried his patience, Mary would on occasion turn chatterbox, rambling on and on ad nauseum about events in her life she regarded as trmendously important and of interest to the whole world. She could talk a blue streak about the most trivial matters, pausing only ocassionaly for air. And yet-yet, she was one helluva good lay.
"Don't you want to hear all about my getting fucked--er, that is, seduced at the tender age of fourteen?"
"Maybe later. Right now I'd like you to get back to those bills. Buzz me when you're finished, alright?"
"How would it be if I stayed late tonight and typed up these bill,"
"Why do that when you can work on them now?"
"Because just talking to you has made my itch worse. Would you believe that I've got a hand up under my skirt at this very moment. I-ohhh, that feels so nice. Paul, I'm so sticky down there!"
"Take your hand from your crotch and put it on the typewriter, Mary. Maybe we can get together after my last appointment."
"Not till then? I don't know if I can hold out that long. I'm leaking all over the chair, Paul."
"Will power, baby," Paul suggested with a small grin. "You'll just have to exert a little self-control."
"But you haven't done it to me since Monday. How am I suppose to concentrate on my work when I'm horny as hell?"
"Try."
"Why can't we do it now? You have over two hours to kill before that Mama's boy, Brian Reese, walks in. That's plenty of time to-"
"I'm not going to kill time, Mary," Paul explained, a touch of exasperation in his voice. "I want to look over the file on Reese and run the tape of our last interview."
"That's not going to take two hours," Mary persisted.
"I also thought I would eat lunch. That is, if you have no objections."
"Lunch? How about eating me instead?"
"Mary."
"And you can stuff it up my ass, Paul. You know how much you like banging me in the behind."
"Mary, will you-"
"And I'll eat you, too. After you've pulled your cock from my shitty rectum I'll get down on my knees and-"
"Enough, Miss Mandell," Paul shouted into the intercom. "If you behave yourself and get those bills out, we might just be able to squeeze in some fun and games before the day is through. Now, over and out."
"Over and out," Mary said sadly, softly, sounding as if she had just lost her very best friend.
A broad grin washed over Paul's face as he settled back into the swivel-rocker behind his large desk. The little bitch was just too much, he thought. She was probably pouting now, calling him every name under the sun as she struggled to master the electric typewriter he'd purchased to give the outer office an extra touch of class.
Well, let her suffer out there. By the time he got around to plumbing her pretty pussy, she'd be hotter than an exploding firecracker, her vagina twitching and salivating like crazy. Maybe he would take her suggestion and plug her pert fanny. It had been a while since the last time he explored the deliciously snug channel of Mary's rectum.
She liked it in back almost as much as she did in front. In that respect, his secretary was very much like his wife. Valerie, too, derived perverse pleasure from a good, strong ass-fuck. How she would moan and carry on as he sawed his turgid prick in and out of her clasping-shit chute.
Val had moaned and carried on last night, Paul remembered with satisfaction. He had fucked her to a fare-thee-well, smashing his cock into her pulsating cunt with all the strength he could command as she spewed filth into his ear and urged him on to even greater effort.
And at the end, in a mind-blowing finish, she had rent the air with an animalistic howl of utter joy, raking her sharp nails across his back and biting down hard into his shoulder as her flowing come washed over his imbedded prick. Then, a little while later, she curled up into a ball at his side and fell asleep while tenderly mouthing his limp, gooey organ.
Yes, it had been very, very good, Paul mused. Of course, sex with Val was almost always very, very good. Just being married to her was great, as great as was the life he had carved out for himself since his graduation nineteen years ago from good old State University, a Bachelor of Science degree in pscyhology under one arm.
There weren't too many men his age who could say in all honestly that they were completely satisfied with things as they stood, that they harbored no regrets over opportunities missed or chances not taken, that all those dreams they had dared dream had come true, thus making the desire for more something of an absurdity, the wish of a truly avaricious individual.
But he could say all these things and mean every word. All those goodies which, when properly blended, formed the good, satisfying life, he had in abundance. And what made it especially sweet was the fact that he had no one to thank for his successful and fulfilling life. He had done it on his own-with an occasional assist here and there from fate, of course.
Getting started had been tough, Paul recalled, but hard work and perseverance had paid off in the end. He had had to work his way through college, holding down not one but two jobs while at the same time trying to maintain a B-plus average so that he could apply to a respectable graduate school.
The year spent in graduate school had not been without its good moments, but again he had had to work to pay his tuition, running himself ragged as he heeded the demands of a six-days-a-week job and attended the required seminars. Many were the nights he spent burning the midnight oil, cramming for tests, preparing carefully-documented theses, his besieged brain trying to absorb the theory-laden and sometimes ambiguous studies of behavior found in his psychology and sociology texts.
Finally he was ready to challenge the world, a Master's degree resting alongside his B.S. After obliging Uncle Sam, who dressed him in army fatigues and shipped him off to Korea for two years, he accepted a position in a clinic, where for six years, as an overworked, underpaid Clinical Psychologist, he studied the behavior of hundreds. To make ends meet he returned to school, this time to teach Psych I at a nearby college and suffer the pseudo-intellectualism of students already convinced that Freud was wrong about everything.
Yes, those were the tough years, Paul mused. Everything didn't start to fall into place until he opened his own practice. If he had one small regret, it was that he had not hung out his shingle earlier. Then again, the time spent at that clinic had proved very worthwhile, enabling him to test and expand upon the theories learned in school while he established a solid reputation for himself as an imaginative psychologist unafraid of hard work.
It would be eleven years next month since he interviewed his first patient in this office. Hard to believe, but true. The years had flown by, one following the other in rapid succession, and now here he was, still healthy as a horse, still wanting to fuck every pretty girl he saw, comparatively young, and with nary a problem to trouble his mind.
His annual income was something he still found hard to believe. Of course, when one's services were rendered at the cost of fifty dollars per hour, and when one had more patients than time to counsel them, it stood to reason that the money would just keep piling up and up.
It was because of his lucrative practice that he owned a fabulous house in the heart of ultra-stylish Ocean Grove, one of the wealthiest and most beautiful residential communities in the entire state. A rambling split-level ranch it was, one he had built to his specifications for a cool sixty-nine thousand dollars.
The willingness of his patients to lay out fifty bucks for an hour's visit enabled him to drive to his handsomely-decorated, pine-paneled office in a cream-colored Cadillac, which at home could usually be found parked in the specious driveway alongside Valerie's two-year-old, fire-engine red Triumph. How he loved to slip behind the wheel of that powerful automobile and drive to work, thinking, as he savored the splendor of the passing scenery on his way to Crestmont, a community almost as pleasing to the eye as Ocean Grove, of all the pathetic, problem-laden people he would see during the week.
But enough of this, Paul thought, jerking himself back to the present as he pushed up out of the swivel-rocker. It was time to get back to work. He would run the tape of his last interview with Brian Reese, study once again the man's case history, and then grab a bite to eat.
Unfortunately, his afternoon would not be as interesting as he had thought it would be. It was a shame that Jennifer Wagner had cancelled her appointment, for he had been looking forward to treating her as she so loved to be treated. But at least the lovely Mrs. Wagner hadn't decided to stop seeing him. She would be in his office tomorrow and he would be ready-ready to again 'help' her with her little problem.
In the meantime, there was always his sexy secretary, Paul reminded himself, smiling inwardly as he slipped the tape he had gotten from a locked cabinet onto the recorder. Mary could always be depended upon in a pitch.
"What's up, Doc? As if I didn't know."
"It's not up yet, baby," Paul said with a grin. "But close the door and we'll see if we can't remedy that situation."
Mary smiled sardonically. "So now the good doctor is horny, is he?"
"I'm ready to do some scratching, Mary. You did say you had a really annoying itch, didn't you?"
"That was before noon-almost five hours ago."
"So?"
"So suppose I've changed my mind. Maybe I just don't take to the idea of having to wait for what I want."
"What did you do, sweetheart? Sneak out for a quickie during the afternoon?"
"I was sorely tempted, Doctor Latham," Mary answered.
Paul chuckled. "C'mon over here, Miss Smart-Ass, before I get up from this chair and-"
"Threaten me and I quit," snapped Mary, cutting her employer off in mid-sentence.
Paul looked at the sassy brown-eyed brunette standing a few feet from his office door, her hands jammed onto her hips as she struck a defiant pose. For a fleeting moment he considered going over there and getting the uppity little minx, dragging her by the hair across the office and flinging her, face down, over his large desk.
A good old-fashioned mean fuck could always be counted on to take the starch out of Miss Mandell.
But why bother, he asked himself. There wasn't any need to expend that kind of energy. Mary would come to him of her own volition. In a few minutes, and quite possibly less than that, she would tire of this little act of hers and start peeling. Her need to get humped would catch up to her desire to get back at him for making her wait.
He'd just play along with this five-foot-four-inch package of pulchritude and see how long she could control the demand of her cunt for hot, thick cock.
"Well, Mary, if you don't want to get laid, you may as well leave. By the way, I assume you managed to finish that stack of bills for me.
"They're finished."
"Good." Paul took his eyes away from his sexy secretary and pretended to be interested in clearing his desk as he shuffled a few loose papers together.
Mary shifted her weight from one foot to the other, an expression of disgust on her pretty face as she stared at her employer. "You know something, Doctor," she said finally, "you can be a real louse at times."
Paul looked up from his desk. "Who, me?"
"Yes Paul. You. I have a good mind to walk out of here and go home to Jack."
"Jack? Who's he?"
"My boy friend, that's who."
Paul grinned. "The latest one, you mean. What happened to the bloke you were going with?"
"Tim? He left me for some pill-popping slut he met in a coffee house."
"Too bad."
"Not really. I was getting tired of Tim anyway."
"How long did you know him?"
"About five weeks."
"And you got tired of him after just five weeks?"
Mary shrugged. "I like variety in my sex life."
"That's the understatement of the year, sweetheart," Paul declared with a smirk. "You go through boyfriends faster than most women go through the day's wash."
"It's going to be different with Jack."
"Why? Does he have a twelve-inch prick?"
"Funny, Doctor. Very, very funny. It just so happens that I like Jack Talbot very much and may even decide to marry him."
"Oh?" Paul's smile faded just a little. The possibility existed that if his secretary-receptionist married this jerk Jack, he would lose her services, professional and otherwise. He would miss the maddening little minx, he thought. Well, that wasn't exactly right. What he would miss were those moments spent screwing her silly.
"Jack has just one very bad characteristic trait. He's terribly possessive and gets almost violent if I so much as look at another guy."
"That could be bad," Paul opined.
"You're telling me. When I happened to mention that I had laid you, he flew into-"
"What? You told this character about us?"
"It was an accident, Paul. I mean, we got into this bad argument and just to hurt him I said I had been messing around with my boss and-"
"That's beautiful, baby. Just beautiful."
"Well, maybe I shouldn't have said anything. But no harm came out of it. To you, that is. He thew me over his knee and walloped the daylights out of my poor ass. I couldn't set comfortably for three whole days."
"Well, I hope it taught you a lesson, sweetheart. The last thing I need is for some clown to come tearing in here and-"
"Jack is not a clown," Mary broke in sharply. "He just gets upset when he thinks about me with other men."
"How many others have you told?"
"Nobody else. Shit, I don't know why you're making such a big production out of this. It's not as if I had handed out pamphlets to everyone in Crestmont informing them of my affair with Dr. Paul Latham."
"I wouldn't put it past you, Mary."
"That's stupid," Mary said, her tone of voice much softer than before. She approached her employer's desk and stood with her hands clasped in front of her. "When a girl likes a man she doesn't go out of her way to hurt his career or embarrass him."
"And you like me, huh?" Paul asked, unable to stop a small smile forming on his face.
Mary nodded. "Contrary to what you may think, I don't let just any old guy lay me. I've got to like a man before I'll permit him in my pants."
"So you're ready now to screw, is that it?"
"Uh huh."
"A few minutes ago you were on your way home to Mr. Talbot."
"I just said that because I was mad at you for not doing it to me at noontime. You should have seen me out there, Paul. I had my hand up under my skirt and I was rubbing my cunt to beat the band."
Paul grinned. "And you're still hot, huh?"
Mary nodded. "Very hot. I'm standing here leaking like a bloody faucet."
"Show me, baby, just how hungry for cock you are."
Mary needed no further prompting. Her hands went immediately to her tangerine blouse, fingers fumbling with the buttons down the front. After depositing the blouse on Paul's desk, she kicked off her white shoes and then lowered the zipper at the side of her fanny-hugging beige skirt.
Seconds later she was stepping out of the skirt, straightening up to place it atop her blouse on the desk. Smiling at her employer, she reached around in back to undo the clasp of her cream-colored brassiere.
"Leave that little chore for me," Paul said. "You just get those pantyhose off."
" Anything you say," Mary breathed. "You're the doctor."
Paul pushed up out of his chair and stepped to the large picture window behind his desk. There was little danger of anyone sneaking a peek at him while he fucked Mary, his office being on the twelfth floor of a building which faced a sprawling, many-acred park. Still, he felt better when he took the added precaution of drawing the blinds.
When he turned around he found Mary smiling at him. She was naked now except for the bra he had asked her to leave on. One hand was at her side, pressed against her leg, the other was busy petting her warm, moist pussy.
"Fffffuck," Paul said, smiling lewdly.
"Fffffuck," Mary repeated, the sound of the exciting Anglo-Saxon word sending a shiver of lust up her spine.
Paul returned to his desk chair. He unbuckled his belt and pushed his trousers down, letting them slide down his legs to form a crumpled heap at his feet. He inserted his thumbs in the waistband of his white boxer shorts and began working the garment off his hips, bending over slightly as he pushed the shorts past his knees to his feet. Then, clad only in a rose-colored shirt open at the neck, he eased back into the swivel-rocker and ordered Mary onto his lap.
The scrumptious brunette moved around the desk and without delay climbed aboard, positioning herself on Paul's lap so that his still flaccid pecker was pushed up against her smoldering, brown-haired snatch.
"Comfy?" Paul asked.
"Mmm, you bet, Doctor," Mary purred, placing her hands on Paul's shoulder.
"Are you going to suck me like a good little girl?"
"Later, after you've sucked my titties."
"To do that I'll have to take off your bra."
"Take it off, Paul. And then munch on my boobs. They want your lips and your wonderful tongue."
Grinning, Paul reached around in back of his secretary-receptionist and with an experienced lover's expertise quickly unclasped her brassiere. He drew the two ends out and then around her arms to her front, making great show of baring those pert boobs he had slobbered over many times.
Mary quivered on her employer's lap as he peeled the brassiere away from her tingling tits and flipped it onto the floor. She squirmed forward and emitted a soft moan of pleasure when Paul reached up to cup her breasts, his thumbs brushing nipples already stiffening in excitement.
"Oh, Paul, suck on them for me," she begged. "Chew on my tits until they're raw."
"You've got very sensitive tits, young lady," Paul said, stating a fact learned during his first fuck of the saucy brunette.
"Your mouth, Paul. Put your mouth on them."
Dr. Latham did as his patient requested, bringing his head forward and mashing his face into the soft, warmy valley betwen her spongy delights. His tongue snaked out from between his lips and he began to lick, waving his head sensuously this way and that against her aroused flesh as he savored its smooth texture, its delicate female aroma.
"Ooooooh, I love that," Mary cooed, clasping Paul's head to her bosom.
The little nympho has damn good tits, Paul thought, cupping one in his right hand and kneading it as he trailed his lips over the other. They were not as big as Valerie's, of course, but they were still very nice all the same. His wife had breasts the size of large melons whereas Mary's mammaries were more like small grapefruits. Very tasty and very squeezable grapefruits.
Mary closed her eyes and continued humming her approval of Paul's oral technique as he labored lovingly on her gelatinous globes of flesh, tending first to one and then the other, his warm, knowing lips like moist velvet on her flesh. Jack should see her now, she thought.
Flip out altogether is what he would do if he caught her sitting bare-assed naked on her employer's lap. Especially after the warning he had given her about fooling around with other fellows. The man had a temper that just wouldn't quit. Just being around Jack was a wee bit unnerving, because you never knew when he'd suddenly explode like a firecracker.
The thought of jealous Jack discovering her in the embrace of another guy gave her goosepimples. She didn't think she could endure another one of his vicious spankings. On the other hand, she wasn't yet willing to limit her sex life to a nightly boffing session with Jack.
Sure, he was a nice guy-when he wasn't into one of his violent numbers that saw him turn half-animal-and he knew what to do with a girl in bed, but variety was still the spice of life as far as she was concerned.
And she would just hate to give up these sessions with Paul. Never had she met a doctor with such a marvelous cure for the common female malaise brought on by steaming panties.
CHAPTER THREE
"Please, darling, do it better, please. Don't be afraid."
"I'll hurt you, Jennifer. I can't-"
"You won't hurt me. Please now. Squeeze them hard."
"Jennifer, be still. Don't spoil this for us."
Jennifer Wagner bit down on her lower lip and damned up the stream of verbal abuse that threatened to flow from her mouth to her husband's ears. Tears welled in her beautiful blue eyes as she silently cursed her mate for his stubborn refusal to pleasure her as she demanded to be pleasured.
What was wrong with him, she asked herself. Why wasn't he man enough to satisfy her gut-jumbling need for rough, no-holds-barred sex? After eight years of marriage he was still treating her with such revolting respect, handling her in bed as if she was a rare and fragile ornament to be fondled with the utmost care and not a flesh and blood woman who could be slapped, sucked and screwed silly.
Any other man would jump at the chance to show her who was boss, forcing her to respond to cruel, bone-jarring thrusts of a rock-hard penis that meant business. The man she conjured up in her fantasies were real men. Bold and charming, aggressive, no-nonsense studs with cocks they used like sledgehammers to pound a pussy into quivering submission.
These men knew what a female was all about and they revelled in that knowledge, taking full advantage of her secret yearning for a fuck that was as painful, as demeaning, as it was satisfying and pleasurable.
But her husband, innocent that he was, refused to believe that she could be turned on by pain, by a thick prick crammed unceremoniously into her mouth or cunt or behind. To him she was an angle, a goddess to be worshipped, an object to be fondled with tender, loving care lest it break into a thousand pieces.
Seeing him now, trailing his lips over her naked body as he ever so gently caressed her breasts, carefully testing their resiliency, one would think that he was preparing to break in a virgin. So cautiously and with such reverence did he go about the business of arousing her that it was almost laughable.
And it was the same story every time they made love. She would undres and slip under the covers, her naked body more than ready for a forceful fucking, for the sweet, soul-searing punishment that only a hot, blood-filled cock smashing repeatedly into her vagina could adminster.
But never were her prayers for a brutal banging answered. She would lie almost immobile on the bed, as she was doing now, and suffer for the meek, ineffective attempts of her husband to prepare her for the entry of his cock, one which, when finally eased into her sex cavity, proved to be totally inefficacious.
Her pleas for a harder, faster fuck would fall on deaf ears. Kevin, ignoring her coldly, would slowly, rhythmically, stroke his organ in and out of her cunt, adding insult to injury by asking if he was pleasing her, if she was enjoying the feel of his gently thrusting tool.
Why couldn't she make him understand that what she needed, what she craved, were nightly sessions of fierce, degrading sex? Why couldn't he forget when making love that she was his wife and the mother of his two children and treat her like a sassy slut in need of a wildly thrusting, pussy-stretching, punishing prick? Did he always have to be so damn considerate, so pathetically afraid of saying or doing something that would offend?
Kevin Wagner swirled his saliva-wet tongue across the smooth, flat plane of his twenty-six-year-old wife's warm tummy, his hands gently holding her beautiful breasts as he worked his way down her body toward the inviting patch of golden pubic curls surrounding her sex clit.
He dipped his tongue into her navel, teasing that wrinkled indentation for a brief moment before moving on. For fifteen minutes he had been laving Jennifer's succulent flesh, starting at her face and then inching downward, his lips and tongue sliding sensuously over her neck, then her breasts, then her belly.
Within seconds he would reach his goal. Once again he would rub his face into that nostril-tickling nest of soft, crinkly pubic hair and inhale the intoxicating scent emanating from Jennifer's pulsating vagina. How he loved to lick her there, to saturate his senses with the delicious taste and musky aroma of her femaleness, to lose himself completely as he worshipped at the altar of his wife's sex.
"Kevin, put it in me now," Jennifer said unemotionally. "You don't have to eat me first."
"But, darling, you usually enjoy it when I kiss you here," Kevin argued, lifting his head from his spouse's lower belly.
Enjoy? That wasn't the word, Jennifer thought. What she did was tolerate her husband's worshipful mouthing of her sex. Were he to eat her with some passion, if just for once he attacked her snatch with a vengeance, licking it lustily, hungrily, using his tongue to plummel her sensitive clit to throbbing submission, then she might enjoy his cunnilingus.
"I don't want it tonight, Kevin. Now please, just get on me and put it in."
"But are you ready, Jen. I mean-"
"I'm ready, Kevin," Jennifer broke in sharply, frustration and bitterness at her mate's fawning threatening to overwhelm her. "Just stop talking and take me. Give me your cock, Kevin."
"Alright, alright. If that's what you want." Yes, anything to make me happy, Jennifer thought. Don't argue with me. Don't curse. Don't slap me around and demand that I lie still while you chomp on my cunt. Don't tell me to shut up and don't threaten me with a severe beating if I refuse to obey your every whim. Don't do any of those things that would make me so very, very happy.
Disappointed at being refused the chance to show his love by performing cunnilingus on his luscious blonde wife, Kevin crawled up the bed and positioned himself over her outstretched loveliness so that he could administer a loving missionary style.
What a beautiful creature she was, he thought, looking down at Jennifer. Her sea-blue eyes so perfectly complemented her silky-smooth, shoulder-length blonde hair, fanned out now on the pillow around her head. There was nothing about her that didn't spell total perfection.
It was as if she had been lovingly created by a master craftsman, one whose sense of beauty permeated each and every detail of his work. Her breasts were full and firm, twin globes of gelatinous flesh that sat proudly on her chest. Her posterior was smooth and taut, composed of two spongy half-moons of flesh separated by a narrow, almost hairless crack; her smooth thighs tapered to well-formed calves, that led gracefully to small, well-turned ankles.
Even though eight years had gone by since the consummation of their marriage, he still found himself marveling at Jennifer's naked beauty, eyeing her physical charms when she wasn't looking and giving thanks for his good fortune. He didn't know what he would do if ever she left him.
"Please, Kevin, stick it in," Jennifer said impatiently, wanting to get the whole thing over with now. "What are you waiting for anyway?"
"Alright, darling. Just a second now."
Oh, this was unbelievable, Jennifer thought miserably. He was funnelng his cock into her cunt as if afraid a too-hard thrust would do irrevocable damage to her vagina. Why didn't he just rear back and smash his bloated bone into her dry canal? Why didn't he make her scream with pain from the viciousness of his sadistic entry?
"There, darling. It's in you. Now you have it."
"Move it in me, Kevin. Work it deep."
Lying atop his wife, his hairless chest pressed warmly into her taste-tempting mammaries, Kevin began the slow, methodical motion she found so unsatisfactory, so horribly frustrating. Without imagination he plowed Jennifer's golden-haired pussy, his taut buttocks bobbing lazily up and down as he thrust and withdrew, thrust and withdrew, one smooth and steady stroke following another.
"Harder, Kevin, harder," Jennifer breathed, her hands pressing down hard against her spouse's back. "Do it faster, lover. Make me feel it."
"Easy, sweetheart, easy," Kevin cautioned, his voice thickening with passion.
Tears of anger and frustration began welling in Jennifer's beautiful blue eyes. It was at times like these, when her strait-laced, unimaginative husband was servicing her vagina, that the idea of packing up and leaving him for good always crossed her mind.
Why must their mating always be so mechanical, so devoid of real passion, she asked herself for the thousandth time. Wasn't Kevin capable of a strong, unbridled lust, one that would find him shedding the cloak of respectability he wore with such annoying, unnerving pride?
Couldn't he fuck her, at least occasionally, with something resembling the gut-jumbling fury and savage determination of a man kept from women for many months? Why did he have to dick her with such decorum, with so little real enthusiasm?
Were all accountants such stuffed shirts, Jennifer wondered. Was it impossible for them to really let loose, to perform the sex act without the conservatism, the attention to detail and the arrogant restraint that marked their work? Didn't they ever feel like breaking free from the corral and galloping at full speed toward the sunset, their nostrils flared and their sweat-slick bodies in hot, excited quiver?
So colorless, so impervious to lust, that was Mr. Kevin Wagner, the man to whom she had vowed her love and obedience, the one she had chosen to live with for the rest of her life. But of what significance were those vows now? How could a wife respect and admire her husband if he constantly failed to satisfy her natural need for stimulating sex?
But she had loved Kevin once, Jennifer reminded herself, moving nary a muscle under her mate as he continued his uninspired, business-like probe of her sex cove. The very traits she now found most annoying had drawn her to his side eight years ago. His gentleness, his kindness, his heartfelt concern for her well-being, his unwavering devotion, his basic 'goodness,' had appealed to her then, touching her heart and filling it with compassion, making it easy enough for her to reply in the affirmative when he asked for her hand in marriage.
Worthy of appreciation too had been Kevin's physical attractiveness. He had been, and still was, a good-looking man, one who possessed the even, well-defined features of a youthful scholar, of the dedicated intellectual too busy with books to expose his face to the sun's tanning, skin-toughening rays.
In his stocking feet he stood six feet two inches tall. He weighed somewhere in the vicinity of one hundred-ninety pounds. His eyes were brown, the same color as his hair, which, despite her prodding, he refused to wear long.
Yes, Jennifer concluded, it would be difficult to find much fault with her husband's appearance. His body, although unaccustomed to strenuous exercise, was as strong and as pleasing to the female eye as she remembered it being on their wedding night. And Kevin was still capable of exuding a boyish charm, the same charm that had set her heart to fluttering during their courtship.
Now only if he would learn how to fuck a woman.
For a full minute more Jennifer suffered her spouse's methodically, carefully-timed thrusts, and then, oh an impulse, her frustration and impatience boiling over, she emitted a strangled groan of disgust and pushed Kevin off her body.
"Jenny, what are you-"
"My way," Jennifer stated firmly, swiveling atop her stunned mate. "We're going to finish my way."
"But-"
"Keep quiet, Kevin. Damn you, just keep quiet."
Positioning herself so that she was squatting over her husband, her twat hovering over his loins, Jennifer reached down with her right hand for his tumuscent tool and brought it quickly to her sex hole.
After wedging the bulbous head of Kevin's cock inside her vagina, she started to squirm down on it, allowing the six-inch column of flesh to worm its way up into her belly. Not many seconds later she had it all.
She rested a moment, impaled on the warm prick now stuffed balls deep inside her vagina, savoring the feeling of fullness afforded her by the imbedded erectile. Then, a look of determination etched on her beautiful, clear-complexioned face, she started using Kevin's pecker to obtain the orgasm he seldom managed to give her when he was in the driver's seat.
No sooner had she leaned forward to place her hands on the bed next to her mate, one on either side of his supine body, then she was posting merrily on his manhood. Braced now on hands and knees, darts of desire pricking her every nerve end, Jennifer bounced her bottom up and down over Kevin's thick pecker.
"No, darling," Kevin husked. "Don't-not so fast, Jenny."
"Grab my tits," Jennifer ordered. "Squeeze them hard."
"Please, Jenny."
"Do it!" the luscious blonde shouted, slamming her cunt down over her husband's blood-filled manhood.
"I won't hurt you," Kevin declared. "I can't."
"Do it, you bastard. Pinch my nipples. Make me cry."
A pained expression washed over Kevin's smooth, unblemished face as his wife continued to plead for the cruelty she craved. It was at times like these, when Jennifer begged for the brutality he found so despicable, so impossible to administer, that he became convinced of her need for psychiatric help.
He longed for the return of the old Jennifer, the woman he had married and the one who, up until about eighteen months ago, seemed perfectly content in her role as his wife. How was it possible for a woman to change so drastically, to be transformed from one who recoiled from violence of any kind to one who wanted to wallow in the mire of masochistic ritual?
"C'mon, damn you," Jennifer spat, "maul my tits, you fucking jerk. Make me scream."
"Jennifer, will you please stop this madness? I just can't hurt you. I can't."
Tempted to spit in her husband's face, Jennifer continued rocking wildly on his turgid tool, time and again impaling herself on his fleshy spear. She was rapidly losing all control now, sliding crazily down hump-hill toward the awaiting orgasm.
Up and down she bounced, lifting and falling in hard, jerking motions, her lustrous golden tresses swirling about her face as she rode her mate's manhood with a demonic enthusiasm. Eyes wide, burning brightly, she looked down at Kevin and with a contemptuous expression mocked his weakness, his stupidity, his unwillingness to perform those painfully pleasurable acts that would catapult her to heaven's gate.
And then Jennifer was coming, coating her spouse's hard cock with a warm, gooey flow of sex juice as she emitted a deep-throated moan of pleasure. She dropped down onto Kevin's chest, her breasts flattening against his chest and her face twisting into a demented scowl.
She shut her eyes tight, her fingers digging deep into the pillow under her husband's head as she pushed down once again onto his manhood in a feverish attempt to suck even his hairy balls up into her quaking vagina.
Through it all Kevin remained inert, arms at his sides, his mind filled with worry for the woman he loved and could not bring himself to hurt. What was he going to do with her, he wondered. To whom would he go for help if Dr. Latham's therapeutic sessions with Jennifer proved unsuccessful?
When it was over, a panting Jennifer rolled off her husband and onto her side next to him. Very slowly she brought her legs down, stretching herself out on the bed as some of her come began oozing out of her cunt. Breathing hard, her chest heaving, she looked up at the bedroom ceiling and once again silently berated her mate for his total ineptitude where sex was concerned.
It was several minutes before Kevin said anything to his wife. All of Jennifer's wild gyrations, the almost painful way she had squeezed his stiff prick with her greedy, clutching cunt while posting passionately on it, had failed to bring him to orgasm. And now his organ, wet with Jennifer's juices, was resting up against his stomach like a large, fat worm in repose.
His failure to come did not surprise him. It had happened before. On other occasions, more than he cared to remember, his pain-hungry spouse had succeeded in making a mockery of what should be a tender physical expression of emotional love.
Rapidly would he lose all interest in sex when Jennifer began her pathetic pleas for pain. Oftentimes, as was the case tonight, his prick would begin to shrivel while still inside her vagina, becoming almost flaccid while she immersed herself in the dizzying splendor of an orgasm.
"I hope you're satisfied," he now said softly, looking not at the woman at his side but up at the ceiling.
Jennifer said nothing.
"Do you realize that you spoiled it again for me, Jenny?"
Jennifer sighed deeply. "I still have a long way to go before I match the number of times you've ruined it for me."
"You can't mean that?"
"Can't I?"
"Lovemaking should be tender, an expression of-"
"Please, Kevin, spare me that stupid lecture. Save it for our daughters when they reach puberty. Maybe they'll appreciate your opinion on the subject. Personally, it turns my stomach."
Kevin swallowed hard, his wife's words tearing at his gut. Again he wondered what loathsome spirit had entered Jennifer's soul to change her from a loving wife and devoted mother to a foul-mouthed wanton seemingly bent on her own destruction.
"A little less talk," Jennifer continued, "and more action. That's what I'd like to have from you, Kevin. Maybe if you'd keep in mind that I'm a flesh and blood female and not some breakable doll that-ohhh, what's the use. You'll never change."
"But you have, Jenny. And for the worse."
"So you say."
"You're sick, Jennifer. I'll never understand just why or how it happened, but you've become a monster. A raving maniac where sex is concerned. I hardly know you anymore."
"Maybe you never really knew me, Kevin," Jennifer said, her thoughts beginning to stray, to zero in on Dr. Paul Latham, her passion-filled psychologist. It was a shame that she had to cancel her appointment with him this afternoon. Fortunately, she'd be seeing the good doctor tomorrow, and it was highly un-likely that the school nurse would summon her two days in a row. Sweet little Melanie, she would never know just how inopportune was the bad sore throat she had suddenly developed while in gym class, and how miserably disappointed it had made her mother.
"I knew you when we married," Kevin insisted. "You were a wonderful person then, so full of hope and-"
"Look, let's not talk anymore about it, all right?" Jennifer broke in sharply. "I think the less we say to each other the better off we'll be."
"That's no way to run a marriage, Jenny."
"It's the only way for us. If you won't cooperate and do the things I ask, then I see no-"
"Cooperate. Is that what you call it? How in the name of all that is holy can you expect me to derive even an ounce of pleasure from degrading you? Only a savage, a sadist, would willingly perform those depraved acts you now crave from me."
A small, almost evil smile began creeping across Jennifer's face as she remembered her last session with Dr. Latham.
"Do you still love your daughters, Jennifer?" Kevin asked, for the first time turning his head on the pillow to look at his beautiful wife.
"Of course I still love them. I'll never stop loving them and you know it. Your question reaches the heights of absurdity."
"But you no longer love me, do you?"
Jennifer hesitated, then, "I can't love a man I can't respect. You're my husband, Kevin. You're obliged to tend to my needs, physical as well as emotional, but you're falling down on the job. Instead of the wild, fulfilling sex I need, you give me lectures on the meaning of marriage. I need brutal lovemaking, Mr. Wagner, not a barrage of meaningless words more suited to a virginal teenager than a twenty-six-year-old mother of two."
"You're disgusting, Jennifer," Kevin said softly, seething inside.
"And you're a fool," the luscious blond snapped back. "A stupid, stuffed shirt of a fool. You know as much about sex and what makes a woman tick as a eunuch would be expected to know. Probably much less."
"I could strike you for that," Kevin hissed, glaring at his wife.
Jennifer whipped her head around on the pillow to lock eyes with her husband. "Do it then, Kevin. Don't just promise and then not deliver. You're angry now. Stay angry. Hit me, baby. Whack the hell out of my ass. Please Kevin, punish me good."
Kevin suddenly pushed himself off the bed, flipping onto his side and raising his hand almost in the same motion. Anger burned brightly within him as he glared down at his wife, whose voice had trailed off as she watched him bolt upright and make as if to smack her face.
Then his face softened, a sudden surge of disgust dispelling the unbridled anger that had prompted him to raise his hand to his wife for the first time in his life. He held his hand over his left shoulder for several long seconds, then, emitting a groan of despair, brought the hand down and fell back into a reclining position on the bed.
Jennifer remained in position, unable to bring herself to look at the man she considered spineless, so pitifully weak. Even in anger he would not hit her, she thought miserably. He was indeed a coward, a foolish, perfectly useless excuse for a man. He had no more backbone than a jellyfish.
"I pray with all my heart, Jennifer, that Dr. Latham will be able to help you," Kevin said finally. "If a man trained in the art of curing sick psyches can't work a change in you, then I don't know what Ffn going to do."
"He's helping me, Kevin," Jennifer said, an almost satanic smile coming to her face.
"Are you sure of that?"
"Very sure."
"It's too early to tell. Dr. Latham has been treating you for less than two months."
"Much can be accomplished in two months," Jennifer noted.
"You're going to be under the doctor's care for some time to come, Jennifer. A full year of therapy might be required."
"Do you think so, Kevin?" asked Jennifer, restraining her laughter.
"I don't care how long it takes or how much it costs," Kevin said. "What's important is that you continue seeing Dr. Latham until he's satisfied with your mental condition."
"You really do think I'm crazy, don't you?"
Kevin hesitated, then, "Let's just say that I think you'll be a happier, more self-assured person after a year in analysis. Dr. Latham will help you put things back in their proper perspective. I'm sure that in his career as a psychologist Latham has helped a number of people like yourself. How it is that a perfectly normal individual can suddenly turn masochistic is a mystery to me, but of course the doctor is far more experienced in these matters than I am. He must think you'll respond to therapy or he wouldn't keep you as a patient."
"Oh, I'm responding all right, Kevin," said Jennifer. And then she started to giggle.
"What's the matter with you now? Why are you laughing, Jennifer?" Kevin again pushed himself to a sitting position and looked at her.
"Oh, Kevin, you silly clown," Jennifer laughed into the hands covering her face. "You're such a damn idiot."
"Maybe I should phone Dr. Latham," Kevin said, his expression one of serious concern.
"Yes, do that little thing," Jennifer said, barely able to sneak the words in between her chuckles. "He's what I need right now."
"Jennifer, will you please stop this insane laughter?" Kevin said loudly, grabbing his wife by the arm and trying to shake her back to her senses.
Her husband's touch was like a white hot flame to Jennifer. She recoiled from it immediately, a last laugh choking in her throat as she stared up at her worried spouse. Seconds later she was twisting away from him, propelling herself to the side of the bed and then getting to her feet.
"Where are you going now?" Kevin asked, as his wife started out of the bedroom.
"To check on the children, do you mind?"
"Wait a minute, Jennifer. I want you to explain to me what was so funny. If you don't, then I'm going to call Dr. Latham first thing in the morning and ask him about it."
Jennifer stopped and turned around. A wicked smile formed on her beautiful face as she placed her hands on her hips and advanced slowly to the bed. He deserved this, she thought. Because he was so unbelievably naive, because he was such a boring clod, he deserved this.
"What would you say, my holier-than-thou husband, if I told you that Dr. Paul Latham, the psychologist you suggested I see because of his excellent reputation as an analyst, has been fucking the shit out of me once a week for the past two months?"
Kevin greeted the revelation with stunned silence. Refusing to believe what he had just heard, his mind unable to fully grasp the numbing perversity of it all, he very slowly worked his way off the bed and then to his feet. He moved over to where his wife was standing.
"So how does that grab you, darling?" Jennifer asked, staring her husband square in the face.
"You're lying, Jennifer," Kevin said coldly.
"I'm not lying, Mr. Wagner. My weekly sessions with the good doctor are simply thrilling. You were absolutely right about Latham, darling. He knows just how to treat a patient like me."
"I don't believe this. I refuse to believe it."
"He fucks me, Kevin," Jennifer hissed. "Did you hear what I said? He fucks me. He fucks me like a man should fuck a woman. And he knows how to administer the pain I crave, too. He's an expert at making a girl scream."
"Jennifer-"
"You're so surprised, darling. Well, isn't that a crying shame. Maybe I should tell you about my last session with Dr. Paul Latham, psychologist extraordinaire. That should make your hair stand up."
"Bitch-you bitch," Kevin breathed, clenching his fists at his sides. She was telling the truth, he realized angrily.
"My last visit to Latham's office was a really exciting one, Kevin. He made me undress and then beat on my poor ass with a riding crop as I lay draped across his desk."
"Stop it, damn you."
"When he grew tired of swatting my ass, he yanked out his big stiff cock and-"
"Jennifer!"
"And fucked me in the ass!" Jennifer shouted. That's right, Kevin my love. Dr. Latham rammed his fat old cock way up inside my dirty rectum and then pounded hell out of my bottom. And I loved it, do you hear? I screamed with joy and begged him to never stop screwing my behind."
"You disgusting, foul-mouthed, deranged little tramp," Kevin hissed, glowering at his wife.
"You should consider yourself lucky, darling. Latham is the only man with whom I've commited adultery. So far, that is."
"You're not to see him again, do you hear?"
"I'm seeing him again tomorrow afternoon."
"No!"
"Yes! Yes, yes, yes!"
It was at this point that Kevin, a monstrous anger churning up his insides, the claws of frustration ripping at his heart, gave his mocking wife what she had been asking for, demanding, for such a long time. He drew back his clenched fist and sent it thudding into Jennifer's beautiful, grinning face. She fell face first onto the bed, her moans partially smothered in the mattress.
"I could kill you," Kevin rasped, advancing slowly toward the bed, his fists still balled tightly.
He looked down at his sobbing wife. For the first time in his life he had the urge to maim and murder, to use his bare fists to pummel another human being into unconsciousness. He wanted to strike out at something, somebody, and by so doing relieve the painful ache in his heart.
Jennifer sobbed softly into the mattress for a full munute, then slowly rolled over onto her back to reveal a jaw already beginning to swell. Although he realized now that there was no limit to the number and variety of degradations his wife was willing to subject herself to in her quest for pain, Kevin was still unprepared for the faintly mocking smile he saw creep across Jennifer's tear-striked face.
Nor was he fully prepared when she asked, "Is that all, darling? One punch and that's it? Wouldn't you like to box my pretty ears now?"
He just stood there. He felt totally numb.
CHAPTER FOUR
Paul Latham eased back into the brown leather armchair and then folded his arms across his chest. She looked especially good this afternoon, he thought, watching as Jennifer Wagner settled herself on the beige couch next to his chair.
For her visit to his office today she had donned an eye-popping pair of fanny-hugging, blood-red bellbottoms and a tight-fitting cream-colored sweater that buttoned down the front. It was a cock-thickening sight, to say the least, and it was with the greatest ease that he could imagine himself unbuttoning those buttons and baring Jennifer's succulent breasts, pushing down her flaming bell-bottoms to explore the humid delights of her pantied snatch.
Only one thing detracted from the overall picture of ravishing beauty presented by Mrs. Wagner. And that was the unsightly swelling on the right side of her jaw.
"So, here we are again," Jennifer said, leaning back in the couch and crossing her legs. "The patient and her analyst all set for visit number nine. Or should I say, round nine."
Paul grinned. "It looks as if you've already been in the ring, Jennifer."
"What?"
"Your jaw. What the hell did you do to it?"
"Oh that. Well-"
" You're not going to tell me you walked into a door, I hope."
"Would you believe a telephone pole?" a smiling Jennifer asked.
"I would not."
"Maybe it's a cancerous tumor."
Paul chuckled. "That I seriously doubt, baby. Now tell me what happened. Were you finally able to get that nincompoop husband of yours to smack you around a little?"
Jennifer's smile faded a little. "Yes, something like that."
"Great day in the morning. So Mr. Milktoast is at last beginning to turn tiger, huh?"
"I'd rather not talk about him, Paul."
"Why not? C'mon, sweetheart, give me all the juicy details. How did you manage to provoke the dumb clod?"
"I said I don't want to discuss it," Jennifer said, a bit of a bite to her voice. "I'm not here to talk about my husband. Besides, I've already told you all about him. We played that scene the first time I visited your office, remember?"
Paul looked at his "patient" and then shrugged his shoulders. "Well, if you don't want to tell me about the incident then you don't want to tell me about the incident. Simple as that."
Jennifer returned Paul's half-smile with one of her own. She wondered if maybe she should explain to him exactly what had transpired between herself and Kevin last night. But that would mean confessing to a "sin" he had warned her repeatedly against committing.
At least once during each of her previous visits Paul had expressed concern about someone learning the exact nature of their relationship. Such a disclosure, he had said, could do irrevocable damage to his practice in Crestmont. So mum was the word.
But here she had gone and blabbed to her husband, Jennifer thought, remembering the jolting right cross Kevin had sent crashing against her now painful, badly swollen jaw. Were she to tell Paul that she had broken her promise not to say a word, he just might decide to terminate their relationship.
"Perhaps it's just as well that you don't go into any detail, Jennifer. I mean, why waste precious time talking when we could be balling?"
"My feelings exactly, Dr. Latham," Jennifer said, a broad smile blossoming on her face. "And since I'm paying for an hour's worth of your time-"
"You expect your money's worth, correct?"
"Correct."
Paul chuckled. "My beautiful Jennifer, have I ever short-changed you? Don't you always leave here satisfied with the service I've rendered?"
"More than satisfied, Paul."
"Good. Now what's it to be this afternoon? The whip again? Perhaps a good old-fashioned spanking. Yes, that might be nice."
"It all sounds so inviting, Doctor. And so exciting."
Paul leaned forward in his chair and placed his arms on his knees, clasping his hands in front of him. "I could work on your tits for a while, Jenny. How would it be if I squeezed and mauled your luscious breasts until you yelled uncle?"
"Oh, Paul," Jennifer said softly, her pulse quickening as her "doctor" reeled off a few of the things he could to to provide her with the pain she craved.
"You would like that, wouldn't you?"
" Yes-yes, I would."
"And your cunt, Jennifer," Paul continued. "Wouldn't you just love me to attack your cock-hungry twat? I could bit you there, suck your sweet snatch until it was raw and bleeding. I would thrust a few fingers inside you and then, while you sobbed in agony I'd try to shove my whole fist inside your slushy cunt."
"Paul, sweetheart, you don't know what you're doing to me."
And me, honey, Paul thought, watching his beautiful blonde "patient" slump further down in the couch. He could feel his cock begin to stir inside his trousers. It was starting to swell, to thicken with warm blood, to push up and out against the material of his boxer shorts.
"Let's get the show on the road, Jenny. Treatment time has arrived."
"No. Wait a minute Paul. I want to tell you about a dream I had a few nights ago."
Paul grinned. "C'mon, beautiful, stop pulling my leg."
"This will take just a couple of minutes," Jennifer explained, pulling herself up into a more erect posture on the couch. "And I think you'll find my dreams very interesting, Paul."
"Okay, if that'll make you happy," Paul sighed.
"I dreamed that I was raped. Oh, Paul, it was beautiful, just beautiful. It was very late at night and I was walking alone in a deserted park-the one right across the street, in fact. Suddenly I heard the sound of footsteps behind me."
"The plot thickens," Paul smiled.
"I looked back over my shoulder and saw this huge, hairy man about twenty feet behind me. He was a big, powerful brute and at the moment stark naked. I couldn't see him too clearly at first because the park was so dark. But then he passed under a street lamp and I caught a glimpse of his face. He was ugly, the ugliest man I ever saw."
"Most fantasy rapists are like that," Paul noted, a touch of sarcasm in his voice.
"And his cock, Paul, it was something out of this world. It was monstrous, as thick and as long as a horse's tool, and it jutted out from his loins like a flagpole. It was a cock better suited to a randy mare than a womn."
"But it excited you, didn't it?"
"No. I was afraid of it, Paul. I could imagine myself being ripped asunder by that gigantic organ."
"So you ran."
"Yes. I left the cobblestone road and darted into some bushes. I could feel the loud thumping of my heart as I started running through the park. As I dashed around a tree I tripped over a large branch and fell face first the damp ground."
"The truth is you wanted to be caught and raped," Paul opined with a smile. "Your fall was not entirely accidental."
"I don't know."
"Did you scream for help?"
"No. I picked myself up and then spun around to check on the whereabouts of the man chasing me. I thought I had put some distance between us but I was wrong. He was coming after me, gaining ground with each passing second. I turned and started running again, this time cutting through a row of hedges and dashing out into an open field of grass."
"A mistake, right?"
"Yes, because now I had no cover. I could hear the man behind me, growling like a bear as he closed the gap between us. I thought I could feel his breath on my neck and wondered just how close to me he really was.
Ten feet? Twenty feet? Thirty? I was afraid to look back over my shoulder for fear that I'd see him getting ready to lunge at me.
"And then I felt his large, powerful hands on my shoulders. He threw himself against me and I was sent sprawling to the cold ground, his huge bulk resting on my back like a steamer trunk. He kept me pinned like that while he caught his breath, his weight pressing my breasts and face into the damp grass."
"Did you consider crying out now?" Paul asked, knowing the answer he would receive from the gorgeous masochist.
"I was afraid to. I didn't want to provoke him, I guess. Anyway, he started whispering dirty things into my ear, telling me that I wouldn't be hurt if I did all that he asked. Then he pulled himself up off my back and started wrestling me over, his dirty fingernails digging into the flesh of my arms."
"Now we get to the good part," Paul smiled. "When I was on my back he started ripping at my clothes. I was wearing what I'm wearing this afternoon, Paul. This same sweater and these bellbottoms. He took hold of the sweater and with a fiendish snarl ripped it right down the middle. Then he grabbed a handful of my hair and yanked me up to a sitting position on the ground."
"The better to remove your sweater," Paul remarked, again with a sardonic smile.
"He worked the sweater off me and tossed it aside. Then he jammed a few fingers between my bra and chest and viciously yanked the bra off my breasts. When I was naked from the waist up, he shoved me back to the ground and started denuding my lower half. I was helpless, Paul. All I could do was stay put and watch as he began dragging down my bellbottoms-"
Helpless, my ass, Paul thought. You wanted it, baby.
"The next thing I knew I was naked except for my white cotton panties. But I didn't have them for very long. The ugly brute snarled again and ripped my pants away, tossing them next to my other things on the grass. And then he was on me, Paul, growling like an animal as he struggled to jam his monstrous manhood into my dry vagina-"
Paul kept his eyes on Jennifer as she continued her explicit and detailed account of the rape she had experienced in a dream. He watched her drop one hand into her lap and, after spreading her legs, begin a heated massage of her crotch through the material of her bellbottoms. The other hand she brought to her left breast, squeezing it hard as she started squirming on the couch.
"I tried to squirm out from under him but it was no use. He was too big, too heavy. I started to plead with him, Paul. I begged him not to do this awful thing. But he ignored my tears and kept jamming his horse's hard-on between my legs. And then-oooo, did that hurt."
"The penetration?"
"Yes. He suddenly lunged forward and buried his great cock in my cunt. I let out a scream, Paul. The pain, oh that mind-bending pain."
"But it got better, didn't it, sweetheart? The pain quickly turned to pleasure, right?"
"It did, yes. As soon as he started fucking me. He didn't waste any time. Once he was in me he started pounding away, tearing up my cunt with his powerful prick. I could feel it up to my tits. I thought I'd be split right down the middle. He was so huuuuge."
A lewd smile blossomed on Paul's face as he pushed up out of the armchair and quickly took off his sport jacket. Keeping his eyes on Jennifer, who was almost panting now, he unbuttoned his shirt and at the same time kicked off his loafers. His pecker was about to bust through the material of his trousers, so aroused had he become by the beautiful woman's account of her degrading ravishment.
"But then, that prodigious cock began to feel good in me. I wanted more of it, Paul. I didn't care if the bastard ripped up my insides. The pain was so good, so satisfying. I started to moan with joy. I begged him to do it harder, faster. I wrapped my arms around his hard back and-ohhhh, it was so fucking good, Paul."
Clad now only in his boxer shorts, Paul looked down at the woman squirming shamelessly on his couch. Her head was lolling on the back cushion and her eyes were closed. Nostrils flared, she continued abusing her body through her clothes, one hand busy between her parted thighs, the other roughly massaging her left boob.
"Tears of happiness washed down my face as he slammed his marvelous cock into my hungry cunt. Each belly-flattening thrust of his tool knocked my breath away. He kept socking it to me, using his cock like a sledgehammer to pound my pussy to pieces."
Paul shucked his shorts and then, bare-assed naked, stepped to the couch and dropped into it next to Jennifer. He brought one hand to the front of her cream-colored sweater and started unbuttonning the buttons.
"He battered my cunt with his enormous organ, Paul. He looked down at me and told me I was a hot-assed bitch. I agreed and begged him to never stop fucking the shit out of me. He just laughed and-Paul, what are you doing?"
"What does it look like I'm doing, sweetheart?" Paul grinned at the luscious blonde whose eyes had suddenly flicked open. "If you go on much longer with this tale of rape, you'll be coming in your pretty pants. And we can't have that, can we?"
"No wait, Paul," Jennfier said, taking the passionate psychologist's hand away from her sweater. "I don't want it like this. I want you to rape me."
"What?"
"You heard me. I want to be taken against my will."
"You mean-"
"Yes. I want to re-enact the rape I dreamed about the other night. Please, Paul. It'll be fantastic-for both of us."
Paul smiled. "You don't expect me to take you to the park right now and-"
"No, of course not. We'll do it here in your office."
"You're serious, aren't you?"
"Very. Now please, Paul. Say you'll rape the shit out of my cock-craving body."
Paul looked at the ravishing blonde next to him. Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea at that, he thought. He had plenty of time to do as Jennifer wished. His next appointment was a good forty-five minutes away-and since his office was soundproof he didn't have to worry about her yelling her head off.
"Well, Paul, will you do it? Will you rape me?"
"Will you promise not to scratch my eyes out?"
Jennifer smiled. "I'll do everything I can to prevent you from entering me except claw your face and-"
"Knee me in the groin."
"Yes. I wouldn't want to ruin you, you know. I won't kick you in the balls, Paul."
Paul shrugged. "Well, all right then. I'm ready when you are baby."
Jennifer's smile faded as she dropped her gaze from the psychologist's face to his lap. The sight of his organ, rock-hard and throbbing now, sticking up against his belly, sent a shiver of lust up her spine.
She brought her left hand down and hungrily grasped the spear of flesh she would soon be trying to keep from slicing up into her steaming vagina. Her fingers curled around its pulsating fullness and a look of sexual need blanketed her beautiful face. The prospect of being raped, of being savagely violated, of living the glorious dream of brutal ravishment she had dreamed the other night, was turning her inside out with desire.
It would be a fantasy come true.
"Now, Paul," she said finally, giving the docor's blood-filled dick a violent squeeze. "Rape me now!" Wasting not a second, he jumped on Jennifer and wrestled her down on the couch until she was stretched out on her back.
"No, don't do this," Jennifer cried, losing herself easily and quickly in the role of hapless victim fending off the lustful attack of a satyric rapist. "Please-you're hurting me. Ooohhhh-"
As Jennifer bucked and twisted under him, her hands clamped firmly on his shoulders, Paul worked like a madman to strip her naked. With his right hand he grabbed the top of her sweater and yanked down, the garment tearing easily right down the middle as two of the buttons he had not undone earlier popped up into the air.
Remembering what Jennifer's dream rapist had done, he plunged a hand into her silky blonde tresses and with a violent yank jerked her up to a sitting position. Jennifer shrieked and started pummeling his chest with her balled fists, her face flushing as she struggled with all her strength to prevent the denuding.
For a fleeting moment, as he worked the torn sweater around and off Jennifer's shoulders, Paul considered the consequences of tearing all her clothes. He knew that that was what she wanted now, to have the clothes ripped from her body and then to be savagely screwed in the manner of a demented rapist. But what happens later, he wondered, when it came time for her to leave his office and return home. She couldn't very well walk out wearing garments badly wrinkled and tattered.
That was a problem that would have to be confronted later, he decided, tossing the sweater onto the floor. Right now he had Jennfier's bra to worry about. He was anxious to bare her boobs, to feast his eyes once again on those spongy globes of succulent flesh.
"Stop it, please stop it," Jennifer moaned, her lovely face contorting in simulated anguish. "Don't do this to me."
"Shut your mouth, slut," Paul shouted. He drew back his right hand and smacked the protesting blonde across the face. He hit her a second time, the back of his hand crashing against her left cheek and jarring her head back. "Now will you shut up, cunt?"
"You bastard!" Jennifer howled. "You perverted beast!"
"Bitch!" Paul yelled back. His left hand still painfully entwined in Jennifer's hair, holding her head up and back, he again raised his right hand and whacked her across the face.
Then, as Jennifer fell to whimpering like a baby, as the tears began sliding down her burning cheeks, Paul unclasped her bra and quickly pulled it off her chest.
"No, don't do this," the ravishing blonde sobbed, acting her part beautifully. "Stop it. Don't rape me, please. No, don't take them off. Ohhhh-"
Ignoring the woman's phony pleas for mercy, Paul undid the lone button at the side of her bellbottoms, yanked down the zipper, and then proceed to roughly tug the garment down her legs, his body hunched over as he labored like one possessed to get at her pantied treasure.
The couch cushions sagged under his weight, the springs in squeaky complaint as he shuffled back on his knees while dragging the bellbottoms down Jennifer's creamy smooth thighs, over her knees to her feet, where for a second they remained bunched at her ankles. But only for a second.
Quickly he removed Jennifer's white shoes, the left first and then the right tossing both over his shoulder in a manner befitting the frantic rapist. Then he worked the bellbottoms around and off her feet, crumpling the garment into a ball before hurling it across his office.
"Okay, baby," he breathed hotly, eyes wide and burning brightly. "Now we just have your pants to worry about."
"No, don't take my panties off," Jennifer pleaded, feigning fear as she squirmed her near-nude body on the couch. "Please. I'm begging you. Don't rape me. Don't."
"I'm going to fuck you dizzy, baby. And you're going to eat it up, you hear?"
"No, I won't let you." Jennifer bolted up to a sitting position on the couch and spit in his face.
"Bitch!" Paul spat, ducking the spray. "Spit at me, will you. I'll show you."
Valerie Latham would have found interesting and certainly not disquieting the fact that her psychologist husband was playing determined rapist to Jennifer Wagner's suffering but spunky victim. At the moment, however, she was giving absolutely no thought to her spouse, his practice or his problem-laden patients.
She was much too busy concentrating on Frank Fallon.
The voluptuous Valerie had met her virile, muscular lover six months ago, literally bumping into him on the turnpike while on her way to Crestmont to purchase yet another dress to hang in her already clothes-crammed bedroom closet.
She had pulled up behind Frank's cream-colored Dodge, which Frank had stopped at the change of the overhead traffic light from green to red. When the light finally flashed green, Valerie, much to her dismay at the time, broke from the gate like a bronco-buster, accidentally jamming her foot down on the gas pedal and propelling her small Triumph into the larger Dodge.
The damage to both autos was slight, of no consequence whatsoever, but the impression Frank made on her that fateful afternoon was of considerable significance, because it set in motion the very enjoyable affair they had been carrying on for the last five and a half months.
Valerie had been considering the merits of an affair for several months prior to her fortuitous introduction to Frank Fallon, president and co-owner of a thriving construction firm located on the outskirts of Ocean Grove. It wasn't that she felt sexually deprived and in need of a really good banging.
Far from it. Paul, she was quick to admit, gave her all she wanted in bed and then some. He was a robust, imaginative lover, a talented cocksman not afraid to experiment and one concerned as much with his wife's orgasm as he was with his own. No complaint did she have with Mr. Latham. Not a one.
What had prompted Valerie's search for a lover was her general, overall feeling of restlessness. Her life, she realized, had fallen into a pattern, a rather monotonous one brightened only by those sizzling sex sessions with her husband. Although she truly loved her good-looking mate and her fabulous home, and enjoyed the parties she threw for her friends and neighbors as well as those she attended with Paul, she became increasingly aware of the sameness of her activities, the disquieting routine of it all.
What she needed, Valerie had already decided before meeting Frank, was a good jolt, a tonic of sorts, something that would jar her loose from the nagging feeling that, despite all her wonderful possessions, her life lacked purpose and maybe even direction.
So it was that Valerie embarked on her affair with Frank Fallon, finding in their secret meetings, their clandestine couplings, the excitement and danger she felt was missing from her life heretofore. And making this affair even more thrilling, more naughty, was the fact that it was her first.
"I guess I'm overdue, wouldn't you say?" Valerie had teasingly asked Frank during their first rendezvous at the Rest-A-While Motel, a home away from home for adulterous couples residing in and around the posh community of Ocean Grove. Frank's answer had taken the form of a bone-rattling plunge into Valerie's steaming vagina, following which he fucked holy hell out of her.
Now, as her husband "raped" Jennifer Wagner in his office in Crestmont, Valerie beckoned Frank with her little finger. She was bare-assed naked and sitting up in the double bed that came with No. 6, one of the nineteen units which, when taken as a whole, comprised the popular and usually busy Rest-A-While Motel.
"You're not starting to give me orders now, are you, baby?" Frank asked with a crooked grin.
Valerie smiled. "Only the kind you love to obey, Mr. Fallon."
"You're a wicked little bitch, Mrs. Latham."
"I'm a randy little bitch, you mean. Now bring that big, beautiful body of yours over here before I-"
"Before you what?"
"Before I dash outside and ask the first stud I see to screw me."
Frank chuckled. "Like that freckled-faced kid in the office, huh?"
"Could be," Valerie answered with a grin. "You saw how he looked me over when you registered us. I thought his eyes were going to pop right out of his head."
"He'd be a lousy lay, baby."
"How do you know? Have you tried him?"
"Have I tried him? I ought to whack the daylights out of you for a crack like that. Here, is this the body of a guy who likes boys?"
Valerie watched Frank assume the pose favored by very strong, exceptionally well-muscled men when they want to show off their powerful physiques; feet apart, planted firmly on the ground, arms up and bent at the elbows, chest out and stomach in.
Frank was without doubt the most well-constructed man she had ever set eyes on. Posed as he was now, he looked as if he had just stepped out of a body-building magazine. His was the body promised every ninety-eight pound weakling by those pushing programs in weight-lifting and related muscle-strenghtening techniques. Mr. Adonis, meet Mr. Fallon.
And Frank was good-looking too. Good-looking in a rough, unfinished sort of way, that is. A rumpled mass of coal-black hair topped a large head more round than oval. Frank's eyes were blue, twin orbs peering out from beneath bushy eyebrows; his nose was broad and somewhat crooked, broken often, he had explained, during his short-lived career as a professional boxer.
Yes, Valerie decided, she couldn't have done much better than Frank. For her first fling she had chosen a six foot two inch, two hundred and ten pound giant of a man. With a cock that was quick to rise and never in a hurry to wilt. Not bad for a gal playing the game of adultery for the first time.
"Well, I'm waiting, baby," Frank said, holding his pose. "Tell me what you think. Is this the body of a queer or what?"
"Queers come in all sizes and shapes, don't they?" Valerie teased.
Frank dropped his arms and shook his head. "Baby, in all my thirty-nine years I've never met a broad like you. Don't you ever get tired ( of jabbing the old needle in a guy?"
"You know you love it, you big brute," Valerie said with a broad smile.
"I guess I'm just going to have to prove to you again that I'm as straight as they come."
"The proof is in the fucking," Valerie declared, sliding a little further down in the bed as she brought her hands to her warming womanhood. "Now am I going to get laid this afternoon or not? I can't wait all day, you know."
"You won't have to wait a second more, Mrs. Latham. Help is on the way."
Frank walked over to the motel bed, his slightly larger than average pecker in the first states of tumescence. He looked down at the gorgeous titian-tressed woman now stretched out and squirming sensuously on the bed. She was fooling with him again, he realized, his eyes fixing on the smooth, inviting undulation of her shapely hips as she rolled them up in tantalizing welcome.
"Do me, Frank," Valerie breathed sexily. "Do me good this afternoon."
"What do you want, baby? You name it and I'll do it."
The apprentice adulteress smiled warmly. "What haven't we done yet, Frank? I can't think of any act or position we haven't tried at least once already."
"Maybe you'd like your twat sucked."
"Maybe."
"I could fuck you between your tits, baby."
"Yes, that's an idea," Valerie purred, continuing to rotate her hips on the bed as she lovingly fondled her copper-colored snatch. "What else can you think of, lover?"
"How about if you suck on my cock for a while? You always get a charge out of that."
Valerie's eyes drifted from Frank's face down to his rising manhood. She watched with more than passing interest as his tool climbed his left leg, as it became thicker, longer, swelling while ascending until finally, magically, total turgidity was achieved.
"Mmmm, it looks good enough to eat, Frank."
"Go to it, beautiful," Frank suggested, curling the thick fingers of his right hand around the column of blood-packed flesh. "He's ready whenever you are."
"Later, I'll suck him later," Valerie promised, her voice soft, sexy. "He'll be my dessert."
"And the entree? Has milady decided yet?"
The titian-haired beauty stopped the provocative rotation of her hips, the smooth, spongy hillocks of her prime posterior settling into the mattress as she brought her hands from her wetting snatch up to her mouth-watering boobs. She thought for a moment, fingering her rose-colored nipples as she tried to decide in what hole she wanted Frank's cock the most.
Frank finally emitted a sigh of exasperation.
As if that were her cue, Valerie said, "All right, big boy, how about coming in the back door this afternoon? Are you in the mood for some hot ass-humping?"
"I am if you are, baby," Frank answered quickly, a broad smile replacing the small frown he had been wearing. "It's been three weeks since the last time I shoved it up your sweet fanny."
"I know. That's why I want it today."
"Asshole beginning to twitch, huh?"
"It needs to be stretched again," Valerie said, grinning up at the big, burly man.
"Baby, I'm going to stretch it a mile. Now let's stop all this talking and get down to business."
Valerie pushed herself up off the bed and maneuvered close to Frank, her legs curling up under her as she reached for his pulsating pecker. Without a word she moved her head into position, directing the pear-shaped crown of Frank's tool to her eager mouth. For a few tantalizing seconds she rubbed the cockhead back and forth across her sealed lips.
Then, her lips parting, she took into her mouth the tasty crown and started sucking taking more and more of the pulsing organ inside her oral cavity as she hungrily and without pause launched into an enthusiastic fellatio.
Back and forth her head moved, her soft, supple lips gliding wetly over Frank's turgid manhood, her teeth scraping lightly over its heavily-veined surface. Finally-
"Okay, Mr. Fallon, that should do the trick. Now you're all nice and slippery."
"The better to ream your ass, beautiful," Frank grinned at her.
"That was the idea, fella. We may as well make the trip up the old dirt road as easy as possible."
With that, her anus in excited twitch, Valerie released Frank's saliva-covered manhood and twisted around away from him, positioning herself on hands and knees on the bed with her firm, full, and very fuckable bottom provocatively presented for inspection. She looked back over her left shoulder, a smile coming quickly to her beautiful face when she saw how hungrily Frank was staring at her poised behind.
"Go ahead, you big brute," she said huskily, her voice as thick and warm as molasses. "Fuck the shit out of my ass."
CHAPTER FIVE
Frank had every intention of doing just that. Stepping up behind the ravishing redhead, he placed his large, work-toughened hands on her beautiful backside. He proceeded to caress that succulent seat, his thick fingers pressing deeply into the smooth, resilient flesh of Valerie's firm buttocks.
Up and down and all around his hands roamed, squeezing, stroking, massaging roughly.
With the middle finger of his right hand he traced the inviting cleft between Valerie's buttocks, running the digit slowly up and down, up and down, pausing for a few brief seconds at her anus to diddle that puckered port.
"Mmmmm, I like I like," Valerie purred, sensuously rolling her plush posterior back at Frank.
"What do you like, baby? Tell me."
"I like your hands on my ass."
"And my stiff cock up it, right?"
"Right."
Frank chuckled and continued his not-too-gentle kneading of Valerie's tempting tail. Shit, but she was one helluva broad, he thought. She was a woman and a half, no doubt about it. From the top of her head to the tips of her toes Valerie Latham was all female.
Too bad he didn't know a little more about Valerie's husband, because then he'd be better able to judge the guy, to figure him out. But Valerie never had much to say about her old man. Whenever he brought up the subject of her husband, she would quickly change the course of the conversation, making it very clear that she preferred not to discuss her marital affairs.
All he knew for certain was that Paul Latham practices psychotherapy over in Crestmont. He was one of those guys who charge an arm and a leg just to listen to some poor slob's troubles. It sure was a damn easy way to make a buck. All you had to do was nod your head once in while and sympathize with those mixed-up jerks. No sweat in that.
Well, maybe he didn't really know anything about Paul Latham, enough, that is, to make a fair judgement. Maybe he was making some hasty conclusions about the man and his profession. It could be Latham was a decent sort making a good living in a job he found interesting.
But one thing he did know. Valerie was too good for him. Much too good. Valerie was born to be worshipped, to be placed on a pedestal and kept there. Men should be made to pay just for the great privilege of feasting their eyes on her loveliness. Dressed she was a knockout, naked she was pure heaven.
But most men tok women like Valerie for granted. They were too busy with their careers to fully appreciate the value, the importance of breathtaking beauty. Women like Valerie can't be seen on every street corner in every city of every state. They were special very special, and deserved to be treated accordingly.
There was no doubt about it. She was one in a million. And he, Frank Fallon, confirmed bachelor and cynic, was falling deeper in love with her each passing week. What a bitch it was that Val was already married. If only she were free.
"Hey," Valerie said suddenly, impatiently, "are you going to fuck my ass or not? Now who's the one wasting time, Mr. Fallon?"
"Sorry, baby," Frank smiled. "I was thinking, that's all."
"This is no time for thinking, Frank. Save the brain work for another day and start working that beautiful cock inside my shitty rectum."
"Right beautiful. Hang on now."
Dispelling from his mind the sad thought that Valerie was not his to screw night after night after night, Frank readjusted his stance and with his right hand guided his still rock-hard pecker to her winking nether hole.
Then he pushed forward with his hips, exerting pressure at Valerie's small anus with his blood-engorged cockhead as he worked to gain a foothold, a cockhold, in her tantalizing bottom. Hands clamped firmly on her shapely hips, a look of determination on his rough-hewn face, Frank struggled to wedge the bulbous crown of his saliva-laden prick inside Valerie's resisting asshole.
"C'mon, baby," the sex-hungry beauty pleaded, "get it in me. Shove it in there."
"Open your ass, Val," Frank husked. "Help me a little."
"I am helping," Valerie said, squirming her delightful derriere back at Frank. "Just ram it in me, Frank."
"I'll hurt you, baby."
"No you won't. I can take it. Shove that damn thing up my fucking behind."
Frank grunted and pressed ahead, exerting even more pressure against the exciting woman's wrinkled rear aperture as he knocked impatiently on the back door to pleasure. Valerie dug her fingers into the sheeted mattress and continued to stubbornly resist the instinctive urge to tighten her sphincter muscles.
And then, finally-
"Ughhhh-yes, that's what I want, Frank. More now, baby. Get it all in there."
"Can you feel it, beautiful?"
"It's good, give me the rest now."
Frank looked down at the point of connection, the wholly obscene sight of his pulsating prick joined to Valerie's magnificent bottom sending a shiver of lust up his spine. The thick, blood-filled head of his organ was snugly sheathed in the woman's shit-chute, held there hotly by her widely-stretched, gripping asshole.
As Valerie squirmed restlessly on her hands and knees, her long flaming tresses hanging straight down and partially shielding her beautiful face, Frank began working the rest of his powerful prick inside her dark, dank rectum. He pushed ahead with care, with more caution than was necessary, because he was loath to cause Valerie even the slightest pain.
"Oh, it's good, Frank, so fucking good," she panted happily, the feel of her lover's pecker worming its way relentlessly up inside her clammy rectal canal clouding her mind with desire.
Why was it, she wondered, that a good screwing of her ass thrilled her so. What made it so strangely satisfying, so utterly delightful? The rectum was, after all, sadly lacking in sensitivity, having neither the great elasticity or nerve endings of a female vagina.
It was psychological, Valerie decided. Or at least much of it was. She was inclined to agree with Paul who, having interviewed a number of female patients with anal fixations, was of the opinion that the thought alone of being fanny-fucked, of submitting to what, ultimately, was a dehumanizing act, was enough to stimulate some women and make them highly responsive to sodomy.
Yes, that made some sense. Women were, by nature, essentially masochistic, basically submissive creatures. They wanted to be taken, handled and humped not with finesse but with vigor and determination.
As for anal sex, there was something wickedly wonderful, something deliciously depraved, about offering up your bottom for penetration. It was all so dirty, so unnatural. Getting fucked in the fanny was akin to laying bare your soul. You were so open, so vulnerable, so completely at the mercy of the man exploring that most private and personal part of your anatomy.
How gut-jumbling good it was!
"All right, baby," Frank said, "you have it all now. Your behind is stuffed with prick."
"Mmmmm, I love it," Valerie breathed hotly. "Fuck me now, Frank. Ream me out with your beautiful bone."
A hundred wild horses couldn't have pulled Frank away from Valerie, so intent was he on once again pleasing her by performing one of her favorite perversions. But he took a moment now to savor the feel of his rock-hard organ in the woman's dank shit-chute. He was in to the hilt, his tool buried balls deep inside her humid rectal chamber, snugly ensconced there.
To say it was great would be an understatement, Frank thought, again looking down and thrilling to the beautifully perverse sight of his prick in lewd possession of Valerie's mouth-watering posterior. He had burrowed through the muck in her rectum, inching his cock slowly but surely into her fantastic fanny, and now he was home free, imbedded to the hilt, his organ planted firmly inside the back road to paradise. It was sensational!
As Valerie hummed her wholehearted approval, Frank began working his tool in and out of her hot, tight back passage, testing its elasticity with slow, sure strokes. He would withdraw until only the bulbous head of his pecker remained sheathed in Valerie's ass, hugged hotly by her distended anus, and then push back inside the clammy confines of her gripping rectum until her ass was again chock full of meaty manhood.
"Yes, oh, yessss," Valerie hissed. "That's the way, baby. Dig it deep into me."
In and out Frank moved his probing pile of flesh, his buttocks in slow, rhythmic, back and forth motion as he pushed in, withdrew, pushed in and withdrew, stretching Valerie's shit-chute with each deliberate, well-timed stroke.
The psychologist's wife rocked back and forth on the bed, her beautiful body in lazy, sensual sway as she swiveled her luscious bottom, rolling it up and back to greet the darling dick drilling into her bowels.
Shit, but it was good, Valerie thought. The fantastic feeling of fullness in her behind was simply heaven. Frank's hot sausage of a cock was planted up her ass, stuffed deep inside her rectal canal, and the sensations suffusing her now were nothing less than exquisite.
"How is it, baby?" Frank asked, his voice heavy, charged with passion.
"Beautiful, just beautiful," Valerie moaned rapturously.
"You want it faster now?"
"Yes. Faster now, Frnak. Do it faster."
"Hang on, honey."
Without further ado, Frank increased the tempos of his thrusts, his hands tightening on Valerie's heavenly hips as he began punching his prick into her quivering alabaster ass with less reserve and more determination.
Valerie cried out with pleasure, tossing back her head to reveal a face bathed in a strange, perverse smile. Her long flaming tresses swirled about her neck and shoulders as she rocked on the bed and begged Frank to really do it to her, to fuck the daylights out of her dirty derriere.
"Get down, baby," Frank ordered. "On your elbows."
Valerie obeyed without pause, dropping onto her elbows and then cradling her face between her arms. Now she was in lewd, servile crouch on the bed, her face pressed hotly into the mattress and her impaled backside thrust high in the air.
"Go, Frank, go," she pleaded passionately. "Fuck my ass raw, you big brute."
Quickly Frank resumed his reaming of the redhead's mucky rectum, picking up where he left off seconds ago. Again and again he boomed his pulsating cock into the quivering behind so provocatively posed for defilement, his meaty manhood churning up inside Valerie's dank, dark rectal chamber and lustily stirring her turds. Each passionate plunge of his rigid rod into her rectum wrenched from the redhead's throat a gutteral moan.
"Oh, Frank, it's good, so goooood."
"Enjoy, honey, enjoy."
Paul should see her now, Valerie thought dazedly. How would he react to the sight of her being banged in the bottom by another man? Not with joy, that was for sure. In many ways her husband was the typical male chauvinist, the kind whose belief in the old double standard could not be shaken by the most vociferous liberationist.
It was perfectly all right for him to "treat" his female patients by screwing them dizzy on his office couch, but his wife was to remain the ever faithful servant, the homemaker whose sexual needs were tended to on the marital bed-and only the marital bed.
Extra-marital humping was, in a word, verboten.
But what Paul didn't know wouldn't hurt him, Valerie decided, again feeling Frank's hairy scrotal sac slap up against her upturned snatch as he delivered yet another jolting thrust into her stretched rectal chamber.
No doubt Paul's belief in the outmoded double standard, a belief strongly implied if seldom stated, had played a part in her decision to take a temporary lover. Perhaps in her subconscious there was a need to get back at him, to match his numerous affairs with at least one of her own.
Well now she had something. Never, of course, would she be so bold, so daring, as to flaunt her affair with Frank in Paul's face. Informing her mate of her infidelity, confessing to many moments of passion with Mr. Frank Fallon, who, for all intents and purposes, she had picked up on the turnpike, would serve no useful end and might even cause a rift in what she considered a very solid, very satisfactory marriage.
Her affair with Frank, all their clandestine couplings, was and would have to remain her secret. And what a truly delicious secret it was. On a number of occasions already she had savored the knowledge of her adultery while feigning intense interest in Paul's detailed description of an encounter with a randy patient.
Yes, indeed, Every woman, married or single, was entitled to her secret.
"Baby, baby, I'm going to come soon," Frank announced suddenly, knocking out of Valerie's head all thoughts of her spouse.
"Yes, come in me, Frank. Fill my ass with come."
Reaching now for the summit, the glorious peak of pleasure, Frank threw caution to the wind and commenced a savage assault on Valerie's fabulous fanny. Violently he plumbed the dank depths of her mucky rectal canal, his thrusting prick a meaty cudgel as it churned furiously up inside her humid bowels.
"Argh-oohhh!" Valerie grunted, each powerful, pulverizing thrust into her bottom shoving her forward on the bed a few inches, pushing her face deeper into the mattress.
"Soon, baby, soon," Frank promised in a rasply, lust-choked growl.
"Come, oh come," whined the passion-befogged redhead, her fingers digging hard into the mattress, the sheer vulnerability of her humiliating position, her total helplessness, contributing significantly to the wild, weird pleasure she was deriving from the hard-driving cock rapidly reaming her rectum.
Frank battered Valerie's bottom with a fiendish fury, with the unholy intensity and single-minded savagery of a man gone berserk. Out of control now, swallowed up by a gigantic, demonic lust, he ripped into the goreous female's painfully stretched rectum with a vengeance, forgetting in this moment of madness and gut-jumbling depravity that he loved Valerie Latham, that it was she who, with her luscious body and devilish demeanor, with her sultry voice and intoxicating charm, had started him thinking about the perfect companion and how he might make of their relationship something more permanent.
Valerie was now just Woman, a scintillating specimen of her sex, a female who had enthusiastically offered up her succulent ass for brutal ravishment. And he was just Man, lust-bound Man, dominated by the soul-scorching need to satanically service that proffered posterior.
"Oh come, ooooo, please come," Valerie whimpered into the mattress, tears of happiness rolling down her cheeks, her excited body in feverish quiver as she impatiently awaited Frank's creamy discharge in her derriere.
For ten seconds more Frank's rampaging rod ran amuck in Valerie's steaming rectum, punishing it unmercifully. The titian-haired beauty whined with pleasure and again, in a plea, begged for her lover's syrupy semen.
He had once again ripped her up back there, cleaving her bottom as one might halve a ripe peach, his slashing sword of flesh shredding her rectum with fiendish, furious force. Again and again she had felt his powerful prick thunder up her bowels, surging deep inside the clammy confines of her after passage. And now she wanted the balm, the soothing lotion that would ease the soreness and inflamation caused by Frank's abrasive thrusts into her tender shit-chute.
Was there a better abirritant than a man's warm, gooey semen? To be sure, it was a love liniment.
While one woman shivered in ecstasy in a motel not far from her home in Ocean Grove, the ejaculating cock imbedded in her ass spitting out a warm, creamy come to bath her violated rectum, another woman, in Crestmont, in Paul Latham's decorative office, begged for come in her cunt.
Jennifer Wagner, masochistic mother of two and seeker of sadistic embraces, had forsaken her role of whimpering victim, of female frightened by the inevitability of her ravishment, and was now a most willing participant in a frenetic fornication.
No longer was she feigning fear, pretending to be terrified of and revolted by the impending rape of her treasure twat. She had stopped pleading for mercy and ceased trying to twist out from under her "rapist."
She was herself again, thrilling to the kind of savage, animalistic sex she demanded but didn't receive from her strait-laced husband.
Jennifer's return to reality was managed with astounding ease. It had taken but a few hard, bold thrusts of Paul's turgid cock into her pulsating pussy to transform the blonde beauty from amateur actress playing a part to hump-hungry harlot in desperate need of sex.
Seconds after cock coupled with cunt on the couch, Paul lustfully locking loins with his pain-worshipping "patient," Jennifer junked her act and threw herself unashamedly into the fuck. With an animal-like groan of passion she had thrown her arms around the lusty psychologist's hard back and hooked her legs over his, responding immediately to his rough thrusts into her steaming, salivating cunt.
And now Paul was really socking it to her, his taut buttocks jerking crazily up and down and side to side as he hammered his tumescent pecker into the butter-soft mush of Jennifer's sodden womanhood, his arrogant prick probing deep inside her quivering tummy.
"Harder, Paul," the blonde masochist begged in a breathless voice. "Fuck it harder, baby. Screw me good."
"Take it, you cunt," Paul husked, looking down into Jennifer's flushed, passion-twisted face. "Swallow it up, pretty bitch."
"Give me cock. Cock, cock, cock."
"Like this?" Paul slammed his meaty manhood into the woman's steaming sex cove with a violent thrust of his hips.
"Arrrgh-" Jennifer groaned happily.
"And this?"
"Ohhhh-"
"And maybe this?"
"Ummmph!"
"Is that hard enough for you baby?" Paul growled, his breath coming in short gasps.
"More," Jennifer whined. "Please give me more. Hurt me."
A satanic grin spread across Paul's attractive face as he took in the pained expression on Jennifer's. The urge to truly defile this beautiful female was becoming more intense with each passing second. Just knowing that he could do anything to her, anything at all, and that she would love it and plead for more, was enough to start his blood boiling and his heart beating like a tom-tom.
An idea suddenly popped into Paul's head. Pushing himself up off the couch, his slippery prick sliding wetly out of Jennifer's slushy vagina, he got to his feet and moved quickly over to his desk.
"Paul, come back," whined the lovely masochist, one hand darting downward to clamp over her now prickless pussy. "Please finish me off. I need you."
"Be right back, baby," Paul promised. "I've got a little surprise for you."
"Bastard," Jennifer moaned, beginning a frantic massage of her aching twat as she writhed on the couch.
Paul found what he had been looking for in the left hand bottom drawer of his desk. He had purchased the frightening item just last week in a pornographic bookstore, thinking at the time that Mrs. Kevin Wagner, ever ready to experience the perverse thrill of painful intercourse, would thoroughly enjoy his use of it on her.
He had planned to save it for a special occasion, perhaps making good use of its pain-inducing properties when, on one of her weekly visits to his office, Jennifer expressed a wish for a truly agonizing sexual experience, one that would have her screaming like a banshee.
But this was just as good a time as any, Paul thought, walking back to the couch. Besides, he had seen in that bookstore other evil contraptions Jennifer would no doubt find very interesting. These could be purchased at another time and used in the weeks to come.
He would simply add their cost to Jennifer's bill, since they were to be used in her "treatment."
"What's that?" Jennifer asked, turning her head on the couch cushion to see her psychologist strapping something around his waist. "What are you doing, Paul?"
"If it's pain you want, baby, then pain you'll get. You're going to love this."
Still stroking her sizzling snatch, Jennifer watched Paul fit the hollow rubber cylinder over his erect penis and then bring behind his back the two straps attached to the cylinder and hook them together. Her eyes, moist from the tears of joy she had shed while Paul was scouring her vagina with his thrusting tool, grew wide as she focused hard on the cock attachment.
"You like, sweetheart?" Paul asked with a grin, after adjusting the straps around his waist.
"I-I've never-"
"What you see is what you're going to get, Mrs. Wagner. Every last painful inch."
Never before had Jennifer seen anything like what Paul was now wearing. It was a strange-looking contrivance, one of evil design, in all likelihood invented by a man with a sadistic bent. Frightening it was, but also fascinating.
The cylindrical length of flesh-colored rubber sheathing Paul's pecker was at least a foot long, which meant, of course, that approximately six inches had been added to the six of the doctor's dick. On the rubber extension were a dozen or so thick, spike-like protrusions, about three-quarters of an inch in size.
This wicked penis attachment, Jennifer concluded, was obviously intended to rip a female's pussy to shreds.
"So what do you say, Jennifer? How would you like it if I slammed this big banana inside your cunt?"
"The lovely blonde swallowed hard. "You'll kill me with that thing, Paul. I couldn't take it."
"Nonsense. You're a big girl with a big hunger for pain."
"But-"
"And this thing will do the trick, baby. Next week you'll be asking me to shove it up your ass, I'll bet."
As Jennifer stared at Paul's now monstrous manhood, her mind filling with thoughts of the agonizing pain she could expect if it were crammed ruthlessly inside her tender, sensitive vagina, an emphatically perverse and not unfamiliar desire began wending its evil way through her naked body.
Her anguish would be of incalculable proportions, comparable to nothing heretofore experienced, she realized with a strange mixture of fear and fascination. The sadistic spankings Paul had administered, the fiendish, feverish assfucks he had subjected her to, the diabolical way he crammed his meaty cock so far into her mouth that she gagged-all this would seem like innocent fun after she'd been savagely mauled by the terrible, twat-tearing penis-enlarger.
"Well, baby, give me your answer," Paul said, stepping toward the office couch and looking down at the vulnerable blonde. "Are you going to chicken out or-"
"No," Jennifer cut in sharply. "Do it to me, Paul. I want it in me."
"All of it?"
"All of it. Tear my cunt to pieces, Paul."
"You're going to love this sexy toy, Mrs. Wagner."
Quickly now Paul climbed back onto the couch, once again positioning himself between Jennifer's legs, one of which she had hooked over the backrest to give the doctor more room and to fully expose her snatch to his diabolical dick.
"Touch it, Jennifer," Paul urged the masochistic woman as he hovered over her. "Feel those rubbery little spikes."
Jennifer snaked her right hand down between their bodies and curled her fingers around the rubber cylinder sheathing and lengthening Paul's pecker. Already she could feel the thick, pointy protrusions digging into the tender flesh of her vagina, rippng away at the walls of her poor womanhood with agonizing abandon.
"Now ask me nicely for it," Paul ordered, an evil gleam in his eye. "Beg for the pain you crave, bitch."
"Beg for it?"
"That's right, sweetheart. Let me hear you plead for this big, beautiful cock."
CHAPTER SIX
Jack Talbot was fuming. He had thought that finding a parking space directly outside the small supermarket was a stroke of good luck, since it would enable him to keep a fairly close watch on Mary as she wheeled her shopping cart up and down the aisles. From this vantage point he could also see her when she paid for her purchases at the check-out counter.
Now he wasn't at all sure. It might have been better, he realized, if he had parked his car behind the store, in the small and always crowded lot the store provided for its customers. Then he wouldn't have been witness to his girl's aggravating, nauseating behavior.
Watching the woman you were nuts about make a complete ass of herself by flirting with every Tom, Dick and Harry she met was no way to begin a Saturday. Here it was, not yet ten thirty in the morning, and already Mary had blinked her baby browns at-half a dozen guys, all of whom had smiled back while no doubt thinking her an easy lay.
Disgusting, that's that it was, Jack thought, angrily tapping the steering wheel of his '69 Plymouth. Why couldn't the little bitch go about her business without starting up with every two-bit jerk who crossed her path. Through the large supermarket window he had seen her flirt first with the produce manager, a roly-poly guy with a fat, stupid smile, then with the manager of the store, a lean, lantern-jawed buck with enough nerve to put a hand on Mary's arm while talking to her, and then with some balding, bespectacled idiot whose shopping cart she had bumped into with her own.
And now, at the check-out counter, she was giving the eye to a kid, a skinny, freckle-faced punk at least five years younger than herself. She was really giving the kid a going over, smiling that naughty little smile of hers and sticking out her chest in an obvious attempt to turn him on.
It wouldn't surprise him in the least if the next thing Mary did was reach across the counter and clamp her hot hand over the kid's crotch. If he was getting a hard-on, then she'd know for sure that he found her exciting. Maybe he'd even have the guts to make a grab for her cunt.
But that was Mary, Jack realized disgustedly, his blood boiling as he watched his girl in animated conversation with the youthful check-out clerk. Everywhere they went together, to the movies, to a store for groceries, to a dance, for a stroll up the block, Mary was sure to find at least one stud she could tease to distraction by batting her eyelashes and swiveling her shapely hips.
She just couldn't resist the temptation to flirt. She was always striking up conversations with strange men, approaching young and old alike with a boldness and disdain for propriety associated with arrogant streetwalkers. How well he remembered their visit to an art gallery when, after a lengthy search prompted by her sudden disappearance from his side, he found her in one corner of a room fending off, playfully, of course, the lewd advances being made by a tall, goateed gent in his sixties.
What really galled, what knotted his stomach and made him want to puke, was the possibility that Mary's flirtatious behavior had resulted, in who knows how many instances, in her being bedded. How many of those she teased did she wind up fucking? That was the sixty-four thousand dollar question, the one that lingered in the back of his mind waiting for an answer.
He knew for a fact that she had fucked her employer, that horny psychologist Paul Latham, but how many others had plumbed the mushy depths of his girl's pretty pussy? How many cocks besides his had she taken into her mouth? How many stiff pricks had she taken up her saucy ass?
Damn the little bitch anyway!
Jack turned his gaze from the supermarket and stared out the windshield when he saw Mary and a clerk, another mop-haired teenager, exit the store. The fact that the two were laughing did absolutely nothing to extinguish the flames of anger raging within him.
"In here, Tom," he heard Mary say. "I think we can get it all on the back seat."
He'd like to put you on the back seat, Jack thought.
"Jack, will you open the back door for us?"
Mary asked, peering through the half-opened window on the passenger's side of the auto. "My hands are full, honey."
Jack turned and glared at his girlfriend for several long seconds, then finally reached across the front seat and flipped up the door lock. This done, he immediately resumed his stiff pose behind the steering wheel, hands gripping the wheel tightly. Just wait until I get you home, sweetheart, he thought angrily.
It took less than a minute for Mary and the brash young clerk to stash her packages on the back seat. After slamming the door shut and thanking the youth for helping her, Mary pulled open the front door and slid in next to her boyfriend. No sooner had she closed the door and rolled the window down a little than Jack was on the attack.
"So Miss Hot-Pants, Miss Cock-Crazy Cunt, I suppose you gave that jerk your telephone number."
"What?"
"Well why not? I mean half the studs in Crestmont have it. One more won't make any difference. Besides, it's probably the best tip the kid will receive all fucking day."
"Jack, let's get home, huh?" Mary sighed, exasperation weighing down her voice.
"Just like that, huh? No explanation or-"
"I've got stuff in the back that will melt unless it gets in the refrigerator soon," Mary broke in.
"That's more important than your embarrassing me again, is it? Well, that figures."
"Jack, just shut up and start the car, will you?"
"You've got some fuckin' gall, you know that, bitch?"
"Please, don't start a scene again. I had enough the last time you took me shopping."
"I saw you parading around in there, baby. I watched you strut your stuff in front of all those guys. Yeah, you really had them chafing at the bit, Miss Slut of 1973."
"Jack, will you-"
"Maybe you grabbed a quick one when I couldn't see you, huh? How 'bout it, baby? Did the manager take you down to the basement and screw you on a bed of potatoes? Or maybe he shoved it in while you were bent over a stack of cartons."
Mary shook her head. "You are unbelievable, Mr. Talbot. I'm beginning to think you've lost your mind."
"And then, just to add insult to injury, you bring back to the car one of the guys you were flirting with. Yeah, that was a nice touch, wasn't it? That's what you call rubbing salt in the wound, right?"
Mary swiveled around on the seat and flashed Jack a look that would have wilted the ardor of the most arrogant, persistent swain. "Listen, you jealous bastard, and listen good. You know damn well Tom was helping me with my packages. I couldn't possibly have managed four heavy bundles all by myself and you know it."
"You could have made two trips, baby," Jack argued.
Mary snorted. "Sure, why not? What the hell do you care if I make a dozen trips back and forth, my arms breaking from the weight of those fuckin' packages. You can just sit here and pretend you're a king or something. If you weren't so damn lazy, I wouldn't have to get somebody to help me. If once in awhile you'd-"
"You know I detest shopping for anything," Jack interrupted, stubbornly refusing to admit to himself that Mary's anger, at least as it concerned having to lug the heavy bundles to the car, might be justified. "It just isn't my style, that's all."
"Yours is the style of the typical male chauvinist pig," Mary fired back. "Let the women handle all the menial chores, that's your motto. Keep them slaving over a hot stove, dusting the furniture, making the beds, doing the shopping, and all those other unimportant, boring jobs. If they get a little uppity, a little sassy, well, then just throw them on the nearest bed and give them a good fucking. A stiff cock once in awhile is all they need to keep them happy, anyway."
"You're changing the subject, baby. I'm not like you say I am. And even if I was, that doesn't excuse your behavior. Not one little tiny bit. You have no right to go throwing yourself at everything in pants."
"Throwing myself at-oh, shit, you're just too much, Jack. Paranoid is the word for you. I suggest an immediate visit to a good phychiatrist. Maybe a specialist in mental disorders can figure out what's ailing you."
"Why don't you arrange an appointment for me with that clown you're working for?" Jack suggested, his voice dripping sarcasm. "He's found out what it takes to cure what you've got."
"And what is it I have, Mr. Talbot?"
"Hot pants, baby," Jack answered without hesitation. "You've got a real bad case of the always twitching twat."
"I never heard you complain before about my always twitching twat. I thought you rather enjoyed fucking it, in fact."
"I don't like sharing the wealth," Jack stated angrily, his steely blue eyes boring holes in Mary.
"If you don't put a lid on this insane jealousy of yours, you just might find yourself with nothing to share."
"Now what's that supposed to mean?"
"It means I've had it up to here with your stupid accusations and idiotic demands. Every time I take a deep breath your heart skips a beat because you think I'm about to whistle for a man. I'm nothing more than a sex object to you, Jack, and being a cuddly plaything is getting to be an awful bore."
"I love you, baby," Jack declared firmly.
"You love yourself," Mary countered. "Now will you start this car and get me home? I don't want to talk about us any more."
Jack's eyes narrowed to slits as he stared at his saucy girl friend, who had turned away from him to look out the window on her side. There wasn't any sense in continuing the conversation, he decided. As far as Mary was concerned, the subject was closed. To belabor his point would serve no useful purpose.
Jack turned the ignition key and stepped lightly on the accelerator. The Plymouth growled in response and then fell to humming softly as Jack let the engine idle for several seconds. He glanced over at Mary and discovered her still looking out the window, obviously determined to avoid his gaze.
With a groan of disgust he shifted from "P" to "D" and jerked the car away from the curb. He'd try to control himself until they got to Mary's place, he decided, pulling into traffic. Once in her apartment he would be able to exert his authority. What Mary needed, what she was begging for, was another good spanking.
Mary sat in stony silence during the ride to her apartment, only occasionally glancing over at her boyfriend behind the wheel. He was seething with anger, she realized. The look on his face was ample evidence of that.
Well so what? She had as much reason to be upset with him as he had to be upset with her. Maybe it was true that she enjoyed flirting with men, teasing and arousing them to the point where they were ready to royally rape her. And maybe she had hit the sack with a few horny studs since meeting Jack Talbot.
But what of it? This was a free country and she was still a free female. There was no law that said a girl couldn't screw men of her choice, when and where she felt like screwing them. She and Jack weren't even engaged. He had no right to watch over her like a mother hen.
She liked Jack Talbot. Maybe she even loved him. He was a handsome six foot one inch, one hundred ninety pound hunk of male sex appeal. Curly black hair crowned a head near perfect in design, Jack's features being sharp, well-defined, eyes, ears, nose and mouth in attractive harmony.
Then, too, there was his proficiency in the sack. Jack was a strong, virile lover, capable of screwing her into a state of ecstatic exhaustion just about every night of the week. A girl would have to look long and hard to find his equal in bed.
But that didn't mean he had the right to enslave her, Mary argued silently, her body jerking suddenly to the left as Jack made a quick, too sharp right turn and gunned the automobile down the one-way street. He owned her no more than she owned him.
Just because they were living together in her apartment didn't give him exclusive right to her body. It would be another thing altogether if she and Jack were married. Then he'd have every right to expect fidelity from her and throw tantrums if she strayed from the marital bed. At the moment, however, Jack Talbot was just her lover, and his maniacal suspicions, the way he watched her like a hawk, were driving her right up a wall.
On the other hand, she wouldn't like to lose him. Jack had his good points, quite a few, in fact, and she had to admit that he was as generous with a dollar as he was quick to explode in anger when he suspected her of wrongdoing. As his wife she would no doubt enjoy many material comforts. Jack would probably work extra hard at his truck driver's job to provide her with those goodies, big and small, which contribute to a wife's happiness and sustain her on days dark with despair.
Yes, marriage to thirty-year-old Jack Talbot could prove rewarding in a number of ways. And it most certainly would not be boring. Now if only she could find a cure for his disgusting, and exasperating jealousy.
Jack brought his auto to a sudden stop outside his girl's apartment building and quickly turned off the engine. Without a word he got out of the car, slamming the door shut behind him. He pulled open the back door and scooped up two of the four bags of groceries huddled together on the back seat.
He kicked the door shut and then marched around the Plymouth and up onto the sidewalk, his stride purposeful as he headed for the well-maintained rent-controlled apartment building. Under the moss green awning he marched, pushing open the thick, grilled door with his left hip as he entered the large, unspectacular but tastefully-furnished lobby. He walked to the elevator, pressed the button with his right elbow, and waited impatiently.
Shaking her head, Mary pushed open the door on her side and climbed out of the car.
Less than a minute later she was heading toward her apartment building, her arms weighted down with the two bulging bags of groceries she had pulled from the back seat.
It occurred to her, as she waited for the elevator, that she might have gone too far once again. That Jack was boiling mad was more than obvious, and it was with a very real fear that she remembered the wicked walloping he had administered to her aching behind the last time she provoked him.
But he wouldn't dare do that to her again, she told herself, stepping into the small, immaculate elevator. He wouldn't have the nerve. She pressed number eight on the panel of buttons and then stepped back into a corner, a worried frown blanketing her pretty face as the humming elevator began climbing to her floor.
Jack was waiting for Mary when she entered her cozy three room apartment. He stood near the living room window, one hand clamped over his left hip, the other tilting a can of beer to his mouth.
"Help yourself, why don't you?" said Mary sarcastically, pausing on her way to the kitchen.
"I already have, baby."
" I see that. You don't waste any time, do you?"
"I was thirsty. You don't have any objections, I hope."
"Would it make any difference if I did?"
Jack shook his head. "Nope." Again he brought the beer can to his mouth, tilting his head back as he guzzled the thirst quenching brew in a manner befitting men of his ilk.
Again shaking her head, Mary moved into her small kitchen and set her packages down on the kitchen table. It wasn't bad enough, she thought, that he treated her like a possession, now he was beginning to act as if the apartment were his and not hers. Brother, how pushy could you get?
"Hurry it up in there," Jack shouted from the living room."
"What?"
"You heard me, baby. Put those groceries away and then get in here. We have some unfinished business to discuss."
"Are you ordering me in there, Jack?"
"Im tellin' you to shake a leg, baby. Put that stuff where it belongs and then bring that sweet ass of yours in here. And bring me another-no, never mind, I don't want another beer. I just want you, sweetheart."
Mary was about to tell her boyfriend to go to hell when she thought better of it. Better to take a different tact, she decided, pulling open the refrigerator door to put away the milk, butter, cheese and eggs she had purchased at the supermarket. She would humor Jack, on a casual air and treat the foul mood he was quickly slipping into with something akin to nonchalance.
If she was lucky, he'd decide to go out for a walk.
"So, here I am, master," Mary said a few minutes later, a sardonic smile on her face as she entered the living room.
"You took your sweet time, didn't you?" Jack chided, turning from the window to confront his girl friend.
"I could have gotten in here sooner if you had helped me put away the groceries."
"That's women's work."
"You eat twice as much as I do, Jack."
"Huh? What's that got to do with anything?"
Mary sighed. "Never mind, lover. I'm not about to start explaining to you."
Jack set his empty can down on a table and stood staring at Mary. He felt his cock stir within the warm confines of his undershorts as he took in his girl's pert, provocative figure, enticingly encased at the moment in a purplish-red, breast-hugging sweater and a pair of tight-fitting beige bellbottoms stretched taut across the saucy swells of her firm, rounded backside.
But the fact that he was getting aroused in no way altered his conviction that Mary deserved to be punished, first for her flirtatious manner, which he found obnoxious to the nth degree, and second, for engaging him in argument outside the supermarket instead of owning up to the fact that she enjoyed humiliating him by playing up to other men.
"Hold it, baby," he said, as Mary prepared to settle into the upholstered armchair in the corner.
The adorable brunette forced a grin. "What are you going to do, take my picture?"
Jack strode to the armchair and pulled his girl friend up to her feet. "C'mon, Miss Smartypants, you and I are going into the bedroom."
"I don't feel like that now, Jack," Mary argued, trying to pull away from her boyfriend. "Just because you're horny all of a sudden doesn't mean-"
"Fuckin' isn't what I had in mind, sweetheart. I mean, that can come later."
"Then what-" The remaining words to Mary's questions stayed locked in her throat as she suddenly realized, with numbing clarity, exactly what it was Jack intended to do to her. The thought of once again suffering the indignity, the awful humiliation, of a cruel spanking filled her with unvarnished dread. The pain of such a punishment was bad enough, but what made the ordeal really loathsome was the damage it did to her pride, her sense of self-respect.
"That's right, princess," Jack grinned, holding Mary's arms tightly as she started struggling in his grip, "once again it's time to smack some sense into that mixed-up head of yours."
"No!" Mary shouted, grimacing as she twisted and turned this way and that in a frantic effort to escape. "I won't let you do that to me. Once was enough."
"That's the whole point. Once wasn't enough, Mary. You haven't yet learned your lesson. Now-"
"You bastard!" Mary fumed, anger now surging ahead to momentarily overtake fear. She drew back her right foot and then delivered a swift kick to her boyfriend's left shin.
"Oww!" Jack howled, his face contorting in pain.
"Let me go, Jack. I'm warning you."
"You little bitch, I'll fix you."
"Jack if you-ughhh, no. Noooo-"
Suddenly, with surprising agility, Jack had flipped Mary up over his right shoulder, bending down and wrapping his strong arms around her legs and then jerking upright as he tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
"That kick will cost you a dozen extra slaps, baby," Jack announced, as he started for Mary's bedroom.
"Put me down this instant, you brute," the scrumptious brunette demanded in a choked voice, kicking out with her legs as she began pummeling Jack's back with her balled fists.
"Sure, I'll put you down. And when I do you'll wish I hadn't. You can count on-"
"We're finished if you do this, Jack," Mary warned. "I mean that." She struggled gamely, with a fierce determination, at one point reaching out to plant one hand against a wall in the foolish hope that this would somehow slow Jack down.
"This women's lib business is starting to affect your brain," Jack said. "Another spanking just might help you to put things back in proper perspective."
"Ohhhh, I hate you," Mary groaned, realizing the futility of her struggles.
Jack turned a corner and entered the bedroom, a still squirming Mary draped over his right shoulder. Once in the bedroom, the walls and ceiling of which were soft pink, Mary's favorite color, he flipped her onto her back on the double bed. The fearful female bolted to a sitting position and then started to scramble off the bed.
"Whoops, no you don't, sweetheart," Jack said, quickly grabbing hold of his escaping girl friend. He dragged her back across the bed and then, gripping her waist, flipped her over onto her tummy.
"You'll pay for this, Jack," Mary promised, tears welling in her eyes as her boyfriend yanked down the six inch zipper at the side of her fanny-firming bellbottoms. "I'll never forgive you. Never."
"You'll thank me for it in time. Besides, a sound spanking once in awhile does a woman good. Satisfies the old masochistic urge, you might say."
"You bum!" Mary cried out. "You pervert!"
"Sticks and stones, sweetheart," Jack grinned lewdly, working purposefully as he tugged down his girl's bellbottoms to a point several inches below her provocative posterior.
Mary started whimpering into the yellow bedcover, her moment of pure misery composed of one part hatred of Jack, one part fear of the upcoming spanking, and one part nagging self-pity. Stirred into this sad mixture was the awful realization that her so-called punishment seemed unavoidable.
Jack would eventually have his way with her. Arguing with him was out of the question. Reason alone wouldn't dissuade him from raining blow after blow on her poor bottom. She could plead with him, beg for mercy like a trembling captive caught escaping. But that wouldn't work, either. She had tried appealing to his sense of decency the last time he whacked her derriere and had failed dismally.
There was nothing to do but suffer the spanking, Mary thought sadly, a single tear trickling down her left cheek to drop silently onto the bedcover. Further efforts to escape would surely prove unsuccessful and serve only to temporarily delay the inevitable. Oh, what a sickening son of a bitch Jack Talbot was!
Jack, who had been staring down at his girl, his cold blue eyes feasting on the scintillating sight of Mary's pantied posterior, now moved to denude that delightful derriere, his fingers digging into the elasticized waistband of the pink cotton briefs as he began tugging the flimsy garment down.
"C'mon, baby, lift those hips for me," he ordered.
Mary obeyed, lazily wriggling her shapely hips up off the bed so that Jack could work her panties down and around her ass.
"There, now we're cooking," said Jack a few seconds later, when the pretty brunette's undies were banded around her creamy thighs, resting atop her bellbottoms. A lewd smirk danced mischievously across his face as he studied Mary's succulent behind, obscenely framed now on top and bottom by the ruffled border of her magenta sweater and the crumpled band of pink trapping her thighs just below her hidden anus.
A somewhat clumsy positioning of Mary's posterior followed, Jack having to expend energy he would rather have saved in order to place Mary in proper position for her spanking. Considerable effort was required to get the uncooperative female draped, bottoms up, over his lap.
Mary, refusing to assist in her own humiliation, willed her body limp, becoming dead weight in Jack's arms and forcing him to pull, shove, tug, drag, carry, and generally manhandle her inert form until he had her in ignominious sprawl over his knees.
But the desired end was finally achieved, with spanker sitting on the side of the double bed and spankee, her face flushed with shame, the taut cheeks of her smooth, well-molded fanny quivering in frightened expectation, obscenely draped across his lap.
The wicked pummeling of one near perfect posterior could now commence.
"Got anything to say, baby, before I begin?" Jack asked, tracing the exciting contours of Mary's curvacious bottom with the thick, work-toughened fingers of his right hand. "Suppose I give you one last chance to apologize?"
"Go to hell," Mary muttered.
"That'll cost you, Miss Smartypants. I'd say, oh, about half a dozen additional smacks."
"I wish I had never met you, you creep."
"Then you refuse to apologize?"
Mary said nothing. Why waste breath calling him names, she thought. It wasn't going to change a damn thing. And apologize? Hell, she didn't have one solitary little thing to apologize for. Not one. True, expressing regret over a supposed sin and asking forgiveness just might spare her the spanking, but not before the Pope administered the rites of confession to Satan himself would she give Jack the satisfaction of an apology, even one she didn't mean. No sir, never.
"All right then, sweetheart. You asked for it."
So saying, Jack brought his right hand up over his right shoulder. He maintained the pose for several long seconds, arm cocked, hard hand ready to descend on vulnerable backside, and savored his complete control of the situation. At the moment he was the master and Mary the slave, the spirited filly in need of taming.
What a truly stimulating sight it was! What a luscious target Mary's tantalizing tail presented!
Arched provocatively, in wicked abandon, it was as if her beautiful bare bottom was beckoning a blow, asking to be struck repeatedly and turned a crimson hue. Who but a saint would turn down such a deliciously lewd invitation?
Smiling inwardly at the thought that never in a hundred years would he be considered for sainthood, Jack delivered the first of many mean smacks he intended to give his girl friend's impudent posterior. His hand landed with a crisp, "cracking" sound on Mary's left buttock, causing that semi-globe of gelatinous flesh to tremble and wrenching from Mary's throat a shriek of pain.
"That's numero uno, baby," Jack announced triumphantly, in the manner of one who had taken the first step toward achieving a desired objective. "And this is numero dos-"
"Oww!" Mary howled. 'Ohhhh-"
"Stings a little, huh?"
"You crummy-owww!"
Tears of shame and pain rolled down Mary's cheeks as the outrageous assault on her aching ass continued. Without mercy Jack rained blow after blow on her poor behind, striking in turn the right cheek and then the left, his meaty hand slicing through the air to come crashing down against the rapidly warming flesh.
"All you libbers need this once in awhile," Jack declared. "A good spanking does wonders for the smarts."
"I hate you," Mary whined.
"What was that, baby?"
"I said I-aiee! Ohhh-"
"You've got a pretty little ass, Mary. I'd rather fuck it than smack it. But until you learn to behave-"
"Owww! Arhhh-"
Mary's mortification was total. Draped as she was over Jack's knees, her arms and legs dangling downward, her bare bottom sticking up in obscene surrender, she could do nothing but suffer the brutal battering and pray with all her might that her boyfriend's arm would soon grow weary.
At the moment, however, it didn't seem that Jack would ever tire of swatting her sore seat. He was really into the spanking now, whacking away with a fiendish enthusiasm and turning her pert, flaming fanny a fiery hue.
Again and again his right hand descended on the quivering derriere, the imprint of his fingers remaining on the abused flesh for a few seconds before fading away.
Smack! Whack! Smack!
"Owww-it hurts so bad," Mary moaned.
"That's the idea, baby," Jack growled back. "Maybe you'll think twice next time before givin' some guy the glad eye."
"You're an animal. A stinkin' ani-aieee!"
Whack! Smack! Whack!
With devilish delight Jack beat a steady tattoo on his girl friend's aching ass, the muscles in his face tightening as he devoted himself to the savage swatting of the impudent seat Mary loved to wriggle for her admirers.
Her pathetic sobs of protest were like music to his ears, providing as they did a satanic sort of accompaniment to the sound his hand made as it cracked across her trembling, inflamed backside. Perverse pleasure engulfed him, making him want to thrash Mary's succulent behind until it was blistered and bruised, a rounded mass of raw, welt-covered flesh.
Smack! Whack! Smack!
"Stop-please stop," Mary pleaded, the awful pain at her tortured bottom spreading to all parts of her body and smothering her resolve not to beg for mercy.
"Stop? We've just begun, sweetheart. You won't be able to sit for a week when I'm through with you."
"No-please don't hit me. Don't do-arghhh-"
Mary squirmed in unadulterated agony on Jack's lap, tremulous sobs breaking from her throat as with diabolical determination Jack walloped her naked, quivering bottom. Tears streamed down her pain-contorted, flushed face and dropped noiselessly to the carpeted floor.
It was painfully obvious now, she realized, that Jack intended this sadistic spanking to be, at the very least, the equal of the last one he administered. Her ass ached something fierce and burned like blazes. It was as if she had backed into an open furnace and allowed the shooting flames to sear her naked seat, as if a gallon of white hot lava had been poured all over her fanny.
How many blows had he administered already? She had no idea because she hadn't bothered to keep count. Of more importance, of course, was how many more scorching smacks he intended to give her. Fifteen? Twenty-five? Fifty? Would Jack ever stop this perverse pummeling of her blazing behind?
For five minutes more Jack banged away at Mary's reddened rear end, pausing every so often for a brief rest before resuming the punishment. Only when his arm started to ache did he stop altogether.
With a rough shove he sent Mary tumbling off his lap and onto the floor, where she remained for almost a full minute sobbing softly into her hands before dragging herself up to her feet. A sense of accomplishment welled within him as he looked at his well-spanked girl friend.
She was the personification of misery, he thought. With her wet, tear-streaked face, shielded in part by her disheveled hair, and her shoulders slumped in an attitude of resignation, Mary bore little resemblance to the smart-talking female who had argued at length with him outside the supermarket.
"I hope this has taught you a lesson, baby. From here on in you had better mind your P's and Q's."
"Get out of my bedroom," Mary said, softly but firmly, struggling to contain the rage that boiled within her.
"Are you going to behave from now on?"
"I said get out of here. Just leave me alone."
"Maybe I want to screw you, sweetheart. You look mighty sexy right now, you know, standin' there with your middle bare. Hey, don't pull your pants up on my account."
"Touch me and I'll scream my head off," Mary warned, working her briefs and bellbottoms up her hips and around her waist. "I'll have you arrested for raping me."
"Now that's no way to talk, baby. Just because-"
"Will you shut up and leave me alone?" Mary yelled. "Get out of my sight, damn you."
Jack stared at his angry girl friend and then, deciding it would be better all around if he gave her time to cool off before climbing into bed with her, he pushed himself up off the bed and started out of the bedroom. At the door he turned, just in time to see Mary fling herself onto the bed and begin moaning, great sobs of anguish trundling up her throat to be partially smothered by the pillow she clutched to her head.
Sorry, sweetheart, but you had it coming, Jack thought. No one makes a fool of Jack Talbot and gets away with it.
Five minutes later found Jack in the living room, settled comfortably in the armchair and sipping a can of beer. The sound of Mary crying in the bedroom drifted to his ears as he considered the sizzling spanking he had administered. He hoped she would remember the spanking the next time she felt like flirting.
The problem was, of course, that she was always being tempted. There weren't too many men able to pass Mary on the street without at least taking note of her curvaceous figure-especially when she was attired in an outfit that left little to the imagination. And all Mary had to do was sense a man's interest, see his smile of appreciation, and she was off and running, batting her 'eyes and wiggling her hips like a lusting floozy.
But what could be done about these naturally curious males? There was no law tha't said a man couldn't try to score with as many broads as possible. Every stud worth his salt dreamed of making it with dozens of curvy, cock-crazy chicks. He himself was always on the lookout for pretty hitchhikers, hot-assed, uninhibited hippy types willing to suck or fuck in exchange for a ride in his truck.
But that didn't mean he had to like it when other guys moved in on Mary, Jack thought, cradling the beer can in his hands as he ruminated. The fact that he could understand their interest in his cuddly girl friend didn't make their lewd propositions and suggestive winks any easier to stomach.
But again, what the hell was he going to do about it? Dealing with Mary was easy enough; he could continue punishing her until she woke up to the fact that what he wanted was a one man woman quick to smother the interest other males showed in her. But he certainly couldn't go around beating up all those characters who, by word or deed, made perfectly clear their desire for Mary's sweet pussy.
Or could he?
Jack took a healthy swallow of beer as he juggled the idea that had just popped into his mind. While there was no way he could get to all the guys Mary flirted with to caution them against pursuing her, what he could do was select one stud and make an example of him.
Someone like Paul Latham, for instance, the doctor with the quick dick.
The more Jack thought about roughing up Mary's employer, whom Mary had admitted laying, prompting her first spanking, the more he liked the idea. Not only would it provide him with a certain satisfaction, a feeling that he was doing something concrete to curtail Mary's flirtatious behavior, it would also serve as a warning to others who were planning on plowing Mary's pussy. Mary, too, just might be convinced to watch herself if she realized the potential harm to others engendered by her flirtations.
Yes indeed, Jack thought, tough talk accompanied by some physical action seemed necessary. In a way, it was just what the good doctor had ordered.
All he had to do was figure out the best time to hold his little meeting with Paul Latham.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Paul Latham was finding it increasingly difficult to keep his mind on what his new patient was saying. Such was always the case when he found seated in the chair next to his desk a female blessed with uncommon beauty, one whose vulnerability set his heart to pounding and his prick to thickening.
Julie Lamb, Mrs. Laurence Lamb, to be exact, was truly a visual delight, a female favored by the gods with a face and figure to lure to her side every male whose pecker was still capable of rising to the occasion. Only those with diseased dicks could ignore her dazzling good looks.
She was a tall, big-boned beauty, a ravishing, raven-tressed, light-skinned creature with large chocolate eyes, full, sensuous lips, well-shaped ears and nose. And as he listened to her disclosures, interjecting a comment or nodding his head on occasion, Paul found it easy enough to imagine the luscious Mrs. Lamb in a state of sexual excitement, writhing in naked abandon on a bed and pleading for prick.
Actually, his interest in his patient as a sexual partner had blossomed twenty minutes ago, lust rearing its head the second she entered his office and, somewhat nervously, made her way to the chair he suggested she take. It was then, as he quickly took in her small, lovely smile, her soft, unblemished skin, that he first started wondering what Mrs. Laurence Lamb looked like when bare-assed naked.
Now he went about the business of mentally undressing her, removing her colorful peasant blouse with the ruffled sleeves and tugging down her loose-fitting flared skirt. In his mind's eye he saw the melon-colored blouse and the tangerine skirt lying in a crumpled heap at her feet, near the brown casual shoes she had kicked off at his request.
Mrs. Lamb was almost naked, her firm, full body clad only in brassiere and panties. She was talking to him, smiling sexily and asking him to hurry and finish stripping her. He saw himself obeying immediately, stepping up to unclasp the breast-hugging bra and then, after tossing the constricting garment aside, working down the clinging briefs to expose her tantalizing twat.
"-And so, Doctor, you can see why I'm so disturbed. I came to you because-Doctor? Are you listening?"
"Oh, yes, of course," Paul answered, snapping to attention. "I was just running through my mind something you mentioned at the start of our interview."
"Oh? What was that?"
Paul fumbled for an answer, grasping the first thing that entered his mind. "Er, your reply to my question about previous sexual experiences with other females. If you remember, you said that prior to your involvement with, er-what was the woman's name again?"
"Helen. Helen Lowry."
"Right. Mrs. James Lowry. Well, you stated that prior to embracing this woman sexually you had never even entertained the idea of lesbian love. Is that correct?"
"Yes, Doctor, it is. I feel so awful about the whole thing. So guilty, I mean. It wasn't bad enough that I allowed myself to be seduced, but I had to go and enjoy it. I don't know what in heaven's name got into me, Doctor."
A few potent drinks and several stiff cocks probably, Paul thought.
"I'm beginning to think that Larry and I made a tragic mistake when we decided to experiment with wife-swapping. I never thought I'd get myself so screwed up sexually at a spouse-trading party, Doctor. I mean, does homosexual activity usually take place when couples get together for the purpose of swapping?"
"I don't think it's as uncommon as you may think, Julie. You must remember-oh, do you mind if I call you by your first name?"
"No, of course not."
"Good," Paul smiled. "Now as I was saying, you must remember that we are all, each and every one of us, capable of performing homosexual acts if the time and place seem correct. Ostensibly, couples gather at a swap-party to exchange mates for an evening of heterosexual intercourse, but this in no way precludes the possibility of so-called unnatural encounters taking place."
"You mean the atmosphere of a swap-party is conducive to that sort of thing?"
"Well, not exactly. What I'm getting at is that when you have a number of people revelling in naked abandon, in a room drenched in the sounds and smell of sex, all things are possible. Imaginations are given free reign and sexual experimentation suddenly seems not at all perverse but fitting and proper."
"I-I think I understand what you mean, Doctor. But what I want to know is if there's any chance of my becoming an out and out lesbian. I mean, I love my husband very much and I wouldn't want another woman to come between us."
"Are you saying that you're afraid of becoming addicted to lesbianism?"
"Well, I did enjoy my initial experience so much. There's no way I can deny that, Doctor. And I just know that if Helen suggests another lovemaking session I'll find it very, very difficult to say no. She's a most persuasive woman and-well, she thrilled me to pieces at that darn party."
"I see," said Paul seriously, in a scholarly tone of voice he hoped would impress his beautiful patient. As he turned his attention to the notes he had made during Julie Lamb's narrative and pretended to study them, he collected his thoughts and made ready to spring his trap.
"So what do you think, Doctor? Is it possible for a woman like me, one who really enjoys heterosexual relations with her husband and other men, to almost overnight turn lesbian? It sounds so crazy, so unbelievable, and yet-"
"What I think, Julie," Paul began, looking up from his notes, "is that we should attempt to learn if you are by nature a true bisexual. And to that end I propose an experiment."
"An experiment?" Julie asked, the expression on her smooth, unblemished face one of skepticism.
"Yes, an experiment. The success of which will require your complete co-operation. You must place absolute trust in me and do all that I say without question. Only then we will be able to obtain a true reading of your sexual self."
"Will it hurt, Doctor?" Paul smiled. "Not in the least. In fact, I think you'll find what I have in mind most enjoyable." To himself he added, and very sexually satisfying, lovely lady. "Wha-What do I have to do?"
"Just this, Julie. I am going to call my receptionist, Miss Mandell, in here and you will permit her the chance to arouse you sexually. Then, at the conclusion of-"
"I-I don't think I could do that, Doctor," Julie broke in. "I-I don't even know the woman."
Paul smiled his best fatherly smile. "Mary is a most attractive young lady, Julie. I'm sure you'll find her a very stimulating sexual partner."
"But it's so-so unconventional, Doctor. I mean, it's not at all the kind of help I thought you'd be able to give me." In her mind's eye Julie saw herself locked in a lewd embrace with the girl she had spoken to briefly while waiting in the outer office. Mary was an attractive female all right, she thought. There could be no denying that. But could she strip down in front of the doctor and let Mary fondle her private parts? Could she come with another female, a stranger really, while Dr. Latham watched the passionate proceedings?
"Oftentimes it is the most unconventional method which proves most satisfactory," Paul asserted authoritatively. "Psychoanalysis has come a long way since the days of Sigmund Freud, you know. Today nothing is considered verboten if it will help the patient gain real insight into his or her particular problem."
"Yes, I know that, Doctor. Still-"
"Tell you what, Julie. If it will make it easier for you to enjoy sex with my receptionist, I can place you under hypnosis."
"Hypnotize me?"
"Yes. Do you have any objections?"
"Well-no, I suppose not. I guess it will make it easier for me. But I've never been hypnotized before. I may not be a good subject. Maybe it won't work, Doctor."
Paul smiled. "Well how about if we find out, Julie? I'll just buzz Mary and have her join us for a little while."
Thinking that his twenty-five-year-old patient was certainly not as bright as she was beautiful, Paul buzzed Mary on the office intercom and asked her to come into his office. Less than thirty seconds later the brunette bombshell appeared.
"Yes, Doctor, can I be of assistance?" asked Mary, as she walked to Paul's large desk.
"I need your help in a little experiment, Mary. I believe you know Mrs. Lamb here."
Mary smiled at the woman sitting primly in the chair next to her employer's desk. "Yes, we exchanged pleasantries in the waiting room."
"Mrs. Lamb-Julie, that is-has expressed concern about a sexual encounter she had with another female at a wife-swapping party she attended with her husband. The purpose of this little experiment is to determine if Julie is a natural bisexual."
Mary managed to suppress a grin and said, "I see, Doctor. And you want me to make love to Mrs. Lamb, correct?"
"Exactly. Then Julie and I will engage in sexual relations. At the conclusion of this experiment Julie will weigh the pleasures derived from sex with you against the pleasure she derived from intercourse with me. It may very well be that she'll find both acts equally enjoyable. In which case we will have demonstrated that it is possible for homosexuality and heterosexuality to dwell in harmony within the same individual."
What a crock of shit that is, Mary thought, playing her part as she nodded her head in understanding. But she had to hand it to Paul. He could verbalize the most inane thought in such a way as to have those within earshot applauding his sharp, analytical mind and keen perception. In short, he was a master when it came to snowing people-especially his female patients, so many of whom were so quick to place in him all their trust and confidence.
"You mean," Julie said, "that I might just have to learn to live with my bisexual nature?"
Paul nodded. "Yes, precisely. As a great many people have done before you."
"I see."
"So then, shall we get started? Mary, will you lock the door and then undress while I put Julie in a trance?"
"You're going to hypnotize her?"
"Yes. It will take but a few minutes."
Mary turned and, allowing herself a smile, walked to the door and locked it. She wondered how many psychologists there were like Paul Latham. And how many women they had conned into baring their bodies as well as their souls. In the name of analysis, of course. One thing was for damn sure; if she ever decided that she required psychiatric help, she'd check, double-check, and triple-check the doctor's qualifications and reputation.
Five minutes later Mary was bare-assed naked and standing near the couch, one hand gently stroking her brown-haired twat as she watched Paul put the trusting Mrs. Lamb under hypnosis. There had been times in the past when Paul, exceptionally eager to get in a patient's panties, resorted to hypnosis to hurry matters along. So Mary had not been all that surprised when informed of his decision to hypnotize the ravishing, raven-tressed Julie.
Nor had she been surprised when he asked her to make love to the woman. On three other occasions he had requested that she engage in lesbianism, with patients whose problems were similar to the one plaguing Julie Lamb.
Mary had no qualms about engaging in sex with another female. While she favored heterosexual humping, the hungry coupling of cock and cunt as male and female meshed and became one, she was also capable of coming with a woman. As a change of pace, lesbianism was rather nice, since it provided her with the chance to fully explore the body of another of her sex.
It was especially nice, Mary thought, when that woman was a true beauty. Julie Lamb was that and then some. Stroking Julie's smooth, resilient flesh, tonguing her full, firm tits, sucking on her odorous snatch, and doing whatever it took to arouse the stunning woman wouldn't be at all difficult.
"Okay," Paul said at last, "I think that ought to do it. The ravishing Mrs. Lamb will now obey my every command."
"You should be ashamed of yourself, Doctor," Mary said with a grin. "If she would obey me, I'd tell her to give you a good swift kick in the balls."
"Very funny, sweetheart. Instead of making with the wisecracks, why don't you give me a hand undressing her?"
"Will you fuck me when she's gone?"
"I doubt that I'll have any strength left," Paul answered, fumbling with the buttons on Julie's peasant blouse. "I intend to screw this broad to hell and back."
"Will she remember what happened?" Mary asked, dropping into the couch next to Julie to assist in the woman's denuding.
"Only if I tell her to. And I think I will, because I want her to think back on our screwing session the next time she gets the itch to be laid."
"Pervert," Mary cracked.
"Yeah, but you like me just the same, smartypants. Now let's hurry up and unwrap this beautiful package of female pulchritude. I want to see what her husband sees all the time."
Working together, quickly and efficiently, Mary and Paul undressed the (hypnotized Julie, pulling and turning her this way and that as they removed her blouse, skirt, bra, shoes, and sand-colored panty hose. When she was naked, Paul arranged her on her back on the couch and told Mary to get to work.
"Mmmm, my pleasure, boss," purred Mary, staring down at the voluptuous woman. "She looks good enough to eat."
"Then go ahead and feast, baby. You'll be oiling the way for my pecker."
As Mary climbed up onto the couch and eased herself down atop Julie, Paul backed away a few steps and started removing his own clothes. In no time at all he was naked, his meaty cock a sturdy fleshy stanchion as it jutted out from his warm loins. He couldn't wait to bury his pulsing bone in the warm, sloppy mush of Julie's clasping cunt.
Mary wriggled snake-like atop Julie's voluptuous body, luxuriating in the warm, spongy feel of the woman's smooth flesh as she rubbed herself into it. She toyed with Julie's tempting tits, rolling those gelatinous globes of succulent meat in her hands and tweaking the rose-colored nipples.
Squirming up the black-haired beauty's firm form, Mary proceeded to lave her face with lecherous abandon, licking and kissing and nibbling as she bathed Julie's beautiful face with syrupy saliva, the wanton washing concluding with a deep soul kiss square on Julie's lips.
Then, inching back down, Mary pushed herself up and stiffened her arms. With sensual grace she rolled her shoulders and brushed her breasts over Julie's, pointy nipple poking pointy nipple, four mounds of spongy, squeezable flesh flattening together as Mary worked her tempting tits into her partner's marvelous mammaries.
Moving lower still, Mary slithered downward and trailed her tongue across the smooth, flat plane of Julie's tummy. A quick exploration of the belly button, her tongue digging deep and swirling sexily in that wrinkled indentation, and Mary was on the move again, worming her way toward the crinkled patch of dark pubic hair surrounding Julie's sex slit.
"Right, that's the way, baby," Paul said thickly. "Go down on the beautiful bitch. Eat her out, Mary."
"Mmmm, she smells good here," Mary noted, whiffing the female scent of her partner.
With that, the saucy brunette buried her head between Julie's warm thighs and plastered her face in the woman's odorous snatch, her tongue snaking from between her lips to lick up and down the sensitive sex lips.
It was at this point that Julie became alive, a tremulous moan of pleasure escaping from her throat as she arched her hips off the couch. She had been relatively quiet up till now, seemingly content to just lie back and let her partner do all the work. But now, as if suddenly signaled to participate more actively, to shed her inhibitions, she allowed her desire to be fueled by Mary's hungry munching of her labia.
Nice, very nice, Paul thought, his eyes glued to the two desirable females on the office couch. Mary was really getting into it now, sucking sluttishly on Julie's tasty twat, her head in crazy, sensuous weave as she labored with obvious delight. Having Mary around could at times be a damn nuisance, but there were other times, like now, for instance, when he appreciated her availability, her willingness to perform all manner of sex acts.
"Let her eat you at the same time," he said to his sassy receptionist. "C'mon, baby, twist around and give Julie your smelly snatch."
"She's getting wet fast, Paul," said Mary, lifting her face from Julie's warm, saliva-coated snatch. "Maybe she really does prefer women to men."
"She enjoys them both." Paul smiled lewdly. "My patient is just an old-fashioned hot-assed broad. If she didn't like getting fucked and sucked, she wouldn't have joined that spouse-switching club with her husband."
"They're the best kind, aren't they, Doctor? Old-fashioned, hot-assed broads, I mean."
"There's none better, sweetheart. Now come on, position yourself so that Julie can munch on your cunt while you're slobbering over hers."
"Anything you say, boss. It sure as hell beats taking dictation, or typing up bills."
With that, Mary clambered off the couch and got to her feet. Seconds later she was climbing back onto the couch, this time positioning herself so that she was straddling Julie, her impudent fanny hovering over the beautiful woman's face
"Good. Now get your face back down on her twat-and give her yours to eat."
Mary didn't have to "give" Julie anything. She took it. The sight of Mary's succulent ass wriggling over her face, the proximity of Mary's darling pussy and the intoxicating smell of same, inflamed Julie's passions and sent a thrill of lust rippling up her spine. She reached up and enfolded Mary's hips with her arms, then applied pressure and forced the female's inviting sex nest down against her face.
With undisguised pleasure Paul watched the two women devour each other's tempting twat. Locked now in a scintillating sixty-nine, the couch sagging from their combined weight, Mary and Julie feasted like females famished, hungrily and with unfettered abandon.
Strange gurgling sounds of lust bubbled up from Julie's throat as she chewed her cunt like a carnivore, her fingers digging into the pliant flesh of Mary's hips as she mashed her beautiful face even harder into the pulsing pussy and slurped up the sticky sex juices seeping from the fleshy faucet.
Mary, not to be outdone, performed with a passion befitting the lusty lesbian, rubbing her face hotly into Julie's well-washed womanhood and driving her tongue deep inside the viscous cove soon to contain Paul's throbbing cock.
Said cock was at the present time being massaged with enthusiasm, Paul having formed a fleshy funnel with his right hand, fingers curled to his palm. Now he was pumping his prick, vigorously pleasing himself, shaking his shaft as might a peeping Tom aroused by the lewd spectacle of a couple coupling.
He suddenly decided to come, to send his seed hurtling through the air toward the couch, toward the two merrily munching on each other's slick, leaking love holes. It would be easy enough, he thought, to get it up again. He would order Julie to plop his limp organ into her sweet mouth and suck him hard again.
Paul stepped closer to the couch and then, as a gutteral moan of pleasure ripped from his throat, he spilled his creamy semen, the syrupy come streaking in an arc from his ejaculating tool toward the torrid twosome on the couch. Through glazed eyes he saw his load splash down against Mary's smooth back, the globs of gooey semen speckling her flesh and trickling toward her provocatively positioned posterior.
Stepping closer still, he aimed his jerking rod at various targets, using it as a hose to spray the two females with his viscid come, directing the spewing seed toward Mary's hair, then back to her ass, now to Julie's half-hidden face, then back again to his receptionist's tousled tresses.
Only faintly aware of Paul's actions, Mary and Julie continued slobbering over each other's now sodden snatch, passionate gasps and breathless grunts busting from their throats as they ate with gluttonous appetites.
And then it was upon them, the moment of truth, the sweet, blissful culmination of their lusty labors. Waves of intense delight washed over Julie, her body in heated tremble as she slurped up the come flowing from Mary's twitching twat, Mary moaned, the throaty sound of satisfaction partially smothered by her partner's steaming, soupy snatch.
For a full minute the females rested, permitting their naked bodies time to relax as they lovingly licked each other's come-drenched twats, their tongues curling gently around clits still hard and pulsing. Then Mary pushed herself up off the couch and got to her feet, her knees feeling rubbery and not strong enough to support her weight.
"Whew! That was all right, Doctor. That come was almost as nice as the kind I get when you do me." Mary dropped her eyes to her employer's flaccid pecker. "But what happened to you? Where's that beautiful hard-on I saw before?"
"Didn't you feel me come all over your back?"
"Oh, so that's what it was I felt." Mary brought a hand around to her lower back. "Ugh! I'm all messy. Why did you have to go and do that anyway? I thought you wanted to get your rocks off in Mrs. Lamb's cunt."
Paul grinned. "I suppose you thought the ceiling had suddenly sprung a leak."
"What?"
"When I shot my load all over you."
"Oh. I don't know what I thought. But you haven't answered my question. How come you came when you did? I was all set to watch you bang the shit out of her."
"And you'll have the chance, sweetheart." Paul looked down at Julie, who was lying in supine sprawl on the couch and smiling a dreamy smile. She seemed to be in a world of her own, a world of cocks and cunts and couples coupling indiscriminately in an orgy of demonic lust. "Something tells me Mrs. Lamb will be only too happy to suck me hard again."
"If she won't, I will," Mary grinned, her left hand darting from her side to wrap around Paul's limp prick.
Paul brushed his receptionist's hand away and leaned over his patient. "My cock, Julie ... my big, beautiful cock. Do you want it in you?"
"Y-Yes ... oh yes," Julie answered excitedly.
"You'll have to suck it first. You know, get it all nice and hard." ' Suck ... sssssuck!"
"Yes, suck. Will you blow me, Julie?"
"I want to, Doctor. Let me ... please."
Paul straightened up and turned to Mary. "It's times like this that I know I chose the right profession," he said with a wink.
Mary smiled sardonically. "Knowing how cunning and devious you are, Doctor, I'd say you would have succeeded in any profession you elected to enter. Succeeded sexually, that is."
Paul chuckled and then, turning again to Julie, drew the voluptuous woman up to a sitting position on the couch. An insolent grin blossomed on his face as he stepped between Julie's knees and placed his hands on her head. She had yet to touch his pecker, to wrap her lovely lips around its come-coated head, but already he was looking ahead to future "therapy" sessions, when Mrs. Laurence Lamb would enter his office in a state of sexual agitation and, without prompting, shed her clothes and zero in on his cock.
"Go to it, Julie. Let me feel your wonderful mouth on my organ. Suck it, Julie. Suck it."
The order alone was enough to make Julie's flesh tingle. She knew where she was and who she was with, and that scant inches from her face was a prick, one not unlike that belonging to her husband, whom she often treated to a skillful blow-job. But everything else was hazy, blurred, her mind unable to hold a rational thought for longer than a few fleeting seconds.
All that seemed to matter at the moment was her sexual desire, her gut-crumbling need to take into her mouth, and then into her vagina, the beautiful male member she was staring at. Every fiber of her being cried out for prick, hot, throbbing, jaw-stretching, cunt-reaming prick. It was as if she were trapped, caged by her need to wallow in a swamp of unbridled lust.
"What are you waiting for, baby?" asked an impatient Paul. "Go ahead and suck, Julie. Take it all in your cock-hungry mouth."
"It's a very tasty tool," Mary piped up. "Take my word for it, Julie."
Julie did more than that, an animalistic growl bursting from her throat as she suddenly attacked Paul's pecker. Using both hands, she hungrily stuffed the limp, fat worm of a prick into her eager mouth, stretching her jaw to the breaking point in a feverish attempt to shovel balls and all into her oral cavity.
"My, the lady does have an appetite, doesn't she?" Mary said with a broad grin.
"She's a born cocksucker."
"I'll say. Look at her go after it, will you. She's going to eat you alive, Paul."
Mad with desire, her mind a tangled web of lustful thoughts, Julie slobbered over her psychologist's genitals. With fiendish glee she rolled Paul's flaccid organ around on her tongue, savoring its warm fullness, its slightly salty taste.
She took it all in, greedily gobbling up the soft, spongy member she knew would harden under her passionate ministrations. Eyes closed, nostrils flared, her raven tresses dancing about her neck and shoulders, Julie vacuumed her fleshy lollipop deep into her hungry mouth.
"Oh, this is just too much," Mary said, obviously excited by the lewd sight of Paul's patient salaciously sucking his manhood. "I've got to do something. I can't just stand here and watch all this."
"Play with yourself," Paul suggested, looking down at Julie's bobbing, weaving head.
"No. I have a better idea. I'll do your back while Mrs. Cocksucker does your front. Are you game?"
Paul grinned. "What do you think, baby?"
"Good. It's been a while since I've had my tongue up your ass, anyway."
With that, Mary stepped behind Paul and dropped quickly to her knees. Seconds later she was palming the cheeks of his taut ass, kneading the firm flesh as if his buttocks were twin mounds of spongy dough. Then, eager to once again explore her boss anally, she pried apart the cheeks of Paul's bottom with her thumbs and gazed at the puckered port of his anus.
"See anything you like back there?" Paul asked.
"You bet I do, Doctor. I'm going to drive it way up there. My tongue will touch your tonsils, fella."
"I'll settle for a good try, baby."
Without further ado, Mary plastered her pretty face against the psychologist's behind and commenced her lewd labors, her experienced tongue darting from her mouth to slither up into Paul's asshole, She pushed her tongue as far as it would go inside his rectum, then proceeded to piston it back and forth, her nostrils filling with the tell tale odor emanating from his asshole.
Mary had not forgotten the viscious spanking she had recieved from her boyfriend, Jack Talbot, last Saturday. Nor had she forgiven him his violent outburst of anger. The memory of her painful and humiliating ordeal rested in the back of her mind, ever ready to seep into her consciousness.
She didn't know what she was going to do with Jack. How much longer could she put up with his insane jealousy was a question that needed an answer. And quick.
But she wasn't about to dwell on her boyfriend and his stupid suspicious mind right now. She wouldn't allow thoughts of him and the savage spanking he had administered to spoil this moment of delicious perversity. Now this was not the time or place to consider the faults and virtues of Mr. Talbot-not when she had her tongue swirling crazily up inside her boss' bottom.
"Oh, baby, that's the ticket," Paul said thickly. "Don't stop for a second. Mmmmm ... oh, that's fucking good."
Neither Mary nor Julie had any intention of stopping. Each woman thought Paul's words had been directed at her alone, and so each reacted accordingly. Mary pried Paul's cheeks even further apart and sliced her tantalizing tongue into his smelly asshole yet another time, working it wickedly inside that small, dark port, moving it in and out and around in the manner of a wriggling worm seeking shelter.
Julie, meanwhile, continued to feast like one demented on Paul's pecker. The tasty tool was swelling now, thickening and lengthening in her saliva-laden mouth as it filled with warm blood. Her lust immense, she bobbed her head rapidly up and down, her tightly pursed lips sliding wetly, passionately, over her psychologist's meaty manhood.
Shit, but this was too much, Paul thought happily, his fingers entwining in Julie's silky black hair. He had not one but two delightful females tending to him. A sultry babe with a body that invited brutal ravishment was blowing him with a passion, sucking his tool with a frenzied delight and doing fantastic things to his balls with her squeezing hands. Behind him, worshipping his asshole, was his spunky receptionist, a curvaceous little brunette doll whose inhibitions could be listed on the back of a postage stamp.
Could any man ask for more?
He could hardly wait to tell Valerie tonight how he had spent the better part of this Tuesday afternoon. He might even top off the day by giving Val a good dicking. If he could manage another erection, that is.
CHAPTER EIGHT
"And then I arranged the beautiful bitch on her back and fucked holy hell out of her. It was something else, Val, let me tell you. She just couldn't get enough of my thrusting pecker."
Valerie Latham smiled at her husband. "I suppose you could say that Julie entered your office like a lamb and left like a lion."
Paul chuckled. "She left well-fucked, that's for sure."
"Did you schedule an appointment for her for next week?"
"Of course. I'm only a psychologist, not a miracle man. It takes more than one therapeutic session to effectively treat a patient like Mrs. Laurence Lamb."
"You have to wrestle with the problem, huh?"
"Right. The initial interview serves to acquaint me with the patient and her problem. It's during subsequent interviews that I begin exploring effective means of dealing with the lady's troubles."
"Oh, Paul," Valerie grinned, "how can you say that with a straight face?"
"Because I'm a doctor dedicated to-"
"The premise that every female who enters your office is fair game," Valerie broke in.
Paul chuckled and rolled over onto his right side, pressing himself close to his naked wife as he latched onto one of her succulent breasts. He commenced a tender massage of the gelatinous globe of flesh, kneading its doughy softness and playfully tweaking the nipple that sat atop the breast like a cherry atop a mound of vanilla ice cream.
"I also believe that every female in this house is fair game," he said with a wicked little smile.
"Are you sure you have enough strength left, darling? After all, you did have one helluva busy day."
"It was a day like any other, baby."
"You're a wicked, wicked man, Mr. Latham," said Valerie, smiling up into her handsome mate's face.
"Now isn't that a coincidence? My receptionist said something to that effect just this afternoon."
"Well, Mary should know. She's pretty wicked herself."
"A sassy little bitch is what she is. Her one redeeming quality lies in her ability to fuck like a house afire."
"She's also good at analingus," added Valerie with a grin.
Paul chuckled. "That she is. A groovy sensation it is, too. Having a tongue tickling your asshole, I mean. I don't doubt that Mary's had her talented tongue up more male bottoms than she can remember."
"She must like the taste."
"Yeah, I suppose so."
"What about her new boyfriend? Has she spoken about him lately?"
" No, she hasn't," Paul answered, continuing his dextrous manipulation of his beautiful wife's mammaries. "I think she's having trouble with him. He's insanely jealous and hesitates to let her out of his sight for a second."
"I know, you told me. He's the one with the mean temper, correct?"
"And the quick hand. Talbot has already given her one vicious beating that I know of. Could be she's suffered a few more spankings because of her flirtatious behavior."
"If I were Miss Mandell, I'd dump the bloke quick. He could end up killing her."
"Maybe she is thinking of kicking him out. Anyway, that's her problem and not ours."
A moment of silence ensued as Paul concentrated on arousing his spouse. Leaning over, he dropped his head and planted puckered lips over Valerie's left nipple. He sucked the tasty nubbin into his mouth, laving it lovingly as he brought a hand down between his wife's legs and cupped her crotch.
Although his afternoon had been most gratifying sexually, a fiendish fucking of Julie Lamb having followed her gluttonous sucking of his prick and Mary's wicked mouthing of his anus, he was unable to ignore the not so subtle suggestion of sex conveyed by his stunning wife's naked body.
He was not at all tired, despite the energy he had expended earlier in the day. The thick steak Valerie had broiled for the two of them upon his arrival home, and the several drinks they had enjoyed in the living room after dinner, had replenished his store of sexual power. And now, lying naked in bed with his very fuckable spouse, he was again in the mood for pussy.
"You know, honey," Valerie said, breaking the silence, "I'm beginning to really worry about this."
"About what, luv?" asked Paul, lifting his face from Valerie's tits but continuing to stroke her copper-colored snatch.
"About what happens between you and your female patients. You know, hon, you're running an awful risk by trying to seduce each and every one of them."
"Let me worry about that, all right? Haven't I been getting away with it for all these years?"
"Yes, but still-"
"You never expressed any great concern before."
"I know, hon. Maybe I'm just now beginning to realize what we stand to lose if you're ever found out. I mean, it would be nothing short of disastrous. One word to the police by any one of the females you've fucked under the guise of professional concern and you'd be drummed out of the corps so fast it wouldn't be funny. While some of your fellow psychologists might envy your guts, they'd have no choice but to ban with others in the profession and bar you from ever practicing again."
"Relax, sweetheart. Nothing like that is-"
"And then there goes this beautiful house, the cars, all the furniture, our clothes and-"
"Hey, will you cut it out?" Paul grinned. "Before you're through you'll have us living in a one room walk-up in some godforsaken ghetto somewhere."
"I don't think it's anything to laugh about, Paul. We could find ourselves in one helluva mess some sad day."
"Well we're not going to, sweetheart. I promise you that."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because the females I fuck in my office are not about to tell anybody anything. First of all, I have yet to screw a patient who didn't thank me afterward. They all love to get laid, baby. It's as simple as that. That's why they keep coming back for more of my special treatment. They're not about to spoil a good thing by blabbing to their boyfriends or husbands or whoever."
"I don't know, Paul. I can only hope that our luck holds out."
"Luck doesn't have all that much to do with it, Val. Look, even if one of these broads suddenly develops a guilt complex she isn't going to embarrass herself by telling family, friends and neighbors that she's been screwing her analyst. I mean that could be downright messy, no?"
"Yes, I see your point, hon. But just suppose for a minute that one of them blurts out the affair she's been having with you. To her husband, let's say. Now that would make for one very, very angry individual."
"Paul shrugged. "It's already happened."
"What?"
"Well, not exactly in the way you suggest. But Mary told me that in a moment of anger she decided to hurt her boyfriend by informing him of the fact that she was laying for me. And enjoying it greatly."
"Good grief. When was this?"
"Oh, about two weeks ago."
"And what happened?"
"Nothing, that's what happened. I suppose this jerk Talbot was upset for a while, and maybe he knocked Mary around a little bit, but aside from that there was no trouble. I mean, he didn't come after me with a baseball bat. He probably brooded for a while and then got over it."
"I'd say that was a close call, wouldn't you?"
"Well, I was peeved with Mary for telling her boyfriend about us. But what the hell? There were no serious repercussions from the stupid mistake."
"Not that time," Valerie amended. "But suppose, well ... suppose that dame who likes to be abused ups and tells her husband about how you satisfy her need for pain? He might be more inclined to take action than Jack Talbot apparently was."
Paul smiled. "You're referring to Jennifer Wagner."
"That's her. What would happen if-"
"Oh, honey, come on now. Let's not belabor the issue, huh? Of all the female patients I've fucked, Jennifer Wagner is the least likely to spill the beans. I mean, she couldn't live without her weekly dose of punishment. Besides, even if she were to say something to her husband I seriously doubt that he'd do more than sulk for a day or two. From what I gather, Kevin Wagner is one of those spineless meatheads women are always divorcing. He's a milktoast, the kind of guy who's afraid to raise his voice for fear the world will come to an end."
"You're positive about that, are you?"
"Very. Now we can stop all this idiotic talk about the everyday sex-crazy patients and get down to the business at hand?"
"Which is?" Valerie asked with a knowing smile.
"Don't you know, baby?" Paul grinned.
"Here I've been stroking your twat and playing with your tits for the last fifteen minutes."
"Could be I've become immune to your touch, darling. Maybe I'm suffering from that dreaded disease known as insentient erogenous zones. Maybe you'll never be able to arouse me again."
Paul chuckled. "The day I can't arouse you, baby, will be the day I hang up my cock. Now you just lie back and watch me start that motor of yours."
With that, Paul began to inch his way down his luscious wife's naked body, one hand still busily rubbing her tempting twat as he trailed his lips across her mouth-watering tits and then over the smooth, flat plane of her tummy.
Before long he was crouched between Valerie's legs and mashing his face into her odorous snatch, crinkly, copper-colored pubic hairs tickling his nostrils as he swabbed her lovely lips with his demanding tongue.
"Oh, honey, I like that," Valerie cooed, a dreamy expression washing over her face as she closed her eyes. "Get your tongue in me, darling. Work on my clit."
Paul slid his hands under his wife's shapely bottom, dragging her up off the bed as he ground his face even harder into her delicious pussy. Like a ravenous rat he munched on Valerie's sex, rubbing his face into her warm, fragrant flesh in a seeming effort to crawl right up her vagina.
He pushed his tongue into her cunt, thrusting it deep, then zeroed in on a swelling clitoris.
"Ooooo...." Valerie moaned happily. "I love that, Paul."
Paul lovingly laved the thickening mini-penis, his teasing tongue curling around it tenderly, carefully. Valerie purred her approval as he swabbed her clit, his fleshy serpent of a tongue caressing that inflamed passion nubbin and fueling her rapidly building lust.
A few minutes later, her twat in twitching readiness, Valerie asked for her husband's cock. Although she was ready to be reamed, to be fucked with a wild, furious abandon, she wanted first to suck Paul's pecker, savor for perhaps a minute or so the taste of that which would be jammed balls deep inside her secreting vagina.
And so a sixty-nine was in order. Heeding his spouse's deliciously lewd request, Paul quickly twisted around on the bed and arranged himself so that he was straddling Valerie, his totally tumescent cock a pendulous pole of flesh as it dangled in front of her face, scant inches from her eager lips.
The cock to Valerie was like a carrot to a rabbit-a temptation impossible to resist.
Hungrily she reached for the swaying stalk of flesh, her mouth opening wide as she lifted her head off the pillow and slid her lovely lips over the plum-shaped head.
She drew Paul's cock into her mouth, taking a little bit at a time and relishing the warm feel of it in her oral cavity. She brought one arm around under his body, her hand closing over his swaying scrotal sac. Lustily she squeezed the hairy pouch, fingers pressing deep into the wrinkled, spongy bag of flesh as she sucked her mate's manhood back to her throat.
And then, at this most inopportune time, the telephone rang.
Muttering a curse, Paul lifted his face from Valerie's tasty twat. "Shit, now who the hell could that be?"
Valerie took her husband's cock out of her mouth. "Talk about lousy timing, darling."
"What time is it, anyway?"
The titian-tressed beauty turned her head on the pillow, her eyes fixing on the alarm clock sitting on the night stand. "It's almost ten-thirty."
"I suppose that isn't too late for somebody to ring us, but his or her timing certainly stinks."
"I'd better answer it, darling," Valerie said with a small smile. "It might be something important."
"Yeah, I guess you're right. But if it's somebody selling something tell him to shove it you know where."
"Will do, sweetheart."
Paul worked himself off his wife, twisting around on the bed until he was sitting on the side, his arms resting on his knees. Turning his head, he saw Valerie reach for the telephone. Seconds later, the receiver resting alongside her face on the pillow, he heard her greet the caller.
And with that unpleasant little interruption out of the way, the good Doctor and his wife got down to the serious business they had started with, which, of course, was getting down to it.
