It is rare indeed for the author of an overnight bestseller to return just a few short months later with another book that is obviously destined for the same fate. Pete's Mother by Bella Dietrich won that comparatively young authoress immediate fame and the unanimous acclaim of the literary critics. Miss Dietrich's extensive knowledge of modern psychiatric methods, added to her gifts for characterization and telling a fast-moving story, were eagerly welcomed by readers tired of pretentious fakery and turgid prose. Now, in The Professor's Bride, Miss Dietrich has done it again, in a novel the publishers of Dansk Blue Books sincerely feel is an even more stunning accomplishment than her first.
Even in these days of women's liberation, one does not expect a female writer to tackle such a complex and basically masculine subject as the changing structure of the United States Navy. Along with everything else, however, Miss Dietrich is a painstaking researcher; for several years, in fact, she was an award-winning newspaper reporter. Only a woman of her background could have gathered the background detail necessary for a work of this nature.
That the U.S. Navy is undergoing major changes will be surprising even to some of its own members, let alone the general reading public. But changing it is, and that change is far from limited to advances in technology and weaponry. Psychology and sociology enter this sphere, too, as they do every other area of modern life. While every armed service must preserve to some degree an overall caste system in order to continue to operate, even caste systems are subject to change and progress. No one would suggest that the lowest enlisted man should make major policy decisions, whether in war or peace. But the lowest enlisted men are human beings, and the prevailing trend is more and more to recognize this and to treat them as such.
Sexual tensions and frustrations obviously affect the lives of officers and enlisted men alike, even those assigned to the comparative tranquility and comfort of a Navy postgraudate school like the one which provides the setting for this novel. No one could be more aware of this than its hero, Carl Crandall, Ph.D., who wants to bring such up-to-date techniques as "off-site" encounter groups into general use to improve the psychological health of today's Navy. Unfortunately, his awareness is limited to the theoretical; and the difficulties of persuading the authorities to accept his ideas and plans plus a crushingly heavy work schedule have made him virtually blind to the problems and desires of his own wife, Maeve.
Maeve is an entirely normal, healthy young woman in every respect-except that she is totally frustrated by the lack of any attention, particularly sexual attention, from her husband. Like most frustrated people, she attempts to divert her burning energies into another channel. In this case, Maeve develops an interest in art, spends many hours a day painting... and thus in her turn begins to neglect her housework and her husband. Thus the well-known vicious circle has started to spin, and once it begins, it gathers momentum rapidly with every passing day. When other complicating factors, such as the Crandalls' nymphomaniacal neighbor, Betty, enter the picture, the situation really becomes explosive.
Into this complex and almost disastrous situation steps Admiral Sam Grandfield. Grandfield is a profoundly compelling figure, a man you will remember, and a character who could only be portrayed on stage or screen by an actor with the skill and authority of a George C. Scott. But, although he dominates those around him by his very presence and usually gets his own way in everything he does, he does not-as might have been expected -totally dominate the book. The structure Miss Dietrich has erected is too complex and intricately organized for any one figure to dominate. You will grow to know intimately every character in this book. You will admire some, and be repelled by others, but you will never for a moment doubt that they are all real people, with real passions and real problems.
But perhaps we, the publishers, have already said too much. Our natural pride makes us unusually enthusiastic over The Professor's Bride. Nothing we have said, however, can prepare you for the drama of the events that unfold on the following pages, and no amount of guessing will tell you exactly what to expect in the astonishing, but utterly logical, climax.
Read The Professor's Bride, and join the ever-expanding ranks of Bella Dietrich's loyal fans.
The Publishers
Chapter One
The late afternoon sun had turned the hills to golden velvet and they crouched like tawny sleeping lions, shoulders and haunches interlocked and fading away in the distance. Those golden lions, folded in peace, had never looked so lovely, Maeve thought as she drove her Volkswagen bus along the Carmel Valley road between them, pointed toward home.
Her euphoria spilled from her lips in a tuneless humming as she glanced at the painting she'd finished in art class this afternoon, lying in a bright spot of sun on the seat beside her. It was good. Solid work. Dinner was going to be late and Carl was going to be furious. Since her art work had become her passion that seemed to be his permanent state... fury. But she didn't care... at least not right now.
It was summer. The children had been put on the plane this morning for Illinois and Grandma, and Maeve Crandall was free for three whole months to do just what she'd done today... paint, paint, paint!
She glanced at the painting again. The orange and blue thing had worked! The splayed female figure under the orange sky like a free and expanding goddess. Maybe because she felt like a goddess today... to do what she loved... to paint the visions that whirled in her head even when she went through the automatic motions of being Mrs. Carl Crandall, proper professor's wife and mother of two little girls.
Her tuneless hum changed to a whistle as she pursed her full red lips and beat out a little tattoo on the steering wheel with her small graceful paint-stained hands. Amazing how just one day of doing what you truly wanted to do could fill you with such joy! She swung the bus expertly into the driveway beside Carl's Mercedes, leaped down and ran lightly around to open the other door and take out the still-wet painting.
Maeve held it at arm's length, squinted her large brown pansy eyes, wrinkled her pert little nose and cocked her shiny dark brown head. Yes, it was good. Really good. It was going to hold up.
She smiled again happily to herself and went through the carport, across the stone patio and into the house through the study, singing softly to herself, "Joy to the World!" Who cared if it was June... it was Christmas to her.
She stopped in the laundry, which hardly had room for the washer and dryer anymore with all her painting paraphernalia. She put the painting carefully on the easel. Wiping her hands on her paint-splattered jean-clad hips and thighs, she backed away and looked at the painting again. Yes. It was going to be all right.
Still not able to tear herself away from her visible, tangible day's work, so unlike the housework that had constantly to be redone, she absentmindedly pulled her shirttails out of her jeans and began unbuttoning her shirt buttons, still staring at the painting... first from one angle... then from another.
"Where the hell have you been?" The words hit Maeve's backbone like ice cubes and she whirled to find Carl, cold and tight-lipped, framed in the doorway. He was immaculate in a dark suit, pale blue shirt and silver cufflinks... a small but well-proportioned man with powerful shoulders and lean hips, dark hair, and tanned face that made his ice blue eyes look crystalline. Those eyes swept Maeve now in cold fury... from her shiny brown hair cut in a silky cap to her big trusting earnest brown eyes, little tilted nose and full lips, small slim figure with the amazingly full breasts and beautiful legs in the tight jeans.
"If you had deliberately set out to sabotage me, you couldn't have done a better job. But you don't think about me enough to be deliberate, do you?"
"Oh, Carl... please." Instinctively she went toward him and then stopped as those eyes froze her.
"Admiral Grandfield is here from Washington. He's vitally interested in the business management department. Since I hold the only Harvard Ph.D. in the department at the moment, there is a chance he might be interested in my work, don't you think?" he said coldly.
"There's a reception for him in forty-five minutes, at the Navy Postgraduate School... my employers who pay for all this nonsense," he waved his hand contemptuously at her painting, "in case you've forgotten." He looked at his watch. "It takes thirty minutes to get there from here. That gives you exactly fifteen minutes to get ready." He spun on his heel and stalked off to the living room.
Oh God! She'd completely forgotten! Damn. Damn. Damn. How could she have forgotten? Today, it had been easy. It got easier all the time... to forget all the structured, boring ritualistic Navy School academia that was Carl's work. Work he wouldn't share with her, so all she knew was the boring surface.
"I'll be right there," she called.
Maeve raced through to their bedroom, stripping her clothes off as she went. Things were going from bad to worse. The happier she was with her painting, the unhappier Carl seemed to get. As she soaped quickly in the shower, she wondered about that. She'd always been so happy for Carl when he had a triumph... so why did her small victories with paint infuriate him so? It wasn't just that she was late tonight. There was so much more to it than that.
She dressed with shaking fingers. The beige silk linen, so plain that her figure and her face were the focus of attention... the strip sandals, pearl and crystal rope. Hurry. Hurry. Hurry. The white silk bag, earrings. Thank God she had no worry about hair or makeup except for eye makeup. She carefully emphasized those huge expressive brown eyes with liner and mascara. A powder puff touched briefly to her nose was all her creamy poreless skin needed. Lipstick she'd do in the car. A quick brushing and her hair fell in the short shining cap that curled around her face and showed the good bones of her head and jaw.
A brief touch of perfume at the cleavage of her breasts that swelled in the deep "V" of the dress. Gloves to cover her unpolished nails that she'd forgotten to manicure, and she was ready. The mirror showed only a shining, beautiful young woman who looked more like twenty than thirty. Her stomach that was beginning to knot and her head that ached were completely invisible.
Maeve walked into the living room just in time to hear Carl say, "I'll call you later," surreptitiously into the phone. She didn't need to be told who was on the other end of the phone. Betty Lunsford, the perennial clinging-vine southern belle, the helpless neighbor across the road, the wife of one of Carl's young Navy lieutenant students... who called on Carl more and more for "help."
Betty Lunsford's subterfuges didn't fool Maeve for an instant. She was after Carl or any other man she thought would improve her position. Maeve felt certain that Betty would only stay married to naive young George until she found someone richer and more prestigious.
"Who was that?" She knew full well but she couldn't stop herself asking.
"Betty," Carl admitted coolly... not even bothering to lie. He finished the drink in his hand with one gulp.
"Could I have one of those in a paper cup?"
"We're late already."
"You start the car and I'll make it. I need it about now, I think."
The ride into town was miserable. Carl took the Los Laureles grade, and Maeve had the ghastly feeling every time he took one of the long turns winding over the ridge of mountains to the Salinas highway that he was going to plunge them over the edge and they'd go rolling down a high sage-covered hill. She could see it in slow motion, the car turning over and over, crashing silently down the mountain with them inside like a movie with no sound track. She lit a cigarette, trying to shake the vision, but it kept recurring over and over.
How had they gotten to this armed camp, this closed vacuum where they went through the motions of living like... robots, as though someone wound them up every morning and they went through motions? She didn't really know... but dear lord, it had to stop somewhere, sometime.
It was like watching a play, Maeve thought- the correct Navy officers, the frumpy wives, the civilian professors all going through the fawning social maneuverings considered correct at receptions for visiting brass. All of it boiled down to elaborate constructions of little empires with each man the uncrowned emperor of his own. All of them were after power and prestige and recognition. From the lowliest lieutenant student studying for his master's degree to the boy-wonder visiting admiral. Maeve didn't think any of them really loved their work or wanted to do it for its own sake. Not the way she loved her painting.
Carl was putting on his charm act for the admiral... and Carl had charm when he wanted to. Tenacious charm. She watched him across the room. The brilliant smile, the easy manner, the deference. He'd fooled her with it. Convinced her he was a genius and needed only her for a wife to change the whole world for the better. Well, he hadn't changed anything except her. Taken her paint brushes out of her hands and her good salaried job at Lassie Magazine and put her to work scrubbing floors and caring for two babies that came too soon. Later she'd even had to take a job as well, as a secretary, to see him through his doctorate at Harvard. Now, she was jolly well not going to give up her painting. She'd earned it... the hard way.
"You need a drink. You're dry." She turned to find Harry Neil taking her empty glass from her. Funny old Harry that Carl was so wary of and jealous of since Harry made full professor.
"Not for long, Harry. I feel so lousy tonight I may cry." She laughed, looking up at his skinny homely face that went with his long narrow body.
"Then by all means let's cry in our booze together. The only way I can get through one of these receptions is to get bombed." It was the longest speech she'd ever heard him make, and she wondered if he was already bombed as she watched him make his way across the polished floor with their drinks, dodging people artfully, but never taking his eyes from her. Certainly, he'd never looked at her that way before. Maeve felt absolutely naked by the time he handed her the drink. She clutched her handbag and gloves and juggled her drink so as to pull her stole higher across her breasts that tingled as though his eyes had been lips. My God, what was the matter with Harry? What was the matter with her?
Partly it was Carl, who hadn't touched her for three months now. She'd pretended it didn't matter. After that last big fight over how Carl liked it, he hadn't touched her at all. That was fine, she told herself. She would not be treated like a whore, a hired whore. But... for the first time she realized she also didn't like being a nun. Harry's eyes slid over her like hands and made her feel desirable, voluptuous.
"Coming down to Bendemeer's Stream this weekend?" Harry asked huskily. Maeve looked away from him into the crowd, not daring to meet his eyes now. She shook her head and shrugged her shoulders.
"I'm not sure, Harry."
"We could commiserate with each other." His hand slid under her upper arm and it was just as though his warm hand were a brand against her bare skin. She jumped as though burned, and part of her drink spilled down the front of her dress. It was icy where it dribbled down between her breasts. She was confused and angry and hurt and upset... and felt as though she really might cry any minute.
"Oh... oh, here, Harry." She handed him her drink, clutched her stole even higher and tighter and swept blindly across the floor to the ladies' room. She didn't know what she'd do when she got there, but she rushed determinedly toward it. God, what was happening to her? Poor Harry who wouldn't hurt a fly suddenly made her feel like rape was imminent. He asked if they were going down to the trailer camp for the weekend... as they often did during the summer... and she acted as though he'd made a lewd suggestion. What the hell was the matter with her?
Well, for one thing Carl had dashed all her lovely feelings about her painting. She'd felt guilty about forgetting the damn reception... and not only that, she was pretty sure Betty Lunsford was making time with Carl. She felt used and abused and unlovely... and her own husband hated her. Hated her. She knew he did. What had happened? What in heaven's name had happened?
Stop this, she told herself. Stop it right now. But her eyes filled with tears of self-pity and she looked down at the polished floor so no one could see... praying she was close to the ladies' room.
Suddenly two strong hands caught her shoulders as she almost collided with a uniformed man.
"Whoa, there, young lady."
"Oh, I'm so sorry," she mumbled and lifted her tear-filled eyes to a very tall handsome man in Navy uniform. Lean hawk face with steel-gray eyes and an amused quirk at the corner of a sensuous mouth. He looked like a Hollywood version of the stalwart Navy officer. He was using those penetrating gray eyes to probe her face acutely... he was... oh my God... he was the Admiral. Admiral Grandfield. Oh, no! Carl would never forgive her if she did something stupid now.
"You're the loveliest little live thing I've seen all evening in this mausoleum," he smiled down at her.
"You're very kind... thank you... I... so good of you, Admiral," she mumbled incoherently, breaking away and walking swiftly through the ladies' room door. She found an empty booth, locked the door and leaned gratefully against it, letting the tears flow silently down her face. Oh, God. Oh, God damn!
Her stole really wasn't warm enough on the way home, but Maeve didn't want to interrupt Carl's sudden spate of chatter to ask him to turn the heater on. His mood seemed to have changed for the better, and he was talking grandiosely about the Admiral's interest in his work.
"He was amazed I had done my thesis on Introducing Change in an Established Hierarchy. You see that's just what he's interested in doing for the Navy. He understands the absolute futility of the authoritarian structure in the world we live in today."
"Did you tell him about the book you're writing?" she asked, wondering what had changed his mood so abruptly.
"Well, no. Right now he wants techniques, actions, blueprints. Can you imagine? He'd never even heard of an off-site?"
"Neither have I. What's an off-site?" She huddled down on the leather seat and shivered.
"Hey, baby. You're cold. Here." Carl flipped the heater and reached over to pull her crossed thighs closer to him. "Slide over here." His hand began sliding up and down her silken thigh.
"An off-site is where people get away from their usual environment and explore with each other how they really feel." Maeve stiffened involuntarily. It had been so long since he'd touched her... and after the last few months she just didn't know how to react... or even how she wanted to react. His hand had come around her shoulder and slid inside the neck of her dress. Her skin crawled as his fingers inched down and insinuated inside her bra. What was he going to expect? His hand curled around her breast, and she felt an electric charge jolt through her.
"Right now, for instance, I feel like having you unzip my pants and skin my prick down."
Why did he have to talk that way? He made her feel dirty, unclean, and degraded. She wriggled uneasily.
"But you used the word 'off-site' as though it were a technical term... sort of jargon pertaining to your work."
"It is. Normally means a group of executives who have a kind of encounter in a place removed from office or home... usually a motel."
"Oh, I see. The Admiral wants to use this for officers or something?"
"Come on. Where's your hand?" Her distraction tactics hadn't worked after all. She heard him unzip his pants himself. Then Maeve felt him grab her hand and wrap it around his hot hard penis that jutted into her hand like a thick, throbbing cable. Oh, God, she'd forgotten how huge his penis was. She had had no real means of comparison, but she felt it must be disproportionately large for a man of his stature. Her old Negro nurse at home had warned her. "Miss Maeve, you ain't goin' to marry that little bitty Mr. Carl, is you? 'Cause, I can tell you from my own 'sperience... those little bitty men'll kill you. I knows. I got six kids."
Maeve shuddered, holding Carl's huge penis gingerly, as though it could impregnate her through her hand. He had almost killed her, too. She'd have six kids now herself if it weren't for the pill. As it was she had two-too soon and too close together. He'd been at her day and night it seemed for years until about a year or two ago. When his promotions didn't come through... when he'd been passed over... and had gotten shrill and obstinate with the other professors... and mean and contrary and demanding with her. Demanding impossible, sick sexual acts from her and flying into furies about her art as he had tonight.
"Hold it like you like it, baby. Skin it for me." Obediently she tightened her grip, though she was beginning to feel sick. Oh, God, what was the matter with him? What was the matter with her? This was her husband. She was supposed to love him... but he made her feel like a... thing... an object... a chattel... a whore.
Maeve felt the car climb the steep drive, and the headlights illuminated their carport. As the car engine died she could hear Carl's heavy breathing. He grabbed her and crushed his mouth on hers, stabbing his tongue into her mouth fiercely. When he started this way she just wanted to run. There was no tenderness, no preamble, no nothing. Just naked sex. He tore his mouth away finally as she fought for breath and before she could protest had shoved her face over his naked penis... putting her mouth on his throbbing, sticky member. "Suck my cock, baby. I'm going to teach you to suck cock yet." Oh, God, she was going to be sick. She knew it. The tip of his huge rod in her mouth made her want to gag. It was sick and depraved and unclean. She could feel the sticky ooze, and it tasted faintly sweet and pungent and nauseating. His hands held her head and forced her head lower till his huge thing was ramming the back of her throat and she was gagging. She twisted her head and wriggled and fought till she was free of it. "In the house," she gasped, and was out the door of the car before he could catch her.
Maeve flew into the house, so glad of the momentary reprieve that the nausea even left. Shaking, she tore into the bathroom and locked the door. For the second time in one evening she found herself crying in a locked bathroom. What was happening to her life? Finally she brushed her teeth three times and gargled and gargled. What was she going to do? You couldn't yell for help or call the police and say, "My husband is about to rape me." What did you do?
She was aware to her shame that even amid her nausea and her tears and real fright and disgust there was also an eerie, ethereal excitement that was skimming just under the surface of her mind somewhere. Carl hadn't touched her in so long now and she hadn't really realized that she was taut and strung to a strange thin-strung wire of need and anticipation until Harry had looked at her and touched her arm tonight. She knew men built up an unbearable sexual need when deprived, but she had never thought that women might too until tonight. It wasn't the incredible urgency that screamed for relief in a man, but perhaps it only waited for the moment when opportunity presented itself.
Her mind raced and her heart pounded and somehow her tears dried and she became calmer. Even a kind of plan half formed. She might avoid the dirty sex she feared if she could somehow seduce him into the normal kind that she was used to and could at least partially enjoy.
Maeve unlocked the bathroom door and flew to lock the bedroom door before he came in. She heard him locking the kitchen door, she thought, so she called out, "I'm making myself beautiful. I'll let you in... in just a minute."
There was no answer, but she assumed that was assent.
A sudden thought stopped her cold. How could you seduce your own husband when you didn't even own a naughty nighty... or any kind, for that matter. Only prim simple pajamas lay folded in her bureau. She'd always felt black nightgowns were so obvious and so somehow insulting to a man's intelligence. She'd never wanted him to be swayed by her flesh alone. She'd wanted Carl to love her for herself... and to show that love for her body only as an expression of what he felt for her... soul?
She rummaged frantically through her drawers, trying to think of something. There was that old piece of lace that had been her wedding veil, but it was just a piece of lace. Her hand touched a roll of pink. What was that? Her old pink leotard from ballet exercise classes she'd gone to last fall. Well, it would have to do. Frantically she undressed and pulled it on.
The bathroom full-length mirror showed her a very beautiful woman. The leotard was cut high on the thigh so that her legs looked incredibly long and perfectly formed. Her buttocks were just barely covered by the thin nylon, and the "V" where her legs joined in front was emphasized. Her pubic mound plainly showed. The stretchy nylon fabric showed every curve and enhanced it. But the neck. Sexy things were supposed to have low necks. Well, she'd fix that! She grabbed the bathroom scissors and cut. When she'd finished, the neck was split in a long V that ended at her navel and her ripe breasts threatened to spill completely out of the opening. Yes, that was better. Inspired now, she pulled the peony out of the vase on the bathroom counter and pinned it right at the end of the "V" over her navel. Yes. That was what it needed.
Maeve crept out, heart hammering now. Where was he? The dining room was dark, but a faint light showed from the living room.
"Carl?" Now that she'd dressed in this damn thing she felt foolish. Would he laugh or be sarcastic?
"Well, milady of the manor has decided to come out of her ivory tower?" She whirled to find Carl sunk in a deep easy chair with a drink in his hand. He sounded funny... and he was devouring her with his eyes, but strangely. Oh, God, he sounded mean again. Was he drunk?
She'd have to brave it out. "I... I was only dressing... for you, darling." She tried to laugh. Hell, how did you seduce men anyhow?
"Or rather undressing." She whirled in a pirouette as she'd learned in ballet class. "Isn't it grand to have the whole house to ourselves? I could never dress like this with the children here."
"You wire mother," he spat at her. "You don't care any more for the kids than you do for me." She stood clutching her arms around her waist as though he'd wounded her literally. How could he be such a beast sometimes? Wire mother, he'd called her. She knew full well what he meant... surrogate mother... dummy mother... like those cloth and wire things the scientists devised to put with baby monkeys as mother substitutes... and the poor little monkeys loved them even though the wire couldn't love them back. Suddenly she was furious... blindly, hotly furious.
"How dare you talk to me that way! I've had all I can take from you for one day." She turned and fled, humiliated, hurt and shaking with anger. He caught her before she'd gone three steps... grabbing her by the arms from behind and shaking her.
"Oh, no you don't, bitch! I know you better than you know yourself! You thought you'd get it your way as usual... a little bit of ladylike submission to a little bit of ladylike fucking! Well, not this time! This time, it's going to be my way!" Maeve felt and heard Carl through a maze of pain that was clutching at her abdomen... the pain of humiliation and anger and fright... and terror that he'd seen through her. But why should he force her to have to try to seduce him? Why couldn't he be a normal husband instead of a sick, depraved frustrated failure? Yes. Failure. She'd never admitted the word even to herself before, but she did now.
She felt his arm catch her knees and carry her through to the bedroom. She struggled and tried to slap his face, but he was too strong. The tears were pouring down her cheeks now, and she sobbed out her anger and pain and hopelessness.
He threw her on the bed and she curled up in a ball, shaking with sobs and hiding her head in the pillow. Never in all the ten years they'd been married had he ever been such a maniac, and she was terrified... physically terrified. If he pulled out a gun or a knife to kill her she wouldn't be surprised.
"You god damned self-sacrificing bitch... punching my buttons till I'm a frustrated bundle of nerves." He was tearing his clothes off and flinging them away. "Well, this is one night, baby, we're going to do things my way... how I want it, when I want it, and for as long as I want it."
A sharp stinging pain struck her right buttock as he slapped her hard, yelling, "Turn over, bitch!" He grabbed her and turned her himself, then grasped her leotard and shredded it from neck to crotch.
"Oh, Carl, please," she sobbed! "Please don't do this." She wasn't frightened now, she just lay sobbing as he cursed and yanked and ripped her pathetic attempt to look sexy for him... till she was lying naked and defenseless in ribboned shreds of pink leotard. He rolled her from side to side, pulling the last of the shreds away till she was completely, utterly, totally naked.
"Now." She opened her eyes to see him straddle her body, holding the long heavy-veined thickness of his rigid thrusting penis that he waved like a huge knobbed weapon. It jutted from his hairy powerful loins in obscene enormity. She shuddered involuntarily... and the shudder rippled over her creamy skin, making goose bumps mar its satiny surface as she stared at him in horror. He clutched that thrusting stalk of hard, hot flesh and began to lewdly stroke the foreskin over the mammoth glistening head... his eyes boring into her like hot pokers as she watched him do it. He was enjoying masturbating... but more he was enjoying masturbating with her eyes seemingly frozen on him in repellent fascination. Oh, no! This couldn't be real. It was a nightmare that couldn't be really happening.
In terror she watched him reach out with the other hand and open the brown-haired lips of her vulva, and she felt him move the head of that huge bloated rod and insert it at the upper end till it rested right on her clitoris with a heavy pressure that sent sparks of pleasure coursing through her despite her fear.
"That's where you want it, baby. That's where it could do you some good." He moved the head across her clitoris in a tiny circular massaging motion that caused her pelvis to arch up closer without her permission. "But you're not going to get it there. You're going to suck my cock, baby. For the first time in ten lousy years of marriage... you're going to suck it dry and swallow my seed till you drown in my boiling juices."
"Please... please, Carl... don't do this to us." She held her hands out helplessly to him in a futile gesture of implorement... but he was tracing her belly with the sticky head now... sliding it up her body in lascivious tracings. Then he jammed the sticky glistening head right into one pink nipple, pushing it into the lush fullness of her white breast. Unbidden, her nipple hardened immediately beneath his cock ramming it. It budded to a closed little rock of desire. Then he hardened the other soft pink nipple the same way.
A rising wave of hate for him rose up in her... hate for him and an engulfing self-pity. She thought frantically of fighting like a tigress, at least clawing him good before he used her like a street whore.... but the lusting, brutal, vicious contortions of his face let her know it was useless. He would kill her. She knew it. Some strange mechanism was at work... as though her body opted for survival at any price... not caring how horrible or how degrading.
"Now open your mouth and take it." He shoved the huge thing right to her chin, his legs straddling her fully lush breasts. She could see every vein of the pulsing blunt-nosed instrument of his cock, every wet glistening detail of the rutting, weeping, eyed head. "No... no... I won't," she cried through clenched teeth as her stomach heaved again in nausea.
"Oh, yes, bitch! You'll suck it... every drop! Goddamn you! Pretend it's a work of art!" His hand tangled in her hair to jerk her head upright, and his knees cruelly pinioned her arms. "I'm going to make you the best little cocksucker in town! You're going to give your undivided attention to sucking my cock! Take it, you bitch," he snarled savagely.
It would be better to die, she thought wildly. Insanely she fought then, writhing in fury and humiliation beneath him, tears of degradation streaming down her cheeks and her breath coming in the tortured sobs of terror and pain. Even as she fought him she knew it was in vain, that the unbelievable lurid madness of their obscene struggle could only end in one way... his way.
He let go of his rod and slapped her hard... first one cheek and then the other. "Take it in your mouth, you goddamn bitch!" he screamed, jerking her head by the hair and slapping her with his other punishing hand. Suddenly she went limp beneath him. She couldn't struggle any longer.
Maeve heard his breath coming in heaving rasps as her arms numbed painfully under his knees, while his lean, hard buttocks flattened her soft breasts and his mammoth cock rested again on her chin. Slowly, with closed wet eyes, she raised her tear-streaked face and opened her mouth receptively.
"You goddamned whore!" Carl spat out viciously, drawing his knees back off her painfully numbed arms. "Hold it and lick it! Lick all of it, cock, balls, everything... and don't stop till I tell you to or I'll beat hell out of you! We're going to find out... once and for all... if you give a damn... if we've got a marriage at all! Now... start licking!"
Carl's good-looking face was a mask of grotesque, enraged lust as he watched the naked, subservient loveliness of his terrified wife slowly extend her trembling little hands toward her jerking, heavy cock. A hot sensation of feeling jolted through the fleshy rod, echoing in his throat in a choking grunt as her slender fingers touched it and then encircled it. Damn her! Damn her to hell! He'd show her once and for all. It was either make it or break it... he was going to be her husband or he wasn't. Christ! The feel of her hand on his hot long prick, against her will, incited jagged flashes of carnality to surge through him, blinding him to everything but the chastising degradation he was determined to carry out.
The near-overwhelming bitterness and dejection, the sudden fear, that had driven her to defend herself against his depraved attack were changing to lurid fermentations bubbling through her loins and belly at the feel of his steel-hard, warm throbbing shaft in her grasping hand. She didn't want to feel any of that, and she whimpered aloud at the thought. The sight and presence of his long rigid cock in her hand only inches from her face was blotting out other conscious feelings.
"Lick it, damn you!" Carl snarled, jerking her lips closer to his swollen cock. "All the puking and begging you can do isn't going to get you off this time. I'm your husband, baby, and you're going to give my cock your undivided attention. Lick it!"
"Ohhh... God... Carl." Maeve sobbed. For a brief moment, panic swept her as she realized there was no escape. He was going to make her perform the perverted act, but she sought to prolong the terrible moment of atonement as she continued to stroke the thick prick, feeling him groan and writhe as she drew back the foreskin from the wet head, exposing the throbbing glans, then pulling the thick outer flesh up and down, her mind narrowing on the lewdness of her forced participation... until finally there was nothing else except the huge, thrusting cock in her tiny hand, her fingers hardly going around it. Then... she moved her almost-hypnotized face toward it.
Maeve heard Carl choke in carnal anticipation. She reached out her tiny tongue and hesitantly touched the tip, and he moaned and shuddered. Then she twirled her tongue around it experimentally, and he moaned again and clutched both her ripe breasts in his hands. She held her breath and touched her tongue-tip to the little damp slit in the end of his cock, and the pungent taste of his seminal fluid miraculously didn't make her sick this time. A strange sense of excitement washed through her. Her hands stroked downward as her tongue tasted and twirled around the tip, and she found the soft sac of his balls, bloated and heavy with semen she knew she would have to drink and swallow. She didn't know if she could, but the thought did not make her gag as it had before. She licked along the soft underside of his rigid cock and then slowly back to the rim, down to the velvety base and back again, down and then over the full sac of his testicles... as he'd commanded. His groans of pleasure told her she was doing it right.
Her hands caressed in her tongue's wake in a strange slavelike devotion now, and she drew the foreskin back with both hands... pulled her head away briefly to look at the ponderous head standing up so huge and sleekly naked... and then she took it in her mouth... wholly within her soft eager mouth, letting the hot shaft slide the length of her tongue as her mouth absorbed more and more of it.
Carl groaned above her, watching in rapt fascination as Maeve's beautiful mouth sucked and licked his long aching prick. He took a perverse pleasure in watching her suck him after ten long years of waiting and hoping and praying and even begging. Still suspicious of her motives despite the incredible slavelike labor she was performing for him in the pagan ritual of fellatio he'd longed for... he couldn't stop the sensation of joy that was spreading through him from cock to belly to heart and head. She was eating him! That luscious angel was trying to get all his great throbbing cock in her mouth at once! A wave of unbidden tenderness swept through him, and he reached down to stuff pillows behind her and take her beautiful face in his hands.
Slowly he undulated his hips, sliding his long wet pulsing cock, wet from her warm tender-skinned mouth, in and out of that lovely mouth in a lustful rocking rhythm and a damp sucking sound. Her hand still clung to his lewdly swollen hard cock, and he guided it in and out of that cavern of delight by thrusting forward with his hips and pulling her even deeper onto his massive prick by holding her head in his hands and pulling it to him so that her ovalled mouth puffed obscenely with the burden. As she toiled in meek subservience with fervent bobbing motions, he couldn't resist shoving his throbbing cock between her soft lips with mounting fury... nor could he contain the almost evil smile of dominating lust with each thrust into her sucking receptive mouth.
Maeve's cheeks still burned from the violent face slapping Carl had administered, and her breasts still felt bruised and her arms ached where he had knelt. She couldn't remember ever feeling so completely and utterly punished... so ashamed and sordidly humbled... but there were strange sensations of intemperate lasciviousness growing in her soft little belly and loins. These strange sensations shamed her even more, for they suggested she might be enjoying this lewd labor that had been forced on her.
She hung possessively to his prick and balls with her small hands, and the tears still trickled down her cheeks, but an unfathomable joy began to race insanely through her. Amazingly her vagina and her vulva began to grow moist and excited between her squeezing thighs as she explored every ridge and wrinkle with her tongue licking ferally at the blood-filled head of his cock.
Carl stared at the elastic sucking of his beautiful wife's lips on his throbbing prick as he thrust his loins back and forth, fucking her tender mouth with a building mania. Her ripe lips contorted, clinging to his thickened shaft with rapt attention. He watched the tiny ridges of pink flesh pull out as he withdrew, then disappear when he shoved forward, sinking the head of his cock almost into her throat, the wiry hairs of his pelvis almost touching her pert little nose. Christ! She was sucking him with feeling, eating his prick like it was sugar and she was starving! Oh God, she'd be satiated with the load he could feel damming up in his balls... a meal that would fill her for a week.
"Eat your fill, baby. All you want... suck it good!"
Obediently Maeve sucked on the massive bloated penis harder than ever, instinctively making her mouth as small as possible to increase the pressure that was driving him insane with the lascivious bliss that she'd denied him so long. In her unbridled desire, she sucked it so deeply into the hot saliva-filled cavity of her mouth that it nearly choked her, but she caught her breath and ran her tongue feverishly up and down the soft sensitive underside, feeling it throb and pulse to her touch and tasting the tangy spice of its heady fluid.
She massaged his heavy balls with subservient affection as he moved up and down... in and out of her sucking mouth in a lashing, building rhythm... and she could hear his moaning ragged breath coming now almost in sobs. As he built higher and higher, she found her own desire catching in a zigzag of flaming little sensations that raced along her veins in a lustful minor key. Oh God. She did love him! Her hips writhed on the bed and her legs alternately spread and squeezed together and she was aware of an aching void that needed filling.
In this maddening lusting sucking nirvana that was her beautiful mouth on his hard aching blood-filled prick, Carl sensed that she was beginning to need him as much as he needed her. He stroked and caressed her ripened breasts, kneading and squeezing them, pinching the nipples to red little berries of erotic flame. Then with one hand still full of her heavy breast, he reached behind him and found her hair-covered pubic mound and insinuated a finger down the slit to find that she was moist and slippery with the flowing of her delicious juices readying her passage for him. The thought of her passionate flowing that had happened as she sucked voraciously on his near-bursting heavy cock stalk sent a salacious message of incredible lust surging through his brain and gut. He slipped his finger in and out of her silky slippery wanting vagina, and she arched and moaned in responsive appreciation, cunt up to finger and mouth on cock.
Maeve couldn't believe that she could ever enjoy a degraded act, but she knew now it was because she'd been so ignorant. Eagerly now and hungrily she sucked and licked Carl's beautiful erect wet and pulsing cock that throbbed in her mouth and jerked with the joy she was bringing him. Then she felt his finger delicately part her vulva lips and slide down and into her aching wanting passage. Pleasure flooded her in waves and ripples along her skin, her veins and through the depths of her soft little belly. Her breasts felt as though they were visibly swelling from inside out like fruit bursting with a ripening sun. It was beautiful... oh God... so good! She sucked harder on his wonderful throbbing delicious cock, and her pelvis arched up to his finger.
Suddenly Carl began to ease his cock from Maeve's working mouth. "Oh... no, darling, please... please, I want it. I want to suck you till you cum in my mouth. Please, darling," she begged.
"You'll get it back in a minute, baby. I've got to have your sweet little pussy." Carl kissed and nibbled her face, slithering down to lie on her, then plunged his tongue in her mouth and tasted his own cock there, and then he worked his way down her white and naked soft loveliness, stopping to individually lick and nibble and suck her beautiful swelling breasts, then burying his face against the silklike flesh of her warm little bowl of belly, stabbing hotly with his tongue into her navel.
Then Maeve sensed what he was going to do, and her brain reeled at the thought in erotic anticipation. Suddenly she felt his hands, the strong palms pressing against the softness of her inner thighs, moving them wider apart, and her breath caught in her chest as she waited with overwhelming desire and an ambiguous fear of what was about to happen.
Maeve lurched and groaned and shuddered as his hot moist lips closed over the mound at the base of her belly. She felt him lavish taunting kisses on the hair-lined edges of her pussy... tender and gentle kisses all around the lips of her cunt... until his tongue parted the soft brown hair and began to snake out at the delicate opening.
"OOOOOHHHHHH... ooooohhhhh, Carl, darling! Oh, yessssss, love me... forgive me...!" Every muscle in Maeve's body tightened uncontrollably to the wildly pleasurable licking of her cunt and choking moans of incredible delight poured from her quivering mouth. GOD! GOD! GOD! I'll go mad with the ecstasy of it... the unbelievable lovely enchanting ecstasy of his mouth licking me there... where I never wanted him before. I'll never get enough of this ultimate, this apex of sexual love. Oh Carl! Forgive me for the bitch I've been... to deny you... to deny me. Oh, why haven't I done this... why did I ever stop him before...? Oh, I want his cock in my mouth again. OhHHHHH!
Her mind was blank to all else. There was nothing else but the whirling vortex of sensation that was setting her whole body aglow as it had never been before. Her hands slid down her breasts and satiny belly to his head and she caressed the hair. She could feel his panting hot breath against her pubic hair, and then she felt his fingers part the still-closed lips and lewdly spread her entrance till the whole quivering pink slit of her cunt was open to him. She heard him grunt deep in his throat lustfully, and then he dropped his head and drew his wet tongue up through the sensitive and exposed coral flesh of her flowing, flowering cunt.
"OH... OOOOOHHHHHHHH... darling... Carl, my darling... yessssssssss... oh God!"
Christ! Carl choked in his head. He still couldn't believe what was happening... the sudden impassioned abandon of Maeve... she was seized as he had never even dared hope she would be... it was beautiful! Whatever the combination was, he had to find it again and again. This was it... really it! He raised his head and looked his fill at the soft pink jewel of her cunt, open to him, so eager and quivering. Greedily he absorbed the breath-taking sight with the ravenous hunger of lust-filled eyes, spasms of delight swinging in him, and he ground his cock fitfully against the covers.
As though she could read his mind she gasped, "Oh, darling. I want your... I want you in my mouth again. Please." Yes. Yes... he wanted it, too.
"Come here, baby... come to daddy... you're my woman no matter what... a real woman now. Come here to daddy, baby." He turned her and drew her over him till he was lying on his back and her breasts were cradled against his belly and her beautiful head had access to his cock that jutted up like a knife in the dim light. He caught her rounded ass cheeks in his hands and pulled her over his face, then spread her wide and open till her cunt was just over his face and he had only to use his mouth. If anybody had told him that today could ever end like this he'd have told them they were mad. Oh Christ! He couldn't wait. He pulled her ass down to his face so her cunt was on his mouth, and he plunged his tongue, stabbing deeply into her sweet wet palpitating pussy just as her mouth slid onto his cock and dived over it, encasing the whole throbbing length in her warm eager mouth that took him like a heady draught of ambrosia.
"Agh... ummmm... oo... ggg... mmmmmm!" Maeve moaned around his great pulsating cock, and she sucked it fiercely and deeply into her throat as his tongue stabbed into the warm depths of her vitals. It was a sensation of such ecstatic shock that scintillating explosions of rapture shot through her. His tongue swirled and laved and ravished, thrusting deeply into the clinging walls of her soft, sucking, needing vagina. What a fool she'd been! Ten years of marriage, and she'd denied them both this heavenly, beautiful loving! How stupid and immature she'd been, and how patient and long-suffering of Carl to have put up with her this long. But now it was finished. It would be his way... for his way was opening a whole rapturous, enchanting world of luxurious, vibrant lovemaking for her.
"Mmmmmmm... oh, baby... you taste so good," Carl moaned tenderly, drawing his tongue from the top of her moist, juicy slit all the way to her asshole, slicing her with delight. His hips arched up to her greedy, voracious mouth that sucked more and more of his thick, throbbing mighty trunk, and he could feel the unbearable bloating of his balls, readying. Clutching her warm round little ass in his hands, he pulled her open flowing slick cunt deeper over his face, and he sucked and licked and plunged deeply with his hot hardened tongue. Tenderly he caught the tiny almond clitoris in his teeth and titillated it with his tongue in maddening little circles, and she ground down on his face in wild rotations of insane delight.
Lifting her head briefly, she screamed softly, "OOOOO... my darling... don't ever stop... soo... lovely... dearest... ohhhhhh!" What she was feeling was so unbelievable that her brain could not contain and digest and sort all of the myriad, sybaritic emotions that swamped her soul and gut. It was beyond her experience... so far beyond that she felt she had entered the edges of a new universe... and like all frontiers, it was overwhelming.
Carl could feel that she was straining to a climax that was going to shake her to her very depths. Never had she been so wanton and free and unfettered. Her ass rotated wildly, pushing her wet and pulsing cunt deeply on his gluttonous mouth while she ate his swollen rock prick in a fevered frenzy as though she was going to ingest his entire genitals, cock, balls and all! She was delicious and delectable and the most wonderful wife in the world! He could scream with the joy of knowing that he had a real woman! For the first time since they'd been married he felt like a real man. He was never going to get enough! The whole damn world was going to blast apart with their cumming!
She could feel her rising climax, and she slaved even harder on Carl's thick, blood-gorged stalk, for he must cum with her. He must! She wanted him to cum with a mighty roar in her mouth, and she wanted to suck him dry. His tongue was fucking her in a passionate, wild abandon and she felt his arms and hands clutch her whole naked ass in a vise that crushed her writhing cunt on his mouth and nose. Her belly lurched, and her nerves were drawn to an exquisite fine edge that was rising to a point of infinity. There! It was almost there! She couldn't stand much more! The agony was so acute and exquisite that she didn't think she'd be able to bear it!
"MMMMM... mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm... ummmmmm!" Carl bobbed his nose and tongue frantically deep in her juicy cunt that was shuddering in spasms, and he could feel every muscle of her body ridge and cord. She was going to cum! He'd brought her off before, but never like this! She was losing her mind in the throes of a passion she'd never even known existed. The thought excited his own lust to a feverish pitch, and he bucked and arched to her mouth as wildly as she ground and pitched on his mouth. She was never going to forget this night. He'd make her cum... and cum... and... cum!
Maeve half screamed for her breath caught somewhere between her lungs and her throat, and she gagged and choked on his cock as the explosion in her loins hit her with the force of a tidal wave. The thunderous cataclysm crashed over her, and she shook and clung and quaked with the spasms of seismic pleasure! Carl's tongue never stopped its insane manipulations... sucking her more greedily than ever... and miraculously... she was cumming again! Oh Christ! How could it be? His wild tongue played skillfully around the outer portions of her pulsating clitoris, and she never wanted him to stop!
"Oh darling! Lover!... lover! Keep doing it! Don't stop! I'm cumming... and cumming and cumming! Oh hurry, darling. Now! Cum with me!"
Carl felt the intricate organs of his inner manhood ferment at the peaking lewdness of her words, and her licentious plea was too much for him. It had to end soon... though he wanted it to go on forever!
Maeve had no conception of time or space. He series of climaxes had destroyed all other considerations... everything...! Her body felt as though it had been impregnated with a hundred million needles of pleasure! Her cunt drifted on a cloud of rapture! She felt she could cum again and again... and then she felt Carl's loins jerk up to her, the massive cock swelling in her voracious mouth... and suddenly he was cumming!... cumming with her! She was cumming again with him. Again!
Abruptly, wild spurts of creamy, teeming liquid, hot sweet, male fluid, gush after gush which she wasn't quite ready for shot into the back of her throat. Again and again, he spewed jets of his masculine cum deep in her throat, and she groaned as her own convulsive tremors erupted in a splendid burst of blinding, satisfying bliss! Fiendishly, she swallowed and sucked, her Adam's apple bobbing as she swallowed the flood of boiling hot semen squirting into her warm receptive throat.
"Goooooooooo... odddddddddd!" Carl gasped against her naked crotch, and his breath coming out with the expletive on her flesh sent fresh spasms through her body. Her head fell against the hard inside of his thigh, and her hips collapsed to one side so her thigh lay across his throat. His cock was still partly in her mouth, and it still pulsed faintly in twinges as it deflated slowly.
He could feel his rod shrinking, yet he wished vainly he could go after her again immediately. He pulled her thigh from his throat wearily and reached for her, and she turned around to come into his arms to be held like a child.
"Oh... my God," she said finally. "Carl, my darling... I... didn't know... my God..."
"Good for you, baby?... pretty good... yeh?"
"Oh, darling. I've been such a fool... can you forgive me?"
"Never mind that. Was it good?"
"... Good? Oh, darling... oh darling!" Maeve pressed her face tighter against his hairy chest and tightened her arm across him. He smiled in utter satisfaction and patted her bottom with his hand. They lay for a long time listening to their hearts pound in their chests and slowly ease back to normal speed.
Chapter Two
Carl paced up and down his study, so lost in thought he didn't even notice the children's toys that had been left lying around. If he got this proposal in while the Admiral was here, there was a possibility he just might get his attention enough to be able to get that research grant.
He lit a cigarette and glanced back at the typewriter. If only he knew more about what Sam Grandfield was really after. No one knew much about the Admiral who had suddenly shot to prominence with the reforms for enlisted men. There had been a lot of criticism of the "boy wonder" Admiral too. The old guard didn't like the idea of all the freedoms... go-go girls at base canteens, private rooms for the enlisted men to decorate as they chose... and the suspicion that even pot wouldn't be frowned on. The news media had played it to the hilt, of course... hailing it The New Navy and crediting Admiral Grandfield with most of the changes.
Carl sat down at his desk and picked up a pen. He doodled idly. It stood to reason that if Grand-field pushed through eased conditions for enlisted men... then he probably was interested in easing things for the officers, too. So... Carl bit the end of the pen. Damn. He needed a social situation more relaxed than the reception last night where he could feel Grandfield out.
He'd like to have the Admiral out for dinner... but it wouldn't be exactly protocol for a civilian professor to invite the Admiral for dinner. Even if he could maneuver it gracefully, Carl was aware that his house wasn't really made for that kind of entertaining. It wasn't big enough or luxurious enough... and he knew that what really worried him was that Maeve tended to get too involved in men's conversations instead of looking after the ladies.
He started pacing again. His foot hit a doll and he almost fell. Damn! Maeve hadn't even cleaned the damn house up! He kicked the doll under the couch. His attention caught by the doll, he began to look around. There were piles of old newspapers on a table... and toys strewn where the kids had left them. There was even his coffee cup from yesterday morning, and the carpet looked as though it had dandruff. Hell! Where was Maeve, anyway?
That old feeling of frustration began gnawing him again. If Maeve cared enough to stick around and look after him, maybe he'd be able to come up with something for Grandfield. God damn it! He knew he'd been passed over for promotion because he felt so pushed and uncertain at home. Christ! He couldn't even talk to Maeve about his work. She argued with him and acted as though she knew more about it than he did. Well, god damn it... he'd settled a few things last night sexually. He guessed he'd better try and settle a few things around the house. Flitting around with her god damn painting class when she needed to be home... making a home for him!
The phone cut into his thoughts with a loud ring that made him jump. "Yes?"
"It's the pest again. Y'all didn't call me last night. Oh, I know how busy you are. But that's why I called. I could see you pacing up and down over there through the window, and I said to myself... I'll bet that poor man could sure use a little break... and seeing's how I just took some home-made cookies out of the oven... they're so good when they're warm with a glass of cold milk... don't y'all think? Well, I thought you might like to come over and have some. After all, you're always doing such nice things for me. It's about time I did a little something in return."
"Gee, sounds great, Betty... but I'm kind of busy."
"I know that. I never saw a man work so hard. Maeve's a lucky girl to have a man who takes such pride in his work. But when you get a chance... you just mosey on over. Sorry I bothered you, Carl."
"Well, maybe for just a few minutes."
"Oh, you've just made me so happy! Y'all come right on over!" Betty always made him feel he was doing her the greatest favor in the world just to let her be near him. Maeve ought to take lessons from that girl. She made a man feel wanted... and strong... and capable... and, well, like a man.
Carl walked across the road and went in the back door of the Lunsford house. George seemed never to be home. Betty explained that he'd rather do his studying in the library at the Navy Postgraduate School. Carl had only had him as a student in one course and found him to be stolid and unimaginative, but conscientious.
He never failed to be impressed with the Lunsford house. It was so spotless and shining and cosy. You knew right away it had a woman in it who cared about making a home. How could George stay away from this? The blue and white kitchen was fragrant with the smell of fresh-baked cookies.
He'd knocked briefly at the kitchen door but had gone on in when there was no answer, knowing Betty was probably in the back of the house.
"Betty...?" He called again. Just then she came in from the dining room. Her face broke into a smile that carried as much punch as a kiss. Like those TV commercials where the girl blew a smile your way and it ended up a kiss on the cheek. Betty was always attractive, but he'd never seen her like this. She came toward him wearing little more than that smile. WOW!
Betty was one of those blondes that tan beautifully to a sleek golden color. Her skin set off her slanted green cat eyes and pale hair that she wore in a long ponytail. Most of her tan showed just now, for she wore white linen short-shorts so tight that her pubic mound showed clearly. Carl couldn't take his eyes from her long bronzed legs, bare up to her crotch. Her waist was just as bronzed above the shorts, for she wore only a narrow strip halter in white linen, which was much too small for the twin mounds of her breasts which threatened to tumble out at every move. He could almost see the nipples under the cloth. God damn it! She shouldn't run around like that in front of a married man.
"I was just bringing the lounge in from the back. I been out sunbathing. I just set the timer and run in to take the cookies out when they're ready. I'm so glad y'all could come over! I was feeling downright lonesome." She bustled around, setting out a plate of warm cookies on the spotless white table, complete with a large tumbler of milk and a blue and white checked napkin.
"I was feeling kind of lonesome myself," he teased, mimicking her Southern drawl.
"Maeve's out painting again?" She bent over to wipe some crumbs from the shining blue tile floor. Carl tried to tear his eyes away from her round white linen buttocks, the linen deeply creased in the crack of her ass. Betty had always been friendly, but, Christ! A guy'd have to be retarded not to see that she was throwing out more than friendliness. Hell, maybe he was just imagining things after the hot session with Maeve last night.
"I wish I could be creative like Maeve. That girl can just make anything look beautiful. But I'm just too dense to understand all that modern painting stuff. I guess I'm just a homebody at heart."
Carl stuffed another warm cookie in his mouth... and looked up. "George is a very lucky guy."
She came and sat down at the round table and leaned her chin on her hand, which deepened the cleavage between her breasts. Carl forced himself to look down at his cookies. He could feel himself getting a half hard-on just looking at her.
"George doesn't think so," she said ruefully. "He says I smother him too much. Spoil him rotten. But, I just can't help spoiling men. A girl just sort of takes that in with her mother's milk down South."
"You even spoil me." Carl waved a cookie before popping it in his mouth.
"Well, who could help spoiling you, Carl Crandall! I'd never have gotten this house in shape if it hadn't been for you. George won't fix anything. Doesn't take an interest like you do. Mercy me, I could spoil you so bad you'd just be rotten," she said softly, her green cat eyes narrowing and her pink tongue licking her lips as she laughed.
Carl jumped up, spilling half a glass of milk on the table. They'd tease-talked before, ever since the Lunsfords had moved in six months ago; he'd never taken it seriously in the past, but he knew he couldn't take much more. Betty sitting there, tanly half naked and oozing sex from every pore of that bronzed skin. The tease-talk didn't seem like teasing now.
"Why, what's the matter?" She moved to wipe up the milk with the napkin. Carl grabbed her by the shoulders and looked sternly into her eyes. "I'm leaving. If I don't I'm going to fuck you silly... that's what's the matter!"
Her mouth came the few short inches to his, and he crushed the whole bronzed length of her to him, capturing that proffered mouth in a fierce kiss. His arms were vises, one hand clenching her round buttock through the linen and the other crushing her across the back where her halter tied. God damn! Three months of abstinence and his fling with Maeve couldn't begin to fill his need. That was last night. This was today, and Betty had practically thrown herself at him. So, what the hell. He'd warned her, and now she could jolly well take the consequences. Jesus! Her tongue responded to his deep probing, and he could feel his prick fully hard and throbbing against the softness of her linen-sheathed belly, her soft breasts flattened against his chest with the nipples popping out to rocky little chips of desire.
She pulled away, gasping, "Oh, Carl!" But his greedy mouth kissed along her jaw and inner ear, his tongue poking like a hot little penis seeking shelter. His hands were cupping and stroking and caressing all up and down her back, and she could feel his prick throb against her belly. It felt so much bigger than George's, though Carl was a much smaller man. Was it possible for a smaller man to have a bigger cock? Not smaller, really. Shorter. Standing like this, Carl was only an inch or two taller than she was, but his shoulders and chest were thick and hard and powerful, his hips lean and hard, and they pushed into her deliciously. Her head was swimming, but she thought triumphantly that she had him now. Six months it had taken to get him panting and clutching her like a madman... and that's the way she liked her men. Wanting. Needing. Badly!
She could feel one of his hands close on her breast, and she let a little moan escape her lips. God, it was so good to have a man for the first time. His gestures were different, his arms were different, his mouth, his chest, his cock! Above all, his cock! And Carl's felt huge and solid and jerking with need. She ground her loins up to him, and he lifted her almost off the floor by the buttocks in an effort to push her cunt through his own loins to his backbone. Yes. He was going to be good. She could feel it. He was going to be very good!
Carl squeezed her fully ripened breast that was like a very large, softly squishy fruit in his hand, his mouth digging again at hers till she had to breathe harshly through her nose. His other hand was full of round white ass globe, and he slipped one thigh between her legs and pressed hard as he squeezed her to him. Jesus! She was a hot little piece! He'd told her he was going to fuck her silly, and he was. Right now! She smelled of soap and sunshine and faintly of oranges and violets.
Her hand found the top button of his shirt and unbuttoned it, her hand sliding inside to smooth the hair on his muscular chest. Her other hand wedged between them to find his cock making a huge bulge out the front of his trousers, bound by his shorts and pants. She smoothed and squeezed the great bulge, and it throbbed agonizingly under her hand.
"God, baby," he grunted into her mouth, and he wormed one hand inside the tight shorts to knead her buttock. "I need you. Sweet Jesus, do I ever need you," he panted between kissing her throat and ears and eyelids and cheeks. He fumbled with the neck strap of her halter, and it knotted with his feverish jerking. The feel of her bare warm tanned skin under his hands only made the cloth seem even more offensive. He pulled away long enough to grasp the flimsy halter and shred it right down the front so that both breasts popped free, plump and tanned except for triangular patches over the lower part of them where her halter sheltered her from the sun. Her nipples stood out like little guards, stiff little sentinels, peaked to points of perfection and surrounded by pale pink-coral areolas. His hands threw the halter away and then came up to weigh the heavy globes that filled his hands with lushness.
"Oh, Carl, you've torn..."
"It's all right. I'll buy you another one, baby," he whispered, his eyes laving the hot breasts, overflowing in his hands. Her hands worked behind her to unzip the tight little shorts while he held those two fleshily beautiful breasts. He leaned down to take one reddened, hard nipple in his mouth, and he sank his teeth into the satin flesh around it.
"Ohhhhh!" Her hips snaked as she wriggled the shorts down in a frantic effort to bare the rest of her skin to the sucking mouth that worked on her breast. Finally the shorts fell to the floor, and she was left standing there shaking in only her thin white nylon bikini pants that showed the blond pubic hairs mashed in delectable detail.
Carl reached down with both hands, down her silky sides to the fragile little panties, a wisp of cloth covering her pubic mound with its curled mass of blond hair. He slipped the panties down over her round white buttocks till the sliver of cloth fell to the floor around her ankles. His tongue traced from her gorged nipple down to her navel, and then he knelt to press his face right in her fleecy crotch and kiss her where she "lived."
"Ohhhhhh," she moaned as she stepped out of the panties and caught his head in her hands to press his face into her pubic bone. Her thighs spread lewdly as she splayed her legs to give Carl better access to her pulsing cunt. She felt his hands cup her buttocks with hot eager palms that felt slightly sweaty from excitement... and almost without her volition her hips and pelvis ground to him in an instinctive effort to quench the fire that was raging through her loins. Her fingers twined in his hair, and she pulled him close to her crotch as she rotated her hips in a slow grinding movement.
Carl clutched her firm rounded buttocks in his hands, orbs that quivered at his touch, which sent shivers up his spine as he realized she wanted him as much as he wanted her. His mouth was full of pale curled pubic hair, and he opened his mouth wider to kiss her yearning crotch. Then he slid his mouth lower and parted the blond hair with his tongue, and then slid it lower still till it touched the top of her slit. She was delicious! He teased the slit with his tongue, sliding up and down, and she was groaning and grinding her crotch up to his questing tongue, and her legs splayed out to let him get at her private parts. Carl sent his tongue shooting into her, stiff and hard as a little penis. She was slippery, silky and wet with the love juice her body was making as preparation for his entrance. His brain was seething with the thought of her lavish lubrications welcoming him, and he sucked hard at her vaginal lips at the same time his tongue was plundering her deeply inside.
"AH-HH-HH-HH-HH!" she moaned, pressing his head even deeper into her vitals as though she was going to devour him, lips and tongue and hair and head right up into her.
Carl's knees were paining and numbing from kneeling on the polished blue and white floor, and he needed to stretch this woman out so he could fuck her properly. He withdrew his tongue and slid it all the way up her writhing body, and she quivered and shook for him as though afflicted with St. Vitus' dance. Jesus, she was so hot!... and he felt as though a raging fire had been set in his loins.
He tore at his clothes, and she opened her eyes and saw his frantic movements and held out shaking hands to help him.
"Yes, hurry, lover! Let me see that great big old cock of yours. I want to look at you." She was tugging at his pants as he jerked on his shirt. Finally she had them down, and it seemed as though they were in slow motion as she slid his jockey shorts down to free his great bulging rod that sprang forward like a fleshy beast of prey that had spotted its quarry. Her breasts jiggled as she feverishly worked and pulled, and he wanted to ram both of them in his mouth at once.
"I promised to fuck you silly, baby... and I'm going to do just that... with this." He grabbed his aching prick in his hand and used it like a spear to stab her soft tan and white belly, and the tip sank slightly into her desirable flesh.
"Oh, yes," she breathed as her hands came down and caressed the rod that shoved her belly like a great stabbing weapon. She wanted to be impaled on the huge, pulsing, hard thing that rose from his hairy loins in such mammoth splendor. She wanted to feel the shove and the filling of her pussy with that jerking, purple-headed fleshy rod deep, deep inside her very depths. She wreathed it with both hands and felt the blood pulsing inside the fleshy shaft, and the thought of taking its immensity inside her sent explosions of lust bursting in her brain. She felt drunk, as though she were going to reel and stagger at any moment. An enormous lassitude was sweeping over her, and she knew she would begin to sway and fall if she didn't get to a bed or something.
Carl pulled her magnificent naked body to him; it was striped delectably where the swimsuit had left white patches over her great thrusting breasts and the triangular strip around her hips and down over her cunt. His throbbing, aching penis buried itself again against her belly, but this time it was flesh on flesh, fire on fire. "Quick, baby. Where can we go? I've got to lay you out and fuck you. Now!"
She pushed him away and reached down and grabbed his swelling cock in her hand. "Come along, honey." She led him by the cock like a bull to slaughter, laughing deep in her throat.
"Easy, baby. Easy. Don't pull it off or it won't do you any good," he laughed with her. God, he hadn't been so fired up since... last night. The thought came as he remembered the wild contortions of Maeve. He pushed her from his brain rudely. That was last night, and he didn't want to think about that when he had this incredibly hot woman all ready to go now. He couldn't. He'd think about that when he could afford to feel guilty. Right now, screw it!
Betty led him willingly to the living room. Then, as though she couldn't put one foot before the other, she sank down on the wide blue-green flowered couch... letting his prick slide out of her hand. Her cat-green eyes fixed on his, and slowly she splayed her legs, opening herself to him. Her hands came up slowly, the tips of the fingers starting at her thighs and stroking upward till she cupped her own beautiful swollen breasts and held them up to him like a sacrificial offering. Carl could see the nipples, hard and upright and blood-red with carnal desire. Her splayed legs showed him her pink-mouthed cunt, so silky-wet and shining with the drops of her moisture. The lips of her pussy were gorged and swollen with her seething, heated desire, and they opened out like a ripe lascivious flower, the inner layers coming into view for his pleasure.
Christ! He didn't know where to start. This pulsing, giving woman waited for him to plunder her, and he had only to begin. He reached down and took her arching foot in his hand, stroking it and bending it as though it were a sexual organ that had to be caressed. Then he put her slender foot on his great throbbing cock and used it like a hand to rub and manipulate his prick. She responded immediately... by curling her toes and tangling them in the pubic hair at the thick base of his great rod and arching her foot till it almost was a hand rubbing him. Jesus! You didn't have to teach this woman anything. She knew! He might learn a few things himself!
His cock was jerking like a wild thing at her caressing foot, and she could feel the lurid, erotic, swollen thing respond. Its one eye in the bulbous head wept great seeping slips of moisture and the seminal fluid, silky and wet like thin syrup on her foot, sent tingles of anticipation running like little fine fingernails over her sensitive skin.
"Oh, God, Carl. You've got the most beautiful thing there I've ever seen. I want it in me. Fuck me soon, honey. Fuck me soon," she whispered huskily.
"It's all for you, baby. Can you take it all?" He began sliding it up her leg, leaving a trail of sticky liquid, a calling card of his own devising. Before his eyes, his cock did seem to swell even bigger with the contact on her smooth tanned skin, and it jerked and throbbed pitifully with the feel of her on the head. Her body quivered as she strove to reach up to him... as though he were running a red-hot wire over her skin, and it clove to his rod wherever it went in a frantic quaking. He trailed that great, enormous, pulsing penis over her skin, ever upward till it rested between her breasts like a thick knife about to split her asunder.
Betty reached down and clasped the beautiful big pulsating shaft in her hands, and she lifted her head and enclosed the head in her lips, making her mouth a funnel. She sucked eagerly.
"Go-od-od-od-od-oooooood!" He screamed as though pinioned. The flames were whipping up from the end of his prick in great enveloping licking whirls as her mouth closed and sucked on him, hard and wet. She was an artist. God knew where and who she'd learned on, but he knew she'd been doing this for a long time and he suspected with many different partners. Jesus! So what? All he cared about was fucking and sucking her to exhaustion. Silly? He was going to fuck her crazy! Fuck her till she raved and fell unconscious!
In spite of the fact that her sucking was practiced and expert, he needed to plunge into her very depths... to dive and hit the bottom and never come up for air. Suddenly he pulled back and stood fully erect.
"Don't," she pleaded with closed eyes, her breath coming in fitful pants. "Please don't take it away from me," she begged. "Let me suck your beautiful great cock. I want to suck you dry, Carl, honey." Her breasts were heaving with her breathing, and they rose and fell in naked majesty. Her arms reached up to him.
It was too much. Too fucking much! God damn! This woman was driving him right out of his skull! He fell between her legs then as though he were diving into a warm comforting bed. As he dove he aimed right at her warm waiting pulsing little blond-haired pussy. And he made it! His face buried in her neck, and the tip of his prick touched home right on her wet waiting cunt. Rising on his knees, he shoved with his butt and plunged the dagger of his flesh right up to the hilt on one zooming dive. She arched and screamed a high wail.
"OHHHHHHHHHHHH... ahhhhhh... ak... aiiiiiiiiiieeeeeee!" Betty felt the knife of him go into her, but it was not a knife. It was a tree... a trunk... a hot searing three-inch diameter axe that notched her cunt in a blazing cut that felt as though she were split irreparably asunder! Mother of all! She knew he was big... far bigger than George... but God in heaven! He'd split her in two by shoving so hard in that one emblazoned spearing. He was killing her! Her head thrashed! Jesus! Was she bleeding like a virgin, which she hadn't been since fifteen, when her uncle had caught her in her mother's sewing room after grandpa's funeral?
Unable to weep for a grandfather who'd been a remote old man that she hardly knew, much less cared about, Betty had sneaked upstairs when all the weeping had started again after the return from the graveyard. She threw herself on the daybed and picked up a fashion magazine. Soon she was lost in imagining herself in all the smart clothes that were pictured in the slick pages of Vogue.
She didn't even hear the door open, she was so immersed in the bright pages... swearing to herself that she would have all the beautiful things she wanted someday. She didn't care what she had to do to get them either. Her mother's lot was not for her.
The floor squeaked, and she looked up, startled to find her Uncle Joe almost right beside her. Then he was sitting on the edge of the daybed.
He was a man of medium height and medium age, with fawn-colored hair and eyes as though he'd been dipped in tan dye. Even his skin looked tanned and almost the same color as his eyes and hair. He must have been forty at least, and old to her. Not even her uncle, really... just married to Aunt May. A good catch, everyone said, for he owned a small dry goods store and was getting up in the world. He'd always been extra nice to Betty and seemed to enjoy his uncle role.
"I saw you come up here, honey. I don't blame you. All that weeping downstairs can't do the old man any good now. Here. I brought you a glass of sherry."
She sat up against the pillows and stared at him. "But I'm not allowed to have liquor."
"Well, my folks are Polish, and everyone is allowed liquor at funerals and weddings... even the little kids. Helps to get people through things like this. Go on. It's all right. I'm having some, too."
She sipped tentatively. It tasted funny and was hot going down her throat, but when it got to her stomach it spread out to a lovely warmth that felt wonderful. He talked to her soothingly, and she didn't feel guilty any more about not being able to grieve even a little for her grandfather.
The next thing she knew he was patting her and hugging her and giving her more sherry. Then his hand had slid up her dress, and before she could protest he'd snaked it inside her panties and prodded her privates in an indescribably delicious way. It felt so good, and a warmth spread through her like she had never known before. She knew it was wicked and sinful, but she couldn't stop once he'd really touched her.
The whole world had whirled and turned later when he'd locked the door and threatened to tell terrible lies about her if she didn't submit. He also tantalizingly held out the offer of some pretty dresses from the store if she kept quiet and let him "love" her. His fevered hands and hot mouth on her breast had turned the tide, and she couldn't have stopped him if she'd wanted to. His hands and mouth did strange things to her body that she didn't really understand, since she had only dimly heard whispered discussions of the facts of life. She only knew that she'd never felt so alive and marvelous and powerful, for he was almost weeping with joy and kept making extravagant promises.
Everything was wonderful until he'd actually entered her body with that huge thing that jutted from his hairy body. It had hurt so terribly, and he had held his hand across her mouth so her cries were muffled to grunting and groanings.
She'd struggled and twisted, her eyes bugged out in terror and pain, and the tears had poured from her in what seemed like rivers down her cheeks. She would have been even more terrified had she known her hymen had been ruptured by his great prick and that she was bleeding. Later it had gotten wonderful, and the pain miraculously had disappeared, but it had taken a long time.
Since that day she had never felt a cock as big or painful as Carl's, which filled her now and stretched her elasticized pussy to the tearing point... and she had felt several cocks in her young life. The cocks had taken her out of that grimy little southern town to Memphis and then to Houston, where she had met and married the first bright young lieutenant who asked her. George's folks were more than comfortable, and she was very mindful of that. It just hadn't occurred to her that George's father could have a heart attack and lose his automobile agency, his insurance agency, and his motel all in the space of three years.
Carl moved his mouth up to hers and sank his tongue deeply inside the hot cave of hers, bruising her there as painfully as he bruised her tight little pussy. He always had had trouble with small girls, and since he was short for a man he always seemed to be attracted to the little dolls. His cock was truly outsize for a guy of normal height, and it was always a shock the first time he rammed it into a woman. Once they adjusted to it... they loved it.
He eased out just a fraction and then slid it back to the dark resting place hard against her womb. She moaned and gasped around his tongue, but her pelvis tilted up to him slightly. He sucked her tongue voraciously and then rammed his tongue back in her mouth in mock fucking. Again he eased out and then slid back, and her pelvis responded a little more this time. That was it. Oh, God, yes, baby.
Then Betty felt Carl ease further out, and his mouth left hers to find one of her breasts. He nibbled it very gently with his lips and teeth till the tingling spread from the focal point of her nipple all over her body and washed her like a million licking little tongues. "Ohhhh... yesss... honey... suck my tit for me!" His whole mouth came around her breast as far as he could reach, as though he were trying to get the entire thing in his mouth, which he couldn't. She could feel her nipple against the roof of his mouth. Then he sucked the rigid gorged little nipple as though he were going to actually get the nourishment from her that he needed... as though milk or honey were actually flowing into his mouth. "Oh, yes," she sighed, and she could feel it flowing out of her into his hot sucking mouth, and his hand was pinching her other nipple in the pain that was ecstasy.
Carl moved his mouth to the other breast and bit it none too gently, and she arched under him and screamed epithets of encouragement that made him jockey in and out of her viselike cunt in a funny short little rhythm.
Carl rocked in and out easily. Nice and easy in little short strokes to get her used to him. Gradually he lengthened and stretched it out till he could feel his whole cock sliding in the tight warm tunnel of her. When he pulled his prick up from the hot vacuum of her vagina that was beginning to milk him with walls of hot rubbery, clinging flesh, he pulled it all the way so only the very tip was still barely embedded in her. She whimpered faintly and caught his ass in her hands and pulled him into her till he could feel the head of his throbbing, bulging cock hit the bottom and ram into the yielding cervix. She wanted him inside her, filling her now. She wasn't hurting so now. It was hurting good! The working over he'd given her breasts had flowed even more lubricants deep inside her to ease his hard prick that was all but pounding now! Oh, Christ, it had been so long since he'd had a really good fuck!
Betty ran her hands from his lean, muscle-hardened ass up his back to his powerful shoulders. She ran her tongue along his thick neck and up to his ear and around the orifice. "God, baby!" He moaned and buried his face against her shoulder... and she could feel his heated breath coming in rasps now. Oh, God, she thought, I've never been so filled... so fucked... so well fucked! She could feel that enormous prick jerk inside her, and it sent ripples of overlapping rapture radiating through her body. And she was arching up to meet his deepening thrusts so bone met bone and she could get no closer. She tried anyway. She wanted that giant prick to stab even farther, and she slid her legs around his hairy calves in a frantic opening of her thighs even wider.
Carl felt her arch and buck under him as her body took him in ever-rising urgency. "That's it, baby. Fuck back! Fuck... fuck till we spin off the whole fucking planet!"
"Yesss," she answered, her legs wrapping higher onto his hips so his pounding pole could get even deeper into her churning vagina and her whole cunt would be even more open and receptive to him. She began to climb his pole now! Climb it to ride high so her clitoris could contact his pleasure-giving shaft that stroked in and out of her now in a long easy rhythm.
"Come on... buck, you beautiful bitch," he panted. "Come on, baby." He felt her nails begin to dig his back like ten little sharp needles that stabbed a pleasure-pain message to his fevered head. Jesus, she was good! Jesus Christ! He rammed her harder and harder... deep up into her belly, and he could feel the sweat trickle from his forehead and it felt as though even his brain was tearing joyfully and the tears came out sweat in drops that dribbled down his skin.
Her hands moved to his face, and she caught his jaws and kissed his mouth. Carl rammed his tongue between her white teeth and fucked her mouth as hard as he fucked her voracious little cunt. The pressure in his balls was unbearable, and he could feel that the dam was not going to hold much longer now.
She tore her mouth away to gasp raggedly, "Ohhh... God! Soo good... oh... Carl, honey... it's soooooo good!" She clutched him even tighter around the waist with her legs, fighting to keep him as deeply sunk in her belly as she could, for every sawing of that great cock in and out of her brought her ever closer to a rising plateau of pleasure that drew her irresistibly. Betty felt his hands slide under her buttocks and draw her pelvis even higher, and he draped her legs across his shoulders until her whole naked, wet, dripping cunt was open to his onslaught. God! He went in even deeper... so deep she felt his cock would ram right through her body and come out the back of her neck.
Carl felt the tremors run through her body as she strained up to him in frantic archings and groanings. His balls were slapping hard against her ass now, and the scent of fucking, her smell mixed with his own, hit his nose and sent shudders of heightened lust through his laboring body. He reached underneath and felt the moisture trickling down the crack of her round ass cheeks. He moved his finger till he found the crinkled little bud of her asshole, all wet with her love dew. He stabbed his finger into her resisting little hole, and she arched even higher, screaming, "Goddddddddddddd!" He pushed further into the tight, clenching hole, and the flesh, tender as it was, ridged on his finger as though it were a lock and would never let him go. He timed his plunging finger to his pillaging cock and buried them both in her sensitive flesh in dual thrusts. Every flailing of her thrashing body impaled her even deeper on either his cock or his finger, since both openings were filled with him, and he pounded like a maniacal bull gone completely berserk.
"That's it... baby... fuuuuuuuk! I'm going... to fill... fill you up... with cum... till it comes out your ears! Oh, fuck... baby!"
"Yesssssss," she hissed, her head beginning to thrash and roll from side to side. "Yesss... fuck me gooooood! Hard... hard... fuck harder!"
Her lewd words ricocheted in his head and bounced off his consciousness like snaking whips that cracked his body to extra effort when he thought he'd used up all he had. Crazy, gorgeous, fucking woman! God damn... it was so great to have strange tail! Jesus Christ... he was never going to spend another ten years with only the familiar, comfortable ass. He had to have this strange stuff! It was too god damned mind-blowingly-good!
The pain in her virginal ass had eased to a strange exotic sensation that heightened as she felt him plunge her... cunt and ass in complete abandon, fucking her in wild thrusts with the mindless intensity of a bull! Oh sweet Jesus! He was the best cock she'd had in years. Maybe the very best ever! She never wanted him to stop thrusting her, impaling her, stabbing her, but she knew her time was close. The fire was building in her loins to a white heat that licked higher and higher with every plunge of that great throbbing prick and every stab of that long invading finger up her ass. No one had ever told her that pain could turn to so much pleasure. The thin wall of membrane separating his prick and his finger felt so fragile and quaking, as though the two invaders into the depths of her body might meet at the peak of her climax that was building to a high pinnacle left standing in a wide plain.
Carl's study was empty. Some papers were strewn around on his desk, and his morning coffee cup was still there. The kids' toys from yesterday were still lying about, too, Maeve noted ruefully. She bent down and gathered them up in her arms and marched through to the other end of the house to deposit them on the pink shelves in the girls' bedrooms.
She made herself a drink and took it into the bathroom. The gin and tonic tasted cold and crisp, and she was parched after the long class and the drive home in the hot sun. She stripped her paint-stained jeans and shirt off, stepped out of her white bikini panties, and let her breasts fall free when she unhooked the white nylon bra. She picked up her drink and sipped it, looking at her naked white body in the mirror. Her body looked better than it had yesterday... her breasts fuller and higher, the waist narrower and the slope of her carved marble hips more sculptured. She blushed at her own image in the mirror, remembering last night. A woman needed to be loved... and she had never been so thoroughly loved as she had last night. So today even her own body looked more beautiful to her.
She was going to make it more so. She had to shower and smooth on cologne and powder to make herself sweet-smelling for Carl. After last night, how could she do anything else? She shivered in the warm bathroom, wondering what delights he would initiate tonight.
Maeve sang in the shower, and she soaped and scrubbed and rinsed every inch of herself, including her hair. A rough buffeting with the thick blue towels and she was dry and satiny. Fortunately her hair only needed toweling too, and then a good brushing to fall into the shiny cap of mahogany brown. She pulled on orange tights and a short camel suede miniskirt that wrapped and tied at the waist and an orange turtleneck. In the middle of dressing, she began to wonder where Carl was. It suddenly hit her that his car had been in the driveway when she came in. She'd assumed he might have been around the other side of the house, watering or checking the garden, but she hadn't seen or heard any sign of him.
A stop in the kitchen to make herself another drink, and then she wandered out to the garden. The willow tree he was so proud of waved languidly in the breeze, but there was no Carl anywhere. That's funny, she thought. Could he have gone up to see the Adelmans who lived up the hill? Not likely. They didn't know them too well. Gone for a walk? Carl's outdoor activities were usually confined to gardening. A little knot appeared between her smooth brows. She tried to relax, but she couldn't. Something was really bothering her about Carl's being gone. As she walked back around the house and onto the deck that overlooked the undulating valley below and the rising hills, she saw the roof of the Lunsford house across the street. She admitted to herself then that that was it.
She was afraid Carl might be there as he had been so many times before. Maeve smiled ruefully to herself. After last night, she'd assumed he wouldn't want to go visiting Betty Lunsford... and she still didn't know if he was there.
Sipping her drink, she went thoughtfully into the house. A flick of the button, and the hi-fi filled the house with soft music. She'd start dinner, she told herself, and he'd be along.
The two big steaks that she'd thawed lay on the refrigerator shelf. They took so little time that it would be silly to start them now. A celebration. That's what she'd planned. A celebration of their being really together again... after last night. The long-necked bottle of champagne leaned against the milk cartons, too tall to go in upright.
She refused to let herself speculate on Carl's being at Betty's... if he was. Instead she flew into a quick fury of straightening and cleaning the house. When she went into high gear she could get it presentable in about an hour.
Maeve vacuumed hurriedly, running the whining machine quickly from room to room. When she got to the study the sight of the Lunsford house through the window hit like a blow in the belly. If he was there... after last night! It would be too much to have him fawning around that babe who oozed sex from every pore. Don't be a fool, one part of her argued. Find out for sure, another threw in. Get the house clean for him. It's important to him, chimed in another.
Her hand shook on the vacuum cleaner handle. The clock told her she'd been home almost an hour. The warring parts of her mind went at it in fierce battle. Suddenly she couldn't stand it any longer. The machine died with a snarl as her finger switched it off. As if in a trance, she slid back the sliding glass door and walked purposefully down the graveled driveway.
Chapter Three
Maeve knocked lightly at the kitchen door of the Lunsford house. When there was no answer, she opened it and went in, for she could see through the glass-paned door that there was no one in the kitchen. Uncertainly she stepped across the shining blue-tiled floor. Wistfully she wished her own kitchen could look so neat all the time... but then she'd have to give up her art if it did.
Suddenly she stopped. A glass lay overturned on the white table, and there were crumbs around a small plate and a crumpled blue-checked napkin was soggy with spilled milk. It was as though it were a sign. No use crying over spilled milk, the old saying went.
Betty had never left even a little mess like that in her life, Maeve was willing to bet. Something was going on. Should she call or go back outside and walk around to the patio? But she had no time to do anything, for she froze where she stood, one hand on the back of a white bentwood chair.
"Go-o-o-o-o-o-o-od-d-d-d!... fuck me... fuck me-e-e-e-e-e!" Maeve just stood, dumb at the sound of Betty's voice screaming out the obscene words. She didn't know where they came from, but they came to her unbelieving ears like a pain. Somehow she knew that Carl was the cause of those words.
"Tha-a-a-a-at's itttttt... baby... Oh, God... hurrrrrrry!" Carl's voice had the same screaming urgency. Maeve didn't have to see to know what they were doing. FUCKING! That's what they were doing. FUCKING! Carl and that slut were FUCKING!
Without her volition, Maeve's body became operable and started moving toward the sound of the voices that stabbed through her eardrums straight to her heart. When she got to the doorway she could look across the dining room to the living room, and she recognized the flailing naked bodies.
Like writhing white muscular worms, they contorted and curled and backed. She could hear the slap of Carl's balls as he pounded his great prick in and out of Betty's wet pussy. The sucking wet obscene noises were audible as the organs labored on each other. Their ragged breathing hung in the stillness like smoke.
Maeve hung onto the door frame with both hands, afraid of falling in horror, but she could not tear her eyes away from their lurid and wild contortions. Carl. Bitterly she remembered last night. His way, he'd said... and she had given it to him his way. And here he was fucking this cheap little slut when he hadn't wanted to touch his own wife for three months. Her whole world was shattering into the crystal fragments that her tears made of her vision. Carl was FUCKING that woman... that cheap bitch! Oh, God!
They were so enmeshed now and the pitch increased so that Maeve knew they were close to their climaxes. Then she saw Carl's buttocks clench and the muscles in his back ridge and cord as he lunged, throwing himself deep into Betty's body with the force of a maddened engine. "CUMMMMMMMMMMMMM! CUM W-I-I-ITHH ME-e-e-e-e-e-e-!" he screamed. Maeve heard Betty answer in an agonized cry. "YESSSSSSSSS! GODDDD... I'm cummmmmmm... innngggg!"
The tears were pouring unheeded now down Maeve's face, and the sobs came out silently in tiny chokes. Blindly she made her way back through the kitchen and out the door. She would be blind to everything now but the branding scene she had just witnessed... it was burned into her soul with red-hot iron in a scar that would never heal, she knew. Oh, God! What would she do? Where would she go?
She ran across the road and up the driveway and into the house, clutching her abdomen as though holding in guts that threatened to spill out of her in gore. The bastard had killed her! He'd killed her!
Sirens went off in screaming wails that were red explosions of sound and color inside Betty's head as the raging spasms of her climax convulsed through every atom of her straining body. Oh, God! This was an Everest above the little mountain peaks she'd reached before. The sirens screamed red, and she was impaled on the very tip of a rapture so exquisite that it was pain and agony of incredible, blinding beauty that threatened to take her very breath right out of her heaving lungs. It went on and on and on! The jerking spasms went on, and she felt as if she could cum forever!
Carl gasped, the breath coming out of his open mouth in spurts with the jets that spewed from the head of his cock in great streams deep inside the grotto of her hot cunt... the altar of her womb washed with his offerings. Jesus Christ! He'd never felt anything so god damned good! As his whole load of thick creamy sperm-laden semen pumped out of him in blinding gushes of lascivious pleasure, he could feel in the back of his mind the signalling little thought that he was going to fuck again... and again and again! He wanted to start before he'd even finished! This was one hot woman he was going to fuck and fuck and fuck... no matter what.
"You're the goddamnedest hottest woman I've ever had in my life," he muttered against her neck, his breath still chopping his words into little short gasps.
Her hands ran down over him tenderly, caressing the furrows her nails had made like thin stripes down his back. "I told you I'd spoil you rotten. You are rotten, Carl darling... rotten." She sighed, rotating her pelvis and then grinding it up in a jerk that sent another shooting stream of his decreasing cum into her.
"Yeh, baby. Spoil me... just keep spoiling me."
She couldn't be here when he finally pulled himself up off that slut's rutting body. She couldn't look at him. She didn't think she could ever look at him again. Away... just away. Anywhere.
Maeve sat on the couch in the living room, rocking and holding her arms around her waist in an effort to still the pain in her gut. Pounding hammers beat in her head, and she felt slightly nauseous. She had to get away. But where? Where?
In the reeling screenplay that rolled in scenes through her head she plucked out a phrase... "Are you going down to Bendemeer's Stream for the weekend?" The trailer, of course. She could go to the trailer parked down at Bendemeer's Stream Campground in Big Sur. Harry had asked her about going down for the weekend. The Neil trailer was right next to theirs... but she could just shut herself in and paint. She didn't have to see the Neils. She'd just paint and paint and paint until she forgot. She'd drink while she painted... anything until she could forget.
Oh, God, quick! She couldn't be here when Carl came back across the street with the sticky orgasm of that slut still on his cock under his pants. Maeve flew through the house... gathering her painting paraphernalia, a few jeans and turtle-necks, and underclothes and boots. Sweaters and an old polo coat. It got cold in Big Sur sometimes in the summer. Bathroom stuff. Food. She jerked open the refrigerator and grimly gathered up the steaks, the champagne, cheeses and part of a baked ham. Her celebration dinner she'd planned for Carl! The tears flowed again as she packed the things in a huge grocery bag.
In frantic haste she carried everything to her little VW bus, knowing she was probably forgetting half the things she'd need. But time was running out. At last she had it all in, and she slammed the door of the bus, leaving the house wide open.
She backed out of the driveway in a burst of gravel and swung the bus down the winding hill, not daring to even look at the Lunsford house. The weight in her chest was unbearable... like a load of cement that was crushing the life out of her. She opened the window of the bus and tried to breathe deeply to relieve her heavy chest.
It was as though an automatic pilot had been turned on in the little bus, and it found its way down the valley road to Highway I and turned left, heading for the wild, craggy Big Sur country. The Meadows were soon left behind and then the Highlands, and she was in open country that spread out in wide grassy slopes where a few cattle grazed high above the lapping Pacific.
Carl walked up the graveled driveway, feeling the first twinges of guilt, until he saw that his car was still alone in the double carport. Maeve wasn't home yet? He looked at his watch. Six-twenty. She'd never been that late from a class before. Maybe the car broke down and she'd tried to call him. That thought brought another more chilling one. Maybe it was a hospital or the Highway Patrol that had tried to call.
He began to feel bad. Very bad. Christ! Supposing she had had a wreck while he'd been diddling Betty! He half ran into the house. "Maeve. Maeve?" He called even though he knew she wasn't there.
The vacuum cleaner stood silent in his study, still plugged into the wall socket, and all the toys had been cleared away. Well, that meant she'd been here. He was positive the vacuum hadn't been out.
He walked on through the house. Drawers were open and clothes hung like limp tongues out of her dresser drawers as though someone had jerked them open in haste and left them. There were hangers lying in a maze of tangled wire on the pale carpet. Even the bathroom looked different. Her toothbrush was missing!
Carl rushed back into the bedroom and looked through her closet. He couldn't really tell what was missing, but it didn't seem as full as it usually did. In the living room he found her empty glass, the ice cubes just frail little slivers in the bottom now.
He sat down heavily. She hadn't had a wreck. She'd been home and now she was gone, he thought dully. Gone with a few clothes, at least. Wearily he went into the laundry, pretty sure by now that her painting stuff would be missing, and it was. There were a few stubby old brushes and twisted old paint tubes, half-empty bottles of turpentine, and the huge old easel. The portable easel was gone, the paintbox, the stool and the huge jar that had held all her good brushes.
She was gone. For how long he didn't know. He just knew she was gone without a word. Rubbing his forehead, he went into the kitchen and looked around in a daze. He opened the refrigerator door and stared into its cold depths stupidly, not really knowing what he was looking for. It looked pretty empty, too... but he couldn't be sure. He closed it and leaned against it.
He poured a stiff Scotch and slugged some down. It would have to be something very unusual for Maeve to just take off like this. She wasn't a sneaky girl at all. Still nursing his Scotch, he stretched out in the big chair and put his feet up on the ottoman.
When the jolt of the Scotch began to take effect, he tried to sort all the possibilities in his mind. It was as though he'd had to have the drink before he could face the possibilities... and he knew even before he started what the only logical explanation could be. He'd known but couldn't face it. She had seen him with Betty! It couldn't be anything else. Not Maeve. It had to be something she would find that earth-shaking for her to just take off like this.
He didn't want to believe it. God! The thought of Maeve watching him shag Betty Lunsford in that hot little session was too much! It had been too much for Maeve, too. Christ! Why had he been such a fool?
When Maeve saw the cluster of buildings to the right of the highway she came out of the almost hypnotic trance that had held her for the long drive. The lights were still on at the small grocery store, but the garage was closed and the wrecker stood parked in front of it like a huge medieval mythical beast.
She slowed down for the campground which was just around the curve. Even though she'd slowed, Maeve hit the high old bridge across the river a little too fast. It creaked under the bus. There was a huge stop sign at the end of the bridge, for the Campground office was there. Farleigh Flynn, who managed the place with the discipline of a Prussian officer and the humor of his wild Irish ancestors, insisted incoming campers all sign in with him, even the permanent tenants who used their trailers for summer homes.
God, she didn't want to talk to Farleigh now. Maeve drove straight through and on around the curving dirt road. The music was blaring from the outdoor jukebox, and the kids were shuffling and shaking in their weird rock music dances that didn't look like dancing at all.
Wearily she parked in front of the rough high redwood fence that stretched across their lot to enclose the trailer. She unpacked the food and toilet articles and clothes, leaving the painting equipment for tomorrow. She locked the bus and lugged the things inside the trailer. It smelled musty from being shut up.
Maeve had always loved the trailer, but now it looked bleak and depressing. The wide sofa-bed lounge with its paisley cover and deep pillows looked somehow shabby... the gay Mexican paper flowers forlorn. Stop it, she told herself. She had to hang on to herself.
Keep busy. She lifted the large grocery bag and went into the tiny kitchen and dining area to put the food away. Suddenly the door banged open and the trailer seemed to shrink to Lilliputian proportions, for Farleigh Flynn edged his burly shoulder and big head in.
"Why the hell didn't you-stop and sign in, Maeve?" he shouted. He was a huge man with a big head of unruly wavy auburn hair and fierce blue eyes under shaggy brows that made gloomy eaves when he frowned. In his rough denim jacket and jeans, he looked like the hero's buddy in a Western, gruff, tough and masculine, but with a heart of gold under all that bluster.
"God damn it. I've told you a million times I can't keep track of the people here at the Stream if you don't let me know when you come and go."
Maeve just stood in the kitchen looking at him with big wounded eyes, her shoulders sagging. His disapproving, shouts brought the tears again. That was all it took. Helplessly, she just stood there, feeling her throat tighten and close.
"Hey...?" He came in and grabbed her by the shoulders with his big meaty hands. "God, honey, I didn't mean to make you cry." His arms came around her, and he patted her awkwardly... just as though she were five years old and her doll had broken.
Sympathy wasn't what she needed, either. "Oh, Farleigh," she sobbed against his big chest. "It's not you." He just held her a minute and let her cry it out.
"What's the matter, honey?" He called everybody "honey" when his great big sentimental slobby heart came through his rough exterior.
She shook her head, still choking with sobs. Finally they eased a little, with Farleigh's great rough hands smoothing her shoulder blades and squeezing her waist and holding her tightly against his huge hard body. Shudders still racked her, but the comfort of being held by this great big, burly man wrapping her so close in sympathy began to slow the tears.
He tilted her face up to his, and one huge paw pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and carefully, gently, wiped her wet cheeks. "If it wasn't me made you cry so, who was it? What is it, honey? Spill your troubles to old Farleigh."
Looking up at his big kind face with the forbidding eyebrows, concerned blue eyes and wide humorous mouth, she realized he always referred to himself as old. She'd always taken his own evaluation of his age and thought of him as old, too, but he wasn't old at all! His skin was fair and un-lined. Why he couldn't be more than thirty-five at the most. She looked up at him, amazed.
He bent his head and kissed her forehead as naturally as if she'd been a sister in trouble. Then she felt his lips touch her damp cheeks gently. He was so good to her, and if she had ever needed kindness, she needed it now.
"What is it, honey? You don't have to talk about it, mind you, but if it'll help you just tell me all about it."
"It's... Carl," she whispered. "He...'I saw him with... the neighbor. They... they were...!" Her breath refused to push out more words, and her chest had that excruciating weight again, for she could see them! In her head she could see their lewd thrashings and screams of lust.
"You don't need to say any more. I get the picture, honey. That's a pretty rough thing for a little thing like you to take. Guess you must love him an awful lot to be this cut up."
She pulled away from Farleigh's arms to look him in the eye. "I hate him!" she blazed. "I never want to see him again!"
"Course you do, honey. But I'd sure be mighty proud to have a woman like you hurt that bad over me."
"I'm not hurting over him. I'm..." But it was no use lying to Farleigh.
"Look, honey." He led her over to the sofa bed and made her lie down. He sat down on the edge and removed her camel boots, rubbing her feet and flexing them. "I'm going to make you a cup of tea with a big slug of rum in it. My grandma always used to do that. I don't know why it makes the world so much brighter, but it does." He drew the coverlet over her, and his big hands patted it around her, over her breasts in the orange jersey, around her suede-covered hips.
"But I don't have any rum here."
"Don't you worry about that. I'm going to put the kettle on and run over to the office and get my rum. I'll be back in a jiffy."
"You're very sweet, Farleigh... but I'm all right now. Really."
He turned from the tiny stove where the flame licked high around the kettle. "No, it's not all right. Not yet. You just lay right there and I'll be back in no time. Close your eyes and rest a little."
She was too tired to do anything else. Her eyes closed obediently, and she heard him leave, the trailer door banging a little as he maneuvered his big body through it.
Farleigh ran at a dogtrot over to the office. He had to hurry before Maeve Crandall got over her mood. It wouldn't take much in the state she was in to convince her she needed vengeance more than anything else. And he was just the guy who could give it to her. Give it to her! God, would he give it to her!
He could feel his prick hardening already in his pants. Jesus, she had the biggest tits he'd ever seen on such a little gal. They had to be at least a 36-C or D... and no sag at all. She didn't even have a bra on under that jersey. He wondered about that, since he'd never seen her without one before. He could still feel those globes in his palms when he'd pulled the covers around her.
"Bob." Farleigh burst into the tiny office. The young man looked up from the map of the campground. He was trying to find a vacant campsite for the transients in the camper outside the big window.
"Yeah?" His serious young college boy face looked up.
"Take over for a while. I'm running out of steam. See you in three or four hours." The young man looked amazed and then proud. Farleigh had never trusted him alone in the office that long before.
When Maeve stirred and opened her eyes, Farleigh was bending over her with a cup of steaming tea. She'd vaguely heard him come in, but she'd needed the little doze so much that she hadn't bothered to even open her eyes.
Farleigh looked down at her with deep concern in his eyes. He took in everything about her, nevertheless. The big brown eyes and pert nose and slender long neck that made her look a little like Audrey Hepburn. But there was where the resemblance stopped. The coverlet had slid away, and her breasts thrust against the orange turtle-neck, the two big mounds completely outlined under the clinging nylon. The nipples showed plainly, and he was going to be biting those little knobs of sensation soon. He could feel his cock straining hard inside his tight jeans.
"Here." He set the cup down on the bench and sat down on the edge of the wide sofa bed again. He caught her around the rib cage with his big hands and lifted her to a half-sitting position, stuffing pillows behind her back. He understood that a man had to have a little strange stuff now and then, but Carl Crandall didn't have to be so goddamned careless.
Maeve felt his hands lift her up, hands that almost spanned her rib cage. The lower curves of her breasts were spilling onto the backs of his hands, and the feel of those hands made her remember she hadn't even bothered with a bra when she'd dressed for Carl. She'd been happily looking forward to their lovemaking. God! What a fool she'd been.
The tea Farleigh handed her tasted so good. She sipped it gratefully. It was good Darjeeling that had been liberally laced with dark rum. It hit her stomach and spread out in fingers of warmth that seeped through her in relaxing paths. She smiled up at him.
"Thanks, Farleigh. I guess I needed that."
He nodded his shaggy head, putting his own cup down. "Good for what ails you. I reckon you're gonna need another thing, too, if I know women." His big hand engulfed her free hand and warmed it in friendly fashion. "You're gonna need vengeance. A little old-fashioned tit for tat."
Maeve stopped the cup to her lips in mid-air. The thought hadn't occurred to her, but the minute he mentioned it she felt a grim and satisfying need to dally with it. Give him some of his own medicine. Go to bed with one of his friends, for instance. There was Harry. The sudden vision that leaped into her head of Harry Neil naked made her shudder. No. He was too unattractive.
She shook her head to clear it. What was she doing? Thinking of lowering herself to Carl's level just to get even. It was ridiculous. It would serve him right, but she couldn't do it. No.
"I couldn't do that, Farleigh. I just couldn't. It would be like... well... lowering myself. Do you know what I mean?"
He nodded again. "Yeah. I do. But it's kind of a hollow victory, isn't it? I mean... he's having all the fun... and you're having all the heartache." His hand smoothed up her inner arm, as gentle and quiet as his voice.
Maeve felt all the tension flowing out of her. The rum and hot tea were doing their work, aided by Farleigh's quiet voice and his gentle hand on her arm. The warmth of his hand warmed her whole side, and she remembered the feel of his big hands just under her breasts as he'd lifted her. Suddenly the thought occurred to her that, of course, he could feel that she had no bra on, and she blushed. What must he think of her?
But Farleigh had probably seen just about everything, considering some of the people who came here to camp. Rumors flew about Farleigh's women. People snickered over drinks on trailer patios about Farleigh's reputation as a stud, but she'd never ever heard him say anything about his supposed conquests. She'd heard the talk, but she had always assumed it was just gossip... idle cocktail party talk. Feeling his hand on her sensitive inner arm and the warmth that flowed from it... she wondered and speculated. Then she chided herself. He'd been so sweet to her.
"Yeah," he repeated. "You're having all the heartache and none of the fun. And that kinda riles me. Pretty little thing like you shouldn't be miserable."
Maeve handed him her cup, empty now. "I'll get over it, I guess, but right now... it seems like I won't. It was such a shock. I... you must have work to do, Farleigh. You're always so busy... and here I am keeping you. You shouldn't have to be nursing silly women."
His hand tightened on her arm, and he bent his head to her. "You're not silly women," he whispered, looking right into her eyes vehemently. "I've watched you for a long time. You're a good, sweet, tender woman, and I don't know how any man could go chasing around if he had you. Why, I'd..." He grabbed her then, and his arms came around her in parentheses that closed in an unbreakable lock.
Maeve cried a little involuntary, "Oh," before his mouth closed on hers in a strongly tender kiss. She tried to pull away. This was wrong. Just because Carl and that slut... didn't mean that she should, too. He held her fast, his mouth locked on hers and his arms crushing her close. She pushed vainly at his shoulders with little clenched fists which he didn't even notice.
Farleigh held the little wriggling thing and refused to let go, knowing she'd stop jittering in a minute. She was as soft as he'd known she would be. He could feel the swell of those big rounded mounds of tits against his chest, knowing they were naked under the thin orange jersey. He'd have them naked in his mouth in a minute.
Maeve pushed and pushed on his shoulders, but he was an immovable rock. She felt his great muscular arm that was behind her back capture both arms in a brutal hold, and his free hand found her heaving breast and covered it tenderly as though he'd captured a fluttering little frightened bird. Her breath came even faster and in rasps through her nose. She could smell the clean denim and tobacco and leather smell of this great man who held her as easily as he could hold a child. Against her will her breast snuggled into his hand, the nipple popping out in a quivering button against his palm that so tenderly covered it. No... no... she cried out in her own head, and then she was still, knowing it was useless. If he wanted to rape her, he could. There was nothing she could do about it. He was too strong and too big. She went limp in his arms, hoping he'd take pity on her. He'd been so kind before.
That was better, Farleigh thought, as she went limp in his arms, her breast swelling in his palm with the nipple turgid and stiffened to a point. He forced his tongue between her little white teeth and probed deeply in her mouth, and she tasted like the good rum. He tugged at the jersey tucked into her suede skirt, seeing her great white mounds of breasts in his mind's eye. Both her arms were still pinned to her sides by his arm and steel hand. She was limp now, but he had to heat her up a little more before he could ease up. He didn't like scars on his face... not even fingernail scars. Jesus! She was a little thing, but wild! He'd always known, from the first, when the Crandalls had bought the trailer from the Taylors, that this little thing was going to be his one way or another. That had been two years ago, but then Farleigh Flynn was a patient man. He was very patient when it came to quality tail. There was plenty of ordinary tail around and available and panting when you managed a campground.
Her brain was a magpie's nest of bits and pieces, flotsam of all her years of living, and the thoughts tangled in a maze of uncertainty. Mentally she held her breath as the big man pulled her jersey out of her skirt and his hand touched the tender, naked skin of her waist and slid slowly up to claim her swollen breast. It was an alien hand, but it talked a body language her breast understood and responded to no matter how many times she told herself it was wrong. She could feel the blood rush to it and a pervading warmth and a tingling that spread from the nipple in radiating waves that reached to her toes and her scalp. Maeve sensed a point of no return was rapidly being reached. She must stop him NOW. With a superhuman effort she tore her mouth away from his.
"No... please... no!" she gasped. His hand came up to grasp her jaw. His deep blue eyes were inches from her own, and they spoke a language too that she not only understood but could not help responding to.
"Be still, little girl," he whispered fiercely but gently.
She stared back at him, captive and still frightened, but tingling with the excitement of playing this out. His wide generous mouth began to softly kiss her face and throat in quick little kisses.
"Oh... please... Farleigh," she begged, a lassitude sweeping her now that turned her limbs to jelly. She could feel her moisture now dampening her tights, the shameful moisture that meant she was truly responsive to this great, gentle man.
"I'm not going to hurt you. I'm going to take away the hurt," he explained, sliding his tongue down her throat while his hand roved over both naked breasts that quivered up to his touch involuntarily. He could feel her breath quickening as he kissed his way over the lovely contours of her face and ears. This was going to be worth having waited two years for. Her big beautiful breasts that rose like mountains from her narrow rib cage were heaving now and swelling, the nipples reddening from rose to coral-red, little stiffened ingots poking out in fiery desire. Farleigh could feel his own interior furnace blazing with a bright flame, his prick stiff as a crowbar, hammering in pulses inside the painful prison of his tight jeans.
"Oh... hhhhh... hhhhh," she breathed as she felt his mouth close damply around her nipple. His tongue washed it in circles, swirling round and round the quivering nub. Her eyes were closed to shut out everything but the hot mouth working on her breast, his hand holding it up like a cup that he drank greedily from. Some life-giving elixir seemed to be pouring from her out that tap of her nipple and into his voracious mouth. Her hand patted feebly although it was still imprisoned at the elbow, but he seemed to sense he could ease his hold now. She was prisoner of her own responding body, a better jailer than his strong arms. With the release of her arm, her hand came out and ran fingers through his thick shaggy hair to urge his head even closer on her aching breast. She held him to her, mashing his face into the soft mounds of her.
"Ah-hhh-hhh-agh," she moaned as his teeth sank into one red-hot, rock-hard nipple. Farleigh could feel her spine stiffen and arch, her head thrown back in passion. He knew from his hiding place at her breasts without even looking that her eyes were closed and that she held her blind face up in a supplicating plea for more. More he had plenty of. His hands moved up to ease her arms out of the jersey till it lay in folds around her neck. Slow, now. Don't spook her just when you've got her going. His hands found a short zipper at the back of the tight turtleneck, and he unzipped it. Reluctantly he pulled his mouth away from her heaving swollen breasts to ease the turtleneck over her head. She opened her eyes to look at him. Those big hurt brown eyes were glazing with the heating up he was administering.
"Come here, honey," he whispered, catching her to him and kissing her further into the trance he'd started. He explored the soft membranes of her mouth and the sharp little points of her white teeth, then plunged his tongue clear to her tonsils in mock fucking. She received him eagerly, sucking his tongue greedily and panting hard through her nose. Mentally he was beating down the raging animal cock that was banging the bars of his jeans like a maddened beast. There's plenty of time. Take your time.
His hands worked at the tie at her waist where her suede skirt fastened. Still fucking her mouth in a long French kiss, he pulled at the suede strings, seeing in his head those beautiful orange-covered legs under the short scrap of suede skirt. Finally he had the damn thing open. One big hand slid up her thigh and underneath to cup her buttock and lift her up enough so that he could slide the skirt out from under her. He pulled away then and looked his fill at her naked white loveliness. Slender, fragile white arms and softly rounded shoulders that led his eye down to the great swelling masses of her globular, thrusting breasts, tipped with ruddied red areolas and nipples. Those rising breasts were supported on the narrow white column of her rib cage that looked too fragile for their great weight... and the ribs narrowed even farther to a tiny little waist he could span easily with his hands. Her hips swelled out gradually in a divinely restrained curve that went in one long sweep down her thighs and calves. He could see the dark patch of her pubic hair mashed inside the brilliant orange pantyhose that still encased her from the waist down. A line from an old movie on TV came into his head. "There ain't much meat on her... but what's there is choice"... only Spencer Tracy had pronounced it "cherce." Well, the meat on his little thing was absolutely choice... and he was going to eat his fill.
Maeve lay still, not sure if she was resigned or hypnotized, watching Farleigh fling his denim jacket away, his eyes laving her body like a hungry tongue. Without her volition, her thighs were stretching like a cat and her breath came in quickened shudders. An interior voice was urging her on to greater indiscretion, telling her she deserved more than one man in this life... and Carl was all she'd ever known.
Still another voice was scorning her and calling her slut and bitch-in-heat and whore. But she didn't feel like a whore. She felt beautiful and desirable and voluptuous and tender and good under Farleigh's expert eyes and hands. She felt exalted and drawing to an awesome experience that she must have, at all costs.
Farleigh could see her huge eyes widen with amazement as he tore off his shirt and his powerful chest with the curling mat of auburn hair was revealed. He jerked the buckle on the wide leather belt and skinned off his jeans, freeing that snarling, voracious penis that leaped out in a wild spring to stand out from his lean loins in a great thickened shaft of attention. She was attending its huge size and shape and color with unbelieving eyes, not missing the vein-laced surface of its skin or the darkening head that wept slowly from its one eye or the eager jerking of its length. She looked terrified by his massive instrument that jutted up from his body like an estrous stallion... but she'd soon be begging it to slice her again and again.
Maeve couldn't take her eyes off this huge naked man who stripped his body of clothes in quick ease and complete assurance. He looked even more enormous without clothes, the great shoulders and arms and chest bulging with muscle, his belly flat and hard as a dancer's, his great thighs bursting with powerful long muscle tissue. As for that thing, that huge, gigantic thing that jutted up from the auburn pubic hair! It would split a woman in two!
He knelt by the bed, never taking his eyes from hers, which watched him in snakelike fascination. His hands spanned her waist easily as he bent his unruly-haired head to kiss both nipples lightly. Easing the elasticized waistband of her pantyhose with his fingers, he stripped the thin nylon down her belly and hips... off her thighs and calves and off her feet in a long easy movement.
"I always knew you were beautiful, but..." His eyes finished the sentence as he took in the strangely long, perfectly shaped thighs and calves so unusual in such a small girl... the silky brown hair triangle covering her mound of Venus, the hollow little bowl of her white belly. No wonder the world was filled with statues and paintings of naked women. There was nothing more beautiful than a beautiful naked woman... naked tits and naked cunt, made for the delights that only a man could bring her.
He stood up then, and Maeve could feel those powerful arms catch her under the knees and back, and he lifted her up and moved her farther into the wide bed. Swiftly he was beside her, gathering her to him so her whole body was pressed against his huge bulk. Every soft hollow and swell of her fitted his hard leanness, and she turned her face up eagerly for his mouth that came down more fierce than ever. She felt one great hand clench her little white bottom and press her against him, right over his huge throbbing penis. It throbbed in pulses that her own vagina echoed by tightening inward deliciously.
Not caring any more and shutting her mind resolutely to all the puritanical admonitions and threats her conscience could devise, Maeve gave herself up utterly to the indescribable ecstasy of the naked, lusting man beside her. She wanted him inside her! She wanted him to do what he was going to do!
Her hand came down between them, and she wrapped her little white fingers around his mammoth bull cock, loving the feel of the blood coursing through it and the wild appreciative jerks it made against her palm. She shuddered again at the thought of the pain it could inflict, but her body kept responding and urging her ever closer to the huge instrument that looked more suitable for mounting a mare than a woman.
"Oh-h-h-h... woman... oh-h-h," he groaned deep in his throat when she slid her hand up and down, pulling the thick foreskin in a rapturous rhythm. His fingers pinched her nipple till it felt the blood was going to come out in droplets to stain his hand. She could feel the incredible heat of his skin against her, warming her to a fevered state, and she reached with her toes but could only reach as far as his ankle, her head cradled under his arm on his hot chest. She looked down the length of their pressed bodies in wonder at the disparity in size... for she looked like a white doll or a child against his hairy massive body.
Suddenly he pulled her over him until she lay full length on top of him, her breasts mashed sensuously against the prickly auburn hair on his huge chest and his enormous cock pulsating wildly against her little belly.
He gathered the small globes of her ass in his big hands and squeezed her to him, burying his maddened prick deeply between their bodies, sandwiched like an enormous sausage that threatened to split its skin. Their tongues sucked and fucked in salivating fury, and their hearts beat a twin-hammered beat that was building unbearably. Oh, God! He had to taste that pussy!
"Oh-h-h-hhhhhhh... Farleigh," she moaned piteously as he let her mouth go, pulling her by the buttocks so she straddled him. He bent her knees and cushioned them on his heavy shoulders so she was jackknifed with her cunt open and splayed right over his face. He could see the delectable pink flesh of her vulva, the lips swollen so that she was opening like petals, soaked with the juice that flowed from deep within her. The glistening lips shone in the dim light, and he wanted to lick up that sweet juice so more would flow. He bent his head forward and sent his tongue questing over the slippery, shiny swollen skin in a long swiping lick.
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" she screamed softly, arching her pelvis to him in abject surrender. The touch of his tongue sent slivers of red-hot crystal shattering through her nerve ends, nicking her in a thousand delicious places. Her brain had slipped down between her legs and sent out its messages in flashes of ecstasy. Maddeningly his tongue was licking her entire cuntal mouth, the gates to her womanhood widening and opening to his onslaught.
Farleigh licked the sweet musky womanly fluid from her pussy lips, relishing the taste and smell of this beautiful hot luscious female. Ambrosia could not taste better, he decided. The fleshy portals opened wider and wider to receive him, and as he licked more fluid flowed to bathe her again. She quivered and moaned against his mouth, and he could feel her tailbone stiffen where he held her ass in his hand. He increased the lashing of his tongue on her wet cunt, and she was shuddering and moaning her appreciation. He pulled away momentarily to look at the lasciviously moistened open and quivering pussy, outlined with the soft brown hair that was matting around the edges, and then he kissed the vulva lips as he would her mouth and plunged his tongue deep into her vagina.
"AGH-GH-GH-GH-GH-ghaghhhhhhhhH!" she screamed and jerked her loins, clamping her knees around his ears. The red-hot poker of his tongue had impaled her very vitals, sending searing flames through her weakened veins. She bent forward, doubled over his head like a primitive maiden on a marriage stick, only it was his wild pillaging, ravishing tongue that was the stick. She caught his auburn-haired head in her hands, tangling her fingers in the hair, to push him inside her. It was as though she had to have his whole head in her, deeper and deeper inside her till she had ingested him with her female organs.
Farleigh caught his breath, feeling his lonely cock down below jerking like a puppet pulled by the string of his lusting mouth on the soaking, desire-quivering pussy. Then he plunged his hardened tongue again, feeling her vagina walls, muscular and ridged, suck on his probing, invading member. As he brought it out he slid it up to ravish her pulsating little clitoris, erect as a little penis. Swirling his tongue in circular motions, he began to suck too. He sucked on the little organ as though it were a hard candy that had a particularly delicious soft center. She went mad, above him, trying to shove his whole head up her pussy.
"OHHHHHHHHH... GOOODDDDDDDDD!" she shrieked, her body swaying and jerking in wild contortions, her hands almost pulling out his hair in her convulsive spasms as her fingers clenched and unclenched in his hair. Jesus! She was the hottest little piece he'd ever had! He sucked harder, and her juices flowed copiously over his mouth and nose and tongue, and his saliva mixed with it and ran down to moisten the crack between her little white buttocks.
Maeve felt the waves of sensation wash her, and she knew she was reduced to an unreasoning animal, jerking to the lascivious oral manipulations, with no thought in her head other than to get closer and closer to the source of all her incredible and exquisite pleasure. She was as instinctive as a salmon swimming upstream against all reason or sense, propelled by dark forces within her that answered to no authority but sensations of pleasure.
She did not even protest when she felt his finger working at her puckered little asshole. He could do with her as he willed. His finger stabbed into her tight virginal little orifice till the whole first knuckle was inside the muscular walls. It hurt! She shrank from it by jerking her pelvis forward, but he held her and kept stabbing, forcing his finger farther and farther into her very bowels! Suddenly something gave, and she could feel his long finger deep inside her asshole while his tongue still fucked far into her pussy in front. She was invaded-Both orifices filled with the giant man who'd reduced her to a whimpering mass of shuddering feeling! He was fucking her in two places at once. Oh, God! What dirty thing was he doing? Fucking her rectum with his finger! Fucking her cunt with his tongue!
"NO-O-O-O-OOOOOOOOOO!" she wailed at the unnatural pain in her tight, shrinking little asshole. She could feel his big palm slap against her round buttock as his huge finger drove up into her. But his tongue never let up, sucking and licking and scouring her whole vulva and vibrating vagina.
"No... no..." she sobbed, the tears beginning to flow down her cheeks at the pain in her back end and at the maddening tongue that brought her such delicious, sensuous sensation in front. She was stretched to a taut, wailing, writhing creature desperately seeking release.
Suddenly the pain began to lessen, and a creeping pleasure began to climb her shattered nerves. She eased back on his finger, riding it, and the pleasure increased! Her lust-soaked pussy got its lick on the rise, and she began to pump up and down. Oh... she was getting close... close. A golden carrot of fulfillment was being dangled just out of her reach.
Farleigh could feel her arching and writhing, pounding on his finger now in a lust-maddened dance. She was getting close. His prick was jerking wildly and his balls felt as though they had been blown up to monstrous proportions like balloons on the point of breaking. Suddenly he withdrew his finger and his mouth and caught her little quaking body just under the breasts. Straightening his thick long arms, he held her up and off him.
"Oh... Farleigh... darling... lover... please," she was babbling and moaning, hanging from his hands.
"Tell me what you want, baby," he crooned. "Tell Farleigh what you want."
"You-u-u-u-u-u-u," she wept.
"Well, you're gonna have me, baby," he grunted. "Now, what part of me do you want?" he asked, like a teacher instructing a particularly stupid child.
"Cock... co-o-o-o-o-c-c-k-k," she wailed.
"That's right, honey," he congratulated her, pulling her down to kiss her in reward. Then he half sat, spreading her legs even wider over his belly. He lifted her again by her rib cage and set her down on his upthrusting prick, feeling her twist down over his shaft like a beautiful butterfly impaled on a sharp pin. Jesus Christ! She encased him tighter than a thin kid glove. But she was such a little girl, he remembered, and he was a big man by anybody's standards.
"GO-O-O-O-OD-D-D... baby... ohhhhhhh!" he gritted through his teeth. He could feel his rod jerk deep inside her, jerk her very flesh, for there was no room for a prick as big as his. Even his forehead felt the pressure like a band just around his temples, and he could feel the blood beating and swelling out his veins to bulges. Damn! This little thing was like a twelve-year-old virgin despite the fact she had two children. He'd never felt a cunt so tight in his life. It was almost too much, and he wondered dimly if he really was injuring her.
His hands moved up her satiny ivory sides to her big tits, which shook as his hands closed over them, and then she ground her hips in a belly dancer's grind, moaning, "Darling," and he knew it was all right.
Experimentally Maeve moved her hips a little, wondering if she were bleeding from the huge knife of his penis that cut her so deeply that she felt the tip of his thing must be coming up through her, all the way to her throat. She was so filled that even her lungs felt constrained and tight as though being pressed aside by that enormous prick that impaled her. Timidly she moved her hips again, and felt him jerk inside her like an enormous bell clapper, sounding and reverberating through the hollow bell of her body. She shook with the vibrations that sounded on and on and on.
Farleigh laughed and squeezed on her breasts, raising his hips up to dagger her even deeper on his happily pulsing prick. "Ride a cock horse to Banbury Cross," he sang lustily, bucking her up and down, "See a fine lady upon a white horse!" She clung to his hairy arms with her little hands, and her creamy mounded breasts jiggled like soft pillows in his hands. "With rings on her fingers and bells on her toes," he went on. "She shall have music wherever she goes!"
"Oh, Farleigh," she laughed, falling forward on his chest, and he held her close, wrapping his great arms around her body and shoving upward with his loins, sending his readying cock up even higher into her tight, constricted little cunt. He kissed her greedily and began to rotate his hips in a grinding motion that set her pussy afire with the fevered sensations of a building bonfire.
"God... baby... oh Jesus." Scintillating spasms of lust were emanating from his cock, and he could feel the great Niagara damming up in his balls to a steaming, explosive force that would send them skyrocketing! She sat up, and he held her breasts as she began to pound his pole like a merry-go-round! Up and down, up and down, grinding it round, up and down. His breath was rasping out his nose in steaming gusts. Bucking like a wild bronco, he heaved her up from underneath with a mighty thrust, and he could feel her vaginal walls clenching him even harder as she pounded back, skewering herself on his massive, blood-gorged shaft.
Maeve didn't know when or where. She only knew she was about to reach the zenith of her existence as a great tide pounded closer and closer, rising ever higher and higher. Farleigh was grunting and groaning unintelligible sounds, and his great hands clutched her in huge bruises that would only appear later. Every stab of his gigantic, lusting penis sent her nearer heaven, slicing into her very vitals with a rapture she had never known! Her senses had left her, stranded on this shore of pure feeling where nothing mattered but the thundering raging rod she rode to heaven!
"AH-H-H-hhhhhhhhhhhhh!" she breathed, her hands digging into his steel-hard arms. She could feel the ridges of muscle that stood up in hard hills and hollows.
"Come...on... honey... come... on...." he panted, begging her to join him in a fevered quest for Nirvana. He knew he couldn't hold out much longer... and any second he was going to blow higher than the sky... straight up to heaven.
God damn! He distracted himself. He'd had a lot of women in his thirty-three years... about two hundred and fifty, he reckoned, since he was fifteen... but he couldn't recall any as good as this little puny, brown-haired thing who rode him now. That guy Carl had to be nuts!
Maeve's head was rolling from side to side, and her fingernails were digging his forearms in stripes that would leave him clawed as if a wildcat had mauled him. It was beginning! She could feel the exquisite, unexplainable, incredible, never-to-be-forgotten orgasm about to happen.
"Hon-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-y-y-y-y-y-yy!" Farleigh screamed, his rock-hard hips lifting so high off the bed that she was raised on his raping rod, his huge hands clenching her hips like claw hammers! She could feel the teaming, boiling spurt hit her cervix like a blazing firehose, searing her and triggering her own orgasm.
"Nowwwwwwwww!... Cum with... meeeeeee!" he begged as he bucked and bounced and strained beneath her.
"YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!... AH-E-E-E-E-I-I-I-I-I-I-E-E-E-E-E!" she screamed in the agony of ecstasy, stuck on his blasting cock like a victim. The fiery shots sprayed through her as her body erupted from the pit of her cunt and showered outward to make even her fingernails pulse in the mighty shaking quake!
Farleigh held her hips as if they were a life raft and he would drift forever if he lost his grip. Great hoses of creamy sperm-laden semen were bursting inside the hot hollow of her beautiful little clenching pussy. She was milking him with the muscles that clasped like hands, squeezing him... squeezing him... dry. But on it came, gush after gush after gush. It seemed that gallons of his seed were shooting up into the hot cavern of her vagina. "Go-o-o-o-d-d-d-d-d!" he grunted, throwing his hips up to plunder her milking pussy in a bliss that seemed never ending.
"Fuck, baby... FUCK!" But Maeve needed no urging. Her hips were caught in the vise of his hands, and he pounded her up and down on his hot pole. She could feel her vagina suck him ever tighter into her depths, her orgasm going on and on in exquisite waves of pleasure. Her ears were roaring like the sea in a cave, and the world was worlds away and she was only an erupting, pulsing, convulsing record of joy and unattainable bliss!
"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" The breath came out of her body in a great racking sigh, and she fell forward onto him, limp and spent in an exhaustion so complete she might have been rags instead of satiated flesh.
He could hold her like this forever. He knew his cock was deflating slowly, but it still twitched and jerked, spewing the last drops of his cum deep in her belly, and her legs still twitched as her pussy still worked rubbery muscles, sucking him dry!
"Hot damn!" he whispered against her hair, cradling her against his chest. She was one tired little girl and the best fuck he'd had in many a year. Yes, sir... the very best.
Chapter Four
Farleigh shifted Maeve's legs until they were on top of his, knowing that they'd be cramping her soon from being spread so long. She was absolutely limp, letting him move her as he wanted, so tired and utterly satisfied that she was in a trance and all but unconscious.
Suddenly there was a great banging on the door that sent them both clutching and searching for clothes. "Mrs. Crandall! Mrs. Crandall!" The knocking and the calling continued... louder than ever. Maeve's heart was pounding in her chest as she crawled over Farleigh to grab an old robe from the tiny closet.
"Just a minute," she called shakily, suddenly feeling ashamed and degraded, caught dallying with the Campground manager. She didn't recognize the voice. Farleigh lost no time grabbing his clothes and easing his bulk through the long narrow trailer to the tiny bedroom in the rear.
Finally Maeve had covered herself and opened the door a crack, feeling the sticky cum oozing down her legs underneath the robe. "Yes?"
A boy of about twelve stood on the trailer step. "Mrs. Crandall?"
"Yes."
"Well, Bob sent me down from the office. There's a phone call for you... and the party's waiting on the line, he says. He said you was to hurry."
"Oh... well... thanks. I'll be along in just a minute." The boy just stood there looking at her.
"Just a second," she added, closing the door and finding her purse. She came back to tip him a quarter. He went whistling off, satisfied.
When she heard the gate of the redwood fence close, she breathed a sigh of relief. She looked up to find Farleigh dressed and smiling.
"I heard. You go along and get your phone call. When you leave I'll mosey on out quietly."
"All right," she said dully. The boy's appearance had shocked her back to reality. The grim reality of what she had done. She was no better than Carl. Lowering herself to his level. To the level of that slut he'd been with. She'd been betrayed by her own body that had been denied too long... but that was Carl's fault, too, she reasoned.
"Don't look so sad." Farleigh caught her shoulders and looked at her. "It was the best. You just pull yourself together, honey. I'll look in on you later."
"No. Don't look in on me later. You'd better leave now. I have to dress." Her voice sounded as flat and dejected as she felt.
"Okay, honey." He leaned down to brush his lips against her cheek, and then he was gone. She found a pair of jeans and a shirt and a big old bulky sweater which she pulled on quickly... while her mind raced painfully. She never wanted to see Farleigh again, for every time she did she'd be reminded. He was right. It had been the best while it was happening... but not now. It seemed cheap and vulgar and humiliating.
She ran her fingers through her hair, grabbed her purse, locked the trailer behind her, and went out the redwood gate. Supposing something had happened to the children when she'd been lying in there doing what she'd been doing? Oh, no... please God... no. She began to run then, dodging the kids and the dogs and the campers.
Sam Grandfield planned to spend some social time with all the professors in the management department. Hell, that was the only way to really find out about people. He'd found out so many goof-offs and lamebrains just by being with them in relaxed situations... when they had no idea they were giving themselves away. Already he'd found out... just by driving leisurely down the coast with him... that Harry Neil was impotent.
The Admiral glanced at Harry out of the corner of his eye as the professor told still another interminable smutty story. Sam Grandfield didn't have to listen. After twenty-seven years in the Navy, there wasn't a single variation he hadn't already heard.
He laughed appreciatively when Harry had finished, so heartily that no one would have known he hadn't heard a word.
"Terribly kind of you to have me down for the weekend, Harry."
"Not at all. We're delighted, Admiral."
"I need to unwind a bit... get in some fishing... think about all the things you fellows have fed me about your work to see how it fits in with what I want to do for the Navy..." Sam didn't finish what else he was thinking. No point in asking an impotent man where he could get a choice piece of tail. He'd have to find that on his own.
"Well, I think you'll find Bendemeer's Stream conducive to that, sir."
"Cut the sir, Harry, when we're away from the brass-bound portals. We're just about the same age, anyway."
"Makes things a lot more comfortable. I'll agree to that!" Harry grinned enthusiastically.
"Bendemeer's Stream." The Admiral mused. He loosened his tie and leaned back in the leather bucket seat. "Oh, yes! 'There's a bower of roses by Bendemeer's Stream, and the nightingale sings round it all the day long.' Irish folk song. I remember now."
Harry looked at him respectfully. "That's a new one on me... but it would make sense. The owner and manager of the trailer park and campground is of Irish extraction. Goes over to Ireland every year on his vacation."
They had turned off the highway and drove across a high bridge over a river that bubbled and rippled clearly over a rocky bottom. Harry stopped at the end of the bridge and checked in. He also explained that he'd checked with George Lunsford and it was fine for the Admiral to use his little trailer for bunking. Farleigh seemed particularly agreeable... but then most people were impressed when you had an Admiral for a guest.
Harry was feeling pretty pleased with himself, too. Carl was going to shit green when he found out! Harry was pretty sure that this invitation was going to assure him of getting that research money everybody knew the Admiral had come out to award.
As they rounded a curve in the winding dirt road, Harry saw that Maeve's VW bus was parked in front of the redwood fence. His hands tightened on the steering wheel. It had never seemed fair that Carl had the Harvard Ph.D. and Maeve. Well, it looked as though he wouldn't get that research money, he thought smugly.
Maeve. God, he'd almost had a full hard-on at the reception just looking at her. She was everything Jo was not. And he was absolutely sure Jo was the real reason he just couldn't get it up any more.
Maeve yanked her sweater down over her bottom and picked up the phone. She still felt dirty, soiled and ashamed, wanting to hide... to scrub herself clean and hide.
"Hello?"
"Maeve? It's Betty Lunsford."
No one had to tell her who that syrupy southern voice belonged to. How dare that woman call her! How did she even know she was here? Maeve was shaking inside, her guts churning with white-hot fury at the slut's audacity. She struggled for control.
"Yes?"
"I just wanted to let you know that we'll be down later in the weekend. Oh, not to stay. Just Sunday. You see, Harry Neil called, and he took the Admiral down there as his guest and we've lent our little trailer for the Admiral to use. So, I thought, since the Neils and you and... well, I thought we ought to decide about food. I'll do a southern baked ham, and maybe you and Jo could barbecue a turkey. Oh... and I'll bring my usual watermelon filled with the fruit in sauterne. Then, if you and Jo could just add salads and rolls... why, that's all we could possibly need," she ended brightly.
Her ears took it in, and intellectually she understood the words... but Maeve felt incapable of dealing with the content. Did that bitch think their relationship was going to stay the same? Did she imagine that they'd have weekend trailer parties casually as they had done in the past? How did you cope with a slut so brazen that she could fuck your husband and then casually call you up and arrange a little party for the Admiral... just a few hours later. Maeve could still see Betty's tanned legs wrapped around Carl's hips and her heels spurring him. The visions also triggered her own guilt over Farleigh, to come rushing into her aching head. But she mustn't let go now. She licked her parched lips and tried to be casual.
"Yes... I guess that would be all right. I haven't seen Jo... and I didn't know the Admiral was here. This is all news to me... I just came down to paint... I... well... ah... how did you know I was even here?"
"Oh, I called the house as soon as Harry called and arranged things... and Carl said you'd gone down to paint... but I knew you'd want to help entertain the Admiral for Carl, of course. Carl's probably trying to get you now... and here I am holding the line up. So George and I'll see you all Sunday. Goodbye."
"Goodbye," Maeve answered lamely to the dead receiver that emitted a dial tone now in her ear. Slowly she replace it, but hung onto it with her hand. For a moment she thought she was going to faint. Her face felt clammy, and a wave of nausea hit her, and the cramped phonebooth swayed before her eyes. Then it passed, to be replaced by a terrible pain in her belly that twisted her insides. Oh God, how did she ever get inside such a nightmare?
Somehow she got back to the trailer. She scrubbed herself all over in the tiny tub till she felt raw as a lobster... but she would never feel really clean again. Finally wrapped in the old robe, she found part of a bottle of brandy in the cupboard.
When most of it was gone and the pain had eased in her stomach, she crawled into bed in the cramped little bedroom and closed her eyes, wishing hazily she'd had some sleeping pills so she'd never have to open them again.
Sam Grandfield moved on farther upstream through the underbrush that was no longer trampled. He was away from the campers and trailers and any sign of people except for the occasional beer can. The river sparkled in the light that was beginning to strengthen and brighten the early morning.
Jo Neil had given him some beef heart for bait. From the look of her last night, she'd have given him a lot more than that. But with an almost surely impotent husband, he didn't blame her for that. She was not atypical, actually. Among Navy couples he'd found it a fairly common situation... and he was convinced that the whole tradition-bound rigid service structure was the cause... as it was of almost all social problems that plagued commanding officers. Now that he was in a position to do something about it, he damn well was going to. The press was mostly with him on the reforms he'd done for the enlisted men and now, while they still considered him the fair-haired boy, he wanted to get something done for the officers... all the officers from the lowliest ensign to captains and admirals.
He circled around a huge mass of boulders, and as he came around the other side of the granite outcrop, he almost stumbled over a girl painting at an easel. She looked up when he was almost on top of her. Why, it was the little live thing! The one he'd almost collided with at the reception.
"Oh... oh." Her great brown eyes looked frightened as a doe's.
"Sorry... I..." His foot slipped, and he slid, stumbling and grabbing at her as he went. His fishing gear clattered dully as it hit, and her paintbrush flew out of her hand into the water.
"Oh... dear..." She gasped, trying to keep her balance with the descending force of the Admiral, his hands grabbling her arms. Finally he straightened and had his feet on solid rock that didn't slope. By this time they were almost in the water, teetering and hanging on to each other.
Sam did exactly what he'd wanted to do that night at the reception. He scooped her into his arms and kissed hell out of her. She was a little live thing! She squirmed and wriggled and fought like a little wildcat. When he thought she'd had enough, he let her go. She backed away from him, her breath rushing through her lungs so hard and fast that her breasts heaved up and down deliciously under her thin white cotton shirt. Tears were streaming down her face, which was twisted with fury.
"You! You!" she spluttered with rage and fright, and then she walked right up to him and slapped his face with all she had. His face really stung, too. God, he loved a woman who fought a little! No, Harry could never have done this well for him.
"Don't you know you can be court-martialed for striking a superior officer?" Sam grinned, seizing her and pinning her against him, twisting both her little arms behind her and holding them with one arm. With his other hand he caught her jaw and held her face still, crushing his mouth down again on hers and forcing his tongue so hard into her mouth that she was almost gagging.
Maeve knew there was no one around. She'd purposely come this far this early so there wouldn't be anyone around... and by so doing she'd trapped herself with this maniac of an Admiral. She knew that lie must know there was no one this far upstream, either.
No matter what happened or how she tried to avoid it... it seemed as though this ghastly nightmare she'd been in since last night kept going on and on. Like a Shakespearean tragedy that must be played to the inevitable end.
She could feel her pulse beating wildly in her throat where the heel of his hand rested as his fingers bit into her jaw and held her. His tongue was hitting her tonsils, and his lips were bruising her mouth from the pressure of his gleaming white teeth. Her arms were hurting where he held them in a steel grip behind her. Her mind was screaming in her skull... No... No... No... but no one heard, and it echoed and echoed inside her own head.
Miraculously, he pulled his mouth away, but Maeve could feel his breath whistle through his nostrils for his tanned hawk face was still only inches from hers where he held her. He forced her to look up into his steely gray eyes through the blur of her tears.
"You are the loveliest little thing I've ever seen. The more you fight, the better I like it!"
Dear God, she had been captured by a beast! There was nothing of the gentleness of Farleigh. She knew, standing there, without any doubt, that he'd rape her as casually as he'd give an order to an aide. How could a man like this be an Admiral? Not just an Admiral... the wonder-boy Admiral who could do no wrong. The world was coming apart... and her with it.
Sam felt her breasts, thrusting and mashed delectably against his chest, and the "V" of her jean-clad legs and mound against his hard thigh. His cock had sprung as smartly to attention as was possible inside his skivvy shorts and dungarees and was beeping out a pulse that decoded to FUCK... FUCK... FUCK! It was beating this message through his clothes and hers right into her soft little belly.
His hand slid down her throat and inside her shirt and bra, burrowing to reach the nipple. The soft, tender, silky-skinned nipple hardened instantly at his touch, shrinking to a tight little bud of desire. He knew she wouldn't fight so, now that he'd told her how much he liked her to fight. She didn't. She just looked at him with those huge wet brown eyes as he thumbed and pinched her tit. But it registered. Those eyes widened to deep pools that glazed a little at his touch. He was reaching her, all right!
Maeve shuddered as his hand found her breast,. and she could feel her nipple fold into a rigid little knob of carnal anticipation. That was the trouble! Her whole body kept betraying her, acting independently of her wishes! If you couldn't trust your own body any more...!
She could feel his mouth begin to explore her face... the cheek, then her ear where he bored inside the tender orifice with his burning tongue that sent sparks of electricity shooting up her spine.
Nothing in her whole past life had prepared her for these last two days. Nothing. What did you do when you found your own body was a black traitor? What did you do? Was any man able to arouse her? Was she nothing but a whore who'd missed her calling? What was Maeve Crandall?
She had no thought now of Carl or how furious he'd be if she antagonized the Admiral. She only knew she had to regain some measure of respect for herself before she slid down a bottomless pit of wanton behavior.
"Admiral." She said as calmly as she could. But that didn't stop him. He was kissing her eyebrows and temples, and his hand had left her breast to caress her shoulderblades that poked out like singed wings.
"Please don't do this." She tried so hard to be dignified, but her voice came out breathy and her shoulderblades were tingling from his hand.
"You'll love it," he said against her mouth before he caught her quivering lips in a long kiss.
His free hand then reached between them and unbuttoned her blouse, pulling it down over her shoulders till it did the work of his bruising arm that had held her. Swiftly he tied the tails back around her arms that were pinned behind her back. Both his hands were then free to cup and squeeze her lushly full breasts that spilled over the top of her thin, transparent net bra.
Maeve backed away, her arms pinned to her sides and almost bare to the waist. It took a supreme effort to back away from those questing hands that had hardened her nipples to rosy, passionate and pointed peaks of quivering anticipation. Her breath was rushing through her laboring lungs, and she could feel moisture wetting her bikini panties.
She stood there, trembling, her breasts heaving and quivering and her eyes wet above tear-streaked cheeks, arms bound like a victim, but nevertheless there was a blazing defiance in her eyes. Sam assessed the fully ripe lush breasts straining at the net bra that could not hide their coral-red areolas and stiff nipples, the tiny thin-skinned waist indented by the waistband of her tight white jeans and the slow curve of hip and thigh. His prick was pounding a maddening, futile beat now inside his pants.
"We'll now proceed, Mrs. Crandall," he said formally.
"How... how did you know...?"
"We were introduced. The receiving line at the reception."
"But... but how could you possibly remember all those names?"
"The first prerequisite to becoming an Admiral is a good memory." He stepped up to her then. "And I can even repeat my exact thought at the time we were introduced... check on this one, she's going to be a good fuck!" He grinned engagingly. "And so you are."
"You're... you're despicable," Maeve spat at him.
"In a little while you'll think otherwise." He picked her up easily and carried her the few yards to a grassy meadow. Maeve wriggled and struggled, but he held her with no apparent effort and set her down on her feet in the thick grass. She felt him reach behind her and untie the shirt that bound her. Quickly she shrugged it back on her shoulders and covered herself.
"Take your clothes off," he ordered, "Or I'll have to rip them off and you'll have to get back to the campground naked." He then calmly proceeded to pull off his old white turtleneck to reveal his hairy, beautifully muscled chest and strongly biceped arms.
Maeve stood as if in shock, watching him pull the white dungarees down and stand, stork-legged, first on one foot and then the other, to remove them. His thighs swelled with muscle and his calves looked like gnarled oaks, but her eyes were fastened on the great bulge in his brief shorts. It looked like a codpiece on one of the figures in a Breugel painting from the middle ages... a tacked-on, padded thing to make a man look as though he had a permanent hard-on. The codpieces men wore then had always been so exaggerated that they looked laughable to Twentieth Century eyes. You knew that no man ever had an erection that big. But he did! Maeve caught her breath and waited for the unveiling, the freeing of that huge thing, bundled so painfully in the tight shorts.
He looked up to see Maeve still standing frozen as a statue, staring at him. She'd made no move to take off the clothes. "I said, take off your clothes!"
She jumped, startled, and met his hard gray eyes. For a brief second she thought of running. She had the advantage, for he'd have to get his clothes back on, but she knew he was not a man to tangle with. He'd run her to ground if it took years. With shaking fingers she pulled off her still unbuttoned shirt and reached behind her for the hooks of her bra, her eyes locked by his in a duel she was losing.
Slowly she slid the straps down her shoulders and let her breasts flop free, white satin fruits tipped with ripe red nipples he bit with his eyes. She began to enjoy the effect her strip was having on him... and she stretched it out tantalizingly. Her eyes never left his lusting face as she popped the snap of her waistband and slowly unzipped the front zipper of her jeans. She wriggled her hips as she slid the jeans very slowly down, pushing them with her hands. They were so tight she had to push down each leg individually. When they were finally down to her ankles, and she stretched it out as long as possible, she kicked off her sneakers and stepped out of the jeans.
Sam stood with his hands on his hips, knuckles under so she couldn't see the shaking of his hands. God, what a luscious little thing, standing there like a miniature Diana with the woods behind her... white as marble but dipped with rose. He half expected to see her pull an arrow from an unseen quiver. Her naked body was a breathing statue, shoulders thrown back, and her needle-nippled, thrusting, beautiful breasts pointing at him as she stood with her weight on one leg so that the curve of her hips down to her knees made a triangle and her pubic hair another and her thighs joining her crotch still another. The curve of her delicate rib cage narrowing to her very tiny waist was repeated perfectly by the curve from waist down to hip. She still wore the thin wisp of bikini panties, and he watched, holding his breath, as her hands slid down over her sculptured hips to slide fingertips inside the edge of the cloth and slip them down till they fell to her feet. He could see that she was moist between her legs, for there was a faint sheen high on the inside of her upper thighs... and the panties that fell to her feet had circles of wet on the crotch.
"Dance for me," he commanded imperiously.
"But... I..."
"You've taken ballet. You know how. Ballet should be danced naked. I want to see it."
She moved uncertainly away from him, walking at first and then slowly raising her arms and beginning small leaps. This strange brutal man seemed to know everything about her, including the fact she had taken ballet. She imagined some giant computer feeding out the events of her life to this Napoleonic tyrant. But while she danced, she reasoned, he couldn't rape her.
Maeve began to enjoy the feel of the air on her naked body and the stretch and pull of her bones and muscles as she made the exacting steps. She rose on her toes, arms over head in the exaggerated stretch that pulled her breasts even higher, and then dipped. Soon she was racing around the meadow in pirouettes and leaps, faster and faster, losing herself in the dancing.
She was a nymph racing gracefully through the grass, naked and free. Sam felt his erection swell even harder and fuller, painful, for his guts were beginning to churn at the sight of this beautiful creature.
"Enough," he growled, skinning his shorts down and kicking them aside as he walked toward her. She bent at the waist, her fingers gracefully brushing the toes of one outstretched foot and then sinking down on the knee bent behind her till she was seated on that leg and her whole body bent forward abjectly and obediently in the classic ballet bow that ended performances.
Sam reached down and picked up her hands and pulled her up till she was standing at arm's length. He pulled her into him sharply, feeling her heaving breasts mash into his naked chest. Her skin was like warmed silk, and he plunged into her soft mouth, his tongue like a miniature penis invading the wet cavern.
"Mm-mmmm-mmm..." she moaned around his tongue, drinking him into her throat with an eager sucking motion, much to her own amazement. The dancing had left her breathing hard from the effort and, strangely, the effect of the sensuous movements had kept her body heated. The feel of Sam's hard naked body had simply sent the inner temperature soaring even higher. His blazing hand was stroking her and leaving burns wherever it went. She could feel his enormous rod jerking against her quaking belly, and every jerk sent a spasm through her own aching, needing pussy.
She had crossed some invisible, intangible barrier... and was his prisoner willingly. The inevitable was coming, and shivers brought goose-bumps to her skin and a prickling, wondering excitement.
Sam pinched her nipples brutally as though quenching red-hot points of flame, for they felt that hot between his thumb and forefinger. His hands were so hot he felt as though he were leaving handprints wherever he caressed her, and the blood was coursing through his thick, rigid shaft in an insane treadmill. Pressed against her white belly, it pulsated like an engine just waiting for him to pull the throttle... building up a steam that was going to blow all by itself if he didn't hurry!
Her breasts were heavy in his hand, and firm as a young girl's. Hard-soft, hot, squishy rocks. He pulled away in order to bend and catch one in his mouth... stretching his lips as wide as he could, to take in as much of the scented, rosy, sweet silky flesh as possible. Jesus! She tasted like sun-warmed rose petals! She must wear some rose-based perfume.
He sucked on her tit hard and long, leaning her back over his strong arm in a back bend. Her head dangled back and her eyes closed, but her hands came out to catch his head and mash him ever farther into her naked breast flesh.
"Oh-h-h-hhh-hhhh," she sighed faintly as his tongue began to whirl and titillate her clenched little fiery nipple. He moved to the other breast, and she shuddered and shook, pressing him anew till his face was buried in the white satin mound.
Suddenly she stiffened, her spine snapping her upright, and her eyes flew open, staring like great brown bruises against her smooth white face.
"I heard something..." she whispered in an agonized voice. They stood listening for a long minute, but the wooded silence was only broken by the faint gentle rippling of the water and the sighing of a small breeze through the trees.
She pulled away from him, still straining to her another twig snap as she was sure she had a minute ago. But, nothing... so far. There was somebody out there somewhere, though. She was sure of it. She hadn't just imagined that twig snapping.
Sam watched her, straining to hear, poised for flight like a startled doe, eyes wide and frightened. She was so incredibly beautiful and somehow vulnerable he felt almost ashamed of the way he had humiliated her... but not enough to let her go. There was no one out there... and if there were he couldn't stop now. His cock was jutting out from his aching loins like a bull's prick, jerking its unseeing eyes in search of a hot hollow to bury itself in. The pressure in his balls was unbearable, and they were swollen hard into knots of churning semen. He had to shoot that load soon up deep into that smooth belly.
"Come here," he whispered fiercely... and she ran to him for shelter. He caught her by her round little buttocks, lifting her high, and her legs wrapped around his back, her arms around his head, and slowly he lowered her onto his throbbing upstanding cock. Her seam was wet, and his fingers opened its edges from underneath, her little butt sitting on his palms.
Maeve felt herself lowered very slowly down Sam's hard body, and then his great throbbing rock-hard shaft touched her vulva. She jumped as though prodded with an electric cattle prod... arching her spine, for the head of that hot pulsing shaft sent an electric jolt reverberating through her... but slowly, inexorably her body descended! She'd split completely in two on that huge lusting depraved instrument! She couldn't take it! Her body would split completely apart!
"No... Sam... no," she begged.
"Easy, baby... easy," he grunted as he eased her over the head of his prick and it slipped through her outer lips as they closed around it hungrily. Her body had poured such copious lubrications that it slid in with no pain so far... and... dear God, it felt so good!
He staggered slightly, getting his balance, for her weight was light. He'd lifted two hundred pounds at the gym last week, and this little thing couldn't weigh more than a hundred. With his legs braced apart slightly, it was easier. With her firmly planted on the greedy throbbing head of his cock, he let his hands come down suddenly and pushed with his legs as he felt the clasping walls of her warm wet vagina close over his thrusting rod in one swift slide.
"Agh-gh-ghhhhhhhh!" Maeve screamed as she felt that great, purple-headed thick knife slice up into her and impale her deeply up into her belly.
"Don't move," he commanded. She couldn't. She was caught on the enormous cob of his penis that jerked in her belly like a wild ferocious beast. He so filled her that her entire hole felt brutally stretched and on the point of tearing and bleeding over his mammoth penile member.
Sam flexed his buttocks, hardening the muscles, and it sent his pulsing cock ramming into her sensitive cervix. It felt like a nose, a rubbery nose against the head of his prick that was jerking and throbbing now almost uncontrollably. Christ, she was so achingly, beautifully tight around his hard shaft, and he could feel the tight walls of her vagina clenching and milking him like a million skilled fingers.
His legs were tiring, but he loved holding her like this... wearing her on his manhood. She clung to him as he began to walk around the meadow with her impaled on his bold rooster-proud cock. This was a fuck he was never going to forget! Every step sent his prick digging up into her wet warm pussy even deeper.
At last Maeve felt him ease her up off that slicing, digging, brutally huge penis and lay her gently down on the warm grass. It felt so soft and lovely beneath her, and she stretched herself, luxuriating in the feel of it. Her legs spread and stretched, opening her pussy to his lascivious, lusting gaze.
"Spread yourself wider," Sam said harshly, his face contorted with the agony in his balls and the sight of her naked white softness spread out for him on the grass. He could see her hair-fringed lips, swollen and wet, with the carnal anticipation of his throbbing entrance and beating ride. He knelt between her legs and spread her soft white thighs with his palms even wider till her whole burning, wanting, weeping, flowing cunt was open to him. The lips were red and glistening, and the hair was matting from her juice that poured out from deep inside that hot, vibrating box.
Maeve felt his fingers gently split her slit at the top and heard the guttural groan tear from his throat as her clitoris came into view. Very gently he touched it with one finger and began to stroke the erect, quivering little organ. She arched up to his stroking finger, her hips raising from the grass, for every stroke drove her crazy with the electric zigzag of sexual sensation that flashed in crazy paths through her veins. Her aching vagina was pulling inward in frantic pulls, and there was nothing there to hold and suck into her body. She was starving for that great pulsing cock to bite into her and feed her aching void. She wanted to devour it... all of it... deep... deep... inside her.
Harry froze in his steps... wanting to rub his eyes in disbelief but unable to move a muscle. There through the thicket on a sunny and dappled meadow were two naked white bodies standing mashed together in a long, deliberate hungry kiss. He felt his cock twinge. He eased closer through the underbrush, trying to watch where he stepped. This was something to see!
Carefully he eased a branch out of his line of sight.
Great balls of fire! It was the Admiral and Maeve! Naked as the day they were born and a whole lot bigger. Jesus Christ! His balls began to itch, and his brain tried to right itself and begin to function properly.
That little bitch! She'd run away from him at the reception when all he'd done was flirt a little and look... and here she was naked in the Admiral's arms!
The sight of her arms clinging to the Admiral's neck and her white rounded ass cheeks being clutched by Sam's hand as he pressed her into him, their mouths working, tongues dueling, he was sure, in each other's throats, almost set Harry clawing the air. His head was racing and his emotions churned up a storm in his belly and loins and prick.
Then he saw the Admiral bend her back and plant his mouth on her beautiful big luscious tit. Harry had to choke back a groan. He wanted to be standing there biting into that great ripe breast. God damn! She was loving it! She was mashing the Admiral's face right into her white flesh. Harry could even hear her moan.
Harry's cock began to rise like the phoenix from its own ashes. It was getting really hard! Oh, Jesus. What was he going to do? He only knew he had to see this... all of this! He eased forward to a clump of bushes where he thought he could see better... and his foot hit a twig that blended so perfectly with the dirt and leaves that he hadn't seen it. It snapped with a sound that seemed like a cannon to Harry. He looked up to Maeve stiffen and then finally move away from Sam. She'd heard it.
Harry's heart beat so loud in his thin chest that he thought they surely would hear it, too. But they mustn't! He had to see... all of it. He had to!
Very slowly he squatted on his heels and found there was a hole in the bushes down at that level. Jesus! He could see everything! Carefully he eased himself down until he could sit on the ground and watch without his legs cramping. His own private skin flick in comfort! But no skin flick could ever match this... not even the best wide-screen color ones in San Francisco. This was in the flesh!
Harry felt his hair rise and his breath inhale hollowly, for Sam was easing her down on his cock, standing up. Harry felt his own prick begin to quiver and jerk in his pants. Quickly he unzipped his pants and feverishly pulled it out where he could hold it.
The sight of Maeve's naked white loveliness had made it harder than it had been in ages. It actually stuck up through the fly in his pants in a decent erection. Harry's hand closed around it gratefully. He had to make the most of this. He stroked it up and down, up and down.
Watching the Admiral walk around the meadow with Maeve riding on his cock, buried from sight all the way up her pussy, almost drove Harry crazy right then. He jerked frantically on his rod, pulling the foreskin back and forth.
When Sam laid her down on the grass. Harry could see her whole hair-outlined cunt glistening in the sunlight. She was hotter than a pistol! Right then he promised himself... he didn't know where or when... but one day he'd lie down between those beautiful white thighs and bang hell out of her till she screamed for more! God damn that prick Carl! Trying to do him out of the research money when the bastard had that to crawl on every night. It wasn't fair! It just wasn't fair.
Harry also realized that if he had something that good to fuck all the time, he'd go after that research money with a vengeance. That's why Carl was rooting for it so. But damnation, Harry needed it worse. He'd never had a piece that juicy in his whole life!
Harry jerked harder on his bursting prick as he saw Sam spread her even wider and begin to tickle her clitoris... and she was shoving it up to him and loving it! Then Harry had to clamp one hand around his own mouth for fear of groaning out loud and spoiling everything.
Sam looked down at the writhing, beautiful, naked woman as he applied the finger to her agitated quivering clitoris. Her love juice was pouring out like a damned fountain now, and her hips were arching up to him like a gyrating belly dancer afraid of losing her job! Oh God, he had to taste that before he fucked her senseless.
He leaned down suddenly and moved his finger off the button. He put his teeth where his finger had been and gently took the erect shuddering clitoris between them and bit gently.
Every muscle in her body ridged and quaked as though she was being electrocuted, and her hips lifted completely as she ground that shaking tiny center of her slit up to his admiring tongue and teeth.
Her head flailed as she screamed, "Go-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-od-d-d!" His tongue licked into her juicy split seam, lapping up her musky, womanly fluids, and he thought she was going to faint.
"Take me," she wailed, almost weeping again. "Take me!" "Ta-a-a-ak-k-k-e me-e-e-e-e! Fuck me please... fuck...!" The tears were streaming now from her eyes, closed and contorted like her lust-crazed face.
"Don't cry, ba... by..." he panted. "Here it is!" He raised himself on his hands and toes in a pushup and looked down the space between their bodies to his weeping cock that was just as crazy with the waiting as she was. He aimed it and hesitated, hanging poised above her quaking body. And then he dived straight for her open wet-petaled pussy that needed him so.
"Ah-h-hhhhhhhhhhh Godddddddddd!" she screamed as the huge blunted long blade cut straight into her very being, filling her to bursting! Her aching, empty void was filled, and she felt her muscular walls close around his pulsating cock gratefully and hold him hard and close inside her.
Sam began to stroke into her almost immediately. He'd dragged it out so long he felt like he was dying. He could hear the sluicing of his aching rod slip into the slippery hot hollow of her vaginal passage... the sound of fucking! The sound of fucking coming just after her lewd pleading sent him ramming into her like a maniacal jack-hammer.
"Jesus... J-eeee-s-s-s-u-u-u-us-s-s!" The sounds spewed from Sam's lips as he humped and pumped it into her steaming, boiling cunt. He'd never felt a pussy so tight and clasping in his life! She was tighter than a friggin' virgin! It was like plunging into a vise that sheathed his rocky prick and skinned it deliriously close and then clenched it and shook it when the head hit her cervix.
Maeve had forgotten the feel of the grass mashed under her, the warmth of the sun where it hit her in patches, the glare coming in dappled spaces to hurt her eyes... the scent of the woods or the terror of being seen. She could only respond to and sense the stimuli that emanated from this straight, hard, lean hawk of a man who fucked her now! Oh God, was he fucking her!
With every thrust of his hard body, sending his gigantic steel penis ramming into her very depths, she knew she was being fucked completely out of her mind! Her hands caught his narrow granite buttocks as far as she could reach, and her nails dug into his flesh with the quakes that were shaking her closer and closer. The weight of him pressed on her was so delicious and felt so right and good that she found she was weeping now from sheer joy. The bliss and ecstasy of lying with him between her legs, his chest mashing her breasts, his face buried against her throat so that his breath blew a blast furnace of passion on her skin!
Sam could feel the steaming, churning, swirling vat of semen about to burst the seams of his bloated balls as they swung and smacked against her ass when he dived his fiery cock into the blazing passage that clutched his so lustfully. He'd needed a fuck, and by God, he was sure getting one. Damnation! This was one hell of a hot woman!
Suddenly her legs clutched him higher and higher as she strove mightily to grind her twitching clitoris up to harder contact.
"That's... it... baby... grind it up to me!" he urged, the breath whistling through his mouth and lungs in heavy labor.
"Fuck... harder... fuck hard!" she panted, and her legs were up around his body, clenching him like curled scissors, and she rode his pole like it was a merry-go-round! And by God, he was going to see she got the brass ring!
Harry was shucking his cock up and down in a maniacal jacking, his hand as slippery as his fluid-soaked prick... his eyes fastened on Sam and Maeve, who were fucking like crazed people out in the sun on the grass. With every up-and-down move of his hand he could imagine he was sinking his maddened rod deep into Maeve's pink-lipped pussy. He was getting so close he was going to spill his whole load soon, so he backed off a little, trying to time his own orgasm to Maeve's. If he could do that, he could almost imagine himself sunk to the hilt in her passionate sucking cunt.
Maeve's body began to twitch and writhe in time to Sam's ardent fucking so they met with a smacking, sucking sound in mid-air and she could feel bone grind on bone with the intensity of his thrusts. Her thighs clutched him high so that her whole velvety-fleshed wet cunt hole was open for his onslaughts, and she could feel him dig deeper and deeper inside her. Her nails were digging narrow little stripes down his shoulders and back as though a cat were clawing him. She felt his hands slide under her and grip the cheeks of her ass up to him even higher.
Sam lifted his face briefly and stared down past his lean belly as he shifted into a longer and even deeper stroke, seeing the glistening cock veins stand out as he withdrew till only the head was inside and then watching her hairy cunt hungrily gobble him up on the instroke. The noises coming from her chest became broken gasps of pleasure, her groin flailing and writhing under him insanely and her heels beating and spurring him on.
He lunged harder than ever, catching her mouth with his, and tongue-fucking her in time to his bombarding, rapacious shaft. She groaned deep in her throat in anguish, her hands clawing at his back and then catching his buttocks and pulling, in an attempt to make his prick pierce her entirely through to her very vitals. Suddenly she stiffened, her body rigid, and she lifted so high it was as though she hung in mid-air, supported only by the hardened length of flesh inside her.
The moment her body stiffened and she began to scream, Sam felt his hard-driving cock explode his boiling sperm deep into her womb, the spurts soaring like a geyser, and his prick sputtered and jerked, spewing the long-stored cum deep into her belly. He felt Maeve's legs shoot straight out into the air, frozen there as she reached the full intensity of her climax and he emptied and emptied his aching balls into her demanding body.
Finally both bodies went limp and collapsed in a heap, Maeve's teeth pulling away from Sam's shoulder, where they had sunk in exaltation. His breath was wheezing past her ear, and occasionally they twitched in final spasms together. Harry was still sitting on the ground, trying to keep his own breath as quiet as possible, and his chest heaved and the last few drops of his sperm dribbled out the end of his deflating cock. They pooled on the ground between his bony knees.
Chapter Five
Harry drove quickly and carefully. He couldn't spoil it now by careening over one of those cliffs that plunged straight down to the Pacific below. No, his chance had come and he was going to take it. What was the line... there comes a tide in the affairs of men, which taken at the flood leads on to fortune... or something like that.
He'd hightailed it out of those woods before Maeve and Sam had recovered from their orgasms, had a shower, and told Jo he had some errands in town. She'd looked up lazily from her labors over the barbecuing turkey that turned on the spit of the cooker.
"It's all right, love. Just be home by supper if you can." He still cringed at her British voice after all these years. It was the high-pitched nasal twang of the upper-class British female. She'd never let him forget she was upper class, either, or that her father had been a British general. But money was all she'd ever had. By his own goddamned selfishness he'd gotten hooked.
If he told Carl just right, he mused, his eyes sweeping the road ahead expertly, he could so completely undo him that he'd come all apart and muff his chance for that research money. He could imagine Carl's face when he told him that the Admiral Carl had to get the money from had just screwed his wife! You're a prick, Harry Neil, he told himself smugly... a real first-class prick.
Jo wiped her dark hair back from her face with the back of her hand, and her face broke into a smile as she saw Farleigh walk up in his heavy boots.
"Say... ah... Jo."
"Yes, love," she smiled cordially, putting down her basting spoon and sidling up to him with both hands in the pockets of the bright, gaily flowered long muumuu she wore.
"You know anything about this off-site thing I heard Harry and the Admiral talking about last night?" He stood with his hands stuck in the back pockets of his jeans, his big face frowning a little. Jo was looking at him like he was a cup of cream and she was a hungry cat. She was one hot piece who was hurting for it. Harry didn't do a thing for her, he figured. Under his eyelashes, he looked her over, wondering if he wanted the information that bad.
She was slightly plumper that the fashionable figure, of medium height, with dark medium-length hair that she wore in a flip that was a little too young for her and brown eyes set a little too close together. Not beautiful, but certainly not all that bad, either. She wore dowdy clothes like every British female he'd ever met, but she looked better today in the long flowered thing.
"Yes... I know a lot..." she purred. "Come on inside. I'll make you a screwdriver." Her eyes made the drink a vulgar term. Farleigh decided... what the hell! He followed her into the big luxurious trailer.
She bustled about, Grabbing him by the big muscular arms, she pushed him into the deep sofa. "Now, you just make yourself comfortable, and I'll only be a second." Mentally Farleigh cringed. That was Jo's whole trouble. She pushed people around. Poor old Harry sure showed the effects of it, too.
Jo settled down on the sofa beside Farleigh, a little too close for polite conversation. The screwdriver tasted cold and refreshing. He sipped it gratefully.
"This... uh... off-site thing I heard the Admiral and Harry talking about. Harry didn't seem too keen on it."
Jo laughed harshly, "I should think not. The off-site technique is Carl's baby. It would be in direct competition to what Harry wants to do in the management department. You may as well know. They're both killing themselves to get the research money the Admiral's come out to award. Harry thinks he has the edge since the Admiral consented to be our guest here for the weekend."
Farleigh scratched his chin thoughtfully, "Power play, huh?"
"Something like that."
"The Admiral said something about a permanent off-site location.... sort of a resort place to use for these off-sites for officers."
"And you want them to select Bendemeer's Stream?" she said quickly in her precise English voice.
Farleigh grinned sheepishly. "Yeah. I do. I'm getting kinda tired of trying to keep the hippies out of the bushes and coping with... well... you know some of the people I have to put up with. I don't know. Maybe I'm getting lazy. I just thought... well... if I could get a contract with the Navy..."
He took a long pull on his drink. Jo looked at the big, shaggy man thoughtfully, feeling her pussy tighten at the thought of those huge arms around her. Harry'd been no good to her for years now, and her sex came rare and makeshift. It wasn't easy to find when you were a proper professor's wife and not that good-looking. Laughable, really, when you knew that Jo had been kicked out of every good girls' school in England for sexual capers her father had paid a great deal of money to hide. Maybe it was retribution for being sexually precocious. She'd never really had this kind of opportunity before with Farleigh, and she wasn't going to let it go, no matter what it did to Harry. The impotent bastard!
"We are having a sort of party tomorrow for the Admiral," she said slowly so it would sink in. "And," her hand patted his thigh, "You're invited, of course. Would that help?" Her hand simply stayed on his bulging thigh.
"It sure would! I really appreciate that, Jo. But, I... well... I hate to ask you to help me on this... I mean, it wouldn't do Harry any good."
He felt himself tighten in the groin, despite the fact she wasn't all that good-looking. Her hand on his thigh was inching up.
"Don't you worry about Harry," she said grimly.
"Well, I sure would be grateful!" he said boyishly.
"How grateful, Farleigh?" Her eyes narrowed and her nostrils were flaring. She'd deliberately let her low-cut drawstring neckline slip so that part of one breast and her shoulder were bare.
"Well, what would I have to do?" he said slowly, knowing full well what she wanted. She was almost panting, and her big breasts were visibly rising and falling under the full muumuu.
"Fuck me," she said flatly, her hand moving onto his prick that was half hard in his tight jeans.
"Why, honey. I'd just be proud to do that," he chuckled. Farleigh leaned back on the sofa pillows. Jo leaped up and quickly closed the blinds and locked the door, her heart pounding already. It had been four months since she'd paid the damn golf pro at the country club, and he couldn't even get it up again after one quick lay. The damn dildo was all she'd had since, and it was damned unsatisfactory.
"I'll be right back," she flung over her shoulder, and rushed into the bedroom. She flung off her Muumuu and bra and panties. From the bottom drawer of her chest she pulled out the "fun" costume. It had been necessary through the years to find all sorts of things to help her own masturbations along to more sophisticated planes.
She leaned forward, slipping her arms through the filmy sleeves of a short bolero. Still leaning over as though she were adjusting her bounteous breasts in a bra, she hooked the red velvet bolero tightly between her breasts with two hooks. Then she stood erect, and pulled on the filmy harem pants that were set on a red velvet yoke that bared her whole belly and most of her hips. In the bathroom she flipped a brush through her hair, showered herself with a quick spray of perfume, and reached for one of the new lipstick gels. Looking in the full-length mirror she carefully stained both areolas and nipples that poked through the holes of the bolero with the deep red and then tilted her pelvis to reach her pussy. The filmy pants had no crotch at all and simply left her cuntal area bare, covering only her legs in a thin film of soft folds of nylon. Watching herself in the mirror, she carefully stained her labia with the thin red lipstick stain, too. She had to keep dabbing with a kleenex between using the lipstick, for she was already flowing freely.
Standing back a little, she surveyed her handiwork. Her big breasts were pulled to cones by the short bolero, for it acted as a support just as a bra did and the breasts stood naked and well-formed through the supportive holes. She parted the filmy folds, revealing her bare, shaven box, reddened with the stain and swollen. She squeezed her thighs together and watched the lips of her pussy rub together. God, what was she waiting for? She didn't have to manipulate her own body now. She had a great big male, a horse, a stud right there in her own living room!
Farleigh had refilled his drink from the orange juice and vodka on the kitchen counter. He didn't really need it, but it couldn't hurt. He nearly dropped the glass when he turned around and saw Jo coming through the trailer's narrow passageway right toward him. Jesus! She hardly looked like the same woman! Her tits were poking out through some kind of red top, naked... and the nipples were as red as the cloth. Some kind of filmy pants clung precariously to her hips and flowed down and were gathered at the ankle. Like in the movies in the harem... except... her snatch was bare... no crotch in the pants! Jo's was the barest pussy he'd ever seen in his life... not a hair! And red, too!
He set his drink down and reached for her. He caught both red-tipped, cone-shaped tits in his hands and pulled her toward him, "Honey, you're gonna get more than you bargained for."
Maeve couldn't believe that her whole life could have changed so radically in so short a time. She'd been unfaithful twice, and her twinges of conscience that had stabbed her so painfully were now just that... faint twinges.
After their bout in the grass, Sam had insisted she finish her painting! He was the strangest man she'd ever met! He seemed to be a walking library and museum. His knowledge of art far exceeded her teacher's. Jim Stein seemed like an amateur in comparison.
They'd talked for hours, and she'd never felt so intellectually alive. Never in her life had she ever had such a conversation with a man. He respected her opinions and talked to her as an equal. She simply couldn't believe it!
Back at the trailer he'd criticized all the paintings she had there. He was right about them, too. She could feel it. His encouragement set her whole being aglow, for she knew that he knew what he was talking about. You got so bound up in your work that it was sometimes very difficult to turn on the critical part of your mind and survey your own work objectively.
She even found herself telling him about Carl... about Betty. He looked up at her quizzically, his hawk eyes asking questions she didn't know how to answer.
"Maeve, child," he said patiently. "You were simply bound up in the middle-class morality that says that you, as an animal, must never behave as one. Your husband is a brilliant man, but he is also a functional man. His sexual behavior is not a shameful thing that nullifies his intellectual excellence or his moral courage. The philosophers have truly led us astray about this, you know. If Carl were so hidebound that he couldn't enjoy sex with your attractive neighbor when it was available... then he'd never be able to enjoy it with you, either. Didn't our experience in the woods teach you anything? Because I enjoyed you, I do not suddenly love my wife any less... nor do I think you love Carl any less."
She looked up from where she sat on the carpet, one arm on the narrow bench along the wall. "No, that's true," she admitted slowly. "But... I guess it's a very new idea for me. I'm afraid I swallowed my conventional upbringing rather whole."
"Most of us did, you know. And that same upbringing and the tradition, for instance, of the Navy, has made messes of a lot of people, too. That's why Carl's work excites me so. I think he's found some tools... at least for the Navy Postgraduate School, that could make a lot of people function more happily. That's really what my job is all about. Will Carl be coming down today, but the way?"
"I don't... know. I guess so. I'm a little... well... afraid to see him. He'll be so happy, though, that you approve of his work."
Sam reached down and pulled her to her feet. "I need to talk to him more about it. Why don't you call him and make up? Then get him to drive down. You can tell him... by the way... that the research money is his... or as good as. I can't absolutely promise quite yet... but soon."
"Oh, Sam!" she laughed... feeling she had somehow facilitated Carl's success. She felt as though she'd helped... just a little.
"Fuck harder!... harder!... fuck!" Jo screamed softly, her long-nailed fingers digging Farleigh's naked buttocks, trying to shove his huge, ramming prick completely up through her body. She'd never felt such a fantastic pistoning cock in her life! It was the best fucking she'd ever known! Oh God, she'd waited so long... but it was happening... at last it was happening!
She could feel the oozing sop of her last orgasm trickle down the crack in her ass, wetting the ivory silk sheets on the king-sized bed. She'd had three climaxes so far, and Farleigh was still good for another one or two before he blew. She was almost ready for another. She could feel the vaginal walls sucking hard and inward on his great, sawing, mammoth penis. Jesus! He was a stud. A first-class stud!
It seemed like all Farleigh had to do was stroke a couple or three times and Jo was off again. She must have had at least three orgasms already. This was one starving woman, and it didn't take much to set her off. Of course, she was probably thirty-eight or thirty-nine. He knew some women went absolutely ape in their late thirties and just couldn't get enough.
He reached down and caught her just under each knee and shoved them back till her whole quaking cunt, wet and dripping and bare as a baby's, was open to his pumping, laboring shaft. Her legs were bent so her knees touched her own shoulders and her whole, soggy, flaming naked crotch was exposed, the filmy nylon still falling in folds around her ankles. Farleigh raised himself on his knees so he could pound even harder, mashing this wildly lusting woman into a ball of carnality.
"Yesssss... oh, yessssss," she hissed, urging him even farther into her clenching, needing hole. This way she could take him even deeper and she could reach more of him. Her hands still on his laboring ass, she worked one finger into his crack. There she found his asshole, crinkled and hair-ringed. She wormed her forefinger into the reluctant opening that pushed hard to force her out again, but she persisted. He was slamming that huge, swollen horse prick into her now with mounting fury, and she could feel the inner furnace working to attain blast level again. She had to make his orgasm so overwhelming that he'd come back to fuck her regularly.
Her finger burrowed farther and farther into him, and he was so concentrating on the fucking that he didn't object to the discomfort. Finally her finger was in all the way to her palm, and she could feel his muscular buttock clenching as he drove his thick, long rigid rod slamming into her hot, quivering, simmering pussy. She moved her finger around in his asshole, probing and probing carefully.
"Hey... what... what'd you do, baby? Feels good!"
Farleigh knew damn well what she was doing, but the only person who'd ever done it to him was a doctor when he'd had a checkup. He'd never had a woman give him a prostate massage while he was fucking her! God damn! She was hotter'n a pistol! He could feel the itching, tingling pleasure in his churning gut, and the fuel load building up in his balls was rising to blastoff proportions. When he let go, his sperm-laden cum was going to shoot out her ears and mouth! He could blast all the way to China!
Farleigh braced himself by putting both hands on the coned breasts as he stroked heavily into Jo's milking, pulling cunt. The breasts were still held upright by the bolero, but they were as naked as they needed to be. The points of her red-hot nipples burned into his palms. She was an acrobat. Her knees must be paining her by now, but she showed no sign of discomfort... only the ecstatic contortions of sexual frenzy.
"How... how... do you like it?" she gasped, the breath laboring through her lungs, her finger tickling his prostate through the membrane of his asshole, deep in his bowel.
"Great," he grunted, feeling the boiling sperm swirling faster and faster in his aching testes and the head of his hammering cock actually moving her womb with each long brutal thrust. The prostate massage was increasing the unbearable pressure in his swollen balls as she was skillfully triggering his imminent and massive orgasm.
His hands left her breasts and grasped the upturned globes of her white ass. Farleigh suddenly increased his rhythm and drove the aching, blood-gorged prong into her slippery, sucking cunt with a blinding fury. He knew a hard prick had no conscience, but he knew that a wet cunt didn't have one, either.
Jo's head began to flop back and forth on the pillow like a wounded bird, and the pleasure moans coming from her lips were trying to form words to communicate her impending climax. Every muscle in her body was straining and urging and cording to climb the peak of rapture she was so close to. Farleigh knew he couldn't hold out this time. When she went, he'd blow out himself. Oh God, it was so close and was going to be so mind-blowing good and the explosion might just kill him. But what a way to go!
"Go-o-o-o-o-d-d-d-d-d-d!" she gasped, pulling her finger from his asshole and pushing his buttocks unmercifully with her digging fingers, trying to drive him all the way through to her backbone. "Ahh-h-hhhhhhh-hhh," she whined, her head twisting and flopping.
Suddenly she arched up by digging her heels against his shoulders, and as Farleigh roared home she screamed, "CUM-M-M-M-M-M! Cummmm w-i-i-i-t-t-t-h-h-h meeeeeeeeee!"
Farleigh felt her lewd scream trigger the great churning load he'd dammed up too long. Shoulders hunched, he almost stood on his own prick as he slashed it into the flowing hole beneath him, bellowing against her neck like a bull as the mighty blastoff roared down the constricted tunnel of his cock. "JEEEEEEEEE-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-su-SUSUSUSUS!
Chapter Six
"Carl?... Carl?" Harry banged on the door again, but only silence echoed through the seemingly empty house. Damn! Not at the office and not at home. Where the hell was he? Harry knew he could be a million places, from the grocery store to the library. It was just that Harry had things so planned out in his head about how to tell Carl about Maeve and the Admiral. Harry had to tell him, damn it. It would spoil everything if he didn't.
He kept banging, knowing it was futile. Wearily he walked back to his car and got in, leaving the door open, wondering if he should wait a while and see if Carl showed up or whether to just drive back down to Bendemeer's Stream and hope he could get Carl alone later.
A crunching of gravel on the driveway behind him sent Harry's thin neck twisting, hoping it was Carl. It wasn't. It was a gorgeous female body, tanned and luscious with mouthwatering curves covered only by the briefest of yellow bikinis. Harry shaded his eyes against the bright sun as she walked up the drive toward him, her hips swinging and her boobs bouncing almost out of the bikini bra. She was almost to him when the shade from the carport hit her and he could see it was Betty Lunsford.
"Why, Harry, I didn't know it was you! I just saw somebody over here banging on the door for so long... I thought I better come see about it. Maeve's down at Bendemeer's Stream... I guess you know. And I guess Carl's just not home yet."
"Yeah, I guess not," Harry grinned halfheartedly, his eyes trying to fix the sight of her indelibly in his mind. He and Jo had never seen too much of the Lunsfords down at Bendemeer's Stream on weekends. The Lunsford's trailer was quite a distance from theirs, and he, unlike Carl, didn't really think it too good an idea to mix too much socially with the students. It destroyed the teacher-student relationship.
Looking at Betty's luxuriant curves now, though, all but naked, he wondered if he'd done the right thing. He'd never seen her like this, and she was delectable! He could feel his cock stir, and he was so grateful. God! Maybe it was coming back! First this morning, watching Maeve and the Admiral, and now he was coming to life just looking at Betty.
She posed with her arm along the open car door and looked at him, smiling. She was close enough that he could smell her suntan oil.
"Well, you look right downhearted, Harry," she said lazily, and her voice, soft and syrupy and imprecise in her southern drawl, so different from Jo's crisp orders, came out and caressed him like a kindly hand.
"I guess I... am... a little," he stammered.
"Well, I know how to deal with that. You need a long cool drink and a little rest in the shade," she said softly. Her tongue came out to lick her lips provocatively.
Harry swallowed and tried to look away, but her cat-green eyes held his. "I... well... I guess I should be getting back."
"It won't take long... and you'll feel better for the long drive. George and I are going down tomorrow. That's why he's working so hard today. But we're going down tomorrow, and I'm taking a ham and things... to sort of help entertain the Admiral, you know. George's still at the school, doing his homework."
Harry presently found himself ensconced under the roofed patio of the Lunsford house with a long cool drink in his hand and his shoes off. He couldn't remember ever having agreed to coming over, but Betty had somehow taken the decision out of his hands. He was more comfortable than he'd been in years, lying propped on a huge lounge with Betty fluttering around to anticipate his every wish. He envied George Lunsford more than he'd ever envied anybody... except maybe Carl Crandall.
"You just work too hard, Harry," he heard her say. "You've got to take better care of yourself. You must just worry the life out of Jo." Harry snorted mentally at the idea of Jo worrying about him... ever.
Betty sat down on the edge of the lounge, leaning one arm across him. Harry had to close his eyes briefly to try and get control of himself. Her big beautiful tanned breasts were almost completely out of the bra top, spilling in amplitude over the edge of the yellow cloth. He could feel his prick practically hard! It was coming up again... just the way it had this morning!
Images were racing through his brain... ridiculous Walter Mitty fantasies about what he might do to this lovely creature, and she welcoming it and...! But he knew it was no use. He'd never been a ladies' man, and he was too middle-aged and beaten down now to ever be.
"You're awful quiet, Harry." Her hand caught his and patted it. "I just plain ramble on too much, I know."
"Oh, no, you don't," he burst out, squeezing her hand boldly. "I'm just not... well, I never know what to say to a beautiful woman... when I have the opportunity..." he ended lamely. He could feel his rod coming all the way up, and he tried surreptitiously to cross his legs and hide its obvious presence.
"Don't tell me you don't know what to say," she whispered softly, looking straight into his eyes. "Well," she amended, "you may be a little unsure of yourself here," her fingers came up to touch his mouth gently, "but you sure know what to say here." Her hand trailed down to brush his bulging cock in the front of his pants.
Harry almost came off the couch at the touch of her hand on his erect and bundled-up penis. He jumped as though shot, and his hips lunged forward to keep her hand in contact with him through the cloth. "God, Betty," he gritted through his clenched teeth.
"Feel good to you, Harry?" she inquired in a whisper, crossing her bronzed, shapely thighs which only emphasized her V-ed crotch that drew his eyes like a magnet. "I've always admired you so, but I've never really had the chance to talk to you much before." And her eyes looked down demurely.
"Betty..." Harry swallowed hard.
"Yes, Harry," she whispered, leaning toward him and showing both reddish nipples peeking from inside the bra.
"I..." But he never finished. He just closed his eyes and grabbed her by her tanned arms and pulled her down on his chest to kiss her. Her mouth immediately opened under his, and Harry plunged his tongue in hungrily, groaning deep in his throat. Christ! It was so good to kiss a woman again... a real woman... soft and sensuous and delicate. He could smell her faint perfume. The skin of her tanned back was still warm from the sun, and her breasts mashed into his thin chest. His hands roamed down her hips to her round buttocks, barely covered with the narrow strip of cloth.
His cock was throbbing in a stiff erection, just as it had this morning. He couldn't believe it! After all this time when he couldn't raise it if his life depended on it, and here... twice in one day! Jo. Just as he'd suspected all this time. Jo... the domineering bitch! She was the reason! She'd castrated him! All he needed was a real woman. That's all!
The more Harry tongue-fucked Betty, the stiffer his rod rose. He explored the whole warm wet inside of her mouth all the way to her tonsils, while his hands came around to snake inside the tiny bra and cup the full heavy weight of her hot breasts. The nipples popped straight out like hard little diamonds in his palms. Mentally he berated himself for not realizing sooner that Betty had a "thing" for him. Hell, he'd never even really looked at her before... at least not this much of her.
Betty smoothed her hand over Harry's lumped-up cock that was jumping inside his clothes like a horny seventeen-year-old's. So Harry had balls after all! Everybody laughed about him behind his back. Henpecked to death and the caricature of all the Casper Milquetoasts in literature. But then, she'd never known a man yet who was impotent with her. Careful, she warned. He could lose that erection at the slightest little thing. Some silly thing in his head that had nothing to do with her could turn him completely off. She decided then what she'd do.
Her hands worked gently but quickly as her tongue responded to his. She swiftly unzipped his pants and reached her hand inside to find it. The skin was smooth and velvety, and she gently disengaged his throbbing prod from the jail of his shorts... pulling it out till it rose through the fly openings and jutted skyward.
"Oh... Harry..." she moaned around his tongue to let him know she approved of the thick, rigid instrument in her hand. She smoothed it with both hands, one after the other, from head to base, and she thought he was going to come right off the pad. This poor devil was really in a bad way.
Well, she was hedging her bets. If she didn't get Carl,' she'd get Harry... but one way or the other she was getting up a little higher in the world than a lieutenant's wife.
Betty reached one hand behind her and untied the strings that held up the bra of her bikini, pulling it away from her breasts. Harry's hands came up to squeeze them feverishly, and the moans coming from deep in his chest were turning to pants.
Her hands on his naked, hardened prick set the breath coming out of him in gasps. He'd almost forgotten the feel of a woman's hands... smoothing and teasing and skinning his erect and quivering member. Her breasts felt like balls of fleshy fire in his hands... they were so hot and heaving. He felt like he could juggle them forever... but there was her tanned belly to explore with the little tight inward bud of her navel.
Harry's balls were churning vats of swirling sperm that seemed to increase with the feel of her hands and breast and tongue... like the boiling froth that rose up in a pot of bubbling jam to spill over the sides. Jacking off this morning while watching Maeve and the Admiral was nothing compared to what he was going to feel when he spewed his load into Betty's tanned firm belly.
"Harry," she breathed, pulling her mouth away and looking at him with hooded eyes, deep and mysterious and full of promise.
"Oh, Betty..." His hands held her breasts up like chalices, and he bent his head forward to suck first one and then the other.
"O-o-o-o-oooooooooooo!" she squealed, thrusting them farther into his frantic mouth that wished it were two, to lick and tongue and bite them both at once. Then one of his hands came down her belly like a gliding snake to curl inside the top of her bikini bottom, the fingers meshed in her pubic hair.
"Wait..." she sighed, and stood up momentarily to take it off. Harry looked up at this vision who'd brought him such a miracle. She was looking at him hungrily and yet somehow shyly, too. He pulled her white-patched golden body down to lie along his chest, and his hands blazed the silky trails of her sensual curves and valleys and hillocks. God! To hold that naked vision and feel the warmth of her!
She pulled away again, but only to smooth her hand inside his sport shirt and feel his sparse-haired chest. And then she smiled and pulled back, letting her hands capture his naked, lascivious shaft again, poking through his clothes like a giant fair-skinned sausage, veined and pulsing.
Suddenly Harry saw her head dip, and she kissed the bulbous head of his jumping cock.
"Oh-h-h-h-h-h!" he groaned, shoving his hips forward and feeling the incredible, glorious, unbelievable sensation of her lips on him. Slowly she slid her red mouth down on the quivering head, and he felt he was being killed with sheer blissful joy... that he would collapse at any moment.
"Ohhhh... suck it. SUCK IT!" he yelled, catching her golden head in his hands and pushing it farther over the long hard rod. Obediently she opened her mouth wider and slid it over his quaking, sensitive prick. She moved her mouth downward, taking more and more of it till Harry could feel the head mashing against the back of her throat. On the uptake she sucked hard as though he had a particularly delicious milkshake between his legs and it was so thick she had to suck really hard to get anything.
"Goddddddddddd!" he grunted out.
When she got to the tip of the head she ran her lips back down the length of it, lipping the rigid probe softly. She returned to the tip then and opened her lips again, and let the rubbery tip of his penis slide easily into her saliva-filled mouth. Then she rubbed her lips softly against the foreskin, and a quick shudder ran through Harry's narrow thighs.
Betty swallowed more of his cock. Its thickness almost choked her momentarily, but she adjusted her mouth to accommodate it better. She moved her mouth up and down, swirling her tongue around it in a dervish dance that was sending Harry right up the wall. She was a damn good cocksucker and she knew it... glorying in her power to turn this thin tied-in-knots man into a roaring bull.
The heavy penis throbbed in her mouth as she struggled for more breath. She began to suck again, moving her head more rapidly now up and down the shaft. She could feel the flesh of her ovaled lips pulling out each time she slid her mouth to the tip.
Harry was writhing, humping his thin shanks and loins up to her greedy, skillful mouth and tongue which played his organ like a concert master. His hands were memorizing her naked, body like a poem, going over and over the lines. One hand found the wetness between her thighs and lunged into the dark, damp recess there. Jesus! She was juicy and sopping with desire. Desire for him! He wanted to fuck his whole aching, throbbing cock right into that delicious hole, but he couldn't bear to have her take her mouth off him.
As a substitute he slipped his finger in her slippery slit, and she immediately arched up to him, giving him even greater access to the swollen, opening lips and inner secrets of her pussy. Her mouth and tongue never stopped their diligent, loving labor on his shaking, jerking rod.
As his hand slid in her juicy canal, her tongue whirled and licked and sucked. He was in a heaven that he'd forgotten existed and never thought to enter, and he still didn't know what he'd done to deserve this temporary entrance to indescribable rapture.
"Oh-h-h-h-h-h-h," he groaned fitfully, lifting his hips now to shove his driving, seeking penis even farther into the lewdly erotic hot cave of her mouth. His hand was sluicing her narrow slit with two fingers, and her inner secret center was pouring out the news of her rising, screaming desire. He touched the bell of her clitoris, and the clanging sent reverberations shivering through her whole body in ever-widening ripples, for he could feel her shake and moan around his prick.
She tried harder than ever to cram his cock all the way in until her nose was touching the upstanding prickly pubic hairs in his groin. She could feel his finger sloshing through her cunt, teasing her clit, and then plunging into her clutching vagina. She could hear the sucking sounds her mouth made on his rigid prong. His finger was sending shivering signals through her whole body, and she increased the frantic sucking of her constricted mouth on Harry's hard meat.
He was almost there. She could feel the blood racing in his shaft and the fevered lifts and thrusts of his loins as he tried to gag her completely with his digging prick. He sensed that she was getting close, too, for he dug two fingers harshly into her dripping, clenching, in-sucking, cunt. Her head bobbed faster and faster, and she spread her legs as wide as she could so he could finger-fuck her to a climax, hopefully in time with his. Old Harry was going to come completely unglued when she sucked him dry!
Harry dug his fingers desperately into her slippery, milking pussy that sucked his fingers as if they were the most delicious ramming cock in the world. He pressed his thumb on the button of her quivering, erect clit while his fingers dug deeper than ever. She ground her pelvis up greedily, as though her starving cunt wanted to devour his whole hand.
Carl leaned back in the hard wooden chair wearily, rubbing the bridge of his nose where his reading glasses cut into the flesh. He put his glasses down on the polished library table and stretched. His muscles felt cramped, and he was bone-tired. But it was a good tiredness. He knew he had all the bugs out of his presentation now. It was the best he could give it, and he knew it was damn good. If the Admiral didn't buy this,, he'd be very surprised. But even if he didn't, Carl felt it was a really solid piece of work, and he felt good about it.
He stood up and gathered his papers and books together in a neat pile. He stretched again. God, it felt good to stand up. The damn library chairs were never made for long sitting, but he had to get out of the office. Too many phone calls... too many people dropping by.
Driving down the coast road, his tie off and his jacket thrown in the back seat on his canvas weekend bag, Carl went over the proposal again in his head. He still couldn't find any objection the Admiral could have to it... provided Carl had read him right and the guy really was interested in reforms for officers.
Well, he'd find out soon now. His hands gripped the wheel. There were so many things he'd find out soon. Whether he still had a wife or not. Whether the Admiral was actually going to give him his big chance. How deep Harry had plunged that knife in his back by getting first crack at the Admiral. He had to admit grudgingly that Harry'd had a stroke of genius in asking the Admiral to Bendemeer's Stream for the weekend. Carl cursed himself for not thinking of it first. But you can't win 'em all.
He flipped on the radio, and the soft music flowed out. Some Irish ballad. It made him think of Maeve. She loved music like that. And he loved her.
Some long agonizing soul-searching had finally produced that rather pertinent fact. Last night he'd gotten drunk by himself... alone in the house... all by himself.
Betty'd called and told him she'd talked to Maeve and where she was and the plans for entertaining the Admiral tomorrow. He'd been pretty goddamned short with her. He knew he was guilty as hell, but somehow her nerve, in calling Maeve only a few hours after Betty'd been lying screeching under him, set his teeth on edge. She seemed to think everything was going to go on. Carl hadn't bothered to tell her he thought Maeve had seen them. God, why give that bitch any more ammunition?
He just knew one thing for certain. He loved his wife and he wanted her back and Betty Lunsford could go to hell! Let her work her machinations on somebody else. She'd only got her hooks in him because he'd been so starved for sex for three months. He knew that was his fault now, too. Well, he decided grimly, that was never going to happen again, either.
When the announcer's voice came blasting through, he quickly twirled the dial to another station. He settled back again and lit a cigarette.
So Maeve was an art nut. So what? Big deal. There were a lot worse things she could do. Like fucking the neighbors' husbands the way Betty Lunsford did. He'd seen suburban wives go through that routine before Betty even, and he knew Maeve had never even entertained the thought. He was damned lucky. The only difference was... now he knew it.
There was something extremely salacious about sucking a man's cock when he was fully dressed, except for the long, upstanding, naked, blue-veined prick poling up from his groin. Betty sucked deeply on the throbbing instrument and then pulled her head back till only the knob of the head was in her mouth, and her tongue flicked out to burrow into the tiny slit that was oozing his fluid copiously.
Harry had one hand in her ponytail, pushing her down over the huge pulsating fleshy stem, and the other sank deeply into her hot sloshing pussy.
Betty could feel the inching forest fire his digging fingers had set, spreading through the plains of her arching body. Above her own moaning she could hear the shuddering grunts Harry was making and the tortuous breathing.
"Suu-u-u-u-u-u-c-c-k-k-k," he groaned as he ground his vibrating cock up to her voracious, salivating mouth. He was still rock-hard and rigid as steel, forged with the strength of knowing he had a huge hard-on that felt as though it could go on till hell froze over. If he hadn't been so busy he could almost have wept with joy over the first truly successful erection he'd had in so long he didn't even want to try to remember.
Harry didn't know when things began to go wrong with Jo. God knows she had always been a hot piece, but it happened not too long after they were married when he could see that he could never live up to her holy father, whom she worshipped. Bit by bit his own self-confidence had crumbled until there was nothing he felt he could do that would be acceptable or praiseworthy in her eyes. He'd always known when his interest and desire began to really go that his creeping impotence was a vengeance, a punishment, a weapon to hurt her as badly as she'd hurt him. It hadn't even mattered that logically it hurt him, too. It had almost seemed a worthwhile sacrifice.
But now... now that he had a real erection with a woman slobbering and crooning over it in a lewd cock-sucking trance... he knew he could never go back to his forced chastity... for punishment or any other reason. He had to fuck... hot and hard and often!
Harry could feel the pressure building up in his testicles. The semen was surging back and forth, and seemed to build up a larger and larger volume every shattering second. He wondered for one uncertain minute if he should try to separate his cock from her searing mouth in order to fuck her, but the thought of parting with that greedy suctioning vacuum was unbearable. He lifted his hips and cradled her naked shoulders so she was curled across him and he could forage even more furiously into her hot, erotically sucking cunt.
The pale blond fleece of her pubic covering was matted and wet with the seeping, dripping fluid from deep inside her quaking body. He wanted to lick it... all the juicy love dew that proclaimed she wanted him, but, again, he could not gather the strength to move her elasticized mouth drawing his own cum closer and closer to the gushing point.
"Mmmmmmm-mmmmmmmmmmmmm mmmmmmm!" she moaned unintelligibly around his prick, her mouth so full of near-exploding cock that she couldn't articulate the wild raging riotous sensations that centered in her own fiery cunt. She was close and edging ever closer, and she guzzled Harry's pole feverishly for she wanted him to fill her mouth with his steaming, creamy cum as she erupted in the giant quake that was sending warning rumbles through her whole body.
Harry made incredibly lascivious slurping noises in the still air by the hard hand-fucking he was giving her wet, wanting pussy. Her hips were flailing and rolling and grinding the sopping hair-matted quivering cunt up to his pillaging fingers to keep the sensual agitation at the frantic pitch of sensation that her too-full mouth tried vainly to communicate. She was rising up and down, head bobbing faster and faster on his screaming cock and her hips contorting wildly to an increasing tempo.
Suddenly Harry felt her stiffen, rigid as a corpse, and her mouth clamped tighter and her teeth raked painfully. The pain-pleasure of her teeth set off the ignition cap and his balls wadded in knots and then...
"CUMMMMMMM," he bellowed, "CUM...on!" And his groin lifted his buttocks completely off the lounge, and his cock spewed a blast of boiling semen in a mighty roar down the very back of her sucking throat.
His hand was clasped by the powerful muscles of her vagina like a vise or a bear trap, and he grabbed the pubic bone between his thumb and digging fingers, hanging on to the exploding, inward-sucking organ like a life rope. Her rigid body shuddered in quaking spasms, her thighs trying to wrap around his forearm. Her orgasm was as violent as his, and she shook as hard as he did.
She sucked and swallowed as fast as she could, gagging and spluttering to contain the enormous amount of liquid that gushed out of Harry's penis into her throat with the force of an engine-propelled jet-stream. The hot carnal flow was blazing, and she swallowed rapidly, her Adam's apple working furiously. Sucking and swallowing, she felt the flaming lava erupt in her opening cavern, and it flowed in hot trails throughout the country of her body... searing and destroying the entire countryside to leave her devastated and spent... a totally destroyed entity.
Smaller and smaller quakes still shook them as the rocketing orgasms leveled and left them spent and exhausted and a seeping peace chloroformed their senses Slowly Betty raised her weary head, a long spittle of semen stringing up from Harry's cock to her slack mouth. She looked at him blearily and smiled reflectively.
Chapter Seven
Maeve began to get uneasy after Sam had gone back to the Lunsford trailer to change for dinner. She sighed and picked up the scattered paintings and drawings. Never had she felt so good about her work or so sure of where she was going with it, but she could not put off any longer the nagging worry about Carl.
Logically he would arrive either tonight or in the morning. She hadn't called him as Sam urged her to. She couldn't. She just couldn't! Not after what she'd done and felt and been since she'd last seen him. The thought of facing him in the flesh soon turned her insides to quaking knots of tension.
She must have been completely out of her mind! Her guilt was far worse than his. She'd... twice... with different men! He'd only been with one scheming slut who must have seduced him. And Maeve had given herself to two men... a double vengeance for Carl's single transgression. Hell had no wrath like a woman scorned!
Woodenly she showered and pulled on a faded old calico gypsy skirt and a fresh white peasant blouse and soft espadrilles with comfortable rope soles. She moved slowly, her head beginning to ache and her stomach still tense with anxiety.
Absently she opened the refrigerator door, remembering she'd hardly eaten all day. The clock ticked loudly on the shelf, and the sight of its old-fashioned face in the round brass frame brought tears to her eyes. The children had given it to her on her last birthday. How could she ever look at their lovely, trusting little faces again when she wasn't even worthy to be Carl's wife any more?
Savagely she hacked away some ham from the piece she'd brought. She tried to remember all the comforting things Sam had said to her... about instincts and philosophy and middle-class morality... but they only seemed like rather poor justifications now.
She clung to the central fact of Sam's approval of Carl's work and his promise that Carl could have the research money. At least she could be happy about that and feel that maybe she'd had a tiny part in making it happen.
Then her hand stopped spreading the slices of bread. How would Carl take it if he found out that his precious research money had been bought with her own body. Oh, God! She hadn't thought of that before. Carl would be destroyed... completely destroyed... by his stupid, weak and wanton wife. She could hear the gossip now.
Oh, God in heaven, what had she done! She slid onto the bench at the postage stamp dining table and put her arms on it and let her head sink down in bitter sobs. It was hopeless... completely hopeless. It wasn't Betty who had taken her husband. Maeve had killed her own marriage with no help from anybody. She'd done it herself. Her husband, her children, her life... gone.
Finally the racking sobs shuddered to dry heaves and then to long painful breaths. She stood up and put the food away. She couldn't eat. It would only be regurgitated by her clenched stomach. Her head was splitting now, and the guilt and shame were gnawing at her vitals to produce a sharp physical pain in her abdomen.
With her hand on the refrigerator door, she froze to a breathless agony, for she heard the redwood gate open and close. Her eyes went to the door and watched in terror as it opened and Carl came into the trailer.
She looked so fragile and drained, her little face white as parchment and her eyes enormous brown pools of hurt. Carl felt a stab of guilt that knotted his very guts. He'd done this to her. Oh God! He rushed in and gathered her to him, burying his face in, her soft throat.
"Oh, baby. Don't look like that. I can't stand it." He squeezed her close in his arms, and her beautiful little body had never felt so small and defenseless. His hand came up behind her to clutch the small round skull through her silky brown hair, and his lips were buried against her slender throat.
Carl's chest was so tight and constricted he thought he was going to make a fool of himself and cry. His throat worked, closing and aching. He kissed her neck and cheeks and temples and nose.
"Please, darling. I can't stand it if you won't forgive me. You've got to." His arms closed even more fiercely around her. "I've been a goddamned fool and a bastard... but I promise you it will never... never happen again." He caught her mouth and kissed her passionately. "I love you. I love you so damn much... I got roaring drunk last night alone in the house... and I realized that when you were gone... there was nothing... nothing.... Oh God, baby... say something. Please... please forgive me."
Maeve stood in his arms as though dead, feeling his lips and his arms and listening to him beg for forgiveness, and it all seemed to be happening to another woman... one she had been a long time ago. Someone Carl had loved. Someone the children loved.
He was begging for her forgiveness! And she had done so much worse to him... and he didn't even know! The tears welled up from the pain that clutched her gut, like the sweat from unbearable agony, and they poured from her eyes in a cloudburst, and the sobs racked her with choking hysteria that was ripped from her lungs like flesh tearing.
"Oh God, honey. Please don't cry like that... please... I can't stand it... I've done this to you... don't... don't!" Carl dropped his head to her neck again, and the tears poured from his eyes as they hadn't since he was seven years old.
They stood crying and sobbing, holding onto each other to keep from falling... and hoping the flood would somehow wash them clean and fit again.
The sky was almost dark now, and Harry stood with the Admiral looking at the deepening shadows devour the running river. Their drinks made tinkling noises as the ice hit the sides of the glasses, and there was a distant hootowl questioning the night air.
"How was the fishing this morning?" Harry asked slowly, for he'd played all his other cards and hadn't gotten to first base. The bastard thought Carl's work more "exciting" and innovative than his! Oh, he hadn't said so in so many words, but the message had come through loud and clear.
"I think that's a rather irrelevant question, Harry. Certainly unworthy of a man in your position as a department head," Sam said casually, sipping on his drink and looking at the far shore of the river.
"But..." The nerve of the guy! He knew! Harry could tell he knew that Harry knew about his hay sessions with Maeve in the woods, and he had the effrontery to reprimand Harry Neil as a department head! Harry swallowed hard and gave it one more try.
"But, sir... Carl's theories have only been tried with a very few civilian corporations with a handful of executives. There's been no test case at all for any of the services... such as the Navy."
"That's true," Sam agreed, and did not ask Harry to drop the "sir" this time.
"Well..." Harry had to press this advantage while he could, and pray that Carl would muff it. "Wouldn't it make sense to have such a test case?"
"There's an element of time, Harry."
"I realize that, sir. That's why I suggested it. Well, I mean... if this is going to revolutionize the interpersonal relationships of community, family and officers... well, we've got a pretty good sampling of that right here. The Lunsfords... he's a young officer who'll be down with his wife tomorrow. The Crandalls, Jo and myself, and Farleigh Flynn, the camp manager to represent the community. Why... well, I mean, don't you think it might be possible to have a test off-site here tomorrow?"
"Possible. Yes, I should think it might be." Harry could see him calculating the whole thing swiftly in his head to some time schedule and superiors to answer to that Harry could only imagine.
The Admiral drained his drink slowly... and then turned to look at Harry. "Good thinking," he congratulated him. "That's why you're a department head and a good one." With one hand he knocked him down, Harry thought weakly, and with the other he lifted him up.
Chapter Eight
It looked like any Sunday afternoon get-together at Bendemeer's Stream. A small gathering of eight people clustered around the long picnic table outside the Neils' trailer that overlooked the river. The turkey and ham were disappearing fast... along with the potato salad and olives and avocado mold and pickles and rolls and rye. Harry Neil was presiding over the small serving table that had been set up as a bar, and the drinks were vanishing even faster than the food.
The late afternoon sun was slanting low through the redwoods in hazy streaks. There was a faint chill coming up from the river, and the hi-fi in the Neil trailer sifted faint music out to the air.
"Your presentation was extremely impressive, Carl. I went through it very carefully," the Admiral said, touching his lips fastidiously with a paper napkin. "However, before I commit myself finally to awarding the research grant to you, I want to see an off-site in action."
"Well, I'll see about arranging one at your convenience, sir. Just let me know your schedule," Carl beamed.
"The schedule is the rub, I'm afraid. What's wrong with the group we have assembled here?" he asked suddenly, catching Carl completely unaware.
"Are you leaving tomorrow, sir?" Carl asked anxiously.
"Afraid so. I must get this thing wrapped up before I leave, one way or... the other." He let that sink in, and it only deepened Carl's frown.
Carl turned away to refill his drink, and then thought better of it. The Admiral didn't have to spell it out. Either he had to produce an off-site right now... this minute... or the money would go for Harry's research, and his project did not require a demonstration. Carl could smell Harry's fine hand in here somewhere... his damn stinking greedy hand!
"I'm not sure that would be a fair test case, sir. My project is planned for officers, and there is only one officer here... George Lunsford."
Sam smiled at him blandly. "You're forgetting me."
Carl recovered quickly. "Oh, yes, of course, sir. I just didn't realize you would want to participate."
"Carl, my boy. The best way for me to convince Washington of anything is to have been there myself. I can't really ask them to give you all this money unless I know from personal experience that an off-site is beneficial to interpersonal relations between officers, family, and community."
"Yes, I can see that, sir."
"You've convinced me that it will work... but I have to see it. I've observed quite a bit of tension and rather strong feelings among this group here today. They are being polite and observing all the amenities, but the undercurrents are quite electric... and negative to cooperation and efficiency. If you propose to dissipate this sort of thing with off-sites... I think we have an excellent group for a test case right here."
Carl's head was literally whirling as conflicting thoughts raced and collided, and he fought to gain control... to come to a quick and right solution.
"I'm going to wander over for another drink. Can I get you a refill?" Sam asked solicitously, giving him time. "I'll see you in a bit, then," he added as Carl shook his head in a quick smile.
Maeve looked out of the Neils' trailer window at the group. She'd tried valiantly to make small talk with George Lunsford, but he was so stolid and uncommunicative. She'd avoided Farleigh as politely as possible for obvious reasons. Harry was leering at her again, but a sinister note had been added to the flirting that she couldn't put her finger on. She'd managed to avoid being alone with Betty so far, and the Admiral had monopolized Carl for quite a while. To her relief, Jo had let her take over the fetching and carrying of food and things in and out of the trailer.
Everyone seemed to have plenty of food and drink for the moment, and she sat down on the sofa just to avoid having to go out there again. Her nerves were still honed to a fine edge of anxiety after last night, and her conscience was still giving her a very bad time. She hadn't been able to tell Carl. She hadn't been able to tell him anything. Her "sins" hung over her life like a guillotine that she knew would surely cut it off the moment she confessed to Carl.
Sam and Farleigh were much better actors. They'd been natural and unconcerned. Why, she wondered futilely, did women have to pay so heavily? And she knew her payment would be a long-term time contract.
Jo could see Farleigh leaning against a tree in deep conversation with the Admiral. She breathed a sigh of relief. He was getting his chance to persuade him to use Bendemeer's Stream. That was really all she'd promised.
She tucked her legs under her on the yellow lounge and looked at Harry again stealthily. There was no explanation yet as to what had happened to him, but whatever it was, she could only pray gratefully that it would happen again.
After a leisurely dinner with the Admiral, who went off to bed early, Harry had proceeded to fuck her most of the night. Harry! Impotent Harry! He'd been like a bridegroom. She wondered if he'd gone to one of those quack doctors who injected cells or something to rejuvenate men. Jo didn't give a damn if he'd gone to a witch doctor... as long as it kept working!
George Lunsford put his paper plate down on the folding table beside his deck chair. He wiped his mouth of crumbs that might have clung after four turkey sandwiches, his eyes on Betty as she swung her ass exaggeratedly past the Admiral for the fifth time. George snorted to himself. It took more than round heels to be an Admiral's wife. It took more than that to be a lieutenant's wife, as she'd damn well find out as soon as he'd finished his master's degree. He was working so damn hard now, though, that he hadn't the energy to devote to divorce proceedings. But that degree would be in his hand come September.
Pie rubbed his hand through his short brown hair and looked around, wondering idly just how many of these guys Betty had fucked already. Most probably Carl and Harry... they were the most accessible. Well, maybe not Harry... he was supposed to be impotent or something, one of the students had told him. He'd wind up that way himself or worse if he didn't get away from that nympho he was married to. Well, come September, he promised himself. Come September.
Farleigh slipped away easily when no one was noticing. He raced back to the office to get the huge ring of keys, all energy and efficiency. The Admiral was a damn sight smarter than any high-ranking officer he'd ever met before.
It looked good. There was a damn good chance he'd get a contract if this thing went the right way tonight. If it did, he'd hire Bob full time, just to be grounds keeper, and he'd retire to Ireland for good.
Carl found Maeve in the trailer curled up on the couch. He told her briefly what the Admiral wanted and what the problems were, and asked her what she thought about it.
"I don't know what to say, Carl. You know, I really don't know enough about your work to even be able to offer an opinion."
He caught her hands and kissed the fingers briefly. "I know, sweetheart, but we're going to change all that. Right now, I guess I'm asking... should I go for broke... or not? There's a good chance it could fall completely flat... in which case I'd be worse off than before."
"On the other hand," she added, "it's the big break you've been waiting for. If you don't try... you'll wonder always."
"Good girl. I was hoping you'd go along." He patted her arm swiftly and leaped up, satisfied.
Night fell, and the lights twinkled dimly in the darkness all along Bendemeer's Stream. The frogs along the river conversed, and the stars came out in thick clusters.
Farleigh had locked the redwood gates to the Neil property as Carl had asked him, so the group wouldn't be disturbed. The bank of the river was very high here, so the chance of anyone climbing up from the water side was pretty slim.
Farleigh joined the group in the Neil living room. He crammed his big body into a small chair, for even in their double trailer there were barely enough chairs for everyone. He wasn't quite sure what would be expected of him, but he understood quite well that if this came out right, so far as the Admiral was concerned, then Farleigh Flynn was as good as on his way to Ireland.
There was lots of giggling and good-natured kidding and scrambling about when Carl asked them all to line up according to their importance. He'd explained earlier in brief outline what an off-site was all about.
Carl could feel a trickle of nervous sweat run down his side as he watched them shuffle and reshuffle their order in line. They kept lining up behind the Admiral, and he kept moving out of line and getting in the middle of the line or moving to the tail. Then they'd all regroup and wind up right behind him again. The order kept changing constantly except for their mutual agreement that the Admiral was the most important, for they simply would not allow him to remain anywhere except at the head of the line.
Maeve didn't want to play these silly games. She knew they were important for Carl tonight, but she also knew they had a devastating effect on some people... and she had a terrible premonition this would be a disastrous evening.
"Why do you think you're so important, Betty?" Carl asked sharply. "You're right behind the Admiral. Does anyone agree or disagree that Betty is second in importance to Sam?"
Maeve found herself adding her voice to the chorus of, "No, she's not." Her jealousy and bitterness were still there and had come out abruptly in this game. She was both startled and ashamed... was getting frightened now. Was this going to be a vicious twenty questions or a verbal battle that would generate more hate and suspicion? Oh, why had she told Carl to go ahead?
Farleigh felt a back rub against him lightly. He rubbed back, moving his body up and down and sideways slightly. He couldn't see anything in the least scientific about these silly games, but this was better than the last one. At least you didn't have to worry about Carl singling you out with embarrassing questions concerning your importance. In this one you just sort of relaxed and rubbed backs with someone you couldn't see... and tried to figure out if you liked them or not.
Harry knew very well whose back he was rubbing. Maeve was smaller than any of the others. Maeve leaned against him obediently, but Harry could tell her heart wasn't in this any more than his was. He leaned his head and twisted it, whispering, "What a bore. Let's get out of here."
Maeve rubbed his back from side to side to signal, "No." Harry knew they weren't supposed to talk. But then he'd looked funny all evening. Furious that Carl was getting the grant, she supposed. She stiffened and stood still. The palms of Harry's hands had turned to cup her buttocks. Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment. Suppose someone saw? How dare he? The dirty damn man anyway!
Betty rubbed her ass cheeks as invitingly as she could against the Admiral. This game was more like it. She didn't give a damn that Carl had embarrassed her before the others. An Admiral was worth just about anything. Certainly a little humiliation wasn't going to stop her. Suddenly his finger came out to surreptitiously rub her crack. She wriggled appreciatively... and ran her hand up the back of his thigh.
Jo felt Farleigh pat her rump as they rubbed backs. He was "thanking" her, she guessed, for getting his chance with the Admiral. Farleigh was a good slob. And she might need him again. She just couldn't be sure the new Harry was going to last.
The game went on as new partners were found, and the sly feeling around became bolder. Carl knew there was always a certain amount of this. It broke otherwise impenetrable barriers... for the insights into their behavior and relationships that came later. He noted that Harry kept choosing Maeve and Betty clung to the Admiral like a barnacle.
Maeve tried to twist away as Harry caught her, but he was too quick. She'd been to the bathroom in the rear of the trailer, and he grabbed her just as she came into the bedroom.
"Don't, Harry, please."
"That isn't what you said to the Admiral yesterday." The words hit her like a blow. She had heard someone! Harry! Oh God!
He pulled her to him and kissed her, and Maeve jerked away, gasping and furious.
"Get used to it, baby. I'm going to fuck you whenever I feel like it from now on... and you're going to let me... to keep me quiet."
He roughly threw her on the wide king-sized bed. Maeve watched his twisted face in horror. He must be blind drunk, the way he staggered... yet he had enough coordination and strength to throw her around. She made a run for it. She had to get to Carl and stay there... for protection.
She was almost through the door when Harry caught her, threw her onto the bed again, and slammed the door. "I feel like fucking right now!"
"No, Harry, no. That was a horrible mistake. Truly. You don't understand."
"I understand, all right. I understand you fucked the Admiral out in the grass with your ass up in the air and you loved it! Well, I want a little of that free ass right now. Is that how you got the Admiral to give Carl the grant?"
She shook her head dumbly, watching him tear his clothes off like a maniac. So that was it. He thought she'd bought the grant... and Carl would think the same thing if he ever found out. Her head was pounding, and she prayed for release from this nightmare that went on and on.
"You have rather amazing tits," the Admiral said, reaching out to bounce Betty's thrusting mounds in his hands. She stood there frozen, knowing the others had heard, and was finally embarrassed now. What did she do now? George was watching her with narrowed eyes.
"They're walleyed," Sam said, unzipping the full-length zipper of her blue linen pants suit and exposing her whole front to the waist. She clutched it to her.
"I believe the Admiral has indicated he wishes you to take it off," George said with ominously quiet sarcasm.
Betty's eyes flew from one face to the other. She'd never been in a situation that even remotely resembled this one, and she didn't know what to do or who to turn to.
Sam reached out and pulled her unzipped top from her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. Then he calmly reached behind her and unhooked her bra... letting her breasts fall free and naked.
"We're playing the truth game tonight, remember. You've let me know every way possible that you want to be fucked by me. Since your husband seems to have no objections..." Sam turned to George in a small inquiring little bow.
"Be my guest, Admiral. Since she willingly fucks any man she can use for a ladder up in the world... have at it. I'd like to watch," he grinned a little drunkenly, flopping on one of the couches.
"I'll watch with you," Jo slid down beside him, giggling.
Carl came out of the guest bath and heard sounds of scuffling coming from the bedroom. He went to see. There was a muffled scream just as he opened the door. His brain couldn't take it in. There on the bed was Maeve, naked and thrashing, and Harry was sitting on her trying to shove his limp prick in her mouth.
"Suck it for me, you bitch! Get it hard!"
Carl was on him like a madman, trying to pull him off.
"You bastard! You damned jealous bastard!" It wasn't till Carl had pulled him off and spun him to the floor and on his feet that he realized Harry was crying. His face was wet, and his thin naked chest heaved in sobs.
"I never get anything... anything..." He sobbed like a child who feels the bitterness of injustice for the first time. Carl held him by the arms where he'd steadied him so he could knock him flat. How could you hit a man who was sobbing his whole aching, painful life out to you in one tear-wet sentence?
Carl had the terrible feeling that he should have lost the grant... not only for Harry's sake, but his own. Nothing had gone as he planned. Everybody got drunker and drunker, and the viciousness, pettiness, and sexual frustrations had come pouring out of them all so violently that he, Carl Crandall, behavioral scientist in business management, was frightened. He didn't know how to handle it. He just didn't know what to do. None of his previous off-sites had ever deteriorated into such naked displays of feelings and actions.
"Y... you got the money... you... got Maeve... the Admiral had Maeve... out in the woods... I saw them... you've even got a hard pecker... and I... never get anything!" Harry sobbed brokenly.
Carl clenched Harry's arms and shook him. "Stop it, Harry. Stop it. You don't know what you're saying." But Carl had the ghastly feeling that the poor devil did know. The alcohol was saying what Harry couldn't say sober.
Carl dropped his arms and walked the step to the bed, where Maeve cowered as best she could with no cover to hide her nakedness. Her eyes had the glazed, vacant look of an asylum inmate. Carl knelt over her, grabbing her and shaking her like a rag doll, the pain rising like a red haze before his eyes.
"So that's why you wouldn't forgive me last night! There's nothing to forgive! How many others have you fucked while you were supposed to be painting? You goddamned whoring bitch!" His voice had risen to a hysterical pitch, and Harry's sobs subsided as he watched in fascination as Carl screamed and shook her.
Maeve felt the terror rise up to choke her, and the tears flowed unbidden down her face and she never noticed them, her eyes cemented to the raging maniacal face so contorted that it was hardly recognizable as Carl's. She prayed it would be quick... that he'd kill her quickly and mercifully....
As he shook her, Carl felt a strange undercurrent of desire stir in his loins even as he hated and vilified her. His penis was getting hard as a rock, and his groin was tightening. He didn't bother to question it now. He only knew he had to humiliate her, scourge her, humble her now!
"Turn over, bitch! You like to fuck so much! We'll see how you like it up your ass!" he snarled, flinging her over on her stomach so her naked white buttocks were exposed. He threw off his clothes, tearing them when they wouldn't give fast enough. He caught her white ass cheeks in his hands and pulled her to her knees so her ass was level with his great blunted weapon that stood out like a bull's. His hands spread the round globes so her closed little asshole was exposed to his maddened sight.
He stretched the tiny crimped edges with his thumbs and aimed his huge cock and put the head right on the tender-fleshed opening. Holding her hips in his bruising hands, he closed his eyes as though diving and shoved.
"AHHGGGHGH... GGGHHHHHHHH!" she screamed, as though pierced with a sword. The pain was so terrible that she almost fainted. Her head fell to the bed, but her punished ass still was stuck on his great knife that stabbed her. She knew she deserved it. She deserved everything he gave her, but she knew the pain alone was going to kill her.
Forcing himself even closer between her lewdly spread thighs, Carl lunged again, knowing the pain was tearing her with only his own seminal fluid to wet his way into the ringed tight passage. At least her asshole was virginal. No man had fucked her there before. The rectal chamber held him tighter than a vise, and he could feel the blood coursing through the constricted passages of his throbbing excited cock.
The agonizing pain at her rectal mouth was unbearable. Her breath wadded in her throat as the vicious spasms racked her, and she twisted and half screamed, waggling her bottom to get free of the tortuous instrument reaming her anus. He was going to split her completely in two, and she was going to die right on this bed.
He was holding the tender flesh of her hips in a bruising grip as his strong hands gouged her. Her every attempted move only drove the enormous shaft of rock-hard flesh deeper into her cringing channel.
"Shove it back to me!" Carl grunted, straining his lean hips forward obscenely.
"Ohhhh... noooooo... God!" Maeve choked, unable to restrain the erupting sobs of agony and feeling the shame and torment sweeping through her. But she had to bear it. She had to!
Harry watched in mounting excitement. They'd forgotten he existed, but his eyes were lapping up this scene like a blotter to be kept permanently in the file of his memory. Carl was sodomizing his own wife! His cock was fucking her little asshole! Harry's own prick had stirred to full attention, and his ever-ready hand was shucking it back and forth. Oh, God, he was ready... really ready!
He had to try! Carl might knock him across the room, but he had to try! Deftly he crawled up to the head of the bed and lifted Maeve by the head and shoulders till he could slide under her between her spread, raised knees. He reached up and cautiously inserted a finger in her cunt that she didn't seem to know was flowing from her weeping cries of agony. Her body jerked forward to the pleasure of his searching finger.
"Come here, baby," he whispered, and pulled her down on his upraised cock. Carl came with her, glued to her backside by his burgeoning, crazed penis that was now fully sunk into her rectum. Harry felt the weight of the bodies and her moist pussy slide over his hardened shaft. He lifted and felt the jerk of his wonderfully hard cock deep up in her little white belly!
"Join the party, Harry! You got something now! You got in my wife's pussy. But don't you worry. She just loves cock! Let's give it to her!" Carl grunted, thrusting his hips forward savagely and sending his balls smacking against her nakedness. He could feel the screams pouring from Maeve's throat telegraph their muscular messages through her viselike asshole. He'd teach her a lesson she'd never forget, and he thrust harder, ignoring her pleas and her sobs.
Harry felt Maeve's pussy milking him lovingly, closing tight and holding him inside her rubbery walls. There was so little room with Carl fucking into her backside furiously, and Harry could feel how thin the membrane was separating the two passages. He'd never participated in any group sex before, and he was going quietly mad with the salacious thought of what he was actually doing. Fucking a woman who was being sodomized!
Sam pulled himself wearily off Betty's spread body on the carpet to find that Jo was sucking Farleigh's massive cock on the wide couch while George was performing cunnilingus on her open, glistening cunt, lying between her round white thighs. Even though he was spent and tired, he lay down with Betty again to fondle and pinch her tanned white breasts as he watched the threesome racing toward their climaxes.
Farleigh had Jo by the ears and was pumping in and out of her puffed cheeks in hard driving lunges, his face contorted obscenely. George was burying almost his whole face in her pussy, devouring her dripping swollen cunt with a greedy voraciousness, communicated by the moans tearing from his throat.
Betty roused at the feel of his hands pinching her breasts to excited arousal again. She sat up and saw the threesome on the couch. She could hardly believe that George, proper, studious George, was eating Jo's pussy with such feeling. She could see Jo flailing, her hips writhing and grinding up to George's ravishing tongue. Farleigh was groaning and choking Jo to death with his mammoth cock ramming the back of her throat. Farleigh and Jo were reaching for gigantic orgasms, but poor George had no one to lick his stick for him. She could see it hanging down in a huge erection, lying almost parallel with his belly. Never had she seen it so huge and obscenely jerking.
She went over to sit by the couch and then kneel, and she turned George's hips so she could reach his cock without his having to let go of Jo's arching cunt. She took the enormous prick in her hand and eagerly closed her mouth on it. George's head snapped up from Jo's box to turn and see who was sucking his aching cock.
"Ohhhh God... baby. Suck it!" His hand came down to hold her ponytailed head on it, and he turned his face back to the sopping cunt he was pillaging.
Sam watched them a minute and then wandered back to the bedroom to see what was going on there. He stopped in the doorway at the sight of Maeve sandwiched between Carl and Harry. They were heaving and bucking savagely, fucking in and out of the little live thing's two orifices... Carl in her asshole and Harry up her pussy. They were going mad... all three of them. He watched spellbound as his cock began to revive at the lewd sight. He wondered just where and how he could join them.
And then he saw a way. He knelt on the bed by Harry's side and turned Maeve's contorted face till her lips could receive his long prick. She took it eagerly between her lips and sucked it hard like a banana-shaped lollipop.
Farleigh staggered back to the bathroom to take a leak. When he came out he saw the bedroom door had swung open. God damn! Off-site, hell! It was a goddamned orgy. The hippies couldn't hold a candle to the squares once they got going!
Maeve could not believe the incredible sensations her tired body was trying to register in her brain. The obscene, perverted fucking that Carl was doing to her asshole had become pleasurable and only increased the licentious feelings Harry's cock was generating in her pussy. Her mouth was full of Sam's long lewd member, and she wanted it there! She wanted him to cum in her mouth! She wanted them all to cum beautifully!
She moaned, savoring the male taste of Sam's fluid and feeling the salacious sodomy of her backside send a strange rapturous sensation through her bowels. Harry was bucking up in her cunt in insane writhings and liftings.
"Cum on... suck harder," Sam panted... shoving it to her so her gagging turned to mewls of joy.
"Sooooooo... sooooon," Carl crooned behind her.
"Well, look at the orgy!" she dimly heard someone giggle. She didn't care. Nothing mattered now but reaching for that tantalizing nirvana that was so close she could almost touch it. The bed was rocking, and she opened her eyes to see that the bed was covered with writhing bodies, sucking and fucking in linking mouths and cocks and cunts. Squeals and groanings and grunts rose in a cacophony of sound, and even her ears felt as though they were being fucked!
Suddenly Harry arched and screamed, "I'MMMMM... CUMMIIINGG!" And he set off a chain reaction that fired off the whole bed, body by body. Carl's mighty gush flooded her asshole with creamy, teeming cum that overflowed onto the bedspread, pumping and pumping and screaming, "Goddddddd!" The shattering liquid crash of Harry's semen deep inside her pussy set a thousand rapturous spasms convulsing through her body, and Sam drowned her sucking mouth in a massive flow of cum that seared her throat with bliss. They collapsed away from each other as the other bodies pumped and jigged and diddled and sucked and banged and fucked!
Much later, when she'd lost all count of who or how and her body was shorting out of consciousness with multiple orgasms, Maeve was dimly aware that she was lying on her back, and she lifted her weary head to see Betty contentedly licking her abused wet cunt that twitched feebly under the feminine tongue.
Chapter Nine
Carl came whistling down the walk to the neat house set back from the street. It looked cool in its little grove of trees with the New Mexico sun beating down so warmly.
Maeve met him at the door and kissed him eagerly. As she stepped back, smiling, he held up a letter and laughed mysteriously. She could see from the letterhead on the envelope that it was from the New York gallery that handled her paintings.
"Oh, Carl, darling, don't tease me. Did they sell another painting?"
"How would you like to paint in the Greek Islands during my next sabbatical?"
"Oh, I'd love to!" she squealed, grabbing for the envelope he held above his head.
"Well, we're going to!" He laughed as he went through the house to his study with Maeve still trying to grab the envelope. He pushed the heavy economics books and the stacks of freshman exams he still had to grade aside on his desk. When he had a cleared space, he spread out the letter, sat down in his big leather chair, and pulled Maeve onto his lap so they could read the letter together.
"Oh, darling," she said at last, a sad but happy sigh escaping her lips. "Admiral Grandfield didn't really buy my painting of Bendemeer's Stream for twenty thousand dollars. This is really your research grant that you gave to Harry when we left there."
"Probably a little of both, honey," he said, pulling her around to face him.
"Have you ever been sorry we did leave, darling? That career in that particular field meant so much to you."
"It meant nothing, sweetheart, when it turned you into an off-site wife. I just need a plain old ordinary wife who worries about my sniffles, raises my kids, and makes twenty thousand dollars for one painting," he exulted, pulling her close and kissing her gently.
