Though the practice of wife-swapping is not the publicized fad that so captured the imagination of a broad element of the American public a few years back, it would be naive to assume that the practice has become less common. Statistics, in the absence of any recent survey on the level of Kinsey's, would indicate that, if anything, adultery is occurring more and more frequently in more American marriages. It would be more logical to assume "swapping" has left the spotlight because it has become so commonplace, like divorce, pre-marital sex, and what have you.
But with all the distractions of the times we are living in, intermarital relations remain a subject of pertinence and interest to the responsible public. In an era of rapidly changing morality (an era, for example, when the wife of an American president can openly discuss abortion, her daughter's virginity - or lack thereof - and her sexual relationship with the President) the institution of marriage becomes an increasingly complex arrangement. The dangers, the potential unhappiness that can occur in the relationship, increase. So do the potential rewards.
That is one reason why we, the publishers, were particularly pleased to have the opportunity to publish this exciting new novel. With incisive insight, the author has woven a gripping story of two couples, thrown together accidentally, immediately and irrefutably attracted to each other. Without moralizing or sensationalizing the sexual passages necessary to this shocking but entirely plausible story, the author has painted a fascinating and often heartbreaking epic of two couples, four marriage partners, trying to come to terms with their own jealousy, their own human needs, and their sure knowledge of their respective partners' infidelity.
Chapter One
A long time later, after her whole life had been turned upside down, Catherine Mason would remember having perceived the harbinger in the storm. She would realize that her trepidation, and her bizarre fascination with the then unexplainable feelings that gripped her, had derived from a sixth sense, warning her that she had more to fear that day than the elements, that she faced a danger much greater than the mere wrath of God as personified in the fury that poured from the sky.
It was not the kind of storm one was accustomed to seeing in that part of California. Though not by any means a real tornado, the balmy green-clouded stillness that had immediately preceded it would have sent old-timers in West Texas or Kansas scurrying to the shelter of their cellars. The clouds took on that unreal looking greenish glow; the light left the sky as swiftly as if there'd been a sudden near-total eclipse; a vacuum-like stillness seemed to descend over the rolling, vineyard-planted bills. It was almost summer and it was not cold. It was neither cold nor hot. Yet it looked cold, cold in a way she'd never seen it look before, and riding beside her young husband in the front seat of their second-hand Chevy the sensuous nineteen year-old blonde shivered involuntarily, folding her bare arms protectively oven the flimsily-shielded swells of her high standing young breasts. She gazed apprehensively through the windshield at the surrealistic painting created by the low-hanging clouds, then slid suddenly across the seat toward her husband, pressing her slender, bared thigh hard against the gear-stick in order to get as close to him as the bucket seats allowed.
"It looks absolutely weird out there!" she gasped, dropping her hand to his knee and feeling him tense slightly at her touch.
"It's just gonna rain," Bob Mason said, his eyes roving quickly over Cathy's supple young body before he returned his attention to the road. "And maybe hail a. little. Giulio's vineyard's another thirty miles or so. I was hoping we could make it there before it broke." He paused, peering intently into the distance before them. "No chance," he added, shaking his head.
Following his gaze, Cathy watched the sudden intricate web-work of lightning that was scrawled over the bank of clouds. It seemed to fade but gradually, like a hieroglyph drawn in disappearing ink. She winced at the clapping of thunder, which seemed to follow a long time later, so long that she'd begun to think it would not come. Then to the north, in the direction they were driving, she distinguished the gray wall of rain, still and solid-looking against the backdrop of clouds above and beyond it, standing up unmoving as though it were drawn on the sky in careful, slanting lines.
"You really think it's worth stopping at the vineyard?" she asked as the last sound of the thunder died off.
"Giulio makes some of the best wine in California, especially at the price he charges if you get it straight from him. Besides that, I haven't seen him in a couple of years. He's getting old."
Cathy sank back in her seat, drawing her hand back to her own softly contoured thigh as she watched 'another white streaking of electricity imprint itself on the sky. She waited, counting one, two, three, four, for the thunder. And still she winced when it came. Past the window flashed a neon sign reading Motel. She thought: I would like to have stopped. She glanced back at her husband out of the corner of her eyes. Furtively she observed his handsome profile, his slender but well defined chest and arms. Her eyes dropped lower,, then she looked away. It was funny, she thought. She and Bob had been married just a few days less than a month. They had just finished an extravagant and luxurious honeymoon, a gift from his aged and well-to-do grandmother. Now they were going to really begin their married life, and already, though she hardly dared admit it to herself, she was beginning to have misgivings. It wasn't that she didn't still love Bob, she loved him as much as she ever had. But it was beginning to seem that love, spiritual love, wasn't enough to make a marriage work. She needed something else, that unknown magic something she'd naively taken for granted would appear when they were married, sleeping together, making love. It hadn't appeared, and during the weeks that had elapsed since their wedding night when she'd gone to bed with him for the first time, relinquishing at last the cherished virginity she'd guarded stubbornly to the end, she'd almost ceased to hope she would ever know that magic of which she'd so wistfully dreamed.
Yet now, frightened and yet excited by the storm that was so swiftly descending upon them, she thought she would like nothing so much as just to curl up with Bob in a warm bed in the enclosed shelter of a strange roadside room. Now she would like to make love with him inside while the storm raged without, as if she thought that somehow their sex could feed itself off the excitement and energy that was about to erupt in the sky.
But she would never have the nerve to suggest that to Bob. Not now, anyway, the apprehensive young bride thought to herself as the lightning again crackled across the sky and the first great white balls of hail battered the roof of the car and pelted the road like so many falling golf balls, as her own thoughts went racing back over the last whirlwind weeks to the first night, when she'd been so full of fear, so full of hope.
They'd been married in a small civil ceremony in Santa Monica, and that had been followed by a modest reception at the home of some of Bob's relatives. Then finally the reception was over and, slightly intoxicated, nervous and happy, they took the long limousine ride to the Ramada Inn in Hollywood, where they would spend their first night together before catching a noon-day flight to Acapulco. Even now Cathy would almost feel the excitement that had fluttered in her stomach as they took the elevator up, as they walked down the long, lighted halls to their suite, as Bob unlocked the door and lifted her from the floor and carried her through the door. Holding her strongly in his arms, he kissed her hard on the lips, then let her gently down and returned to retrieve the small overnight bag from the hall.
"Do you want to have a drink . . . first?" Cathy remembered saying in a choked, quivering voice.
"No. We don't need a drink."
As he looked into her eyes she saw the determination set in his face. Then he set the bag down on the plushly carpeted floor, guided her gently but firmly across the lounge and through the door to the bedroom. Cathy felt her heart pounding in her breasts as she was confronted with the elegant, queen-sized bed, waiting, she thought then, like a sacrificial alter. She looked at the bed, then turned nervously to face Bob, a shiver running through her as she met the steel lust in his eyes, as he let his gaze dropping from her flushed and sultry face down to the full tightly rounded swells of her breasts straining against the lacy blouse she wore beneath the light beige jacket that matched her skirt.
"God, baby," he said in a hoarse whisper. "Have I been waiting a long time for this."
"I'm scared, Bob," she answered breathlessly.
Then his arms were around her, pulling her to him, his lips covering over hers and his tongue snaking deeply into her mouth. She felt his hands crushing against her spine and shoulder blades on the outside of her jacket and blouse, then dropping to the tightly rounded half-moons of her buttocks to pull her loins forcibly up against his own so that suddenly she felt the frightening bulge of his erection press hard against her warm thighs and the tender mound of her pubis. His tongue was still thrusting halfway toward her throat, his lips pressing so hard against hers she was sure they would bruise, his hands clawing animal-like at the pliant firmness of her tightly flaring ass. Then, as her legs almost buckled beneath her from her building excitement and fear, Cathy was released from her husband's grasp. A little sigh escaped her lips as his mouth drew away from hers, then her eyes widened as he pushed the jacket from her shoulders and with trembling hands started undoing the buttons down the front of her dress.
The virginal young blonde thought she could have almost passed out as she stood motionless before her husband, submitting without resistance as he slowly stripped the clothing from her sensuous young body. In spite of the freedom she'd granted him during some of their more torrid petting sessions, it occurred to her that she'd never let him see her completely naked, and that realization only increased her building passion as he untucked her blouse from her skirt and worked it down off her arms, then reached behind her back to loosen the snap of her bra, pushed the tight straps from her shoulders so the tightly constricting cups fell away suddenly to reveal the full, proudly upstanding nipple-peaked swells of her ripe, full breasts. Almost whimpering, she resisted the fleeting impulse to cover herself as his eyes hungrily took in the sensuously exposed upper half of her body, as his fingers fumbled with the snap at the side of her skirt, lowered the zipper so that it fell suddenly to the floor at her feet to leave her clad in nothing but her nylons and panties. Petrified to immobility, she stared down between her proud young breasts as he worked the panty hose down off her thighs, then tugged the panties from her buttocks and down to her knees so she had no choice but to step out of them. Then again he had her in his arms, stooping to cover his lips hungrily over the lust-swollen nipples of her breasts.
"Oh!" she gasped as his teeth closed too tightly on one of the tingling tips, his hands at the same time clawing even more hungrily at the tightly flexed roundness of her buttocks. But her hands had moved, seemingly of their own accord, up to stroke urgently through his hair and she was holding his face tightly to the exposed nakedness of her torso and squirming her breasts voluptuously against his eagerly sucking lips and tongue.
Then a little cry of disappointment rose in her throat as he again jerked his face away from her surrendered, burning flesh, and a moment later her legs almost went weak as he guided her suddenly to the queen-sized bed and pushed her quickly down onto her back atop the cover.
Still hardly able to accept the fact of what was about to happen, the naked bride lay motionless on her back, staring with rapt attention as her husband tore off his coat and tie and started to unbutton his shirt. Bob's eyes were still fixed hungrily on her body, and he tossed his garments casually away in his eagerness, stepping out of his trousers and leaving them crumpled in a heap on the floor before he jerked his jockey shorts swiftly downward and the sudden exposure of this long, thickly throbbing cock caused Cathy's whole body to tremble in fearful disbelief. My God, it was just too big! She could never take that huge thing up inside her tight little virgin vagina, and the mere thought of the prospect caused her to clench her eyes tightly shut. Then she shuddered again, her thighs scissoring tightly closed and her forearms pressing protectively over her breasts as she felt the bed sag from the weight of Bob climbing up beside her. She opened her eyes to mere slits, her mouth going slack as she felt him seize her wrists and pull her arms apart. Then one of his knees was planted between her legs to spread them a few inches. At the same time he was drawing outward on her arms, stretching them to full spread-eagle length away from her body on the bed. She tried feebly to resist and found, with a certain strange masochistic sense of security, that he was not going to let her stop him this time as she'd stopped him so many times before. Then he dropped his face again to the upthrust highly parted rounds of her breasts and she once more squirmed her naked upper torso eagerly against his face as he resumed the maddening licking and nibbling and sucking at her tender little nipple buds.
"Oh God!" the aroused and frightened blonde whimpered in the sheer passion of her building terror and lust. Her husband's hands were mauling over her naked body like he was some kind of sex-starved criminal just out of his cell. She was completely naked and exposed to his eager caress and now somehow he'd managed to plant his other knee down between her own, and he was gradually forcing her thighs apart with the same unrelenting determination he'd employed in forcing her to surrender her breasts. It was going to happen. It was really going to happen and in spite of the fear that bound her body and soul she took a lurid comfort in her knowledge of the fact.
Then the nakedly pinioned young blonde's whole squirming body jerked as Bob released one of her wrists and raked his hand almost viciously down over her ribs and the smooth warm skin of her belly, his fingers stroking through the thin blonde curls of the hair of her cunt before darting right down between her thighs to trail along the already lustfully moistened little slit.
"Ouuuuuuu!" Cathy whimpered, hopelessly trapped between her terror of the unknown and the salacious promise of the weirdly tantalizing sensation. But a moment later her body went stiff and her buttocks jerked spontaneously away in retreat as Bob dropped his own loins down between her forcibly parted thighs and she felt the rigidly pulsating hardness of his penis insert itself straight between them. A distant moan poured from her lips and she stared up with wide open eyes as he levered further up over her trembling body, his finger parting the blonde-fringed lips of her pussy and working slowly up into the cringing little opening as she struggled and jerked beneath him.
But beyond all her terror her body was crying out with an inflamed surging need, her want perhaps even intensified by her fright. Bob was still sucking and licking alternately at the lust-swollen tips of her upthrust nipples, his thumb stroking rapidly across the little nub-end bud of her clitoris as his finger wormed deeper and deeper up against the virgin membrane of her hymen.
Then she felt her husband shift slightly and another muffled gasp rose to her throat as the finger was slowly withdrawn from the entrance of her clasping pussy hole. She felt him seize the bard-throbbing rigidity of his cock, and as he levered further up over her, the blunt end of it came into sudden contact with her now completely moistened vagina. Then, as she struggled in sudden panic below him, he again seized the wrist he'd momentarily freed, pinning it once more tight above her head as he bucked forward to drive the swollen head of his cock straight up into the quivering elastic opening of her cunt.
"Ooooohhhh!" the helpless blonde cried out from the sudden raw stab of pain. She writhed and moaned like a slave strung out on the rack as the ruthless penetration continued, the bludgeoning rod of cockflesh driving with unyielding pussy tightness, ripping her hymen to shreds as it buried itself to the hilt into her previously unspoiled little cunt.
"God! It's too big!" Cathy whimpered, her whole body jolted by the agonizing violation. Bob's cock seemed to fill her all the way to her belly and she thought she would die if he made so much as a move. Then she cried out anew as he flexed the massive cock even deeper up into her loins, and she lay motionless in pain and fear as he slowly started to draw it out, then just at the first faint sign of relief sent it surging straight back up into her again.
During those first few slow skewering strokes, Cathy almost thought she would go out of her mind from the sheer sensation. Yet instinct told her that she'd already endured the worst of it, and she tried to take a consolation that at least that bridge had finally been crossed. And still the excitement and newness of it all was there. It was an experience, a sheer raw experience like nothing she'd ever known in her life, and gradually her vaginal muscles seemed to stretch and somehow adjust to the huge cock that was thrust deep up inside her. Her lubricating fluids mingled with the blood of her torn cherry to further slicken and moisten her cringing inner tightness, and as Bob released her wrists
and moved his hands back to the pliantly quivering swells of her breasts, she began to experience the first promise of actual pleasure she'd encountered since the initial ripping penetration had completely wiped out all her original erotic yearnings.
"Yes," she whispered at last almost in wonderment. "Yes, honey! Yes, that feels better. Yes, do it to me like that!"
Cautiously, the young bride lifted her buttocks up from the bed, rolling them in a gentle undulation and discovering that token cooperation did nothing to increase her lingering pain and certainly did not detract from the wisps of pleasure that were dancing miraculously out over her softly perspiring flesh. She dropped her arms downward, caressing softly over her husband's laboring shoulders and back, smothering soft kisses of love and gratitude on his face as she began to arch and hunch her nakedly squirming ass-cheeks more swiftly.
"Yes," she purred softly. "Yesss, do it to me. Fuck me!"
She said it, that word she never said in the presence of any man, that word which she'd spoken before only secretly to herself or to her most intimate girlfriends, that word that since her puberty had been for
her the source of so much guilt and dread and grudging fascination. She'd said it, somehow meant it in the delirium and excitement of the moment. And then before she knew it; Bob was racking her body with a series of shattering staccato lunges, grunting like an animal and pistoning the hardness of his cock so rapidly in and out of the still tender and burning hole of her pussy that the shear fury of the assault snapped her completely back to reality. And as she opened her eyes to stare up in shame and disappointment she saw the sudden sinking on his face, heard the soft swear word as he lost control and the first thick droplets of his hotly spurting cum went splashing far up into the depths of her belly.
"Oh please," Cathy whimpered, her body stiff and motionless beneath him as Bob continued the relentless slamming into her ravished inner thighs, building to a crescendo, then passing his peak, slacking gradually off until finally he sagged, exhausted and motionless on her.
"Cathy. Are you all right. Cathy. Cathy!"
Her husband's voice seemed to come to her ears from a great distance. Then suddenly she was snapped back to the present. She blinked, looking around at the torrent of blinding rain.
"What happened?" he said.
"Hunh?"
"What were you thinking about. You looked . . . gone."
"N-nothing," she replied, wondering why she couldn't just tell him the truth. "I was just . . . looking at the rain."
Chapter Two
Bob Mason squinted into the thick sheets of rain. Before them, a gasoline truck crept along at a snail's pace. Behind them, bearing down, was a semi with a load of new Fords. They passed, on their left, one of the better known vineyard's tasting room, a landmark he'd been looking for. Over the next rolling hill a large gray structure materialized gradually out of the storm, a giant old barn which long ago had lost all evidence of having ever worn a coat of paint. Faded letter's above the loft at one end of the structure read Dr. Jackson's Special Syrup, and advertisement dating
back to prohibition, for a cure-all medication, no longer existent, which like so many other medications of that period owed whatever success it had enjoyed to the fact that it consisted of something in the area of fifty percent alcohol. He put on the blinker to signal a left turn and slowed, waiting for a clearance in the oncoming traffic.
"Bob?" Cathy said beside him in a hesitant voice.
"Yeah, hon'?"
Out of the corner of his eye he saw a kind of desperation in her face.
"Do we really have to stop?"
"We don't have to, but there's no reason why not either? Why?"
"I don't know. The rain. Oh, I don't know."
In the other lane the line of the cars broke and he cut swiftly across onto a gravel road running between rows of vines. Before them loomed the gray shadow of the barn. Beyond it, up a hill, he could just make out the red brick ranch-style house that had replaced the old wooden home he'd known when he used to come here, as a small boy, with his father.
Relieved of the pressure of driving under these almost intolerable conditions on the congested highway, Bob sighed, glancing at his troubled young wife with a reassuring smile. He let his gaze drift slowly down the length of her slender body teasingly outlined in her loosely clinging cotton dress, then dropped his right hand
casually onto her thigh. He frowned as she tensed slightly beneath his touch.
"Watch the ditch," she said.
"I am watching the ditch." He glanced out at the deep drainage ditch that flanked the gravel road on his left, then squeezed Cathy's thigh and looked back at her strained but lovely face. "Relax, baby. Anyway, you must know the real reason I wanted to stop here? Hunh?"
"Well what do you think?"
"I don't know."
"Because I wanted to show you off to Giulio. I'm proud of you, nitwit."
She sat sulking, refusing to look at him. He squeezed her thigh again. Before them on the gravel road a small wooden bridge appeared. He slowed to cross it, noting that the little creek it crossed was flowing deep and swift, a torrent of swirling brown water.
"What's the matter?" he said, eyes again on his wife.
"Nothing." She stared straight ahead, sulking. Then suddenly her eyes widened. "Bob!"
He turned his own gaze back to the bending road, cut sharp to the right to avoid going into the ditch with the left front tire. He felt the tail-end spinning in the gravel and mud, swinging hard to the left. He tried to cut back that way to correct it. Beside him Cathy screamed. He had to cut again to the right. He could feel the car fish-tailing. There was a sudden drop, cut short, like a fall in a dream that stops suddenly when one awakes. They were stopped dead, tires still spinning, black smoke pouring from the rear of the car where the rubber burned. He jammed it into first, gave it gas. Nothing happened. He cursed under his breath and cut the engine, staring angrily ahead into the falling rain. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Cathy, glaring at him as if he's just confessed to some heinous crime.
"Damn it," he said finally, turning to look at her sheepishly.
"I knew it," she said.
He felt the anger surge in his chest, half at her, half at himself. "You knew what?"
"I knew something would happen if we stopped here. I felt it."
"Yeah. Well it's not the end of the world!"
He slung the door open and stepped suddenly out into the pouring rain, almost slipping into the ditch himself before he
seized the door handle to maintain his balance. He bent over and peered at the back rear tire, which sat completely off the road and into the ditch, washed over by the brown rushing water. He stood staring downward, as though oblivious to the storm. His gaze drifted slowly across the ditch and fixed at last on an old grayed piece of lumber lying there in the mud. Then he walked around the car, conscious of Cathy still glaring at him sulkily, leaped the ditch and retrieved the board and did his best to jam it up beneath the left rear tire. Then he jumped back over the ditch and moved around again to climb, soaking wet, back behind the wheel.
"I'll give it a try," he said. "But anyway it's not the end of the goddamn world. Giulio can tow us out with his tractor if he has to . . ." He paused, staring impatiently at his sulking wife. "Honey, what's the matter with you? Tell me."
"There's nothing the matter with me," she hissed, staring at him through eyes that were glossed with tears.
Then, as he started to reach out to touch her arm she suddenly flung the door open, jumped from the car into the sweeping rain, and started at a run up the road toward the barn. Bob cursed under his breath, staring after her for a moment, then angrily started the engine, jammed the transmission into first, and resumed the futile spinning of the tires.
Behind her Cathy could hear the racing of the engine. Instantly she felt drenched to the bone. Her heart was pounding so furiously she thought it would explode. A strange, involuntary animal sound issued from her throat, half the sound of breathing, half horrible lunatic wail. It was her breathing and her crying, merged as one entity, as though a primitive communication of a most horrible and primal despair. She was half running and half stumbling along in the blinding, wind-swept rain. Though her voice-breath said one thing, her mind was saying another, over and over and over, perhaps not really a separate thought, but rather a mental, silent and more sophisticated verbalization of the wail:
What's wrong with me, what's wrong with me, what's wrong with . . . ?
She felt her feet seem to fly from under her. The brown dirt and gravel of the road raced toward her face. She lashed out toward it in reflex, broke the fall and skidded on the hard pebbles and soft mud.
She got to her feet, hearing the engine racing behind her, looked back and saw that the car, with the black smoke pouring up from its rear, had not moved. Then she lunged onward, reached the wide front doors of the barn, pushed them open and slipped through.
Inside it was dark, at first almost pitch dark. Drenched, her thin cotton dress clinging to the sensuous curves of her flesh, she waited for her eyes to adjust. She gasped to catch her breath. The racing of the engine, already distant-sounding, suddenly ceased. She heard herself sobbing and with conscious effort she stopped it. The silence had a sudden thick quality, yet with it came upon her a strange sensation of peace. Around her, the interior of the barn was beginning to take shape. She was standing in a semi-circle of massive dark forms that gradually materialized as huge wooden barrels, wine barrels fifteen feet tall, eight or ten feet in diameter, oppressive, overbearing. The chant of thought in her mind progressed. She thought:
What did go wrong with me then? Why did I do that? Why did I talk to him that way, run out into the rain, lose . . . my mind?
Suddenly she felt tired and weak and cold. She squinted about in the darkness. On an upright wooden pillar that supported, or helped to support, the loft, she distinguished the switch and the electric wire that lead, she saw finally, to a naked light bulb hanging almost directly over her head. She stepped toward the switch and reached up to flick it on.
The jolt was like a crackling sound inside her own head transposed then to her lips in a sudden wretched cry as she fell straight backward onto the straw upon which an instant before she'd stood, the static tingles still running up and down her arm, the barn around her still dark as she lay stunned and trembling, realizing only then that what she'd just experienced was an electric shock that resulted from the fact that she had touched the light switch while she was soaking wet from her mad little dash in the rain.
Then still feeling dazed, she sat up, got to her feet, looked around as she heard the rustling of straw behind her. And then the phantom gray-brown shadow swept suddenly into the field of her vision, hooded and masked like a night-rider in the nightmare of a runaway slave, floating ghost-like down upon her as she screamed, retreated back against one of the tall round barrels, her hand lashing out. Her wrist was caught in a firm grasp, then her other wrist as she tried to lash with that hand. She shoved her knee up hard and heard a grunt as she made contact, then her body was shoved hard against the barrel by a hard male body pressed against hers. In the dim light she could see fierce-looking eyes glaring into hers. Her wrists were pinned back against the rough wood of the barrel. Realizing her helplessness, she let her body go limp. The man's face pressed closer to hers. She stared, wide-eyed, as his mouth covered over her lips, pressing hard, almost bruising them against her teeth. A low mewl issued from her throat. Again she strained to free her wrists; finding it still impossible, she again relaxed, resistance leaving her as her supple body pressed, almost melted into the body of the stranger who held her.
Then suddenly she was released. The hooded man stepped back. An instant later the doors of the barn flew open and Bob came tearing through and stopped, just inside, gaping, framed against the comparative brightness of the light behind him.
Breathless and trembling, Cathy stared at the man. As he pushed the hood of the raincoat from his head she saw that his hair was gray at the temples. His face was rugged, not handsome; it looked like chiseled stone. He was Bob's height, with massive shoulders that appeared even larger because of the heavy coat. In this light she could not see the color of his eyes, but she could feel them burning into her, almost consuming her, as if Bob, and the storm and the rest of the barn and the rest of the world even, did not exist. Then abruptly, he turned away.
"Who are you?" Bob said. "Who are you?"
"Why'd you scream?" Bob said to Cathy. "Did he - "The light switch. I tried to turn it on, and it shocked me."
"Twice?" Bob said, moving forward. "He . . . scared me," she said. "He came out of the dark."
The man turned and looked at her again, then turned back to Bob. She was still trembling all over, partly from the cold, partly from the fright she'd undergone, partly from the fluttering of excitement she felt down in her belly and loins.
"My father was a friend of Giulio's," Bob said. "We stopped to say hello and pick up some wine. Now who are you?"
"You mean old Martinelli," the stranger said. "He's in Hawaii."
"Hawaii?" Bob took another step forward. "Then what are you doing here?"
"This is my place. I bought it from the old man a couple of years ago."
There was a silence. Cathy looked at Bob. At the man. At Bob again. Then, with a deep sigh, Bob said:
"Oh."
Again all was quiet. She could still almost feel the man's body against hers, his hands holding her wrists, his lips crushing hard over her mouth. There was something animal about it, the way he'd grabbed her, held her. And she could almost have cried for shame at the illicit thrills it had somehow prompted to course through her loins.
"My name's Bailey," the man said. "I see your car's stuck." He glanced at Cathy, whose soaked dress clung almost transparently to her skin. "Look pretty well drenched too." He thought this over. "Come on up to the house; we'll straighten out over a glass of hootch an' figure out what to do about the rest of your problems."
"Yeah," Bob said. "All right, thanks."
Bailey started to pull off his raincoat. Cathy watched him lowering it from his shoulders, then realized it must be intended for her.
"No!" she said suddenly.
He hesitated, staring at her.
"No." She shook her head and turned away toward the door. "I don't need it; I'm already wet."
She walked before them out into the wind and the rain. She looked down once at the car, still sitting where it had been when she'd bolted from it, with the rear tire hanging over into the ditch. Then the men caught up to her and flanked her, one on either side, and with her eyes straight ahead she walked hurriedly between them, up the sloping road to the new ranch-style brick house. And as she walked she was thinking about what had happened just before Bob got to the barn, and not only about what had happened because that was easy enough: Bailey had frightened her, she'd fought him, he'd kissed her and subdued her and she'd stopped fighting him. But she was trying to understand what it meant - to herself, and wondering what it might have meant to him. And she knew that one way or another he must be thinking about
the same thing now, however it was men thought about things like that.
And Bob couldn't have been thinking about it, because he didn't even know about it. And though that wasn't really his fault, as there wasn't any way he could have known about it unless he was a mind-reader, she still couldn't help thinking of it as an ignorance on his part that set him apart from her and the stranger.
Chapter Three
They were greeted at the front door by a voluptuous green-eyed brunette who introduced herself as Sylvia, Bailey's wife, and called her husband Jack. Though it was not really cold Cathy was shivering from the dampness, and when Sylvia offered to get her something dry to wear she managed to stammer that what she would really like was a warm bath.
"That's a good idea," Sylvia said. "And I can throw your dress in the dryer while your there."
Sylvia led Cathy off one direction while Bob went with Jack Bailey in the other. At the door of the bathroom, the brunette told Cathy to hand her dress out so she could get it dried. Cathy stepped inside, pushed the door half shut and moved back so she would be obscured from the other woman's view, then quickly unbuttoned the dress of her brassiere-clad breasts, pushed it from her shoulders and let it drop from the flare of her hips, then retrieved it and handed it out. She listened to Sylvia's footsteps move away down the hail, then closed and latched the door, reached behind her back and deftly undid the snap to her bra, feeling her already pertly erected nipples tingle to even greater rigidity as she shed the bra-cups from her proud young breasts. Clad in nothing but her low-hanging panties, the slender blonde bent to start the hot water to run in the bath, then straightened up, hooking her thumbs into the elastic waistband to peel the skimpy little panties quickly down off her hips and thighs. Though the water hardly covered the bottom of the tub, she got immediately in, her bare golden skin prickling with goosebumps from the sharp contrast of the warm water of the bath and the cool dampness of her own sensitive flesh.
She settled completely down on her buttocks, relishing the sensation of the water rising quickly up between her thighs to lap right into the softly curling hairs of her cunt and her sensitive pink vaginal lips. Her brain still reeling from her stunning encounter down in the barn, she took the bar of soap and the wash cloth and began gently to scrub over her shoulders and underarms and breasts, using the washrag only as an excuse to indulge in an innocent and wistful self-caress, as she'd showered before they'd got on the road from the south in the morning.
My God, Cathy thought, she didn't think she'd ever experienced anything so abrupt and direct, so physical and animal, in the whole history of her relationship to the male sex. Not that so much had really happened. After all, he'd just kissed her and held her body close to his, and for all she knew it might have been nothing on his part but a way of subduing and calming her, as one might hug and kiss as a means of calming a a hysterical child. But that still didn't account for the look of ruthless anger and lust she'd seen in Jack Bailey's eyes when she'd tried to knee him in the groin. It was a look which she'd never seen anywhere else in her life, except perhaps in a movie, and the strange mingling of excitement and terror that had gripped her at the sight of it was something she'd rarely ever known - except, to a degree, at least, she reminded herself with a sudden surge of apprehension and regret, just before Bob had taken her cherished virginity on their wedding night.
That somber association startling her back from the dreamy reverie into which she'd been unconsciously drifting, Cathy replaced the soap in the tray, draped the washcloth over the edge of the tub, and sat silently staring down at the lush swells of her proudly upstanding breasts and, between them, the sleek smoothness of her belly and, lower, the almost awesomely beautiful triangle of the sparse, light brown hair of her cunt. The sight was for her now a bitter reminder of her unfulfilled sexuality, of the conjugal failure of her marriage. Even the fact that her thoughts of Bob had detracted her from those deliciously forbidden thoughts she'd been having about her earlier encounter in the barn served to instill in her a numb hostility toward her husband, and she knew that was a warning sign she shouldn't ignore. She knew now that the danger she'd sensed in the storm must have been a real premonition instead of idle fantasy. And she knew that it was imperative that she and Bob get away from here as soon as possible, before, on a foolish whim, she allowed something to happen that would only make things more difficult for their marriage in the long run.
And that, she told herself without conviction, was the thing that really should be concerning her now. Her marriage was what was important, and she couldn't give up on it just because everything hadn't been storybook wonderful during the first difficult month of adjustment. It was love, and a lasting relationship that mattered, not the raw excitement of one illicit, animal-like encounter with a man who seemed romantic and exciting only because she didn't know him.
Perhaps fifteen minutes had passed before Cathy heard the soft knock on the door and Sylvia Bailey said: "You're dress is dry. I'll hang it out here."
"Okay," she replied. "Thank you."
Cathy listened to the sound of the other woman's footsteps moving away down the hall, then lifted herself to a standing position in the tub and stepped quickly out. She retrieved the long bath towel that hung on the rack and began to pat softly over the moisture-beaded curves of her naked flesh, her eyes straying to the full-length mirror on the bathroom door as she did so. She brushed across the still rigidly erected little buds of her nipples, then rubbed the towel down the smooth plane of her belly, into the softly curling hair that covered her pubis, and finally straight up between her slightly parted thighs, the fluffy material scratching teasingly along the slit of her cunt, little shivers of forbidden pleasure darting through her body. Then, eyeing herself thoughtfully in the mirror, she released the towel with her right hand, letting it fall free of her thighs and hang to the floor.
It was crazy, she thought. The whole thing was just crazy. Here she was in this house belonging to two total strangers, two people she'd seen for the first time less than half an hour ago. Here she was, standing stark naked in their bathroom, questioning the whole foundation of her marriage which itself was less than a month old. Of course they weren't complete strangers, she reminded herself. At least in one way there had been a kind of recognition down in the barn when she'd been startled by Jack Bailey and ended up immediately in his arms, kissing him, melting her tender young body against his. It was almost as if she'd been waiting for him to fulfill the threat she'd perceived in the storm.
Quickly then, the naked blonde finished drying herself, replaced the towel on the rack, and carefully opened the door. Remaining concealed behind it, she reached around and retrieved her dress, which had been left hanging on the doorknob. She draped the dress across her arm, stooped to pick up her brassiere and panties, which she'd left where she dropped them on the floor. Realizing that they were both still soaking wet, she hesitated thoughtfully. That was so stupid of her, not having given them to Sylvia Bailey to dry along with her dress. Of course her own body heat would dry them soon enough, even if those wet bra-cups might be a little cold on her breasts at first. But until they were dry, she reasoned, she would be walking around with her dress quite noticeably moistened in two separate, distinct places - her buttocks and pubic area, and her breasts.
Not completely eluded by the irony of her little predicament, Cathy considered her alternative. And there was only one reasonable alternative - she could wear her dress without her brassiere and panties. Going braless in this day and age was not in itself that daring, of course, but even with a brassiere her shapely breasts, their ample size exaggerated by the slenderness of her torso and her arms, attracted more attention than she needed or cared for. The light colored print cotton dress, with buttons down the front, would be particularly revealing. And as for her panties, even though Bob and Jack Bailey and his wife didn't know she wasn't wearing them, she would know herself, and the very idea of walking around with her pussy bare, even bare beneath a knee length skirt was something Cathy had always considered indecent to the point of slutiness.
Yet now, an inner mischievousness lent the very indecency an appeal Cathy could hardly resist. And anyway, she wasn't going to walk around here freezing her nipples off for the time it took Bob to figure out how to get the car out of the ditch.
Smiling with secret girlish delight, Cathy carefully hung the bra and panties up to dry on the towel rack. Then, she stepped into the still-buttoned skirt of the dress, fitted her arms through the sleeves and pulled it over her shoulders. Still watching herself in the mirror, she left it open down the front for a moment, her eyes roving from the half exposed vee-triangle of her cunt up her now shadow-crossed belly to her full ripe breasts standing up in almost perfectly symmetry, with no need of artificial support. Then slowly she started to button it up, pulling the material together over the soft shadowy hair of her pubis, the dark hole of her navel, pulling it tighter and tighter against her breasts still standing out in naked freedom until finally she was obliged to lift the cloth over the points of her nipples, buttoning it tightly ever the still clearly outlined swells that strained against it and remained clearly outlined through the clinging cotton print.
Her finger moving up to the next button, just at the top of her breasts, Cathy paused again. She was acutely aware of her unfulfilled sexuality this evening. It seemed that everything had contrived to drive her into this state, the vivid memories that had excited and tormented her as they'd driven into the storm, the lurid encounter with Jack Bailey in the barn, the inner reflections she'd subjected herself to while naked in the bath, even that mild little oversight of having forgotten to give Sylvia Bailey her underwear to dry along with the dress. Then she shrugged, her hand dropping to her .side. If she was going to walk out of the bathroom looking like some hippie candidate for a pornographic film role, she might as well go all the way, and leave a little cleavage for whoever wanted to notice. And in any evens, after what had happened down in the barn, Jack Bailey probably thought she was nothing but a two bit whore, so why not let him nurture his erroneous conclusion. He could look as much as he wanted to. But he wasn't going to touch again, she decided with firm resolve.
Chapter Four
Cathy smoothed the skirt down over her thighs toward her knees, again reminded of the utter nakedness of her softly-haired little cunt just beneath the thin material. Then, bracing herself with a couple of low, deep breaths, she opened the door and walked out and down the hail. She walked slowly, conscious of the friction of the dress over her still peaked nipples and the gentle brushing-together of her sensitive inner thighs. She heard unintelligible conversation coming from somewhere near the other end of the house, followed the sound of it, and arrived at the entrance of a tastefully furnished, sunken den with a hard wood floor decorated by an enormous and luxurious bearskin rug.
Pausing, Cathy looked at her husband and at Jack Bailey, seated now like old friends at a mahogany table situated before a large picture window looking out on the darkened, stormy sky. Between them was a bottle of Bourbon and a bucket of ice. From the look on Bob's face she could tell that the tall drink in his hand was not his first. They weren't going to be getting the car out of the ditch now, it didn't appear, and she couldn't imagine they could have already done that during the brief time she'd been in the bath.
Cathy listened, still unnoticed as Bob finished what seemed to have been an explanation of their present situation:
"So now the honeymoon's over," he was saying, "we were on our way up to Eureka. I've got a clerk's job up there, with a logging company. And I guess Cathy will try to find something,, maybe part time."
"Looks like a nice kid," Bailey said.
"Yeah, I got myself a real winner with Cathy," Bob said with a possessive pride that somehow she found not the least bit pleasing now. "She's a real doll. I guess I was pretty lucky to land her."
But now Cathy hardly heard. Jack Bailey, as though sensing her presence, had turned suddenly to stare straight into her eyes. Then, his face almost expressionless, that steel gaze somehow at the same time detached and ruthlessly penetrating, he let his eyes drift slowly down the length of her body. They lingered with a humiliating, almost clinical interest on the teasingly revealed swells of Cathy's proud young breasts, taking them in fine detail. Then his gaze moved slowly lower, down over her belly to focus right between her thighs, now so intent Cathy couldn't help wondering if somehow he could see that she wasn't wearing her panties. And by the time he looked back at her face, the desire to tease that had supported her when she'd left the bathroom had completely deserted her. She felt instead, frail and vulnerable, a little silly and, in the presence of this strange and compelling man, dreadfully overexposed.
Then Bob turned to see what Jack Bailey was looking at and his eyes almost bugged out of their sockets at the sight of his beautiful young wife standing there in the doorway. Somehow, her husband's surprise lent Cathy a faint semblance of composure. She ignored Bailey, met Bob's stunned and gawking gaze, and walked slowly forward.
Bailey rose as she neared the table. "Whiskey, or something else? We got nearly anything you might want."
"No, n-nothing now," Cathy said, passing him to sit down across the table from Bob and kitty-cornered to the place he'd occupied at the head of the table. Outside there was another flashing of lightning, followed swiftly by thunder that was much closer than before. She stared at Bob, who was still gawking back at her breasts. "What are you doing? What about the car?"
"We're not going back out in that," he said, nodding out the window. "Anyway, Giulio must have sold his tractor before Jack bought this place, because he doesn't know anything about it. So it's gonna be a neat little trick getting the car out, even when things do clear up."
Bob stopped, shrugged, took another drink. Again Cathy experienced that vague sensation of being on the "inside" while Bob was locked Out. He was drinking with and calling by the first name a man who had just made the crudest sort of approach to her. She knew it, Bailey knew it; Bob did not know it and she felt no inclination to tell him, though in the back of her mind she knew that was exactly what a good wife would do. But Bob was obviously getting a little drunk. He was naively unsuspecting. It made her feel slightly contemptuous, and it was a feeling that now, for some reason, she relished. None of which, of course, solved the real problem of how they were going to get back on the road.
"So what are we going to do?" she asked finally, still cautiously avoiding Bailey's eyes. "We can't just sit here getting soused all night."
"Why not?" Jack Bailey asked.
"Jack and Sylvia have offered to put us up," Bob went on.
Cathy didn't even try to conceal the alarm that flashed on her face, yet beyond the alarm there was another emotion manifested in her initial silent reaction to this new development that should have only added to her anxiety. But in a curious, almost perverse way, she found the idea appealing. Moments ago, as she'd emerged from the bathroom, the memory of Jack Bailey's mouth on her lips and hands on her body still a vivid presence in her mind, she'd thought that she would now enjoy a brief game, which shortly would end, and she and her husband would go on their way. Now, according to what Bob had just said, she was going to be forced to play her game a lot longer than she had expected. And though deep down inside she knew she was baiting the devil, she was still highly tempted by the idea.
"Sylvia's got a ham in the oven," Bailey said. "And there's plenty of room. We built the house big."
From his eyes, now that she did look at him, Cathy could learn nothing. Now his expression seemed to deny even the memory of what had happened before.
"But . . ." Cathy began, and didn't finish.
"You might as well have a drink," the gray-templed man went on.
Cathy hesitated momentarily, then nodded. "Yes."
"Vodka collins," Bob put in.
Again she hesitated. Bailey was waiting. "No," she said, shifting slightly in her seat. "I'll have a . . . dry martini."
"Make that two." Sylvia Bailey, her smiling face beaming, walked briskly into the room. She took brief note of the slight change in Cathy's mode of apparel; she looked Bob over, obviously pleased; and when she turned back, Cathy couldn't help but notice, Sylvia was watching very closely to see where his attention would go. It went, after a brief exchange of thoughtful glances on their part, to Cathy.
Self-conscious, secretly thrilled, Cathy waited as the older man brought her drink. She accepted it and drank eagerly of the almost straight glass of gin. Almost the moment the burning aftertaste had left her lips she felt the first faint lightening in her head. Now, she knew, she was really playing with fire. She could drink vodka and control herself fairly well. But gin was something else.
Chapter Five
A thin haze of smoke hung over the room. On the table were the remains of a Virginia ham, sweet potatoes, strawberry short cake with whipped cream, empty wine bottles, spilled wine glasses that left violet stains on the white table cloth. Outside the rain fell in a patter that was soft, almost musical. Cathy sat on one end of the couch. She held a tall cocktail glass between the thumb and forefinger of her right hand, held it up before her face and stared into it, turning it slowly, as though hypnotized by it.
Bob's body was in the bent "sitting" position, but he was horizontal beside her, his head in her lap. Several minutes earlier he had begun to snore. Across the room, Sylvia Bailey reclined in a leather-covered easy chair, her hands clasped behind her neck to arch her full voluptuous breasts, her skirt hiked up her thighs almost to her panties. At the window, Bailey was pacing slowly back and forth, drink in hand.
Then abruptly he stopped and turned and looked at Cathy. "I'll help you get your boy there to bed."
"Yes. Thank you," Cathy said. She slipped from her place on the couch, letting Bob's head fall onto the cushion where she'd sat. She turned toward Sylvia. "It was a fine meal. I had . . . a nice time. Good night, Sylvia."
Sylvia Bailey smiled. "Night, Cathy."
Bailey reached the couch, stopped and hoisted Bob without apparent effort onto his shoulder. Bearing him like a sack of grain, he went out the door and down the hall. Cathy looked back once more at Sylvia, then followed him Out, walking behind him down the hall to the guest bedroom where she and Bob were to sleep. She caught up to him and opened the door to let him in. He bent and dropped Bob on the bed, straightened up and stood looking down at him. Bob stirred, moaned, curled into the fetal position and was silent.
Bailey turned slowly to Cathy, standing just inside the door with her back to the wall. Her long blond hair, now dry, hung freely over her shoulders. Sometime during the night another of the buttons at the front of her dress had come loose; now it was parted almost to her nipples. She was breathing hoarsely, heavily. Her head was spinning from the alcohol she'd drunk. The fluttering in her stomach, as his eyes moved slowly down her body, was like a beating of wings. Then he walked slowly toward her.
"No." She formed the word with her lips and shook her head. She started to move back into the open doorway, but his arm moved up to the facing to block her escape. Then his strong body was hard against hers, pinning her against the wall. His lips crushed again over hers, his tongue thrusting deep into her open mouth, his other hand dropping down to cup full over one of her ripe young breasts on the outside of her dress. He pressed his body hard against her, driving her against the wall, the bulging erection of his cock tenting up hard in his trousers to press right against the soft mound of her pussy protected by nothing but the thin material of her dress.
Squirming helplessly, Cathy could not have resisted if she wanted to. He was too strong for her, and even as she felt his hand tugging the material of her dress aside so that suddenly her naked breast popped free, there was nothing she could do to escape. Then she felt his hand press back over her nakedly exposed nipple, his finger and thumb squeezing the little bud so hard it was all she could do to resist crying out aloud from the sheer sensation, and a moment later she felt his other hand moving down her body, seizing the hem of her dress to start to tug it slowly upward off her long slender thighs and the tightly clenched half moons of her ass.
"Oh God, no, please!" Cathy moaned into her powerful aggressor's mouth, her legs almost going weak from her building unwanted desire as her skirt inched higher and higher off her buttocks and suddenly she felt Bailey's thigh pressing right against the mound of her softly haired pubis and the nakedly tingling little bud of her completely unprotected clitoris. Then he shoved his hand up beneath the skirt, his fingers coming suddenly in contact with the cleft cheeks of her ass, darting straight up between her thighs from behind to stroke right along the already lustfully moistened slit of her cunt.
Cathy saw the surprise in Bailey's eyes as he drew back to look down into her own frightened and lasciviously excited face. She thought she could have almost gone out of her mind from the contact of his hands on her sensitive flesh. He was holding her helplessly in his strong arms, now almost smirking into her eyes, his finger lying right along her hair-lined little cunt slit. It had been waiting there for him, completely naked and unprotected beneath her skirt. And she felt like crying from shame at the realization that for all he knew she might have had it that way on purpose.
Then a half-stifled whimper rose in the pinioned blonde's throat as she felt Bailey push his hand even farther up between her thighs from the rear, carefully parting her flanged pussy lips so that the long middle finger thrust suddenly right up into the entrance of the quivering little vaginal hole. She shook her head desperately, whipping her hair wildly over her shoulders, but short of crying for help and waking up her husband or alerting Bailey's wife there was nothing she could do to resist. And every minute her very will to do so was growing weaker and weaker. He was still grinning down into her face; his hand was still wedged tight between her thighs; and with a relentless pressure he was working that penetrating finger deeper up into her warmly yielding flesh.
"Oh God," Cathy gasped finally aloud as she felt the ravaging finger penetrate to the last knuckle.
Bailey moistened his lips, watching the unwillingly aroused young blond with almost sadistic relish, slowly withdrew the finger and rammed it swiftly in again, repeating this gesture until he was finger-fucking straight in and out the now freely lubricated cuntal slit. Before him Cathy swayed and trembled, her mind reeling by the very salaciousness and depravity of it all. She could feel her resolve weakening, her body responding as though of its own satanical accord, her flesh crying out for more and more of the relentless masculine aggression some perverse secret part of her could not help but want. Then, just as she experienced far up in the most secret depths of her loins that first strange tremoring that seemed to promise that magic she had never known, she heard a low moan across the room and her sudden shame and fear seemed to snap her completely back from the heights of joy to which she seemed almost on the verge of ascending.
Bailey must have heard the moan too, for he half-turned to look over his shoulder. And as a kind of instinctive reaction, she seized the inherent opportunity of the diversion, grabbing his wrist suddenly and forcing his hand down from between her thighs, moving to the right along the wall to slip free of him. He whirled back, and in spite of the stab of near pain she felt far into the depths of her loins, she shied away as he reached out to grab her. Then, as he stalked toward her she retreated to the only relatively safe place she could think of in the room. She backed to the bed, dropped down at the head of it and took her sleeping husband's head back in her lap, bending over to hug it lovingly to her breasts. For her efforts she got the slightest stirring of his legs. But that was enough. Bailey stopped.
He glared at her, his slightly reddened eyes like twin fountains of animal lust. "I know you want it," he whispered. Then without another word he turned and walked out of the room.
Chapter Six
Legs weak, head spinning, Cathy pulled her skirt back down over her naked buttocks and thighs, stumbled to the door and watched Jack Bailey disappear into the darkness down the hall. Her breath was coming in hoarse strained gasps; an electric tingling darted over the nerve-ends of her flesh; down between her thighs she could feel a dribbling of feminine lubricant moisture which issued from her lust tortured little cunt, which now seemed to spasm in its own deep inner frustration. My God, she felt like she'd almost been on the verge of actually cumming if Bob's groan hadn't disturbed her and snapped her back to reality. And now she was left with a dull gnawing she thought would physically drive her out of her mind if she didn't have some kind of relief, and a mental guilt and frustration that made her almost regret the attractive feminine body and unspiritual animal sexuality which the Good Lord seemed to have sadistically blessed her.
At last, with a heaving sigh, the distraught young blonde turned away from the doorway and walked back to the bed where her husband lay in drunken oblivion. She looked at his face, young, clean shaven, again handsome in sleep though earlier in the evening he'd been wearing an expression of absolute drunken idiocy. And somehow she, in spite of all the gin she'd imbibed, in spite of the fact that she was very drunk - and she was drunk, she told herself; what had just happened here would never have happened if she'd been sober - she'd somehow stayed on her feet, stayed alert contrary to the very laws of nature, as though there were an energy and drive in her which had allowed her to overcome what should have been enough alcohol to put her flat on her back in her own oblivious stupor.
And now she was still awake, alert. She felt as if there was something swarming in her very veins. And nothing to do, nothing to do but sleep, or lie awake, or pace the room, and wait for morning when somehow, perhaps even against her secret wishes, she and Bob could get away from here before something really terrible happened.
Cathy turned away from her sleeping husband and walked to the window, pulled the curtain aside and stared restlessly out into the night, where now the rain was falling steadily, where there was silence except its endless patter, as though it were a peaceful washing-over to smooth out the havoc of the storm. She turned and looked back at the bed. Bob shifted in his sleep.
"Well," she said to herself, "I guess the least I can do is undress him and put him under the covers."
She walked back and sat down at the foot of the bed and took one of his feet and began to undo the lace of his shoe. She removed that shoe, unlaced and removed the other, then the socks. She gazed up the length of his body to his face, then let her eyes rove back downward to come to rest finally on his crotch where, though he by no means had an erection, she could distinguish nonetheless an ample bulging of his trousers caused by his big limber cock. Then, her hand trembling slightly, she reached up and deftly loosened his belt, unbuttoned his trousers and peeled the zipper slowly down. Her heartbeat slightly hastening she pulled his jockey shorts
down off the flaccid shaft of cockflesh, her fingers entwining tightly around it, moving in a slow up-and-down jack-off motion along the length of the thick rubbery cock.
After a moment, as Bob groaned and again shifted on the bed, Cathy abruptly ceased the movement of her hand. She let the now slightly distended penis slip from her hand and flop down against her husband's belly. She stood up, her hands moving up to caress teasingly over her own breasts on the outside of her dress, the soft contact causing her nipples to leap visibly to erection beneath the clinging material. She paced to the window and looked out, turned away and paced to the door and looked down the dark corridor. She needed something to do, something to occupy her, to get her sanely through this night.
"Let's see," she whispered. She smiled suddenly, and continued, speaking at a whisper, almost deliriously to herself:
"I know! My bra and panties. They must be dry by now, so I'll go get them and put them on and then at least . . . I won't have that problem of running around here like this . . . Tomorrow . . . morning."
She glanced quickly back at Bob, lying still on his side of the bed in the same position and same state of undress she'd left him - barefoot, trousers open at the crotch, jockey shorts pulled down to. expose his hairy groin, his soft cock, his balls. Then, tiptoeing in order to avoid attracting the attention of - Sylvia and Jack Bailey, she started away down the hall in the direction of the bathroom, feeling her way cautiously along in the darkness.
Cathy had gone perhaps twenty paces, when she was suddenly startled by a low feminine moan from somewhere in this end of the house.
"Emmmmmmnnnnnn, baby! Come on, brute! Hey, what . . . what's the matter?"
Cathy had stopped, frozen to sudden immobility. Of course the voice was Sylvia's; she was talking to her husband, Jack. Cathy hadn't missed the lustful strain in her voice, which she now almost positively identified as having come from the den. And the den was just near the end of this corridor, to the left off a large entrance way, where there was no door. The aroused and curious young blonde could have almost screamed aloud at the suggestion that realization caused to pop into her mind. My God, she could stand here and listen to them to her heart's content. She could even watch them, if she wanted to, and the idea that she could even think of such a thing should have been enough to warn her she was really in danger of slipping beyond the limits of decency.
And yet the very depravity of it seemed only to fill her with a perverse and compelling relish. And at the same time she could feel her curiosity sharpening almost beyond the point of resistance. And finally, she added in deft rationalization, she might even be able to learn something of value. Sylvia Bailey certainly didn't look like an unfulfilled woman, just as Jack didn't look - or act, Cathy added with another twinge of inward guilt - like a man who would leave a woman unfulfilled. And if, by watching them, she could learn something that would be useful in solving her and Bob's own problems, then perhaps her unbecoming action of a few moments ago would somehow be justified in the end.
But even then, Cathy hesitated a moment longer, seesawing back and forth between the concept of what she wanted to do and what she thought she should do. But if there had been any slight possibility her conscience would win out over temptation, that possibility was completely rubbed out of existence by Sylvia's next remark:
''It's the girl, isn't it?"
Cathy waited, still frozen. Her heart was pounding furiously in her breast, and Sylvia's words, which by their sound had been spoken matter of factly, and without malice or spite, echoed in her ears, over and over again and again as though it were not just Sylvia but a multitude of voices that had spoken.
And Bailey hadn't replied.
"Come on, Jack," Sylvia went on, almost at a purr. "I can see it in your eyes. You've got the hots for that little bitch, and I can't even say that I blame you. But you've really got it bad this time, haven't you baby? Haven't you?"
Almost without realizing it, Cathy had begun to move slowly again along the corridor toward the sound of Sylvia's voice, as though she were hypnotized by her words and by the spaces of Jack Bailey's silent responses in between.
"I'm not blind honey. This time it's different. So go ahead. You have . . . my blessing."
"What do you mean, your blessings?" Jack asked and now somehow just the sound of his voice caused a chill to go darting down the excited and shocked young blonde's spine.
"I mean I'll understand," Sylvia went on in the same lusty voice. "I'll understand as long as you understand."
"As long as I understand what?"
"I'm not going to sit back and twiddle my thumbs through all this. I can get restless too. And the husband's a good-looking young man. Strong looking."
Cathy couldn't have been more stunned if she'd been bit over the head with a hammer. They were actually making a deal, a bargain of the flesh. And she and Bob were the barter. My God, they must have felt like spiders watching jumbo grasshoppers wading into their webs when she and Bob had turned up on their land, and she knew that if she had any last remnant of decency and rationality in her own being she would turn around right now, go back to the bedroom and wake Bob up and let him hear for himself what their foul-minded host and hostess wanted to plan for them. Then he would understand why she hadn't wanted to come here, or stay here, and maybe he would be motivated to take some steps to get their car out of the ditch and get them away from this terrible place.
But Bob of course was passed out, drunk, and she'd already decided that he wasn't going to be awakened any time soon. And Cathy hadn't even slowed down. In fact, she'd hastened her silent pace, tiptoeing now swiftly along the wall toward the bend in the corridor, from where she would not only be able to overhear what was going on in the den, but actually look in and observe the expressions on the older couple's faces as they continued their shocking and outrageous discussion.
"But it's not going to be tonight," Sylvia Bailey went on in her same purring, mocking voice. "You were in there too long. If you could have made it you already would have. Tonight you're stuck with me."
There was a moment's silence, another low, feminine moan, then Jack Bailey's voice saying: "Cut it out, Sylvia."
There was another silence. Sylvia's laughter, lusty, mocking. She said: "Come on, sleepy head. Wake up."
My God, Cathy thought in horror. Was that man so crass he could be sleeping through this?
Then she was slapped mockingly in the face with her own sheer naivet� as she rounded the corner of the corridor, gazed lavish, sunken lounge, and found herself staring straight ahead at the real object of Sylvia's last puzzling remark.
She hadn't been talking to Jack Bailey. She'd been talking to his cock!
The innocent young blonde almost collapsed to her knees as she took in the lurid scene that greeted her. The lights in the den had been turned down very low, so she could see them clearly enough without worrying about them seeing her. The table had been partially cleared off; new drinks had been made and served. Jack Bailey sat on the fold-back leather easy chair, his legs propped luxuriously up. Sylvia, naked to the waist so that her amber-hued breasts shined as if slickened with oil in the dim light of the room, was kneeling slave-like on the floor beside him, her face bent over his loins so her long dark hair spilled in cascades down over his groin. But through the long black locks Cathy could see that his trousers had been undone and unzipped, the same way she'd done Bob's a little earlier. Jack's cock, also soft, was cupped tightly in Sylvia's hand. She, like Cathy a few minutes before, was moving her hand in a teasing up-and-down stroking motion along the limber shaft of flesh. Where Bob had been out unconscious, but restlessly stirring, Jack Bailey was sitting rigid in his chair, glaring down with a look of violence and contempt that almost made Cathy shudder to think of it. And there was one other even greater difference between this little scene and the one in which she had participated with her unconscious husband a few moments ago in their room.
She'd always thought of Bob's cock as being huge, but Jack Bailey's was gigantic! It was like a baseball bat, or a policeman's Billy club, or like some pagan phallic statue, blood filled, red-purple tipped, a thick dark cudgel looming from a bush of curling black pubic hair that stood up like a jungle between his hairy thighs, a full seven or eight inches in length now and, though Cathy could hardly believe her eyes, growing by the second.
Then the stunned young blonde received an even greater jolt to her innocence as Sylvia Bailey flicked her tongue from her mouth to moisten her voluptuous lips in what appeared to be a gesture of genuine relish. And as Cathy gawked in unbelieving astonishment, the excited brunette dropped her face lower, her tongue darting snake-like downward to flick right across the slickly glistening head of Jack Bailey's cock, darting right into the little slitted eye-like hole at the tip.
And as though in programmed response, the still limber length of cock flesh stiffened and distended another fraction of an inch, the head taking on an even darker hue as the blood rushed to fill it. A low moan of approval rose from Sylvia's throat, and she twirled her tongue teasingly around the end of her husband's gradually swelling cock, lashing it gently and expertly toward an erection the trembling blonde in the doorway didn't even know if she wanted to see for herself.
"Cut it out," Bailey grunted. "I told you I'm not in the mood."
"But I'm going to get you in the mood," Sylvia purred, ducking her head suddenly downward, ovalling her lips to slip them right over the swelling cocktip and caused the shaft to distend and thicken even more.
Chapter Seven
Cathy stood mesmerized, unable to turn away from the compelling exhibition in spite of all of her shame and fear and moral indignation at witnessing such a perverted exhibition. She'd heard of women who used their mouths to perform the function for which another more specialized part of their body had been created. She'd accepted what she'd heard as fact, but some defense mechanism in her mind had prevented her from actually confronting the finer details of the act. Now here she was face to face with it, not in her imagination but in real life, and she almost recoiled from the very shock of it all. She could only console herself with the knowledge that apparently Jack Bailey was just as much against what Sylvia wanted to do as Cathy was herself, and she thought that at least on that level she might have misjudged him. But in spite of all her abhorrence, she couldn't force herself to turn away. She was trapped, as a spectator, seemingly as irrefutably as Bailey himself was trapped as a participant. And in spite of all her revulsion - or perhaps as a perverse outgrowth of the very revulsion itself - Cathy, like Bailey, was becoming more and more excited by what she saw.
In the dim light of the den, Sylvia's lust strained face again bobbed up away from the now upright cock that pointed so eagerly toward her mouth, and as she lifted her succulently rounded lips up off the now saliva-glistening head, the shaft of her husband's penis lengthened even further, almost as though in pursuit of the contact it had been so suddenly denied. Teasingly she again swept her tongue over the tip. A low animal groan rose from Bailey's throat. His face flushed and contorted with wrathful animal lust, and as Cathy gaped in trembling incredulity., the frightening instrument lunged suddenly to fully pulsing erection. Then, before she could even sort out in her mind the immense physical proportions of the freakish phallus exhibited there before her, one of Bailey's hands dropped down to the back of Sylvia's neck, suddenly forcing her head downward even as he lunged his own buttocks up from the fold-out easy chair. And with a swift driving lust he buried almost the full length of the enormous shaft of his cock straight up into his wife's mouth and throat.
"Aaaggghhhh! Ugggghhhhh!" Sylvia gagged, obviously choking on the huge cock that had been thrust so forcibly into her mouth. This was obviously even more than she had bargained for, and in spite of all her previous disapproval of the other woman's lascivious and unbecoming action, Cathy couldn't quell the sympathy for the other woman that welled strongly in her breast. My God, that must be killing her. Bailey's cockhead must be embedded all the way to her tonsils, and still he appeared to be pushing downward on the back of her neck as though demanding she take it even deeper. It was unheard of for a man to subject a woman to such torture and degradation, and though she'd never been an activist in the movement for liberation of her sex, Cathy now felt almost compelled to try to do something to help out her fellow female. And short of that, she told herself half-deliriously, she could at least make a vow that she would enact any vengeance possible on behalf of her own downtrodden female sex where this oppressive and over-endowed male was concerned.
Yet even as Cathy's conscious mind rebelled against what she saw, her body was responding differently. She was burning feverishly all over, her skin covered with a thinly beaded coat of feminine perspiration. The moisture was again flowing up between her thighs and her breath was coming in almost audible gasps. In her subconscious mind flashed vivid recollections of the way it felt to have Bailey's hands mauling over her body like she was a helpless rag doll, his long middle finger skewering forcibly up into the quivering tightness of her tight little cunt. She could remember the feeling so clearly that she could almost feel it even now, and
it was without really thinking of what she was doing that Cathy reached down to the hem of her skirt, drawing it slowly upward to bunch it at her waist and completely expose her nakedly clenching buttocks and the softly-haired lubricating warmth of her vagina, then press her hand protectively up between her thighs right across the moistly palpitating little clit.
"Oooohhhhhhh. Uuggghhhhhhh!" Sylvia moaned in the den before her, bobbing her head now slowly up and down along the straining saliva-coated length of her husband's cock as he squirmed his buttocks up and down on the cushions of the chair. One of Sylvia's hands was still entwined tightly around the base of his cock. Now the other dropped down to tug at the zipper of her own skirt, parting it and working the garment quickly down off the smoothly rounded panty-clad cheeks of her ass.
And as Cathy occupied her conscious mind with the enthralling and sordid display being staged before her, her hand seemed to move of its own accord, pressing even more tightly up between her thighs over the naked hair-lined lips of her cunt to find sudden wantonly stimulating contact right over the palpitating little nerve-end of her clitoris. She didn't even think about what she was doing. It just felt good and for that reason she left it there, pressing her finger harder and harder into the narrow crevice of her succulently moistened pussy to cause a heated throbbing sensation to race anew upward through her belly. All the flames of her previous unfulfilled desire were being re-ignited, and the movements of her finger up and down the trembling slit of her cunt and over the lust-erected little bud of her clitoris were just an unintentional result of her natural physical needs and physiological responses to her unconscious self-stimulation.
Sylvia had somehow managed to get out of her skirt without even breaking the rhythm of her wanton cocksucking. Now she was tugging her panties off with even greater urgency, and she no longer appeared to even protest the obscene use of her mouth. She was sucking wantonly and with hungry relish, prompting low groans of untamed animal excitement from her husband's throat as she drove her lust-contorted face straight down into the thick bush of his pubic hair to take his surging cockshaft all the way to the hilt into her voluptuous lips.
"Emmmmmnnnnn. Aaaahhhhhh!" she mewled around the surging pole of flesh, picking up the rhythm so that her head bounced up and down in abandoned fury along its straining lust-filled hardness. Her cheeks bloated out, swelling and hollowing as she sucked in sluttish submission up and down the full length of the throbbing blood-filled rod. Sylvia's hands dipped down between his thighs to massage his weighted, sperm-laden balls, and though Cathy could hardly comprehend how it could be, it was becoming apparent that Sylvia was deriving her own equal share of stimulation from the perverted act she was performing. She was being fucked in the mouth, and she was liking it.
Cathy sucked her breath in hoarsely, her eyes riveted on the lewd spectacle before her as she parted her hair-fringed cunt-lips and her middle finger distended and started to worm slowly up into the folds of warmly clasping inner vaginal flesh. The whole day had just been too much, a series of separate stimulating encounters, both on physical and psychological levels, and though she'd never really experienced complete sexual relief she had, at last, felt on the verge of it. Now she thought she would die if she didn't have it. And she was willing to do whatever she had to do in order to attain it, indulge herself shamelessly in voyeurism, indulge herself even in masturbation.
Then, as Cathy began to work her finger swiftly in and out of the tightly clinging little hole of her cunt, her eyes almost bugged out at the next stage of the sex-show taking place before her in the den.
With a sudden animal growl Jack Bailey placed both his hands on the back of Sylvia's head, pressing down until once more his gigantic cock was wedged to the hilt into her mouth. He held her head buried against his loins, smothering her in the thick bush of his pubic hair as he arched his buttocks up from the chair and shivered his whole lower body violently against her face. The cruelly ravished brunette gagged and gurgled in unresisting submission, and though now she was obsessed with her voyeuristic role and with her own rapid finger-fucking in and out of her insatiable little cunt, Cathy again wondered if it wasn't her duty to make some move to help Sylvia.
Then, just as she thought she was on the verge of moving to help the other woman, Jack Bailey dug his fingers into Sylvia's hair and jerked her face violently upward so the straining hardness of his cock sprang free from her mouth, smacking with a loud smack against his belly, looking bigger and redder and even more menacing than it had before. Gasping to catch her breath, Sylvia waited kneeling on the floor beside the chair. His face still contorted with his animal anger and lust, Bailey put both hands against her naked shoulders, gave her a shove and sent her sprawling backwards on the bearskin rug. Then, pushing his trousers down to clutch at his ankles and almost completely reveal the hairy lower half of his body, he stood up, towering over her like a master over a slave.
"Yes, Jack," Sylvia moaned from her writhing position on the rug. "Yes, come on. Fuck me."
But Bailey wasn't even looking at her. He was staring straight ahead, where Cathy stood open-mouthed and paralyzed, thinking any minute he would come stalking towards her. She held her ravaging middle finger poised deep inside her own burning loins. And during that indefinable time she didn't even dare to breathe. Then a low sigh escaped his throat as his eyes again dropped to his nakedly waiting wife. He dropped to his knees before her on the rug, his cock still looming up in frightening erection from his loins as he contemplated her waiting body. As he reached down, his hands mauling over her breasts and torso before, in a sudden violent motion, he rolled her forcibly over on her belly, Cathy drew her finger slowly out of her vagina and then rammed it back swiftly inward, her thumb resuming its frantic tweaking over the throbbing bud of her clitoris and her legs almost buckling from her building excitement. On the floor of the den Sylvia was being pushed into the most humiliating sexual posture she'd ever seen, propped on her elbows with her breasts cushioned on the coarse fur of the bearskin rug, her knees doubled beneath her body, her buttocks thrust high in the air. Bailey was levering up behind her, positioning his loins right against her upthrust buttocks as she trembled and shivered before him. Then with a mighty grunt he lunged his body forward and Cathy almost cried out aloud at the humiliated brunette's sudden whimpering verbal response.
"Bailey! That's my asshole!"
Asshole, Cathy thought, blinking in astonishment as the brunette moaned and lurched her body forward in retreat.
"I know it's your asshole," Jack Bailey growled, his hands slipping beneath Sylvia's thighs to pull her buttocks backward even farther than they'd been before. He held himself poised behind her for a moment, then again lunged forward
And this time there was no retreat.
"Aaagggghhhhhhhh!" Sylvia cried out, her teeth gritting, her face contorting with lust. For a moment she trembled and whimpered before him. Then, as Cathy gawked with even greater astonishment and disgust, she heaved out a low, satisfied sounding sigh: "Ahhhhhhhh, yesssssssssss. That's it, easy."
Cathy was almost going out of her mind. My God, as if Bailey's nine inch cock wasn't big enough to rip her pussy apart, he'd insisted on giving it to her in the ass. And not only was she not fighting back, she was liking it. It was almost too much to believe, and yet the visions of pain and sensation it prompted in Cathy's still relatively innocent young mind were too much for her to deny. The thought of having something like that ripping her apart at the seams the way it must be doing to Sylvia now was causing a perverse masochistic stirring up in the depths of her loins and of her own cherished and untouched little anus that went far beyond anything else she'd experienced during this whole long weird night, and even as she stood staring from the shadows at the act of sodomy being performed before her wide, watery eyes, Cathy was now masturbating herself to a peak of frenzy.
Her thumb moved swiftly back and forth across the throbbing bud of her clitoris, her extended middle finger plunging rapidly in and out of the hair-ringed opening of her cunt, her third finger venturing curiously back between her buttocks to stroke over the tight clenched aperture of her own cringing anus. Her breath was coming in short guttural gasps, one following swiftly upon the other like the panting of a dog after a long run. And standing with her bare feet set wide apart on the floor, her dress unbuttoned almost to her navel to reveal the dark shadowy cleavage between her proud young breasts, her skirt bunched up around her waist, her thighs spread out almost frog-like from the semi-squatting position she'd assumed in order to facilitate her greedy self-stimulation, her eyes glazed and wild, her mouth slack and open, her tongue hanging out as though parched by thirst, she would have served as visual competition even for the wildly ass-fucking couple performing for her, had there been another impartial audience to make a choice between the two separate acts.
Now Sylvia's whole body was twisting and writhing in exquisite masochistic response to the painful penetration of Bailey's cock which was sawing ruthlessly in and out of her rectum. Her moaning was almost continuous, enough to drown out the sound of Cathy's panting and periodic sympathetic whimpers, and it was with a kind of terrified fascination that the vicariously aroused young blonde watched the huge cock skewering again and again in the kneeling woman's ravished anal tract. It plundered her rectum mercilessly, its full horrifying length almost disappearing completely as Bailey's groin slammed down hard against the waggling cushions of her ass, his pubic hair matting down into the sensitive crack between them and the heavy sac of his testicles slapping in counter rhythm against the dripping pinkness of her cunt.
And in spite of all her own inexperience Cathy could see that both husband and wife were building swiftly toward their peak. He was hammering in and out of her licentiously expanded back passage like a wild animal in heat, and she was taking every inch of his enormous cock. Cathy would have closed her eyes to blot out the sight if she'd retained a thread of decency and pride, but by now she was so caught up in her voyeuristic eavesdropping that she didn't want to miss a minute of the show. Nor could she do anything to control the helpless reaction of her own lustfully aroused young body. She was trembling from head to toe, masturbating frenziedly and without shame, no longer concerned even with maintaining her silence. Nothing mattered now but the lurid scene before her and the heightening tremors of lust and excitement that coursed over her own half naked flesh. The maddening fire in her seething vagina was raging out of control and the erotic gasps of pain and pleasure issuing from the sodomized woman in the other room were torturing her almost as much as the merciless violation of her anus must be torturing Sylvia. The young blonde was lost in a libidinous spiral of sensual passion, sinking to heretofore unknown depths of depravity, the moans and whimpers pouring from her throat as she continued to masturbate herself to even greater arousal.
Then, as she felt a deep rumbling far up in the most secret depths of her loins, her half-conscious mind decided it was time to even further increase the sensation and with a suddenly low, gasp she initiated a punishing pressure of her third finger against her tight little anus even as the second remained embedded in her cunt. She encountered a sharp stab of pain, a moment's brief resistance; then her whole body tensed and quivered as suddenly the first joint popped up into the tiny little opening. Just that intrusion caused a flash of heated sensual pain to dart electrically
through her body, but in the raw determination of her lust she refused to be deterred. Gritting her teeth, her own low gasp still lost in the screams and whimpers from the other room, she probed her finger relentlessly inward, worming it slowly and teasingly straight up into the hot spongy cavity of her ass.
A moment later, as she squeezed her two deeply violating fingers together against the thin tissue like membrane that separated her two sensuously ravished openings, it happened. Her body shuddered, her knees buckling so that she had to catch herself to keep from sprawling flat on the floor. She seemed to hear a distant explosion deep inside her brain that left her mind almost blank, and for a moment she didn't even recognize the wild sensation that gripped her. Then, guided by instinct, she resumed the rapid tweaking of her thumb over her clitoris and the plundering of her middle finger in and out of her cunt. She felt her pussy contract again and again around the deeply penetrating finger as the burning wetness of her vagina spilled out her pulsing cunt-lips to flow in a sticky stream down over her hand as the waves of ecstasy flowed through her body and mind. The teeming flow of liquid dribbled along her thighs and some of it seemed even to issue from the smaller hole between her buttocks as she continued to fuck her other finger in and out of her anus until she'd milked the last ounce of exquisite pleasure and release that her lust-filled young body had to offer.
And it was only afterward, as her exhausted hand ceased to move and she stood, panting and gasping to catch her breath, that she realized the significance of what had just taken place. She had cum. She'd had a climax. Her first real clitoral-vaginal-anal orgasm!
Her hand still pressed tightly up between her thighs, Cathy gave out with a low sigh. Then she opened her eyes, blinking as the blurred montage before her again took shape in the den and she saw the couple, sprawled now motionless on the rug, their bodies gleaming with sweat, their own breathing now almost steady.
My God, she thought, gripped suddenly by terror and shame as reality descended back over her. Had they heard her? Seen her? But a moment later, seeing that they had hardly moved, she realized they had not. They had cum too, probably at the same time as she. Then with a silent gasp, she drew her hand down from between her thighs, feeling an almost painless pop as her finger left her protesting little asshole. Tears of shame pouring from her eyes, she fled silently back down the hail to the room, vowing that no matter what happened she must force Bob to get her away from this place as soon as they arose tomorrow morning.
But even with all her guilt and humiliation, a chord of triumph seemed to strike of its own initiative far in the back of her mind:
She had cum, she had cum, she had cum.
Chapter Eight
Gray-yellow light poured through the window. Bailey blinked, seeing it out of the corner of his eye. Rolling over in bed, he looked out on the washed hill where the vines, still wet, glistened in the early morning sun. He rolled the other way and looked at his naked, sleeping wife. He lay his hand on her back and ran it lightly down her spine, stopping just at the top of the crack of her lush, rounded buttocks. Now awaking, she made a purring sound. Looking at her, so beautiful and child-like and even innocent-looking in his sleep, he felt his throat tighten with regret. He knew what he had to do. Knowing it, his thoughts never having really left it during the dark of the night so that he'd been reminded of it even during his brief snatches of sleep, he did not even want to arise. But he would have to do it, for better or for worse.
He lay on his back, still and silent, for another ten minutes. If he could have drifted, accidentally, to sleep and let the chance slide by he would have later awakened without regret for the loss. He was not a religious man. He didn't even believe in God. But now, whimsically, he wondered if He might ever have wondered what it would have been like that fateful morning, 2000 years ago in that old story, if He could have overslept there in the garden and missed that betraying kiss that sought him out for his destiny.
But for Bailey that morning the redeeming slumber was not to return. He pressed his body against Sylvia's. She snuggled, sound asleep, warm, against him. She gave a little moan of protest as he slid away and slipped from beneath the covers. He stood up and looked at himself in the mirror, his body spare and hairy, his face rough, aging like the Sphinx. How much easier life for him would be, he thought without genuine envy, if he were like that kid asleep with his prick-tease wife in the other room, still young and dumb and full of cum.
He put on a pair of khakis and a pair of work shoes and tiptoed out the door and down the halt. He paused outside the guest bedroom and listened at the door. There was not a sound. He wasn't surprised. The way those kids had put the booze away last night. They should sleep till mid-morning without a stir. Funny, he thought: a young man could get drunk and if he didn't have something to wake him the next day he could sleep till Kingdom Come. Then at Bailey's age, the more sleep a man needed to get himself back in shape, the less sleep he could get.
He made himself a cup of instant coffee and drank it black, got a couple of 16 ounce beers from the six pack in the refrigerator and walked out of the house, down the road past the barn to the car. He stopped and looked it over, sitting there kind of tilted off to the left with that one rear tire hanging off the edge into the ditch. But it was too easy. Even the kid could figure it out. Just a jack under the rear axle, there at the left extreme to keep it from tilting farther that way. Raise her up a couple of feet and stand with two-by-four on the other side of the ditch and push it off the jack and back onto the road. Rough on the tires, but it wouldn't do any real harm.
He walked on down to the bridge. There was debris caught in under it, right up at the top of the wooden piles. Too bad, he thought, that the damned thing hadn't gone on its own. But they'd never know the difference. They could see the water had gone that high. Twenty-five years old, the old Italian had said, warned him he'd been planning for the last fifteen years to put in a new bridge himself, just because he didn't want to get caught if there was enough rain to wash it away. And now even the rise was almost gone. The water, usually knee-deep, would still fall a few inches short of his waist.
Walking back to the barn he thought, now what if they wake and see me fucking around down here? Then he'd tell them he was just checking, on the car and on the bridge. And if they hear the hammering. He was just trying to fix the sonuvabitch, so they could get away before he got into that blonde's hot little twat for real.
He got the pair of waist-high wading boots and a double-edged ax and the twelve pound sledge and walked back down to the bridge. He stood on the bank, leaning off, peering up under it at the old beam-pillars, redwood, he figured, and the two-by-six supports. With a few supports and the near pillar out it wouldn't be safe to drive across. And it probably wouldn't fall. If it does fall on my goddamned head, he thought, then the sonuvabitch serves me right. And if the kid was an engineer he'd know right away it hadn't been done by the storm, if he even bothered to look, which he probably wouldn't do. Probably be too busy trying to look up Sylvia's skirt. He put on the wading boots and climbed down the bank into the rushing stream.
*
*
*
He was back to the house by nine o'clock. He entered noisily and stalked down the hail. In the guest bedroom he heard the blonde's voice:
"Bob. Bob, wake up. It's morning." Bailey slowed to listen to her. "Bob, we've got to get up and go. Right away."
"Hunh?" he heard the boy say.
"Bob, if you love me, you . . . you will take me away from this place as soon as possible."
Bailey grinned without real mirth and continued on to his and Sylvia's bedroom. She opened her eyes when he came in, yawned, stretching her arms up over head, the extending of her legs pulling the sheet slowly down off her big arched breasts so the two pink-mauve buds of her nipples peeked out over the top.
"The bridge is out," he said.
She'd been smiling. The smile left her face. She became thoughtful. "Then they can't leave?"
"Not unless they want to walk, or try an Evil Kneivel over the creek."
She shrugged, at last managed another smile. "I guess this is your lucky day. Isn't that what they call an 'Act of God'?"
Bailey set his face, devoid of expression. "I don't think so. I'm the one that knocked the sonuvabitch out and I don't feel very goddamned holy."
He left her stunned and walked out of the room and back down the hall. Passing the guest room he heard the blonde babe putting it to her husband again:
"I'm telling you I know. Just trust me. Bob. We have to leave here."
"They're nice people," the boy said. "And I know we're welcome here."
Bailey smiled, though even he found it too sad to be funny. On second thought, he thought to himself, he wouldn't want to be that young after all.
He went to the kitchen and made himself another cup of coffee, this time with cream, took it to the den and sat down at the table. A few minutes later the kids came in, the boy in front, his blonde wife walking behind him. And though Bailey really couldn't be sure, he had the feeling she was prodding him along, like she had an electric cow-prod, he imagined, or was jabbing her finger up his ass.
"Morning Jack," Bob said. He stopped and stood still and silent for a moment with his wife behind him, hiding, so Bailey couldn't see her face. "We . . . uh . . . we've been talking it over and we've decided we'd like to get on the road immediately."
"No breakfast?" he asked.
"Well . . . Uh . . . we've really accepted enough of your hospitality and we'd sort of like to get some miles behind us and maybe stop somewhere farther along, if you think there's a way we can get the car out of the ditch."
"That's easy." Bailey sipped his coffee. "Jack the back of her upon the low side, till the tire clears the edge of the road, and shove her over back on the track." Bob frowned and Bailey realized he didn't understand. "But I'm afraid the bridge's out, and that's not gonna be easy."
The blonde moved suddenly past her husband and ran, still without looking at Bailey, to the picture window and looked out. Then she turned back and looked at him for the first time straight in the eyes. "It's not out."
Bailey turned his eyes away from her and lit a cigarette and took a deep drag. "The top half of it's not out, but most of the supports underneath washed away last night. If you try to drive over it before we get it fixed your car's gonna end up sitting in the bottom of the creek."
The blonde bit her lip. When he looked back she was staring at him, not suspiciously, but she looked somehow . . . resigned. "And how long will that take?"
"Well, we can't get into the creek till the water goes down. It's falling fast. If we start this afternoon and work until after dark, you can leave late tonight."
"Y-you're just lucky!" she hissed almost tearfully. "Lucky we s-stopped here so you have B-bob to help you."
"I don't need any help, baby. I can fix it by myself."
Sylvia came in, smiling. The blonde was still staring angrily at Bailey. But he knew she wasn't that disappointed. It was written all over her face. She was trying to be sorry, but she wasn't really that sorry.
"Well," Sylvia said. "I guess you heard the good news, hunh? You might as well stay over for the weekend now."
Hell of a noble woman, Bailey thought. He finished his coffee and mashed out his cigarette and stood up. The blonde was still staring at him, and for his own part, he would liked to have been able to regret what he'd done. But looking at that hot little cunt, standing there waiting for him whether she knew it or not, he couldn't.
"Fix the kids some breakfast, babe," he said to Sylvia. "I'm going down to the barn and try to scare up some timber for the bridge."
Chapter Nine
The morning for Cathy passed like a slow eternity, or like a condemned prisoner's final sleepless dawn. Sylvia had cooked them a big breakfast which, though Bob ate heartily to help his hangover, she barely touched. Later she was able to get her husband alone briefly, again she tried to convince him that it was imperative they leave.
"We can't leave," he said. "It's as simple as that. We can't drive the car across the bridge."
"Then we could go without the car?" she'd replied.
"Go where? Honey, you're being foolish."
"Bob," she'd insisted, trying to make her quivering voice sound rational. "It's important for me that we leave. As I said before, if you love me, you will worry about my needs."
"I love you. But we're not going to do something down right silly just because you're getting restless."
"All right," she pouted, almost threateningly.
He stood up and put his hand on her shoulder, like she was a kid. "Look, honey, I'll go down and see if I can jack the car up and push it out of the ditch, like Jack said."
She'd said no more. After he left, she felt almost smug. She kept telling herself, over and over, You asked for it, Bob. I told you so.
She'd gone to the back yard to soak up some Sun. She knew what she should do was go down to the car and get a change of clothing and retrieve her personal things, but she wanted no further confrontation with Bob. He'd had his last chance. Instead she waited, resigned, soaking up the sunshine, not even bothering to go put on her bra and panties, which she hadn't retrieved till this morning. It was sometime after midday when Sylvia came out bearing a tray with two tall Bloody Mary's.
"Hi," the brunette said. "Thought you might enjoy a little refreshment."
Cathy looked suspiciously at the other woman, clad in tight shorts and a skimpy halter that looked like it might give way any moment before her voluptuously straining breasts. Then she smiled a feeble thanks and took one of the tall drinks. The two women sat at the table, drinking silently. It was Sylvia who finally spoke:
"Look kid, make the best of it. You're not exactly trapped in an elevator here. We can make an enjoyable weekend of it if you want to."
"Your idea of enjoyment," Cathy said bitterly.
In spite of apparent effort, Sylvia's smile faded. Again there was a silence.
"Look," Cathy said finally. "You know what's going to happen. You know why I want to go, or why I know we must go, even if we can't, even if maybe I don't want to."
The brunette was looking away, or had looked away the moment Cathy started to speak. And a moment passed before she looked back, smiling very faintly. The tears gradually filled her eyes and spilled and ran in big drops down her cheeks, the smile all the while on her lips. She nodded. "Yes, I know."
"Then why don't you do something about it?" Cathy asked anxiously.
Sylvia shook her head. She took a paper napkin from the tray and dabbed at her eyes. "Honey, there's nothing I can do. Bailey's his own man."
"You mean you're going to just sit by and . . . ?"
"I'm going to . . . look out for myself, as best I can." She stood up suddenly. "You know where the bar is, and the ice is in the refrigerator. Help yourself . . . to whatever you want."
Tears still pouring from her eyes, she turned, and walked away, back into the house. Cathy stared after her, wondering if it had been herself she was crying for, or out of sympathy for her and Bob. It must have happened before. They must have done this before, so it must be out of feeling, sorrow or guilt, that she'd cried.
The blonde finished her drink, then drank what had been left in the other woman's glass. Then she rose and walked slowly back into the house, down the hall to the den. When she reached the window she saw Sylvia walking down the road toward the car, which Bob had on the jack. At the bridge she could see Bailey, with a pile of wood he must have carried down by hand. She watched Sylvia and Bob exchange greetings, her touching his arm, standing close to him, inspecting the situation of the car. Then Bob jumped the ditch and took the old board he'd tried to jam under the stuck tire the night before. He motioned Sylvia back away from it. He pushed on the side of the car with the board. It fell off the jack, back onto the road. So that was all, Cathy thought. That was all they would have had to do last night, even in the rain, and none of this would have been happening. Sylvia applauded and Bob got into the car and started it. She opened the door on the other side. She turned and looked back at Bailey. He turned away and disappeared down the bank beside the bridge. She got into the car and slid over very close to Bob. The car crept up the road. It stopped at the barn. After a minute or so the doors opened. Cathy moved back out of the window and peered past the curtain. Bob got out on one side, looking up at the house, almost right at her. Sylvia came around and took his hand. He hesitated, then put his arm around her shoulder. He looked back once more before they walked into the barn.
All right, you bastard, Cathy thought vehemently. She turned from the window, walked to the bar and made herself another Bloody Mary. She went to the kitchen for ice. When she came back she could see Bailey walking this way back up the road. She watched him pass the barn without pausing. She went over and added an inch of Vodka to her drink and sat down on the couch to wait.
She was half-finished with the drink when she heard him enter the front door. She sat with her legs crossed on the couch. revealed halfway up her thigh by the button she'd loosened on the skirt. .Her breath was low and hastened, her eyes slightly glazed. Already she could feel the effects of the alcohol, which she'd drunk much too fast, pounding in her brain. She knew that in the long run it wouldn't even do her any good to try to resist what was coming next. It was fore-ordained, she thought, and it had been since Bob had insisted on turning off the road to stop at this old winery, which wasn't even a winery any more. She didn't even know if she wanted to resist, or why she should want to. But she knew that in the end still she would have to fight, even if it did no good. Even if she didn't really want to win.
The sexy young blonde took another long drink of the Bloody Mary. She listened to Bailey's footsteps approaching from the other end of the house. When he came into the den she sat her glass on the small table at the end of the couch and sat, still waiting in the same posture, watching him staring down at her.
The silence was long, thick, the kind of silence they said was cut with knives. He broke it:
"Your husband's down in the barn, fucking my wife."
Cathy recoiled inwardly at the coarse vulgar language, but somehow she almost managed to maintain the composed look on her face. "I don't care," she said. "I hope he enjoys it."
He stood, just inside the door, staring at her as though waiting for her to say something else. She said nothing. She took her drink and sipped it again, now almost nonchalantly. She was trembling all over and yet she wasn't showing it. Through her mind passed a blurred picture of the crazy chain of events .that had filled the last eighteen hours. Everything has changed, she thought oddly amused at the irony. Or at least everything will be changed in a very short time.
"Come on," he said finally. "We're going back to the bedroom."
Somehow she managed a smile. He glared from the doorway, then stalked toward her. She sat, breathlessly waiting. He stood towering over her, and with secret inner fear and relish she let her eyes wander slowly down the length of his body. He bent slightly, slipping his hands past the rounded outsides of each of her breasts to fit them beneath her arms and jerk her suddenly and violently to her feet.
"Oohh!" Cathy gasped, the rough handling serving to jolt her at least part way out of her strange state of complacency.
Then, almost before she'd gotten her balance, Bailey's strong rough hands moved up to seize the material on either side of her dress just at the open neck. In a sudden rapid movement he pulled his hands forcibly apart and the dress split open wide straight down over her still nakedly unencumbered breasts and sleek golden-tanned belly, all the way down to the last button at mid-thigh so the entire front of her body was exposed from her neck to the little sand-blonde triangle of her cunt.
Then he left the dress hanging loose on and open, dropping his hands to his side and stepping back half a pace, his eyes drifting slowly down over the softly inviting nakedness of her flesh, his burning, hungry gaze serving to drum into Cathy's alcohol-logged, emotion-warped consciousness the seriousness of what was happening. Because it wasn't, as she'd been treating it, a dream from which she could awaken at will. It wasn't another of the sex fantasies that had plagued her ever since her first encounter yesterday evening with this brutal beast of a man. It was really happening. Bob was down in the barn . . . Fucking . . . Bailey's wife. Bailey was about to fuck her. He was going to do it whether she wanted it or not and with her grasp of that fact came the sudden vivid recollection of the shock and fear she'd experienced last night when she'd first been confronted with the sight of his outlandishly gigantic cock. And now he was really going to shove that big thing all the way into her tight little pussy. He wasn't just going to kiss her or maul her body or finger-fuck her to the very verge of climax. He was going to fuck her, and the sudden wave of fear that gripped Cathy was almost enough to make her collapse.
Then, before she could move to flee or retreat, he seized her wrist, jerking her almost off her feet as he led her away from the couch and started toward the door.
"Noooooo!" Cathy whimpered tearfully. "NO please. Turn me loose!" She tried to stop and found herself skidding on the tile floor, then ceased to skid and again almost fell so she had to fight to regain her balance. Stumbling after Bailey, who walked ahead of her without even looking back, secure in the vice-like grip of his big hand on her slender wrist, she fumbled at the open front of her dress, uselessly clutching it together and noting, almost absently, that though several of the buttons had torn loose, most of them had merely been ripped free of the button holes. But that was small consolation now and she was still whimpering and pleading in protest as Bailey at last reached the door of the guest room, paused and pulled her in front of him and guided her through.
"No, Bailey," She sobbed again, turning to face him. "I don't want it. Not really. I really don't."
"Sure you do, kid. If I didn't know you wanted it you wouldn't even be here."
He released her wrist and seized her shoulders, pulling her near-naked body forcibly against his own and kissing her again brutally on the mouth. And as she parted her lips to receive his tongue, his words, which wouldn't register completely until later, echoed in her ears: If I didn't know you wanted it you wouldn't even be here.
Then just as violently as he'd pulled her to him he shoved her back away, almost to arm's length. He let his eyes again rove down her naked breasts and belly and the soft blondish triangle between her thighs, then with a shove of his wrists he sent her sprawling backwards across the bed.
He turned as she landed and reclined across it, threw the latch on the door and turned back to her. She tried to clutch the dress together in front, staring up at him in immobilized terror from her prone and waiting position. Then he stalked toward her. Gasping, she started to roll on her side, yet before she could move he was upon her, dropping suddenly to his knees at the edge of the bed and pushing her knees out wide apart to completely spread and expose the nakedly pulsing little opening of her cunt.
"Oh no, God nooooo!" Cathy whimpered, raising her head to stare down in utter confusion and horror at the kneeling man who was staring in turn straight up between her thighs. "Don't," she whimpered. "Please don't . . . look at me . . . that . . . down there!"
She still didn't have the slightest idea what Bailey thought he was doing down there. It was like he was making some kind of clinical examination, and somewhere in the delirium of her jumbled mind it occurred to her that in all her secret fantasies of this moment she'd never pictured Bailey on his knees staring up at her cunt from below. Then an even greater shudder wracked her naked body as his hands moved suddenly up her tender inner thighs to seize the flanged hair-lined lips of her pussy and spread them deliciously apart.
"Bailey," the trembling blonde whimpered, "I thought you wanted to fuck me . . . ?"
Seeing the cruel grin that appeared on his lips, she realized she'd said the wrong thing. That wasn't the way she'd meant it.
"I mean, I don't like for you to look at me like that. It makes me feel like you can see inside me."
"I can."
Somehow, in her heightened state of consciousness, the remark took on a significance that stretched almost beyond its limits, as though she were high on a mind-expanding drug. He could see inside her, literally and figuratively. Figuratively, he could see through her. He had seen through her, apparently, that first instant they'd met yesterday afternoon down in the barn. And Bob, by comparison, hadn't even begun to get to know her, during all the months of their engagement, and not even during the four weeks they'd lived together as man and wife.
Then a chill of astonishment and horror shot through her mind as Bailey finally responded to her last remark. "I am going to fuck you, baby. But first I want to try something else. Has that kid who's fucking my wife ever eaten your cunt?"
"Eaten my cunt?" Cathy couldn't even believe her ears.
"Yeah. Eaten your cunt."
Suddenly Cathy felt Bailey's elbows pushing violently out on her thighs from just inside the knees. At the same time she could feel his fingers peeling the lips of her vagina open even wider, and as she cringed in horror and struggled futilely to escape, he suddenly leaned forward over the edge of the bed, shoving his head right up between her open inner thighs until she could feel his hot rasping breath blowing right up into the furrowed opening of her loins.
"Oh noooo!" Cathy whimpered, her buttocks jerking in a spasm in response to the bizarre tickling sensation. And a moment later she was almost mortified from the sheer strangeness and perversion of it all as Bailey's tongue darted lizard-like from his mouth to lick up through the forbidden curls of the hair of her cunt to make titillating contact right on the lustfully spasming little bud of her clitoris.
"Aaayyeeeeee!" Cathy cried in spite of herself, her head flailing wildly from side to side in protest as she stared, gape mouthed, down between her quivering breasts at Bailey's face buried between her thighs. Then again she felt the tongue, limber and moist, slurping softly over her moistly burning flesh, and she thought if she didn't stop him right this minute, in another minute she wouldn't even want to. It felt good. It felt so weird, so exquisite and so perverse she couldn't stand it.
"Nooo, Bailey, nooooo!" she continued to vainly object. "Please don't do it to me."
But even as she argued she could feel the domineering middle-aged male suck the miniature phallus-like bud of her clitoris hungrily into his mouth, his teeth clinging to it tightly as his tongue lashed fiercely over the nerve-ended tip. And the sheer raw sensation was like nothing the aroused and surprised young woman had ever experienced in her life. Her whole body was on fire with the lust that had been building in her so relentlessly ever since they'd come here. Again she remembered the exquisite pleasure she'd achieved the night before, masturbating herself while Bailey sodomized his wife. Instinct told her that would be nothing compared to what she was going to experience before the end of this session with Jack Bailey. Already she could feel the first vague tremblings up in her cervix and belly that only last night had seemed to be the signal of the real explosion and release to come, and if her act of voyeurism had taught her nothing else she'd learned at least that Bailey wasn't a man to rush his sex. This was only the beginning, and though she knew that even still she should be fighting back, she was already on the verge of losing her will to resist.
His hands still clinging to her sensitive inner cunt-lips to hold her treasured vaginal opening splayed wide apart before his face, Bailey shoved his elbows further up between Cathy's knees, rocking forward on the bed to push her legs back so her thighs almost cushioned down on her breasts and her buttocks and the whole naked plane of her loins was completely
turned up toward his face. Again he nipped at the swollen, dilated bud of the quivering little clitoris. He flicked his tongue once more from his lips, dragging it slowly straight along the length of her openly moistened little pussy slit. As she whimpered and moaned on the bed he drew his face back for one last quick look up into the pink mysterious depths of her loins, then in a swift and aggressive motion he drove his tongue straight up between her pussy lips and far up into her quaking vagina.
"Oh God!" Cathy cried out, her hands moving up to tear violently at her hair as she felt the limber slithering length of Bailey's tongue move like a crawling creature up through the sensitive inner folds of her flesh. For a moment she was so overcome by the sheer sensation of it that she couldn't even move or speak. It was so strange and delicious, so perverse and humiliating, so gentle and soft and yet so powerful in the effect it was having on her. Rape she could have fought, but this, how could a woman, even a normally decent and respectable woman like herself, be expected to fight against something like this? It was just more than she could stand. Yet even so she managed to retain some remnant of decency for a few moments longer. Then Bailey withdrew his tongue and plunged it swiftly back in again, and that sudden sawing type sensation was more than she could stand. Her body quivered as though in torment on the bed. Her thighs clasped tightly shut around Bailey's ears. Her eyes opened wide, her nostrils flared, her mouth hung slack. Then in utter surrender she cried:
"Yess! Yesssssss! Do it to me. Do it to me like that. Eat my cunt!"
For a moment Bailey almost hesitated, jolted himself by the vociferous surrender. But he knew he had this hot young bitch exactly where he wanted her now and determined to seize his advantage, he began to slaver his tongue quickly in and out of her flowering vagina for several seconds, then suddenly withdrew it, at the same time pushing down harder on her thighs to jack her buttocks even higher into the air. He leered down in gaping triumph at the succulently parted lips of her cunt and, now visible beneath it, the brown-puckered hole of her anus. His tongue darted again from her mouth, swiping the length of the hair-lined slit of her cunt. Then suddenly and without warning he flicked it right over the thin little fleshy membrane at the bottom of her pussy and thrust it straight up between the cheeks of her ass onto the cringing aperture of her anus.
The virginal-looking blonde's eyes sprang open wide and she stared up in muted confusion at the ceiling. My God, what was he doing down there anyway? She knew what it was of course, though she hardly even dared admit it to herself. He was licking her asshole, worming his tongue straight up between her buttocks and into that most forbidden and sensitive little opening, and in spite of all her revulsion and for the contempt she knew she should have for him at demeaning himself in this manner, all she really felt was a weird and heretofore unknown, unimagined physical pleasure. My God, she thought, it was strange and maddening and terrible and wonderful all at the same time.
"Ooowwweee!" Cathy wailed aloud as the bizarre contact of his tongue on her erotically stimulated anus became even more intense. Chills of shivering magnificence darted up and down her spine and her mind was an eerie panorama of lurid visions as the plunging tongue wormed farther and farther up into the warmly yielding passage of her ass. Her slender young body writhed uncontrollably on the bed as the overpowering assault continued. Spasms of delight rippled through her loins and belly in a torrent of sensual pleasure that gripped her body and soul.
Down between Cathy's scissoring thighs, Bailey immersed himself shamelessly in his task. He knew right now this innocent little bitch must think of him as some kind of creep or pervert. She must loathe him to the bottom of her heart, and yet she couldn't help responding on a sheer physical level to the raw sensation to which he was subjecting her. It was an object lesson he was quite sure she would never forget, and though now he was on the verge of suffocating in her genital warmth and down between her freely perspiring thighs, he forced himself to continue his assault a few more precious moments, pushing himself until he sensed she was really on the verge of losing all control of her body.
Then with a sudden little pop he jerked his tongue free of the acrid-tasting little opening of her ass. He swiped it again straight up the now freely moistened hair-fringed slit of her cunt, again clamping his teeth hard over the erect pink bud of her clitoris.
"Oh!" Cathy screamed in a sudden shimmering contortion on the bed. "Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my Goddddd!"
Then he released the pink little nibblit and raised suddenly up, mixed saliva and flowing vaginal lubricant dripping from his lips and chin as he glared down at the prone, trembling young woman.
"Oh Bailey," she whimpered, shaking her head from side to side. "I can't stand anymore. I really can't."
He grinned, reaching down to undo his belt and unbutton his trousers, opening his fly and pushing his boxer shorts down so that his cock sprang free. And his smile only broadened as he saw the new fear that suddenly appeared in Cathy's wide blue eyes.
Chapter Ten
The act of cunnilingus coupled with the obscene little tongue lashing to which Bailey had subjected her anus had pushed Cathy to a plane of delirious ecstasy in which she literally thought she would have been ready for anything. The very perversity of licking an asshole was more than she could have even dreamed of. She knew that if Bailey had told her that he was in the habit of practicing such abhorrent deviations she would never have let him hold her in his arms and kiss her yesterday when they'd first confronted each other down in the barn.
But he hadn't told her, he'd just done it to her without any warning, and she had loved it. Never had anything driven her to such a state of wanting and readiness. Her whole body was like an inferno of boiling lust and somewhere back in her mind she reminded herself that if such an act could bring that kind of pleasure to the body, it could not be all bad, no matter how revolting it might appear in theory. She was, in spite of her confused state of excitement, in the process of inverting her whole attitude toward morality and immorality. And after what Bailey had done for her she wouldn't have believed, in her present mental state, there was anything she would have refused to do for him if he would just so much as ask.
Then he unbuckled his trousers and, again confronted by his huge cock, she was forced to reconsider. Because now Bailey's cock looked even more enormous than it had last night when she'd watched him sodomize his wife. It was literally gigantic, filled with blood, pulsing an angry purple red, and she was gripped by a sudden terror that brought her completely back to earth as she realized he was really going to force her to take it all the way up inside her cunt. She couldn't do it. She just couldn't. It was too big. It would rip her apart.
"Oh no," Cathy moaned, cringing on the bed as Bailey pushed his trousers and jockey shorts down to his knees and started to lever himself up on her. The lust in his eyes as he gazed down at her nakedly squirming body went beyond anything she'd ever seen in them before, and his cock was looming up from his thickly haired crotch every instant closer to her tender little vagina as he slid farther up between her thighs.
Then, just as she'd decided she would at least have to try to escape, his hands were upon her, cupping ruthlessly over her tightly rounded young breasts, the friction of his palms causing her nipples to tingle with new contradictory currents of delight. He took one of the erect little buds between thumb and forefinger, tweaking and rolling it until she almost cried out aloud from the sharp electric jolt of sensation. Then she moaned as he dropped his face downward, taking the nipple between his lips and sucking it hungrily into her mouth, and in spite of all her resolve to try to resist, Cathy's arms moved automatically down around his neck, her fingers searching urgently through his hair as she squirmed her near naked torso up from the bed and hugged him tightly to her bosom. Then again her body contorted with fear as Bailey planted his knees between her thighs, spreading them to force her legs wide apart, one of his hands moving down between their bodies to seize the gigantic hardness of his cock and guide it straight up toward her openly splayed and wetly dilated young cunt.
"Oh no!" she cried out in a cracking voice. "No, Bailey. I can't. It's too big! It'll tear me apart!"
She gave out with a soft little scream as Bailey bit down hard on her nipple, let it slip from his mouth and raised up to stare again hungrily and triumphantly at her face, and before she could manage another verbal protest, his mouth was on hers, his tongue snaking deep between her lips, her mouth filled with the copper-like taste of her own pussy that had lingered on his breath. Then, the weight of his upper body coming down heavily upon her breasts, he lunged his buttocks forward and a new blinding flash of pain racked her body as she felt the thick bulbous cockhead come suddenly into brutal contact with the softly parted little furrow of her cunt.
"Aaagghhhhh!" Cathy shrieked, turning her head to the side and forcing Bailey's tongue from her mouth as she felt the blunt end of his cock wedge itself up between her tightly resisting little pussy lips. "I can't take it. Let me go, please! It's too big."
In a sudden, desperate effort she reached down and tried to push up on Bailey's pelvis, then with an angry animal growl he seized her wrists, almost snapping her small bones in the powerful grip of his hands as he pinioned her arms above her head, then lunged forward again. And now there was no escape. The hard-surging cockshaft was like a relentless metal force, a white hot shaft of steel irrefutably positioned in the all too tiny entrance to her loins, skewering its way slowly and surely up into the clasping inner tightness of her vagina, its searing force and power shoving back all her resistance, ripping and parting her soft inner walls of flesh until she was sure she would die from the sheer intensity of sensation. This made her defloration seem like mere foreplay and it seemed Bailey's big hard cock was tearing into her forever, filling her beyond human capacity as she thrashed and moaned futilely beneath his domineering form.
Then at last somehow the cruel entry ended. She let out a low sob-like sigh as she felt the blunt hard fleshed pole lodge itself firmly against her cervix, as he groaned deeply and let his body sag heavily down on hers. She could hardly imagine how she'd endured the cruel penetration without passing out. His cock was still a massive burning presence wedged far up inside her loins, and she lay completely motionless, her eyes open wide and her mouth slack and panting, afraid to even move for fear of increasing the still excruciatingly painful sensation.
Then suddenly as though in warning Bailey flexed and his deeply throbbing cock seemed to stab even farther up into her cunt. He still held her wrists tightly pinioned above her head, leering down at her in grinning triumph as she waited fearfully beneath him. He flicked his hips forward, grinding his hairy pubic mound hard against her palpitating little clitoris and nudging the monstrous cockhead even harder against the nub of her cervix.
"Oooouuuuu!" Cathy sobbed, shaking her head gently from side to side on the bed so her soft blonde hair whipped lightly over her shoulders. She drew her breath in with a low hissing sound as he slowly pulled out, withdrawing his cock almost to its full-length so just the thick head remained in position between her quivering cuntal lips. Then she shuddered as he rammed in hard again, the force of the surging penetration once more sweeping aside all her renewed, though more feeble resistance, causing her whole body to contort as his pubis rammed back down against her own and she was once more impaled to the hilt on his giant burning cock of flesh.
Again he withdrew, pausing this time and holding himself poised above her, his cock embedded no more than an inch deep, waiting as she quivered in anticipation beneath him, letting her dread of the renewed intrusion to come build to a peak before he lunged back in, slamming down hard against her to rack her trembling spread-eagled form.
"Like that?"
Her cunt once more filled and stretched seemingly beyond all physical limitations, Cathy blinked beneath him. Again he flexed the stiff muscle of his cock, again her whole body jerked in a violent involuntary spasm.
"I said, like that?"
"No! Yes! I don't know!" Cathy moaned helplessly, her eyes goggling as she tried to accustom herself to the unnatural invasion of her inner depths. He kissed her again on the lips, his tongue thrusting once more deep in her mouth as he began to saw rhythmically in and out of her cringing loins, gradually building in force and intensity, quickening the pace until she could hardly distinguish one stroke from the next as he slammed into her helplessly squirming flesh.
"Aaaahhhhh! Ooohhhhhh!" Cathy wailed in masochistically responding abandon, her high-arched breasts joggling from the writhings of her tortured body as she groaned in lecherous submission to the renewed stirrings of excitement coursing through her belly and loins. For a moment, longer she lay almost still beneath him, then cautiously she arched her buttocks up from the bed, seeming to take the pistoning cock even deeper up into her tightly contracting cunt as she began a hungry hunching response to the searing thrusts that continued endlessly to the depths of
her burning vagina.
Above her, Bailey was groaning and thrashing like a bull in heat, his grasp on her wrists loosening as he concentrated on other matters. A moment later her arms were free and though she still experienced a lingering almost pleasant sensation of pain far up between her thighs, her arms moved quickly down around his laboring back, hugging his muscled torso tightly to her trembling breasts before her hands moved lower to seize his jerking buttocks and urge and guide his strokes. At the same time his hands had moved down to maul over her own softly perspiring flesh, slipping in between their bodies to crush her breasts and nipples, clawing ruthlessly at her tender, sensitive skin.
Cathy's eyelids fluttered as she continued to hunch and buck beneath the wildly fucking man. She could feel the sensation in her loins increasing and intensifying with every passing moment, the promise of final climactic release looming like a bright light on the horizon before her. Then suddenly Jack Bailey launched into a series of even longer and more violently racking strokes, driving the thickly elongated shaft of his cock again and again all the way to the hilt in the young blonde's eagerly squirming loins. His balls slapped into the crack of her ass against her sensitively puckered anus with his every churning lunge, that added weird sensation only further intensifying her excitement and need.
They were both building toward the end now, the wet flat smack of his loins against her pelvis echoing and resounding through the room as he reached down to take one of her erect little nipple-buds into his mouth, nibbling and biting the sensitive little protuberance causing further whimpers of submission and longing to pour chant-like from her lips.
Then abruptly his cock flexed and extended even bigger and harder far up into the inner tightness of her cunt. The blood-filled head seemed to flare and surge until she feared it would rip straight through the lining of her belly, and once more she drew her arms up around his sweating back, holding his body tight against hers as she rushed closer and closer to the brink of delirium and release, as his lunging thrusts built to a crescendo of
violence and fury. Then her mind almost blanked as far a up in her loins she felt the first awe-inspiring waves of her climax surging with stunning volcanic fury across her eagerly writhing flesh.
"Oh my God, yes!" Cathy cried out in final surrender, her hand once more clutching Bailey's buttocks to pull him even tighter against her. She thrust her own naked ass-cheeks up from the bed in a violent bucking motion, grinding her impaled pussy in luxuriating circles around the cock that filled her, taking it into her at odd and even more exciting angles.
At last she sank back against the bed, her body quivering in uncontrollable spasms. The rosy hue of her cheeks grew even more vivid and her sobs of submission and gratitude rose to ecstatic screams as the fluids of her vagina flowed freely forth to mix with the hot splattering drops of male semen pumping in a vicious torrent far up into the most secret depths of her loins.
"It's happening," she wailed, flailing her head from side to side. "I'm cumming! Oh yes, oh God yes, I'm cumminnggggg!"
Bailey rammed his throbbing cock again to the hilt in Cathy's hotly contracting vagina, his gigantic load of cum erupting in a cannon-like volley of hotly pumping spurts that filled and flooded her womb. He continued to fuck violently into her until every ounce of his male seed was spent, until she'd already sagged in motionless respose beneath him on the bed. Then at last he collapsed heavily on her.
Bailey wasn't sure how much time passed before he raised his head up, then started to draw his deflating cock slowly out of her sated, warmly clinging loins, prompting a low hissing to rise from deep in her throat. He freed himself from her arms, which had still been wrapped tightly around his back, rolled over, lay gasping for breath for a moment, and finally sat up on the bed.
"Oh Bailey," she purred. "That was wonderful. That was so wonderful. I'm not . . . not sorry."
He sat up, pulled his trousers up and buckled them. He turned back, staring at her silently for a moment, then walked from the room.
Chapter Eleven
Through the ages of the history of mankind, Cathy mused, later that afternoon in a moment of uncharacteristic philosophical reflection, ignorance on the part of one man, or people, has bred the most special kind of loathing on the part of another. From the doctrines of White Man's Burden, back through the Spanish conquest of South America, back to the Roman Conquest of the greater part of the known world at that time, ignorance on the part of peoples, nations, has been employed as justification for enslaving them. Early explorers in Black Africa had never questioned the intelligence and ingenuity of the indigenous race; but the Black Man's ignorance of certain Western technological advances were self evident. White man's ignorance of techniques necessary for survival in the local environment, the only suitable criteria for achievement there, was conveniently ignored. The blacks were taken into captivity, sold as slaves. The justification on the part of the Christian slave traders who took them to the New World was their ignorance of a way of life they had never seen.
The fault in the basic concept, of course, was obvious. Yet now, on a smaller, much more personal level, Cathy was indulging herself in the same kind of rationalization as she sat listening to Bob explain how he'd gotten the car out of the ditch, how Bailey had gotten off to a good start in repairing the bridge, and how Sylvia had convinced him they might as well stay another night, then get back on the road in the morning.
Her dress now held together in front by a couple of safety pins she'd used to replace the three buttons Bailey had torn off when he'd yanked it open, the sensuous young blonde stared deadpan at her husband. My God, she thought, her contempt welling in her breast. He must really take me for an idiot. Apparently he didn't think she could have even the slightest suspicion about what had happened between him and Sylvia down at the barn while Sylvia's husband was fucking her silly in the guest bedroom here at the house. And Bob, of course, was the real idiot here. Because he couldn't have even dreamed that had happened either. He didn't even guess that Bailey was a threat, otherwise, they would have been long gone like she'd wanted, before.
"Well, whatta you think?" Bob asked.
Cathy took a sip of the Bloody Mary she'd made after she'd emerged from the bedroom. She walked over and looked out the window over the sunlight terrain. From down at the bridge she could hear a hammering. Now, what Bailey had said as he was dragging her to the bedroom returned to echo clearly in her mind: If I didn't know you wanted it you wouldn't even be here. Suddenly, understanding what he'd meant, she smiled.
Bailey must have knocked the supports out from under the bridge himself. He'd kept them there intentionally, because he knew what she wanted, what she had wanted ever since he'd first grabbed her in the barn. He'd known it even better than she had.
"What if I said no?" she asked; turning back to Bob. "What if I absolutely refuse to stay here another night."
He gazed at her in exasperation. "It just doesn't make sense, honey."
Cathy fixed her husband levelly in her gaze. She wondered, fleetingly, what it would be like making love to him again, after what had happened between her and Bailey. Perhaps it would be different, better, perhaps the same as before. Slowly the young blonde let a smile cross her face. "Doesn't it make sense, Bob? Can't you think of a reason why I might not want to stay here another night?"
She watched the alarm flash in his eyes, she imagined he was invisibly squirming on his feet. Then she turned quickly away.
"I don't really mind," she said, gazing again out the window. "You're driving. If you want to stay, we'll stay."
*
* *
By the middle of the evening, after they'd enjoyed another of Sylvia's delicious meals and an ample number of after-dinner drinks, Cathy had decided what she was going to do. As to her motive, that was less clear. It could have been vengeance, for as she watched Bob's smug and secretive looks at Sylvia, sensed his continued oblivion to even the possibility of something having happened between her and Bailey, she felt almost an obligation to herself to knock the props out from under him and watch him tumble back to earth.
But there was more to it than that. Jack Bailey's ruthless assault on her tender young body that afternoon and the rousing climax she'd experienced seemed only to have whetted her appetite. After he'd left her, exhausted, slightly sore inside, her skin still tingling and burning all over as though memory of his hands on her naked flesh. She could still hardly believe it had really happened, that she could still hardly believe it had really happened, that she could have allowed him to take her that way, to eat her pussy until she thought she would go out of her mind and then fuck her until every last shred of decency in her being had been pushed aside by her compelling physical lust. Then he'd just left, saying nothing, not even looking back. Through the evening she'd been waiting for some sign from him, of recognition or acknowledgment of what had happened between them. There had been none. And she was almost sure she knew why. It was her turn to make the next move. The first time he'd literally dragged her to the bed. He hadn't really raped her, but had that been necessary she had no doubt that he would have. But the second time around things were not going to be that easy for her. She was going to have to meet him halfway at least.
Sylvia had put an old Sinatra album on the stereo set and she and Bob were dancing, very slowly, very close together. Cathy was seated in the easy chair, alternately watching them and watching Bailey, who was at the table, silently sipping his whisky. She waited until Bob's back was turned to her, then, rallying her courage, she downed the rest of her own drink and rose. When Bailey looked at her she met his eyes. Though she felt so nervous, even fearful, that she could hardly even face him, she somehow managed a sultry smile. Then she turned and walked, silently as she could, out of the room and down the hall.
Cathy's heart was pounding furiously in her breast, her breathing hard and hastened. She was beset by an almost unbearable fluttering in her stomach, and as she entered the guest bedroom where she and Bob had slept the night before and where that afternoon Bailey had stripped her and forcibly ravished her tender and willing young body, it required every bit of her self-control to keep her from turning and fleeing back to the den. Her mind was a jumble of contradictory impulses. The mere thought of what she was about to do filled her with a perverse and mischievous excitement that could not be contained, yet she was not eluded by the seriousness of the act. She'd already committed adultery this afternoon, but so had Bob. This went farther than mere cheating. Bob wasn't that blind, she hoped. Before she and Bailey were through tonight he would know all too well what was going on. And she didn't know how he would react. She didn't even know how she wanted him to react.
Cathy's fingers were trembling as she turned on the small dim lamp beside the bed, pushed the door almost closed, then quickly peeled off the tight-fitting sweater she'd changed into earlier in the evening. Naked to the waist, she watched herself in the mirror, the fluttering of mingled apprehension and anticipation in her stomach only increasing as she undid the snap at the side of her skirt and pulled it quickly down off the panty-clad cheeks of her ass. She let it drop to the floor and stepped out of it, hesitating for a moment, tempted to leave her panties. But that wasn't the way she'd planned it. Tonight she wanted to be completely naked, completely open and free to be taken by her adulterous lover and used however he wanted to use her. It was to be an intentional act of purgation of her puritanical past, and with fearful determination she pulled the panties down, stepped out of them and, completely naked, walked to the bed and slipped between the sheets.
As she lay breathlessly waiting, it occurred to her that Bailey might not even come, and she was at the same time relieved and disturbed at the thought. Then she found herself thinking that it wasn't impossible that Bob might come instead. She tried to imagine what that would be like and could fix no clear image in her mind. Then her heartbeat hastened even further as she heard the footsteps at the far end of the hail, footsteps she could now even identify. She listened to them approach and stop outside the door. The last moment of waiting was almost unbearable., With a low creaking the door swung slowly open. Bailey stood framed in it, staring silently down at her. She smiled feebly, then with both feet she pushed downward on the sheet. It slipped from her softly rounded shoulders, off the ripe upper portions of her breasts and the already erectly tingling buds of her nipples, down off her ribs and belly and the dark aperture of her navel to at last reveal the soft colored triangle of the hair of her cunt. With a little kick she thrust it completely off her thighs and calves, and waited in naked and open surrender, completely exposed to the gray-headed man's lecherously leering eyes.
Bailey swallowed hard, his gaze descending to Cathy's sensuously rounded breasts, then lower to her parted thighs where nestled invitingly in the soft brown curls of her cunt-hair he could just glimpse her pink-lipped pussy and the little nipple like bud of her clitoris. His eyes never leaving her body, he reached behind his back, pulled the door shut, and started to throw the latch.
"Leave it unlocked," Cathy said in a cracking voice.
He merely raised his eyebrows.
"He might as well see if he wants to. I'd rather have him watching than hollering and pounding on the door. Unless you're afraid of him."
Bailey grinned. "Fat chance of that. Boy, you really want to rub it in though, don't you?"
"No. I don't really care," she said. "I just don't like dishonesty. But I imagine Sylvia will be taking good care of him anyway. She knew where I was going when I left the den."
Bailey's grin had faded. "Yeah, I guess so," he said after a long pause. Then he stepped out of his shoes and walked toward the bed. He paused beside it, staring down hungrily at her nakedly waiting body. "All right, kid. You want to give your husband a show, we'll give him a show."
"What I want," Cathy said as he dropped down to a sitting position beside her prone body, "is you naked in bed beside me."
As Bailey half turned to face her she reached out eagerly with her arms, tugging his shirttails from out of his trousers and eagerly undoing the buttons down the front. As Bailey pushed the shirt from his shoulders her hands dropped to the buckle of his belt. She undid it quickly, fumbled to loosen the zipper of his trousers. Then a low hiss rose in her throat as he bounced up slightly from the bed to let her waist and the already half-erected shaft of his cock was suddenly revealed, menacingly large even in its semi-hardness, so that another faint tremor of fear darted through her body at the thought of having to take that monstrosity again into her tender little vagina, which was still very sensitive from this afternoon's cruel ravishment..
As Cathy sank back onto the pillow, her eyes narrowing with her rapidly building lust. Bailey pushed the trousers down from his knees, stepped out of them and left them on the floor. He turned again toward her, staring hungrily down. He reached out slowly with one of his hands, laying it gently on the side of her cheek in what she first took to be a gesture of affection. Then his thumb extended, swiping in a suggestive gesture across her voluptuous, slightly parted lips. Out of the corner of her eye Cathy saw his flaccid cock surge another half inch toward erection, then with an almost sadistic grin, he hooked his thumb into the corner of her mouth, giving a little tug to force her to open it, and as the confused blonde stared shamefully up he pushed the phallic-like finger straight up into the warm wet cavity of her mouth.
Cathy couldn't imagine what the muscular man was trying to do. There was something so strange in the way he was looking at her, and she felt so funny lying here naked before him, sucking his thumb into her mouth. There was something faintly degrading about it and at the same time it was weirdly erotic on a purely suggestive level. His other hand had dropped to her naked breasts, massaging them softly, his fingers seizing one of the already hard little nipples to arouse it to even more urgently tingling rigidity. His thumb flicked down the length of her tongue, almost to the back of her throat. Then suddenly he pulled it from her mouth and as Cathy waited, still prone and panting on the bed, she shifted around to recline beside her, his arms moving around her shoulders to pull her warmly against him. Then as she willingly let her body melt in his grasp, he suddenly pushed her forcibly down on the bed.
Again the relatively inexperienced young girl was gripped by confusion, unable to even imagine what her adulterous lover had in mind. But her slight resistance was to no avail and before she could figure out what was happening she found her face pressed against the lower part of the man's powerfully muscled ribcage, and suddenly shoving right up against the underside of one of her flawlessly rounded young breasts she felt the massive blunt tip of his now almost fully hardened cock. Then he lay his hand straight across the back of her neck, pushing her face even lower down toward his naked loins.
"Bailey?" Cathy gasped in sheer exasperation as she found the, purplish eye-tipped head of his fully hard cock looming straight up toward her face. "W-what . . . ?"
"Suck it."
Suddenly the helpless blonde was mortified as through her mind flashed a luridly vivid vision of Bailey forcing his wife to take his , cock all its enormously fearful length into his mouth the other night. Of course, it was so simple! She should have known that was what he was thinking about when he'd first put his thumb into her mouth, and in a sudden desperate motion she freed her head from the pressure of his hand and twisted the upper half of her body around to stare up pleadingly at his leering face.
"Please, Bailey," she whimpered in spite of all her previous vows that tonight she was going to give herself up freely and without restraint. "Please, I don't want to do that."
"Jesus," Bailey said, staring at her in awe. "Don't tell me you've never sucked a cock?"
"Noooooo, I've never . . ."
"And I bet before this afternoon you'd never had your pussy eaten either?"
"Of course not!"
He shook his head. "Then this is long overdue."
Before Cathy could even offer another protest he reached toward her, with both hands, seizing the long blonde locks of her hair and turning her back toward his naked hairy loins, and with a violent jerk he buried her face straight down into his crotch.
Chapter Twelve
"Oh please," Cathy wailed as she felt the hot, slightly moist flesh of the enormous stiff cock brush against her cheeks. She closed her mouth tightly shut as Bailey turned her head slightly so the blunt-end of it pressed hard right against her tightly clamped lips, smearing them with the tangy seminal fluid that had seeped from the tip.
"Open up," he growled, pushing her face even lower so the pressure of the bulging cockhead shoving her lips against her gritted teeth was almost more than she could stand.
"Nooo," Cathy again wailed in protest. But that momentary parting of her lips gave Bailey the chance he'd been waiting for and before she could escape the bulbously throbbing head of his cock surged right up between her lips and teeth, stifling farther objection.
"Wider," he commanded tersely, again pushing down on the back of her neck so she was forced to take his rock-hard rod of flesh even deeper in the warm oral cavity of her mouth. It plunged swiftly between her teeth, sliding down her tongue to embed itself far in the back of her throat, and Cathy could do nothing but gulp in muffled protest, almost gagging from the pressure against the back of her throat. She fought instinctively against the stifling effect, closing her jaws tightly around the bloated hard pole, clamping her teeth down as the ruthless pressure continued. She licked and squirmed her tongue defensively around in her mouth, managing to jerk her head back slightly. And all her efforts at defense seemed only to increase the sensation her cruel aggressor derived from his brutal rape of her tender young mouth. Gradually and relentlessly, his massive cock was growing even larger, extending deeper and deeper toward the very depths of her throat.
Yet she had taken it. She had taken it almost to the hilt, as deeply as Sylvia had the night before when she'd watched them in the den, and though the momentary physical discomfort, and a lingering prudish instinct caused her to rebel psychologically, it wasn't really as terrible as she might have dreamed. She found, after a moment, that she was becoming almost accustomed to the strange presence in her mouth, and the suggestion the cruel invasion provoked in her mind was causing her lower body to respond in a way she would have never dreamed possible. She could feel her cunt dilate and moisten, her whole naked flesh was tingling with erotic excitement, and there was a current of masochistic want coursing through her loins and breasts and belly that defied all decency and logic.
For a moment longer Bailey kept up the pressure of his hand on the back of her neck, his other hand now stroking lightly down her back in gentle teasing contrast to his aggressive rape of her mouth. Then the pressure slackened slightly, and the other hand dropped down between the nakedly clenched cheeks of her ass, brushing with wildly stimulating effect right over the cringing little hole of her anus before finding exciting contact on the pulsing slit of her cunt from between the backs of her open thighs.
"Now suck," he said almost softly. "Work your head up and down and try to create a little wetness and friction.
Cathy tried to speak, and nothing came from her mouth but a muffled moan. Then another contradictory shudder of pleasure went darting through her body as Bailey's middle finger popped suddenly up into the entrance of her moistly burning cunt and, resigned to her task, she cautiously applied a gentle sucking pressure to the tip of the invading cock still wedged far up into her mouth. As she did so, Bailey shoved his hips up from the bed to thrust it even deeper, then drew his long thick cock slowly downward, pulling his heavily rounded head back up the length of her tongue and almost to her teeth. Again he thrust inward, at the same time worming his finger deeper into the warmly clinging inner flesh of her loins, and again he quickly withdrew, now pulling it all the way out so it slipped completely from her teeth. And as he sank his hips down in the bed Cathy dropped her face lower, following like a donkey after a carrot, reaching down with her hand to seize the pulsing pole of hard flesh and aim it again up toward her lips.
"That's right," Bailey said approvingly. "Now, use your tongue."
Though Cathy wasn't exactly sure what he meant for her to do, she was more than willing to try to please him if he would just continue rewarding her by playing with her cunt, and she flicked her tongue hesitantly from her mouth, searching over the saliva-moistened head until she found the slitted little hole at the tip and lapped up another tasty little droplet that had issued from the tiny opening. And at the teasing contact the surging instrument seemed to extend even longer, flexing and throbbing in the tight grasp of her hand like a powerful weapon. Then, her body shuddering as Bailey began a slow fucking rhythm of his finger in her cunt, she parted and ovaled her lips, slipping them glove-like back over the head of his cock and again sucking it warmly into her mouth.
Letting go of her inhibitions completely, she worked her tongue swiftly up and down its pulsing length and over the blood-swollen head, wetting and slickening it with her freely flowing moisture, lashing her tongue in velvety submission over the palpitating tip, savoring her naughty experimentation as Bailey once more arched his buttocks up from the bed, pushing the bludgeoning cock again all the way to the hilt. And this time she didn't resist. She accepted it hungrily, relishing even the choking sensation in her throat in her determination to do whatever she had to do to please him and repay him for the way he was pleasing her.
And all the while his finger was still working swiftly in and out of the greedily clasping lips of her cunt, his thumb teasing and prodding at the tightly-clenched hole of her anus, moistening and slickening the cringing little aperture with the vaginal fluids that now flowed freely from her loins. Her sucking of his cock was becoming steadily more fervent and submissive, her efforts driving him to a rhythmic undulation of hips, surging the lust-swollen hardness of his cock repeatedly in and out between her tinseled lips.
Cathy was letting herself go completely, her mouth grotesquely stretched and filled by the distended and gigantic organ thrusting brutally to the back of its hungry warmth. She could sense him building toward a peak of frenzy, and now her own loins were crying out to have the huge punishing cock again ramming into them, violating and tearing her all the way to the belly. She wanted to be fucked. She was ready, her whole body burning with her building passion and need. Every nerve in her being was becoming hyper-sensitive from the overwhelming surges of fantastic sensation and eroticism whipping relentlessly through her.
Then faintly, as though from far away, she heard the footsteps and the creaking sound of the door. For a moment it didn't even register, then something snapped in her mind and she realized what in her body and soul surrender she'd completely forgotten. Bailey, at her instruction, had left the door open. She had been perfectly prepared to have Bob walk in on them at any minute. That was the game she'd started out to play and somehow it was as though she'd gone to sleep right on the field of contest. Now, she was rudely awakened by her husband's incredulous voice.
"Jesus Christ! You goddamn fucking whore!"
Cathy felt Bailey stiffen beneath her. She jerked her head suddenly upward, his cock slipping from her lips to stand up in obscene nakedness, still pointed right at the side of her head as she turned her face toward the door and Bob's flushed and gawking face.
"What the hell are you doing fucking my wife?" he gasped as though he didn't even believe what he saw.
"You fucked mine this afternoon," Bailey answered, his finger still plunged deeply up into Cathy's cunt as he used his other hand to try to turn her face forcibly back toward his erectly twitching cock.
"Cathy . . . ?" Bob gasped, staring at her as if in demand of an explanation of an enigma he still suspected to be some kind of optical illusion.
"You asked for it, Bob," she managed in a quivering voice. "I told you I wanted to leave."
It was the moment that earlier in the night, she'd told herself she'd been waiting for. But it wasn't exactly what she'd planned. Bob was getting the surprise of his life, as she'd intended. But somehow now it didn't seem important. It was just an interruption, an irritation that had toppled her from the pinnacles of near orgasmic release, sending dull throbs of frustration ripping over every inch of her nakedly perspiring flesh. And somehow, bent over Bailey's loins, her mouth filled with saliva and seminal fluid, her buttocks waggling shamelessly from the continued thrustings of his finger into her cunt, she felt hardly in a position to exploit the holier-than-thou feelings she'd previously felt toward her husband.
Then, with a sudden mighty growl Bailey ripped his finger from her cunt. With both hands he turned her face forcibly back down toward his churning loins. He arched his buttocks up from the bed, driving his twitching cock again straight up between her lips and teeth, ramming it angrily all the way to the back of her throat as his cum-bloated balls exploded and the thick load of his sperm came surging furiously up the length of the plundering weapon of flesh to erupt like a shot from a gun, pelting into her throat in spurt after spurt of white gushing fluid.
And in spite of all her shame and embarrassment, in spite of the fact that she really hadn't had this in mind, Cathy could do nothing but gulp submissively, gurgling audibly to keep from choking as the tidal wave flood of cum went spewing into her mouth. And all the while he used both hands to hold her face to his loins, pumping the white liquid into her throat until she thought it must be running out of her ears before he finally sank back tiredly on the bed, lay motionless for a moment, still holding her in place.
Then he released her. She raised her head up, the slickened cock again dropping from her mouth as she turned to stare red-faced at her still incredulously gawking husband, tears of frustration suddenly filling her eyes and spilling down her cheeks. She felt Bailey's hands move around her torso, turning her back toward him on the bed. Then her eyes widened as she heard his voice:
"Come on, baby, we're not through yet. I'm not going to leave you hung-up in front of a witness."
As Cathy stared at him in astonishment, he slid his leg between her thighs, lifting upward so she suddenly found herself sitting astraddle over his loins. Looking down between their bodies, she saw his cock was still rock-hard, blood-filled red. A moment later, as he pulled down on her pelvis, she felt the blunt head of it insert itself between her burning vaginal lips, and with a low spontaneous sigh she sank her buttocks downward, taking it all deep up inside of her.
Chapter Thirteen
Bob Mason's legs felt weak beneath him. His head was spinning, his vision blurred. He felt somehow very small, not in the sense of being shamed or humiliated, but in the sense of being simply incapable of grasping what was happening right before his eyes. He felt like an amoeba looking through a telescope at the milky way.
His wife had been sucking Jack Bailey's cock. She'd sucked him and let him cum in her mouth, and she'd never so much as even kissed the tip of his own cock, her own husband's cock. And now she was sitting astraddle him, lowering her buttocks down against his loins, taking that redwood tree sized prick all the way to hilt up into her once tight little cunt; she was moaning, trembling, her whole body swaying, her face contorted with lust. Lust!
She was being fucked and she wanted it, and somehow, watching her here like this he found himself thinking that she was more beautiful than he'd ever seen her, not the prissy cheerleader he'd married but a real red-blooded hot cunted woman, a veritable whore in heat. And she was his wife. She was still his goddamned wife. And that, somehow, was what he couldn't come to terms with - that, and what in God's name he was supposed to do about it.
And so as Cathy began to bounce up and down on Jack Bailey, as Jack Bailey grunted and hunched and bucked beneath her, his hands mauling over her quivering breasts, his red eyes leering in triumph at the glistening curves of her squirming sweating flesh, Bob stood ignored, gawking from the door. He lost track of time, drifted, almost hypnotized in his dreamy state. It was almost unconsciously that he dropped his hand down to the crotch of his trousers and began to stroke across the already lengthening bulge of his cock. He listened mutely to Cathy's moans and whimpers of passion. Once, he found her looking at him. He didn't move or speak. Then Bailey wrapped his arms around her neck and pulled her toward him, hugging her breasts to his chest, pushing her legs down so she stretched out longways on top of him, his hands pawing down her back to clutch her naked ass and guide her hunching, undulating movements, his fingers slipping down into the crack between her buttocks, prompting further squeals of delight to issue from her lips.
And then, as his eyes followed Bailey's searching hands, as he walked slowly toward the foot of the bed and found himself staring straight down between her ass-cheeks where Bailey was working with his finger on her cringing asshole, Bob's conscious mind was addressed by his unconscious mind as though it were the voice of reveille come to wake him up: That's your wife and another man is fucking her and you've got a hard-on watching it. What are you going to about it?
On the bed, Cathy and Bailey had both drifted back into their own oblivion. She knew Bob was watching them, was constantly aware of his presence, but it no longer seemed to matter. He was learning his lesson better than she could ever have dreamed, but even that didn't seem important. Nothing was important but that she quench the fires of desire building now out of control through her loins. Bailey, for his part, couldn't have cared who was watching. He'd used psychological control to force himself back to erection because he didn't want the kid to see him fail his wife, but that had long since ceased to serve as motivation for his violent upward lunges between Cathy's nakedly writhing thighs. He was going to cum again, even sooner than he had the first time if he didn't start exerting some mental control, but he sensed that she was already on the verge of being ready to go with him.
"Oh yes," Cathy moaned, shaking her head from side to side to whip her long hair in gentle lashes over her naked shoulders, flexing her inner cunt muscles tightly around the cock plunging up into her loins as she felt Bailey's finger digging almost painfully into the entrance of her spasming rectum. She was momentarily distracted as she glanced back at the door and found it now empty, then Bailey gave a sudden even mightier lunge up beneath her and she again forced Bob to the back of her mind. A little shiver coursed through her squirming body as she felt Bailey's other hand press against her buttocks, then a sharp cry issued from her lips as his finger suddenly jerked free of her burning asshole. At the same time she became dully aware that another of Bailey's hands was between their bodies, crushing over one of her tightly rounded young breasts, and as she extended her leg straight down on the bed her foot encountered a bare knee.
"What the hell?" Bailey muttered under her.
"Get your hand out of the way."
Cathy heard the voice, Bob's voice, behind her. She could feel two hands, seemingly fighting over her own nakedly jerking buttocks. As she turned her head to stare over her shoulder in confusion she saw Bob, trousers dropped to his knees, climbing up on the bed behind her. A low moan rose in her throat. Beneath her Bailey said "What the hell?" again. She glimpsed the fury and lust in Bob's eyes, staring straight down at her ass so she shamefully tried to clench her buttocks together.
Still not understanding what was going on, she tried to roll on her back and found herself somehow caught on the plundering cock that remained rammed deep up into her loins. Then Bob said: "Get your hand out of the way of my wife's ass!" A chill darted down her spine as she caught her first inkling of the implication of that remark, then her gaze dropped to Bob's naked loins and she blinked in further surprise at the sight of his fully erected cock looming up in pulsing rigidity.
"What the goddamned hell is going on here?" Bailey snapped from beneath her.
"Just shut up and keep fucking," Bob growled in a voice that sounded hardly like his own. "I'll deal with you later."
"Bob?" Cathy gasped, still staring back over her shoulder as he dropped suddenly down on top of her.
Cathy groaned from the weight of her husband's body, sandwiching her down against the other man. She tried to reach back with her arms to defend herself and suddenly he seized her wrists, pinning them behind her back and shoving her face back down against Bailey, she was now hopelessly crushed beneath the two of them. She felt Bob squirming up the length of her body, felt his hard cock slithering up between her thighs, the tip of it slipping suddenly straight up between the spasmodically waggling cheeks of her ass even as Bailey's cock again plunged far up into the depths of her loins like a machine driven piston that wouldn't stop for anything.
"Bob? What are you doing?"
She asked the question and Bob answered it with action rather than words, reaching down between their bodies to guide his own pulsing masculine hardness straight up toward the already freely moistened entrance to her asshole, and then she was gripped by a terror even greater than that she'd experienced when she'd first been confronted with Bailey's stallion-sized rod of flesh.
"No, Bob," she gasped, her whole body jerking and struggling helplessly beneath him. "No please, don't do it to me there."
"There's no place else I can get to," he growled, and before she could even begin a psychological preparation she was suddenly blinded by a white hot stab of pain as Bob lunged forward to shove his now seemingly monstrous cock hard against the clenching opening of her rectum. The little opening resisted with all its might and he gasped and grunted above her as he was temporarily thwarted. Then a low whimper rose in Cathy's throat as she felt her strength to resist give way and just the head of his bloated cock slipped up into the tight elastic opening, worming slowly deeper as he continued to grunt and strain above her, forcing the punishing steel-like shaft relentlessly into her quivering bowels.
"Oh! Ahhh! Aaaggghhhhhhh!" Cathy cried, her voice echoing through the room as the brutally lacerating cockshaft buried itself deep into her heatedly throbbing rectum. Pain shot like a bolt of lightning through her injured backside, and there was nothing she could do to resist. She was hopelessly sandwiched between the two men, trapped on the cock that skewered into her from the front and the other still wedging into her from behind. Never had she been so filled, never so humiliated and degraded, and just the image her bizarre situation brought to focus in her mind should have been enough to make her die of shame.
Then at last Bob let out a low sigh, his bristly pubic hair matting against her ass-cheeks as he sank all the way into her. She could only be thankful that the worst was over. The pain remained, a gnawing burning essence that seemed to exist at the very spiritual center of her being, but she could stand it. Still Bailey's cock was thrusting in and out from the front, his pubis grinding against the little bud of her clitoris in pleasing contradiction to the suffering she was forced to endure, and as he lunged even harder against her and Cathy bucked her own buttocks up in retreat, flexing her bowel muscles to clench even tighter around Bob's cock filling her ass, she found that her discomfort hardly increased. Then, wondering if after everything else she'd endured in the last two days she was going to find herself responding to and even enjoying this cruel subjugation, she cautiously rocked her buttocks upward, grinding them hard against Bob's loins to even further increase the weird masochistically stimulating sensation. Again she absorbed Bailey's plunging cock. She gritted her teeth, hissing in pain and pleasure as Bob drew back and plunged into her from behind, the friction of his cock rubbing against Bailey's through the thin membrane that separated her two separately ravished holes causing her to squeal with mingled agony and delight.
It was all just too much, but the mere thought of being used like this, of being taken ruthlessly and brutally by two men, was more than the awakened whore in her could resist. She was vaguely aware that this assertion of his own manhood on Bob's part shouldn't go unnoticed; she reminded herself that he was still her husband, that after the shock and hurt she'd just given him there was no reason she should object to him causing her a little pain in return. And though she knew it was all a rather illogical rationalization, she used it as the excuse to let go of her last restraints, responding in masochistic surrender as she felt the two men increase and synchronize their viciously fucking rhythms, racking and buffeting her sandwiched body mercilessly between them as they both began their mad rush to release.
Behind her Bob had begun to saw rhythmically in and out of her injured little asshole, smacking his loins hard against her upturned buttocks, his hard cock stabbing into her fire-seared bowels. His hands had released her wrists to claw viciously over the soft skin of her back, and she groaned as he kissed her on the shoulder and then suddenly bit down as though to suck the blood from her tender sensitive skin. Beneath her Bailey was fucking and bucking with a fury, the grinding against her tingling clitoris serving still as wantonly teasing contrast to the torture being perpetrated on her helpless rectum. And gradually it was becoming more and more difficult for her to even separate the two sensations. They were merging, blending like colors as the nerve impulses met in her mind, becoming irrefutably confused in her blurring consciousness.
"Oh God," Cathy whimpered in final masochistic abandon as Bob further increased his savage fucking rhythm. Sweat from his labor spilled from his forehead down onto her squirming naked back and his breath came in a sharp rasping as she squirmed her buttocks eagerly back against
him, taking him into her deeper and deeper, flexing and caressing her anus tightly around his bludgeoning cock as though to milk it dry.
She covered her lips hungrily over Bailey's mouth, sucking his tongue deep into her throat, her breasts squirming eagerly against his chest as she felt his body jerk and buck beneath her. Then she tore her lips away from his, looking back with watering eyes at her husband's lust strained face, a little smile twisting her lips as though daring him to give her everything he had and more.
"Oh yes," she cried. "Yes, do it to me. Fuck me silly, both of you."
Taking her at her word, the two men built together to a staccato crescendo of thrusting in and out of the cringing openings of her ass and her cunt. Between them, she screamed with pleasure as she felt the final tremors of release surging up from her loins and ass, caressing her body as though in a bath of fire and sparks, sweeping her almost out of herself in a blurring wave of ecstasy and masochistic bliss. And as she cried out her wild release, she felt the two simultaneously in the own volcanic pumping of teeming hot male sperms, the two separate perfectly timed male orgasms filling her vagina and anus with their pungently spurting liquids, the continued shattering thrusting of their two bodies racking her almost to unconsciousness as they reached the full fury of their lust on her helplessly sandwiched form.
Chapter Fourteen
Cathy found Bailey, following Sylvia's unbegrudged directions, lying on the ground under an old oak tree on the ridge above the house. It was a warm summer day, with just the slightest breeze, the sun bright and yellow, now at noon almost directly overhead.
Clad in a sleeveless sweater and short skirt which teasingly revealed her long shapely thighs, she stood contemplating him for a moment, lying with his eyes closed, in apparent oblivion to a fly that buzzed about his face.
"You asleep?" she asked at last.
"No, just thinking," he answered, opening his eyes.
She squatted down on the ground beside him, the effort serving to work her skirt all the way up to her tight white panties.
"I guess Bob and I will be going in a few minutes."
He nodded.
"The bridge is all right?"
"Yeah. It'll hold."
She hesitated. "Sylvia didn't look too happy this morning. I mean, she was nice. She's a wonderful woman. She told me where to find you. But she looked... bothered by something?"
"She is," he said matter of factly. "Seeing it was a little too much for her, I guess. Don't blame her. I would have been for me too."
"Seeing it?" Cathy blinked.
"Yeah. She told me about it when I went to bed. She came down the hall. She stood outside and watched for a while."
"I didn't know."
"Hell," Bailey said, "Maybe she was just jealous."
They were silent for a while after that. Bailey again closed his eyes. Cathy studied his chiseled face. She thought she would probably never see him again. But she knew, for having known him, she would never be the same.
"How'd the kid take it?" he asked, opening his eyes.
"Bob? I don't know. Neither one of us have mentioned it yet. I guess we'll have to talk about it pretty soon. I don't know what's going to happen. But I'm not sorry about this, any of it. I mean that." She paused, thoughtful. "But tell me something. Did the bridge supports wash out, or did you do that."
"I did it," Bailey sighed.
She nodded. "Do you and Sylvia do this often?"
"What?" He frowned.
"This, swapping, I guess you say. Do you do this often with other couples."
He sat up, staring at her incredulously. "Do it often? We've never done it."
Cathy bit her lip. "But I took for granted . . ."
"No." He shook his head. "We were both restless. But as far as I know she's never cheated on me. At least I haven't caught her. And she hasn't caught me."
"Oh," Cathy said.
"And it's not going to work," Bailey added.
Cathy's face clouded with alarm. "What do you mean?"
Bailey sighed. "I guess I mean I'm a possessive sonovabitch. Any time I look at her now, I'm going to think of that damned husband of yours fucking her. I'd get to hate her for it, finally."
Cathy was silent for a moment. "What do you mean would get to hate her?"
"If I stayed."
"If you stayed? But you're not leaving . . . not leaving her, because of us?" the blonde said with genuine shock.
"It's not your fault, baby." He managed a tired smile. Down at the house there was the honk of a horn. "That's your husband, ready to go." He reached up and touched his hand gently to the side of her face. "Don't worry about us. I'll probably come back. Right now I'm going to get away for a while. Sylvia will too. We talked it over last night." The horn honked again. "Now get gone. You kids are young enough to adjust. When you get my age you're too old to bend."
"But Bailey, if we caused . . ."
"You didn't cause it. Now go on."
She got up, her face sultry and troubled. Then she stooped and kissed him quickly on the lips, then turned hesitantly and started away down the hill. After a few paces she stopped and turned back and waved.
"Bye, Bailey."
"Bye, kid."
She stumbled on. When she looked back, he was once more reclined on the ground, eyes closed, as though asleep.
